Posts Tagged ‘leo st paul’

Age: 58
Nation: Ojibwi – Chief
Warrior Name: Thundering Horse.
Little is known of Sonyo’s exact origins, although he appears to be of native American decent has was found abandoned as a baby outside a temple Morioka, Japan by a member of the brothers of light. Raised and trained by Master Yamagati, Sonyo mastered his techniques and used them well during many Makri attacks.
It was Sonyo who first established relations between the brotherhood and the Ojibwi giving them much needed protection. Eventually becoming an Ojibwi warrior himself he was hailed a hero by the Brothers of Light. Sonyo went on to use his skills to help Prime Minister Grimsby combat Makri forces during the southern hemisphere war. His various victories eventually saw him become one of the greatest Ojibwi honours, chief of the Americas which saw him take up seats in Washington placing him as an advisor to Tribal matters.
Sonyo believes that one day he will find the light to eternal peace but often wonders which form it will take and fears that it could be born in blood. As a Purple feather meaning wisdom Sonyo is rarely seen to be wrong and combined with his fighting styles of jujitsu, jeet kune Do and judo proves that he can be a very powerful ally or a very deadly enemy.

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In the not so distant future, news had been flashing ceaselessly on television screens around the world. For the first time nations shared a common ground. World leaders and others of importance were being killed indiscriminately. It was still unclear who was responsible but the west began looking to the east and the east to the west and tensions were high. Because of the widespread nature of the murders it wasn’t easy to point the heavy finger of blame in any particular direction. The killings were different each time and despite many militia and terrorist groups laying claim to the assassinations, the culprit was thought to still be on the loose. CIA, FBI, NSA and all the other lesser known government agencies had been searching for the killer or the group offering him the opportunities. The terrorist cells responsible were particularly difficult to place because they seemed to have no real motive. There was no political statement made and no payments demanded. Many terrorist groups throughout the world were claiming the killings as their own but their claims were always found to be without merit.

President Philip Owen had been stirred from his bed as new news was emerging of yet another death.

“You must come immediately,” said the emotionless voice over the telephone. His entire body leapt from sleep to wake in cold shakes. He looked to his wife Jackie lying beside him. The phone was still buzzing on the night stand so he switched it off and without turning on a light he left his wife sleeping and made his way to the Oval Office, pulling a green sweatshirt over his pyjamas to try to make himself more presentable at such an ungodly hour.

Inside the Oval Office a member of his staff had already switched the television on in anticipation. A news report was being carried out by a young journalist wearing a long black coat and a smug expression. President Owen had seen his face so often recently as he kept the world up to date with the exploits of the ‘Chaos Killer’. He was an American reporter named Jaimya Van Hols and he always managed to get himself the exclusives on the murders. People were dying but he could only offer a small amount of care because it was causing his career to flourish. Words scrolled underneath which read ‘Chaos killer strikes in the Middle East’. His Highness Mohamar Al Sayeed Ambhad, a Saudi Arabian prince had been found hanging from the ceiling by his feet in his stately room in the palace. His throat had been cut in a ceremonial way and when his security happened upon his body, blood was still dripping from the wound. Someone had managed to make their way in and back out of his chambers with the swiftness of a cat but no money had been taken and there was no sign of a struggle. It almost seemed like he had gone willingly to his death. Amateur footage that had been taken earlier showed Mohamar hanging and his distraught attendants weeping close to his body.

Prince Mohamar Ambhad had been a pioneer in building relations between his country and the rest of the world. He was beloved by his people and respected by his counterparts in the west. He had no known enemies and his death would only hinder progress.

President Owen dropped his head into his hands and brushed his dark brown hair back, which was gathering more grey as the death toll increased. He reached out to take some water but his hand was met by an empty glass. Jackie appeared in the doorway still in her nightdress.

