Memoirs of Hysteria-A Terrible Decision is Made.

Taking this story back to where in the timeline it was before, the last two Hysteria posts were out of order and later in the story.  For the posts in proper timeline order, please refer to the order in the menu. This occurs after Memoirs of Hysteria, Wherein a Cat Speaks Very Fast.  Thanks for reading! Please feel free to share if you enjoy.


Out of breath, red faced, dripping sweat, smelling like a man desperately in need of a bathing, Lord Antoine Lua, Lordling of Hysteria, prideful protectorate of the Lily Dynasty, collapsed and sunk into the multi cushioned seat beside the giant-sized gilded throne. Why beside it? Less anyone forgets that none are above the greatness of the Flower Emperor. Except if one were a god or goddess.

A tall, lanky court herald enters through the extravagantly carved throne room doors. Pi has a perpetual smirk on his face, sharing a private joke with himself, though he’s unaware of this.

“Lord Antoine, I announce the arrival of Lady Kaliana, who comes in response to your request for an advisor.” Pi bows, and scurries to a corner of the room to be forgotten for the next eight or so hours.

Cue the arrival of such a being to challenge the rule of the Flower Emperor, though all present knew not. Trailed closely by her foul-tempered compatriot and stoic manservant, Lady Kaliana appears to hover a mere inch above the tiled floors. This alarmed the two knights that flanked the empty throne, Knight Captain Roas and Knight Mentor Kanti, though they showed no sign of their inner turmoil. Having risen through the ranks during Gilgamesh’s reign, the two had seen enough oddities that compartmentalizing the unreal had become second nature.

Ji, upon its perpetual black cloud, suddenly speeds ahead of Kali and Tin Fiddle, stopping directly in front of Antoine. It leans its head forward, black-skinned snout sniffling loudly as it deeply inhales Antoine’s salty fumes. Before the pair of knights can respond to any perceived threat, Ji has spun around on the spot, nods towards Lady Kaliana, and zooms out of the room, slamming the doors behind its exit.

Tin Fiddle, his perpetual scowl upon his face, his storm-cloud eyes focused on nothing, yet taking in everything, sees no threat to his mistress (although he notices an oddly patterned feline chewing on paper among the ceiling beams). He bows deeply to Lady Kaliana, completely ignoring the lordling and his knights, then takes his place to her right, arms crossed, hands hovering over hidden pommels.

Lady Kaliana flashes a ridiculously white smile towards the sitting nobleman and bobs a slight curtsy. She then offers a perfectly manicured hand, palm down, to Antoine, who stares down at the proffered hand, confused.


Tin Fiddle’s head is now on swivel, regarding everything, and speaks from the side of his mouth, as he stares up at the cat sitting in the rafters. “A nobleman kisses a lady’s hand, given the opportunity.”

Antoine gulps nervously and manages to blabber out, “But I’ve never even heard of her! And who are you to even make demands of one of my stature?”

The manservant goes still, then growls. “Her Lady Kalinia, Blessed of the Maker, graced with His Wisdom, of the Autumn’s Embrace, has traveled a distance greater than you can fathom, to answer your call for advice worthy of your ’empire’.” Tin Fiddle’s suddenly flat and almost lifeless eyes now bore into the Lordling’s. “Show some respect.”

The lordling, sweating even more profusely than before he sat down, stands and approaches the lady. As he reaches an arms length away, Lady Kaliana pulls back, and sniffs in disdain.

“Sir, you wreak something terrible. I would suggest next time you run your ten laps that you bathe before entertaining a guest.”

Antoine mutters something indistinguishable.



Lady Kaliana arches a thin eyebrow. “Twenty what?”

“I sprinted twenty laps around this bloody city, I’ll have you know!” Antoine exclaims, then points an accusing finger at his Knight Captain. “This vile soldier ordered me to, and then demanded I greet you right away!”

Slowly shaking her head, Knight Captain Roas frowns. “No, sir, I told you to bathe afterwards. You said that you were ready to meet your guests.”

