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Bonus Content: Reasons for Vengeance!

So another week of toiling behind the keyboard at various writing projects, not the least of which was The Curse of the Goddess and a sneaky little side project called Reasons for Vengeance, a Grim-dark Fantasy.

First off – Curse of the Goddess has had its ending adjusted and its first full edit. Now I need to close out the epilogue scenes. There are twists galore and plot changeups, and all in all I am very excited! Soon it’ll be ready for the Developmental edits, at which time it will go out to my Support Team of readers so we can gauge how well it flies. If you want to be on the Support Team too, please reach out and let me know!

Instead of me diving into another discussion piece, I thought that maybe I could share a wee taste of Reasons for Vengeance… Now I must warn you – it hasn’t gone through its editing iterations, and it will be some time before it becomes something plump and juicy, like a chunky chicken breast at Christmas, but the bare bones of it are awesome! Also, some of the language in it is…choice, so it’s definitely PG 18!

With no further ado, pause, or pretense, please find below the first 1 000 words of Reasons for Vengeance, a Grim Dark fantasy novel in the making.

Reasons for Vengeance

“Berangon!”
The whole inn stopped to look at the young man near the door who had shouted out for the Berangon.
Old heads lifted from drinks and tired necks turned aside to look at the portly young man with the feathered hat and rapier at his side.
“I said,“ now he was bellowing angrily , “I want the Berangon! Come and face me you cowardly cunt!”
“Oy, language!” An aged voice croaked from near the back.
“What you want him for?” Said another.
The young man was undeterred. He puffed his chest up a bit.
“I am Tim Pymfellow! The…”
“From Cambedown?” Another old voice interrupted.
“…No!” He had the good grace to look perturbed at the interruption, “I’m Tim Pymfellow from the Umbinder Pymfellows.”
“The cloth merchants over near the small fountain? Near the top?”
“Ahh yes! That is me! I am here because the Berangon killed my father, and now I seek vengeance.”
“A son of a cloth merchant seeks vengeance from The Berangon? Is that right?”
“Well…”. He placed his hand on his rapier, “ I may be the son of a cloth merchant, but righteousness is on my side and besides, I have trained with Verbazier himself.” He desperately whipped out his rapier, and slashed an ‘X’ in the air.
“I can use this as well as any man. I have a fine strong physique, and he is aged.“
“So you want to fight with him because he’s old?”
“No you idiot! I told you, he killed my father – it was a robbery gone bad, on the road from Umbinder to Winceby.”
Silence.
“Well?” Rapier In hand, Tim Pymfellow stared around the room aggressively. “Where is he?”

The same old voice piped up from the back.
“He aint here.”
“What, in this town?”
“No, he comes to town for sure. But he aint here in the inn tonight.

The rapier got placed back in its scabbard.
“Do you think he will come in?”
“Maybe.” Said the old man. “He’s been known to come in late. Why don’t you come to the back here with us oldsters and have a drink with us? When he gets in, we’ll point him out to you.”
“You’d do that?”
“For sure. Besides, it’s your funeral. Anyway, I’ve heard it said that revenging is a thirsty business.”
A worried look crossed his face. The evening had played differently in the mind of Tim Pymfellow.
And he was feeling pretty thirsty. Maybe a wee drink just to mind the time. Where was the harm, seeing as how the Berangon wasn’t even at the inn.
He sniffed indignantly, and walked across the common room, swinging his shoulders manfully on his way to the table at the back of the room. As he did so, the conversation in the bar sprung up again now that the immediate threat of violence was over, and the evening turned to its closest semblance of normal.
Two old men sat at the table. The one was quiet, and leant a bit against the wall. He was big, and must have been a powerful man in his day. He had a white beard, and his closely cut hair was balding in the middle. He nodded in a sleepy fashion to Tim, and raised his cup in greeting.
“Never mind him.” Said the other old man. I’m Patrick, and my friends call me Pat. Nice to meet you good Tim Pymfellow.”
“Well met Pat. Thank you for sharing your table with me. It will only be until The Berangon comes and I get to challenge him to a duel to avenge my father.”
“Yes of course, of course. Your father, a duel, vengeance. All good and proper, all in order. I see. Why don’t you get us a pint while we wait? There’s a young fellow. I’m sure you have far more silver in your coffers than two decrepit old men at an inn on a balmy moon hallows. The weather simply dries out ones throat. Do you not feel parched?”
In fact, Tim had to admit, he was feeling particularly parched.
He waved his hand for the waitress, and ordered three pints for the table. Patrick ahemmed loudly and commented that the pints were not as large in some inns as others and one would hate to drink a pint and find oneself unsatisfied after having spent that particular amount of money for that one specific satisfaction. It would be criminal to spend to no end, as he said in his lilting voice, and Tim thought he made an enormous amount of sense, and so he bought them each two pints.

And the evening wore on. The inn got hotter as the fire stoked the room and the call went out for drinks to soothe the parch. They played a friendly game of dice, which Tim won and he proceeded to pay back his winnings in cold pints. After another round of cheerful singing, and another race to the bottom of their mugs, Tim Pymfellow just lay his head on his arm, to shut his eyes for a moment. Grab a brief respite form the stress of the day – shut his eyes, if you will, in silent meditation. Tim Pymfellow passed out in a drunken fugue.
“Say.” Said the man named Patrick, Pat to his friends, and Pat the Cat to a very select few in trades with a less than stellar reputation. “The kid’s done for Lucius.”
“Good.” replied the big man. “I wouldn’t have enjoyed killing him. It seems a shame to kill a cloth merchant. Especially from Umbinder, the town needs all the help it can get. Besides, he seems an ambitious sort – he even trained with Verbazier. That old rogue doesn’t take students lightly.”
“So did you do it then?”
“Do what?”
“You know exactly what, you old sod. Did you bump off his old man?”
Lucius P. Berangon shrugged.
“Dunno. There were a lot of people that died back in the day, it was confusing times.”
“Indeed it was, “ agreed Pat the cat, “indeed it was.”
He shuffled around his seat for a bit.
“Well then, you take his rapier Lucius, I’ll grab his boots, they look to be rather fine, then we’ll head on our way.”
“That,” said Lucius, taking a giant swig from yet another pint on the table,” sounds like a fine plan, my friend.”

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