Too Good to be True
Withered soul and wicked heart, and mind foul, sharp
and chill.
Where once a human dwelt himself, a monster lies
instead.
How come such a loathsome soul, that once was pure now
ill?
The tale is long, the story short, e'er played inside
his head.
-
Once a love he had to claim, so fair, and kind, and
true.
And once he lived among his own; he laughed and dwelt
in peace.
Much they did not have to own, nor any sins to rue.
They made a life within their means it seemed would
never cease.
-
Hand in hand they faced the world when trials came to
bear.
Though wavering in doubt and fear, they never bent a
knee.
Weakened by their sore ordeals, his joy now came but
rare.
Yet she could find the light in dusk and tried to help
him see.
-
Every day he grew to fear from whence her strength now
came.
He couldn't find in her a fault, and yet in him there
were.
'Secrets she must have from me',
to mirror he'd declaim.
A seed of doubt became a vine that love could not
deter.
-
Long into the nights he thought, imagining her mind.
'From where do all her smiles come?' he queried
to the black.
'No, I cannot be her bliss; not handsome, wise, or
kind.'
'Another man has robbed her heart; I'll never win
her back.'
-
Once he could no longer bear to see her smiling face,
He stopped her then demanding firm, "What man has
smitten you?"
She touched his cheek and kissed his lips, her smile
sweet and chaste.
No quick defense she simply said, "Can you not
see I'm true?"
-
For a time his heart found peace, her words a soothing
balm.
So many nights he closed his eyes and dreams were all
he knew.
When his judgment brought no strife, and she was ever
calm,
He asked again, and she replied, "Can you not see
I'm true?"
-
Every time she reassured, his peace endured but less.
Yet she was ever calm and cool, and never showed him
scorn.
Where she found support and love, he could not help
but guess.
Imaginings he found so bleak, in silence won't be
borne.
-
Competition, real or ghost, tormented all his thought.
He could not bear to lose his love, but knew they
could not stay.
Eager still to prove her love, she asked him what he
sought.
He bought a home in deepest wood, and moved his love
away.
-
Once again his dreams were calm, his nights were sound
till day.
'No men for miles all around, my wife is all my own.'
Solitude she took to well, singing soft and gay.
And never did she seem to care that they were all
alone.
-
She was up before the dawn, bid morning to the sun.
Before he rose, his meal was made, her smile warm and
bright.
When the strain she should have shown, of cares she
e'er had none.
Suspicion grew anew in time and mounted every night.
-
Gates and fences strong were built to let none out or
in.
Yet silent she remained in this as paranoia grew.
"Happy are you every day! You must conceal
a sin!"
She shook her head and held his hands. "Can you
not see I'm true?"
-
Hideous his dreams became, till he could find no rest.
In spite of all his nagging woes, her songs still
filled the air.
Every day he was aware she could not love him best.
'So, someone else has slithered in to woo my love
so fair!'
-
'Sneaky though she's always been, I'm certain of
her tryst.'
Contorting all their memories far back before they wed
'I will make them rue the day! They'll beg, and
writhe, and twist!'
A fool he would not be for her, nor any man she bed.
-
Long he plotted his return for crimes too foul for
name.
She would confess her sins to him, and turn on her new
beau.
Waiting till she drifted off, he thought of all his
shame.
His wrath awake, he sprang to act, and lashed her head
to toe.
-
Surprised she was, too much to fight, and easy prey
for sure.
And though she cried and called for help, no one could
hear or knew.
"Tell me now about your heart! Do you still claim
it's pure?"
She nodded, sobbing, shaking hard. "Can you not
see I'm true!?"
-
Queried, questioned, harried long, again, again she
swore.
He dragged her from their lonely home, still needing
her to break.
Asking one last time the name, the man who's love she
bore
"Can you not see I’m true?" she wept as she
sank into the lake.
-
When at last her lies were done, and quiet filled the
air.
He thought about the twisted road that drove his heart
to this.
Peace within his soul at last, he tasted true despair.
What had he done? This wretched sin that tore away
their bliss?
-
Pale her face peered up at him, beneath the ripples'
sway.
He fell to knee and screamed forlorn, till voice and
soul were through.
Madness long had been in him, e'er driving him astray.
Her voice will ever haunt his nights. 'Can you not
see I'm true?'
The Chosen One’s Assistant Kimber Grey
Genre: Epic/High Fantasy, Sword and Sorcery
Publisher: GrayWhisper Graphics Productions (
Date of Publication: 7/12/2023
ISBN: 979-8851108464
ASIN: B0C9SNG88J
Number of pages: 359
Word Count: Aprox. 98,000
Cover Artist: Kimber Grey
Tagline: Hilarious, Dark, and Epic! Everything you’d expect in a book with vampire weasels.
Book Description:
Never meet your heroes.
Outcast by every guild, starving, and left beaten and shamed in an alley, he was beyond desperate when the timeliest opportunity presented itself: The Greatest Hero of Men was in need of an assistant.
