Callsign Jedi

“You got it, Jedi?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

Michael Wheeler, Callsign Jedi, was a weapon like they had never seen. As a child his ability to copy the movements of others astounded everyone.

When he was 12, he stopped a bank robber dressed as Batman for Halloween. At 14, he couldn’t be beaten in any sport.

They called it Adoptive Muscle Memory. He could have been famous. Rich and famous. But fate had another idea.

His family was offered the oppurtunity to move to a secret government facility where Michael could train and be studied.

They were skeptical, but Dr. Fisher explained to them the importance of this discovery. Michael’s family agreed and Michael joined Dr. Fisher at a facility called Blackburn Mountain.

They learned that once his Adoptive Muscle Memory was able to imitate a move, it became hardwired in his brain.

He watched movies about heroes and could sword fight like the movies, but the lack of imagination on the facilities staff made his moves nearly impossible to use to any effective degree.

It was hollywood flashy fight moves, and Michael was easily beaten by professionals, but only once.

Soon they moved away from films and television as part of his training and quickly hired real martial artists, sword fighters, and warriors of all kinds.

One day, a man came to visit Michael.

“You want to be a Hero, Son?”

“More than anything, Sir!”

At the age of 18, Michael Wheeler joined the Army. He was smart and knew he had to be among the best, but not reveal his gift.

Within a year he was added to an elite unit known internally as the Black Guard.

Each member of the Black Guard had a unique skill. None of them were like Michael, though.

As they trained they jokingly called him a Jedi. The name stuck.

Michael moved down the hallway of the old concrete factory. It was overtaken by vegetation and made an excellent hiding place for the Anarchist group they were hunting.

They call themselves the Pandemonium Revolution, not that Michael cared. He did this God and Country.

He breached the room and moved like a swift wind. They were dead within seconds.

The team came in after him, impressed with his his first mission had worked out so far.

Technomancer moves to the computers set up and got to work. The TV was playing some animated show.

The show caught Michael’s eye. He watched a few seconds and saw a girl, she looked to be blind, fighting a huge guy and they seemed to be able to control rocks.

Michael felt something strange come over him and soon, he could sense….he could feel…parts of the solid world around him.

“You okay, Jedi?”

He couldn’t speak. He focused on that feeling. As he did, bricks flew from the crumbling wall and came to him on command. His reaction. Was to hit and block them. They then fired back across the small nerve center of the anarchists like rockets.

“Whoa! What the fuck was that?”


As Michael opened his eyes he saw a boy holding fire in his hands on the show.

With in second, he could wield fire.

“Oh, this is so fucking cool!” Michael exclaimed.


The Forging of Excalibur

The forging of Excalibur was a deed that came about because of the need for a weapon to unite the peoples, to anoint a King, and end what would surely have been the End of Days of the Revelation.

The Island of Avalon, Gateway to all the Realms of Magic, stands as fortress against the world of men. Many who are unworthy walk the lands, and they dare not be allowed to enter beyond Avalon. Justice seeks the wicked swiftly, and the unworthy dealt with by the blades of Arch Angels.

To reach Avalon, one must enter the Round Gate located upon the soils of Camelot. A Gateway of Stone and Magic, one may enter when the sun touches the stones and shows the shining path upon the morn of the Solstice. If you seek the Gate, you must seek guidance from the spirits of the Giant’s Dance.

Upon the lands of Avalon, many races came together during a time when Death rode free. Pestilence the Conqueror brought the Plague of Black. War riding his horse of Flame and Sword of Hellfire reaped blood. Famine upon his charger of Black, weighed the sins of the unworthy and forced them to starve. And last, Death rode his horse of deathly pallor, with his Scythe to Reap the Dead.

Merlin, descendant of the Magi, wise men of old, followers of the words and wisdom of Solomon, began to work to end their secret workings. For if they could be stopped before Hades followed, then the End of Days would be averted for the time.
Merlin called a meeting of the races of old, each sent the one who was to represent them.

Kur, first of the Dragons and wisest of them all.

The Lady of the Lake to represent the Sidhe.

Volundr, Ruler of the Elves.

Dvalinn the Dwarf.