Antoine stamps his foot down in frustration. “Damnit, Captain, I will do as I please! I rule this protectorate!”

Lady Kaliana smiles endearingly. “As we can all see, your Lordling, you rule with such grace. Like my dear manservant has said, I am here only to offer my services in guiding your protectorate to its fullest potential.”

Antoine returns to his seat, rests his chin in his hand, and stares suspiciously at the beautiful woman before him. “I see. And what do you require in return, dear Lady?”

The would-be advisor reaches into the purse tied to her belt, and pulls out a piece of parchment. (At the sound of crinkling paper, Annie the cat’s ears perk up.) “Please, sir, approve this document for me, and with your signature, I will be at your beck and call.” She winks, an obscenely flirtatious gesture.

Antoine blushes deeply. “A-a-and your pet monkey and manservant as well?”

Lady Kaliana’s mouth turns down in distaste. “Ji is not a monkey. Ji is a…diplomat of its’ people. Please refrain from referring to my associate as such.”

“My deepest apologies.”

“As for them being available to you, unfortunately that is not negotiable. But please, be assured that everything that they do is in my best interest.” She hands the parchment over to the lordling, who begins perusing over it. (Soft purring can be heard from above.)

Lordling Antoine produces a pen from the inner breast pocket of his robe, then hurriedly signs it. He returns the pen to its home, hands the document to Knight Mentor Kanti, then grins idiotically and claps his hands together. “I now pronounce you my advisor!”

Lady Kaliana’s tone turns cold. “Excellent, then I will begin with tasking your workers in building a residence for me across from the city cemetery. I will let you know when I am ready to begin the tasks of my post.” Neglecting to curtsey, she turns on her heel, and glides silently to exit the room. She stops at the doors, impatient, and yells at the herald, Pi. “Open the doors, cretin!”

Pi shakes himself from his daydreams, and scrambles to open the doors. Lady Kaliana then exits. Tin Fiddle, nearly glaring, shakes his head at the man in the chair, glances up at the cat, then follows suit.

Knight Mentor Kanti is staring in disbelief at the document in her hands, then shows it to Knight Captain Roas beside her, who chokes.

“You signed this?”

Antoine nods. “I did! My signature is right there at the bottom!”

“Do you even understand what she asks for?”


Knight Captain Roas’ face reddens in anger. “Then are you insane?”

“The royal therapist may have mentioned something along those lines…but no, I am sound of mind. I appreciate your concern though!”


Antoine taps a finger to his temple. “Although some of the wording was a little difficult to comprehend at points…”

Knight Captain Roas shoves the paper back into Knight Mentor Kanti’s hands, and rushes from the room, murderous thoughts in her mind. Knight Mentor Kanti looks down, unbelieving at the accursed thing.

“You know what this means, right, sir?”

“Not a clue.”


“She seemed trustworthy.”

“You just met her!”

“So? I consider myself an exemplary judge of character.”

Knight Mentor Kanti represses a scream. “You didn’t even ask her qualifications.”

“Not necessary!” Lordling Antoine raises a finger in a victorious gesture. “She has an exquisite simian associate who rides upon a cloud and a terrifying manservant! Only important people have these!”

The soldier mutters under her breath. “I can’t see why this empire is sprinting towards dis-”

“Pardon? Speak up!”

“Nothing, Lord.”

The Eyes Never Lie, But I Sometimes Do

Couple poems for concrete imagery from class.



Her earthly brown iris

Invokes a warm fire inside my stomach and

In my mind’s eye I see

Two toddlers hand in hand

Tumbling their way, laughing their way, siblings dancing through lush forests of

evergreen and

In my mind’s eye I see

One large grizzled paw enfolded,



Over yours, perfectly petite and

In my mind’s eye I see

This earthly brown iris

Staring back into mine and

In your mind’s eye

I wonder

I grow clammy

I, heart racing,

Incoherent ramblings,


Attempts to see,

Crimson lips curl upwards

Teasing the sky and

In your mind’s eye

Do you see what I see?


