tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84095684543897576802024-03-05T01:00:13.917-05:00Guild Files and Other WorksA blog by S. W. Douglas, specifically about his books; Subject 12, The Grand Granger, and more to come!S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.comBlogger61125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-40730205356253687032020-05-08T18:11:00.003-04:002020-05-08T18:11:37.182-04:00Amazon Screwed Something UpAmazon screwed something up. Somehow they botched a fix I published, near as I can tell, years ago for <i>Subject 12</i>. As a result it appears that nobody has been able to buy <i>Subject 12</i> for, again as near as I can tell, years in some markets. In the meantime I've lost access to my main e-mail address so I can't even recover things, and the computer with the only copies of the in-progress files, updates, early drafts, and finished files of <i>Subject 12</i> has been defunct for a while and I never backed them up to the cloud. Lesson learned.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, I can't download any copies of the book from Amazon and I'm having to upload an old copy (taken straight from Smashwords) to clear up existent errors. So the cycle continues.<br />
<br />
To anyone reading this, stay safe! These aren't great times. But hopefully this gets things rolling so I can get back to where I should be, and maybe having some money rolling in so I can actually afford to survive this Charlie-Fox situation.S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-55197119776538241762019-01-23T00:55:00.001-05:002019-01-23T00:57:16.148-05:00Long TIme, No See! How About Another Book?Wow, it's been a while.<br />
<br />
I owe a bit of an explanation, so let me get right to it.<br />
<br />
I needed time off. In the last couple of years I've had major health issues, relationship issues, financial issues, you name it. It got to be too much more than once and, in self-defense, I took some time off. Considering I haven't had anything even resembling a vacation or break since 2003, it was overdue.<br />
<br />
The stress didn't break me, but it came close a few times. I desperately needed to get out of my own head, away from my problems, and find some way to shore up the cracks. The process took time and energy and meant I didn't get a lot of work done.<br />
<br />
That's not to say I got none done, because I did, but I certainly didn't finish much. I have the sequel to <i>Triggerbreak </i>nearly done, but I've run into the problem of writer's block like nine tenths of the way through. <i>Rogue</i> suffers a similar issue, but I digress.<br />
<br />
However, I did re-learn the healing power of nature. I spent a lot of time over the last couple of years visiting places like this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_6qZNpdOpgtxXHAaWxA4rIVqiM6SABsrffvmifA57FQC7q1ZsRdE-zvqZ1i5JNXOX59UOVIHGkx6jZwbwqMFuQGkunhF_iDoidv-48ZN9EHoO7aXVAWK1Bh09KfnB1-yBtEBGLCpT4zk/s1600/DSCN0162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_6qZNpdOpgtxXHAaWxA4rIVqiM6SABsrffvmifA57FQC7q1ZsRdE-zvqZ1i5JNXOX59UOVIHGkx6jZwbwqMFuQGkunhF_iDoidv-48ZN9EHoO7aXVAWK1Bh09KfnB1-yBtEBGLCpT4zk/s400/DSCN0162.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
And this:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgis9JvB0h0sN12dkT4WKV5AgEIN8_c0UH3InMtFMXYdY8VC8zwQW1tzcPnbFlUUXHmoo1N2TOmMMXc48lseJ4XABi-3KsAflV2aoFVBjfcXuzwK16a58TAJw7aflIXKSSDxC2xwLM6TS6D/s1600/3556289604037973378.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="553" data-original-width="1600" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgis9JvB0h0sN12dkT4WKV5AgEIN8_c0UH3InMtFMXYdY8VC8zwQW1tzcPnbFlUUXHmoo1N2TOmMMXc48lseJ4XABi-3KsAflV2aoFVBjfcXuzwK16a58TAJw7aflIXKSSDxC2xwLM6TS6D/s400/3556289604037973378.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
And I'm in a lot better place, mentally, than I was. That's not to say I'm not still dealing with all of the above stresses, but I'm finding healthy ways to cope with the stress, if not the underlying cause.<br />
<br />
So, yeah, I'm back. Good to see you again.<br />
<br />
And what's this? Oh, hey, look! I did get <i>something</i> done after all! I have another book up on Amazon, this time for pre-order! It'll drop on the 25th, so you won't have long to wait.<br />
<br />
It's called <i>Dreamcatcher</i>. It's another Guild File novella, this time from the point of view of an aging costume. Want a book blurb? I have a book blurb. Enjoy the book blurb!<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Her name was Dreamcatcher. She was young, eager, pretty -- everything I wasn't -- but after thirty years on the street I was a pro and she too inexperienced to survive for long, especially in this city. It was sheer luck that I found her that night, and all she wanted was for me to teach her everything I knew. That shouldn't take long even for an exhausted, broken-down old man, right?</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">All this while the Heroes' Guild was hounding me to retire, the pain in my chest was getting worse every day, and an old enemy was due to attack at any time. What was an aging costume to do? And was there more to me after all these years than just the mask?</span></blockquote>
<br />
So what do you think? Blurbs aren't my strong suit by a long shot, but the book got great reviews from pre-release readers who approved the blurb.<br />
<br />
(At this point I'm going to stop saying "blurb" for the rest of the this post. It's getting on my nerves for some reason.)<br />
