Ryan Thomason

First Stop on the Overkill Blog Tour: WPR!

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Overkill is the second book in the Gorias La Gaul centric series and we’re very excited to be the first leg of this tour to get the word out about this book. You know how Conan the Barbarian just basically does whatever the hell he wants, kills anybody in the way and generally is a badass? Gorias La Gaul can be applied in that category, just add Dragons, mystical creatures and well, sheer badassery. Thrall, which I’ve already Reviewed really set the stage for Gorias La Gaul and after Interviewing Steven here on his Gorias Short Stories and here about Thrall I’ve found my character that I can compare to Conan on an even level.

So, what’s install for this first stop of the tour? I shot Steven a couple of ideas, and while I liked them all, I really crossed my fingers that he would take one of them and run with it. He did. So now, I present to you a story told by Gorias himself about how he made his armor from baby dragons.


“How To: Kill a Dragon, Skin it, and Make it into armor”
By Gorias La Gaul

How did I come by this dragon skin armor? With my incredible singing voice, ya twerp.

Seriously? I figured ya’d have heard the tale, either in the Atapuerca’s Ballad of Altamira
or the one they teach in some schools. Both aren’t exactly Jake, so I’ll try and make this
easy for ya. Since we’ve all had more to drink, and need a damn sight more of the water
of life, here goes.

Ya can’t kill a dragon with a sword. The damned plates of the skin are too dense. I know
of a guy near the Bospurus land bridge that got one to fall in a dug out hole like a tiger
pit. The damned thing broke its leg under the displaced weight. Great idea.

However, need being the mother of invention, I had to kill this dragon that plagued the
region of Altamira so they’d help me out. What? Oh, I needed their warriors to help with
an invasion of Kemet to keep their Pharaoh Atkensobek busy so I could slay his 150
children, but I digress. Why did I wanna kill his kids? He killed my daughter. Simple
really.

This dragon they nick named Tartaroos had taken up residency in the valley and some
caves they used for mines. The dragon seemed to get off on stopping their mining efforts
and started to eat their slow moving folks. The last straw came when the damned thing
started to dig up their graveyards. Heh, kill a few live dorks and that is all right, but screw
with my grammy’s bones, then we got a problem.

What did I do? I hadn’t got my swords yet, these really good ones, but figured they
wouldn’t be enough to lift a scale and penetrate the underbelly of Tartaroos. I really
wasn’t sure what to do and figured I was buggered good, but then saw the nest. Yeah, I
saw the fresh-hatched babies of Tartaroos.

While she was off raiding the townsfolk or graveyards for good eats for the kids, I
climbed up there and killed one of the babies. How? They aren’t so mobile and about
the size of a man. Mouth open to be fed, I stuck my sword down its throat and twisted.
I hauled off the body and managed to saw the head free. True, it took a diamond treated
cross cut saw, but Rothwell Davin and I cut the head free. Then I used its own teeth to
slash a seam and tear its skin open. As luck would have it, we were close to the same
size. Yeah, I scooped the damned thing out and cut the dimensions for my armor. What?
A baby? Why would you feel sorry for that? Because it’s cute? That’s the trouble with
rotten folks, they are cute babies for a while and folks let them grow up.

Anyways, it took a bit to cure the armor proper but I strapped it on and used the dew
nails on the armlets and the teeth embedded in my visor to cut a stratum in ol’ Tartaroos.
How I’d get close enough? I rode right up and attacked. Damn thing ate the horse I rode.
That was okay though. It wasn’t my horse. While Tartaroos chewed, I jumped on and
sliced a spot open under the plates of her neck. She threw me so I attacked low. That’s
what I wanted. I tore with the dew nails and removed a couple plates. My swords went

up in and I yanked a ring of guts out. I lopped that intestine over Rothwell’s mount and
set him off. As Tartaroos unraveled, I set about keeping her busy, slicing off a toe, ya
know the drill. In the end, we got her dead. Rothwell, stupid ass, he died. By the claws
of Tartaroos? Naw, he was fool enough to cook the wyrmling dragon’s flesh and eat it. I
guess I never told him it was poison and would keep trying to re-grow in one’s stomach.
Ah well. Everyone who saw him die will remember that.

Inner cushions, leathers and other tricks by artisans in Jericho have augmented my armor,
so there ya have it. The helmet? Yeah, that’s from it’s head.

What? You guys don’t wanna drink anymore?

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