The sword, the word, and books of rules is here, welcome. | ep #001

Welcome to the trails, the real inky trails. This is where we get away for a brief moment and escape into another world, into a faraway place called, Kingsland where the strangest of things tends to happen. 

E Lloyd Kelly is the writingelk

But lucky for us Earthlings of the humanoid kinds, these sorts of things don’t happen around here where we live. The Real Inky Trails is set to be a series of books, all being stories which can stand up on their own but if one should look very carefully, one may notice a common thread running through them all. Book 1 is a story called, “The sword, the word, and books of rules." This story shall be yours just for the taking. All you’ve got to do is follow it right here on the trail. The sword, the word, and books of rules has got a home here on I is for inky,

You might want to bookmark this page, and subscribe for notification, we intend to post twice or three times per week here. Coming soon, this story will also be on youtube, but you will be well ahead of the curve here on “I is for inky.” Don’t forget to tell a friend, or an enemy, tell someone about this, whatever else you may or may not do, thank you. now, let’s go right into our first episode of the story, -the introduction of book 1, called, the sword, the word, and books of rules.  

“Where oh where did you get off of your un-circular noble chair and walk a path to have ended up here lost and trying to fit fast a rounded Larried pole inside a square thing assuming the square pole could fold?” he would have growled. 

Now, here is episode one, as we introduce the "Real Inky Trails" series. Ep #001

Real Inky trails book series presents: book one.

                                                               

A story called,

The sword, the word, and books of rules.

By E Lloyd Kelly

 

Book 1, Real Inky Trails

Note: Mature subject matters may be included, parental guidance is advised.

The names and characters depicted in this book are fictitious and not to be construed as, nor be associated with any actual person, living or dead.

This is a copyright protected work. © 2019 By E. Lloyd Kelly.

All rights reserved

So, you want something unique and different? This is it. This is not your typical girl meets boy winning the joy character hopping plot wrapping sweetie flick bit. This is an analytical look at a book, bookings, and crooks. As well as some… Gods.

Chapter one: A cash crop of… God's

Gods of the ancient. They were all there, worshipping the memory, and making merriment, honoring the lifestyle and spirit of their elders –the ancient.

Caring about nothing other than for caring for their children, the innocent. And basking in the glories of those who had long walked the way, even way before their shoe, and would have served their time, and went.

Those who had lived and teach those golden ways, and the ancient custom to the offspring naves, and has now passed on via the grave, and then came the un-graving, to get things even, even. Then came the other men, with the sword and a word in hand.

The sword in the right and the word did leave a lasting impact upon the halls of those circular lot, deep wounds which they, those of the squarely way could not retract, not that they would even contemplate such an act, nor were they ever going to make a move anything the likes of that, but.

They were out searching for one and would have found this promised land, that which he, yes him, that man, he would have found it there heavy under the palming hand of a circular man, in that very place where his hand, as well as the legs of his Larried ancestors,  stands and walked the walk thereupon.

But he would have come in that squared faced man, along with all of his thieving companions. Then took off his caped boots and sat down cute, after he was done with tasting loots, all at the hands of Lars own easy and giving suits.

Got the sword in his right hand, and a word in the left you bet. Wants to feel his sole atop their sand, before he gets around to giving the command to the rest of his clan to fix them up nice and easy, and ready for the meeting of the man's mind, yeah!

He would have done it every time, that same one whom they, yes them, the Larried vine were so inclined to dine, they would have wined him, and dined him, he whom they did not know afore-times in.

Before he is done though, done with kneading away at all of that dough, they are sure to know, whatever knowing to do will be left in them, as well as in you, and in all of your kinds too.

They, for a short splay, they did scare the sheet out of squares Kings’ sleep, and off of his grinning half-white teeth, and tossed it into the pit of the wastebasket.

This was to happen when he would have first sat himself down to eat, and was forced to watch upon it, you know, upon the story.

He had wanted to see the glory of the ancestors’ story, and to partake of the service and sacramentary. The offerings offered up to their gods in worship momentary, but.

“Oh, look at the Hut.” He would have grumbled this in his gut. And in trembling, did he not tremble? And put on the squared deceitful face of the humble? Tumbling down upon him as well as on all of them there, a pile of snake oil nutty buddy, toot tooting, and arguing all of the arguments.

Got them believing for a while that he was genuinely docile, covering up the brute square there underneath a plastic smile. Then quickly took to shaking up a brew.

Shook shake his lying pancake baking palm oil in front of their circular style, those who would have been there misreading the profile. They would have done it to their own exile, cast out in unceremonious style, to go exhuming kingdom bones below the river Denial.

By the time he was gone and done, gone back to his first place there, in the frigid zone, up there where he still stands up tall and calls it all his home, way up there, on top of what he'd dragged backpack and then stack piled from under some circular tailbone, the whole entire earth was his home, and barring none.

As for their gods which had served them then, like, from when they were glad, and mirth remains, well, up until them squares would have hopped right on in, and rock and roll all over their soul. Whatever happened to them, those goodly godly friends?

He would have taken their gods and toss them away, and then gave to them a bag of hay, upon which to go kneel down and pray, and worship like sheep, among other bits of soft-spoken and easy-flowing downhill sleet.

Ever since then they have been doing it, my friend. Why, oh why my little bunny rabbit, why can't you do it, I mean, the quit?

…

He would have seen them come when at the first they came on down, sliding in square upon regular slimy skating gears, the juice my youth, as picked up there under his walking boots, that is the truth.

Too much of such over on that sided shout, so much so that he could not avoid it on the way out, so, he did slide right on in. And as for them, those larried men, they would have roped him in, with their warm smoking chimney, and with shining beauty and splendor.

Came he not knocking at their window, and hopped in through their wide open door? And they would have seen them, you know, their mighty men, as well as their godly friends. They would have seen them again, like, like no more. To be cont'd. 

Ep. #002 coming on Wednesday, be on the lookout. Don't forget that this story is also coming to YouTube, soon.

“Power is not given, power is taken,” UN General Secretary, -Antonio Guterres. So, Go on, lie to me. Tell me you are worth saving, by that other man. Again.