Stand Your Ground, Warrior...and Prepare for the CATACLYSM OF AGONY! (LOL)

 

Yogi Oabs: Be Careful What You Wish For, Because You Just Might Catch It

 

King Nigel Hargreaves, Leader of the anti-Oxford Comma Crusade...and a Guy Who Needs a Social Life

 

A Brief History of Rainbow Ranch

They didn’t have a name for this lonely island, because there was no they to begin with. Not a sign of human life. Not a shred of biodiversity. Not a liter of clean water for miles. It was a perfect place, though a little too perfect, for soulless cowards to dump their unwanted furry friends. Dogs with saggy jowls. Cats with pretty torbie colors and velvety fur. Rabbits with indiscriminate amounts of love to give in such tiny bodies. Rats with all the stigma, yet none of the villainy to justify being abandoned by the heartless. This nameless island was their new home, though it could never feel like home to anyone. If the animals didn’t eat each other in their feral states, they were forever erased from the gene pool, never to be seen, never to be loved by tender hands again. This cruelty went on for years…

Until a pair of king brothers found out what was going on and allowed the information to boil their blood. The Gaines brothers, Harrison and James, got off their sofa thrones and rolled their mobile castle away from their comfortable lands, finding their new home in this desolate strip of earth. They saw firsthand how hopeless these beautiful creatures looked, their ribs visible, their fur matted and torn, the joy in their eyes scrubbed clean from their handsome features. Under the rule of the Gaines brothers, no more would they suffer. With an army of loyal soldiers under the Kingdom’s command, every animal that could be found was rounded up and nurtured back to full health.

The carnivorous creatures were treated to plump sausages and juicy steaks, while the vegetarians were given fresh, crisp lettuce and crunchy carrots. During this mass rehabilitation process, the gardeners of the Gaines Kingdom went to work planting seeds all over the island, giving way to the tallest trees, the softest green grass, the loveliest red and purple flowers, the tastiest vegetables, and enough clean water to sustain the ecosystem. The healing wasn’t an overnight success. Some animals and plants didn’t make it. But those that did lived long and happy lives under the brothers’ care. The nameless island was no longer a death sentence for abandoned pets. It was a paradise not surprisingly renamed to Rainbow Ranch, a heaven on earth to live comfortably with the fastest tail wags and the loudest purrs.

But despite what the new name suggests, it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows for Harrison Gaines. While everyone seemed to move on with their lives, seeing all that suffering for the first few months took its toll on him. He was the less logical of the two brothers, giving into his rawest emotions and nightmarish insanity. It wasn’t enough that these animals got their revenge by living well. He wanted everlasting revenge on the ones who made them suffer in the first place. But with no names and no faces to place on the heartless former pet owners, the gulf between Harrison’s vengeful goals and his ability to act on them grew wider as his insanity began to take over. That is, until he finally had a plan.

While James Gaines was the fighter of the two, Harrison dabbled in magic, especially of the dark and occult variety. Nobody could possibly tell him where the abusive owners were…except the animals themselves. Behind his brother’s back, he began experimenting on the surviving animals to give them human features. And with these human features, they would learn to speak real words. But when asked about their abusers, the anthropomorphized animals didn’t share the same resentment and anger that Harrison did. They just wanted to live normal lives and use their now human features to build communities instead of tearing other ones down. James ultimately agreed with this notion. Harrison, not so much.

The insanity started to take an even harder toll on him. He’d spend his nights waking up from terrifying visions. He’d have conversations with ghosts who weren’t there. He’d lash out at anybody who disagreed with him. When James had to put his foot down and do something about his brother’s erratic behavior, Harrison fled and his anthropomorphic creations tried to track him down now that some of them had become soldiers and wizards themselves. Harrison’s escape led him to the highest snow-covered mountain in Rainbow Ranch, where he finally met his wizardly match: an elderly gray and white cat named Ozzie the Wise.

Ozzie tried to talk him down, tried to talk some sense into him, but Harrison’s erratic mind wouldn’t allow him to listen to reason. Ozzie was wise indeed, but even his problem-solving skills couldn’t crack the puzzle that was Harrison’s melting brain. The two of them faced off in a battle of magical energy. Harrison appeared to be getting the upper hand until Ozzie finally struck him down with a lightning bolt, causing him to roll down the mountainside and into a snowy grave. His body took days to find underneath all of that snow and Ozzie was cleared of all charges by the remaining king on account of self-defense. Harrison’s tragic tale had finally come to an end.

James couldn’t find it in his heart to bury his brother in an ordinary cemetery, so he expedited the corpse to the funeral home of an old friend, a skeletal necromancer named Razor Ripley. Despite the intimidating name, Ripley had a fondness for the animal kingdom and respect for the dead. Harrison’s body would be well taken care of under his watch and the watch of his non-humanoid Labrador Loki. This would leave James plenty of time to grieve for his fallen brother while his subjects tended to the operations of Rainbow Ranch.

This would seem like an apt place to end the story. The history of Rainbow Ranch had been written and the future seemed brighter than the wave of color in the island’s new name. Harrison would be sorely missed despite his odd behavior and penchant for revenge. He was a brother first and foremost whose heart was always in the right place. But for anyone who dearly missed him…he wouldn’t stay gone forever. It all began with a nice long psychic conversation between the disgraced King Harrison Gaines…and the soon to be anointed Loki the Skull. The phrase, “I’ll rest when I’m dead” can only be valid…if the subject is dead in the first place.

"Pathfinder, Vol. 4: Origins" by Various Authors

BOOK TITLE: Pathfinder, Vol. 4: Origins

AUTHORS: Various

YEAR: 2019

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: High Fantasy

GRADE: B

It’s a good thing that this book has the Pathfinder name attached to it, because these individual stories of each adventurer read like a session zero from a tabletop RPG. You’ve got a warrior, a cleric, a wizard, a sorcerer, a thief, and a ranger recounting their origin stories to the head of the Pathfinder society in order to prove their worth to her. They start off with a quest or a job of some kind and end with either a life-changing revelation or a desire for more adventures. This is basic character building 101, especially when creating new ones to use in role-playing games. It doesn’t have to be overly complicated, but I appreciate the authors putting in the extra work to make them feel fleshed out. That’s part of the fun in playing a pencil-and-paper RPG, which also overlaps with being an author. Fun is the number one priority of any gamer, but playing D&D or Pathfinder can be training for budding authors wanting to break into the industry. It doesn’t have to be the end goal, but it could be if the player or DM wanted it to be.

Having said that, I do wish the more dramatic and heavy parts of these stories had more time to breathe instead of just bolting from one scene to the next. The wizard discovered that he comes from a family of ruthless slave traders and wants to abandon them. The monk who hires the thief wants to rescue his sister from being traded like a slave herself. The barbarian who saves the fighter’s life has a history of surviving horrible violence. These moments shouldn’t be glossed over so quickly. They need to be drawn out. They need to be expanded upon. Otherwise, it’s over too soon and it’s a wasted chance to make the reader feel everything that’s going on. Sherman Alexie, the author of War Dances, is a master of making everything feel important and heartbreaking. I don’t get that sense when I’m reading this graphic novel. It could be because it’s a graphic novel and they’re fast reads by nature. But still, I would have loved to spend more time in these heavy moments to make the characters feel even more human than they were before.

The closest I got to feeling anything for the characters was Kyra the Cleric’s story. She serves the god of redemption and yet finds nothing redeeming about the prisoners she and a paladin take with them on a rescue mission against blood-sucking demons. Her hypocrisy is a major character flaw that makes her feel three-dimensional. And it’s her experiences with the paladin that make her overcome this flaw. Not all redemption takes place on its own. Sometimes we all need somebody to show us the way. We as people don’t often know that we’re making mistakes or going down a bad path until someone else points it out to us. It’s what we do with that information afterwards that will make or break our redemption arcs. That makes a lot of sense to me and it’s why Kyra’s story is my favorite out of all the ones I’ve read in this book.

Overall this was a fun graphic novel to read. Even if you don’t play tabletop RPG’s, you’ll get some enjoyment out of this as a standalone fantasy story. Yes, I know it’s the fourth volume of a much larger series, but it stands out enough on its own that the reader won’t be confused about which part of the story goes where. That’s what good books should do regardless of where they are in the series: stand out on their own and not have to rely too heavily on their back catalogue for vital information. Pathfinders Origins gets four stars out of five. Not perfect, but ultimately a nice way to spend some alone time with your nose in a book. Well done to everybody who was involved in the making of this story from the authors to the artists.

Lars Stonewall

 =========================================

THE BASICS

=========================================

Name: Lars Stonewall

Nicknames: King, Big Man, Fire-Breathing Giant

Gender: Cisgender Male

Age: 50

Birth Date: 450 PM

Birth Place: Wargun City

Currently Living In:  Honey Valley

Species: Human

Ethnicity / Race: White

Citizenship: Wargun City and Honey Valley

Religion / Beliefs: Left-Wing Atheist

=========================================

FAMILY

=========================================

Father: Hagar Stonewall

Age: Dead

Relationship: Respect

Mother: Bernadette Stonewall

Age: Dead

Relationship: Nurturing

Spouse: Gwendolyn Stonewall

Age: 40

Relationship: Separated

=========================================

PHYSICAL FEATURES:

=========================================

Height: 7’0”

Weight: 350 lbs.

