Blog Revamp Coming!

Good day fine people and lurkers of the web!

As the Title suggests, I'll be revamping this blog and giving it a content makeover. Too much has happened in life and many things including my perspectives on life have changed. Due to this I'll be changing the focus of this blog to reflect said shift. I haven't written properly for a very, very long time and wasn't following my vision of the life I wanted for a good six years. Below is a sort of comprehensive list of things I'll consider writing about.

* Any major Cosplay projects
* LARP ( live action role play)
* Medieval fayre, period dress, festivals and events
* Archery
* Dungeons and Dragons 5e content (and other tabletop RPG related things)
* Character creation
* Console and/or PC gaming content
* General costuming

With the more nerdy side of things out of the way, I will be continuing my writing in other areas as work and life permits. I'm also happy to announce that I've started work on a new novel or series of novels and short stories that are more in line with the message I'm trying to convey. On top of this I will also be changing the look and layout from dark and obscure to inviting and approachable!

I truly hope you are all warm, healthy and safe during this global covid-19 pandemic!

Sincerely
Your Resident Chimera

Here it is, your official teazer to 'Where Angels Fear' the novel I hope to have in print in the near future, feedback is welcome

“Don't you know that a midnight hour comes when everyone has to take off his mask? Do you think life always lets itself be trifled with? Do you think you can sneak off a little before midnight to escape this?”- Soren Kierkegaard

“Horror is the removal of masks”-Robert Bloch

Chapter 1: Summons

On the edge of the Thames bank, in the ruined city of Westminster. A small hooded figure sidled and slid lithely through the shuffling crowd of  the busy dockside. The river edge smelt of smoked fish, manure and the sweat of workmen. An untidy array of makeshift tents stood hugged against the Victoria embankment, providing some shelter to vagrants and fishermen. Here the trading boats and fishing vessels unloaded their burdens. Crewmen dropping their crates of shipment noisily on  the bank, and piling them high underneath the Waterloo Bridge; until they could be moved or sold. This was the unruly part of Old-town, and yet ironically the safest due to being close to the great wall and it's patrolling Lawmen. Tap-houses and brothels lined the streets. An atmosphere of wary suspicion perpetually enveloped these parts.

Beneath an overcast sky, Angela pulled the hood of her cloak closer, the scarlet locks of her hair bounced  with every stride. The steel heels of her boots clicking on the concrete. The unusual color of her hair had always drawn attention, and she could feel the lascivious stares of men following her. Her rather tight-fitting suit was covered by her cloak, and yet did nothing to hide the inviting movements of her curves. Despite her provocative attire, the attention was unwelcome. Angela felt an uncomfortable pang rise in her lower abdomen as she sensed one of the older dockworkers had stood up from a crate; and had begun to follow her through the crowd. She was relatively known in these parts, known as a troublemaker and a sleuth. And had thus made many enemies . Her eyes darted from side to side uneasily, scanning the crowd for exit. She could feel the stranger's gaze burning into her back. Men and women criss-crossed in front of her, dirty children scampering underfoot. A shuttle bus hooted underneath the bridge and dock-hands hurriedly loaded small crates of fish, and other produce to be hauled to the Trafalgar-square bazaar.

Cloak lashing loosely about her as the wind picked up Autumn leaves from the concrete, and deposited them elsewhere. The bare limbs of trees swayed unstably, further enforcing a feeling of vulnerability, and uncertainty. She spied the uppermost floors of the Somerset house peering over the top of  the Waterloo bridge, her destination. Quickening her pace, and lowering her head she moved through the crowd, attempting to leave the man behind. She weaved her way past fishermen and the common whores yelling bawdry at them. The air was pervaded by a constant industrial buzz of shouts and noisy conversation.

She passed underneath the shadow of the bridge, where crates of trade goods were stacked high.