“Another killing?” she enquired. Philip looked back at the screen without replying. “They will find the one who is doing this.” Whether as a wife, mother or politician Jackie was always found the same way. Her optimism was why the American people loved her.

Philip had met Jackie at a political conference back when they were both starting out in their careers. Both of them hailed from old political families. Their parties were in direct opposition so when their union was announced the nation rejoiced because it meant that the entire spectrum of American politics was brought to the centre. Jackie’s grandfather had been a man of great influence in political circles but Jackie was not without her own astuteness. She was a caring wife and mother but also an excellent partner. They would be married twenty years the following Tuesday and Philip didn’t know how he would have handled the past few weeks without her.

Beside President Owen the faint buzz of the telephone sounded again. It was hardly noticeable to him because the ringing had begun to merge with all the thoughts calling out in his mind. It wasn’t until a commotion erupted in the corridor outside, as the Secret Service agents on staff began to discuss the latest killing that he finally answered.

Please hold for the Prime Minister, sir,” said the sweet voice of Emily Miller, the secretary for the Prime Minster of England. The voice was very familiar to Philip Owen although they had never met in person. She was always pleasant and he had come to know her so well over the telephone that he had sent her flowers of condolence when her mother had died recently.

Soon her sweet voice was replaced by that of the Prime Minister, Selena Samson. It was harsher and much less formal. “Another one Philip,” she greeted.

The President fell silent for a moment. “They will be lucky if they do find the killer. Already half of Europe is looking for him not to mention Australasia and still nothing concrete has turned up. He has been wanted by Interpol since the first.”

It had all began when Jacques Marlode, the prime minister of Belgium, was found in the bathrooms of The Hague. His body was trapped inside the window where the authorities believed he had been trying to escape his attacker. Jacques’ body was intact but his head had been taken cleanly. This was followed closely by Antonio Romero of Italy, who was discovered in the back seat of his silver car with diplomatic license plates showing no discernible cause of death. Arnold Grigsom, an Austrian official, had been murdered on his favourite golf course on the outskirts of Vienna. A cart carrying his body came crashing into the club house where guests were being served lunch. His torso had been torn and his heart removed. The assassinations had caused such an upset that the tabloids had dubbed the assassin ‘The Chaos Killer’. The latest killing in Saudi Arabia showed the assassin was continuing on his murderous rampage and they were no closer to finding him.

“He is definitely a professional. He has found his way into some of the most secure locations,” Selena was saying. “You and I seem to have been kept safe enough though. If I didn’t know any better I would swear it was one of us.”

President Owen immediately became defensive. No matter how late the hour, he would always be alert enough to return a challenge. “Something like this would never be funded on US coin!” he said. He had been particularly edgy lately.

Selena began to laugh, easing the tension. “Of course not. I’m just saying what others are thinking. Something has to be done so I’m calling an emergency summit. We will meet in the coming week or so.”

“A summit at this time?” He felt his people would feel safer if he remained in the United States at the present time.

“What else do you suggest? We wait around to see who is murdered next? None of us are safe you know. We had a break in at number eleven last week. We thought we had him at first when MI5 took him into custody. After hours of questioning it seems he was just an enthusiast.”

President Owen sighed. “I guess we have no choice.”

“My office will co-ordinate with yours,” said Selena. The President agreed and just when he was at the point of disconnecting the call she added. “Oh and Philip… Keep safe.”

President Owen’s eyes were immediately drawn back to the screen. Now the report was showing a large map of the earth with red markings on the places in the world that had been affected by the recent killings. South America and Canada had been touched but so far the U.S. had managed to evade attack.

“I don’t trust her,” Jackie was saying to her husband, stirring him from his swimming thoughts. “She is a little too ambitious. She would knife your back as soon as sit you on a pedestal.”

“I don’t trust her either but she is the Prime Minister of England and a good ally for us,” Philip assured.

“Doesn’t anyone think that having all the world leaders in one room together gives the assassin ample opportunity? It doesn’t seem likely he would make an attack in such a public area but you can’t be too careful.”