Frame / Build: Gigantic and Muscular

Hair length: Long

Hair color: Black

Eye shape: Large

Eye color: Brown

Complexion: Grizzled

Face size (broad, narrow, etc.): Sinewy

Voice type: Deep

Foot size: 24 Men’s

Tattoo(s): Sun On His Back

Scar(s): Gashes across his chest and legs

Other notable accessories: Heavy spiked metal armor and a crown

Any other identifying mark(s): Beard

=========================================

SOCIO / ECONOMIC / POLITICAL

=========================================

Political Affiliation: Leftwing

Economic Class: Rich

Social Class (nobility, artisan, merchant, commoner, etc.): King

Occupation: King

Income: Business Taxes

Residence: Honey Valley

Transportation: Castle Tank

=========================================

INTERESTS

=========================================

Favorite Food(s): Turkey Legs

Favorite Sport(s): Jousting

Favorite Book(s): Historical Fiction

Favorite Show(s): TV hasn’t been invented yet

Favorite Music: War Drums

Favorite Color(s): Gold and Gray

Clothing Style / Preferences: Armor

Hobbies: Chess, Blacksmithing, and Weightlifting

Role Model(s): His parents and Llewellyn Xavier

Likes: Good Food in Large Portions

Dislikes: Alcohol

=========================================

PERSONALITY

=========================================

Good Qualities / Trait(s): Kind, Loyal, and Charismatic

Vices / Negative Trait(s): Workaholic, Easy Anger, and Perfectionism

Strengths: Leadership and Combat Skills

Weaknesses: Self-Sacrifice and Overconfidence

Habits / Idiosyncrasies / Quirks: Cracking Bones

Phobia / Fears: Heights, Failure, and Looking Weak

Loves: Respect and Loyalty

Hates: Bigotry and Dictatorships

Select one personality type below that best describes your character:

PROTECTORS

[X] Overseer (ESTJ) – Thrives on facts and details. Has a clear set of standards and beliefs. They are hardworking, responsible, and self-confident. They rely on experiences rather than speculation, and make decisions based on these. Very good at enforcing laws and rules. Loyal and hard-working. Like to be in charge. Very organized, tends to be a stickler for the rules.

Define your character’s personality based on the following aspects:

a. Physically (outward interaction with his environment, personal strengths): Commands respect through his size and voice

b. Psychologically (intellect, mental stability, morality): Wise and Composed

c. Spiritually (his faith, convictions): Doesn’t follow religion

d. Emotionally (willpower, under stressful situations, expressiveness): Strong and hardened

e. Socially (how others view him, how he interacts with people): Respected by his people, hated by dictators

Others things to know:

=========================================

HISTORY

=========================================

1. Describe the character’s childhood. He was groomed to be a leader by his royal parents and he excelled in the physical aspects. The mental and emotional aspects were learned through his parents refusing to spoil him and making him work for everything he had. He learned to push through his tiredness and gets his work ethic through that.

2. Name the good incidents that have happened in the character’s life. How has this shaped his personality? He played football as a kid and enjoyed every minute of it. He was so good that he eventually became captain of his team. This was part of his grooming to become a leader.

3. Name bad experiences that have happened in the character’s life. How has this shaped his personality? He was bullied a lot for his size and whenever he chased his attackers, he would gas out and they would get away unscathed. This is why he’s easily angered and has workaholic tendencies when it comes to physical exercise.

4. What is the character doing when first introduced? What are his goals at this point? He’s buying the services of Shadow Asylum so that they can help him defeat the Atwood Queendom and free her slaves. The reason he has a soldier shortage is because they’re randomly disappearing just like the elves in Windham and Llewellyn’s village.

4a. Do these goals change at any point in the story? He prioritizes defeating Shelly Atwood over striking a trade deal with Llewellyn even though both are equally important. The goals remain the same throughout the story.

=========================================

STORY DEVELOPMENT:

=========================================

CHARACTER ARCHETYPE: (Put an X on all applicable boxes)

[] Addict (Conspicuous Consumer, Glutton, Workaholic–see also Gambler)

[] Advocate (Attorney, Defender, Legislator, Lobbyist, Environmentalist)

[] Alchemist (Wizard, Magician, Scientist, Inventor–see also Visionary)

[] Angel (Fairy Godmother/Godfather)

[] Antagonist (Opposing View, not necessarily the Evil Bad — see also Villain)

[] Anti-Hero

[] Artist (Artisan, Craftsperson, Sculptor, Weaver)

[X] Athlete (Olympian)

[] Avenger (Avenging Angel, Savior, Messiah)

[] Beggar (Homeless person/ Indigent)

[] Bully (Coward)

[] Catalyst

[] Child (Orphan, Wounded, Magical/Innocent, Nature, Divine, Puer/Puella Eternis, or Eternal Boy/Girl)

[] Clown (Court Jester, Fool, Dummling)

[] Companion (Friend, Sidekick, Right Arm, Consort)

[] Damsel (Princess)

[] Destroyer (Attila, Mad Scientist, Serial Killer, Spoiler)

[] Detective (Spy, Double Agent, Sleuth, Snoop, Sherlock Holmes, Private Investigator, Profiler–see also Warrior/Crime Fighter)

[] Dilettante (Amateur)

[] Don Juan (Casanova, Gigolo, Seducer, Sex Addict)

[] Engineer (Architect, Builder, Schemer)

[] Exorcist (Shaman)

[] Father (Patriarch, Progenitor)

[] Femme Fatale (Black Widow, Flirt, Siren, Circe, Seductress, Enchantress)

[] Gambler

[] God (Adonis, see also Hero)

[] Gossip (see also Networker)

[] Guide (Guru, Sage, Crone, Wise Woman, Spiritual Master, Evangelist, Preacher)

[] Healer (Wounded Healer, Intuitive Healer, Caregiver, Nurse, Therapist, Analyst, Counselor)

[] Hedonist (Bon Vivant, Chef, Gourmet, Gourmand, Sybarite–see also Mystic)

[] Hermit (see also Wise old Man)

[X] Hero/Heroine (see also Knight, Warrior)

[] Judge (Critic, Examiner, Mediator, Arbitrator)

[X] King (Emperor, Ruler, Leader, Chief — see also Politician)

[X] Knight in Shining Armor

[X] Liberator

[] Lover

[] Martyr

[] Mediator (Ambassador, Diplomat, Go-Between)

[] Mentor (Master, Counselor, Tutor)

[] Messiah (Redeemer, Savior)

[] Midas/Miser

[] Monk/Nun (Celibate)

[] Mother (Matriarch, Mother Nature)

[] Mystic (Renunciate, Anchorite, Hermit)

[] Networker (Messenger, Herald, Courier, Journalist, Communicator)

[] Pioneer (Explorer, Settler, Pilgrim, Innovator)

[] Poet

[X] Politician (see also King)

[] Priest (Priestess, Minister, Rabbi, Evangelist)

[] Prince

[] Prostitute

[] Queen (Empress)

[] Rebel (Anarchist, Revolutionary, Political Protester, Nonconformist, Pirate)

[X] Rescuer

[] Saboteur

[] Samaritan

[] Scribe (Copyist, Secretary, Accountant–see also Journalist)

[] Seeker (Wanderer, Vagabond, Nomad)

[] Servant (Indentured Servant)

[] Shape-shifter (Spell-caster–see also Trickster)

[] Slave

[] Spectre (Ghost / Apparition with Unresolved issues)

[] Storyteller (Minstrel, Narrator)

[] Student / Scholar (Disciple, Devotee, Follower, Apprentice)

[] Teacher (Instructor, see also Mentor)

[] Thief (Swindler, Con Artist, Pickpocket, Burglar, Robin Hood)

[] Threshold Guardian

[] Trickster (Puck, Provocateur)

[] Turncoat

[] Vampire

[] Victim

[] Villain / Shadow (Big Bad of the story; see also Antagonist)

[] Virgin (see also Celibate)

[] Visionary (Dreamer, Prophet, Seer–see also Guide, Alchemist)

[X] Warrior (Soldier, Crime Fighter, Amazon, Mercenary, Soldier of Fortune, Gunslinger, Samurai)

[] Wise old Man (see also Hermit)

1. What are the motivations for the character’s actions? Not only his duties as a king, but also his love for his wife, who was kidnapped by Shelly’s forces a long time ago as part of the slave-trading business.

2. What are the character’s goals / ambition / dreams? He wants to overthrow evil empires and gain the trust of the disenfranchised. He also wants to have children of his own, which he never got to do with his wife before she was abducted.

3. What external conflicts would you wish for the character to overcome? Overthrowing Shelly Atwood and freeing her slaves.

3a. What are the obstacles in the character’s path that might make this difficult? Her forces are more powerful than his. Plus, she has the trust of her people due to her soft-power authority.

4. What inner conflicts would you wish for the character to overcome? Move on from his traumas and become a better leader by proxy.

4a. What are the obstacles in the character’s path that might make this difficult? He’s easily riled up and gets himself into trouble on the battlefield. He can only make rational decisions when he’s planning things out beforehand, hence his reputation as a good leader.

