Monday, June 15, 2015

Fire Dragon Attack Destroys Moscow Russia, Age of the Fire Dragon Excerpt

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The pilot fired his payload of heat seeking missiles. They exploded into me, which only made me stronger. The chopper veered to the left. I followed it, staying in front of it the entire time. It dive bombed. I stayed with it. It shot upwards. I stayed with it. It couldn’t shake me.

I was a killing spree ready to happen, a disaster ready to strike, and I did strike. I blew a long stream of fire into the cockpit and laughed as the men aboard roasted alive. I then turned away from the burning chopper, which was now spinning around uncontrollably. I spun and swatted the chopper with my tail. It flew through the sky like a fiery homerun belted by a demonic slugger, before it exploded into a confetti of fiery bits. The Russian president and his entourage were dead.

Still unsatisfied, I attacked the Kremlin buildings, destroying them with fire. They fell like biblical brimstone onto the streets below, killing stubborn soldiers that still thought they could fell a fire dragon with mere bullets. Smoke lifted from the crumpled buildings and began to travel with the wind, covering Moscow with a pall of destruction that I’d brought forth.

I was nowhere close to being finished.

By now, Russia’s military had been alerted and their fighter jets had been scrambled. I saw them coming and instead of turning tail and running, I went after them. Missiles streaked across the sky towards me. I breathed fire upon them, causing them to explode and spiral out of control. It made the Norway Spiral Lights look like a bottle rocket gone wrong.

Nothing they threw at me could’ve thwarted me that day. My strength and confidence soared, as the explosions that rocked the skies above Moscow only served to give me more energy. I sucked up their power like a vampire sucking immortality from his victims. I was an unstoppable monster.

I began firing back on the squadrons of fighter jets that had been sent to attack me. I destroyed them with blasts of fire and they careened to the ground, leaving giant impact holes in the city streets. I prayed for the souls of the innocent victims on the streets below, but I also realized that the people that would die this day would prevent the millions or billions that would’ve died if I’d done nothing and allowed the presidents of Russian and the United States to carry out their evil plots.

Methodically, I destroyed each and every jet in the sky until none remained. I was hell-bent on destroying Russia’s war machine and was willing to let the people count the costs and cast blame, after I was finished. I knew I had to go to where the military had amassed on the borders of Russia and the other countries that once made up the Soviet Union, but I also knew there was much work to do before I could take care of that.

I went about destroying Russia’s communications, which is the first crucial step for disabling modern armies. Cell phone towers, satellite dishes, power plants, I destroyed them all. I went after government buildings next. It was tediously slow, but it had to be done. When that was completed, I was finished with Moscow.

I flew out of the city and into the countryside. I knew that Russia wouldn’t go quietly, so I flew high into the sky and waited. Panicked Russian government and military officials would surely view this as an attack by their enemies. Who in their right mind would believe that a fire breathing dragon had dismantled Moscow?

Nuclear warheads began appearing in the skies almost as soon as I’d ascended into the heavens. I attacked them one by one, blasting them with fire so hot that it melted the wires and circuits that made the damned things work. Before they fell to the ground in harmless heaps of molten metal, I absorbed the radiation so that it wouldn’t harm innocents. Thousands of the missiles were launched and not one made it past me.

With their communications crippled and their nuclear capabilities exhausted, I made a beeline towards the Russian fronts. Occasionally, a squadron of fighters appeared to attack me, but that was child’s play to me. I dusted them off like they were mosquitos and continued to my target. I wasn’t going to let anything stop me from destroying their ability to make war. I was determined to end this stupid game as fast as I possibly could. I’d worry about damage control later.

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Fire Dragon Mocked by Son, Age of the Fire Dragon Excerpt

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My dad, my wonderful dad, is a dragon. I always wanted to fly, just like him, but he would never teach me. So, I learned it on my own when I was twelve. My life was forever changed. 

My dad, my aunt Lori and I are the only humans on the planet that can fly without mechanical devices. We’re all shape-shifting witches of the highest order. My dad is always gone though, doing his part to bring about world peace by stopping armies from making war. My aunt Lori has devoted her life to raising me, and taking care of my cousin Troy. I’m just trying to find myself in the world.

