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None-Humanoid Robot: Death’s Head
This is a Russian, Death’s Head model destroyer droid. Just its head. Working on the other body parts and then I’ll assemble the parts. Colors might not be final.
Built by Eden Rhys…
*Clarification: When I say none-humanoid, I mean a mechanical being that does not attempt to mimic human behavior or is not able to procreate sexually but are assembled on a manufacturing line. Morningstars are Robots after all, (in the original sense) but so to is this Deaths Head and Falcanian ThunderStrike battledroid. Just lesser beings compared to their Morningstar cousins.
You may notice, these mechanical creatures have heads but not ‘eyes’ (they have sensor plates) or mouths, even though they can speak. That’s on purpose.
Faster – Final Scene…
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“Faster…”
It all rushed forward, darkness that encompassed the stars became albescent. Complete white space fractured, turned into fiber-optic streams, infinite points of colored light, the rainbow overcame her and Arshira sighed under its soothing warmth.
Guyrin’Rla vanished, to leave Arshira alone, afloat in the ocean of streaming color.
“Welcome home Frederika.”
Arshira’s lips parted, before her stood a figure enshrouded in a robe of light vestments. The luminescent outline removed its hood, she beheld a bearded Sharr. “Are you… are you Sharr?”
The being smiled, shook its head and said: “No, this avatar is just one I’m very fond of, and I knew you would enjoy seeing it one final time.”
“So, I’m dead.” Arshira fanned her opalescent wings, angelic and airy, for the first time in her life she felt unburdened, at rest. “Are you God?”
A twinkle in the figures blue-grey right eye became a starburst, the being of light mirthfully roared, all around the two individuals, Wyrd’s candescent threads sung a song that resounded across space-time.
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Smashwords, Read An Ebook Week!
All my books are listed as “Free” for Smashword’s read an ebook week. Just use the coupon code at each ebook link when you checkout to get your free ebook. Have fun, and good reading!
Support Indie Authorship!
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An Art Deco Landscape…
Hundreds upon hundreds of tents radiated outward, and formed a ring on the green fertile plain of Chithra, beneath the digital-blue, artificial sky. They bordered a great spark set into a black metalliferous foundation fed by neon-orange conduits of power which were embedded within the technological synthetic Art Deco landscape of Char. The hub, and the essence of the Falcanian people churned in a contained whirlwind of recombined DataStreams, which were destined to become brand-new Falcanian souls.
This was Zoris, a city of many roomed yurts.
Banners of each Falcanian aerie waved in the breeze brought up by the Mountain Of Flame that lay far off in the Far East of Char, well away from the tent homes of the departed. Here in Zoris the dead waited, here the living made pilgrimages to meet their ancestors, and here every Falcanian eventually took up residence.
Sharr Khan watched tharrins gather, looked on while families, as programs feasted upon electronic equivalents of food. Here all his people were reunited with those that had gone beyond, but only those alive could cross back over from this cybernetic place. Always a piece of a Falcanian, a flashcopy existed in here, where they partook of Char’s collective stored knowledge.
A portal on the outskirts of Zoris, not far from the Blue Guardian’s tower allowed those from the physical realm to come into Char. Those few who were chosen could be brought by other means, but the average Falcanian needed to cross the portal and pass by the Eye Of Ishbol before they entered or left this place inside the machine.
The over-soul flamed, churned out new DataStreams, recycled bits and bites, the essence of those who had departed a flesh life, in this manner nothing would be lost. Falcanians were rebooted into each successive generation. The Shotar could feel the throb of life so close to the core and rejoiced in the living spark. Only the Shotar could walk this place unnoticed, though at the moment all Sharr Khan needed to disguise himself from those who strolled or flew on the wing, or airship above this world was a mere hood, for those here were interested in communion with fallen friends and family rather than their ruler. This place served to be the beginning, and end of line for these digital souls.
