Necromancer turned and faced the Emperor. “What if I told you that you might have the same power as Linvin only an arm’s reach away?”
Mandrean took to his feet in both anger and curiosity. “If you are coming to a point, I suggest you make it or else bother me no more.”
Necromancer hovered over to the chest where the Red Sapphire had been stored. “I told you some of the writings on this chest spoke of a Red Sapphire which would give its master great power. You asked me what side of the chest housed it and I told you the right side. You never asked me what the rest of the writing on the chest said.”
“You said you could not read it. You lied.” Mandrean fumed.
“I never said that, My Lord. I told you what some of the writing said. You assumed I could not read any more. In your excitement about the Red Sapphire you never asked me about the rest of the writings. Did you never wonder what the other side of the chest held?”
“You said it was a trap of some kind,” Mandrean growled.
“I never made any such statement, My Lord. Once you knew where the Red Sapphire was held you assumed the other side was a trap. I never even commented on the matter and you never asked me if it was so.”
Mandrean’s rage boiled over. “So you didn’t lie to me. You just told me pieces of the truth. You are walking a fine line, Slave.”
Necromancer used all his will to not show his fury at being branded so. Retaining his composure, he continued to steer the conversation. “Does it not make you curious what is inside the left compartment of the chest?”
Mandrean’s anger was tempered with a lustful curiosity. “Tell me everything written on the chest,” he commanded. 152
 
Necromancer was only too happy to oblige. “Besides what I have already told you about the Red Sapphire, the carvings tell the left side of the chest holds a Blue Sapphire. Its power is described as equal to that of its counterpart.”
Mandrean raced over to the chest and saw the golden key still in the lock where Linvin left it before his escape. “Do the writings say I can use the Blue Sapphire?”
Necromancer sighed and said, “I have told you everything the markings reveal. From what we saw earlier, I would expect the Blue Sapphire would choose its master just as the Red Sapphire did. That being said, I feel strongly that you will have a sporting chance of mastering the gem if you open the compartment.”
Mandrean withdrew the key from the right lock and placed it in the left. “What if you are wrong?” Mandrean asked in freight.
“You forget, My Lord. I am forbidden to do you harm. Telling you to open something I know to be a trap would be beyond my capabilities. I am confident you will be unharmed by opening the compartment. Whether the gem makes you its new master is something not even I can determine for sure. You have wanted this power for so long. Take the chance and see if it is meant to be.”

At last, Linvin reached in his quiver and found nothing left to fire.  He surveyed the field and found only two frightened goblins still standing.  They had fallen back to the camp.  The time had come for Linvin to show himself to his enemy and finish the fight.  He threw his bow to the ground and jumped out of the trees.  Fueled by rage, he armed himself with two swords from the dead goblins and advanced on the camp.
The sight angered the goblins. It was inconceivable to them that a lone archer had bested such a force.  They immediately charged at him.  Linvin came to a halt and waited for them with his weapons held high.  One goblin arrived just ahead of the other and jabbed at Linvin with his spear.  Linvin knocked the blow aside easily with one sword and then came around with a swipe from his second that struck his enemy’s neck.  The creature’s head separated from his body.
Linvin quickly turned his attention to the sole remaining goblin.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a spear thrust aimed for his head.  Linvin instinctively ducked and rolled toward his opponent.  When the roll was completed, he found himself sitting on his rear with his legs before him at the foot of his foe. 
Recognizing the close quarters, the goblin abandoned his spear and drew his sword.  In Linvin’s haste to dodge the spear, he had lost the grip on both of his blades.  The goblin raised his arm for a killing blow on his earthbound enemy.
Linvin used the moment to make a sweeping kick at the goblin’s knees with his leg.  The desperate blow knocked the goblin on his back and dislodged the sword from his hand.  Linvin reached for the knife in his boot and dove on top of the warrior. With one hand, he tried to restrain the goblin’s arm and with the other, he pushed the blade ever closer to his foe.
The goblin intercepted Linvin’s forearm and held the weapon away.  In a struggle for life, the goblin used his weight to his advantage and rolled Linvin onto the ground with his great belly crushing the half elf.  Linvin gasped for air as the blade began to be forced back toward his body.
Having short arms made it easier for the goblin to maneuver in the close quarters.  Linvin, on the other hand, was at a disadvantage, not being able to fully extend his arm and use its strength.  If Linvin was to prevail, he knew he would need to create separation between them.