My name is Gabriel Windstorm and my dad, my wonderful dad, is Gazzy Windstorm, the Fire Dragon. He likes to call me Gabby, which I find to be an utterly ridiculous name for an eighteen year old man of the world, like myself. I hate that name, but I’d never let him know that.
There is a lot about me that he doesn’t know. For instance, he is ignorant of the fact that I never forgave him for abandoning me as a child and for allowing my mother be butchered by witches while he sat and watched. And I never will.

Yes, I’ve heard the story about how he was powerless to do anything, but I don’t buy that. He is the most powerful entity on the planet and he couldn’t even stop his one true love from being blood sacrificed in front of his very eyes?


I hate my wonderful dad.

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The Cursed Coin, Age of the Fire Dragon excerpt






My new enemy had outsmarted me at every turn. First, he’d appeared out of nowhere and killed Troy in such a manner that I was the only suspect. This led my family to hate me and send me into exile. I came to my cave to think things through, but he was waiting for me. His trap succeeded because I hadn’t even seen it coming. I’d played the fool.

The thing that puzzled me most was how he knew about my cave’s second entrance. Sure, most caves have more than one entrance, but he went to it so quickly that he must’ve already known it was there. As far as I knew, only Sir Giovalde and I even knew about the cave, much less about the second entrance.

Surely it wasn’t Giovalde? Was it possible that he could’ve been killed and resurrected into a fire dragon? I couldn’t allow myself to believe that. Giovalde was a man of principles and had always been loyal to me, despite my faults and mistakes. He’d never turn on me in such a manner.

Neither could it be Gabby, the only other dragon I knew to exist. Fire dragons are created in the bowels of Hades, and Gabby had surely never been there. Plus, Gabby loved Troy. He’d never have killed his mentor just to punish me.

It was puzzling how he’d avoided being roasted by the beast that had ruined my life, but his deep wounds did prove to me that he was a victim. Unfortunately, with me being trapped inside my former sanctuary, he’d likely be victimized again, along with Lori and Sir Jefferson. My only hope was that Sir Giovalde would return and protect them.
The only problem with that was that Giovalde was only an Onyx dragon. Not to belittle Onyx dragons, they’re absolutely an elite creature, unmatched and unthreatened by any beast upon the face of the Earth, except fire dragons. Fire dragons were like Onyx dragons to the tenth power. My new enemy would most likely find Giovalde to be easy prey.

Distraught, I started to panic. It wasn’t because I was claustrophobic or anything of that nature, it was just that I knew I couldn’t survive in this cave very long with no food. There were a few bats nested on the roof of the cave, but that wouldn’t sustain me very long.

Since no one knew I was even here, besides my enemy, it looked like I’d remain trapped here for a very long time. The only chance I had at long term survival was to stay in dragon-form and hibernate. It could be a year, a thousand years, or, it could be eternity. I liked none of those possibilities.

I calmed myself by employing meditative techniques I’d learned over the years When I finally reached an emotional state that would allow me to think clearly again, I walked over to the far wall of the cave and picked up the coin the fiery beast had thrown in for me before sealing me in. I sat down and began to examine it.

“What was the purpose of this?” I asked myself. “Was it cursed? Was it something that was supposed to pacify me during my imprisonment?”

The coin was gold. It was also ancient. Marked with the year 1368, I figured it was from about the time of the mythical King Arthur. This was also about the time when dragons across the world largely disappeared from mythical stories.

The coin had English lettering, but it was so worn down that I couldn’t read it. It had a man’s bust on it, but I couldn’t tell exactly who it was. It was mysterious to say the least and I was completely stumped by its significance. Perhaps it was symbolic, or perhaps my enemy only meant to keep me guessing.

I clutched the coin tight in my hand. I could feel a strange electro-magnetism radiating from it, pulling me in such a way that I instinctively wanted to protect it. The weird feeling freaked me out and I tossed the damned thing down a tunnel but as soon as it left my hand I felt a dreadful craving overtake me that weighed me down with sorrow.