President Owen shrugged his shoulders. “Security will be very tight.”

Jackie Owen pursed her lips tightly. “I was in Saudi Arabia last month. I was on a diplomatic mission but it took me several hours to get through that security. This killer managed to get in and out without anyone noticing. Security doesn’t seem to concern him.”

Philip looked at his wife. He was used to having debates with her; it gave him well rounded opinions to take to his cabinet. They always argued over their political differences but this time she was genuinely concerned.

If I’m called I can’t refuse to go. We need to show that we are doing everything possible. Besides, it might draw the attacker out. With so many people there it might cause him to make a mistake.”

“I am going to make a few phone calls,” she told him. “I’ll send for some coffee. I think it’s going to be a long night.”

“Send for water instead,” Philip called after her pushing the empty glass away from him.

Philip Owen laid his hands on the desk that he had fought several years to sit behind and for the first time in his political career he had no idea what to do next as the world began to wake to the terrible news.

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COMING SOON as a graphic novel!

We are pleased to present the cover art for novels, short stories and graphic novels from Vivika Widow.

Presented by Torrance Media and designed by Leo ST Paul.

Take your pick of thrillers, adventures, black comedy and fantasies.

Which is your favourite? Comment below and let us know.

Sales from all Vivika Widow work supports Ragdolls UK (charity reg SC043805)

 

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COMING SOON from Torrance Media: The Myths and Tales web series!

 

Sudelka Habaru
AGE: 17
NATION: Fosgon – full warrior.
WARRIOR NAME – ‘Tiger Grin’


The son of Linciu ‘Blue Raven’, Sudelka garnered a reputation as a young boy during a visit to a zoo when a girl fell into the tiger enclosure. Sudelka leapt into action and faced the tigers without fear. His cold stare held the wild cats at bay long enough for the keepers to react and get them to safety. Thanks to Sudelka the little girl’s life was saved.

However, one good deed serves a darker one. On another occasion when attacked by a group of boys, Sudelka left one dead and the rest severely injured. Protected by his nation Sudelka never answered for his crimes.

He is respected by the Fosgon tribe but also greatly feared. He is the first since the original to wear a red feather – meaning ‘power’. Red feathers are hungry for power, relentless in their pursuit of command and highly volatile.

With Sudelka’s history of deciding life or death for others he has given the Fosgons cause for concern. Under the guidance of Resiu ‘Hunting Bear’ he remains loyal to his chief but there will come a day when he will bid for the ultimate strength.

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1 – Based on Tales from the Crypt and similar

We all remember those shows that had a different little story to tell every week right? Well, ‘Myths and Tales’ was inspired by these shows. ‘Tales from the Crypt’ and ‘Tales of the Unexpected’ being Vivika’s favourites. It is a mash of genres which gives something for all readers to enjoy.

2 – Based on not so true events?

The ‘Confessions’ series stemmed from a ‘Myths and Tales short story titled ‘Confessions of an Anatomist’ which was written during Vivika’s time at medical school. She promises no one was harmed in the writing of the story but the black humour, the horror and the unforgettable character of Tracey Campbell made it a favourite amongst ‘Myths and Tales’. So much so it was adapted into a full novel! ‘My Silly Little Confessions’.

3 – Handling the Hangram

After an initial pitch of the ‘Hangram’ short story, Vivika was surprised to receive comments on how violent it was.

I honestly didn’t see it that way,” she said. “Perhaps I should lay off listening to Marilyn Manson when writing.”

We love the ‘Hangram’ as violent as she is.

4 – Shared universe

‘Red Snow’, ‘Knights of Ravensedge’, ‘Seeking a Boat’ and ‘The Mad King’ all share a common universe and are part of the Red Snow Fairy Tales.

5 – Treading the boards

‘The Gift’ has been adapted as a stage play and will be hitting theatres in the UK in 2018!