Nunamnir, Lord of the Gryphons.

Michael Arch Angel of the Heavenly Host.

And young Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, to represent men.

The metal for the blade was from Heaven escorted by Michael the Arch Angel. Chosen to make the blade from the divine. The breath of Kur, the first dragon to forge the sword. Dvalinn forged the sword, his blood sweat and tears all fell into the making of this blade.

Them that provided each the symbol and power of the elements to imbue the sword with power. The Lady of the Lake for Water. Kur provided the power of Fire. Volundr provided the power of Earth. Nunamnir of the Gryphons the Power of Air.

The Tutankhamun, a being of spirit and power, Leader of the Ordo Arietam, provided the power of Amun-Ra. The power of Life and of the Sun. He placed within the forge an Ankh, said to have been from the God himself.

The Osiris, guardian of the Book of the Dead, protector of the dead themselves. To the forge he added a page from the Book of the Dead, a spell to send the Dead to the afterlife.
Merlin, Magi of the Wisemen of Solomon, provided spells of the Greater and Lesser Keys of Solomon. Protection and power against the demonic.
Arthur Pendragon poured wine from the Holy Grail into the Forge. The Convenant of Men and God made in steel.
Each of these provided what was needed to forge Excalibur. Each gave the sword its power. Wisdom, Strength, Power. Earth, Air, Fire and Water. Life and Death.
This was the forging of Excalibur.Excalibur Color- (1).png

The Dance of the Firelights

Part One: Jingle Bells

The evergreens were surrounded by hardwood trees that looked like skeletal hands reaching from the grave in the dead of winter.

Walter walked among the old pines and inspected them. The snow fell on the stand of pines like fine powdered sugar. Only an inch or two covered the ground.

This deep in the woods near his farm was the best place to get a Christmas tree, in his opinion.

The sun started to hide behind the hills. It was only 4 pm, but it would dark as pitch by 6 pm.

He wasn’t a young man anymore and the trip to the pines took longer and longer each year.

He’d nearly decided not to even make the long trek, until he heard that his grandchildren would be coming to stay on Christmas Eve.

His mother had always insisted that the tree, the holly, the mistletoe, that none of it be brought into the house until December 21st. And she had insisted that a fire be built and that it burn bright all that night. This formed young Walter’s mind as a lad, and he kept the tradition, but that is all it was, tradition.

His momma was from the old country. A small town in Germany and she grew up with wild legends and folklore.

Those stories became a part of their holiday traditions and Walter loved them.

And so he now stood before a tall nine foot pine and deemed it worthy. As he got the saw and prepared to fell the tree onto his sled, he heard the jingling of bells.

Who could possibly be out here with bells? Walter was generous enough that he let hunters and hikers use his property, especially the wooded game trails that crisscrossed the 30 acres on the back of his property.

As he listened more, he heard bells again, then he heard voices. Angelic voices singing in a language he didn’t know.

He moved towards the voices with no worry of his safety. He was trusting and who would harm an old man out here when they were singing so beautifully.

He came to the edge of the wood and found a bonfire surrounded by men and women whose skin glowed like starlight. They wore furs and leather dyed red and green and they danced about singing with instruments and bells.

Walter wasn’t really the musical sort and the instruments all looked strange and foreign, but the music they made was amazing.

He stared, slack jawed at the spectacle. As he did, he noticed a table not far away, laid heavily with food and drink.

Behind the table stood a large throne like chair of sturdy old oak. It was carved so intricately that he could easily tell it was a masterpiece of craftsmanship.

A man stepped away from a herd of, what Walter was sure was Elk. The man was easily over six feet tall and the man moved as if he was well muscled.

He beckoned Walter forward and held out a silver goblet. Walter took the goblet and drank deeply.

The wine was the sweetest blackberry wine he had ever tasted.

“You, dear friend, are welcome here among the fair folk!” The man’s voice was deep, like an echo from one mountain to another.

Walter, even for being in his late sixties, was not as afraid as a person should be. A chair was placed at the table for Walter.

“Eat. Drink. Be Merry!”

“I don’t understand. What is all this?”

