E͕͍̭̞̠N̨͇̤̝d̰̦̖̬̪̮̯l̫͎̖͙̮̥e̙̫͢s̶̯͎s̵̪̻͍ ̴̹͇͖̜͓S̜̟͖̤̺̰̟͜o̺̦̮͙n͔̩̰͝g͏


Except from my horror story:



It is them, that are made to dance;

like puppets their severed limps skip like a jump rope;

their eyes are many, they see infinite…

They laugh when they are afraid; they are afraid when they are manic. They cry when they are hysterical-

their faces hurt from their endless grins-

they are balding. Indeed!

Ants crawl upon their unblinking seeing eyes…by the thousands they swarm their pale faces! They twitch their fidgeting mouths; drool pours like a flood down from out of their mouths. They slobber when they are well pleased,

and like maggots, their bodies swing sporadically, as they all hold hands, like pale paper dolls;

they sway to hold hand-in-hand-

they are indeed corpses;

they sing the Endless Suffering Song. They giggle, and cheerfully smirk;

some with tongues, some without.

Some with eyes, some without.

Some blink, some can no longer…

And like a square, they form it like an arena ring-

and their shadows fall upon the ground, and swarm does their darkness to devour the corpses.

Like children, they know nothing. All they know, is that to feast is to feel good-

Their insanity is like music…


Copyrightcopyright September 6, 2017



The Folly and the Fear


And out of the tides that be, you are but a thread grasped for the taking.

But the insane, and inept are they that fall into themselves, like a shadow-

and lo how insane, the rabbit hole goes;

if you were to only chase after what wsidom is unknown….

They are them that have fell themselves like a tombstone. They are them that are like stones…They are they that have fallen off the deep end;

and their faces stretch like the warped madness, tunneling and concerning.

To those who take great and utter pleasure;

into the chaos you go! Your faces will circle like the moon, and then disintegrate like a forget-me-not flower. You will glaze over like eyes, you will look up and see nothing. You will eat only the air of pure madness and hatred, and from one ear and out the other, so will your soul go…

you will have webbed knees, that stick to the chaos that you so sprint after; lifting dead limbs you will look up into the dead skies, with an empty blank stare.

Your face will be chubby off of the very greed of deceit-

you will roll down the headsman’s hill like a child frolicking down the meadows of hysteriam-

your mindless expression shall be in the form of drool; your wives and husbands will suckle off of that drool-

like honey it will taste good, but feel wrong and tommyrot.

The same way your soul suckles off of your choices-

you will be insane, and enjoy it-

and you will fear those who aren’t…You will see knowledge, and scream at knowledge. You will use your own words, to dig your own graves-

Your chin will be the shovel, used to scoop up your own words. Your eyelashes will act as the spears to pierce the winkening of love and remorse; hearts will be thorns, and thorns shall thorn against.

Your neck will stretch to chase after the rabbit of hate and haste, and your nose hairs will act as nooses to catch the bodies of your own kinsmen, entangled and enraptured, after your own shadows…

Your eyebrows will curl like a beard of deceit, your wives will do the same;

like a curtain your brows will act as the carpet of negligence; soft against the canvas of terror, your peace shall be the hay in the needle sack! Your snot will be the sweat pouring from the terror you imagined, and behind you, nothing at all, except your conscience will appear.

You will frown upside down the grin of lust, and your lusts will upside down frown the grin! You will fear those who wrought fear, because you have bowed before the fear of hate so long-

you will think chaos is the answer…And the rabbit that you so dared to chase after, will have horns, and hooves for feet…

Yet the face of a once recognizable reflection. You will curse it, turn around, and flee. Only to realize, that there is no ladder from off of your own nightmare and schemes-

And this be it the pride, and the madness of the folly.


Lo, what peace will only watch it from the distance; the shadows that have grown.

Lo the corridors, your shadow will roam,

if you were to only but leave it alone…

Copyrightcopyright August 22, 2017

Hold Your head up. Don’t Be Discouraged. God is on Your Side.


Hello friends. It is Gregory Thomas here.

I know that many of you either perhaps do not watch the news media as much as you used to, if even at all. In fact, I myself do not watch the news anymore.

This message is not going for politics, it is not going for specific races. I am going to be talking directly on uplifting EVERYBODY caught up in the entanglement and the struggle, so that you will no longer fear. You will no longer be discouraged. And in the name of the Lord, Jesus Christ your savior. You will be uplifted.


