My Post Got Eaten... Under the Lamp Post by CBlack TAKE TWO

Enjoy another oldie but goodie if it decides to stick around this time.

Happy Valentine's Day!

After a somewhat rocky go of it the last couple of months, I'm pleased to see that Christopher Leeson has been posting new work here and it has made me feel good about the intent of this site.

It's still somewhat difficult to find TG work that is not CD/TV oriented.  What there is, is rather small but I present a couple of quick works I've found as a present to you all.

Knight of the Succubus by Cluedog!

The Toy Soldier: An Eerie Christmas

A Tale of the Eerie Saloon

By Christopher Leeson and Ellie Dauber

Revised, 2013

Author's note: Years ago, when Ellie and I completed "Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change -- Autumn," it seemed unfortunate that scant attention had been given to how most of our favorite characters spent their Christmas Eve in Eerie, Arizona. That so little was said about them was understandable, since the flow of the narrative was not the best place to develop material that fitted into none of the established subplots. But the authors eventually worked out an action line that could be written as a (more or less) stand-alone short story. It fills in the Christmas experiences of several of the Eerie characters who were previously mentioned not at all. Should we be surprised to find out that, for some of them, that night turned out to be less than quiet?

--- Christopher Leeson

Sunday, December 24, 1871

 
Gazing up at the ridge north of Eerie, Arizona, Jessie Hanks remembered the not-so-old story that she had heard. People said that a band of Apaches had strung themselves out along its summit back when Eerie was being built, just to find out what the white men were doing in the old Mexican pueblo. They'd just stood up there, staring down from their pony backs for a little while before they veered away. But their brief inspection had been enough to give the flat-topped highland its name -- Chiricahua Mesa. No could say with authority that the scouts had really been Chiricahuas -- or even if they'd even been part of any tribe of Apaches -- but it was a safe guess.

At that moment, Jessie stood in the shadows behind the Eerie Saloon. The place had once been her prison but, by now, had become her home. Even in the brief time she had been standing outside, the sky had darkened. She could now see only a few stars sandwiched between the cloud cover, thick enough to hide what was a nearly full moon, and the black mass of the mesa.

These were the shortest days of the year. Usually, the whole settlement was as dark as a lobo's cave at night. Sundown came early in December, and folks in Eerie never wasted much of their scant money on kerosene. But this was Christmas Eve, and, out by the Catholic Church, a well-lit holiday carnival was going on. The young blonde wasn't much for church going, though, and, anyway, she wasn't Catholic.

Jessie had come outside after her first show to try and get her thoughts in order. When she was a little boy, living miles from the nearest neighbor, she had gotten used to playing alone, until she'd almost come to prefer it. Now she was a woman in the blush of her youth, but retiring into privacy every once in a while still helped to settle her occasional restless moods.

The saloon singer shivered. A change was in the air, and the breeze had swung around, to come from down the slopes of the Superstition Mountains. Jessie was wearing a sleeveless dress designed to catch a man's eye -- low-necked and bare-shouldered -- not to keep a body warm.

Jessie Hanks frowned thoughtfully. This was her first winter in Eerie, and she didn't know what to expect. People had told her that it was about the warmest part of the territory, the elevation being rather low, despite the mineral-rich mountains rising to the north. So far, the days -- and nights -- had, indeed, been agreeably mild, though the actual pace of life here had hardly seemed calm. In fact, her last few months of settled life had turned out to be almost as unpredictable as had her days as a long-riding outlaw.

And a man.

On the morning that she'd walked away from the sun-scorched farm where she'd been brought up, Jessie hadn't intended to live by robbery. But once she -- then a he, an inexperienced boy named Jesse making his way on his own -- had started solving his problems by breaking the law, he didn't have much choice about the way he would have to live after that. Over a dozen years, Jesse had seen many outlaw companions go down before thundering guns and, in his gut, hadn't believed that anyone had a charmed life. Maybe he'd gotten used to living fast and hard only because he had expected his candle to go out at any second.

Things had changed so suddenly.

The Stake War of Zhor

A Tale of Zhor
By Christopher Leeson

NOTE: This story is based on "The Fact Sheet for Zhorian Universe Contributors" by Overlord. Overlord invites Zhor fans to try writing Zhor stories of their own. The article is found at http://www.pornhome.com/stories/zhor/world.htm

Most Zhorians believe that the Overlords, immortal beings just below the gods, serve the deities and guide humankind. Like the Olympians of ancient Greece, the Overlords are held to favor those who win glory through heroic deeds. Some cities have even erected shrines to their departed champions and, generation to generation, have regarded them as liegemen to the Immortals themselves.

