Excerpts from the Lost Journal of a Multi-Lingual Sojourner

The following excerpts have recently been found.  They notate several villages throughout Europe and the unearthly infestation of demonic creatures that had threatened their very existence at some point in history.

These excerpts are all taken from the lost journal of a multi-lingual nomadic traveller, a sojourner, who was known to pass through Europe, never staying too long in any one village or town.  Yet despite his limited acquaintances with the villagers, legend tells of this journeyman.  He is spoken of in many of the lost myths and was said to wield extraordinary levels of respect in every place he settled in.

Throughout these journeys, this sojourner, chronicles were said to have been taken, documenting the widespread terror these demonic creatures had brought upon each village.  The chronicles were also cited as holding the key to how these beasts were vanquished back to hell.  

The dates are blurred and the pages have broken loose from their binding.  Therefore, there is no possible way to determine how each of these entries would fit chronologically:

Page 1:  Visitation to Small Swedish Village

Dessa utlänningar var ingenting annat än utomstående själva. De var utstötta av en anledning, aldrig jagar på desperation i luften. Ändå är direkt ses som frälsare, lovar att vara redskap för förändring. De hänvisar till de gamla texterna, syftade till att tiden för profetian är nära. Men varje bevisade att de var något annat än välklädda charlataner.

Rough Translation:

These foreigners were nothing more than outsiders themselves.  They were outcasts for a reason, ever preying upon the desperation in the air. Yet they’re instantly viewed as saviors, promising to be instruments of change. They refer to the ancient texts, alluding that the time of the prophecy is near.  But each proved that they were nothing more than well-dressed charlatans.

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Page 2: Visitation to Small German Village

Sie polarisieren die Menschen mit Ihren Rhythmus und Anmeldeinformationen. Ich wünschte, ich könnte glauben. Ich weiß wirklich, aber ich habe gesehen, zu viele Magier Flanieren durch diese Straßen vor. Jeder bot ein Versprechen der Hoffnung. Jeder hatte seine Zauber vorbereitet. Sie alle eingegebenen in großen Prozession. Doch sobald sie realisiert, dass die Bedrohung real war, jeder zog sich so schnell wie sie erschienen. Ich bete Sie beweisen, sich selbst von denen, die vor gekommen bin und ewig wird eine Zeit der Anbetung sein.

Rough Translation: 

You polarize the people with your cadence and credentials. I wish I could believe.  I really do, but I’ve seen too many magicians stroll through these streets before.  Each one offered a promise of hope. Each had his spells prepared.  They all entered in grand procession.  Yet once they realized that the threat was real, each retreated as quickly as they appeared. I pray you prove yourself different from those who’ve come before and forever shall be a time of adoration.

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Page 3: Visitation to Small French Village

Les bêtes sont habituels. Nous avons appris à vivre notre vie en conséquence. Ils ne se lèvent avant le coucher du soleil. Par conséquent, les jours sont les nôtres. Puis un jour près le repas du soir, leur surface cris, l'émission d'avertissement juste de chacun et de tous. Ils n'ont jamais pénétré dans nos logements. Nous ne savons pas si ce n'est par un code ou quelque chose qu'ils ont tout simplement jamais essayé avant. C'est pourquoi nous blottir près, en s'assurant de garder les feux arrosés.

Rough Translation:

The beasts are habitual.  We have learned to live our lives accordingly.  They never rise before sunset. Therefore the days are our own.  Then sometime near the evening meal, their screams surface, issuing fair warning to each and all.  They have never entered our dwellings.  We are unsure if this is by code or something they’ve simply never tried before.  Hence we huddle close, making sure to keep the fires doused. 

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Page 4: Visitation to Small Portuguese Village

Então, o mágico, eu rezo para que você é o único predisse a profecia. No entanto, me perdoe se eu vacilar. Você não fez nada para ganhar minha confiança. Mas peço-vos que a varinha de onda forte e rápido, como estamos em suas mãos esta noite e além. Se você é capaz de prevalecer, então talvez se alegrar vai encontrar o seu caminho de casa.

Rough Translation:

So, magician, I pray you are the one foretold of in the prophecy. Yet forgive me if I waver.  You have not done anything to win my trust.  But I pray you wave that wand strong and quick, as we are in your hands tonight and beyond.  If you are able to prevail, then perhaps rejoice will find its way home.

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These chronicles are also cited in several antiquated collections of myths, as bearing the key as to how these beasts were vanquished back to hell.  These pages were said to be the most important documents ever crafted and would be shared amongst all towns and villages throughout all the land.  Should the demons return, with these pages, the villagers will be prepared and equipped to vanquish the beasts once more.

Unfortunately, this four entries were all that remained.  It is said, in the staid of those key pages, each village turned to their individual religions and found belief through prayer. 

This piece was inspired after reading all the wonderful responses to my article regarding Poetry and Foreign Languages, present to D'Verse for the 1/20/13 Poetics.

Stories, Lovers And Trouble

If you’re looking for a story,

Then you’ll find one,

It may not be worth sharing,

But you’ll find one

If you’re looking for a lover,

Then you’ll find one,

It may not be what you had in mind,

But you’ll find one

If you’re looking for trouble,

Well then,

It appears you’ve already found it.

Which in itself, is a story too

A Journey's Renewal (Mythic Series Volume Eight)

And then the day,

We had waited for,

Down arrival the glowing frame,

Bow we did when he came,

Instruct he did without the speech,

Yet still we knew what must be done,

We packed the horses,

And gathered men,

In the morn away we went,

Through the towns,

And in the fields,

We would know when it would be,

The first of seven darkened duels,

Then the first would show,

We were ready, well prepared,

The sky of blood foretold this tale,

Through the wretched voice of a witch

We came across, peddling answers on the way,

She said how it would start, when it would begin,

Each premonition was detailed exactly as we found them,

The sky would reek of misty fog,

Bloody skies covered by veils of grey,

Steeds would stammer across terrain,

Down one warrior would be,

From attacks we could not see,

Void of direction,

The shots ensued from each location,

The men were counting,

How many of them,

Would we contend against?