Just then the Shuttle's engine sputtered weakly to a roar. Lurching forward, it passed directly behind her; obstructing her stalker's view. She heard the driver curse at him and hoot. Seizing the opportunity she flitted into the deepest shadows, where she was unseen. And waited. It was quieter here, a world almost removed from the din outside the shadow's sanctuary. Noises still filtered in and she could hear her pursuer’s footsteps smack against the tarmac, and echo as the sound bounced against the roof of the bridge. In these shadows she was safe, and it gave her a measure of certainty. From behind a crate, she could see him looking for her between the piles of cargo; and wondered what he wanted from her. On closer inspection she saw he wore a brown cloak, the hood of it was pulled back around his dark hair, that fell across his shoulders. His chin wore rough week old stubble. He seemed anxious and his gaze shifted from one crate to another while muttering to himself. Angela needed to hurry, Alistair, Grand Archivist to her guild , had called her back into his service. His office was located in what used to be the Somerset house. The compound was now occupied by the order she had belonged to for most of her life. The Watchers Guild.

Those who keep vigil. Keepers of secrets and guides in the dark.

For a moment she contemplated killing her pursuer, and idly slid her fingers over the hilt of one of her daggers. Angela didn’t particularly like killing outside of contract. It drew unnecessary notice, not to mention the mess. She needed to keep a low profile. So body count attached to a simple excursion; was out of the question. Angela made her choice. While he was looking the other way, she side stepped, her back hugging the wall. Slipping stealthily around the corner; and out from underneath the other end of the bridge.

Crashing into a couple who were joined at the arm, she hurriedly muttered an apology before the woman grabbed her wrist, Forcing Angela to look at her. “Angel?!” Exclaimed a familiar voice from a friendly face. It was her sister.

Cassandra's frizzy, Blonde shoulder-length hair; bobbed with excitement. “I was just looking for you doll! We have something to discuss” She continued, with a mock air of sophistication. It seemed her little sister was with a client. A stringy fresh-faced youth. Dressed in a stained cotton shirt, brown bowling hat and a worn waistcoat, that was undone at the clasps. He wore the rather blank, watery expression of a dim-wit. Regardless of this rather clueless and boozy appearance,  his presence made Angela uncomfortable. Noticing this, Cassie flipped her little gloved fingers playfully on her client's arm, and leant forward. “But pe'haps not now” she whispered loudly, cupping her mouth with her hand, as if she planned to reveal a state secret. Her round red cheeks glowing with apparent drunkenness. “Sure Cass, anything you need” Angela said abruptly, remembering her pursuer. “I’ll come by the Flailed Wench later in the Eve”. The Wench was a haunt for most of the Dock locals, and sometimes escorts; like her sister. Angela could never understand why Cassandra didn’t stick to the more, upper-class clients that frequented her guild. Cassandra belonged the The Courtesans, It's guild-hall was a Bordello; run by a rather feisty Madame Velour. Cassie smiled broadly, and blew her older, darker sister a kiss before moving off.

Angela went on her way, before her stood The Somerset House. An imposing multiple story complex of late Gothic imperial architecture. It had been her home for many years, and that of her guild members. One of which had offered her an unspecified assignment. Moving down the blackened street;

Angela. Spy, assassin and Watcher, made her way towards it.                             

                                                         *                   *                    *

Taking a bite of a sour apple, it crunched in her mouth. Hesitating she watched movement in the streets below, swallowing slowly; the tangy fruit slid jaggedly down her throat. She sat on the edge of the roof amidst stone gargoyles, overlooking her balcony. Located in the Somerset House complex was her safe-house. It gave her an overview of the Thames, and served as a lookout for any activity in the streets below. With one heeled bootleg hanging over the edge, Angela casually leant back on one hand.

In the other she dangled the apple by its stalk. The rattling metallic sounds of industry carried on the wind through the old, run-down Westminster city. Plumes of smoke from workhouses in the distance, cast the clouded sky in mottled brown notes. She awaited a messenger from her superior, a summons to his office; and a briefing of her new assignment.