But the Overlords do not favor ruinous wars. They limit the weapons of war and keep power spread widely across the face of Zhor, so that world does not follow the regrettable path of the planet Earth.

As in most heroic societies, wars on Zhor are frequent but small. It is ambitious warlords seeking to aggrandize themselves and rule many cities that cause the most damage. These despots tend to have quick, violent ends because the Overlords do not favor them. Nor do many of the cities that tolerate such reckless leadership tend to prosper.

Where the men of earth have wasting the biological potentials of their best young men in widespread conflicts, the statesmen of Zhor have found ways to allow their males to prove themselves, even while limiting the carnage of battle. It is for that reason that they favor the "Stake War." It is trial by combat in which individual prowess is maximized, but little upset is done to the polity of Zhor. The disputes between two cities are now commonly settled by a duel of heroes, and even major disagreements are generally resolved by the victory of a city champion.

If the contention is over a tract of land, or an outrageous affront to the dignity of a city, the polis whose defender has been defeated is duty-bound to make good the fair demands of the victorious. Land is transferred and compensation is paid. City-states that have been infuriated enemies oftentimes become allies within a few years of a Stake War.

In time, the Stake War has not only served to settle disputes, but has also become a contest of honor. A duel, or several duels are held in a day, often gracing grand festivals, like the meeting of sports teams on the planet Earth.

Alas, Earth has no true Stake War, and without such an institution it's history has been bloody. Unreason rules on Earth and it is not the nature of its inhabitants to let the outcome of a single warrior contest decide issues. Their conflicts never concern honor, but always naked power grasping and base gain. Therefore are fought by thousands or millions, with atrocity following atrocity, until the weaker side collapses into ruin. But victory in this sort of war is always false victory.  The stage is almost always set for even greater wars as ruthless coalitions fall out over proceeds of victory.

On civilized Zhor, the cycle of these festivals might be once per decade, once per five years, once per every three years, or once each year. Even friendly cities may compete, to publicly display of the prowess of their sons. A victor in the Stake War is well rewarded, usually from a settlement paid to his city from the defeated polis. But Zhorians spurn the inglorious chasing after gold.  They are a lusty people and prefer symbolic rewards of honor above crass gain. There is a saying, "A beautiful woman is better than an estate."

THE YOUTH WHO BECAME A MAIDEN

 (From an Indian Folk Tale) 

 Retold by Christopher Leeson 

Long, long ago, a hero captured a vampire that had been haunting a lonely graveyard. The creature, held firmly by King Trivikramasena, sought to stay his captor from destroying him immediately by distracting him with a diverting story: He said: "In the city of Sivapura there was, once upon a time, a king named Yasahketu. This ruler had placed the burdens of government on the shoulders of his councilor Prajnasagara and, with his queen, lived a life of pleasing self-indulgence. In the course of time, the king sired upon his consort a daughter whom they named Sasiprabha, which means Moon-Lustre. From the day of her birth the child had displayed the pale beauty of the moon. In due time she grew to nubile young womanhood and fascinated all the men who beheld her". 

One day the princess came out into the palace garden to watch the festival of spring. Many young men were there and their eyes followed the princess wherever she went. As she was picking flowers to offer to the goddess, Moon-Lustre unknowingly bent in such a way as to reveal one charming breast. Her indiscretion was observed by the son of a rich Brahmin, Manahsvamin. The instant that he set eyes on her forbidden fruit he was smitten. His name meant "Mind's Master," but, bewitched with passion, he ceased to be the master of his own mind in any way.

"Is she the Goddess of Desire? Or is she a sylph that has come from the deep forest?" he asked himself. While he stood wondering, the princess turned his way and as soon as she had appraised the young man, who might have been the God of Love embodied, she was so overcome with yearning that she dropped her flowers upon the earth. 

Update

As much as I hate to be 'that guy'...I am putting this site on a 'whenever the hell I get around to doing it' schedule. 

I love this stuff but...with nobody sharing the burden with me of posting stuff, it's just no fun. 

Mating Season by Cluedog