6 – This Place Misunderstood

It may not seem it from the outset, tone and general happenings in the ‘This Place’ poem but Vivika assures us there is actually a positive and affirming message behind it.

Torrance Global took a closer look. Click HERE to read their thoughts.

7 – Listen to the Music

Vivika loves music of all kinds. She especially enjoys classical music. The poem ‘Violin’ is a dedication to that love, which is ironic because Vivika plays cello (somewhat).

8 – Kicking off a Conflict

In ‘Myths and Tales’ you are introduced to the elite group known as Rogue Battalion. This is just the beginning of the highly anticipated Conflict series. Coming soon as a graphic novel as well as some insights featuring as part of the ‘Myths and Tales’ web series! Stay tuned.

9 – Taking Requests

‘Princess and the Beetle’ is the most requested poem of Vivika’s for recital. It is a favourite among readers and we are so excited for it to be the pilot of the web series. It will be leading the charge with a unique brand of comedy.

10 – Soon to be a Web Series

Directed by Leo ST Paul (The Walk) ‘Myths and Tales’ will be hitting the Torrance Media channel soon! Subscribe, tune in and enjoy!

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Coming soon as a Torrance Media web series

Conflicts are fought on many fronts. With heroes and villains on all sides it takes a fearless group of people to stand against social injustice. They come and go without being seen. The forgettable man you pass in the street, the woman selling jewellery in the market or the even the children playing. The spectre society is everywhere and they will have their people remember one thing… THEY ARE NOT AFRAID.

They will stand against injustice, they will fight against tyranny and in a world torn by conflict they will protect the innocent.

Not a single soul but a society.

*Special thanks to Glasgow Museum and Art gallery

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Coming soon in Myths and Tales web series.

Click HERE to read Vivika Widow’s Myths and Tales.

 

 

 

I once had a little red notebook. It could rest quite comfortably in the palm of my hand. I was only twelve at the time this all happened but I had pretty small hands. Anyway, this book had been in my family for generations. Lots of the pages had been torn out. It didn’t seem like much when I found it amongst the boxes in the attic. We were clearing out junk and I pulled this little red notebook from the dustiest box, hidden in the darkest corner.

What’s this?” I asked my mum.

Her eyes widened. She was never one for dramatics but I saw a true look of fear on her face that day mixed with general bewilderment. “That was your gran’s,” she replied.

My gran had lots of weird belongings. I remember some of the strange statues we had found after she moved to sunnier climates. They looked eerily like little people carved out of wax. Some some of them had needles sticking in what I would imagine would be very painful places. Mum melted all of the dolls down and threw them away. My gran was a little weird. I always thought so but as a kid it was really fun to be around. When I stayed over with her she would show me all sorts of old books and tell me ghost stories. I said I could handle it but she told them so vividly that I would wake up in the middle of the night and swear that the ‘goober man’ was watching me. ‘Goober man’ was one of her favourites. He was a dusty old creature who stalked the ancient streets where my gran lived. The fingers and toes of little girls – just like me – were his favourite delicacy. He had long thin strands of hair covering a liver spotted head. His eyes were bulbous and yellow. His fingers were long and he had sharp teeth for gnawing on little bones. He sounded awful. I didn’t want a visit from him. As I said gran loved telling me stories of ‘goober man’. She would see how scared I would be getting and she would laugh. She was a little strange.

Can I keep this?” I asked my mum of the little red book.

Mum wrinkled her nose. “It’s all rotten and there are hardly any pages left.”

I agreed but I did like the red cover. It gave the notebook some importance. Mum shrugged her shoulders and continued sorting the junk so I slipped the book into the back pocket of my jeans and helped.

That night when everyone – mum, dad and my little brother Ray – had gone to sleep, I kept my night light on and finally had a look at my new red notebook. There was an inscription inside that read:

ENEMY LIST; ENEMIES BEWARE. GONE FOREVER.

