Showing posts with label Rogue. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rogue. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 11, 2026
Tuesday, March 10, 2026
Thursday, August 26, 2021
Run Like a Ninja
The growling in Ashley Garcia’s stomach resembled a demon thirsting for souls. She didn’t care if what she was doing was just as evil as that hell-spawn creature. A bowl of steaming hot ramen took priority over holy-rolling. A loaf of bread swimming in garlic butter was more important than praying on a medieval book for forgiveness. The rumbling in her stomach echoed in her brain like schizophrenia and even a wafer-thin mint would be a perfect antipsychotic. The rattling of her visible ribcage needed to be contained for good and the sacred scroll beneath her would be the key to that lock.
Being a Halfling afforded her the dexterity and balance that she needed to scale down the rope she threw down into the temple’s scroll room. Ashley didn’t want to go too fast for fear of alarming any monks, but slowing down wasn’t an option for her calloused hands and large dirt-covered feet. Just a few more inches, she told herself. A little more. Easy. Easy. Don’t make a sound. Don’t give the monks a reason to wheel kick a thief’s head off.
When she was close enough to drop to the wooden floor, she did so with a feather’s gentleness and breathed a silent sigh of relief. And just like that, the scroll was right there in front of her, resting easily on a piece of ceramic pottery. Ashley’s eyes widened and her hungry stomach settled in anticipation of the lunch money this would bring. When she snatched the scroll from its resting place, she didn’t even bother opening it up. She knew she had what she wanted. She knew any sucker would be lucky to buy such a holy artifact. Ashley would never starve again with this kind of money and that brought a smile to her gaunt face.
And then the sound of a dog growling permeated her fantasies and caused her to swallow a lump in her throat. Slowly she turned around to face the monk she pissed off the most: the captain of the guards himself, Yang Chow.
He didn’t come armed with any weapons, because his limbs were destructive enough. He didn’t come with any harsh words, because his angry bulldog visage and monstrous growling said everything they needed to say. He didn’t come dressed in thick metal armor, because his red and orange robes were light enough to keep him nimble during times of combat. With his arms folded and his gorgon death eyes locked onto Ashley’s jittery form, it was time to get the fuck out of dodge.
Scroll tucked away in her back pocket, Ashley hopped up the rope and scaled as fast as she could. All the motivation to push her body beyond its limits came in the form of Yang barking up a storm and snapping his teeth like a bear trap. She was almost certain she would lose a foot to this maniacal dog demon. She was almost certain a piece of skin fell from her big toe. But she kept climbing even if it meant aggravating that wound and making it sting like a thousand wasps.
Ashley cursed to herself in a rapid-fire cadence as she made it to the rooftop, Yang still nipping at her heels. With the diagonal curvature of the temple’s roof, she knew this was a perfect time to curl into a ball and roll down the decline like a rogue wheel. And off she went, the shingles scraping against her skin the faster she rolled. Her back burned as though a volcano would erupt from her body, which was a better fate than having her head kicked off by a martial arts puppy-duppy. Still, his barks were no less distant than they were before. They just grew louder and more frustrated.
And then the sudden incline at the bottom of the roof launched her wheel-like body into the air and onto the busy streets below. Ashley landed with such grace that going splat on the concrete wasn’t even a possibility. But the minute she leapt to her feet, dizziness turned her brains into mush and her vision into a splotchy mess. She would have fallen on her ass if not for Yang’s barks becoming even louder than before.
Even in a sloppy zigzag, she ran down the streets with the agility of a ninja warrior. She flipped over garbage cans. She baseball slid underneath an old man’s legs. She leapfrogged over a food delivery bicyclist and nearly knocked him over. Knowing Yang could chew her like bubblegum gave her the adrenaline boost she needed to run along the walls of a restaurant before flipping over a trolley.
Her heart thudded in her chest like a bomb ready to go off. Her brains rotted into mush on account of not giving herself a chance to recover from dizziness. Her legs and back burned as though someone had branded her with a glowing red iron. Her feet could have fallen off long before she got gangrene from not wearing shoes. And yet, Ashley kept on running and dodging. She leapfrogged over another bicyclist. She flipped over a guardrail. She ran along an awning that almost collapsed under her thunderous force.
Ashley had no destination in mind. She couldn’t even think clearly enough to come up with one, because Yang’s barks and growls were like a screwdriver shoved in her ears. When her eyes watered to the point of blindness and her mind faded to funeral blackness, she crashed face-first into a brick wall and flopped on her back, the sacred scroll rolling out of her grasp. The sound of her nose crunching resembled potato chips she would probably never know the taste of. She breathed heavily despite blood running down her nostrils. If overworking herself didn’t kill her, Yang surely would.
Her vision was obstructed by the heavy pus dumplings under her eyes, but even she knew Yang’s angry face when she saw it. There he was standing over her soon-to-be corpse, arms folded, scroll in hand. He reached down to Ashley, presumably to rip out her heart. Or the least likely scenario of them all, to pull her up to her feet. She could barely stand underneath the weight of body-shredding pain. She couldn’t even look Yang in the eyes, blackened pus pockets aside.
“Aren’t you at all curious as to what this scroll says?” asked Yang in an uncharacteristically soothing voice.
Ashley’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Um…what?”
“You mean to tell me that you stole this scroll from my temple and you don’t even know what it is?” Ashley tucked her head in shame. “Look at me, young lady.” Yang opened the scroll and revealed that they were coupons for restaurant food. Five gold pieces for two octopus burgers. Ten gold pieces for a gallon of broccoli cheese soup. Two packages of beef stew and rice for only one gold piece. Shame hit Ashley in the gut worse than any martial arts punch from Yang would have…even though she no longer expected him to beat her ass.
Yang knelt down to meet her Halfling level and put a hand on Ashley’s shoulder. “Young lady…you didn’t just steal a document hoping for a quick buck. You did it at the expense of other impoverished people like yourself. The temple where I work isn’t just a religious institution. It’s a shelter for those who need it the most. If you wanted the coupons, we would have shared them with you.”
Ashley’s tears stung her pus lumps like a scorpion tail. “I…I’m sorry…I’ll just…I’ll find another way to…”
“Enough. I don’t need your apologies. I wouldn’t know what to do with them anyways.”
“What?...What do you mean?”
“Young lady…what you did was as rotten as the food you find the dumpster. It was evil. It was low even for a desperate street thief like yourself.” Ashley’s tears developed into little floods to mix with her nose blood, giving her the ultimate mask of guilt, shame, and defeat. But then Yang said…”I understand why you did it.”
“Huh? You do?”
“You think you’re the only one to try and steal from us? Look around you, young lady. The economy doesn’t favor the poor at all. Impoverished folk are unfairly categorized as lazy while the rich who live off of their backs are lionized to god status. To take the focus away from their own horrific deeds, the rich have the poor fight amongst themselves, steal from each other, treat every meal like it’s a competition. Stealing is the only life you’ve ever known, because you have no other way.”
“You don’t know a damn thing about me, dog man. I doubt you would trust me again if you knew what I was capable of. I’ve slit many throats just to stay alive. How do you know I won’t slit yours?”
“My martial arts training aside, you know deep down that slitting my throat wouldn’t bring you closer to another meal. Prison food doesn’t count. You deserve better than a prisoner’s life, young lady. When was the last time you even experienced a loving home?”
Ashley swatted Yang’s hand away. “Love? You think love is going to give me something to eat every day? You think it’s going to keep me from sleeping in a dumpster? What makes you think love is going to do anything for me?”
Staying true to his bulldog nature, Yang licked the tears and blood off of Ashley’s face, which made her produce even more tears. The more Yang licked, the more pieces Ashley’s heart broke into, which was saying a lot considering the near-death exercise she put herself through. In a rare act of gratitude and love, Ashley hugged her stubby arms around Yang’s neck, breaking into a full-on crying spell over his orange and red robe.
“Thank you, dog man. Thank you so much! Please, don’t leave me here!”
“I won’t, young lady. In spite of what the privileged believe, nobody gets left behind on my streets. Come with me. Let’s get some food in your stomach.”
The dog monk and Halfling thief walked hand in hand together, Ashley’s waterworks never once drying up. In a world that didn’t care about her, she found someone who did. Life was very much worth living even though she had to learn how to do so all over again. There would be no more thievery and dishonesty, because they weren’t necessary in a truly loving home.
Saturday, June 12, 2021
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.
Thursday, November 16, 2017
Street Sleeper
Johnny De Morgan’s pick strummed delicately across his
guitar strings and created a heavenly lullaby for those walking the streets at
night. He too could feel the heaviness of his eyelids and the quicksand-like
pull underneath his body. Yet he continued to strum his beautiful melodies as
the snow gently poured into his guitar case, barely a single gold coin
occupying this space. Strangers walked by with their chins tucked into their
chests, not giving Johnny the slightest glance.
The night sky blanketed the city in midnight shadows. Johnny
wished he too had a blanket of some kind, but all that kept him minimally warm
was his checkered overcoat, striped scarf, and thin layers underneath. He
struggled to keep his fingers steady in this shiver-inducing weather. Sometimes
his melodies would echo awkwardly across the street corner because of his
shaking. Johnny stopped playing and gripped the neck of his guitar like he was
actually strangling someone. He held the instrument above his head like he was
going to smash the fucking thing to pieces.
“Johnny, no!” shouted a feminine voice off to the side. The
busker’s eyes must have been too frosty to notice her at first, but that
beautiful voice could have only belonged to the elven rogue Debra Lynch. Light
green skin, thick layers of black wool, wavy blue hair, and a cap over her
scalp: she was unmistakable at this point. She had the same weary and sorrowful
expression in her damp eyes that Johnny did. That made her even more beautiful
(not that Johnny would ever tell her something like that).
“Johnny, you can’t give up yet. You’ll freeze to death out
here if you don’t keep playing,” begged Debra.
“I don’t know, Debra,” said Johnny with his head hung low.
“Does it really matter anymore how good I am with this stupid thing? Nobody’s
paying attention. Everybody just wants to walk on by like I’m some sort of
fucking monster. Forget it, Debra, I’m done with this shit.”
“So what would you rather do? Starve to death?” pleaded
Debra while cupping her hands over Johnny’s arm. “You don’t have a choice in
the matter. It’s either this or death. Wait a minute…you’re not actually
considering…” The elf’s voice grew shaky with those last few words.