He was so eager to leave his old life behind, he didn't hesitate to accept the role of Tiberius, personal assistant to The Chosen One. The magically binding contract was signed, and the previous servant was out the door before the blood on the quill was dry. Tiberius quickly learned he was responsible for all of the hero's needs from mundane to absurdly ridiculous, and the hero himself was the most ridiculous of all. Woefully inexperienced as a quester, thrown into the hero's world of danger and debauchery, he could never have guessed how harrowing and frustrating this new position would be. Then he learned the God of Pestilence was holding a well-justified, 100-year-old grudge. Death, disease, and evil beyond any Tiberius could imagine awaited them on the path ahead, and The Chosen One had been called to stand against it.
How could Tiberius hope to survive his first campaign with the gods' champion against Trion, God of Darkness?
Excerpt:
I
returned to the room and knocked, entering at the direction of The Chosen
One... who stood in front of the mirror wearing nothing but his Chosen
underwear and the tyrian purple cloak wrapped around his shoulders. His chest
was puffed out, and his enormous, muscular limbs flexed this way and that as he
posed himself in dramatic battle postures with his famous great sword. Every
inch of visible skin was hairless and glistening. He had worked up a sweat
admiring himself, and I could still smell the liquor on him.
"Um..."
I mumbled, wondering if I should return at a more convenient—and less
embarrassing—time. Much to my chagrin, he didn't stop flexing on my account.
"Go
ahead and pack," he grunted as he clenched his stomach to make all of his
tightly bound abdomen muscles pop. "I'll wait for the pressed
clothes." He turned to the side and threw the cloak over his shoulder so
he could admire his hips and backside, casting daring glances at his tiny
embroidered face on the seat of his underpinnings through the polished brass.
I
was certain my own face was scarlet as I skirted past him to gather up
everything and return the items to the trunks that seemed the most appropriate.
The entire time I worked, he didn't break from his posturing, and I wondered if
it was a form of exercise for him, or if it merely exercised his ego. My work
was hastened by embarrassment, and when I was done, I silently took up the
first Tome of Tiberius. I turned my back, ignoring his grunting and wheezing,
and flipped to chapter 3, skimming for the most pertinent pieces of
information. I needed to know how to handle The Chosen One's finances.
I
quickly learned it was my duty to draw up contracts when The Chosen One agreed
to take a deal, enforce the contracts, and collect the fees. It was my duty to
arrange for appraisers, auctioneers, and moneychangers to convert any
"spoils" of The Chosen One's labors—those that he did not keep for
his personal collection—to coin. It was my duty to ensure there was sufficient
coin for The Chosen One to live whatever lifestyle he chose and to fund any
campaign. Incidentals incurred as a direct result of a campaign—such as bribing
furious husbands—came from funds before they were deposited into a bank and
Tiberius' percentage was calculated. There was a list of "lifestyle"
actions that came from the bank and were not considered incidentals; "donations
and women" were on that list. Thus, I assumed him throwing coins into the
crowd was not an incidental, either, but came from The Chosen One's own bank
holdings.
"You
need to plot a course for Vevesk," The Chosen One said between poses.
"They have vampire stoats."
"What,"
I asked, slightly startled by the break in silence. "What is a
stoat?"
"I
think they said it was like a long rat." He glanced over at me. "Find
out. And find out how to kill it."
I
stared at him until his self-admiration embarrassed me enough to look away.
"You don't know how to kill them?"
"I
assume I cut them up enough, they'll die," he quipped. "You need to
figure out how it happened so I can stop it. Evil wizard, ancient curse,
typical vampirism, that sort of thing."
"I
have to learn what caused this outbreak of blood-sucking long rats?" I
asked, incredulously. Surely he was jesting. That was his job.
"Chapter
2," he said, stripping off the cloak so he could better admire his
shoulders.
I
grimaced and turned to the second chapter in the Tome of Tiberius. This
detailed how I was to conduct necessary research for a campaign and
successfully translate it to The Chosen One, for him to then implement that
knowledge to complete his feats of heroism. I sighed deeply. "There is no
university here to hold historical works, and many of the larger temples do not
have any books in them at all. I will need to visit the Wizards' Guild, the
Questers' Guild, and the Scriveners' Guild," I explained.
"Go
quickly," he ordered without sympathy. "We leave soon."
I
gritted my teeth and rose from my chair, throwing Tiberius' quill and a stack
of paper sheets into my shoulder bag. It was all but impossible to do the kind
of research this would require in only a handful of hours. So, I ran.
Kimber was born in the arid and alien land known as southern California. She began consuming fiction from an early age, and has ever been eager to emulate the works that dramatically shaped her heart and mind as a child. She began creating short fiction and poetry in grade school, and wrote her first (laughably bad) novel in jr. high. With a grandmother who is a writer and an editor, English teachers who encouraged her budding potential, and a husband with an even greater appreciation of the written word, Kimber has never lacked support in the pursuit of her bliss.
She published her first fantasy novel Quietus in 2009, and her second Seeking Destiny in 2012. The first three books of Faiden Reborn, Kingdoms Lost, Fallen Heroes, and History Forgotten were published in 2017. She has published two anthologies and four novellas, and her work has appeared in anthologies such as Missing Pieces IV, V, and VI; The Hapless Cenloryan-The Troubadour's Inn Book I (2017 Ed.), and On Wings of Steam: Ears and Gears. The Chosen One's Assistant, published in 2023 is her most popular yet, with it's heavy fantasy tropes and sharp wit.
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