The length is long, but this important read, you will only need to read once when the time is most appropriate, so that you may continue your day.



There is power in peace. There is chaos in hatred.

the world is entangled within a spiral that circles abound. There is fire underneath. There are angels up above. there is the night sky, there is death or there is love.

There is no lukewarm, there is only choosing. To live arm and arm. To embrace one another; or to reap what you sow.

You can choose to be as they (and there shall be many) that seek their vengeance; your face will only become the same face of hate. Expressionless, mindless, insane, and snarling…

You will see only black and white. You will fear who wroth fear. You will be as mindless beasts that don’t even understand how that same hatred has stretched and warped their own faces-

a drooling, eyeless once-human creature. That waltz in darkness, devours the darkness, and cries out in that same darkness.

If you choose that vengeance, whilst in that darkness, you will stumble around, striking trees (metaphor for buildings in the cities) swinging blindly (metaphor for whatever weapons you wave in air) your blindness will only attack the first person you see-

Some people believe that hatred attacks the first black person they see.

But in truth, hatred is blind and eyeless, and sees nothing. Only hears (metaphor for listening to what they hear on T.V. or whatever is up in the air of gossip). Hatred attacks whomever, and whatever they hear shuffling around;

and whoever, chooses to be amongst that same darkness (to join in that same hatred or vengeance seeking) brothers and sisters (whatever race they may be) will only rage against whomever voice or sound they hear first. Because hatred is mindless. And doesn’t even understand why.


Or you can remove yourself from that hatred. And in return, you will see that peace that God will and shall shower over you. If you do not believe this, then in Jesus name, I pray it over you today for simply reading across these words I pray that this is so for you (whatever ethnicity, or gender, or belief or religion, that you are).

That you will be protected from whatever evil that is already defeated in Jesus’ name has in store. You must remove from that evil (by knowing the truth that you know you are free). Turn from that vengeance. Walk in the light. And in return. You will have power in your peace.



TTOC- The Darkius Rising: Excerpt 2


The Sepulcher of the

 Thug Queen

The day was a cold one. The mist had flooded the air, and the fog shifted it’s gaze like an unbreakable grip over the whole landscape. Johnathan Boris Grant felt the rickety bumps of the horse carriage as it strolled deeper into the night’s fog. He took a moment to peer out of the carriage’s open window. In his view, he could see the meadery that the job in the Elderlore Bugle Daily had mentioned…It had an almost, ominously malevolent presence, and Johnathan could feel a terrible chill traverse up and down his spine upon gawking at it’s structure. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out the help wanted ad that he had stowed away there. With a puzzled look sprawled across his face, he scratched his head and he began to read the letter:

Greetings fellow readers! My name is Amelia Greycloudus.

Let me be the first to say that it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. As you may know, my name carries much weight in the Outer Score, homeland of the Bretons and security to the ElderLord’s, and the High Elder Counsel. You might have even heard of me in the world renown region of the kingdom of Druid, home to the Cascadians and the king’s Royal Druid guard, as I have at least two middle-sized vacation homes there! But I digress, I am posting this to make you aware that I have just recently opened my very own meadery in Berh’lius March called Jade Burrow Brewery. I am offering a job opportunity for any able-bodied men with a good sense for finances, task management, and schedule keeping. Anybody also knowledgeable within the field study of irrigation, and agriculture would be a much-appreciated bonus! I will pay anyone hired for the job approximately 300 gold a week, with free room and board of course, and the protection granted to you by The Green Viper organization that I have sanctioned. 

As the carriage began to pull it’s way to a stop just outside the ominous meadery, Johnathan’s eyes trembled anxiously as he read the final part of the ad:

You should also be made aware, if you maybe aren’t already, since I feel that it is only fair that you should know first-hand before entering…That I, along with my associates here in the Green Viper Gang, are vampires. Therefore, I’d ask that you not wear any crosses, or silver on your person at all times neither to your interview, or while on the job if hired. Also, if you happen to be a female, please disregard my job offer entirely, if you would please…


Copyrightcopyright August 4, 2017

The 4th Wall and Beyond


The world swings along on a sideways axle,

Because it was side-kicked into the universe, by a being of great and mighty power, strong enough to shake the very Earth. We are all but ants, gathering to pick the dirt, and dirt we pick and gather, until made a kingdom. Until made a skyscraper. Until The Eiffel Towers, until The Twin Towers, until The Pentagon. And further until we as the humans left that be, call them all monuments. But we indeed, are all, such as the cosplayers, pretending to be anything other than our own weaknesses.