“Like you said, Debbie-Cakes: I don’t have a choice in the
matter,” said Johnny with more coldness than the snowflakes pounding down on
him. “I can stand out here and freeze like a motherfucker playing for
pennies…or I can just fall asleep in my own shallow grave. Never have to wake
up again. Never have to deal with these ignorant people. Never have to worry
about where my next meal’s coming from. Sounds like heaven to me.”
Debra smacked Johnny in the back of his head and messed up
his black puffy hairdo. “I don’t ever want to hear you talk about that nonsense
again! If you just fuck off the face of this earth, what am I supposed to do
for the rest of my life? I need you, Johnny. We need each other!”
Tears welled up in Johnny’s frosty eyes as he said, “Sorry,
I’m just a little frustrated, that’s all. God, what I wouldn’t do for a hot
bowl of soup and a fucking blanket! Is that too much to ask for?!”
The argument came to an abrupt end when Johnny and Debra’s
eyes zeroed in on a heavyset orc strutting down the streets. His leather armor,
bloody war paint, and gigantic sword sheathed on his back gave him the aura of
an undisputed champion. The burdensome sack of gold coins on his belt caused
Johnny and Debra to snap awake with secretive excitement. Johnny strummed his
guitar much more vigorously than before in hopes that the rock and roll music
would entice this brutish warrior.
The orc attempted to skate on by, but Johnny and Debra
blocked his path with the biggest of grins. Debra even rubbed her gloved
fingers together to signify what she and her friend wanted. “Fuck off and die!”
shouted the beastly warrior as he shoved Johnny into a row of rubbish bins.
“Hey!” belted Debra. “Who the hell do you think you are
pushing a defenseless man like that?!” When the orc refused to listen, the elf
grabbed him by the thick wrist and jerked him over for attention. “I’m talking
to you, you gigantic sack of shit!”
“Debra, wait!” pleaded Johnny as he picked himself and his
guitar off the ground. “That’s Link Rotunda! He’s a cage fighting champion!
You’re not going to get any gold from him by calling him a sack of shit! Show
some respect!”
Link’s rotten grin coincided with Debra’s fiery glare as the
orc said, “That’s better! That’s what I like to see: people taking initiative!”
He pointed his sausage index finger at Debra and said, “You could learn
something from a guy like him!” The elf hmphed and folded her arms, never
releasing her death stare from the gigantic bully. “Now then, where were we? Ah
yes! You want some of this gold, sonny boy? You want to eat tonight? You’re
going to have to earn it! Forget that stupid hipster guitar! You’re going to
dance for your supper!”
“He will do no such thing!” grunted Debra before being held
at bay by Link’s massive arm.
“What do you say, you sweet little boy? Are you going to
dance or what?” asked Link with a devilish smirk. Despite Debra’s angry
protests, Johnny tossed aside his guitar and danced around like a monkey
attempting ballet. Link’s throaty laughter caused Debra to hold her face in her
hands in sheer embarrassment. “Good one, good one! Now put the garbage can on
your head! Do it, monkey boy!”
Sure enough, Johnny heaved a garbage can over himself and
danced around some more, Debra shaking her head the entire time and Link
laughing it up with a few knee slaps to boot. “How am I doing, Mr. Rotunda?”
“Oh, you’re doing great, my friend! You’re going to be a
rich motherfucker in no time at all! Just one more thing and you’ll have all
the gold you want! Take off that silly garbage can…and suck my dick!”
The monkey dancing was replaced with a frozen stillness and
silent weeping underneath the garbage can. He slowly pulled off the bin and
revealed an expression full of shock and despondency. “Is that what you really
want, Mr. Rotunda? I’ll do it if that’s what you want.”
“This is bullshit!” shouted Debra as she picked up the
fallen rubbish bin and tossed it at Link.
The orc slashed it in half with one wave of his newly
unsheathed sword. Garbage scattered across the ground and blew away in the
winter breeze. Johnny silently asked Debra what the fuck she was doing and elf
stood her ground with clenched fists and a raw attitude.
Meanwhile, Link just laughed it off and said, “I guess you
don’t really want hot soup after all. It’s a shame, because I could have given
you more soup in that one BJ than any restaurant. It’s saltier too! And
tastier! Or so I’ve been told!” Link sheathed his sword, waved goodbye, and
chuckled, “Keep saving up!” He turned heel and strutted away until the
nighttime shadows covered him completely.
Johnny’s cheeks quivered and his eyes cascaded as he
struggled to say, “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? He was our meal
ticket!”
Debra’s angry breathing intensified to where this winter
weather could be confused for a boiling summertime hell. She grabbed Johnny by
his overcoat and shoved him against a brick wall. “Are you out of your fucking
mind?!” raged the elf. “Do you really think he was going to pay you all that
money to humiliate yourself like that? Bullshit, he would have disappeared like
a fart in the wind! I know you’re a homeless man looking for change, but you
should never have to lower yourself like that just for a half ass chance at
getting paid! I don’t care if Link Rotunda is the champion of the fucking
universe! He’s a bully first and a humanitarian last! How do you think he wins
so many of those fights?!”
Johnny snorted loose snot up his nose and swallowed before
sobbing, “I’ll take a small chance of getting paid over no chance any day of
the week.”
Debra slammed Johnny back first against the wall and raised
her fist in the air as though she was ready to knock a few teeth loose. “I
should turn that fucking face of yours inside out for saying shit like that! I
should rip your brains out through your eye sockets and eat that for dinner
instead of some poor man’s soup!”
Johnny De Morgan could feel his insides turning into jelly
and his bladder and bowels loosening while anticipating the stinging fist that
would eventually shatter his skull into snowflakes. The tension in his stomach
made him ill. His skin turned pasty white. He shook harder than when he was
struggling for warmth.
And then Debra said, “I’ve got a better idea than that”
before showering her victim with a handful of golden coins. Johnny could
finally breathe a heavy sigh of relief like a whirlwind of seething pain coming
out of his mouth. His elf compatriot brushed his checkerboard coat off and
said, “The only way you’ll ever eat with me tonight is if you never pull that
shit again. You’re my best friend. I hate seeing you in pain like that. Link
was never going to give you those gold coins, so I snatched them from him while
he was busy laughing like a fucking hyena.”
Johnny and Debra embraced one another and gave their bodies
enough warmth to last through two more winters. It wasn’t just physical warmth
that Johnny felt throughout his body. It was that special warm fuzzy feeling of
knowing his best friend had his back through thick and thin (even if she did
scare the shit out of him). Johnny could picture the bowl of soup sliding down
his throat and soothing his frosty wounds. Broccoli cheddar soup from a garlic
bread bowl. Thank you, Mr. Rotunda. Thank you so much!
Tuesday, November 14, 2017
50/50 Booking
***50/50 BOOKING***
When you see the title of this blog entry, you’re probably
thinking to yourself, “Man, this guy can’t shut up about wrestling!” What can I
say? We all have our obsessions. But it’s true: 50/50 booking is a wrestling
buzzword. However, it can apply to any piece of fiction regardless of genre.
50/50 booking is when the hero and the villain have an equal number of
victories against each other. In terms of wrestling, it makes the entire roster
equal to each other and nobody becomes wildly popular. However, in mainstream
fiction, it could mean something entirely different.
Most of the time, we’re resigned to the idea that the hero
will win in the end and get his just rewards. So if you’re doing 50/50 booking
in your novel, then you’re just telegraphing the hero’s victory. What’s one
more victory going to mean? It’s even worse when the hero wins all the time and
rarely loses, which is why a lot of readers prefer their heroes to be average
joes instead of muscle-bound ass-kickers. How do you relate to someone with a
constant string of victories?
To use an example from my own novella Occupy Wrestling,
Mitch McLeod could technically be accused of having a Gary-Stu win-loss record.
While he wins most of his fights, there are other ways in which he’s losing.
His relationship with Debra Winter is falling apart, he can’t trust a neutral
referee like Rosie Rogers, his allies are getting mauled left and right, he’s
no closer to solving the mystery of where these monsters are coming from, and
most importantly, his body is breaking down with every “victory”, if you can
call them that. Does winning in one department and losing in several others
constitute 50/50 booking? You be the judge. Buy a copy of Occupy Wrestling on
Amazon today! Okay, that was pretty shameless, I agree.
But then you have scenarios where the villain racks up most
of the victories and makes justice for the hero seem impossible. By doing this,
you’re definitely giving your hero an obstacle worthy of conquering. But if the
villain wins too often, then nobody’s going to believe it when the hero finally
achieves victory. The villain could beat the shit out of the hero for an hour
and a half, but are you going to believe it if the hero suddenly wins with a
knife to the back?
Truth be told, there is no right or wrong answer to the
50/50 debate when it comes to normal fiction as long as the ultimate decision
you make is believable and relatable to your audience. If there is a right or
wrong answer, I’d love to hear what it is. Obviously, the answer is going to be
different depending on who the hero is. Is the hero an average joe or a beefy
warrior? Or maybe he’s somewhere in between those two extremes. Maybe while
everyone around him has magical powers, he’s just a barroom brawler who’s only
fought a handful of times. I’d love to hear your guys’ philosophies on 50/50
booking and how it relates to your personal stories. We’ve got ears, say
cheers!
***POISON TONGUE TALES 2: THE RIGHT TO REMAIN PSYCHOTIC***
I’m only one story away from this collection being complete
and ready to critique. After “Street Sleeper”, I’m moving onto another novel
called “Puberty X Piracy” (whether or not I post those chapters online is up to
the admins and their views on extreme sexual content). Until then, here’s the synopsis
for Poison Tongue Tales 2’s final story:
CHARACTERS:
- Johnny De Morgan, Human Busker
- Link Rotunda, Orc Warrior
- Debra Lynch, Elf Rogue
PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.
SYNOPSIS: On a snowy winter evening, homeless street
musician Johnny is freezing and exhausted as he tries to play songs for cash on
his acoustic guitar. His guitar case is shallow with money and his enthusiasm
for music is dwindling fast. Link Rotunda, a prizefighter, has just won a
massive amount of money during a championship match, so Johnny desperately
tries to cater to him with his music. Link laughs at and bullies Johnny while
telling him to “get a real job”, much to the anger of fellow homeless beggar
Debra Lynch. Link is much bigger and stronger than both of them, but Debra
won’t allow Johnny to be pushed around. Johnny still tries to beg for money
seeing as how he feels it’s his only real chance at getting a hot meal and a
bed that evening.