I ran down the tunnel as quickly as I could to find my coin. It was extremely dark and I couldn’t find it, so I turned to dragon-form so I could use my supernatural night vision. The tunnel was barely big enough to contain me so I crawled until I grabbed my coin.

Obsession for possessing it completely absorbed my soul. Protecting that coin was all I could think about. I was angry at myself for the way I felt about this enchanted coin and I knew I’d been outsmarted again. I tried to think of ways to escape my imprisonment but as long as I held this mind-consuming piece of gold, I couldn’t focus my thoughts on anything but it.

I angrily tossed the coin down the tunnel again. I started shaking horribly, like an addict in the throes of detox. I began to feel dizzy and nauseas. So, I crawled back down the tunnel again to retrieve my fix.

I was caught in a vicious cycle of possessing the coin and purging myself of it. I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted that coin more than anything I’d ever wanted in my life. Finally, I found it again and immediately the withdrawal symptoms stopped and I began to feel happy again.

I laughed at myself for becoming like Gollum in the J.R.R. Tolkien’s famous tale of Hobbits. He was so obsessed over the one ring that he turned into a monster. Then I realized it wasn’t so funny and I stopped laughing and started crying.

I flung the coin down the tunnel again. Again I was forced to go retrieve it by my very soul’s unquenchable thirst for it. I was shocked by how easily I’d been drawn into the coin’s curse. Its evil power over me was inescapable.

The cycle played out over and over again. It could’ve been hours, days or weeks. My mind was so clouded that I’d lost all sense of time and purpose. The weight of its power was crushing me. Retrieving it, clutching it, protecting it, loving it, hating it, throwing it away and then retrieving the malevolent coin would kill me, of that I was sure. If I didn’t hibernate I’d starve to death. My enemy was much shrewder than I’d given him credit for.

Fed up with my doomed attraction to this bewitched coin, I consumed the damned thing. When it hit my stomach, a fiery sensation began burning within me, which I thought to be extremely odd, because I was made of fire. I transformed into human-form, hoping this would help ease the pain, but it only made it worse, so I went back to dragon-form.

The coin seemed like it was burning a hole in my stomach. The pain was so excruciating that I purged it. It hit the floor in a blanket of foul smelling, green foamy puke. I dug through the retched vomit and retrieved my coin and squeezed it tightly.


For a brief moment I was happy. Then I became angry again and tossed it back down the tunnel. Tears rolled from my dragon eyes and steamed away on my burning flesh. My mental state continued to fall into a dark abyss of despair. I was a hopeless slave to this godforsaken coin and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it. 











When the Owls Cried…Age of the Fire Dragon Excerpt

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I covered my eyes with my hands, but as soon as the first tear ran down my wrist and dropped to the forest floor, I started hearing owls flying in from every direction. I rubbed away the blurriness and saw every kind of owl imaginable perched in the trees, all with their heads bowed. Then the sounds of rain filled the woods. I saw nothing but sunlight peeking through the holes in the forest’s ceiling and knew it was the owls. They were crying.

It was then that I finally understood how great Lori was. How could one obtain such love from wild animals? It was simple. She was their beloved queen. Even though people like Father Cyrus and my son, Gabby, had played with her mind to the point that she stopped visiting them, the owls, like me, never gave up on her. She was too good to give up on.

Giovalde finally showed up with Lori’s ashes. He was astonished as I, at the gathering owls who’d come to share our farewell to her. Giovalde knelt and placed her urn on the ground in front of him. I silently knelt beside him while he sang hymns and spoke the rites. To be honest, as beautiful as his words were, they didn’t comfort me. In fact, they went in one ear and out the other, as my mind was so anguished that I could feel nothing more than cold dread and grief.

I was unsure if the owls could understand a word he was saying, but I was sure their sorrow was tearing at their hearts, as mine was being torn. After a moment of silence, Giovalde stood up and pulled his sword and raised it high. He spoke a few more words and then placed his sword back into its scabbard.

“Do you have anything to add?” he asked me glumly.

“No, I think you pretty much covered it all. But I will say that I loved Lori and I will forever miss her.”