Anniversaries are synonymous with positive events.  You have wedding anniversaries, months or years of dating anniversaries, sobriety anniversaries and even job anniversaries.  Today marks 1 year since I lost my father to a heart attack/stroke.  He was just shy of his 80th birthday.  There will be no cake or balloons, chocolates or party hats, Champaign or love notes.  I can only honor this great writer and editor by putting some words to paper to commemorate him.  I have mentioned this before but it is worth noting again that one of the magazine artists had drawn a picture as a joke which he proudly displayed in his office, and later on at home.  It showed a writer trying to walk but he couldn’t because giant pencils had impaled him and come through the other side of the body.  The caption read, “Mr. Gates is one tough editor.”  I would have felt ashamed of such a picture but dad hung it with pride.  He was a tough editor and I felt his lash like many others.  I can’t believe he was popular at work he was not in a job where you make friends.  Still, he had a certain amount of power.  Once he took my brother and me to the printer that produced their magazine.  That day they were printing hockey cards.  We collected and traded cards and the printer gave us each an uncut huge sheet of cards to take home.  Never did I imagine that they would be worth something one day so I folded it up and stuck it in the back of my closet.  After a few years they were destroyed.  Dad would take us up to a Christmas tree farm north of Toronto where you walk through the woods and pick out a tree.  Then Dad would cut it down and drag it to the car.  Next he would strap it to the roof and we would take the long car ride home.   After his first heart attack we moved down to his childhood town south of Windsor on Lake Erie.  We had a cottage there.  Dad tore out all the walls and ran new electrical wiring throughout.  Then he insulated the house and had a furnace put in.  Even after injuring his back, he soldiered on and made sure we were safe.  As a teenager you may not fully appreciate what he did, but you remember it.  When I was 16 I could finally get my Learner’s Permit in Canada.  16 days later my father trusted me to drive him and my mother to Detroit Metro Airport for a flight to a trade show with only my blind brother as a copilot. (His license hadn’t expired yet so technically it was legal if unadvisable)  I nearly had accidents several times and the border guards were harsh…but I made it through because my father believed I could do it.  I toast to you Father.  You brought out the best and worst in me but you always loved and protected me.  Perhaps this is more of a celebration than I thought.   