FUN FACT: Link Rotunda will be the next Dark Fantasy Warrior
that I draw. He used to be a Dungeons & Dragons non-player character, but
now he’s a short story character who will bring the PTT2 series home.
***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
VIC MACKEY: Ronnie and I
are going to have fed badges, you and queen bitch will be serving double life
sentences, and I’ll have full custody of Jackson
SHANE VENDRELL: You
leave my family out of this!
VIC MACKEY: I’ll send
you a post card from Space
Mountain
-The Shield-
Saturday, September 9, 2017
Shooting Star
Rachel Phoenix finally figured out why the structure she was
climbing was called the Tower
of Venom
Just a few more dry heaves in her ninja veil and a hell of a
lot more tugs on her grappling hook and the winded elf in black rags rested on
the top of the tower for a while. She could just drift off into dreamland no
matter how horribly it reeked. In fact, this murderous odor would have been the
perfect anesthesia if it hadn’t been for the raucous sound of a tornado fart echoing
throughout the land. Rachel snapped out of her trance long enough to hold onto
her rope with a death grip to avoid being blown off.
Once the literal shit storm subsided, Rachel couldn’t hold
her lunch down any longer. She removed her veil spilled her guts off the side
of the tower. The tidal wave of sickness left her light green skin pale and her
muscles so weak that she could barely stand up. She was barely on her knees
when she turned around and saw the source of the odor in its entirety. There he
was: the ironclad dragon giant sitting on…a toilet. The Tower of Venom
Atlas Venom, as the giant was known, laughed so hard that he
sent another gust of wind Rachel’s way. The tiny elf held onto her rope with
the strength of someone ten times her size. Sickness or not, flying away in the
barf-worthy breeze was an undignified way to die, especially when so many lives
were at stake.
Once the giant’s obnoxious cackle ended, he leaned his
rotten skull down to level with his intruder and asked, “Can I help you?” The
elf rogue took the time she needed to catch her breath and settle her rumbling
stomach. “Well?!” Atlas belted.
A few more heavy breaths later, the elf said, “My name is
Rachel Phoenix. I’ve been sent here by the Order of the Forest
to keep you from doing something incredibly stupid and potentially dangerous.
Well, you do stupid shit all the time from what I’ve heard, but this is really
going to get your attention.”
She pointed at the flaming star in the sky, which seemed to
have grown tremendously since she last gazed upon it. “You see that? We all
know you have the power to smash that thing to pieces. You’ve smashed
everything else to pieces, why not a shooting star? But if you do that, neighboring
villages will be affected by the blast radius.”
Atlas scratched his ass and belched a cloud of toxic sludge
before standing to his full height and pulling his iron pants up. Rachel didn’t
know what was more disgusting: the tower slash toilet or the fact that Atlas’s
lesion-covered ding-a-ling had been hanging there this whole time. She tried to
keep herself together by gently massaging her stomach.
“Listen, you dumb bitch,” burped Atlas. “I don’t hear you
coming up with any great ideas on how to get rid of that thing. Last time I
checked, I’ve got pubic lice bigger than you, so there’s no fucking chance
you’re going to smash that thing away. If you’ve got any better ideas, then
you’d better start flapping those gums or else you’re one dead little whore!”
Rachel folded her arms and said sternly, “Alright, if it’s
ideas you want, it’s ideas you’ll get. If you have the power to smash a
shooting star to pieces, you certainly have the power to catch one and drop it
in the neighboring ocean behind you. You could break it up little by little and
flush the pieces down that lovely toilet of yours. You could even have it as a
snack if you wanted to. I’m sure whatever’s rotting in that gut of yours isn’t
going to be too badly affected if you ate a giant flaming star.” She paced back
and forth with her hand propped on her chin. “Let’s see, you can throw it in
the sky and then break it up. You can…you know what? Literally anything else
would be better than you scattering the pieces across the land with your reckless
ways. Anything!”
Atlas gazed up at the shooting star and noticed that it grew
once more. The scorching flames caused a few beads of sweat to trickle down his
hairline. Rachel tapped her foot impatiently and said, “Well? We don’t have
much time. What’s it going to be, big boy?” The remark caused the dragon giant
to scoop her up in one hand and squeeze her already thin body into the width of
a toothpick. No matter how pathetically she screamed or how many crunching
sounds her body made, Atlas refused to take pity on her.
“Unlike all the filth swirling at the bottom of my tower,”
he shouted. “I don’t give two shits about the other villages! They’re the ones
who couldn’t accept me to begin with! They’re the bastards who laugh and throw
stones at me whenever I show my face! You think my life is just one big fucking
joke?! You think I choose to sit here on a giant fucking toilet?! That was the
king’s idea! That’s what he calls comedy! I don’t feel one bit sorry for those
pieces of dog shit! They’ll get what’s coming to them in short order!”
A tropical storm of sweat trickled down Rachel’s face as she
felt the shooting star hurling closer to the tower. “Wait!” she squeaked,
prompting Atlas to loosen his grip around her body. “If you put an end to this
disaster, you just might be a hero to those people! Nobody would even think to
treat a hero that way!”
“Hero?! You think these fucking people deserve a hero?!”
roared Atlas while shaking Rachel in his fist. “Their idea of a hero is some
rich snob who flaunts his money around without giving a drop of it to the poor!
Apparently, those kind of fools work harder than the poor, or so I’m told! You,
Rachel…you represent all of those people! All of those monsters! They don’t
deserve shit!”
“I don’t represent anybody who casts judgment on others! I
represent the innocent ones who will bear the brunt of your reckless ways!”
squealed Rachel, who squirmed and struggled until at least her arms were free
from Atlas’s grasp. “You’re painting my society with a broad brush, my friend!
There are good and evil people from all walks of life! People should be
evaluated as individuals, not as groups! If you’re too blind to see that, then
you’re no different from the evil ones you claim are bullying you!”
Atlas peered up at the shooting star and then back at Rachel
several times while contemplating everything the elf told him. The diminutive
rogue took this time to catch her breath and collect her cracked bones. Even
with sore ribs, she managed to burst out, “Hurry up and make your decision!
That star’s getting closer!”
“You don’t have to rush me, you stupid bitch,” snarled
Atlas. “I’ve already made up my mind.” His own eyes resembled shooting stars as
they blinded Rachel with a hateful gaze. He could feel the elf quiver and
vibrate in his massive lizard hand. He then grinned evilly at her and dropped
her in the toilet. “Down you go with the rest of the shit!” he snapped before
pulling the handle and watching her swirl.
Except the rogue didn’t swirl. She clung onto the side of
the bowl with another grappling hook rope, the blades igniting little sparks as
they struggled to keep her still. The swirling brown water dragged Rachel
across the bowl while she kicked her legs and held on with a death grip around
the rope. Adrenaline flowed even hotter through her veins when she heard Atlas
laughing about this whole incident. She kicked harder and held on tighter. And
then, the rope snapped like a twig and she was destined to spend eternity in a
shit-covered hell.
As she swam through the toilet water whilst ignoring her
injuries, she could hear Atlas’s monster laugh morph into a prolonged, “No!”
followed by an explosion, a burst of fiery light, and crunching bones of his
own. The Tower of
Venom
Except that thud was cushioned by several bales of hay and
the tidal wave of shit and piss had crashed upon the land below. Rachel
coughed, gagged, and breathed heavily all in the span of a few seconds. Her
ribcage ached as though someone fired a cannonball into her gut. Her legs
couldn’t carry the weight of sickness and crumbled underneath her when she
tried to stand. When she caught most of her breath back, she wiped the sludge
away from her eyes and ears long enough to see what just happened.
Atlas’s gargantuan body laid strewn across a wheat field with
the shooting star crumbled on top of his broken bones, shredded skin, and
bloody organs. Instead of celebrating a staved off apocalypse, nearby farmers
in overalls and straw hats laughed their asses off because of the literal shit
storm that followed.
Rachel’s brows furrowed together and her teeth clamped down
hard in anger despite the taste in her mouth. The villagers’ attitudes left a
worst taste in her mouth than anything from the Tower of Venom
Rachel slowly drew a knife from her sheath and jumped to her
feet, her raging adrenaline allowing her to ignore the pain delving into her
body. “Hey!” she shouted at the farmers, who now began trembling in fear and
backing up carefully. Trembling herself (but for a different reason), Rachel
angrily whispered, “If Atlas Venom was alive right now, he’d say…you’re
welcome!”
Wednesday, March 9, 2016
Medicine Man
Maggot therapy wasn’t the prettiest form of medicine nor was it the safest. And yet, Tetra Engel knew he had to have it. It was his sister Lily’s only chance at survival. Dressed in brown rags with a demon mask over his face, Tetra took deep breaths in and out in order to calm his nerves. One wrong move could mean certain death. Then again, knowing that there was arguing going on inside the Church of Darkness could prove to be a worthy distraction for those guarding the maggot farm.
Tetra pulled out a rope with a hook at the end of it and twirled it over his head. As the whooshing noises were getting progressively louder, he threw the hook with all of his might and hit his target: the rim of the church’s roof. He was certain the maggot farm was on the top level and getting in through the roof would be his best shot at stealing the medicine.
With the hook firmly grasping its target, Tetra held the rope and walked up the wall of the church. His faith in maggot therapy was met with stomach wrenching anxiety as he saw the designs in the multi-colored windows. He saw minotaurs slashing the throats of small children with sling blades, death angels breathing fire on veiled women, and dragons spitting acid on helpless farm animals. Such violent imagery caused Tetra to puke in his mouth a little bit as he was scaling the wall.
His blood also started to chill when he heard the argument within the church intensifying. Voices were throatier and louder. Plus, the sounds of weapons clanging together and wooden furniture breaking didn’t relieve Tetra’s anxiety any further. He took a break from climbing and wiped the cold sweat off of his forehead. He also spit out some bile onto the street below and then continued climbing until he reached the tiptop of the church.
The rooftop was ordinary enough with its flat stone surface. Nothing unusual there. And then Tetra Engel saw the steeple, which depicted a baldheaded vampire chowing down on a unicorn’s neck and splattering blood every which way. “God, these people are fucking disgusting!” said Tetra silently to himself.