A single drop of rain fell on the hand grasping the apple stalk, and she brought it closer for inspection. The liquid slid lazily down her palm and splashed on the stone parapet on which she sat. Before long more joined it and they spotted the surface of the brick, staining it a darker shade of gray. A voice from inside her room woke her from the trance. She took one last bite of the fruit and tossed it over the edge for the birds. Scooting forward, she dropped down softly onto the balcony, and met the gaze of her bewildered messenger. Her call had finally come.

                                                            *                   *                    *

Angela accompanied her guide down the corridor, the wooden floors were scattered with Persian rugs. And they made her footfalls barely audible. The hallway was lined by multiple wooden doors on each side, and candles were mounted against the walls. Their flames wavered with her passing. The guide who summoned her to see Grand-archivist Alistair, wordlessly lead her way. It was Alistair's assistant and young nephew, Gregor. He was a quiet youth, and slightly built.  His dark hair was slicked back, and he wore dark linen pants and a black button-up shirt that gave him the appearance of a little shadow preceding her. Angela had noticed Gregor attending a few concealment classes on the guild grounds, and wondered if he desired to become a sleuth like herself.

They came to the end of the hall where a door already stood slightly ajar. And she could see Manuscripts piled on a wooden desk. Faint candlelight trickled through into the hallway as Gregor came to a halt in front of the entrance. They could hear the shuffling of footsteps from inside. Her guide let out a startled yip when a hand grabbed the edge of the door. It swung open to reveal a graying man of  sixty or seventy. Alistair sniffed at them and panted loudly. A droplet of perspiration rolled down his nose and he wiped it away with the edge of his sleeve. “Angela, you could not have come at a better time!” his blue eyes widened dramatically. “You summoned me, archivist?” Angela asked indifferently. “Yes yes, in you come then” Alistair waddled hurriedly out of the way to let them enter. Ushering them to seats opposite his, in-front of the desk. Gregor took a seat and peered around curiously, Alistair gave him a dirty look, making the boy recoil. Angela declined and walked to the open window facing the courtyard. Alistair's office was located in the upper north-west wing of the compound. Rain pelted the new Acolytes being initiated outside, and she heard their voices recite oaths despite the relentless downpour.

Angela turned to face them, leaning on the windowsill with arms crossed. The dim lights from outside making her seem little more than a hooded silhouette.”Excuse the mess, I'm preparing a lecture, you see?” She nodded curtly at this. Alistair shuffled around his desk among his papers for a second, before taking a seat and announcing that one of his maps, detailing that of the London underground railway tunnels; had been stolen. “It is unclear who may have done this, or why. As you well know, the Underground is no longer used for its original purpose...” Regaining himself, Alistair paused to adjust his monocle, and fold his hands on top of the desk. ”It  now serves as living space for Old-towners who wish to escape the rigid restrictions enforced by the Paladins.” He continued matter-of-factly, in the tone of a teacher lecturing his students. Gregor glanced curiously at her at the mention of The Paladins, and she grimaced in disgust. Paladins were Elite enforcers ruled by an equally pseudo-religious fanatic, that everyone called 'the Bishop'. The Bishop held an almost absolute power, equal to that of a monarch. He and his boot-licking sycophants presided over Newlondon, and its overindulgent citizens. She had no love for The Bishop or the harsh laws he imposed from behind the safety of the Great Wall, a barrier to keep the poor out and the wealth in.