=========================================

AUTHOR’S NOTES / MISCELLANY

=========================================

Character theme song: “Between You and Nowhere” by Hellyeah

Celebrity / IRL lookalike: Kevin Nash

Oath Breaker

VERSE 1

I know this comes off as some shocking news

But a paladin’s powers can be abused

When he sends the orcs to the undertaker

He embraces the role of a fallen oath breaker

No more healing powers to wield

No more cutting undead with zeal

Just another tin can with a sword and shield

The consequences are always real

VERSE 2

A lesser man would sit behind bars

With his date of release so distant and far

But an oath breaker has a redemption arc

Another chance to leave a positive mark

Does he deserve it? Only time will tell

Everybody seems to think he belongs in hell

He’s more nuclear than a plutonium rod

Giving cancer to even the mightiest gods

VERSE 3

To burn an evil empire into smoldering dust

Is the only way to regain the common man’s trust

To derail the elven sex trafficking train

Is the only way to break the slavery chains

To slay the giants who destroy the town

Is the only way to regain the holy crown

Save the world just like you did before

Even if it means you have to win your own war

VERSE 4

The final judgment shall be cast upon you

But the verdict is something you already knew

Couldn’t erase the past from traumatized minds

A cell in the underworld is all you’ll find

Let he who’s without sin cast the first stone

Guaranteed broken bones even though you atoned

You can dig up dirty laundry from behind the grave

To the sins of the past, everybody is a slave

Charles Goodhorn Is On Your Team, Idiots

Are you looking for adventure? Are you looking for magic? Are you looking for a magical adventure with dragon-slaying and princess-rescuing? Well, put away the Kindle and its charging cord, because you won’t get that from Charles Goodhorn’s brief encounter with gun-wielding bugbears. Who is Charles Goodhorn, you ask? He’s a noble paladin. A righteous warrior. A slayer of everything evil. With every D&D campaign he was a part of, he made it to the eighth level of his profession. He was so close to getting his own warhorse and followers. He could have been the stuff of legends…but not this time. Not even close to this time.

Somewhere in the mid to late-90’s, my brother James hosted an Advanced Dungeons & Dragons with his friends Adam and his own brother whose name I can’t remember, both of whom played bugbears. What the fuck was a bugbear? Well, I didn’t start using the internet on a frequent basis until 2000, so it wasn’t like I could Google it right away. I always thought they were just humanoid bears. Damn, did I turn out to be wrong. James, Adam, and Adam’s nameless brother were in the middle of a session when from out of nowhere, James asked if I wanted to play to. Hell yes, I wanted to play! I got my eighth-level paladin ready for some action, complete with a magical bastard sword and the swagger of a true warrior.

Charles Goodhorn, the paladin in question, entered the game…and the first thing the two bugbears do is point their guns at me. Whatever swagger Charles had going into this campaign was completely gone when I, the player, couldn’t figure out how to deal with this situation. I froze up. I scrambled for answers and couldn’t find any. I couldn’t understand why two player characters would want to point guns at me for seemingly no reason. And so, Charles Goodhorn disappeared in a puff of smoke. Adam’s brother wanted to take Charles’s magical bastard sword, but that disappeared too. And then I retreated to my room not knowing why the hell everything happened the way it did.

Even though this session lasted about as long as virgin sex (which I would know nothing about), there is a lot to unpack now that I’m an adult storyteller with a somewhat developed frontal cortex. First of all, let’s ask why. Why would two player characters want to point weapons at another player character, especially when Charles did nothing to provoke them? Aren’t all player characters supposed to be on the same side? Even with differing alignments, surely they could find a way to work together. Maybe that’s what I should have had Charles say: “I’m on your team, idiots!”

Was he, though? Would a Detect Evil check inform him of the bugbears’ intentions? Should characters just willingly trust each other due to their circumstances? Do they have to get along all the time? If not, then why would they not get along? Did these bugbears come with their own emotional baggage? Were they screwed over so many times that pointing guns at strangers is reasonable? 

Or maybe…just maybe, a Google search many decades later would reveal to me that bugbears generally conform to the Chaotic Evil alignment, which meant there was no structure or recourse to what they were doing as long as it meant killing all the good guys. If I had used the Detect Evil skill that all paladins are entitled to, then I probably would have figured this out. But I froze up not knowing what to do, because I thought all player characters had to get along all the time.

But let’s say that Charles knew ahead of time that the bugbears were evil. Surely, he could just cut them down with his bastard sword the minute they got too close. But maybe it wasn’t such a hot idea to say, “I’m on your team, idiots!” Could declaring allegiance to Chaotic Evil bugbears turn Charles into an Oath Breaker, or a warrior who lost all of his paladin powers by virtue of deviating from Lawful Goodness?

But let’s say my Google search turned out to be a bunch of horseshit. Let’s say the bugbears weren’t Chaotic Evil, but they were just distrusting of strangers who suddenly waltzed in on their action. Well…Charles is hardly the only stranger to cross their paths, I’m sure. The streets of every city the bugbears were a part of were most likely packed with strangers. Do the bugbears point their guns at pedestrians crossing the street? How about the bartenders who serve them beer? Or the blacksmiths who forge their weapons? Maybe they should solve their own trust issues before they get thrown in prison for randomly pointing guns at people they don’t know.

If the bugbears weren’t actually Chaotic Evil, why would they want to distrust a paladin, who is notorious for conforming to Lawful Good behavior? If you can’t trust a zealot paladin, who can you trust? A True Neutral thief? A Chaotic Neutral barbarian? How about a Lawful Evil politician? You know, someone who hides behind red tape and charisma while committing the most devious acts imaginable, such as slashing funding for poor people and giving tax breaks to kajillionaires.

But let’s say the bugbears don’t have deep-seated trust issues nor are they Chaotic Evil. Why then would they point guns at a random paladin? Perhaps it had more to do with the setting than anything else. I never did ask James where this campaign took place. If the bugbears were in a monster-infested dungeon, maybe they thought the paladin was yet another monster. Sounds reasonable, right? Well, at that point, it sounds more like a prophecy for Dick Cheney shooting hunters in the face. Apparently, Dick Cheney wasn’t an outlier. There really were hunters in the news who shot distant people because they thought the person was a deer. Charles Goodhorn didn’t have antlers…or tentacles…or vampire fangs…or bat wings…he was just a human knight with good intentions. And yet, he could have been shot in the face because of hair-trigger paranoia.

Hair-trigger paranoia is actually a common theme in movies and books. In the beginning of The Hateful Eight, Marquis Warren asks for a ride from John Ruth’s horse carriage. Because John Ruth is a bounty hunter with a pricy criminal in tow, he points his guns at Marquis and demands to see his hands. John has no idea if Marquis is a criminal, but he won’t take any chances due to the gravity of his situation. Maybe the bugbears had similar gravity in their situations and would rather vet people than let them have access to whatever riches or artifacts they have. That would have been a fair justification for paranoia, but I didn’t know that at the time, because I always assumed player characters were part of a team.

There’s a lesson to be learned in the campaign that lasted about as long as Daniel Bryan vs. Sheamus at WWE Wrestlemania in 2012. Read the room. Make sure you see all the nuances of the situation before making wild assumptions. Charles had no idea why bugbears would want to point rifles at him, but it wouldn’t have hurt to find out. It wasn’t like he could just run up to them and cut them down, which may or may not have made him an Oath Breaker. They had guns, which meant they were in control. The one who has the bullets has all the power, in case you learned nothing from every bank robbery movie ever. Instead of calling them idiots for not seeing his side, Charles could interrogate them a little bit. Why are they pointing guns at him? Who are they? What are their intentions with him? What will it take to convince them to put their weapons down?

While illnesses like cancer and schizophrenia seem to happen randomly, human behavior happens for a reason. Is anybody really acting randomly? Do bugbears just shoot their guns off for no reason? Or do they have psychological issues which force them to do so? Do they have prejudices? Do they have untreated illnesses? Do they have past experiences with people who screwed them over? Do they value protection a little too much in dungeon-crawling scenarios? Would they shoot an innocent prisoner if they thought he was a monster? If so, what would prompt them to act hastily? Psychology can’t be boiled down to one or two actions or thoughts. There’s a whole universe going on in people’s heads. What kind of universe goes on in the bugbears’ heads?

I’ll tell you what kind of universe goes on in Charles Goodhorn’s head: the same as mine: confusion, anxiety, awkwardness, and shyness. I exhibit these traits in Charles because those were the only behaviors I knew as a pre-teen growing up in Chehalis, Washington. Getting inside other people’s heads and expanding character psychologies was an alien concept to me back then. I just wanted to slash some shit up. I wanted to kill the evil sorcerers and collect enough loot to support my Lawful Good churches. I wanted to slay dragons and rescue princesses. I wanted to leave behind a legacy of epic proportions. But if I did any of things as a Gary-Stu, then the legendary status loses all of its specialty.

If I prided myself so heavily on my creativity back then, why wouldn’t I want to expand my storytelling skills and see beyond the black and white? Because in order to do that, I’d have to actually take an interest in the literature middle school and high school gave me to analyze. School books are notorious for being boring, with the exceptions coming few and far between. Even in college, the reading material bored me to tears. I jokingly called Tom King’s book “Green Grass, Running Diarrhea”. I might as well have brought a blanket and pillow with me very time I stepped into Medieval Literature class. Going to school killed any love for reading I had, because the books sucked. It wasn’t until after I left school in 2009 that I started to find books that I liked and became a born-again bookworm.