Before the cunning rogue could take his first step, the middle smashed open and a purple light beam shone from within the church. Flying from that magical beam was a dark-skinned woman with a red Mohawk, a black halter top, and black baggy jeans. As she rolled backwards toward Tetra, the metal spear she was carrying dropped in his lap. Tetra tossed the spear aside and crawled over to get a closer look at her.
As soon as he saw who she was, the thief cowered backwards in an anxiety-driven crabwalk until he was at the corner of the roof. Being a thief gave Tetra a certain level of street wisdom. This woman was Anya Kolobalos, the leader of the Blood Dagger Syndicate. Anybody who messed with her would end up as a little shit on the floor after she gutted them alive with her spear and drank their blood like religious Kool-Aid.
Anybody except the dark paladin who sprouted black demon wings and flew gracefully up the purple light beam and onto the rooftop. This man was Jax Nightshade, the innovator of maggot therapy and the city’s most vile businessman. His black trench coat and steel armor underneath gave him that villainous look he always wanted. The baldheaded, dark-skinned knight slowly walked over to Anya and Tetra with a bloody smile on his face.
“Well, well, well, it looks like we’re not alone after all, Anya. I didn’t know my church had a rat infestation. In fact, those are the two biggest rats I’ve ever seen in my life,” said Jax in a smooth baritone voice that sent chills up Tetra’s spine. “Which one of you shall I exterminate first? Should I just play a game of spin the bottle? How about ink-a-dink? Or maybe I’ll just take both of you at the same time. Yeah, that’ll be lovely!”
Tetra stuttered, “L-L-Listen, Mr. Nightshade. I didn’t come here for any trouble. I just want s-s-s-s-ome of your maggots. My sister Lilly has breast cancer and I was hoping th-th-th-that…”
“Shut up, you sniveling cretin!” shouted Jax in a voice that mustered up intense winds. He smiled evilly once again and said, “Of course, if you want to have access to my maggots, you’ll have to pay just like everyone else. But judging from those rags you’re wearing, it doesn’t look like you have deep pockets full of gold. Couple that with the fact that you came here through the rooftop instead of the front doors and I know exactly what’s going on. You’re a thief. You’re a liar. You’re a fucking sewer rat!”
This arguing allowed Anya enough time to pick herself and her spear off the ground before charging at Jax with rapid fire thrusts. Jax held a purple cloud of energy in his hand like a shield and blocked every single one of those shots with perfection. The dark paladin then slapped the gangster across the face and sent her rolling to the ground. He jumped on her chest and began raining down punches with green lightning around his fists. Anya covered her face with her arms before reaching up with her free leg and placing a kick to the back of Jax’s head to stop the assault.
The dark paladin rolled off of the gangster and clutched the back of his head in mock pain. He even let out some unconvincing “ouches”. Anya tried to pick herself up off the ground again, but her arms were fried and she couldn’t get a stable grip. Out of the corners of their eyes, the two of them saw Tetra trying to pick the lock to the trap door that lead into the maggot farm.
“Hey! Those are mine, bitch!” screamed Anya as she crawled agonizingly across the roof. Tetra shot up and said, “Uh-oh!” while looking for a way out. He tried to run back to the grappling hook, but was intercepted by a flying Jax Nightshade, who grabbed the thief by his neck with one hand and hoisted him in the air.
“Why didn’t you tell me you wanted off of this roof? You can fly like a birdie if you want!” said Jax with a sick smile and gritted teeth. He dragged Tetra kicking and wheezing by his neck to the edge of the roof. Still holding the thief by his throat, Jax dangled him over the edge and forced him to look at the street below.
Tetra’s vision was fading from being strangled, but when he saw how high he was off the ground, his stomach had a knot the size of a watermelon and his eyes were tearing up like rivers. He thought of his cancer-stricken sister Lilly and how he had failed her not only as a caregiver, but also as a brother. His last supply of oxygen would be spent thinking of how shitty of a way this was to die. His eyelids were getting heavy and he was ready to sleep his life away.
And then Jax let go of his grip and Tetra got a whirlwind of oxygen back into his lungs. He snapped back to reality and had enough alertness to grab the rope next to him and hold on for dear life. His hacking and wheezing caused him to slip down a few notches, but not without looking up and seeing Jax Nightshade with a metal spear through his head. The dark paladin’s purple and green magic faded out and he fell over the edge of the church, hitting the ground with a sickening thud and a bloody splatter. The spear went all the way through his head upon impact and spread his brains all over the cement ground.
Tetra heard the sounds of Anya moaning in pain. Her burned arms gave their last ounce of strength when they put the spear through Jax’s head. This was Tetra’s chance to break into the maggot farm. With the little strength he had left after being choked, the rogue pulled himself up the rope while grunting and straining along the way. He fell down a few notches, but then started walking along the wall like he did before. He made it over the lip of the roof and rolled around on the stone floor. He laid there for a while taking deep breaths in and out and smiling to himself.
And then his breathing was hindered when he felt the presence of Anya Kolobalos sitting on his stomach with her bloody and blackened fist raised high. Her other fist grabbed Tetra’s hair and she said, “I have had it with you fucking street rats! I’ve still got one more punch left in me and guess who’s going to get it!”
Tetra grabbed hold of Anya’s hair-grabbing arm and sunk his teeth into the fried meat. She squealed and rolled on the ground in pain afterwards while bleeding all over the rooftop. The thief took a few more deep breaths and rolled over to pick himself up. Anya tried to do the same, but Tetra quickly wrapped his arms around her waist, hoisted her up, and used the last of his dying strength to suplex her over the edge. The gangster hit the ground doubled over and snapped her neck while shattering her skull on the pavement.
The thief looked over the lip of the roof and smiled in satisfaction as he saw two of the biggest scumbags lying on the ground dead and bloodied. “What a couple of morons,” he said to himself while laying on the ground and catching his breath once more. Those maggots were as good as his.
The next morning, Tetra, without his demon mask, crept happily into Lilly’s bedroom and saw her lying in her bed peacefully with a smile on her face and her hands folded in front of her. Even with a bald head and a weak body, she still looked like a beautiful warrior. “Pssp! Lilly, wake up! I have something for you!”
The sickly woman slowly stirred from her sleep and looked up at her brother with hopeful eyes. “Good morning, Tetra! Did you get the medicine?”
“I sure did. I got all the medicine you’ll ever need,” said Tetra as he pulled a jar of hungry black maggots out of his coat. At first, Lilly’s face was covered in anxious fear. “Don’t worry, dear sister. This will help. I know it will. Trust me.” He opened the jar and poured the maggots all over her cancerous left breast.
The sensation of magical maggots digging into her flesh felt like a massage when it was first happening. And then it felt ticklish, which put giggles in Lilly’s throat. And then she started arching her back in agony. She wanted to scream, but couldn’t because blood was pouring out of her mouth.
Tetra grabbed his sister by the arms and shouted, “Lilly! Don’t die on me! What the hell is going on here?! Fight it! Fight!” It was too late. The maggots ate through her breast and chowed down on her lungs and heart. Her face was covered in the vomit and blood she spit out. She was dead.
Tears were forming in Tetra’s eyes as he backed away and slowly sat down against the wall. Mild tears turned to loud sobs. And loud sobs turned to shouts of “Fuck!” and “Shit!” Curse words turned to fists pounding against the ground and wall. Tetra was a thief, which meant tricking people was part of his job. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He fucked up big time and lost his sister because of it. All he wanted to do was die and meet his sister in the afterlife. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was that he bought into Jax Nightshade’s bullshit. “The Church of Darkness? What a crock!” he shouted to himself.
His suicidal thoughts were racing harder in his mind when he took a look inside the jar and saw there were still some maggots left. “What the hell?” he said. “I’ll probably taste better than piss-flavored beer.”
Tetra pulled out a rope with a hook at the end of it and twirled it over his head. As the whooshing noises were getting progressively louder, he threw the hook with all of his might and hit his target: the rim of the church’s roof. He was certain the maggot farm was on the top level and getting in through the roof would be his best shot at stealing the medicine.
With the hook firmly grasping its target, Tetra held the rope and walked up the wall of the church. His faith in maggot therapy was met with stomach wrenching anxiety as he saw the designs in the multi-colored windows. He saw minotaurs slashing the throats of small children with sling blades, death angels breathing fire on veiled women, and dragons spitting acid on helpless farm animals. Such violent imagery caused Tetra to puke in his mouth a little bit as he was scaling the wall.
His blood also started to chill when he heard the argument within the church intensifying. Voices were throatier and louder. Plus, the sounds of weapons clanging together and wooden furniture breaking didn’t relieve Tetra’s anxiety any further. He took a break from climbing and wiped the cold sweat off of his forehead. He also spit out some bile onto the street below and then continued climbing until he reached the tiptop of the church.
The rooftop was ordinary enough with its flat stone surface. Nothing unusual there. And then Tetra Engel saw the steeple, which depicted a baldheaded vampire chowing down on a unicorn’s neck and splattering blood every which way. “God, these people are fucking disgusting!” said Tetra silently to himself.
Before the cunning rogue could take his first step, the middle smashed open and a purple light beam shone from within the church. Flying from that magical beam was a dark-skinned woman with a red Mohawk, a black halter top, and black baggy jeans. As she rolled backwards toward Tetra, the metal spear she was carrying dropped in his lap. Tetra tossed the spear aside and crawled over to get a closer look at her.
As soon as he saw who she was, the thief cowered backwards in an anxiety-driven crabwalk until he was at the corner of the roof. Being a thief gave Tetra a certain level of street wisdom. This woman was Anya Kolobalos, the leader of the Blood Dagger Syndicate. Anybody who messed with her would end up as a little shit on the floor after she gutted them alive with her spear and drank their blood like religious Kool-Aid.
Anybody except the dark paladin who sprouted black demon wings and flew gracefully up the purple light beam and onto the rooftop. This man was Jax Nightshade, the innovator of maggot therapy and the city’s most vile businessman. His black trench coat and steel armor underneath gave him that villainous look he always wanted. The baldheaded, dark-skinned knight slowly walked over to Anya and Tetra with a bloody smile on his face.
