CelticPaladin

Know Thyself

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Mystic Fervor by CelticPaladin, literature

Literature

Mystic Fervor

The mountains are holy. As are the plains, the deserts, the tundras, and the seas. Every place, every thing, and things that are not. All are sacred. You can make a pilgrimage to your local grocery store; it is not the destination that matters, but the contemplation of faith, the journey of the spirit, that happens along the way. You need to question everything. "Ask and you shall receive." Question the government, question your parents, question your teacher, and most importantly question God. Ask everything, every question that is on your mind or in your heart. Without asking the question, how do you expect to get an answer? Oh, and questi

The Well by CelticPaladin, literature

Literature

The Well

August 5th, 1974 Alright, so I’m supposed to write in this journal. The psychiatrist called it a therapy diary, but I’m not a girl, so it’s a journal. Got it, you stupid book? You’re a journal, not a diary. This is stupid. August 10th, 1974 I got in trouble today. I punched another kid at school. He made fun of my shoes, because they have big holes in them. I just wanted to make him stop laughing. The first thing Dr. Omar asked was if I wrote in the journal (he said diary, and I got angry, but I didn’t say anything). Of course I said I didn’t, and he read my first entry from a few days ago. He said I should t

Dark's Own Forest by CelticPaladin, literature

Literature

Dark's Own Forest

Alan rode hard against the purple backdrop of dusk. His steed, a chestnut brown, galloped along the dusty plains near the old road. Alan was a hunter, and his prey was Theo: a man worth 300 gold crowns -dead or alive- for rape. Alan and Theo were similar in many respects, as people that make their living on the misfortunes of others. They frequented the same bars, drank the same spirits, and enjoyed the same seedy pleasures. Theo was a debt collector, so they were comparable in that respect as well--- Only Alan collected criminals. Theo ran to the East, towards Dark’s Own Forest. The only green that existed on the f

The Sword and the Rose by CelticPaladin, literature

Literature

The Sword and the Rose

The small crowd stood silent and solemn in front of the high cliff face on the shore. It was morning, and mist clung to the ground like a child to its mother. The ocean was placid, with only the occasional small swell breaking the silence. In the middle of the crowd stood a young man, his head bowed. Franz was miserable. His father had died earlier that morning, comfortable in his sleep. Such a death would have ashamed the warrior king of Herro, but since he was dead, Franz didn’t think what his father might have thought mattered at the moment. What did matter to Franz was that the morning mist was cold, and he had to wear a thin robe

Martyr's Temptation by CelticPaladin, literature

Literature

Martyr's Temptation

He walked through the desert. He had nothing with him, save a dirty cloak and a skin for water. His eyes were sunken, and flecks of spittle speckled his lips. The water skin was long empty, but every once in awhile he would lift it to his lips and pretend to take a long drought. Something appeared on the horizon; a dark shape, like a tree, with something like a piece of cloth flapping off of it. He made his way towards it in silence, as the sky turned a faded pink. He soon made it to the object. It was a man, or was at one point. The body was nailed to a long pointed wooden pole that jutted up from the rocky san

In Walked a Stranger by CelticPaladin, literature

Literature

In Walked a Stranger

In walked a stranger, with a wide brimmed hat, and a great smile. No one in the small bar recognized the tall stranger. Yet, somehow, he reminded them all of someone that they knew long ago. They thought of a childhood friend, perhaps, or a cousin, or maybe a sweetheart from the innocent years before adulthood. No eye lingered on him for more than a moment, but for the rest of the night he remained on everyone’s mind. The small jukebox, which was usually barely audible over the sounds of people talking and glasses clinking, blared out an old honky-tonk song which drowned out everything else. The song was nice and w

The Morning by CelticPaladin, literature

Literature

The Morning

It was dark. The moon shed its light onto the land like a lonely hermit, his lamp a shining gray. The stars twinkled, as stars should, for what good is a star that doesn’t twinkle? The valley was filled with trees; tall pines, a vanguard of evergreen for the peacefully sleeping village. The shadows of the trees were long in the moonlight. Not all slept in the night, however. Among the trees a pack of lean wolves ran among the shadows. With a soft hoot, an owl flew from one branch to another. Crickets chirped, cicada’s hummed, and frogs held bisyllabic and guttural conversations with one another. Then, like the

Dream Mask by CelticPaladin, literature

Literature

Dream Mask

Third moon cycle. Three thousand seven-hundred and twenty five days since desolation. The Era of Dreams. This will be my last memoir. I entered the chamber this morning, and the image I saw before me was that of a mausoleum. The cold stone room was dimly lit, giving a spectral glow to the seven couches and the occupants lying, arms crossed on their chests, upon them. The couches were positioned in a circle, like a seven pointed star. The men and women were barely clad, wearing only a thin sheet over their waists. Upon their heads, casting strange shadows, they wore large masks, all of them with a pointed beak ju