Then a shot grazed by me,

My horse rose,

The headdress distracted me,

And I saw the creature

Confronting us,

It was small like an elf,

But fast like a serpent,

And with the strength of a jinn,

The men were warriors, each of them,

But such a sight, they could not see,

From each direction, frightened them,

Men failed and men fell, and many more would fail once more,

The roots were stained because of them; the ground in spite of them,

I knew what must be done, no other option unveiled its head,

Else my soul would pay the consequence,

Archers I lined one by one,

Stretched the quiver,

I commanded light to fly from them,

And the night was bright once again,

Soon thereafter all the trees,

Each branch wept for its friends,

An inferno which was not meant,

Yet from such scandal,

Our assailant could be seen,

And it was not long,

Before it screamed in repent,

For what it had done,

He claimed he was but one of many,

Scouring village and mountainside,

Through the hills and rivers wide,

For a battle cry had signaled them,

He prayed I take his words,

And vowed his truth to follow our cause,

He vowed to serve us well,

Cowardice after fury,

Is a dignity I cannot defend,

Those were the last pleas provided

To such a thing,

From the ground,

On display,

A jeweled dagger was found,

In a crusted sack besides his arm,

I prayed to the Gods for their guidance,

For their protection and offered this weapon unto them,

For when they wished I would have it with,

Alive or dead, it would stay with me,

And the sky broke clouds and day revealed,

A path not encountered in that burning brush,

A path that would surely lead us,

Into the second of the seven we are bound to touch

On The Lamb: Art reassembled

Preaching to the converted many,

Is like a venture into varied conversation with a chosen few,

For all the malice you’ve subdued,

One wrong word, a dissenting sound or awkward vibe,

Shall have constituted the execution; providing no defense of your good name,

One gun may be all that’s pointing, but in truth the victims shall be plenty,

You knew the possibilities that this could start,

But in the irony of this tale, you crawled to me regardless,

A suffering bastard, staggering, in search of arms outstretched,

You offered, through suffering extension;  In your own words reciting:

“Omerta, my truest friend,

A devil is here in God’s country now,

This fake messiah awaits 11^th hour , when both pariah and

Saracen unite in arms, preparing to die for this prophets’ name,

Omerta, my dearest friend,

 Everything shall soon be nothing, salvation lost & reclamation laid to rest,

In the absence of the sacred, not a warning, no remorse for the wicked or the dead,

It all will fall, each of us dying alone, as forgotten men, lost angels rotting in unholy graves

 As the palaces burn above the sky, the earth descending beneath

 Another nail set for pushing,

 In your case, perhaps the final, in the coffin,  a place you once called home.

Hurry and decide, the hourglass, it empties quick,

 Swifter yet, is the faded line, that withered thread, keeping us entwined,

Let us arise again, let us rekindle youth,

 Do not force my lips, to remind your ears

The damage the lies of autumn revealed” 

You are correct in this assumption, but do not travel back that far,

Do not make me retrace, all the steps we've wandered from,

Do you forget so easily, Do you not remember Kansas City?




Never, did my brother's tongue lay dormant before me; A nuance reserved for prey, the last words they would not hear.  Apparently it has reached that point...

So it’s clear then; Your foot desires placement upon my throat,

If that is your wish, then be done with it, crush the larynx mute,

I’ve nothing left, nothing in me worth to give,

Look at me, standing lame before you now,

I am pathetic, really it all is now, 


To think of those men, those warriors, we both once were,

Those Gods could not be defeated, yet we cast them aside, 


All because of embers, the ashes at her wake

“We swore as brothers, never again, to speak of Grace, ”

Yes, yes we did, and now you insist a reclamation of those thrones,


Like these puppet shells, can be willed away so easily, 


No! I won’t help you now. I cannot, no longer do I know how, 


This Was all I could muster, before salty remnants burned down my face,

With lamenting swagger, all pacing ceased.  A somber pause to lift his head:

“What I’ve become is undesirable considering all notions prior.  Was it a poor life choice?

I do not know, however, Incessant whining will not return those years.

We were men of honor, living  by code, a creed between man & god; kin to kin,

Do you remember the simple pleasure, in waking early, providing more time for the kill?

Omerta, you know all this, it lives within, but listen, listen now, 

We may be lesser men than our elder selves would boast to be,

However, we are still mighty, mightier than those to perish if we fail or refuse to try.

The two of us possess a unique skill-set; we are well versed, in the subtle art of murder

and persuasion, we know full well, how to blacken the cursed sun, and we are most adept 

in the letting of blood.  I extend my arm to you,  one final time.   Let’s take our broken 

hands & ravaged flesh, becoming Contractors once again.  Let us take fever in the passing 

that shall surely come; Let us walk to deaths’ door and beat it down.  I can only wage war 

upon demons, if you stand by my side.  Together, we are invincible, I remember & still 

believe.  We are capable men, able to sow with dead seeds alone,

Purify tainted rivers & swim the drowning safely cross its shore. 

We alone are capable, to issue a warning; to instruct the scribe to pen the tale, convince 

him to ink with his very blood.  Let us now complete our tale.   Dust off your armor, un-

sheathe proud blade, tonight our final vigil begins.

Walk with me in hell, one more time,

Omerta,… Now you’ve got something to die for.”