“Well, well, well, it looks like we’re not alone after all, Anya. I didn’t know my church had a rat infestation. In fact, those are the two biggest rats I’ve ever seen in my life,” said Jax in a smooth baritone voice that sent chills up Tetra’s spine. “Which one of you shall I exterminate first? Should I just play a game of spin the bottle? How about ink-a-dink? Or maybe I’ll just take both of you at the same time. Yeah, that’ll be lovely!”
Tetra stuttered, “L-L-Listen, Mr. Nightshade. I didn’t come here for any trouble. I just want s-s-s-s-ome of your maggots. My sister Lilly has breast cancer and I was hoping th-th-th-that…”
“Shut up, you sniveling cretin!” shouted Jax in a voice that mustered up intense winds. He smiled evilly once again and said, “Of course, if you want to have access to my maggots, you’ll have to pay just like everyone else. But judging from those rags you’re wearing, it doesn’t look like you have deep pockets full of gold. Couple that with the fact that you came here through the rooftop instead of the front doors and I know exactly what’s going on. You’re a thief. You’re a liar. You’re a fucking sewer rat!”
This arguing allowed Anya enough time to pick herself and her spear off the ground before charging at Jax with rapid fire thrusts. Jax held a purple cloud of energy in his hand like a shield and blocked every single one of those shots with perfection. The dark paladin then slapped the gangster across the face and sent her rolling to the ground. He jumped on her chest and began raining down punches with green lightning around his fists. Anya covered her face with her arms before reaching up with her free leg and placing a kick to the back of Jax’s head to stop the assault.
The dark paladin rolled off of the gangster and clutched the back of his head in mock pain. He even let out some unconvincing “ouches”. Anya tried to pick herself up off the ground again, but her arms were fried and she couldn’t get a stable grip. Out of the corners of their eyes, the two of them saw Tetra trying to pick the lock to the trap door that lead into the maggot farm.
“Hey! Those are mine, bitch!” screamed Anya as she crawled agonizingly across the roof. Tetra shot up and said, “Uh-oh!” while looking for a way out. He tried to run back to the grappling hook, but was intercepted by a flying Jax Nightshade, who grabbed the thief by his neck with one hand and hoisted him in the air.
“Why didn’t you tell me you wanted off of this roof? You can fly like a birdie if you want!” said Jax with a sick smile and gritted teeth. He dragged Tetra kicking and wheezing by his neck to the edge of the roof. Still holding the thief by his throat, Jax dangled him over the edge and forced him to look at the street below.
Tetra’s vision was fading from being strangled, but when he saw how high he was off the ground, his stomach had a knot the size of a watermelon and his eyes were tearing up like rivers. He thought of his cancer-stricken sister Lilly and how he had failed her not only as a caregiver, but also as a brother. His last supply of oxygen would be spent thinking of how shitty of a way this was to die. His eyelids were getting heavy and he was ready to sleep his life away.
And then Jax let go of his grip and Tetra got a whirlwind of oxygen back into his lungs. He snapped back to reality and had enough alertness to grab the rope next to him and hold on for dear life. His hacking and wheezing caused him to slip down a few notches, but not without looking up and seeing Jax Nightshade with a metal spear through his head. The dark paladin’s purple and green magic faded out and he fell over the edge of the church, hitting the ground with a sickening thud and a bloody splatter. The spear went all the way through his head upon impact and spread his brains all over the cement ground.
Tetra heard the sounds of Anya moaning in pain. Her burned arms gave their last ounce of strength when they put the spear through Jax’s head. This was Tetra’s chance to break into the maggot farm. With the little strength he had left after being choked, the rogue pulled himself up the rope while grunting and straining along the way. He fell down a few notches, but then started walking along the wall like he did before. He made it over the lip of the roof and rolled around on the stone floor. He laid there for a while taking deep breaths in and out and smiling to himself.
And then his breathing was hindered when he felt the presence of Anya Kolobalos sitting on his stomach with her bloody and blackened fist raised high. Her other fist grabbed Tetra’s hair and she said, “I have had it with you fucking street rats! I’ve still got one more punch left in me and guess who’s going to get it!”
Tetra grabbed hold of Anya’s hair-grabbing arm and sunk his teeth into the fried meat. She squealed and rolled on the ground in pain afterwards while bleeding all over the rooftop. The thief took a few more deep breaths and rolled over to pick himself up. Anya tried to do the same, but Tetra quickly wrapped his arms around her waist, hoisted her up, and used the last of his dying strength to suplex her over the edge. The gangster hit the ground doubled over and snapped her neck while shattering her skull on the pavement.
The thief looked over the lip of the roof and smiled in satisfaction as he saw two of the biggest scumbags lying on the ground dead and bloodied. “What a couple of morons,” he said to himself while laying on the ground and catching his breath once more. Those maggots were as good as his.
The next morning, Tetra, without his demon mask, crept happily into Lilly’s bedroom and saw her lying in her bed peacefully with a smile on her face and her hands folded in front of her. Even with a bald head and a weak body, she still looked like a beautiful warrior. “Pssp! Lilly, wake up! I have something for you!”
The sickly woman slowly stirred from her sleep and looked up at her brother with hopeful eyes. “Good morning, Tetra! Did you get the medicine?”
“I sure did. I got all the medicine you’ll ever need,” said Tetra as he pulled a jar of hungry black maggots out of his coat. At first, Lilly’s face was covered in anxious fear. “Don’t worry, dear sister. This will help. I know it will. Trust me.” He opened the jar and poured the maggots all over her cancerous left breast.
The sensation of magical maggots digging into her flesh felt like a massage when it was first happening. And then it felt ticklish, which put giggles in Lilly’s throat. And then she started arching her back in agony. She wanted to scream, but couldn’t because blood was pouring out of her mouth.
Tetra grabbed his sister by the arms and shouted, “Lilly! Don’t die on me! What the hell is going on here?! Fight it! Fight!” It was too late. The maggots ate through her breast and chowed down on her lungs and heart. Her face was covered in the vomit and blood she spit out. She was dead.
Tears were forming in Tetra’s eyes as he backed away and slowly sat down against the wall. Mild tears turned to loud sobs. And loud sobs turned to shouts of “Fuck!” and “Shit!” Curse words turned to fists pounding against the ground and wall. Tetra was a thief, which meant tricking people was part of his job. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He fucked up big time and lost his sister because of it. All he wanted to do was die and meet his sister in the afterlife. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was that he bought into Jax Nightshade’s bullshit. “The Church of Darkness? What a crock!” he shouted to himself.
His suicidal thoughts were racing harder in his mind when he took a look inside the jar and saw there were still some maggots left. “What the hell?” he said. “I’ll probably taste better than piss-flavored beer.”
Friday, September 11, 2015
Not For Business
***NOT FOR BUSINESS***
When I was transitioning from a kid to an adult, I gave up acting out scenes with my action figures and Legos. I had the mindset that if I wasn’t doing something to further my future career as a screenwriter (which is what I wanted to be at the time), then extracurricular activities were unnecessary and therefore a waste of time. I’m sure there are many adults who feel business-minded enough that their careers are their whole lives.
I’m telling you all right now, your career, no matter how passionately you feel about it, is not your whole life, and no extracurricular activities you undertake are a waste of time. Putting time into a career is only a small part of what life is supposed to be. The other part of that equation is…living! I had this struggle when I was drawing pictures of my characters for the first time. At first I thought to myself, “What does drawing pictures have to do with my career as a writer?” Technically, I could put them in my books as part of a mini-gallery, but ultimately, drawings have little impact on my writing career. The past me would have been terrified at that notion. The current version of me couldn’t give two shits.
Working the same job for endless hours can get tiring no matter how dedicated you are. Even the most passionate people have to learn to step away for a while and take the edge off. The now former drummer for Nothing More, Paul O’Brien, left the band because the hectic touring schedule has completely drained him. He was already dealing with social anxiety and depression, so having an off switch for his career was next to impossible. Luckily, he’s still on good terms with his Nothing More band mates. But some coworkers and bosses aren’t so forgiving. CM Punk left the WWE on sour terms because his body was aching and nobody was giving him a break. When you have to quit your career just to take the edge off, that’s a sign that you needed to take the edge off a long time ago, but in shorter bursts.
So don’t feel guilty about getting nothing done to advance your career whatever that may be. Take a break. Feel good about feeling good. Watch a new show. Go for a walk. Find new music to listen to. Draw some pictures. Play some videogames. Hit the reset button on your mind and it when it comes time to get back to work, know your escapes will always be there for you. Do you think Dante and Randal from Clerks feel like serving the community all day long? Bullshit, man! They’re on the roof playing hockey and going for road trips to funeral homes! You can add years to your life, but first you have to learn to add life to your years. And if your legacy isn’t immortalized in bronze by the time life is over, just know that it never had to be. Do what makes you happy with the life you have left. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTEST AND COMPANY***
It’s a new week at the WSS, which means a new prompt for both storytellers and poets. Since I’m the former of those two, I’m going to write a Cat Lady story called “Ottie-Doo”, which goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
Ottie, Elderly Witch Kitty
Randy Fender, Backwoods Cult Leader
Random Cult Members
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Ottie is a cat who also happens to be a lady.
SYNOPSIS: Randy has plans to sacrifice Ottie in order to gain her magic powers. What he didn’t count on was Ottie tapping into her powers to fight back against the hairy cultist. The elderly kitty has an entire compound full of followers to fight off, but if anybody can do it, it’s the kitty who throws fireballs just for fun.
***DRAWING***
My next picture will be of Julian Heath, the gnome rogue protagonist from the Poison Tongue Tales short story “Ascension” (a title that will eventually change). I’m going to try and draw Julian in a way that will take up the whole page, but will also magnify his short stature. I’ve only successfully done this a handful of times, my most recent instance being with Baby from “Nail Bomb” (also from Poison Tongue Tales).
***PHOTOGRAPHY***
I’m normally known for taking pictures of my toys and my animals. I don’t take selfies often because I don’t like how the pictures magnify my overweight features. When I dress in my Slipknot costume for Halloween this year, I won’t mind the flashing camera so much. In fact, being overweight will probably help me look scarier than I already will be in that costume. Hehe!
***READING***
Now that Daniel Bryan’s memoir has been read and reviewed, it’s time to move on to a more time-sensitive piece of literature. Edward Davies, the author of Divine Intervention, encouraged me to join a group on Good Reads called Read Together, Blog Together. For the month of September, one the books under review is “So…I Met a Vampire” by Paul McAvoy. It’s a quick and short read, so the review should be up in no time at all.