“Irrespective of the apparent unimportance of a loss like the one of this map, I assume you need me to   investigate this?” Alistair seemed pleased at her inquiry. “ It would help set my mind at ease Angela. After all, if someone has had access to my personal books, they could have laid eyes on documents containing valuable secrets… some of which may already be missing.” Alistair sighed and sat back in his chair, he looked weary, and she decided to leave it at that. Angela stood upright to leave and turned to her superior. Alistair may not strike the most imposing physical presence, but she had the utmost respect for the man. “If there is nothing else, Grand-Archivist, may I take my leave to begin the assignment?” Alistair glanced at Gregor distrustfully and made the boy leave the room. His shoulders dropped, reluctantly Gregor dragged himself from his seat and slouched his way to the door, whining and muttering to himself all the while. Casting one last longing glance at her and Alistair, before closing the door behind him. “Good grief, that was a dramatic exit!” Angela chuckled. “ He's a good child, That Gregg, but sticks around far too long for comfort.” Alistair looked hesitant and a sign of concern flashed across his face. “He's your flesh and blood, and he admires you...One could even go so far as to say he aspires to be you.” He sighed and looked up at her. She had moved silently to his desk and her fingertips lightly touched the edge of the carved mahogany table. Angela stared down at him. “This task....” she paused, thinking ”Few outside the guild possess the necessary skills to bypass our safeguards unnoticed” she said with a slightly raised brow. “However, no possibilities should be left unexamined” withdrawing her hand, Angela turned abruptly, leaving Alistair to his Preparations.

                                                          

© 2013 Nina Roux

Joining Adsense!

Will soon be joining adsense, bringing you great adds from google, tailored to the specific Audience of Chimera Journals... WAtch this space

Previews to come soon: Where Angels Fear

With the writing of my new novel underway. I will be posting some sample pieces to whet your appetite for adventure, mystery and intrigue.

                           Novel title: Where Angels Fear

It is a sci-fi horror novel, the story is placed in an apocalyptic and futuristic Westminster City, London.

Cordoned off from the rest of the world. London is divided and at war with itself as two factions consisting of numerous guilds face off in a struggle for survival amidst a world rife with cult murders, crime, vice, disease, hedonism and deadly politics. Among the citizens of Oldtown, an impoverished faction. A Watcher and contract espion assasssin named Angela takes the stage as our enigmatic protagonist.

Unraveling clues to a murder that, at first, seems without motive: Leads Angela to the doorstep of a cult determined to tear down the foundations of what order remains in London. When an encounter with a sentient artifact sends Angela on the same trail as the Order of the sightless eyes, an occcultish brotherhood responsible for a disease that ravages the very mind of it's victim. London's sinister past is revealed and Angela races against time to maintain her own sanity.

It seems like ages since I last posted something on here, but maybe with a little luck, some patience and a lotof extra effort , Ill soon start filling this space with more content :3
All my Love

The unnamed poem-By The Chimera

Since my absence lately has been nothing short of shameful i decided to post a piece I wrote a little while back,Make of it what you will,it has a profound personal meaning to me but what it means to you is up to you to decide, The poem is unnamed and will remain unnamed hence its theme of loss and confusion, I thought it was quite fitting.

art by Zdzisław Beksiński - 1972

Torn away from me, the I that was known to be

Struggling against an impassable tide

In fits and starts

Gasping

Ripped from the shore, not in sight, a doubtful vision

I swam out to sea

Pandemonium cries over the water

The others came, and filled my spaces with sand

Dust gave rise to beings

Torment their breath

Bedlam’s Genesis

Merry crowd

It tore at my knowing

Knowledge of what was

Lineages passed by my vision in a flash-flood of despair

An innocence lost to the imperative of survival

Ebb and flow back to land, bathed in its naked light, stillborn,

ripped from the womb and tossed squirming on the shore

gasping and prone, face pulled taught in horror

eyes wide in apprehension

the I that was, tore at skin

condemned I am

sealing cracks with brittle bone

before the levies break

The surges of they of me of we and us the nameless I

Raging …the writing on the door…

A sight given light

Ball and chain

No pleasure without pain

Loss before gain…spinning screaming carousel confusion...

     again

     and again

     and again

A knock on the door..

Key in the lock..

Bury it

Bury It

Lock it away

Stash it away

Before you come crashing down.

New To Chimera journals
The Philosophy of Fear series...

after i get all the damn writing behind me, that is :D