And what man, or female, would rather be called something smaller than what they chose to be. These are the pawns that swing into this world. Only to come out the other end of the womb, and join hand in hand with the cubicles that flood the worthless entities, scattered all around. A man creates a government, in hopes of maintaining what they spent so many eons, gathering and collecting the dirt from the dead ashes of their kinsmen to userp and create, that they fail to realize that we indeed are all, little more than cosplayers.

We seek the means to an end, that we fail to grasp.

We seek the peace from out of a hate that seems powerful to us.

We seek the future from out of a coffin that we tried to preserve in gold.

We seek to lay down, and have our way with the fates of the tides that be. But we are all little more, than scattered for the choosing. We are but clones. Clones are the same people, but in our imaginary minds, we seek the allure from out of the bleakness that is, and has been the same, for all these millenniums.

Black skin, Caucasian, Russian, humanoid. Or undiscovered? All of them, are named one person, and then scattered all around; we are mortal until the apparatuses of our own creations take us completely over, and then are replaced by the other boundaries of the aether and beyond. We shall be scattered again. Until we learn and realize that indeed,


We are little more than the cosplays of our own creations.

We are humans, made to have gray. Unto aliens and whatever imaginations, above, below, and all around us. They see us as waging war with the devils, and angels.

But we are at war with our minds first, before we are at war with one other. We will die, and choose, whether we are like it or not. Good. Or evil. There is no lukewarm.

And we will either be thrust from the aether the same way we came into it. Sideways with terror and fear and loathing until erased…Or upward into the arms of the same God, that created and destroyed, at the very same time.


Copyrightcopyright July 29, 2017

TTOC- The Darkius Rising: Excerpt 1


The Falling Star

Pages from forbidden books nestled the shelves, hidden from the world…

Scrolls stored inside the darkened chests that crowded the floors, fell silent throughout the decrepit corridors… The coldest place on Earth, filled the very halls that they resided. Yet the cruelest deed to man in fact, wasn’t where the books laid…It was what moreover, laid buried inside the book’s casings…!

“Article 794. Pages 1 through 900…Condemned by order of the Thirteenth Accusation Counsel of Nights; Verses of the Darkius Counsel Seven.” Fellow Darkius Monk, E’hab Duskarr…Resided within the same halls as well. “Exiled are the pages known to man, as verses from the terrible one’s of Blackened Chivalry. The Etched Ones.” E’hab Duskarr’s voice was mundane; tiring from the day-to-day tedium of the Forever Halls of Quadstag Manor. The Halls of the Darkius Order, in where every wicked book is catalogued and stored away from the public. In the land of Gah’Loria, the Isles homeland to the Bretons had many names: The SmitherLand Isles, Land of Purses…It was also claimed to hold “All the world’s thieves”. The land was divided by either English, German, or Dutch speaking individuals. Within this land, The Darkius held strong to a mysterious presence throughout the providence. It was only resent, that fellow Darkius monk E’hab Duskarr was demoted from a chairman of the Darkius Counsel, to an archiver, and assigned the task that placed him within Quadstag’s terrible halls. As E’hab looked around, he gazed upon the withered bookshelves, with disgust. From underneath the hooded black robes, and hooded black veil that he wore, he rose his great and terrible brows, he frowned his great and mighty face, he scratched his wickedly blackened goatee; his cruel scar stretched against his distasteful insidious face. As his piercing brown eyes darted left and right against the scrolls and books, he continued to speak to the other Darkius scribes that assisted him, “Mark down the book known as A 30 West, and cursed as “The Book that Speaks from Nowhere” as too dangerous for the public, and store it under the Murderer’s section.”

The scribes wrote down E’hab’s instructions word for word, “Have you classified A 30 West as a book talking to murderer’s?” one of the scribes questioned. E’hab answered not, only angrily rolled his eyes, as if annoyed by the scribe’s response, “Place. A 30. Under the Murderer’s section.” He cursed.

