Introduction

By S.J.
So... introductions. Not great at those, but what the hell. I'm S.J. (some of you might know me as Dmatix from my SCP wiki days) and this is, as is self-evident, my blog. I'll be posting various bits and bobs here, mostly short fiction, so if that floats your boat, this might be the place for you. With that said, on with the show. 

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On Terror

By S.J.
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Louis John Rhead I have climbed the mountain, for the Master awaited at the top. I found him sitting below the apple tree, looking into the valleys below. Kestrels flew there, and for a moment I imagined the valley was the sea, the peak the shore, and the birds were some curious type of fish, circling about unseen streams. "You did not come here to watch the birds," said the Master, though he was looking at them himself. "Speak your mind or leave me be." I bowed, because politeness costs nothing. "I have fought in battles great and small, I have hunted beasts, and I have hunted men. I have delved into the depths, and there held a demon's gaze. I have climbed into the heavens, and stolen a dragon’s pearl. All this I did so I could know the meaning of terror. And yet, it eludes me. Tell me, Master, what is the meaning of terror?" The Master looked at me as if I was the world's biggest fool, which I admit was not outside the realm of possibility. ...
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The Redeemer Has Come

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  The Redeemer has come. The road from the harbor to the Throne of Ascension was carpeted with flowers - white orchids for the purity of the return, lilies, the flower of the Good Father, pansies, yellow and purple, for the lost children of the age, and roses, of course. The roses didn't symbolize anything in particular, but you just couldn't have this sort of event without them, at least according to the Guild of Florists. The Redeemer has come. The citizenry arrived in throngs from all over the city, from the patricians of Jeweler's Peak to the beggars and lepers of Last Leap. All but the pariahs of the Heretics' Quarter, who sat sullenly at their homes, awaiting the inevitable pogrom that was sure to come when the procession concluded. Such was the way of things. The Redeemer has come. The temples opened their doors to all who wished to give thanks to the gods. Of course, one had to possess enough in the way of gifts to qualify, but that was par for the cours...
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From the journal of Fabius Verr, the 15th of Ashfall, 1249 GB It has been six months since the end of the Icon's War, and the gods, or those few of them who still remain at least, dare not leave the Ascended Peak. Their angels, their brilliant coronas once a common sight in the night sky, have vanished with their masters, leaving the wounded remnants of their flocks to fend for themselves. I can't say I don't sympathize. For the high and mighty, so convinced in their own righteousness and utter invincibility, such a stark reminder must have been unbearable. If I were them, I’d hide as well. Alas, that is a luxury I was not afforded.  When the Icon showed Their true face and turned on the gods, Corinth Silverbrow was devoured in the Fields of Slaughter and I was left a priest without a god. As a minor clergyman, I was amidst the common soldiers as the sky fell (metaphorically) and the last of the gods fled. It was my good fortune to have been stationed with the 12th Grenadie...
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