My Tower by CelticPaladin, literature

Literature

My Tower

I’ve started to talk to myself a lot lately. It just seems like I’m the only person who understands what I am talking about anymore. It’s that picture. Everything revolves around that blasted, blessed, unholy, sanctified, blasphemy in my basement. That’s what it is –a paradox. And it’s beautiful. I sit for hours watching it. I can see myself becoming lean with hunger in my mirror, but I just can’t care about that anymore. The picture fills me. The tower feeds me. I painted it one night, almost at random, to finish a collection I was going to bring to a local coffee house ga

Mystic by CelticPaladin, literature

Literature

Mystic

I am a mystic. The very basic meaning of this word Is that I am spiritually motivated to seek divinity. Every religion has a mystical strain embedded in it somewhere, especially the farther east one gets from the Middle East, the origin of civilization. The farther west one gets, however, mysticism in religion tends to be abnormal rather than normal, though it can be said that nearly every important figure to enact a change in the way the particular religion worked has been called a mystic, from Moses to Jesus himself. So, like I said, I am a mystic. T

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Mystic Fervor by CelticPaladin, literature

Literature

Mystic Fervor

Dearest Annabelle by CelticPaladin, literature

Literature

Dearest Annabelle

Dearest Annabelle, It is a wonder to look at death and see beauty, though beauty there may be. I see it now, a particular haze on the horizon, a sun drenched cloud bank stretching from one ear of the earth to the other. A horrible smile. The HMS Galahad bobs gently on the waves, each a heartbeat more precious than the last. We, I the captain and they the crew, stand and watch it come ever closer, that horrible wall of wind and sea. Our posts remain unattended. Only the scribble of my pen upon this parchment dares disrupt the silence. It is strange to stare into the heart of darkness, like an opening into hell itself, and to also f

Mystic by CelticPaladin, literature

Literature

Mystic

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About CelticPaladin

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Artist // Photography

United States
Deviant for 16 years
www.fictionpress.com/u/513328/
He / Him

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My Bio

Current Residence: Lexington, KY
Favourite genre of music: Rock, Classical, Metal, Folk, Irish, Sea Ballad, Opera, Anything
Favourite photographer: Jim Heald (a friend of mine)
Personal Quote: Jesus is my co-pilot, and we're both freaking out. Neither of us know how to fly a plane.

Favourite Visual Artist

Yoshitaka Amano

Favourite Movies

The Boondock Saints, Vanilla Sky, The Lord of the Rings, Sword of the Valiant

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

System of a Down, KISS, Cruachan, Flogging Molly, The Decemberists, Gustav Holst, Nobuo Uematsu

Favourite Writers

H.P. Lovecraft, J.R.R. Tolkien, Gene Wolfe, Robert Howard, Stephen King, John Steinbeck, Tom Woods

Favourite Games

Xenogears

Favourite Gaming Platform

SNES

Tools of the Trade

Pencil, Paper, Tea, Music

Other Interests

Writing, Art, Gaming, Religion, Philosophy, Mysticism, Occultism, Celtic Death Metal

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CelticPaladin

May 19, 2009

A Wolf in Shepherd's Clothing, and How I Write

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The current short story I am working on is a western-horror called Wolf in Shepherd's Clothing, involving the strange plight of a small mining community and the seemingly fortuitous appearance of a priest offering help. I finished the first draft a long time ago, and put it away to let simmer while I worked on other things. I figured it was ripe enough to pluck and edit furiously. This is generally how I write my stories: I write a rough draft, let it sit for a month, then I go back to it and completely rewrite it from top to bottom. I do this simply by printing out the first draft, deleting the file, and using the transcript I start a new

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CelticPaladin

May 19, 2009

Been a Long Time Since I Rock n Rolled

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Hey Deviant Art. Been awhile since my last and only entry. I guess college and the dropping out thereof got in the way of things. It was me, not you! Anyway, bigger and better things. I have a FictionPress acount (www.fictionpress.com/~patrickmcgill) and write semi-regularly. I will put some writings on here too. Not sure if I'll put everything on each site. We'll see. Anyway, I don't draw anymore. Just write. So that's what you'll be getting. And you'll like it, if you know what's good for you.

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CelticPaladin

Oct 23, 2007

Hello and Salutations.

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     Hello people and otherworldly denizens of DeviantArt. I've known of this place, and have looked at much art here, for a long while now, but have only recently decided to summon forth the courage to actually post my own forays into the world of art.     Having looked at one of my pictures, I am sure your first thought is something along the lines of "Pshah! Amateur!". You are correct. Though I have been drawing for a long time, I have never put the focus and determination to cultivate my talents into something bearable to look upon. This focus and determination of mine has always instead looked upon writing (and even then I'm barely at