And so the scribes did as he asked. They collected the book A 30, and went their way through the manor to hide the book away, and before long, E’hab found himself starting his mundane process over again, with another book. “Article 647. Pages 1 through 300. Condemned by order of the Thirteenth Accusation Counsel of Nights; Verses of the Darkius Counsel six, this time…Not seven. Six.”

The scribes wrote down E’hab’s words, word for word.

…But there was a pause. E’hab was suddenly approached by another fellow Darkius monk.

“…Sir? Go on?” the scribes went. But E’hab didn’t answer them. He didn’t reply…He knew, even with his back turned, the Darkius monk that now stood behind him was different than the others. He knew this knight personally, and he knew this knight by name.

“Sir we must know how to classify this dark book…Please proceed.”

E’hab suddenly grew a venomous grin, that had spilt from ear-to-ear where he stood, “Cauldron is here…” E’hab spoke.

“Sir? Come on, it’s been a long day!” went the scribe, “We still have over 215 Etched One books to catalogue, can we just-

“You know Cauldron…” E’hab slithered his tongue, “Do you know why we must do things how we’re doing them here?”

Cauldron looked up to the scribe, and nodded his head, and the scribe threw his hands up out of frustration, reaching inside his pockets he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and walked off. Cauldron wore a hooded veil, like E’hab and all most other Darkius knights; he was a unique character, with one of his eyes being yellow, and the other, a pale green…But the one thing that the pair seemed to have in common, was that they both possessed a scar on their face, just as mysterious as the people around them.

“Dear Cauldron…” E’hab continued, “The Etched Ones…Are evil spirits linked to the Chaos magic. You see, reading books scribed by their magics, even just speaking about it, thinking about it…Desiring to just glance across the title of the book, is enough to drive one into insanity!” E’hab turned to face Cauldron, with an almost sinister and untrustworthy smirk across his face, as he continued to speak, “It’s almost like, their books have ears… Their alphabet, the Durvik language…You have to read their writings, perceive the words backwards. Do it the right way, but one slip up is enough to change a good man…Into a monster! A fiend! To take him entirely under the control of these Etched Ones…” Cauldron held a concerned look on his face, as he watched E’hab pace back and forth, almost as if he weren’t sound of mind, “And that is why we can’t even refer to them by their given title, we must make up letters, numbers, and ridiculous phrases. Simply for the fact that no one can handle it’s power…” E’hab nodded his head, his face twisted in horrible ways, then his very eyes widened, his inhuman grin dropped…And a look of fear gripped hold of him, “…It’s the ring, you know? The Stone of Khaos..!” Cauldron frowned, “I know it must be disheartening being demoted within the Order…” Cauldron began, “We are still revaluating what went wrong, they still believe that you were involved in Etched One Magic, I’m doing what I can to prove your innocence.”

E’hab frowned angrily, “The Elders and their foolish counsel of Mages and High Wizards. They’re here, they’re in The Outer Score over in Black Eclipse Manor-

“But you and I know how corrupt the one’s in Gah’Loria can be, E’hab.”

“They speak Dutch, with their forked tongues! –

“But we, my friend…Are The Darkius Order. We bow to no man, and we do what we must.”

E’hab nodded his head, “Yes. We do what we must. Even if we must kill to do it.” Suddenly, E’hab pierced his eyes into Cauldron, “Is this for truth? Dear friend?”

Cauldron frowned with a puzzled look on his face, as E’hab’s wicked grin slowly began to etch it’s way back onto his very face…He turned back around, to face a nearby scribe, “Mark down the book known as C 68, and cursed as “The Severed Headed Voice” as too dangerous for the public, and store it within the Madness section.”

“Yes sir.” Went the scribe. The book C 68 was then gathered, and taken on it’s way. Cauldron rose his brow further, and just before he started to walk off, E’hab spoke out one last time, “The words have ears you know, Cauldron…” E’hab heard Cauldron’s footsteps get farther and farther, until they were gone. And he stood alone. Looking up at the book cases, in disgust.

E’hab continued the endless cycle over and over, until he stopped. He turned to look at the scribe that had left from early with a pack of cigarettes, E’hab smiled “Ready to continue?” he went.

The scribe woefully sighed, “Yes sir. What’s our next dark book?”

“The one that I have been looking for…Since I was demoted to this detestable place.” E’hab almost crackled with laughter,

“You mean the book cursed as The Killing of the Stars? Z 74? I think Archiver Solice already catalogued that book.”