These Dungeons & Dragons memoirs aren’t just fun to write; they’re learning experiences for my past self, whether it’s something to expand upon or never do again as a writer. Hopefully, young writers won’t make the same mistakes that I did, but if they do, it probably has something to do with the school system failing them. In my case, instead of turning to literary crap, I turned on the TV and watched edge lord shows like The Shield, WWE Raw, Mind of Mencia, and anything else that had offensive stereotypes that I never questioned. I took a lot of work to undo those edge lord tendencies. But if I hadn’t undone them, I wouldn’t be here to teach you these D&D-inspired lessons to begin with. Forget Cancel Culture, because my career wouldn’t have started anyways. Can’t take away a career that never was. Learn and continue to learn, my friends. That’s all I can teach you.

The Dwarf with Bad Aim

When I was an edgy little shithead during my pre-teen and teenage years, I laughed my ass off at Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles jokes. The cheese grater was the best book they’ve ever read. The fastest thing to go on land was their speedboats. The best way to torture them is to rearrange the furniture. Get it? Because they’re blind? Oh-ho-ho-ho! Blindness is so funny, isn’t it? You know who probably wouldn’t think those jokes are funny? The level one dwarf fighter I played as during a D&D campaign in the 90’s. I don’t remember a whole lot about that campaign, so the details might be a little fuzzy. Hell, I don’t even remember the dwarf’s name. Let’s call him Clark. Not very fantasy-like, but fuck it, I’m calling him Clark anyways because I like the name Clark.

So why is it that a level one dwarf fighter named Clark wouldn’t have a sense of humor about blindness jokes? It’s not like he’s blind himself. He could surely set his empathy aside for a few chuckles, right? Well, not exactly. He could see just fine, but you wouldn’t know that from how often he missed his enemies during combat situations. He had this hulking battleaxe that could rip any monster to shreds. The original Axe Body Spray could have been Clark slashing a poor son of a bitch goblin in half…emphases on could have been.

The campaign was DMed by my brother James and played by me and his friends Nathan and Chris. I don’t remember their characters or their names. I don’t remember what the name of the campaign was (it was pre-written by Wizards of the Coast). All I remember about the campaign is that it used to be really popular among D&D nerds in the 90’s. The players had to transport a prisoner to the gallows only to find out that an elf thief was a mole in the group all along. Now the end goal is to send them both to the guillotine. There would be our fair share of obstacles along the way, all of which required Clark and his comrades to swing their weapons and actually hit something for a change. Nathan and Chris’s characters hit their targets with a sniper’s precision. Clark? Not so much.

The first battle during this prisoner transport was already underway with some bandits wanting to steal our riches. Clark had the opportunity to swing his axe and shed some blood all over the forest’s most beautiful features. He swung his axe…and missed. He swung again…and missed. He swung yet again…and missed. Nathan and Chris’s characters picked up Clark’s slack and left the bandits’ corpses stacked a mile high. And then we encountered some gnomes with a broken down war machine. The gnomes naturally blamed us for their misfortune and attacked right away. Clark swung his axe…and missed. He swung again…and missed. I put the twenty-sided die in my mouth and spit it out hoping it would improve the result. Not only did Clark miss again, but I got chewed out for being weird and getting saliva on the dice.

There were many battles to be fought whether it was with knights, mages, or the prisoners themselves. The story was the same: Clark swung his axe and missed horribly. There was even a time when I rolled a nat-one and had to skip an extra turn to pick up my weapon again. Nathan and Chris’s characters did the heavy lifting for me and laid waste to our enemies. Yada, yada, yada, the prisoners were executed and everything was happy in fantasy land. By the time the campaign ended, I had tears in my eyes due to how poorly Clark performed in battle. Every swing he took, he missed like a bitch. He let his team down, though his teammates didn’t show any hint of anger at him. But Clark knew he deserved their scorn if they had any. He was just extra weight freeloading experience points from their labor. As the tears poured from my eyes, I bemoaned the fact that I wouldn’t get any experience points. But James gave me some anyways, though I didn’t do anything significant to deserve them.

Because this was the 90’s and wisdom wasn’t my strong suit at the time, I didn’t see an opportunity for a compelling story when it came to Clark’s misfortune. All I saw was a series of misses. It wouldn’t be acceptable in a game of Final Fantasy IV or Chrono Trigger, because that’s how your characters die. But Clark lived through it all. He leeched off of his friends and never once paid them back. If there was a story to be had there, my younger self couldn’t see it and no, that’s not a blindness joke.

So…now that everything happened and Clark is a broken man, where does he go from here? As a wiser storyteller than I was in the 90’s, I see many angles this can take. Obviously, Clark is overwhelmed with guilt. But how does he handle it? Does he train harder and get better? Does he use his pay from the campaign to sign up for fighting classes? Does he push himself beyond what he’s capable of and jeopardize his health? 

Or does he let the guilt take a stronger hold of him and instead of using it as inspiration, he uses it as an excuse to quit. Maybe Clark retires from adventuring altogether. Maybe he spends his money on alcohol to silence his guilty conscience. Maybe he meets a woman who finds him attractive, but he pushes her away because he “can’t satisfy her”. Ever hear the phrase “those who can’t do, teach?” What if Clark feels so guilty that he thinks he would suck as a teacher as well as a real-world fighter?

What you have to remember as a D&D player is that this is a story above all else. It’s more than just swinging axes, casting spells, and slaying dragons. Everything is an opportunity for a story. And when your characters go through those stories with newfound experience, they, you guessed it, gain experience points. And then those characters develop into three-dimensional people. They feel real despite the fact that they’re in a fantasy setting. They feel human despite being a dwarf, elf, or orc. They have thoughts, opinions, dreams, ambitions, and goals. Sometimes those goals are self-destructive, sometimes they reach beyond the cosmos. The more you develop your story and your characters, the more invested you and your audience will become. If you only care about your misses and failures, that’s all your audience will care about as well.

Everything has a story behind it whether you see it or not, even the ordinary aspects of life. That bookshelf you’ve got in your room? It has seen a lot during its time. It was crafted by creative hands. It’s had many owners who used it for purposes other than storing books. It’s collected dust and formed cracks in the wood and paint. There will be a day when your bookshelf breaks down completely and has to spend its final days in a landfill somewhere. Or the wood from the shelves could be refashioned into something else like a nightstand or even firewood for a camping trip. If an ordinary bookshelf can have this much of a story behind it, so can Clark. But Clark is not an inanimate object. He’s a person with thoughts and feelings. How he deals with his thoughts and feelings is what will determine how three-dimensional he really is. Okay, Clark, so you missed all of your shots and let your teammates down. What will you do next? That’s a story very much worth telling.

But maybe Clark can’t do a whole lot anymore because he really is going blind. Maybe it’s time for him to put down the axe before he hurts someone he didn’t intend to. Maybe he has to spend his time in a home for disabled dwarves. But then Clark has to deal with ableism and people who whine about how their tax money is being spent. If the aggression against him gets so bad, he might have to pick up his axe again to defend himself. But he’ll have help from that woman who found him attractive. She’ll guide his every step and he’ll get progressively better at swinging his axe and murdering ableist assholes. And then…he’ll believe in himself again. His self-esteem will grant him the willingness to marry that woman and start a family with her. And just like that…you have a compelling, three-dimensional story about Clark a.k.a. The Dwarf with Bad Aim!

Johnny Glass's Underage Beer Run

 An elven thief named Johnny Glass walks into a bar. The bartender looks up at him and says, “Can I see your ID?” Sorry if you were expecting a cliché bar joke. To be honest, I was expecting one too when I played a lone session of Dungeons & Dragons with my brother James in Pennsylvania in 1999. What was I doing in Linesville, Pennsylvania at the time? A whole lot of fuck-all, that’s what. To be fair, that’s all there is to do in the super rural town of Linesville. Everything was so far away from my Aunt Ruth’s farm that finding entertainment was damn near impossible. So James and I had to create our own. Dungeons & Dragons was our escape from a place that couldn’t be escaped.

But what about the medieval town that Johnny Glass was a citizen of? Did that have a lot going on in the way of kicks and thrills? The closest thing to that answer was getting plastered at the bar. Or smoking a burned out cigarette until he had extra crispy Kentucky Fried Lungs, that could be done in a bar too. But let’s go back to the point where the bouncer (not the bartender) asks to see Johnny’s ID. It seems like a standard practice for any bar, but there’s actually a lot to unpack here. First of all, Johnny was an elf and the typical age for elves in a game of D&D is somewhere in the fifties and sixties. They’re an immortal race that doesn’t pass away from old age, but goes into isolation when they do. It’s like 2020, but forever. If an elf looks like he’s fifty or sixty, why would anyone question his maturity when it comes to chugging a stein of beer? The only reason I can think of is that the mostly human town holds a deep-seated bigotry against the elven race.

And while we’re on the topic of anti-elf racism, if I had the storytelling abilities back then that I do now, there might actually be a plausible reason why an elf would have an ordinary human name like Johnny Glass. Maybe where he’s from, his culture was suppressed by the conquering humans, so all the Legolases and Grimlords became Johnnies and Jackies. Names say a lot about a person’s cultural background. So when you see an ethnic minority with an ordinary white guy name, you know some ordinary white guys had major influence over the conquest. There’s a whole story right there! But alas, the only reason I chose the name Johnny Glass for my character was because it was convenient and it was all I could think of at the time. Little did I know or care that everything has a back story if you look hard enough.