<br />
I'm proud of <i>Dreamcatcher</i>, otherwise I wouldn't be releasing it. I hope if you check it out you enjoy it! So how about a link so you can check it out if you want to? Sure. <a href="https://kdp.amazon.com/amazon-dp-action/us/dualbookshelf.marketplacelink/B07MXF493Q" target="_blank">Click here!</a><br />
<br />
Well, I'm going to sign off now. I'm recovering from an illness this weekend and my thumb (which on the 30th I cut badly enough to need stitches) is starting to bug me. Drop me a note and I'll get back to you as soon as I can.S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-43851231962751166132016-02-28T00:43:00.000-05:002016-02-28T00:43:45.743-05:00A Side Project I've Been Working On<span style="font-family: 'Liberation Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 100%; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">The
gathered faction leaders eyed each other warily, each one remembering
some ages-old feud or slight visited on them or some distant
predecessor. Some fingered the grips of their weapons unconsciously,
their minds awash with thoughts of bloodshed and mayhem.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Liberation Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 100%; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><br /></span>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Typical.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> "They're
all alike, these Dark Lords." The speaker was a scarred Goblin,
a green-bloodshot eye mismatched with a carved onyx ball that
replaced what had once filled the smashed socket on the other side of
his face. He growled a curse before continuing. "I know all
about them"</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> "How?"
The green-skinned Orc picked at a protruding fang with a sliver of
bone. "Goblins can't read and the last Dark Lord rose to power
five hundred years ago. Your tribe didn't even exist then."</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> "I'll
have you know my ancestors served the last four Dark Lords and three
more before that. It would have been the last eight but Trellion of
the Sable Tower, may his unholy soul burn forever in whichever hell
finally claimed him, said Goblins were worthless." A note of
pride rang in his voice and his thin chest swelled. "You'll
recall his reign only lasted three months."</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> "I'll
recall nothing, you worthless turd." The much-larger Orc spat a
gob of acidic saliva at the other. "Goblins are not fit to
speak to the chief of the Wolf clans."</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
whistle of the knife cutting through the air was so quiet only the
two werewolves and vampire king heard it. Neither one felt it was
worth calling attention to until after the Orc chieftain collapsed
onto the stone table, a viscous black fluid oozing from both eyes and
mouth.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Shouts
erupted from both sides of the table, more weapons were drawn, and
even the heretofore-unperturbed necromancer lord began showing signs
of discomfort and impending violence. Faint glimmers in the air
around his head and fingers signaled to those sensitive to such
things that it was going to be a bad idea to be around him in a few
moments.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Nobody
noticed, however, that the onyx throne at the head of the table that
had been unoccupied, and in which none of them dared sit, was no
longer empty.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
first new blow was nearly struck by a black-skinned half-Orc, a
reddish mace swinging through the air at a high-ranking cleric of the
Necroth sect sitting next to him. Why anyone had allowed the two to
sit next to each other, however powerful the half-breed, was a
mystery. Everyone knew better than to put a non-human next to a
priest whose church believed humanity to be superior in ever regard
to the other races. Their particular god was an especially
intolerant and demanding one, even among the assembled creatures.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> "Hold,"
came a soft, silky voice. The power wrapped around that word was so
great it froze the mace swinging for the priest's head. Nobody in
the room could move, talk, blink, or even breathe.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> More
than one weapon was frozen in midair. The half-Orc's simply would
have hit first.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> "Why
are my creatures fighting?"</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> There
was no immediate response, not that any could be made against the
grip holding each of them.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> "Perhaps
they forgot themselves? This is possible; it has been a long time
since there was a Calling." The voice changed pitch slightly,
though it never lost any of the polish. Now, however, it spoke with
the smoothness of a razor's edge. "Or perhaps they are not as
loyal as they should be? It is a quandry."</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Slowly
the assembled began to breathe again, their weapons floating slowly
to the floor, forgotten for the moment.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> "I
do not wish to judge unfairly, after all." The air chilled
suddenly. "Except where the High Priest of Wroth is concerned.