***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“I’m gonna drink a big glass of milk, eat some chocolate chip cookies, and then maybe I’ll take three Viagra.”
-The Rock mocking Kurt Angle-
When I was transitioning from a kid to an adult, I gave up acting out scenes with my action figures and Legos. I had the mindset that if I wasn’t doing something to further my future career as a screenwriter (which is what I wanted to be at the time), then extracurricular activities were unnecessary and therefore a waste of time. I’m sure there are many adults who feel business-minded enough that their careers are their whole lives.
I’m telling you all right now, your career, no matter how passionately you feel about it, is not your whole life, and no extracurricular activities you undertake are a waste of time. Putting time into a career is only a small part of what life is supposed to be. The other part of that equation is…living! I had this struggle when I was drawing pictures of my characters for the first time. At first I thought to myself, “What does drawing pictures have to do with my career as a writer?” Technically, I could put them in my books as part of a mini-gallery, but ultimately, drawings have little impact on my writing career. The past me would have been terrified at that notion. The current version of me couldn’t give two shits.
Working the same job for endless hours can get tiring no matter how dedicated you are. Even the most passionate people have to learn to step away for a while and take the edge off. The now former drummer for Nothing More, Paul O’Brien, left the band because the hectic touring schedule has completely drained him. He was already dealing with social anxiety and depression, so having an off switch for his career was next to impossible. Luckily, he’s still on good terms with his Nothing More band mates. But some coworkers and bosses aren’t so forgiving. CM Punk left the WWE on sour terms because his body was aching and nobody was giving him a break. When you have to quit your career just to take the edge off, that’s a sign that you needed to take the edge off a long time ago, but in shorter bursts.
So don’t feel guilty about getting nothing done to advance your career whatever that may be. Take a break. Feel good about feeling good. Watch a new show. Go for a walk. Find new music to listen to. Draw some pictures. Play some videogames. Hit the reset button on your mind and it when it comes time to get back to work, know your escapes will always be there for you. Do you think Dante and Randal from Clerks feel like serving the community all day long? Bullshit, man! They’re on the roof playing hockey and going for road trips to funeral homes! You can add years to your life, but first you have to learn to add life to your years. And if your legacy isn’t immortalized in bronze by the time life is over, just know that it never had to be. Do what makes you happy with the life you have left. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTEST AND COMPANY***
It’s a new week at the WSS, which means a new prompt for both storytellers and poets. Since I’m the former of those two, I’m going to write a Cat Lady story called “Ottie-Doo”, which goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
Ottie, Elderly Witch Kitty
Randy Fender, Backwoods Cult Leader
Random Cult Members
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Ottie is a cat who also happens to be a lady.
SYNOPSIS: Randy has plans to sacrifice Ottie in order to gain her magic powers. What he didn’t count on was Ottie tapping into her powers to fight back against the hairy cultist. The elderly kitty has an entire compound full of followers to fight off, but if anybody can do it, it’s the kitty who throws fireballs just for fun.
***DRAWING***
My next picture will be of Julian Heath, the gnome rogue protagonist from the Poison Tongue Tales short story “Ascension” (a title that will eventually change). I’m going to try and draw Julian in a way that will take up the whole page, but will also magnify his short stature. I’ve only successfully done this a handful of times, my most recent instance being with Baby from “Nail Bomb” (also from Poison Tongue Tales).
***PHOTOGRAPHY***
I’m normally known for taking pictures of my toys and my animals. I don’t take selfies often because I don’t like how the pictures magnify my overweight features. When I dress in my Slipknot costume for Halloween this year, I won’t mind the flashing camera so much. In fact, being overweight will probably help me look scarier than I already will be in that costume. Hehe!
***READING***
Now that Daniel Bryan’s memoir has been read and reviewed, it’s time to move on to a more time-sensitive piece of literature. Edward Davies, the author of Divine Intervention, encouraged me to join a group on Good Reads called Read Together, Blog Together. For the month of September, one the books under review is “So…I Met a Vampire” by Paul McAvoy. It’s a quick and short read, so the review should be up in no time at all.
***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“I’m gonna drink a big glass of milk, eat some chocolate chip cookies, and then maybe I’ll take three Viagra.”
-The Rock mocking Kurt Angle-
Friday, August 21, 2015
"Blade of the Destroyer" by Andy Peloquin
BOOK TITLE: Blade of the Destroyer
AUTHOR: Andy Peloquin
YEAR: 2015
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Medieval Fantasy
GRADE: Pass
The Hunter is a ruthless contract killer who always finishes his assignments and demands his payment right away. His methods are as mysterious as his actual birth name. He does everything on his own terms. Those who double-cross him will find themselves brutalized in the worst possible way. Rumors of his deadliness have spread far and wide, creating the illusion that he is invincible. But when he finishes an assassination of a high-ranking lord, he finds out that the aristocrat is involved with a criminal empire known as the Bloody Hand. Only through dealing with these merciless thugs will The Hunter’s invincibility be truly tested.
The reason this book gets a passing grade (four stars if you’re on Good Reads) is because of how well-constructed it is. Everything is so intricately researched to where the author himself feels like an authority on contract killings and stealth trickery. Whenever The Hunter needs a disguise, he not only puts on the right clothing, but he also puts plaster on his face to match the physical description of that character. When he needs an entry point into a castle or a fortress, he sneaks to the tippy-top of that building and eases his way inside with no problems. When he fights his opponents, they not only go down, they stay that way either through brutal incapacitation or death itself. The Hunter does everything he possibly can to keep his identity a secret while successfully going in for the kill.
As cold and calculating as he is, The Hunter is not without personal feelings. Every once and a while, he’ll meet with a small child or a lonely beggar that he feels so much sympathy for that he’ll pay them a little extra money and attention when walking by. He even allows beggars outside of his home, mostly to maintain subterfuge, but also because they have nowhere else to go. And whenever The Hunter sees a pretty woman, he’s not without his primal urges to get in bed with her and do the nasty. This goes to show that no matter how much you push your feelings down for the sake of your profession, they will always come back stronger than ever. It’s what makes us human, and though people think of The Hunter as godlike, he is human.
But if there’s one part about this novel that really had my attention, it’s The Hunter’s weapon of choice, the Bloodhunger. It’s a jagged dagger that not only rips flesh and shatters bones, but also drains the spiritual essence out of those it penetrates. When Bloodhunger wants blood, he’ll get it one way or another. Did I say he? That’s because the dagger actually communicates with The Hunter in a schizophrenic fashion whenever it’s time to kill someone. The hungrier the dagger is, the louder the head voices become. Sometimes The Hunter will have witty banter or a philosophical discussion in his own head about oligarchies, romance, and such, and Bloodhunger will completely interrupt his train of thought with violent words. Not only is this a creepy and frightening part of the story, but it’s also quite original. Any form of against the grain creativity will always strike a chord with not just me, but also other readers.
Andy Peloquin may be an independent author, but he’s no rookie. If he is, he doesn’t write like one. His descriptions paint a vivid image in the reader’s mind just like any piece of writing should. Blade of the Destroyer is no exception to that rule. You should also follow his blogs on Good Reads since his words of wisdom will ring true with any aspiring author. I follow him on Good Reads and we’ve actually become good friends over time. This passing grade I’m giving his book isn’t because we’re good friends. It’s because he’s a damn good writer with infinite potential and a creative mind. He can get the job done come hell or high water.
Tagline/Elevator Pitch:
A faceless, nameless assassin. A forgotten past. The Hunter of Voramis--a killer devoid of morals, or something else altogether? (Blade of the Destroyer--dark fantasy with a look at the underside of human nature)
Book Blurb:
The Last Bucelarii (Book 1): Blade of the Destroyer
The Hunter of Voramis is the perfect assassin: ruthless, unrelenting, immortal. Yet he is haunted by lost memories, bonded to a cursed dagger that feeds him power yet denies him peace of mind. Within him rages an unquenchable need for blood and death.
When he accepts a contract to avenge the stolen innocence of a girl, the Hunter becomes the prey. The death of a seemingly random target sends him hurtling toward destruction, yet could his path also lead to the truth of his buried past?
Book Info:
Title: The Last Bucelarii (Book 1): Blade of the Destroyer
Author: Andy Peloquin
Official Launch Date: August 21st, 2015
Publication Date: July 11th, 2015
Paperback Price: $15.99
Digital Price: $3.99
Pages: 298
ISBN: 1515038955
Buy Links:
Amazon Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Blade-Destroyer-Last-Bucelarii-Book-ebook/dp/B012EI9M4A/
Amazon Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/Blade-Destroyer-Last-Bucelarii-Book/dp/1515038955/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25269614-blade-of-the-destroyer
Book Launch Event:
https://www.facebook.com/events/1625045874438351/
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:
Hot wings, ALWAYS!
I never forget a face, but rarely remember a name.
I'm a head taller than the average person (I'm 6' 6")
Marvel > DC
I was born in Japan, and lived there until the age of 14.
Selena Gomez and Five Finger Death Punch are both in my playlist.
Aliens are real, but it's self-centered of us to believe that they would come to visit Earth.
Watching sports: suck. Playing sports: EPIC!
I earned a purple belt in Karate/Hapkido/Taekwondo.
I dislike most Christmas music, aside from Trans-Siberian Orchestra.
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
AUTHOR: Andy Peloquin
YEAR: 2015
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Medieval Fantasy
GRADE: Pass
The Hunter is a ruthless contract killer who always finishes his assignments and demands his payment right away. His methods are as mysterious as his actual birth name. He does everything on his own terms. Those who double-cross him will find themselves brutalized in the worst possible way. Rumors of his deadliness have spread far and wide, creating the illusion that he is invincible. But when he finishes an assassination of a high-ranking lord, he finds out that the aristocrat is involved with a criminal empire known as the Bloody Hand. Only through dealing with these merciless thugs will The Hunter’s invincibility be truly tested.
The reason this book gets a passing grade (four stars if you’re on Good Reads) is because of how well-constructed it is. Everything is so intricately researched to where the author himself feels like an authority on contract killings and stealth trickery. Whenever The Hunter needs a disguise, he not only puts on the right clothing, but he also puts plaster on his face to match the physical description of that character. When he needs an entry point into a castle or a fortress, he sneaks to the tippy-top of that building and eases his way inside with no problems. When he fights his opponents, they not only go down, they stay that way either through brutal incapacitation or death itself. The Hunter does everything he possibly can to keep his identity a secret while successfully going in for the kill.