Why such an obsession with eyes

You ask.

Because I believe in being able

To see

The ephemeral

When I look into your eyes for

The ephemeral

Is real to me.

You look into the greying blue of my eyes and

You’ll see

Crimson lines

Crusted sleep

A worried frown, a belly laugh

You’ll feel what I felt as

The cold steel of the knife that plunged



Where are you going?

Do you not like what you see?

Betrayal hurts me too.

Tonight’s Entertainment

Jacky Juggler, bangled balls banging, clanging noisily and unnecessarily all night long, went straight for the jugular.

Rival Ricky Rambler literally lying lucidly through laboured loose lips, which, my friends, I’m sorry to say this, sinks so many of these sacrificial, suspiciously abundant ships. Vicious vernacular, vividly vilifying this embattled entertainer and his perceived sanctified sables spheres.

Jacky jumped off, jaded at the jabs, sending several steel shots swerving Ricky’s way.

Clang Clang clanged the clown.

Rumble Rumble rumbled the rumbler, who then ducked, dipping downwards, displaying a dazzling deployment of dodging dangerous dogged dangers.

I do not lie when I describe what occurred next. A mystifying miracle miraculously materialized if I do say so myself. And I goddamn do.

With nothing to juggle, Jacky was left with only his words to ramble.

As such, Ricky now had the means to juggle.

The silence now dominates as these two titans stare each other down.



So begins a chorus worth chronicling, taking to the oh so high not so heavenly heavens.

Ramblin’ Jacky and Jugglin’ Ricky toured their terrific yet terrifying, suspect yet possibly stupendous, not all that appealing and honestly horrendous sideshow around the world.

Sadly, we all know what happens next, as all success stories go…Oh? You question their accolades? Have you seen what constitutes as “genius” around this way? Ah, I digress.

Rivalry soon reigned, a quack quarrel quietly blooming to an overtly over the top overture, for who really was eating all the goddamn food? Witness this, riveting, rising higher over who was swindling who. The glorious glorified climax that clearly occurred before the bloody brawl, screams demanding who was diddling the bodacious Missus Boo.


Simplified, they shot each other dead, .45 slugs each effortlessly exploding from an individual piece of the pair, entering both entertainer’s head.

Missus Boo kept all the proverbial bread. You can catch her show debuting this Sunday night, seven o’clock.

An Abandoned Son-Forever Isn’t a Very Long Time

Family. She had always wanted one. At least, that was the lie she told herself, millennia later. It dulled the edges of the sharp choices she had made in that forgotten era. Flames reflected off her wet eyes.

For the one’s I love, I do this.

She had raised them in her image, human males and females, twisted ever so slightly into the lupine featured warriors and sorcerers that they would become.

Bred to hunt. Bred to kill.

But the others, her real brothers and sisters, her real family, they had been enraged. She had tipped the scales. Her children, she had taught them the kind of hidden knowledge that was hidden for good reason. Her children, they had flourished under her tutelage.

Learned to hunt. Learned to kill.

Unable to reign in the children and the empire they raised in her name, her siblings had given her an ultimatum. Put the children into an eternal slumber, or they would strike her down, a punishment that they had only issued once before. Grief stricken and with a heavy heart she acquiesced. The children would never know of what she had done. She abandoned them.

Tears now fell freely down her face, sprinkling the ground.

For the one’s I love, I do this.

She covered her face with her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. She felt the waves of terrible power flowing through the dense forest towards her from all sides. The campfire had been snuffed by a sudden gust of arctic air. The smokey embers wafted subtle hints of burnt rosewood. The quiet murmurings of the night had gone silent.

The thing about eternal is that it is never quite long enough.

The mother looked up, her subtle makeup marred by streaks down her flushed cheeks. Attempting to command her breathing, she slowly turned to regard the nine pairs of dully shining eyes surrounding her.

The hunters. The killers.