Getting back to the ID check at the bar, how exactly is Johnny Glass supposed to produce a document that didn’t even exist in medieval times? The only way an ID would ever work is if photography was invented. That’s the whole point of it: to put a face with the name. There’s no photography in D&D. So what was Johnny supposed to show the bouncer? A painting? A magical seal? A doodle? Oh, god help him if he gets a doodle. The artist might actually make him look like a caricature goofball if racism was the true reason for this campaign. Maybe he’d draw Johnny with a massive nose, Dumbo ears, and a saggy belly, which is not only humiliating on its own, but it wouldn’t grant him access anywhere since that’s not what he looked like. He looked like any other elf: pointy ears, light green skin, blond locks, and a skinny build. He looked like any other elf because with a name like Johnny Glass, that’s what he truly was under the thumb of the dominant humans.

Naturally, Johnny didn’t have any ID papers on him, then again, who did since photography doesn’t exist yet?! The humans never had their ID’s checked, but Johnny did. And because he entered a bar where his age was questioned over and over again, he broke the law. Thieves breaking the law isn’t anything new, but at least said thieves stay hidden in the shadows when they commit their crimes. Not Johnny. He walked into a bar a (somewhat) free elf, came out with his hands and feet shackled by law enforcement. Johnny served himself on a silver platter to the racist humans. Not a good way to start a D&D campaign as a stealthy thief.

But don’t worry! Surely a trickster like him could slip out of prison and never be found again, right? Well, there’s a lot to unpack in that department as well. First of all, this was my first time ever playing a thief. Beforehand, I played loads of fighters, one paladin, and one wizard. I had more fun being a fighter and a paladin than any other class, because I could actually defend myself in a brawl and look badass doing it. If a wizard doesn’t have his spells studied and ready to go, he’s fucked since he can’t wear heavy armor or wield heavy weapons. Plus, wizards naturally have a low amount of hit points. Unless the goal was to try something new and exciting, why would I ever want to play a thief? If I ever got caught, I couldn’t defend myself against knights with gigantic battleaxes and claymores bigger than their bodies. Backstab wouldn’t do me any good, because that only works if I’m undetected.

But here I am in a prison cell with no chance of parole. No fair trial, either. Democracy and photography had a lot in common in D&D: they didn’t exist. The prison guards told Johnny they were going to lock him up for life. But that turned out to be a joke that Johnny would never laugh at in a million years (or however long elves lived). He instead was sentenced to five years. He could do five years standing on his head, given his elven immortality. But why would he want to unless he had an escape plan? You think I would have learned one by now given that my brother loved locking my characters in prison and using that as the main storyline. He did this a lot. I never got away once, but he still insisted on doing prison campaigns. Would Johnny Glass be the one to finally break the curse? Well…not exactly.

There he was shackled to the wall of his own eight-by-ten cell. In case the shackles weren’t enough, the prison cell had a barred door and there were guards on the other side of the cell block. It was time for Johnny to show what a master thief was all about…or at least until he failed a roll to pick the locks on his shackles. Then he failed a strength check. Then he failed a dexterity check. Then he failed pretty much every other roll in his arsenal. I can’t remember how exactly Johnny got out of his cell, but that just goes to show how unprepared I was for life as a thief. What to do next? Well, in order to simulate the idea of thinking fast, James, my DM brother, gave me only enough time until his fist dropped to his lap. Because I freaked out and couldn’t think of anything on time, the guards came through the door and threw me back in my cell before shackling me to the wall again. And then Johnny Glass was back to square one.

So I rolled a lock pick check and failed. I rolled a strength check and failed. I rolled a dexterity check and failed. Whatever rolling tactic I used to try to break free, it failed. And then…James mercifully pulled a Deus Ex Machina out of his ass. There just so happened to be another thief in the cell with me. He asked, “Do you want to get out?” I said yes, so he unshackled me and opened my door. That was it. I was a free man. All I had to do was wander down an underground maze and my freedom would be solidified. One drawback to all of this is that I got no experience points for what I went through. I figured I wouldn’t get them anyways since I wasn’t involved in any fights. But that’s not how thieves gain experience points. Fighters get them through fighting. Wizards get them through casting spells. Thieves get them by being sneaky as fuck. I don’t know how I would have gotten those points since I failed all of my rolls.

I wouldn’t get the answer until a few years later when James put me in another prison campaign, this time with a different character. He was shackled to the wall. His cell door was locked. There was a loony tune in the room with him who wet himself. The piss was traveling like a river toward my general vicinity. So what did I do? James gave me advice this time: use my surroundings to my advantage. There was a pile of stones next to where I was sitting. I smashed the stones against the shackles and evaded the slow-moving piss trail. That was somewhat satisfying. But I have to ask: wouldn’t the builders of this prison have foreseen this happening? What exactly is a pile of rocks doing next to shackled prisoners? That to me is even more of a Deus Ex Machina scenario than Johnny Glass being let out by a cell mate he never knew he had.

So…what can be learned from this experience now that I’m a storytelling adult? First of all, I should probably ask the DM what my surroundings look like so that I’m more aware of what the fuck’s going on. It feels like such a minor detail to ask for, but authors have to do this too when describing an unfamiliar setting. They don’t want to describe too much, but just enough of the relevant parts to create visuals in the reader’s mind. Okay, so Johnny Glass can’t pick his way out of prison. What else can he do? Provided there are no stones this time, he could hoot and holler until a guard paid attention to him. Then he can hide in the shadows to make the guard think he’s gone. When the guard investigates, Johnny could spring on him and strangle him with the shackles. He grabs the key and frees himself. Wah-lah!

There are lots of ways in which a thief can be clever. There are lots of ways in which a player can be just as much of a storyteller as the DM. The biggest lesson above all else…be prepared for the role you’re playing! Study your characters! Refine them! Develop them! Give your elven thief a reason for being called Johnny fucking Glass! Maybe it’s not racism from humans, but racism from within. Maybe he’s the Candace Owens of elven lore. Or maybe he just wants to blend in, like a forty-year-old woman named Karen. The more you know about your characters, the more solutions you can come up with for their problems. I wish I would have invested this much time into developing characters for my first draft novels. Fixing them would have been a hell of a lot easier! Thank you, Johnny Glass, for opening my eyes. You can open yours too since the bartender wouldn’t let you have that beer after all.

Magic

The thunderstorms of electromancy
Elven royalty dressed in robes so fancy
Pixies and gnomes dancing together
Underneath purple sunset weather
Ogres mourn the loss of beauty
Old witches still call them cuties
Orcish children play among dwarves
A fantasy world removed from war

But in today’s world of disgust
Wizards are met with distrust
The dragons don’t fly anymore
Gatekeepers make life a bore
It’s all about STEM and business
Calling the disenfranchised “idiots”
For daring to believe in a better place
Rebelling against the corporate rat race

The magic is gone, but will it ever return?
Or will the beautiful pages continue to burn?
It’s up to us to slay these hellfire beasts
To bring back childhood memories so sweet
Don’t let the overlords tell you to grow up
Be there for your army when they show up
Fight with swords, staves, and magic wands
Your barbaric war cry is your epic song

The magic didn’t die; it took a vacation
Now it’s alive in a world of devastation
Throwing fireballs and summoning gods
Electrifying the sky with a serpentine rod
Raising an army of skeletons and zombies
Shapeshifting into grizzlies, animal mommies
Our legacies will live on forever and a day
Let’s dance in celebrate in the gnomish way

"In the Presence of Knowing" by Valarie Savage Kinney

BOOK TITLE: In the Presence of Knowing

AUTHOR: Valarie Savage Kinney

YEAR: 2017

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Urban Fantasy

GRADE: Extra Credit

When her alcoholic ex-boyfriend Vince beats her while she’s pregnant, Keisha runs away from home and into the safety of her best friend Layla. Layla helps her get a job at the Windy Springs renaissance faire, a seasonal home for trolls, faeries, gnomes, witches, and other magical creatures that oftentimes blur the lines between fantasy and reality. During one of her treks into the forest, Keisha meets a troll named Gibble (real name Rogan O’Connor) and the two of them form a protective and healthy friendship with each other, something Keisha needed in her life ever since splitting from Vince. Speak of the devil, he’s still out there somewhere and could show up any minute to finish the beating he started at the beginning of the story.

One of the main reasons why I decided to give this book a full five stars was because of how much I loved the relationship between Keisha and Rogan. Their friendship development moves along too fast for some people’s comfort, but none of it feels forced or hokey. These two are perfect for each other. They use their demons to become better people instead of bitter and angry like Vince. Whenever they do get into an argument or two, it makes them stronger and better able to face adversity. They share secrets with each other not out of obligation, but because it’s what they genuinely want. If two people are this good for each other, who cares how fast everything moves? If anything, the readers will want them to get together sooner. While Keisha doesn’t have the martial arts know-how that Rogan does, I still consider these two to be equals in other areas of their relationship. Those are the best kinds of couples, the ones whose love you can believe in.