“On this, the longest night, we feast! We celebrate the Solstice and toast the Yule! We look to the New Year to be reborn!”

Walter drank from his goblet again. It didn’t seem to ever empty.

He looked at the food as his stomach growled. His mouth watered as he saw ham and Turkey. Roast duck. Elk and Deer venison. Potatoes and yams. And even more food he couldn’t identify.


“I really must go….my wife is waiting on the tree. The holly and the mistletoe too.”

The man stood suddenly and laughed. It boomed through the clearing and the woods.

He called out to the revelers and began to speak in the foreign language they all spoke but he did not understand.

“It is decided! We will help you take home your tree and we will help you decorate and feast and drink and be merry!”

Before Walter could protest, the man hoisted him up onto a sled and a group harnessed the Elk to the sled.


Walter rocked forward as the sled glided through the snow.

“I don’t even know your name!” Walter shouted.

“I am Nicholas!”

The Curse of Abraham Hallows

By E. L. Knight

Hallows Grove, to this day, is cursed by the dark deeds perpetuated on its soil.

Abraham Hallows owned a large swath of land and it made him very rich. He had Apple Orchards, farmland, and large groves of oaks and maples.

Abraham also owned slaves.

As the Union and the Confederacy waged war, Abraham held tight to them.

He was a cruel man and master, as were 6 of his sons. Young Isaiah was not like his brothers and father, though. He was kind and gentle of body and soul.

Abraham heard the Union was coming and he declared he’d be damned if they were to free his property, he would see them dead first.

The fog was thick on that fateful night. The light of the moon, full and bright, was barely visible as the shouts rang out.

“Move!” Abraham’s sons shouted. The cracking of whips and the cries of those being beaten, as well as the chains clanked and rattled in the darkness.

As the slaves were marched through the dark grove, they came to a pond surrounded by trees.

A small dock jutted out onto the water. The sounds of the water slapping the wood melded with the sounds of gurgles and splashes.

Abraham ranted at the darkness.

“They’re mine!!!! And I’ll keep them as mine! You can’t have them!”

His sons kept the march moving forward, madness seemed to have taken them all.

Isaiah heard the soldiers riding up the road to the great house. He rushed out, his beaten and broken body as well as his bloodied lip and bruised face showed he had tried to stop his father and brothers.

The soldiers entered the home and found Martha Hallows dead, her throat cut.

They mounted their horses and took Isiah to show them they way.

As they came upon the pond, only 3 of the 100 slaves remained.

Abraham slit the throat of one shoving him into the water. The next he began to kill as the soldiers yelled out.

They fired their pistols at Abraham and his sons. A wide shot took the life of man held by Abraham. A second shot hit Abraham in the chest and the two fell lifeless into the water.

The last slave, an old woman, yells into the darkness something none of them could understand.

She grabs the knife that killed her fellows and held it up.

A scream rips through the air and then the air grew heavy. A shadow appeared on the dock as she crone slit her own throat.

The shadow, in a macabre display, latches its mouth on her neck and drinks.

The soldiers do not see this as they fight the remaining sons of Abraham Hallows.

Isaiah, though, is witness to this act and fear grips him to his very soul.

The shadow slips into the water, dragging the old womans body with it.

As the smell of blood and gunpowder taint the air in a miasma of death and filth, the gunshots end and soon silence remains.

The soldiers toss the remaining bodies into the water and soon they marched back through the dark and forbidding wood.

In the time that came after, the trees of that grove around that pond became twisted and rotting.

The smell of rotting earth and flesh is strong there and the ponds water is black.

People claim to see corpses come from that water. They see them drag things into the water and hear screams of people and creatures as if being ripped apart alive.

Shadows haunt those woods, they say. Cursing the living and attempting to drag people to the water.

Abraham Hallows will never be forgotten for his evil deeds, and some say, even if you try, the land and the curse certainly won’t allow you to forget.

Part VIII: Mysterious, Climb and Gigantic











Part VIII: Mysterious, Climb and Gigantic

Kevorach light a cigarette from the flame he formed above his extended index and middle fingers on his right hand.

The black tattoos that trailed along the length of his arms glowed blue as he did so, then the glow died as he extinguished the flame.