The thing about children is that, sooner or later, they learn the truth about their parents.

She hadn’t heard him approach her from behind, but she felt his blade hovering above the nape of her neck. The frigid radiance could only have come from her youngest son’s rime encrusted sword. She closed her eyes.

The cold should have comforted her.

Should have.

His voice cracked from disuse.

“Mother, why?”

How many times can a heart break?

An Abandoned Son-Hell Hath No Fury.

Sorry about going silent. Essays, work, exams, repeat. This be something else I’ve been working on…funny how something so short can sometimes take a while to get kind of right. I’ll probably put up a couple small pieces of it up in the next posts. Feel free to let me know if its something people are interested in reading more of.


Snow lightly fell at an angle upon the frozen ground. The stink of evacuated bowels and the taste of spilled blood dominated the senses. Thousands of corpses littered a giant circle around two figures facing each other. The first was a tall black skinned man, his overly muscled physique naked except for blood and a loincloth. His shaven head glistened with a light sheen of sweat, chest rising and falling slowly, breath curling as he exhaled. Bright amber cat like eyes glared down at the short woman across from him. The crown of her silver haired head reached no higher than his stomach. He leveled the gore drenched tip of his spear at the diminutive woman’s pale throat.

“Move, witch.”

“Witch…” she whispered, then glanced at the prone body behind her. Her violet lips thinned. The corner of her left eye twitched. She folded her petite hands in front of her mid drift. The falling snowflakes slowed then stopped as she turned to face the towering warrior.

When she spoke, her melodic voice was sharply edged.

“You use that word as if it is demeaning…” The icy wind disappeared abruptly. Any of the minimal warmth left in the air disappeared. Her tone rose higher.

“As if it has been stripped of all it’s power…” The would-be predator standing across from her began to find it difficult to breathe as the air thinned.

“As if one and all had not knelt before me in awe and fear…” The onyx skinned warrior fell to his knees, dropping his weapon, and grasping his throat, choking, suffocating.

“Do you know who you attempt to challenge?” The woman’s cold, blue eyes had begun to glow with an azure flame.

“Does your Patron forget who I am?” she shrieked.

On the edge of consciousness, the warrior had fallen upon his face, his oxygen deprived brain shutting down.

The angered woman took a step forward, raising her thin arms, fists alight with indigo fire.

The man’s body jolted up, a discarded marionette suddenly pulled upright by its strings. His almond shaped eyes burst open, pupils swiveling in all directions, terrified. A bestial roar erupted from his slack mouth. The woman recognized the essence of the Patron that had entered the man’s body and was unimpressed. An enormous sable furred hunting cat had blurred then solidified, taking the warrior’s place.

She waited for it to address her. Instead the feline wasted no time in fleeing swiftly southeast, loping its way across the empty tundra landscape.

The blaze had died in her slanted eyes and quenched from her hand.

She flashed her pearl white teeth in a feral, hungry grin.

“I am the Witch.”

Memoirs of Hysteria-The Hawk with the Desert Rose

Check out the first entry of the Memoirs here!

One short one to follow up the other because I’ve fallen behind. ALSO. Favorite quote from the Malazan series.


To say he was out of place would not necessarily be wrong, for some of the people fleeing and screaming past him gave the briefest of consideration as to why a drunk homeless man was reclining against the burning tavern’s outer wall, his arms wrapped tightly around a clay jar of sour wine. He drummed his fingers along the container, playing a marching tune that had not been heard in the Protectorate of Hysteria for the last half century. The drunk tipped the jar back and finished the liquid contents, then wiped the alcohol from his lips with a dirty sleeve.

“You told me I would be done with this shit,” he muttered to no one in particular. “Told me I wouldn’t have to deal with any of the,” he spits the next word, “ injustices anymore.” The homeless man smashed the pot upon the cobblestones in anger.

“Gilgamesh!” he shouted at the flames surrounding him. “You asshole, you promised me that if I just sat here and drank to oblivion, I would know peace until the end of my days!” He stood up, wobbling for a moment before finding his balance unaided.