While Keisha can fend off her demons long enough to be in a healthy relationship with Rogan, she still has those demons in the first place and it shows in her thought processes. Her self-punishment is incredibly realistic of someone who’s been in a previously abusive relationship. Her anxiety and possible PTSD are written in a way that makes me believe the author had some kind of experience with these mental illnesses. Her constant worry over her child is nerve-wracking to read about at times, but it goes to show how much of a loving mother she’ll eventually become when the baby is born. Keisha is a top example of a flawed character whose weaknesses don’t ruin the character development or make them unlikable. Other authors could learn something from this. I know I did.

And then we have the renaissance faire, which aside from the evil witch Cordelia sounds like a fun place to spend a day or even work at. Whether it’s the comedic and lighthearted aura of the trolls and gnomes, the eccentricity of the pirates, the class and elegance of the faeries, or anything else that has to do with the fantasy genre, I’m giving my due props to the author for her undying creativity and passion for putting together this world. People come to medieval conventions to get away from the harsh realities of real life. They can be anything they want and be welcomed with open arms. The sense of community among the workers along with their hatred for mediocre conformity makes this tale of escaping abuse that much easier to digest. These people aren’t just coworkers or friends to Keisha. They’re family. They protect each other physically and creatively. That’s a healthy family dynamic everyone deserves to have.

This was a short and easy piece of reading made easier by Valarie Savage Kinney’s undying creativity and passion for what she writes about. She preaches anti-conformity online quite often and practices it to the fullest extent. We all deserve a chance to expand our imaginations beyond the ordinary and Valarie makes us feel safe enough to do that through her writing and online presence. An extra credit grade goes to this wonderful book, the first in a series and boy, what a beginning it was! She’ll no doubt carry this momentum into the rest of the Windy Springs novels.

Not My God

VERSE 1

What kind of god would tell me to kill?

And send their families the funeral bill?

What kind of god would tell me to hate?

Believe every sinner gets a hellish fate?

What kind of god would promise me heaven?

Use fear as a conqueror, the ultimate weapon?

Never will I kneel down and pray to the skies

You’d never save me, not even if you tried

CHORUS

You’re not my god! You’re not my kind!

You’re not the answer that I have to find!

You’re not my king! You’re not my master!

You’re not my priest! You’re not my pastor!

You’re! Not! My! God!

VERSE 2

A prophet’s word is a false prediction

A prophet’s book is science fiction

A prophet’s orders fall on deaf ears

A prophet’s stuck in medieval years

CHORUS

You’re not my god! You’re not my kind!

You’re not the answer that I have to find!

You’re not my king! You’re not my master!

You’re not my priest! You’re not my pastor!

You’re! Not! My! God!

VERSE 3

A theomancer is a free man’s cancer

A theocrat lives off stolen cash

A theocosm has nothing in common

With our three worlds and our problems

The bottom level is home to the devil

I call bullshit so you should just quit

I don’t need your thoughts or prayers

In the fucking end, you just don’t care

EXTENDED CHORUS

You’re not my god! You’re not my kind!

You’re not the answer that I have to find!

You’re not my king! You’re not my master!

You’re not my priest! You’re not my pastor!

You’re not my savior! You’re not my flavor!

You won’t punish my sinful behavior!

I’m not your slave! I’m not your zealot!

My soul is not yours, you cannot sell it!

You’re! Not! My! God!

Raggyd

***RAGGYD***

What do you get when you combine minimal reading experience, a massive ego, and four fantasy characters who have no earthly business being together? The answer is Raggyd, a medieval fantasy novel idea I had in 2004 when I took a creative writing class at Olympic College. As horrible as it ended up being, it was also the launching pad for my poetry skills. Ergo, if it wasn’t for Raggyd in 2004, I wouldn’t have published Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage in 2013 nor Necrograph in 2016. I’m halfway through another book of poetry called Prophecy, so that’s in my near future.

With an underdeveloped plot, Raggyd was little more than an excuse to use four characters I really had an affinity for. There was the pit fighting barbarian Graf Lunge, the gothic samurai Eron Putris, the acrobatic thief Baby, and the witch hunter zealot Futez Mysida. Somehow these four characters were going to come together to fight a super powerful enemy named…are you ready for this…Vine Wielders. That’s his name, folks. Vine fucking Wielders. Sounds threatening, doesn’t it?

The first chapter I wrote for Raggyd was an interaction between Baby and Futez. Futez wanted Baby to join his religious organization and Baby declined by making a smart-ass remark about how the only thing Futez plans on stealing is the altar boy’s virginity. Naturally, the witch hunter was less than pleased and sicked an entire squadron of ball and chain-wielding soldiers upon his would-be charge.

As much as the class enjoyed Baby’s dig about fucking altar boys, Raggyd was a critical flop among the students. They had all criticisms for me and no compliments. Other students had compliments for their stories, but I didn’t and that put a huge dent in my massive ego. What really set me off was when a fellow student named Patrick flat out said the story sucked. You know you have a hair trigger temper when the words “it sucked” causes you to blow a major gasket. Of course, I didn’t actually explode in the classroom, but I was boiling over on the inside. I needed some kind of revenge on Patrick in the worst way. Beating the piss out of him would land me in jail, so I needed something a little more…legal.

Around this time in my life, I was watching a lot of WWE (surprise, surprise). Since this was the autumn of 2004, John Cena was still over with the crowd during his white rapper gimmick. I’ll always tell people that hip-hop was the catalyst for my poetry career, but what a lot of people don’t know is that John Cena’s battle raps were the biggest source of inspiration for me. From those TV-14 insults, my revenge poem against Patrick was formulated. I would go on a lengthy diatribe about how I would impregnate Patrick’s mother, sodomize him, and give him up to the orcish horde (because he looked like Frodo Baggins). I would have read this out loud during creative writing class, but Patrick made a face turn and started being nicer to the class, so I pulled back at the last minute.

As far as Raggyd goes, just for the sake of spiting my critics, I wrote a 130-page movie script detailing the exploits of Graf Lunge and Baby. Had I continued this series, there would have been a script dedicated to Eron and Futez and there would have been another one after that dedicated to the final battle with Vine Wielders. For the time being, Graf Lunge’s story was about him getting kidnapped at an early age and forced to train as a pit fighter under drill instructor-style conditions. Baby’s story was about him being sick of his religious upbringing and joining the thieves’ guild, where his training was much nicer by comparison.

Raggyd had a lot of potential to be something big, but I eventually lost interest in continuing it due to the silence of my critics and a growing interest in other movie scripts. That means Graf Lunge, Baby, Futez Mysida, and Eron Putris are all orphaned characters. They’ll be used in other stories, no doubt, but what stories and when? I particularly grew fond of Graf Lunge because of his name (believe it or not) and his barbarian gimmick (naturally). And now that I think about it, Baby and Eron have different incarnations in other published stories. Over a decade later, Baby would become a child’s doll come to life in “Nail Bomb” and Eron would take the role of Floyd the sparring android from “The New Trainer”. Both of those stories will be published in Poison Tongue Tales. That leaves Graf and Futez without a home.

When I look back on the origins of Raggyd and the hurtful environment from which it came, a part of me wishes Olympic College wouldn’t have allowed that format to go on for any creative writing class. Apparently, this is a common occurrence for a lot of schools, not just OC. You read your story or poem out loud to the class and stay silent while the other students judge your piece. The other students can be as harsh or as nasty as they want with no consequence. It’s always been my understanding that school was supposed to be a place where students could grow and mature, not be taken down. But hey, I’ve watched Pink Floyd the Wall millions of times before, so I should have known better.

If I didn’t attend that class, I wouldn’t have written that battle rap about Patrick and therefore, I would have no poetry career. While I admit that my angry poetry got me in trouble more than once, I have no regrets about any of it, because I’d like to think I’ve improved since then. Maybe that’s why “Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage” holds a four-star rating on Good Reads and Necrograph holds a five-star rating on the same website.

The lesson of this blog entry is to live your life with no regrets, because if you change just one part of your personal history, the rest of your life will be completely different. Without the negative experiences of your past, you wouldn’t appreciate the positive ones you have now. Raggyd will see the light of day again sometime in the near future. When that is, I have no idea. Until then, adios, amigos! Thanks for reading!

***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do you call someone who masturbates to Maid Marian while watching through her window?

A: Rubbin’ Hood.

"Never Again" by Marie Krepps

BOOK TITLE: Never Again

AUTHOR: Marie Krepps

YEAR: 2016

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Creature Fantasy

GRADE: Pass

In a medieval world inhabited by animalistic shape-shifters, Lord Sable is the ruler of the Southern Territory, but he is far from a typical politician. Instead of pushing papers behind a desk, he’s brawling with bandits and monsters as a way of protecting his people. He’s also protective of his little daughter, whose mother died after giving birth. Sable is crass, angry, vulgar, and emotionally cold. When another shape-shifter named Nessa comes into his life, the Southern Lord has to choose between keeping his trauma locked up forever and letting someone in to ease his pain. Nessa has pain of her own and wants to run into Sable’s cold, but strong arms. Will these two come together or tear each other apart? Cooperation is a must considering an unknown enemy is targeting Sable and his family.

I have to be honest here for a moment. At first I was critical of Lord Sable’s character development. He came off as an abusive jerk-ass who would never survive in a liberal democracy. And then I remembered that the story’s environment is anything but a liberal democracy. This is set in medieval times, which means literacy is at its lowest, ignorance is at its highest, and bigotry is everywhere. Instead of scoffing at Sable’s negative attitude, I’m praising Marie Krepps’ ability to stay true to the times. Even with a fantasy genre label, it’s important to keep things real and believable. High five to Ms. Krepps for doing an awesome job of that! And if you’re still not convinced that Sable is capable of being a decent person, keep reading, you’ll get your moment….sort of.