This actually made me smile. Even the most patient and tolerant of us would love the chance to make certain people in our lives disappear. One name came to mind – Stacey Willen. She was a nasty girl in my class who had being going out of her way to make my life a misery since we first started school. She would tease me about my hair, my clothes and pretty much everything about me. She had her loyal band of supporters who laughed at her jokes that really weren’t that funny. They were all so eager to gain her approval that they wouldn’t even help me up when she pushed me into the mud. They just stood there like grinning hyenas like it was the best comedy in the world. Just that day I had been sat underneath the tree reading a book. It was a very sunny day. The tree was offering a nice cooling, shady breeze. I was enjoying my reading, blocking out the nonsense screaming of my classmates in the school yard. Stacey must have spotted me from across the yard and felt unable to leave me content. She marched over to me and snatched the book from my hands.

Give me that back!” I protested.

Stacey sneered. She wasn’t particularly bright. She opened the book in the middle and spat on the pages. Not quite having caused enough havoc she turned to the end and ripped out the last three pages. Seeing I wasn’t reacting she got bored and threw the book back at me, hitting me hard on the arm.

Staring at my gran’s enemy list I took a pen from the night stand. It had thick black ink. She would have to be the first name. STACEY WILLEN. Content with myself I turned off my light and fell into a comfortable nights sleep.

The next morning when I arrived at school I had half expected Stacey to be there to greet me, somehow knowing I had added her to my enemy list. To my surprise her usual band of supporters were gathered but there was no Stacey.

She has just disappeared. Her parents say she was in her room last night and when they went to check on her she was gone! They think she has ran away. The police were around and everything,” Stacey’s appointed ‘second in command’ was telling the others.

Stacey disappeared? After I had added her to my enemy list? Surely this was just coincidental. I knew my gran was weird but surely she wasn’t that weird?

Mr Perlman was the caretaker at the school. He was always shouting at the kids and he spat when he spoke. He was a bitter old crank and never had a nice word to say about anyone, even sweet old Mr Faben – the headmaster – who was technically his boss.

He sat at a table in the entranceway making sure the students made their way to class in a timely and organised manner. He wore a battered old hat that was once red but now yellowy and in desperate need of a wash.

Move it along Wilson!” he spat at me even though he could clearly see I was moving to my first class. I turned and looked at him to verify exactly what it was he was shouting at me for. I had after all just crossed the threshold into the school. He pointed savagely at his brown forehead. “Are you a moron!? I said move along!”

I shook my head and grunted. I took out my red notebook and smiled to myself as I wrote down, in heavy letters, MR PERLMAN. It did make me feel much better. I walked along to my class. If I had turned at that moment I would have noticed the seat where Mr Perlman had been in just moments before, empty except for the battered old hat.

That afternoon over lunch I saw Mr Faben wandering around the hall looking for Mr Perlman. I didn’t think anything of it. I just saw it that the student body was getting a break for an afternoon both from Stacey Willen and Mr Perlman so it was win win. I overheard the girls at the table next to me discussing the maths test we were to have later that afternoon. They were in my class, they knew me well by name but never invited me to join them. It seems they thought I was a little odd. They hadn’t met my gran. As the girls left the lunch room, offering me but a fleeting glance I began to think of how under prepared I was for the maths test. I and many twelve year olds would much rather be doing anything else than sitting a maths test so for kicks I took out my red notebook once again. This time I added MISS PARSON AND THE S32 MATHS CLASS to the enemy list.

Eventually the bell rang and I swung my bag over my shoulder and took a deep breath. I arrived at my maths class and it was empty. Everyone had gone, even Miss Parson.

Whilst the school was in turmoil trying to find out where an entire class of students, a rookie maths teacher and the caretaker would have disappeared to I slipped my red enemy list back into my pocket. I was going to have to learn to use it wisely…

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Coming soon as a web series!