On the verdant Chithra plain rested a fountainhead, a pool of inner reflection. Sharr Khan stopped at the fount and glanced down, an aged white-beard and drooped mustache peered back at him, a thing that he would never become. The reflection morphed into the youthful face he truly wore in the material world.
The water rippled, and became a recollection. “I must go!” exclaimed the busty Bengali girl, tears dropped from her pretty black almond eyes. In the reflection Sharr stood with his arms crossed, while he frowned at the woman.
“You’re not even going to stop me?” cried the girl.
“Perhaps we need to be apart?”
She began to weep. “You are so cold! He was our son…”
Once more the water rippled to become the dusky, happy face of his Kajra Re Shalimar. Impulse caused the Shotar to touch the image which made the surface oscillate in a silver ripple.
Nadia’s presence in the over-soul remained ever close to him. Sharr turned and saw she peered with him into the memory fount.
“What happened to Krada, you couldn’t prevent.”
“I know, my T’Kara,” he replied angrily.
Nadia leaned against her mate. “Give her time. Shalimar will come home to us.”
He glanced over at Char’Kal which burned off in the distance. There in Sharilhar fortress, the Telchar resided, not in judgment but in challenge. It served as a beacon for his people in this virtual heaven.
Long before it appeared, he had felt it. The Shotar could sense every life that existed in the great over-soul. He could touch them and learn about them, yet the presence he sensed at this moment was unlike any he had encountered before. It radiated a power with a tremendous vibration which echoed through all of creation. It swooped past, and sung in a voice grander than even Nadia’s own fine melodies. It contained beauty and pain all at once. Its song recalled triumph and sadness. The form of the creature crackled with golden flames. Above Zoris’s enormous encampment a Golden Falcanian circled as if on a hunt to seek out a soul.
Nadia touched her mate and spoke softly in his pointed ear. “What is it?”
“I have never seen it here. It’s not a Telchar.” He focused his vision, attempted to make out details of the Golden being. “I must go to it.”
Nadia nodded and kissed him.
Into the sky the Shotar launched so he could follow after the Golden Falcanian…
A scented mixture of honey, jasmine, and spicy orange greeted him as he slowly awoke. Sharr recalled the image of the Golden Falcanian which he had just chased above the skies of Char. He did not catch up to it, for it soared at such a tremendous speed, and had vanished from sight like a ship going into spacefold before he could even get close.
What had it been?
He glanced down, his mate and two of his concubines,Tanusri and Kitana, lay beside him as well. They adjusted to his movement and fell into each others embrace, sighing at remembered pleasures. Sharr got out of bed, pulled on a burgundy robe, and turned to look at the soft female forms tangled together in the malleable burnt rust colored cushions of his nest. He permitted himself a moment of masculine pride that he had made love to three very beautiful women this night.
“Where are you going?” groggily asked one of the females.
“For a walk, Kitana,” Sharr murmured and touched her chin.
Kitana nodded sleepily, to then return to her place near Nadia, drowsily watching her Shotar leave the lair to walk his palace.
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The rest can be found at these e-book retailers.
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One Night With The King
“My lord? You asked to see me?”
Frederika entered Sharr Khan’s polished lair. The Shotar motioned for the blonde to come closer. Clad only in ox-blood colored silk pajama bottoms a triangular patch of black-gold feathers puffed out on his chest in pride. He presented an appearance of a rooster that had found a favorite new hen and arose from his comfy, bulky chair.
“Take this off,” Sharr Khan ordered.
He pulled on the lace of Frederika’s red velvet dress that clung to her perfect form. Accustomed to being obeyed the Shotar waited for the dancer to comply. Sharr felt obligated to ejaculate at least once a day, if not more (which often it would be) to complete his sense of his day’s accomplishments. He watched Frederika strip out of her body-hugging gown and he grinned pleased. It dropped to her ankles and onto the black and maroon carpet. She stood in front of him, wearing naught but chunky fuck-me heels, a lacy black thong and matching bra.