Another thing that deserves praise is a staple of most of Ms. Krepps’ books, the delicious sex scenes. I won’t say who they feature because that would count as a spoiler. But when the sex happens, you feel every muscle twitch, you feel every drop of sweat, you feel ever orgasmic burst of energy, and you’re hungering for more afterwards. Marie doesn’t just tell you what kind of hot sex is going on; she puts you right there in the middle of the action. I’ve always praised her ability to show instead of tell and these luscious scenes are living proof. She’s been doing these kinds of scenes for a long time now and experience has always been the best teacher. Try to remember: this book is not meant to be pornographic. Try really, really hard to remember!

The final thing I want to comment on is this book’s similarities with the long-running anime Inuyasha, which also takes place in medieval times and features demonic animals. Creative fuel can come from anywhere and Marie Krepps is a lifelong fan of anime, so that’s a lot of inspiration to work with. I often picture what it would be like to have Inuyasha and Lord Sable eat dinner together. There would be a lot of wolfing, a lot of swearing, and a lot of lewd behavior. The difference between them? Sable doesn’t have a “sit” necklace to hold him back. On the contrary, he’s made of 100% raw power with cold emotions to boot. In a way, Sable is also comparable to Koga since they’re both wolf shifters and equally vulgar. It’s always nice to see an author use creative fuel in such an innovative way.

This is a Marie Krepps novel in the truest sense: sex, violence, fantasy, romance, and an invitation to a front row seat for the action. She knows exactly what she’s doing when it comes to hooking in readers and never letting go of her death grip until she damn well wants to. This isn’t the last we’re going to see of Lord Sable, Nessa, and the evildoers who want to tear their world apart. This is only the first in what will eventually be a long series of awesome storytelling, high drama, and explosive action. I think she deserves a passing grade for her effort, don’t you agree? Excellent work, Marie! You’ve done it again!

Interview with Andy Peloquin: Round Two

1. Do you play videogames? If so, how do they influence your writing?

I'm huge and I'm a gamer, so I guess I'm a huge gamer. I love "run and gun" games, ones without much strategy or planning. Read the way the Hunter interacts with his enemies, and you can see my play style.

I wouldn't say video games have affected or influenced my writing. If anything, books have the greatest influence on what I write. I find that my writing style changes slightly according to the book I'm reading or listening to. Humorous books make the Hunter more sarcastic, while epic books make the sentences more long-winded and detailed.

2. What are your favorite TV shows to watch and how do they influence your writing?

I love ALL the comic book TV shows (The Flash, Arrow, Legends of Tomorrow, Supergirl, Agents of SHIELD, Daredevil), but I also enjoy shows like Suits, Killjoys, The Big Bang Theory, and many more.

I will say that TV shows do affect my writing. As I watch TV, I come to better understand how to dole out information and plots in small quantities in order to keep the reader coming back chapter after chapter, book after book. The serial nature of TV shows helps me to write series better.

3. What advice can you give to an independent author who wants to market his or her book but doesn’t know how?

Ask for help! The majority of what I've learned about marketing has just come from kind people offering advice, feedback, and resources. Facebook, Twitter, forums, YouTube, and random blogs can provide you with a wealth of information that will help you to spread word about your books. The more you learn, the more you can figure out what works and what doesn't.

4. Does world travel influence your writing? If so, what places have you been to?

I was born and raised in Japan, and have traveled Mexico, the U.S. and Canada. I know traveling does influence my work greatly. For example, in the first The Last Bucelarii book, Blade of the Destroyer, the Hunter loves spending time among Snowblossom trees--the Einari version of Japanese cherry blossom (sakura) trees. The arid deserts of Mexico and the southern U.S. helped me to better write the deserts through which the Hunter travels in Book 3, as well as the canyon and mountainous land of Book 2. The more cities I visit, the more I understand how each place is different--a difference I try to infuse into each location the Hunter visits.

5. Do you plan on writing a nonfiction memoir someday?

I do not. While memoirs are a great way to tell an important story about your life, I feel like the stories in my head would be much more interesting than the stories about my past. That being said, I will be writing a dark fiction novel about a cult--sort of a demonized, exaggerated version of the cult I was raised in.

6. How important is pacing when you’re writing a book?

I've found that a good book has both epic fight scenes and slow moments of reflection, heart-pounding races to escape death and slogging through the mud of feelings and emotions. Variations in pace are vital to making a book feel real and interesting.

7. Have you ever written comedy before?

I have not, but I did try to infuse as much humor into my Atlantis novel--In the Days: A Tale of a Forgotten Continent--as possible. I doubt I will ever be as funny as Terry Pratchett or Glen Cook, but I'm pretty sure I could match their level of snark. If only I could think of a character/story that fit it…

8. Do you play pencil-and-paper RPG’s like Dungeons & Dragons? If so, how do they influence your writing?

I LOVED playing D&D when I was younger, though I didn't get a chance to play much. I know the thrill I got from playing the game made me want to write fantasy over sci-fi or mystery fiction.

9. Which is more important to a fight scene in a book: choreography or storytelling?

Both are equally important. While a good fight does need to be choreographed well, it's the storytelling that goes along with the movements and action that makes a fight scene more than just two unimportant characters hacking at each other with weapons.

10. How important is sensitivity to you when you’re reviewing another author’s book?

Unfortunately, I'm not a very sensitive person. I have no problem saying what I think could be improved. I don't bash the book or tear it down, and I won't say "I dislike X element". I'll try to say "I feel X element was lacking" or "X element didn't hold my interest". I'm a bit blunt and harsh, but I've tried to temper my reviews to encourage other authors. If my reviews can help them to improve instead of tearing them down, that's the goal. I know negative, constructive reviews have made my writing much better, so I hope I can do the same for others.

Book Cover:

Tagline/Elevator Pitch:

A faceless, nameless assassin. A forgotten past.  The Hunter of Voramis--a killer devoid of morals, or something else altogether? (The Last Bucelarii--dark fantasy with a look at the underside of human nature)

           

Book Blurb:

The Last Bucelarii (Book 2): Lament of the Fallen

The Hunter of Voramis is no more.

Alone with the bloodthirsty voices in his head, fleeing the pain of loss, he has one objective: travel north to find Her, the mystery woman who plagues his dreams and haunts his memories.

When he stumbles upon a bandit attack, something within urges him to help. His actions set him at odds with the warrior priests commanded to hunt down the Bucelarii.

Left for dead, the Hunter must travel to Malandria to recover his stolen birthright. There, he is inexorably drawn into direct conflict with the Order of Midas, the faceless, nameless group of magicians that holds the city in a grip of terror. All while struggling to silence the ever-louder voice in his mind that drives him to kill.

From feared assassin to wretched outcast, the Hunter's journey leads him to truths about his forgotten past and the Abiarazi he has pledged to hunt. His discoveries will shed light on who he really is…what he really is.

Fans of Joe Abercrombie, Brandon Sanderson, and Brent Weeks will love the Hunter…

Book Info:

Title: The Last Bucelarii (Book 2): Lament of the Fallen

Author: Andy Peloquin

Official Launch Date: August 19th, 2016

Publication Date: July 21, 2016

Paperback Price: 15.99

Digital Price: 3.99

Pages: 340

ISBN: 1535388668

Buy Links:

Amazon Kindle: Not yet available

Amazon Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/Last-Bucelarii-Book-Lament-Fallen/dp/1535388668/

Amazon Canada: https://www.amazon.ca/Last-Bucelarii-Book-Lament-Fallen/dp/1535388668/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/30973111-lament-of-the-fallen

Book Launch Event:

https://www.facebook.com/events/1756560507952924/

Join my Thunderclap:  https://www.thunderclap.it/projects/44830-the-hunter-rides-again

Bio:

Andy Peloquin: Lover of All Things Dark and Mysterious

Andy Peloquin--a third culture kid to the core--has loved to read since before he could remember. Sherlock Holmes, the Phantom of the Opera, and Father Brown are just a few of the books that ensnared his imagination as a child.

When he discovered science fiction and fantasy through the pages of writers like Edgar Rice Burroughs, J.R.R Tolkien, and Orson Scott Card, he was immediately hooked and hasn't looked back since.

Andy's first attempt at writing produced In the Days: A Tale of the Forgotten Continent. He has learned from the mistakes he made and used the experience to produce Blade of the Destroyer, a book of which he is very proud.

Reading—and now writing—is his favorite escape, and it provides him an outlet for his innate creativity. He is an artist; words are his palette.

His website (http://www.andypeloquin.com) is a second home for him, a place where he can post his thoughts and feelings--along with reviews of books he finds laying around the internet.

He can also be found on his social media pages, such as:

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AndyPeloquin

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/andyqpeloquin

www.linkedin.com/in/andypeloquin/

https://plus.google.com/100885994638914122147/about 

https://www.amazon.com/author/andypeloquin  

https://www.facebook.com/andrew.peloquin.1

10 Things You Need to Know About Me:

1.      Hot wings, ALWAYS!

2.      I never forget a face, but rarely remember a name.

3.      I'm a head taller than the average person (I'm 6' 6")

4.      Marvel > DC

5.      I was born in Japan, and lived there until the age of 14.

6.      Selena Gomez, Skrillex, Simon & Garfunkel, Celine Dion, and Five Finger Death Punch are all in my writing playlist.