“This is the absolute last fucking time I clean up a mess for this God’s damned empire.”

The suddenly sober man glared down at the tattooed hawk inked onto the inside of his right wrist. In its claws it clutched a desert rose.

“I’m tired of this Hero shit!”, the man screamed.

He exhaled deeply, began to inhale and coughed as the poisonous smoke entered his lungs. Scowling, he spat the toxic taste out of his mouth, then raised his right hand to his mouth. He sank a sharpened canine tooth deep into the flesh between his thumb and forefinger, then squeezed the wound to let the blood flow freely. The odd man dipped his left index finger into the crimson liquid, then drew a line through the middle of the inked hawk upon his wrist. The blood suddenly boiled against his skin, but he was numb to it after all this time.

At first, only hinted at in the palm of his hand, a tiny sparkle briefly glanced, erupted into a blindingly bright light. He focused the light into a lance that legends had come to name the Ninth Weapon.

The man shrugged his ragged cloak from his shoulders and stood, lean, lithe and naked to the world. The radiance from the lance began to creep, spreading slowly over the hand clutching it. Surrendering to the light, he let the brilliance envelop his entire being.

Shining angelic wings unfurled. The Hero glanced at the five serpentine beasts dominating Hysteria’s flaming horizon.

“Fucking dragons.”

It would appear, my dear listeners, that one last Hero of the Lily Dynasty had neglected to shirk his duties.

Memoirs of Hysteria-Power Begets Power

Check out the first entry of the Memoirs here.

Hysteria burned. Flames flickered along the rooftops and city walls. High above the blaze, its serpentine body wrapped around the keep’s highest tower, an ivory white scaled dragon stayed motionless. To Bors nocturnal vision at this distance, it appeared the beast wasn’t even breathing.

“It would appear someone has irked Yolavolys,” he commented.

Tin Fiddle snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

His troll companion shrugged. “I wonder what ignited her ire.”


Bors nodded to himself. “No surprise there. Is it known what he did this time?”

“He took her dinner away before she had finished.” Tin Fiddle smiled at the screams in the distance. “And here I thought Ji loved its meals the most. This is very entertaining.”

Bors continued to stare at the blazing living tableau set before him and the manservant. “Your Lady is going to be displeased that her city is aflame.”


“Shouldn’t you be assisting her in deescalating the situation?”

Tin Fiddle yawned, taking a seat upon the hilltop, leaning his back against the oak tree’s wide trunk. “You would assume so, wouldn’t you?” He pointed at four sets of coalescing lights taking place around Yolavolys. “I don’t feel like dealing with them.”

“And who are they?”

“The Four Points of the Celestial Body.”

Bors placed his deformed face in his gnarled hands. “You neglected to mention that Yolavolys was the Celestial Body.”

Tin Fiddle giggled like a mischievous boy. “I never did, did I?”


“You really have to stop hitting me.” The manservant pulled himself from the impression that his body had made in the tree’s trunk.

“You have to stop not informing me of the shitstorms you keep dragging me into,” Bors rebutted.

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Tin Fiddle contested.

Bors squinted at the lights as they began to take form. “So the four following her around all the time…”

“To be honest, I didn’t think I had to spell it out for you. You knew that Iris was a dragon. I figured you’d do the arithmetic.” Tin Fiddle looked to the four dragons that had finally materialized around Yolavolys.

The massive beasts had taken their place of protection in accordance with each one’s aspect. One hovered above the keep tower, its’ ice blue scales causing the air to begin steaming and fogging from the immense difference of temperature between it and the inferno below it.

“Shukshik the Northern Star.”

Tin Fiddle pointed at the second dragon who was almost indistinguishable from the flames it had begun to draw from its surroundings.

“Selena the Southern Star.”

The third dragon’s bronze, earthy scaled body coiled upon itself in the air to the east of Yolavolys.

“Anya the Eastern Star.”