“A cowardly move,” Linvin observed, “but not an unexpected
one. You did exactly what I wanted you to do. Now I do not need
to track down your friends. As for your fate, I hate bullies and
cowards. You are both of those things and will die before your
friends can save you.” Linvin knocked the man back a step with a
sweep from his shield. It left the man’s body open and Linvin did
not squander the opportunity. He plunged Falconfeather through
the man’s stomach and pulled it out through his side. The bandit
fell to the ground, dead.
The other three men were almost ready to strike. One bore a
broadsword while the others carried battleaxes. Three more men
could be seen running from the front of the column. Linvin quickly
sized up his opposition. If he hurried, he could kill the three men in
the back before the others arrived. The battleaxes were unsuited
for close-quarters combat while the broadsword was perfect for the
fray. He decided it was best to save the swordsman for last as the
axe men were at a disadvantage when close to their peers.
Linvin sprang into action, kicking one of the men baring an axe
and using his shield to absorb a sword thrust. Then he struck
behind the knee of the second axe-man and sent him to the ground.
Not wasting time to bend down for the kill, he stomped the man’s
windpipe with the heel of his boot and left him to asphyxiate.
Now Linvin had enemies on both sides but turned his attention
to the man with the axe. Linvin expected a quick swipe. When the
man hesitated, he knew a blow was coming from behind. He
instinctively ducked and saw the broadsword pass over him. Not
being able to stop his momentum, the bandit fell over Linvin. His
motion carried Linvin with him as he fell to the ground. Knowing
it was imperative to reach his feet again, Linvin kneed the man in
the groin and cast him aside. Then he rolled back onto his feet just
in time to block a blow from the axe with his shield.
What no one including Linvin had realized was that the staff
holding the red sapphire had come loose in the scrum, growing to
its full length, and lay unattended on the ground.
Linvin, meanwhile, spun off the axe blow and twisted toward
its owner. When the two men were face-to-face, Linvin struck the
man in the forehead with the pommel of Falconfeather. As the man
stepped back, Linvin drove the mighty sword though the man’s
torso and then withdrew it. The dying man fell to the ground in
agony.
Expecting another sword attack, Linvin turned back to the man
with the broadsword and raised his shield. To his surprise, the man
had stepped back and was waiting on his companions who were
almost on the scene. “We’re going to need everybody down here
for this one!” the man called to the front.
Linvin’s best chance for success was to keep the participants he
fought to a limited number at one time. With that in mind, he
drove at the man, brushing aside a sword swipe and a punch. At
close range, Linvin bashed his shield into the man’s face and then
drove Falconfeather deep into his belly. He quickly withdrew the
blade and brushed aside the body.
It was not a moment too soon as the three from the front arrived
in force. They wore leather armor, and all carried swords similar to
their recently killed comrade. The first man charged into Linvin
and tackled him. Falconfeather and the shield flew from his hands.
The man’s companions came up alongside as Linvin wrestled
with the man. Linvin rolled over on top of him and was about to
deliver a punch when he saw a sword blade plunging at his back.
With a quick spin, he switched places with the man he was
wrestling and let him take the blow. The blade buried deep in the
man’s spine and lodged there. Casting the injured man off him, he
precisely aimed and struck his boot into the kneecap of the man
standing nearby who was still armed. A loud crack was heard as
the man fell to the ground, holding his broken knee.

There was no time for Linvin to savor his victory. The key for Miri’s shackles was near the top wheel of the rack. He unlocked her only to find she was not conscious. Fearing the worst, Linvin listened for inhalation. With great relief he heard shallow breathing. He needed to get her to safety with all due haste.
After gently removing her from the spiked bed, Linvin slung her over his right shoulder and headed for the stairs. He knew he had to reach the top floor before he was found. As he started up the steps he saw a figure blocking his path. The person was too tall to be a goblin.
“Out of my way,” Linvin ordered as he climbed.
The figure came into focus as he drew near. It belonged to that of a young man slightly taller than Linvin with fair hair and complexion. He wore training clothes of a warrior and held a broadsword pointed at Linvin.
“I knew you would come here,” the young man said. “Everyone is searching the palace and the city but I knew you would come back here.”
“I have no time to congratulate you, Child,” Linvin barked. “Now step aside before I am forced to waste more time killing you too.”
“Ha.” scoffed the boy. “You are speaking to Acreas, future Commander of the Imperial Guard. I have you at my mercy. The greatest warriors in the empire have trained me. Your sword hand is holding the girl. We are in a confined space and I have the advantage of height on this stair. I have you beaten.”
Linvin sighed with no sign of being impressed. “So is your plan to kill me or bore me to death with your credentials, Little Acreas?”
Furious at being insulted, Acreas stabbed downward toward his foe. Linvin waited for the right moment and sidestepped the blow. As Acreas’ momentum pulled him forward, Linvin grabbed his wrist and threw him down the stairs. After awkwardly hitting every step, Acreas rolled to a stop on the landing below. Blood poured from a gash above his eye and he narrowly escaped landing on his own sword. Undeterred, he attempted to regain his feet. Upon placing pressure on his ankle Linvin could tell the boy felt a shooting pain that dispelled any illusions of standing.
“You should have those instructors of yours teach you something about leverage,” Linvin called down.
Acreas stretched out in agonizing pain and retrieved his sword. “Come back here.” he called after the ascending Linvin. “Come back and fight me.”
“Some other time perhaps,” Linvin called from the distance.
As Acreas held his injured ankle he muttered, “I will hold you to that.”