The owls hooted in unison as Giovalde lifted her urn, removed the lid and held it high while he said more graceful words. He tilted the urn downward and a small stream of ashes flew out, got caught in the wind and were scattered amongst the forest. He then tilted it more and nothing happened. Frustrated, he shook it hard until a blob of ashes fell out and exploded into the swirling wind.

Before her ashes could disappear, the owls took flight all at once and made a sphere around the blowing ashes. Giovalde and I both looked at one another in amazement; neither of us knowing what was going on. The owls hovered and started flapping their wings with fervent intensity. Lori’s ashes swirled around inside their protective sphere and eventually started massing in the center. I could see an image of a human female starting to take shape.
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Rich Orth Whisper on the Wind

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Who comes to mind when one thinks of dark poetry? Edgar Allen Poe, of course. He lived well over a century ago, spawned generation after generation of inspired writers, making him immortal of sorts. There are countless movies, plays, voiced over videos and even museums dedicated to him. But what about dark poetry since his era? Is there no one left today to carry on?

I’m sure there are countless dark poets out there, posting their muses on Facebook, on blogs, in magazines and e-zines. Some are better than others. Some stand out completely from the pack. Rich Orth is one of these types.

I’ve been a fan of Rich’s work for a while now. It’s dark, creepy, terrifying, everything you’d expect in a dark poet. But Rich’s work is much more than that. There is intelligence in the madness of his words, spellbinding, yet subtle enough for his audience to draw their own conclusions to the meaning of his twisted yarns.
Rich Orth
Ya' see, Rich is not a mass-murdering maniac detailing horrific fantasies before acting on them. Rich is a humble, kind-hearted family man and animal lover. From just having a conversation with him, you’d never know he’d be able to visit the dark side and so easily conjure up visions of human demons acting so inhumane that it will make your toes curl.

And there lies this man’s genius. He’s just an everyday guy, with a gift of penning incredibly entertaining dark poetry. And while it might be in the vain of Poe, Rich is his own man, and has taken the horror poetry genre somewhere altogether different. Rich owns a distinctive macabre style, and it begs to be heard. This isn’t your grandfather’s scary campfire stories, his gems are where the past meets the future and is transformed into pure masterpieces of beautifully dark librettos of pain and passion.

Still, in the world of the internet, it isn’t always as easy for writers to find readers and for readers to find quality writers. Oversaturation makes it very difficult to wade through the slush to find the real deal. Rich Orth is the real deal. That’s why he, and Adam Ginsberg, (an American actor, producer, voice artist and talk show host from Long Island, New York.) who provides his distinctive voice to the audio project, teamed up to make a tome of Rich’s poetry with spoken word over the creepiest of music in mp3 format. The result is terrifying perfection called Whisper on the Wind.

Adam Ginsberghttp://www.imdb.com/name/nm3714815/bio?ref_=nm_ov_bio_sm


Listening to Rich’s audio book, Whisper on the Wind, opens up his works in a brand new way. Like a new type of meditation, the darkness of Rich’s poetry comes through to terrify the senses in a way not many people on this Earth can conjure.

To inquire about purchasing an audio (mp3) copy of this fantastically macabre work of dark poetry, please contact Rich Orth @ rrockhopper@hotmail.com. (The audio book is in a link form...no shipping, no cd...just download to your device and enjoy....once purchased Rich will personally send you an email with the link, no middleman needed...53 poems covering the gamut of my writing styles brought to life by the voice talent of Adam Ginsberg and the engineering skills of Robert Frankenberg!)He does accept PayPal payments.


Rich also has written works available for purchase @ Amazon. http://www.amazon.com/Rich-Orth/e/B00D5SKHKM

Rich Orth

Wednesday, June 3, 2015

Age of the Fire Dragon. Suffer the Witch Vol. 3 June 17, 2015

The final book in the Suffer the Witch Chronicles is nearly here!
June 17, 2015


Fire Dragon Gazzy Windstorm discovers that world leaders are secretly plotting to rid the world of dragons. When his friend and mentor Sir Giovalde is captured, Gazzy goes on the offensive, attacking armies and destroying all the nuclear weapons on Earth. His plans for world peace become shattered though, when a new fire dragon with a treacherous secret emerges and quickly becomes Gazzy’s most dangerous enemy.