He was wearing a blue suit, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His white shirt had the first two buttons undone and he had no tie. The blue of his suit was brighter than most men wore, but he was considered flashy, so it worked.

The rain fell gently as he stood under the awning of the bar. It wouldn’t open for another two hours, but this was his usual meet up spot.

A car pulled up and Kevorach got in.

“Boss wants to see us. You up for this Kevoran?”

“Have I let you down before now?”

“Good man. We gonna put the hurt on some fools!”

Kevorach wasn’t worried. This operation was finally coming to a close and they could catch these bastards for everything. They loved pimping out young elf girls, getting them hooked on a concoction of illicit drugs and then keeping them smacked up so they didn’t fight. They made him sick.

The Ogre, whose name was Xurok, was part of a street gang known as the Black Soul Sons. They dealt with everything from girls to drugs, to weapons. No one knew who the boss was, but the Vice Action Unit were convinced that the boss was connected to the Black Iron Syndicate. The BIS was one of the worst organized crime syndicates and were literally an international player. If they could nail the Black Soul Sons, nail the boss and connect him to the Black Iron Syndicate, then the PD could start to get rid of them from their city.

They drove out of the city and soon they were on an old farm. As they approached the farm up the long driveway Kevorach could see a man on a tractor. No, not a man. The face was all shadow and blackness despite the sun being high in the sky and he had, very clearly, very large claws.  His hat and clothes weren’t suited to a farmer either, more like an old Noir detective.

Kevorach could feel the power rolling from this entity, even from this far away. Could he possibly know that Kevorac wasn’t Kevoran and was actually an Undercover Vice Cop? If he was outed as a Sentinel, he’d be dead by the days’ end. Hell, probably by the end of the hour.

Kevorach could also see Orcs, Goblins and a few Trolls standing around outside, all heavily armed.

They got out of the car and walked towards the shadow man. Kevorach wasn’t sure what he was, but he was very sure he didn’t want to get into a showdown and start slinging spells.

“So this is Kevoran?” The voice sounded like it echoed from somewhere deep, but had a hiss like a snake or lizard. “You’ve taken care of many problems for us, and for that, I am grateful.”

“Anyway, I can serve. You guys have been paying really well. I don’t mind the work.”

“Good.” he turned and walked into the barn, Kevorach and Xurok followed him in. Inside the barn was something of a shock. It looked like a fancy club. The shadow man sat as two elf girls cuddled up to him on a black leather couch.

“You don’t need my name, or who I work for or with. All you need to know is I trust you now. You and Xurok are going to be doing something very important for me. There is a woman, her name is Lyse. I need her gone. My bosses are adamant. If you fail, I’ll string you up and keep you alive forever while I let various people and things do as they please with you. Understand?”

Kevorach nodded. He played it cool for the moment, but he knew, for a fact, he’d just been ordered you hunt down his sister and kill her. What did she have to do with any of this?

As they left, three black goats were on and around their car. Their eyes glowed red. Kevorach didn’t mention it, he needed to get back to the city and get in touch with his squad.

As day slipped into night, the shadow man climbed aboard the tractor after unhooking the trailer. He drove it to his farthest field and stopped it. He walked towards the wood line and as he did, he transformed into a dragon whose black scales shone under the moonlight. Tabitha came from the trees and stood before him.

“You’ve done well Ietir. Our Master is please.”



It’s rare to find a tv show that invokes the feeling that The X-Files did when I watched it as a kid.

Travelers does exactly that. 

The first season was mind blowing. The concept, though not totally original, was made fresh by the unique way time travel is portrayed.

The story: people who are supposed to die in our time, are saved by sending the minds of people back in time to inhabit those bodies. They then carry out missions given to them by the future.

If you haven’t given the show a chance, I highly recommend it. 

Seasons One and Two are on Netflix now.


I, invariably, have been swallowed by my life.

I hold so many interests and things I want to do, I simply don’t have enough time in the day.

Between TV shows and Movies, writing, role-playing, collecting, my job. It’s no wonder people get burned out.

I think I’m gonna need to start to streamline some stuff.

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