As cold and calculating as he is, The Hunter is not without personal feelings. Every once and a while, he’ll meet with a small child or a lonely beggar that he feels so much sympathy for that he’ll pay them a little extra money and attention when walking by. He even allows beggars outside of his home, mostly to maintain subterfuge, but also because they have nowhere else to go. And whenever The Hunter sees a pretty woman, he’s not without his primal urges to get in bed with her and do the nasty. This goes to show that no matter how much you push your feelings down for the sake of your profession, they will always come back stronger than ever. It’s what makes us human, and though people think of The Hunter as godlike, he is human.
But if there’s one part about this novel that really had my attention, it’s The Hunter’s weapon of choice, the Bloodhunger. It’s a jagged dagger that not only rips flesh and shatters bones, but also drains the spiritual essence out of those it penetrates. When Bloodhunger wants blood, he’ll get it one way or another. Did I say he? That’s because the dagger actually communicates with The Hunter in a schizophrenic fashion whenever it’s time to kill someone. The hungrier the dagger is, the louder the head voices become. Sometimes The Hunter will have witty banter or a philosophical discussion in his own head about oligarchies, romance, and such, and Bloodhunger will completely interrupt his train of thought with violent words. Not only is this a creepy and frightening part of the story, but it’s also quite original. Any form of against the grain creativity will always strike a chord with not just me, but also other readers.
Andy Peloquin may be an independent author, but he’s no rookie. If he is, he doesn’t write like one. His descriptions paint a vivid image in the reader’s mind just like any piece of writing should. Blade of the Destroyer is no exception to that rule. You should also follow his blogs on Good Reads since his words of wisdom will ring true with any aspiring author. I follow him on Good Reads and we’ve actually become good friends over time. This passing grade I’m giving his book isn’t because we’re good friends. It’s because he’s a damn good writer with infinite potential and a creative mind. He can get the job done come hell or high water.
Tagline/Elevator Pitch:
A faceless, nameless assassin. A forgotten past. The Hunter of Voramis--a killer devoid of morals, or something else altogether? (Blade of the Destroyer--dark fantasy with a look at the underside of human nature)
Book Blurb:
The Last Bucelarii (Book 1): Blade of the Destroyer
The Hunter of Voramis is the perfect assassin: ruthless, unrelenting, immortal. Yet he is haunted by lost memories, bonded to a cursed dagger that feeds him power yet denies him peace of mind. Within him rages an unquenchable need for blood and death.
When he accepts a contract to avenge the stolen innocence of a girl, the Hunter becomes the prey. The death of a seemingly random target sends him hurtling toward destruction, yet could his path also lead to the truth of his buried past?
Book Info:
Title: The Last Bucelarii (Book 1): Blade of the Destroyer
Author: Andy Peloquin
Official Launch Date: August 21st, 2015
Publication Date: July 11th, 2015
Paperback Price: $15.99
Digital Price: $3.99
Pages: 298
ISBN: 1515038955
Buy Links:
Amazon Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Blade-Destroyer-Last-Bucelarii-Book-ebook/dp/B012EI9M4A/
Amazon Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/Blade-Destroyer-Last-Bucelarii-Book/dp/1515038955/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25269614-blade-of-the-destroyer
Book Launch Event:
https://www.facebook.com/events/1625045874438351/
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:
I never forget a face, but rarely remember a name.
I'm a head taller than the average person (I'm 6' 6")
Marvel > DC
I was born in Japan, and lived there until the age of 14.
Selena Gomez and Five Finger Death Punch are both in my playlist.
Aliens are real, but it's self-centered of us to believe that they would come to visit Earth.
Watching sports: suck. Playing sports: EPIC!
I earned a purple belt in Karate/Hapkido/Taekwondo.
I dislike most Christmas music, aside from Trans-Siberian Orchestra.
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
Thursday, June 4, 2015
Sonya Jade
NAME: Sonya Jade
AGE: 18
OCCUPATION: Student
CANON: Beauty and the Barbarian
As humans looking for a loving companion, we owe it to ourselves and our partners to find a balance between romance and shallowness. We all have shallow instincts whether we want financial stability or physical beauty from our significant other. And then you have a woman like Sonya Jade, who recently got “fired” from a short story that was included in the now defunct anthology Dragon Machinegun, “Beauty and the Barbarian”. Her claim to fame would have been the fantasy genre’s most shallow woman if she actually rose to that level of notoriety.
Sonya was the beauty, obviously, and the barbarian was a super handsome gentleman named Ogre Bladefist. Sonya found herself in trouble no matter where she went. She was almost molested by a group of goblins after leaving a tavern drunk as a skunk. She was also bloodily spanked by a group of teachers and schoolmasters at a religious college. Who would rescue her from both of these brutal assaults? Ogre, no less. In addition to being easy on the eyes, he was also a vicious fighter who shattered bones with the laziest of efforts. A muscle-bound stud with ponytail hair and overly protective fighting skills? Cha-ching! Sonya scored big time!
Sonya would have spent the rest of the night in bed pleasuring herself if it hadn’t been for Ogre sneaking into her cottage and…(clears throat)…”giving her a hand with that”. The orgasm of the century was on the horizon until a bitchy old witch named Rose Lovelace tracked Ogre down and turned him into the most hideous monster she could think of. Brown razor teeth, shit-covered fur, constant green drool…basically, all of the things in a monster that gave Sonya nightmares and nausea fits. Could she still love her man after all of this?
Therein lies the question of the day. If she was really the deep thinking, three-dimensional character we all want to get behind (in more ways than sodomy), then she would have stayed with Ogre until the very end. But she didn’t. She immediately demanded that her man sneak into Rose Lovelace’s castle and abscond a cure for his ugliness. After an uphill battle with the nearly indestructible Rose, Ogre found the cure, but chose not to stay with Sonya after she showed her true colors. To be honest, I couldn’t blame him for the choice he made and my readers probably couldn’t either.
So there you have it: a harsh way of telling my audience to choose everlasting love and a beautiful soul over something as temporary as good looks and an oversized bank account. As someone with a round tummy and no employment history, I’ve been preaching this message for a long, long time. Am I biased? Absolutely. But that doesn’t mean the message can’t have any meaning. Unfortunately, due to the piss-poor writing style I used to write “Beauty and the Barbarian”, it never saw the fame and fortune it could have potentially had.
Besides, what could I truly do with a woman like Sonya Jade? Her shallow point of view doesn’t make her very sympathetic. But her beauty could be an asset to someone for reasons other than animalistic sex. She has long purple hair, milky white skin, rose red lips, and irises that live up to her last name. That, and she happens to be a passionate lover. I could see Sonya Jade being a seductive rogue character in a D&D campaign. She could use her beauty and passion to make men (and lesbian women) fall in love with her while Sonya steals their riches right from under their noses.
And then to really make her three-dimensional, she could donate her treasure to a worthy cause such as protecting animals from being abused or giving shelter to rape victims who want to run away from their own abusers. As my lovely beta reader Marie Krepps once said, “Talk dirty to me!” Of course, she wasn’t trying to come on to me; she was merely suggesting that my ideas were good. I hope she likes this idea as well!
***MOVIE QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“There are millions of fine-looking women in the world. They won’t all bring you lasagna at work. Most of them will just cheat on you.”
-Silent Bob from “Clerks”-
AGE: 18
OCCUPATION: Student
CANON: Beauty and the Barbarian
As humans looking for a loving companion, we owe it to ourselves and our partners to find a balance between romance and shallowness. We all have shallow instincts whether we want financial stability or physical beauty from our significant other. And then you have a woman like Sonya Jade, who recently got “fired” from a short story that was included in the now defunct anthology Dragon Machinegun, “Beauty and the Barbarian”. Her claim to fame would have been the fantasy genre’s most shallow woman if she actually rose to that level of notoriety.
Sonya was the beauty, obviously, and the barbarian was a super handsome gentleman named Ogre Bladefist. Sonya found herself in trouble no matter where she went. She was almost molested by a group of goblins after leaving a tavern drunk as a skunk. She was also bloodily spanked by a group of teachers and schoolmasters at a religious college. Who would rescue her from both of these brutal assaults? Ogre, no less. In addition to being easy on the eyes, he was also a vicious fighter who shattered bones with the laziest of efforts. A muscle-bound stud with ponytail hair and overly protective fighting skills? Cha-ching! Sonya scored big time!
Sonya would have spent the rest of the night in bed pleasuring herself if it hadn’t been for Ogre sneaking into her cottage and…(clears throat)…”giving her a hand with that”. The orgasm of the century was on the horizon until a bitchy old witch named Rose Lovelace tracked Ogre down and turned him into the most hideous monster she could think of. Brown razor teeth, shit-covered fur, constant green drool…basically, all of the things in a monster that gave Sonya nightmares and nausea fits. Could she still love her man after all of this?
Therein lies the question of the day. If she was really the deep thinking, three-dimensional character we all want to get behind (in more ways than sodomy), then she would have stayed with Ogre until the very end. But she didn’t. She immediately demanded that her man sneak into Rose Lovelace’s castle and abscond a cure for his ugliness. After an uphill battle with the nearly indestructible Rose, Ogre found the cure, but chose not to stay with Sonya after she showed her true colors. To be honest, I couldn’t blame him for the choice he made and my readers probably couldn’t either.
So there you have it: a harsh way of telling my audience to choose everlasting love and a beautiful soul over something as temporary as good looks and an oversized bank account. As someone with a round tummy and no employment history, I’ve been preaching this message for a long, long time. Am I biased? Absolutely. But that doesn’t mean the message can’t have any meaning. Unfortunately, due to the piss-poor writing style I used to write “Beauty and the Barbarian”, it never saw the fame and fortune it could have potentially had.
Besides, what could I truly do with a woman like Sonya Jade? Her shallow point of view doesn’t make her very sympathetic. But her beauty could be an asset to someone for reasons other than animalistic sex. She has long purple hair, milky white skin, rose red lips, and irises that live up to her last name. That, and she happens to be a passionate lover. I could see Sonya Jade being a seductive rogue character in a D&D campaign. She could use her beauty and passion to make men (and lesbian women) fall in love with her while Sonya steals their riches right from under their noses.