E’hab frowned angrily, “Well boy, I, am the archiver now! Thanks to the fools who placed me here! That means this is little “book palace” belongs to me now!”

The scribe only sighed again, saying nothing,

The Killing of the Stars, or whatever you people call it. Start a search for it.”

“We still have books we need to catalogue, sir!” went another scribe.

“Don’t worry my friends” E’hab smiled, “How about this? Search for this book for me, afterwards I will catalogue all of these books myself.”

“But sir we aren’t allowed to have a single cataloger present…”

“Then friends, find this book. And Everybody can rest, until tomorrow. Does this sound fair?”

“Hell yeah!” yelled one of the scribes, as their applauding became more frantic. E’hab simply stood in a terrible foreboding silence…

The hour grew late, as E’hab stood inside his quarters deep within the forbidden halls. He could hear the echoing of the radio being played, as the sound of a Russian singer singing a haunting melody bounced soundwaves against the walls. He waved his fingers to the sound, as the song flooded the corridors…And suddenly, he understood the song. He knew it’s language, even though he was never taught it, he spoke in Russian, just like the song! He knew the singer, he knew his family, he knew his fate. Just as E’hab closed his eyes, a scribe came up to him. Smiling, he held a book outstretched to him, “Z 74, sir.”

“Ahhh, yes…” E’hab let out a long sigh of relief. A long, almost eternal sigh of relief.

“It needs to be returned in 17 minutes, sir. These are the rules of the archiver. Sorry you can’t use it…”

E’hab hummed the tune of the song, without touching the book in the scribe’s hand. He smirked to himself, “You hear this song, boy?” E’hab went. The scribe only turned toward the radio, as the song entered into his ears, “You can hear the sadness, within his voice…You can hear the anger. The regret. The pain. Can you not? Listen…”

The scribe lowered the book in his hands, his eyes locked on the radio, “Shhh…Hear those words? Tell me then. If the singer, wanted to release those feelings…” The scribe’s eyes widened as he looked at E’hab, “Why would they want those feelings returned?” Suddenly, the scribe found himself lifting the book in his hands, all the way up to his face, as E’hab smirked an insidious grin, the scribe watched, his eyes frozen with horrible fear, stuck in place, as some sinister force took hold of him… The scribe took the book, and slammed it with all of his might into his own face! Again and again, as blood began to gush from out, E’hab’s evil smile held, as he continued to use his terrible magic, the scribe continued to pommel his own face, the sound of his face bones cracking carried…Until he fell lifeless to the ground! As the scribe’s blood seeped in a puddle around him. E’hab walked over to the scribe, he bent down to reach for the book, “The Killing of the Stars…” he echoed, as he lifted the book, and looked inside of it! He could feel his body tingle with terrible magic, as he felt the Khaos, take over him. He saw it’s power through the words, he heard the sounds through the letters, he saw stars fall across the pages, and heard the screams of the universe pound into the very periods of each sentence. He turned to page 14 of it’s forbidden scrawling’s, and began to read it’s chapter:

On the day faceless children from under the skies called out to them,

A sickening thud vibrated the hollow ground. It scraped the Earth, and it bled out a sound, no

Mortal man could silence. It made the skin crawl along the graves,

It made the eardrums leap to and frou. And from underneath of the whole of the kingdom, the ring

Circled around the place, every star had fallen to gather…

E’hab smiled, he closed the book, placing it back into the dead scribe’s cold hands. “It’s in Druid. The MiddleLands, where the Cascadians are…Now I know. And now I know the stars…” E’hab stood to his feet, and looked up to the sound of footsteps from the other Darkius scribes, turning the doorknob handle to his room…They entered the room to discover the horrible sight of the dead scribe on the ground with Z 74 still nestled within his hands, but E’hab Duskarr. Was nowhere to be found.


Copyrightcopyright July 22, 2017

Trials of Cascadia Story Shorts


Hello Friends. It’s been awhile since I’ve talked about my story,

The Trials of Cascadia. I have a good bit of it copy written. In the meantime, I want to give others a good read, so please check out my new page:

Trials of Cascadia Story Shorts.

Here, I will post here and there from my story. Most will be random chapters, moreover.

They will be the newest stuff for my story.

Please let me know what you think, and

if you like it, your support is highly appreciated and motivates me greatly. 🙂

-from your friend,

                              Gregory Thomas

P.S. Thanks for your support