I do not wish to have myself or my creatures associated with one of
your ilk. You, and your god, are to be commended on heeding the
Call, but you are not welcome here."</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> And
the Dark Lord showed his displeasure by causing the priest to
immolate so slowly that the fire bursting out of every pore had time
to get to know its neighbors quite well, with coffee and cakes and
pleasant conversation – at least as much as could be had over the
incoherent screams of agony as every part of the priest was consumed
by the pale blue flames.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> "There
is no room in this place for gods who do not allow their believers to
think for themselves. There is no room in the world for gods who do
not permit their followers to allow others to exist." The voice
was quiet but firm. The blades beneath the velvet surface dripped
with blood and malice. "If any wish to argue with me then I say
come forth and we shall see whose philosophy on life is stronger."</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Later,
when there was time to think of something other than the fact that
they were about to die, the more magically-inclined of those
assembled had realized that despite the incredible amount of magical
energy that would have been required to achieve any of the things
that had happened to them even up to that particular point, they had
felt neither a building or a lessening of the natural magic levels
around them.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> In
short, whatever was happening was being done with forces beyond any
they'd ever experienced or even heard of. The eldest vampire, who
was old enough to have served the previous two Dark Lords, wily
enough to have survived said service, and so powerful as to have been
crowned king of his race, was particularly terrified at the
realization that his thousands of years of future existence weren't
as guaranteed as he'd previously thought.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Everyone,
especially the three remaining High Priests of elder and particularly
nasty gods, found their new liege's cavalier attitude to the divine
to be especially troubling.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> "Change,
my creatures, is upon us. The world turns and a new era dawns.
While it may be more apropos to say that the sun is setting on the
old age, I would prefer to look at this as a new beginning.
Eventually. Carved out of the bodies and written on the parchment of
history with the blood of those who oppose us. Who oppose me. And,
gentlemen, if I may use such a word to describe those gathered before
me, the parchment these words will be written upon shall be made from
the skin of those who stand in our way."</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> A
murmur began to circle the table. This was more like it.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> "My
antecedents all spoke of sacrifice, though when they said it they
mostly meant your sacrifice, and the sacrifices to be made on unholy
altars to the darkest gods of this little world, usually with your
flesh feeding the flames. I speak of no such thing when I speak to
you today. They spoke of glory, though they meant it all for
themselves. Of wealth, and battle, and victory hewn from those who
will stand against us. I speak of blood, of death, of those lost on
the field of battle. I speak, my creatures, of the road ahead of us.
Those who came before me all made promises they never intended to
keep. Rewards for the loyal, punishment for failures, gold beyond
your wildest dreams, and domination of those whom you hate, all just
for the taking. Listening to them you'd assume that the lands of the
Silver Elf and the Golden Dwarf were unguarded; that the humans
beyond the Reduran River were soft and fat.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> "But
I will not lie to you and say they are as my predecessors tried you
trick you into believing! The Silver Elf is master of the bow and
blade; the Golden Dwarf of the hammer and pick. The men who work the
soil and hunt the forest know the spear and the axe; their knights
are masters of the lance, the sword, and the mace. They are hard,
they are strong, and above all they are smart! These three things
your subjects rarely have in concert they have in droves!
Furthermore, they do not waste themselves in battle needlessly. They
train, they learn, and <i>then</i> they fight. They fight each other,
they fight us, and they rarely lose. Not for nothing are the Elf and
the Dwarf willing to to be ruled by a council that they themselves
are but minor members of.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> "But
I tell you nothing you do not already know. I speak to you as kings
and chiefs, as high priests educated in the ways of the world. I
speak to you not as equals, never as equals, but as knowing subjects.
I speak to you as you are. I do not lie to you, as a good master
does not lie to his servants, because what comes next is a choice.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> "Now
leave me. Return tomorrow when the sun is at its peak in the sky. I
will give those who have not yet arrived until then to do so. After
all, it has been centuries since the last Call.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> "However,
do not think that I will not reward those of you who made the most
haste to be here."</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Another
murmur went through the assembled.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> "If
you would stay behind, Djel, I have something I wish to discuss with
you privately. The rest of you may leave.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
one-eyed goblin chief stiffened in his chair. The others filed past
him with various expressions of smug amusement or outright hatred.