Tin Fiddle smiled dumbly as he looked upon the fourth and final Point of the Celestial Body, emerald scales shining hauntingly.

“Iris the Western Star.”

“F-f-ive dragons?” Bors managed to stutter out.


Bors face adopted a thoughtful appearance. “I assume that this Alignment is nothing compared to last century’s…?”

“Kali says there’s never been a more potent Alignment ever seen.” Tin Fiddle picked up the pack that had flown from his back. He reached in and offered up a handful of candied walnuts to the troll. “Here, take a handful. This firework show isn’t even in full swing.”

“Oh.” Bors tossed his maul to the ground, took a seat beside his friend and had one of the offered snacks. The pair sat in silence for a few short minutes, nibbling upon their food. “I suddenly do not care,” Bors said around a crunchy mouthful, “about the fate of this city.”

“Me neither.”

“Why has your Mistress not compelled you yet? I thought her thirst for power would extend to wanting those five as trophies. Certainly-”

A blood chilling scream came from Tin Fiddle as he clutched at his abdomen.

Bors sighed. “There it is.” He looked up sharply at the sudden black cloud coming from the direction of the city’s graveyard. Focusing his eyes further, he saw that it was no cloud at all. “The Sister moves, I see.”

A pained breath escaped Tin Fiddle.


Boom. A sudden thunderbolt struck down from the sky, slamming into the baker’s district of the city. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Six more lightning strikes. Six more times they landed in the same destination. Bors bit his bottom lip nervously. “The Fallen rises.” He looked down at his friend. “What were you saying, Toernslaav?”

Another shot of pain ran through Tin Fiddle’s body. “I said, I’m going to-”

The sentence was cut off by the avalanche of dead brown and orange leaves falling from the tree above them. The warm summer night had turned to a crisp cold. The foliage along the hilltop had lost all moisture, dying in the span of an inhalation. A death tinged wind blew from the south, scattering the leaves from the troll and the man.

Tin Fiddle went still beside Bors, his laboured breaths and erratic spasms ceasing. Bors turned his head and was aghast at what he saw.

Where his lifelong friend had been, an apparition of shadow lay, staring straight up at the sky. The shadow of the man who was known now as Tin Fiddle, rose to a sitting position, then to his feet. The tattoo chains upon his right forearm had lengthened, and taken upon a solid form, leaving three feet of shadowy linked steel covering Tin Fiddle’s star metal hand. He reached his left arm forward in front of him into what he would later tell Bors was the Abyss. What he drew out from the realm of absolute nothingness, could only really be described as a weapon, dagger shaped, forged from, well, the idea of nothing.


Tin Fiddle slowly turned his face to Bors. His eyes were completely absent of life, turned to dead, black coals.

“I’m going to kill her.

Bors did not ask who her was.

“Have you ever wanted to murder a goddess, brother?” The thing that was Tin Fiddle, once, long ago, known as Toernslaav, did not wait for a response and took off sprinting down the hill towards Hysteria.

Never waste an opportunity.

The ogre-sized troll stood and reached down to pick up his trusted maul, taking the haft in one gnarled hand.

“No, brother, I never have.” He began taking long, loping strides to catch up to his friend, hoping to pull him back from the darkness that had overtaken him before catastrophe occurred.

If anyone listened close enough, through the screams of citizens burning, and fleeing their beloved homes, one may have caught the notes coming from a lute, the heart wrenching prelude of tragedy.

Let us pull back to gain a view of the painting as a whole, my captive audience. See, there, the impossibly tiny shadow driven to live on through Death by revenge, racing towards a city of legend ablaze, pursued by an ancient of the Earth bound to this shadow by ties stronger then blood. Upon the horizon, see the white serpent encircled by her eternal guardians, the Four Points of the Compass embodied. A hurricane of ravens snuffs flames and lives indiscriminately. Lightning strikes its step throughout the dying city. Autumn’s wind rushes towards the Celestial Body.

Isn’t the convergence of power a beautiful thing?