Born in the city of Rashda with the given name of Abd al Zivat, meaning Servant of Zivat, his life was an odd mixture of slavery and opulence. His racial heritage marked him as a descendant of the cities

Seattle's pop culture and comic book convention "Emerald City ComiCon" tickets go on sale tomorrow (10/11/2017) at 12 noon PST. $30/ THU. ONLY $40/ FRI. ONLY $50/ SAT. ONLY $40/ SUN. ONLY $120/ ALL DAYS

The Mourning Wolf, as they discovered the ship was called, sat drunkenly in the crater it had made. Nova, Chip, Bobbie and Sable were all working on securing the last section of shiny, new bulkhead to

Eye of the storm, a poem by Michelle Brumley

A single cryopod sat at an angle in a cramped chamber, illuminated only by an array of attached instruments and a display screen showing vital signs of the occupant. A readout included data for the exterior

I would love to try to do a game one day.

First off, I want to apologize... I am a terrible gamer and missed the last session, which I hear included a car bomb (which honestly makes me glad my character uses his own motorcycle) So, since the game

This is the second chapter of an "urban fantasy/slap-stick comedy with zombies" and a cat. Six hours left on the laptop battery. Four friends. One cat. Too many zombies. Read Chapter 1 Chapter 2 part 1

This is the second chapter of an "urban fantasy/slap-stick comedy with zombies" and a cat. Six hours left on the laptop battery. Four friends. One cat. Too many zombies. Read Six Hours Remaining: Chapter

This is the first chapter of an "urban fantasy/slap-stick comedy with zombies" and a cat. Six hours left on the laptop battery. Four friends. One cat. Too many zombies. Read Six Hours Remaining: Chapter

This poem is by Denis Johnson (July 1st 1949 - May 24th 2017) upon waking at the far edge of earth, night is going away. another poem begins. slumped over the typewriter i must get this exactly, i want

Ayfor awoke at the crack of noon, if not a bit later and scratched himself idly. He still wore last night's clothes as he swung his feet off the bunk, boots hitting the floor, crunching something beneath

Date Woke up in that filth-encrusted rat hole… on the whole, that's a good thing, didn't get eaten by rats. This place still reeks. We spent the next hour clearing up the different chambers off this main

Date This cursed rain still goes on, it is corrupt and befouled by the dark thing that was released. Those caught in the rain unprotected either get boils and pustules if they can get out of it quickly

Date My head still reels from the past few days. I've not done this damned land any favors by coming here and have in fact done more harm than good. I am barely back to myself, having lost who I was for

Date Three of us went to investigate the burning tree, by the time we got there, the tree was nothing but a pile of ashes. At the outer edge of the woods stood a black demon that looked much like a Balor,

"You don't have to be a Superhero to get the girl. The right girl bring the superhero in You!" - Dead Pool Here the making process of my sketch "Mr. DEAD POOL" : And here's the result

Date Things keep getting worse… I pause to write this while staying in a nice family's home in Sorrow's Haven, but I'll get to why I am here momentarily. From our last adventure, saving the region, but

Date I'd barely had time to put the pen down from my last entry, get a few drinks to loosen up for the night when once again I was needed. I was getting ready to turn in for the night, when I heard the

Date We've left Thulfall behind. It is an empty, dead place and there's no point staying longer. We still have to find and meet up with this, "Father Matthias" to the North East. We travelled