7.      Aliens are real, but it's self-centered of us to believe that they would come to visit Earth.

8.      Watching sports: suck. Playing sports: EPIC!

9.      I earned a purple belt in Karate/Hapkido/Taekwondo.

10.  I dislike most Christmas music, aside from Trans-Siberian Orchestra.

A Few of My Favorite Things

Favorite Books: The Gentlemen Bastards by Scott Lynch, The Stormlight Archives by Brandon Sanderson, Sherlock Holmes by A.C. Doyle, Warlord of Mars by E.R. Burroughs

Favorite Songs: Wrong Side of Heaven by Five Finger Death Punch, Prayer by Disturbed, I'm an Albatraoz by AronChupa, Look Down from Les Miserables, Shatter Me by Lindsay Sterling and Lizzi Hale

Favorite Movies: 300, Red Cliff, Shoot Em Up, Love Actually, Princess Bride

Favorite Comics: Anything with Deadpool, Wolverine or Doop in it

Favorite Foods: Hot Wings, Meat-Lover's Salad, A good sandwich (made by me), Yaki Soba, Sushi

Favorite TV Shows: The Flash, Daredevil, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Hawaii Five-0, Brooklyn 99, Firefly (too soon!), The Last Ship, The Walking Dead, Game of Thrones

Reviews:

"Creative, gritty, and beautifully dark...fantasy addicts will love it!" -- Peter Story, author of Things Grak Hates -- http://peterjstory.com/

"The fantasy world has a compelling new antihero…the Hunter will terrify and captivate you." - Eve A Floriste, author of Fresh Cut

"From the first words on the page this fantasy holds the reader spellbound even after the book is finished…his character is very well-defined even if his past is a mystery. Root for an assassin? Oh, yes, one must!" -- Carol Conley, for InDTale Magazine

"Oh the carnage! Fantastic bloodthirsty carnage! The fight scenes in this book were fast-paced, detailed and thrilling. I love a good sword fight and there is plenty of that here." -- Ami L. Hart

"One could get lost in this novel for its twisting plots, seemingly endless imagination, dark yet irresistible characters, or the mind-numbing paradox of its simultaneously dark and romantic world. One could follow the long and winding road of the dusky, fierce protagonist and fight tooth and nail not to sympathize with him. One could dance in the dizzying, intricate circles of Peloquin's neo-mythology, or even basque in the black sunlight of a well-crafted gothic novel that both entertains and enlightens." -- Jesse G. Christiansen

King Blizzard

Jason Clark was getting sick of waiting around. He aggressively rocked in his wooden chair on the front porch while stoically chewing a piece of wheat. The fields before him were bountiful with vegetables and fruit whether it was corn and potatoes or strawberries and watermelons. They all looked mouthwateringly delicious to even the biggest of appetites. These vast fields of food were all thanks to the backbreaking, sweat dripping hard work of the Clark family.

Middle-aged Jason didn’t want to think about his family too much. Knowing they would never come back from the dead put the occasional tear in his eye. A beautiful wife and two happy children were ripped from his life in a bloody struggle that Jason could never forgive. “Today is the day,” he said to himself in a stern and gravelly voice. “No turning back.”

And then the sounds and tremors of gigantic footsteps rang across the fields. Even though Jason’s two-story house was shaking, he wasn’t in a huge hurry when he stood up and slowly walked in front of the dirt path leading to his home. The source of the earth-shattering footsteps was plain in sight and all the farmer could do was fold his arms and give him a hateful frown.

There he was in all of his fifty-foot tall glory: King Blizzard. He had the golden crown and long red cloak to prove his “royalty”. He looked more like an outlander barbarian with a fur loincloth covering his body and ogre-like dentistry. He acted like one too when he leaned down and screamed at Jason in an attempt to get his bones rattling and adrenaline flowing. The stoic farmer didn’t blink, let alone budge.

“You’re awfully confident for someone who could get stepped on like the insect you are!” grunted King Blizzard in his throaty, demonic voice.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” said Jason. “All I did was put in the best work of my life this year to make sure you have all your food. That is what you came here for, right? An undeserved handout? Hell, I could have used one when you murdered my family.”

Blizzard stood up straight and let out an obnoxious belly laugh. “Trust me, you didn’t need those little twerps anymore. They were doing you no good. If anything, they held you back. You know what happens when farmers don’t give me what I’m entitled to, right? They get smashed!”

The unflinching Jason Clark spit out the wheat straw and said, “Yeah, I’m fully aware of what you’re capable of. But the real question is…do you know what I’m capable of?”

The giant’s next belly laugh caused him to stumble backwards and land on his ass, sending a ripple throughout the ground and nearly knocking Jason on his back. “Wow, you’re quite the comedian today! Maybe instead of being a farmer, you should be a court jester! You’d probably make more money dancing and singing like an idiot than you would feeding my big ass! Speaking of which…”

Blizzard started uprooting various crops around his massive body. He ate handfuls of pumpkins and watermelon like they were candy. He picked his teeth with ears of corn. He stuffed mounds of lettuce in his mouth like it was his last meal. Throughout his banquet, he smacked his lips, drooled rivers all over himself, and burped sonic booms like the annoying bastard he was. “Is this seriously all you’ve got? I’m still hungry! Feed me, you pathetic human!”

“How about instead of eating like a spoiled brat, you actually start being thankful for the bounty these farmers give you! We work our asses off for three hundred and sixty-five days a year just so you could feed that massive belly of yours! And just so you know, Blizzard, we were all secretly hoping that your filthy eating habits would earn you a heart attack! But I guess that’s all wishful thinking, now isn’t it!” screamed Jason with his clinched fists at his sides.

“You’ve got some balls on you, son,” said Blizzard as he started to stand back up. He looked down on Jason as if he was nothing more than a flea. The giant’s eyebrows furrowed. His voice grew angrier. His balled up fists were like wrecking balls. His whole body was a weapon of war, a war he was determined to win within seconds.

He reached down and picked up Jason Clark before squeezing him tightly in his mountainous hand. Aside from a few grunts and groans, the farmer remained as stoic as ever, uncaring about his own life now that his family was torn away from him. The giant could squeeze until the Jason’s head popped like a zit and there would still be courage in the little guy’s heart.

“I should just crush you in the palm of my hand right here right now!” shouted King Blizzard. “But I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of a quick death. No, I’m going to draw this out for as long as I damn well want. The first thing I’m going to do is rip off your arms and legs one at a time.”

In a strained voice, Jason said, “Do your worst! See if I give a shit!”

“Your balls are too big for your own good, little buddy. Maybe I’ll rip them off first!” threatened Blizzard. “But first, I need to have a seat. All that food’s giving me a cramp.” The giant chuckled evilly before sitting down on Jason’s two-story house and crushing it to toothpicks.

And then Blizzard’s threatening mood changed to one of pain and agony. At first he winced and shivered to try and ease himself. He even loosened his grip around Jason long enough for him to get away and roll on the ground to cough up little droplets of blood. Blizzard couldn’t take it anymore. He let out the world’s loudest growl of pain as he rolled over and revealed the source of his agony. He had a column of piled up furniture going up his ass crack. Heat stoves, couches, bookshelves, and even a spiky tube was stacked high from the top to the bottom of the house.

As King Blizzard’s anus was bleeding profusely from the furniture sodomy, Jason, who was on his back breathing painfully, poked his head up and said, “You feel that, big guy? You feel that?! Good! I hope it hurts like hell! I’ve been hurting for a whole year ever since you took my family away from me! But did I back down? No, I didn’t! I kept plowing my fields and I gave you some of the best food you’ve ever eaten! Consider this your last meal before your execution!”

Blizzard’s breathing became labored and raspy as his anus continued to bleed all over the remains of Jason’s house. “Execution?! You’re the one who’s going to be executed, you little shit!” The giant fumbled and staggered in his attempt to stand back on his feet. He was still bleeding profusely, but for a moment he blocked out the literal pain in his ass and focused on the figurative one lying on the ground below him.

The giant limped and dragged himself over to Jason’s broken body. But the minute he knelt down to pick him up again, the pain in his ass fired up and he screamed some more. After a while of dancing around in pain, King Blizzard’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell backwards with a resounding thud, shoving the furniture up his ass even more. There was no more movement, no more screaming, and no more tyranny. King Blizzard had just become the world’s biggest rotting corpse.

In his groundbreaking fall, Blizzard landed back first on Jason’s body, crushing it into blood and bones and taking him to the afterlife with the giant. But was this battle considered a draw? Hardly. After a few days of inactivity, several of Jason Clark’s farmer friends visited his fields and saw the proof themselves that he was a hero. King Blizzard was slain and a victory square dance was in order.

Before there could be a grand celebration, a funeral would take place to honor the Clark family. There would be plenty to eat at the ceremony since Blizzard left behind fields and fields of uneaten food. But more importantly, Blizzard himself would be on the menu since his muscular body had more meat on it than the entire world’s cow population.

What did the farmers call this new food company? The name was a no-brainer. Ho, ho, ho! Green Giant!