Finding time to write is one of those nearly impossible things you plan to do but never seem to get the chance.  It’s like the way you promise yourself you’ll take a nap in the afternoon and that never happens either.  There is always a task to do or an errand to run.  Someone drops in unexpectedly or you get tied up paying the bills.  There are a million time eaters out there waiting to snatch those precious minutes from you day. (Right now I have a dog in my lap feeling neglected.)  Just finding time to write this blog took the better part of the day.  When you shut everything else out and concentrate just on writing, the words just flow onto the page.  Then I’m in my happy place.  I remember why I wanted to be a writer in the first place.  There is an unparalleled joy in putting words to paper (or in this case, a computer screen).  There is no other feeling like it.  When I get cranky I know I haven’t written for a while.  The process isn’t as simple as sitting down and writing.  You have to have something to say first.  Then you take it like a piece of clay in your mind and mold it into something you can use.  Only then can you even consider approaching the computer.  Some writers do their best work off the top of their head.  Truth be known, I wish I was one of those people, but I’m not.  I’m a calculated person and compulsive planner.  Currently I am putting together documentation for my fourth book.  It’s the unglamorous side of writing but publishers need it in order to understand all about your book and make a cover.  The one type of writing that doesn’t thrill me is writing about what I’ve already written.  You’ve already created it, written it, rewritten it, edited it and done a final proof.  Now you have to start telling people about what you’ve said.  Later comes the editing and the re-editing.  Still, if you remember your love of writing, nothing seems like too much work to achieve your goals.
 

Linvin drew the sword that had served him well on many occasions.  It was the finest blade he had ever seen, short of his father’s.  Perfectly balanced, it sliced through the air with a grace rarely seen in a weapon.
He swung it and then drew back in a defensive stance.  He then lunged and spun toward his imaginary target, finishing with a thrust of the pommel, followed by a downward stab.  The tip stuck in the floor for a brief moment before Linvin pulled it free and slashed behind him in a circular motion.
Linvin was pleased to see that he had retained his fighting skills.  The movements brought memories flowing through his mind of far-off days when he was known as the Defender of Valia.  He smiled again.  The expression however, was to be short-lived.
Out of the corner of his eye, Linvin spied a black area on the blade.  A sudden panic overtook him as he pulled the blemish closer.  He rubbed it with his finger and it did not change.  Panic turned to horror as he realized that it was dried goblin blood.  With hastened speed he took a towel to it and scoured the blade as though his life depended on its cleanliness.  After several frantic moments, he stopped and looked for the stain again.  It was still on the metal.  The wiping, as it turned out, had spread the area across the length of the sword.
“No!” cried Linvin.  “This cannot be!  It must come off!”  Try as he might, the more he worked on the blemish, the more it coated his prized possession.  Sweat dripped from his brow as he began to pant from the effort.
Then he noticed a smell enter the room.  It was not a pleasant odor, but rather the sickly stench of goblin blood.  Its pungent aroma brought vivid images of death and murder to Linvin’s inflamed mind.  He could see the faces of the enemies he had slain.  One after another, they screamed as he cut them down in every conceivable fashion.  Their fallen carcasses sprayed blood on Linvin like an ocean wave.
He dropped the sword and screamed as visions of slain goblins filled the room.  The walls melted away and he found himself in the swamp again, surrounded by living and dead, rotting goblins.
“Get out of my head!” he shouted as he grabbed its sides, but the sights persisted.  He tried to cover his eyes, only to find that his hands were drenched with the hot, viscous fluid of the fallen.
Linvin stumbled into the wall of the tree and he was back in his room again, though still surrounded by enemies who drew ever closer.  “I must get it off!” he yelled, while dousing his hands in a nearby wash-basin.  Stubbornly, his hands remained black.  He scrubbed with a towel until his skin began to tear from the strain.  Still he found no reprieve.
His body shook and he neared convulsions.  Crawling on the floor, Linvin wedged himself against the wall.  The goblins had their weapons out and were ready to strike him down.  Linvin folded his hands under his arms to both hide them from sight and try in vain to stop his shaking.
“There is no blood!  There is no blood!  There is no blood!” he wailed while rocking himself back and forth.  His enemies were practically on top of him.  Linvin closed his eyes and said aloud, “I can control this.  I can stop it.  There is no blood. 