Sharr took hold of her bottom. She let out a pleasured moan at his caress.
Pouty pink lips parted, her pheromones activated. Frederika touched her mouth to his, yet Sharr didn’t appear to be affected by her body’s pheromones anymore. Why? Excited, thrilled she felt her heart pump harder.
“Kneel up,” Sharr Khan commanded.
He pushed his blonde trinket onto the cushioned nest. Hips up, vagina exposed, her face turned to the side. With her honey blonde curls in disarray, Frederika grabbed the fabric of the nest in anticipation. Sharr loomed over her. Out of the corner of an emerald eye she could see his shadow and she longed for Sharr to thrust inside her. Flushed, Frederika shuddered at what awaited her. He was going to use her until he was spent. She understood this. Sharr had females at his merest impulse. This encounter between them would be pure sex. The Shotar wished to have her and that’s all that mattered. She could appreciate the honesty of that, enjoyed the fact he lorded his carnal desires over her.
His fingers explored her pink slit. Sharr’s gentle touch made her wet, moist and ready. Her body arched and felt his middle and index finger slide inside her. She groaned while he rubbed at her sex.
His lips brushed her ear as he continued to play. “Exquisite,” he whispered. “Such beauty.”
She smiled up at him, pleased that he was pleased.
“This won’t be like intercourse with a human male.” Sharr said.
She heard the warning tone in his voice. Perhaps he dared for her to refuse him?
“There are certain chemicals secreted by a Falcanian that stimulate the senses,” he told her. “Some girls often find the experience overwhelming. For a Falcanian valka, the effect can easily be put aside. But for a human female, it is like a drug. And addictive.”
Was that why her pheromones no longer worked on him? His sexual arousal canceled out her control over him. And this helped explain the checkup conducted upon her arrival here. The Shotar wanted to be sure his dancers could endure a sexual encounter with him.
His fingers slid in and out of her, heightening her pleasure. She remembered when she lost her virginity to one of the footmen in her household when she was eighteen. Oberon had learned of the tryst and became infuriated. The Colonel had promptly dismissed the footman. Kreis found her romp debasing and dealt with Frederika with a dose of his razor strap to her butt. She hadn’t been deterred, and still got a thrill out of it all. She expected to enjoy this fuck just as much, no matter what she must endure.
Frederika cried out and felt his erection penetrate her.
Deeply, roughly he thrust. Sharr gripped her hips as he pushed hard, his penis fully engorged, and warm inside her. The Shotar’s great wings canopied them both. The augmented girl gasped and clutched the finely woven bed sheets. At the edge of her eyesight colors swirled, Frederika moaned. He pushed deeper. He rode her hard, unapologetically primal.
Get the rest at…
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For Readers… NOT Writers…
A note from me. One of my motivations for returning to WordPress and mothballing my Blogspot blog is that I had in mind to expand my audience base, WordPress has that reach. The primary purpose of The Raptor’s Claw is to grow that base and be found by more readers.
I don’t envision this blog as a place to deconstruct my writing method, or debate the merits of self-publishing vs. mainstream, a debate which I see as mainly academic at this point in time. J.A. Konrath has pretty much handled the issue in-depth. More WRITERS need to listen to him. Ebooks, and digital publishing is not going away anytime soon as much as the Big Six would like for them to. This is the wave of the future!
The politics of writing… just does not interest me at all. For that reason I largely avoid Facebook writing/author groups even though I am a member of many. I lurk. I’m interested in story, and words strung together in evocative prose, pictures being painted in my mind’s eye. Not the morality of self-publishing.
All of the above is why I have posted many writing examples from both my future and current books and attempted to make it very easy for anyone who cares, to find my books at their various outlets in whatever format fits their needs best. It’s also why I’ve elected for a more streamlined blog, ease on the eyes, and easy to find the content you might want.
Rodney C. Johnson
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