And then to really make her three-dimensional, she could donate her treasure to a worthy cause such as protecting animals from being abused or giving shelter to rape victims who want to run away from their own abusers. As my lovely beta reader Marie Krepps once said, “Talk dirty to me!” Of course, she wasn’t trying to come on to me; she was merely suggesting that my ideas were good. I hope she likes this idea as well!
***MOVIE QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“There are millions of fine-looking women in the world. They won’t all bring you lasagna at work. Most of them will just cheat on you.”
-Silent Bob from “Clerks”-
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
"Of Dice and Men" by David M. Ewalt
BOOK TITLE: Of Dice and Men: The Story of Dungeons & Dragons and the People Who Play It
AUTHOR: David M. Ewalt
YEAR: 2013
GENRE: Nonfiction
SUBGENRE: Biography and Memoir
GRADE: Extra Credit
In this tribute to Dungeons & Dragons, David M. Ewalt combines nonfiction genres when he gives a detailed history of the franchise and shares some of his own experiences and in-game stories with the RPG. There are many ways to describe playing this game: a creative outlet, a social experience, a storytelling class, a geek’s heaven, but more importantly, a way for people to have fun. It’s not just for “geeks and freaks” anymore. It’s also not for “satanic devil worshipers”. Playing D&D is an enriching experience everybody can get in on regardless of age and interests.
The biography portion of this book is so accurate and well-researched that you won’t find a better timeline of D&D’s birth anywhere else. Games have been around since the early BC days, even among cavemen dancing around and telling stories. Playing was free and spontaneous. And then there were rules to keep things fair, which ultimately led to the centuries old board game chess. And then the chess board was modified to depict reenactments of famous wars in what would ultimately be called Kriegsspiel, or War Games. And Gary Gygax and David Arneson started replacing human soldier miniature tokens with dragons, goblins, and wizards. Instead of historic battlefields, they were replaced with castles and labyrinths. Making all of those modifications over time took a lot creativity and individuality to do. When the imagination gets flowing, anything is possible and the results are beautiful to watch.
The memoir portion is just as much fun to read as the historical side of things. David M. Ewalt describes playing Dungeons & Dragons with his friends as an experience that not only stimulates creativity, but also bonds the friendships between the players. He is a lifelong D&D fan and has traveled all over the world just to have his imagination tickled by these colorful scenarios. He even went to Geneva Lake, Wisconsin to pay tribute to Gary Gygax and compared it to a religious pilgrimage to Mecca. Being passionate about a role-playing game doesn’t make anybody an outcast or a dork. Passion is something we all must have in the things we do. It’s what drives us to do our best and ultimately reach our goals. David’s passion led him to a sharper mind, multiple nerd-gasms, and an awesome nonfiction book deal about his favorite pastime, Dungeons & Dragons.
And now here’s the reason this book is getting an extra credit grade, or for you Good Reads members, five out of five stars. I used to give five star ratings to pretty much anything that was enjoyable. Over the years, things have become more complicated than that. To earn a five star review from me these days, you as an author have to blow me away and leave me a changed man. Of Dice and Men did just that. It made me want to play Dungeons & Dragons once again. It fed my creativity with awesome storyline possibilities and tactical game play.
If only I could find some players to join me in this mind-bending experience, then my energy and passion for this game will leave me whole again. Dungeons & Dragons isn’t just a game; it’s a religious experience. Just for being the biggest piece in the puzzle when creating the game, Gary Gygax will always be one of my personal heroes. He’s probably smiling down upon Mr. Ewalt for invoking his venerable spirit, which is something that can be done by a level 15 cleric. I want to play again and my inner geek won’t be satisfied until I do. I’m like the lonely single guy who doesn’t have a girlfriend and only has internet porn to rely on. It’s a bit of a stretch, but it’s accurate for how this book made me feel about getting back in the game. Someday, my friends. Someday. Thank you, Mr. Ewalt, for bringing out my nerdy aura once again.
And by the way, if Clue was played with Dungeons & Dragons rules, you could beat a confession out of Colonel Mustard with the lead pipe and have sex with Miss Scarlet on the table of the conservatory. Also, if you open the closet to Narnia and you see a McDonald’s, something is desperately wrong here. Get used to hearing this kind of silver-tongued humor throughout the book. After all, if you’re not laughing, you’re not living!
AUTHOR: David M. Ewalt
YEAR: 2013
GENRE: Nonfiction
SUBGENRE: Biography and Memoir
GRADE: Extra Credit
In this tribute to Dungeons & Dragons, David M. Ewalt combines nonfiction genres when he gives a detailed history of the franchise and shares some of his own experiences and in-game stories with the RPG. There are many ways to describe playing this game: a creative outlet, a social experience, a storytelling class, a geek’s heaven, but more importantly, a way for people to have fun. It’s not just for “geeks and freaks” anymore. It’s also not for “satanic devil worshipers”. Playing D&D is an enriching experience everybody can get in on regardless of age and interests.
The biography portion of this book is so accurate and well-researched that you won’t find a better timeline of D&D’s birth anywhere else. Games have been around since the early BC days, even among cavemen dancing around and telling stories. Playing was free and spontaneous. And then there were rules to keep things fair, which ultimately led to the centuries old board game chess. And then the chess board was modified to depict reenactments of famous wars in what would ultimately be called Kriegsspiel, or War Games. And Gary Gygax and David Arneson started replacing human soldier miniature tokens with dragons, goblins, and wizards. Instead of historic battlefields, they were replaced with castles and labyrinths. Making all of those modifications over time took a lot creativity and individuality to do. When the imagination gets flowing, anything is possible and the results are beautiful to watch.
The memoir portion is just as much fun to read as the historical side of things. David M. Ewalt describes playing Dungeons & Dragons with his friends as an experience that not only stimulates creativity, but also bonds the friendships between the players. He is a lifelong D&D fan and has traveled all over the world just to have his imagination tickled by these colorful scenarios. He even went to Geneva Lake, Wisconsin to pay tribute to Gary Gygax and compared it to a religious pilgrimage to Mecca. Being passionate about a role-playing game doesn’t make anybody an outcast or a dork. Passion is something we all must have in the things we do. It’s what drives us to do our best and ultimately reach our goals. David’s passion led him to a sharper mind, multiple nerd-gasms, and an awesome nonfiction book deal about his favorite pastime, Dungeons & Dragons.
And now here’s the reason this book is getting an extra credit grade, or for you Good Reads members, five out of five stars. I used to give five star ratings to pretty much anything that was enjoyable. Over the years, things have become more complicated than that. To earn a five star review from me these days, you as an author have to blow me away and leave me a changed man. Of Dice and Men did just that. It made me want to play Dungeons & Dragons once again. It fed my creativity with awesome storyline possibilities and tactical game play.
If only I could find some players to join me in this mind-bending experience, then my energy and passion for this game will leave me whole again. Dungeons & Dragons isn’t just a game; it’s a religious experience. Just for being the biggest piece in the puzzle when creating the game, Gary Gygax will always be one of my personal heroes. He’s probably smiling down upon Mr. Ewalt for invoking his venerable spirit, which is something that can be done by a level 15 cleric. I want to play again and my inner geek won’t be satisfied until I do. I’m like the lonely single guy who doesn’t have a girlfriend and only has internet porn to rely on. It’s a bit of a stretch, but it’s accurate for how this book made me feel about getting back in the game. Someday, my friends. Someday. Thank you, Mr. Ewalt, for bringing out my nerdy aura once again.
And by the way, if Clue was played with Dungeons & Dragons rules, you could beat a confession out of Colonel Mustard with the lead pipe and have sex with Miss Scarlet on the table of the conservatory. Also, if you open the closet to Narnia and you see a McDonald’s, something is desperately wrong here. Get used to hearing this kind of silver-tongued humor throughout the book. After all, if you’re not laughing, you’re not living!
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
The Play By Webbers (Zeal, The Undertaker, Chakko, and Natron)
During my tenure at Playbyweb.com, I have assumed four different identities (not at the same time, though). The first of these was Zeal, a 16-year-old porn addict who raged against the machine and lost. The second was The Undertaker, a slightly less offensive version of Zeal, but still only a temporary fix since my schizophrenia made it harder for me to role-play. When I turned 18, I came back from my sabbatical from the site under the name Chakko. I raged against the machine over stupid age limits and lost once more. And finally, when I created Natron in an attempt to be diplomatic, my peaceful ways were shut down and that was the last time I set foot on Play By Web’s hostile territory.
Four different usernames, four different agendas. It would be a shame to let these guys go to waste. So I had the brilliant idea of making characters out of them. Although, if I wanted to use The Undertaker, I’d have to fight an uphill legal battle with WWE over the name and to that I say hell no. That’s like a pigmy warrior going up against an army of Greek titans. So now we’re down to three characters: Zeal, Chakko, and Natron.
What could I possibly do with these three? I know! Let’s make them teenagers in a dystopian hellhole who want access to porn! Yes, that’s what I was fighting for back in March of 2002: the right to view porn despite my young age. I may have argued that I was only two years below the benchmark of 18 and two years makes zero difference. I may have also argued that there was no real reason for my adult opponents to keep me from doing whatever the hell I want. The way I saw it, only a hardcore religious zealot would ever object to me masturbating to porn.
Therefore, when I construct a group of antagonists for Zeal, Chakko, and Natron to face off against, they will be paladins. They will wear heavy suits of armor and carry flails that can turn skulls into blood bombs with one smack. And just like in Diablo II: Lord of Destruction, these zealous paladins will have auras to give them magical powers. Do the three teenagers feel overwhelmed yet? That’s exactly how I felt when I argued with the entire website over my personal freedom: overwhelmed and traumatized.
In order to combat these heavy-handed head smashers, Zeal, Chakko, and Natron will have to be smooth and slick as they move about the dystopian city in search of good porn. Their official character classes will have to be somewhere between a rogue and a wizard, maybe both. They can sneak up on their opponents and stab them with magically energized daggers. They can steal smaller weapons and imbue them with lightning or fire. My only limit is my imagination. It should be known by now that porn enthusiasts have vast imaginations, hint, hint, wink, wink.
***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“You know that scene in As Good As It Gets where Jack Nicholson tells his girlfriend, ‘You make me want to be a better person.’? You know how often that happens? Never.”
-Bill Maher-
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