Ah, Valentine’s Day.  I used to plan for this day for weeks when I was dating and first married.  I would do flowers, a card, chocolates, a stuffed animal and make plans for dinner out.  The flowers would be thrown to the side and eventually put in water.  The card was read and disappeared one minute later.  Even the chocolates ended up on a shelf, not to be touched for several months.  Then we would go to the restaurant and wait two hours for a table.  Once we were seated, we always had a stressed out waitress who gave poor service.  Don’t get me wrong.  It wasn’t all bad.  Early on my wife showed her appreciation for the gifts though she never could never appreciate the effort I went to in order to make the day special.  As time went by I scaled back.  First, to go were animals and the chocolates.  She didn’t seem to miss them.  Then we gave up on fighting the crowds and just ate dinner at home.  There was no complaint.  Next to go was the card.  I never understood the point of giving a card to a person you were physically seeing.  Growing up, cards were what you sent people far away who you weren’t able to see.  It never made sense to me to spend $6 on a card to tell someone right in front of you that you love them.   Maybe I’m the weird one.  Anyway, nothing was said but I could tell the card was missed.  So I brought back the card.  When it comes to roses I have another rule.  If I give you the flowers, you put them in the vase.  One year for Valentine’s Day she left the roses out for over a day until they were dead and wilted.  I decided right then that she was spoiled and would get no more roses.  When her birthday came up I didn’t buy the flowers.  She asked why and I bluntly told her that she didn’t appreciate them.  That went over like a lead balloon!  The next Valentine’s Day she received both a card and roses.  We go out to dinner after all the madness in the restaurants.  Put aside all the commercialism and this holiday comes down to spending time with someone you love.  I’m lucky that I don’t have to put on a show to enjoy being with my wife.  We are happy just being together.  Maybe that’s what today is really all about.   Happy Valentine’s Day!   

Here is my interview with Streetlight Halo.  Enjoy http://streetlighthalo.blogspot.com/

Q: Today we're interviewing our favorite comedic writer Emma Idiot.
Emma that's quite a name you have there!

A: Yes well in reality it was I. Emma Idiot, but I dropped the initial
and shortened it so it's easier to remember.


Q: Oh well just for the sake of conversation what did the I. stand for?

A: Icabod... it was my great grandfather's name.


Q: Um... Icabod is a man's name and Emma is a girl's name. So...? Are
you a guy or girl?

A: YES


Q: Um? Okay. I see here you have 4 books to your credit, Real Live
Dead Things, Gravely Terrible Puns and Jokes, Happily Ever After-life
and now, Apocalypse Eventually; A Comedy of Biblical Distortions. Are
there any differences in these?

A: Yes. Real Live Dead Things is about a couple of ghosts who must
change someone before they can move on. Happily Ever After-life is
about zealous mice and the techno-apocalypse. Apocalypse Eventually is
about a mid-management angel that is thrown to earth to find the
retired horsemen. In that one, I think most people would be offended
by the cactus. Most of these would be rated pg-13 but Apocalypse
Eventually would be rated R … so more for an adult crowd. Writing that
last one, I finally let my hair down.


Q: So you wrote with a “no holds barred” mindset?

A: Well yes... but I literally let my hair down because my scrunchie broke.


Q: Ah! Well I'm sure that's interesting to someone. I dunno who...

A: It was interesting to the cat. She chased it across the room.


Q: Lovely. Well in Apocalypse Eventually, I think a lot of people
could be offended. What do you have to say in answer to this?

A: I think that God, Creator, IT … has a great sense of humor. Just
look at Donald Trump's hair. He could use a scrunchy!


Q: I agree in so much as, you have to understand as you read that a
joke is just that. It is there to make you laugh and nothing more. So
where can we get these books of yours?

A:

Www.cheshiregrinpublishing.com or

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/Learnzits?searchTerms=&pageOffset=1

However, Apocalypse Eventually will not be released for another 2 weeks.


Q: Great! Thanks for being here! And thanks for talking with us today.