Goblins were far from favorites with all the races that had listened
to their lord’s call and they felt comfortable enough to show it –
especially when they assumed the Goblin was as good as dead.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Tell
me something, Djel of the Black Skull tribe. Speak to me as chief of
the tribe who holds undisputed rule of the mines below the Misty Hill
on the edge of the infamous Curlwood Forest.” The Dark Lord’s
voice caressed Djel’s ears like a lover seeking a favor, but did
nothing to hide the implicit threat behind the words. “Tell me why
you dared to bring G’raTok venom into my hall, and then dared to
use it against one of my creatures."</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Forgive
me, my lord, but I am a small creature. I stand little chance
against your other, more powerful, subjects.” Djel bowed his head
but otherwise moved little. “I wished to level the field if one
took offense to my presence.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Considering
the attitudes of many of my subjects, perhaps a wise precaution.”
His voice betrayed nothing. “Continue.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Not
much more to say. Even bare-handed, that brute of an Orc would have
killed me if I hadn’t killed him first. While I trust my abilities
with a blade, I do not have the strength to kill an Orc chieftain in
single combat. Besides, he wouldn’t have hesitated to use whatever
weapons he had at his disposal to kill me, now would he? I was just
smart enough to bring something extra to the table.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Indeed.
Perhaps there is more to you than meets the eye, Djel. Perhaps
there is something buried beneath the surface that I should consider
to have enough value to ignore the intentional insult you have
brought to me.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “I
meant no insult, my lord. It was, as I said, purely a tactical
decision.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
Dark Lord laughed quietly. The temperature in the room dropped
severely and a rat that had decided to investigate the smell of a
recently-deceased body seized and died with the tiniest of squeaks.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Wouldn’t
the adventurers who hunt your people for sport be amazed to hear you
speak so coherently and intelligently. If the Dwarves knew how smart
your kind could be they’d hunt you mercilessly.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “You
mean they don’t already?”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
Dark Lord gave Djel an appraising look that physically aged him over
a year. Considering the short lifespan of the Goblin race, a year
was a long time. The wrinkles that had started forming at the
corners of his eyes spread across his face like spider webs. He
gasped at the sensation.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “My
predecessors would consider that to be impertinence and strike you
dead where you sit. Then again, most of my predecessors wouldn’t
bother talking to a Goblin at all, and none of them would have let
you live after your comment about one of their fellows burning in
hell. I consider myself to be a bit more progressive than any of
them, however. You intrigue me, Djel, which is no small feat. I
think I will let you live today, whether that meets with your
approval or not. As I recall, the Wolf clans were recently united
under a single Orc. That means you killed the leader of four
different clans, officially making you the enemy of several hundred
green-skinned killing machines with a revenge fetish. Luckily they
weren’t the gray-skinned Orcs, or you’d be facing several
thousand. On a lighter note, if memory serves, the Wolf clans follow
a ‘you keep what you kill’ policy when it comes to matter such as
this. While technically you cannot inherit anything as you are not
an Orc by blood or adoption or rite, you should be the new leader of
the four clans.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “I
think that deserves some kind of recognition.” What might have
been a faint smile danced around his face and then disappeared. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Liberation Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 100%;">“Come
here, Djel.”</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: 'Liberation Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 100%;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
Goblin rose from his seat reluctantly. But, in the end, it wasn't
like he had a choice.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> While
many of the Dark Lord’s servitor races would happily chew each
other up for food, some of them were on neutral terms. A few, in
fact, were nearly friendly.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “This
one is different.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
necromancer nodded at the werewolf seated across the fire from him.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “I
felt something was odd about him.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “He
doesn’t smell right.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “He’s
the Dark Lord. His very existence is that of personified evil; His
presence is an abomination onto the life force of the earth he treads
upon.” The vampire king glided into their circle, uninvited but
not unwelcome. “His smell is irrelevant. What matters is that He
can work magic of a kind I have never seen, and I dealt with the last
two Dark Lords before Him. When He killed the priest there was no
degradation of the background magic. If I were to try something
similar the effects on the background field would render any magic
for the next week doubly difficult if not outright impossible.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “As
would any attempt I would have made to have the same effect.” The
necromancer sipped a foul-smelling concoction with several worrying
shapes floating in it. “Furthermore, it would have been of a
totally different flavor.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “He
smelled wrong,” the werewolf insisted, growling. “There is more
to this nose than just odor, you know.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
vampire smiled toothily. “I trust a werewolf’s nose more than I
do many a thing in this world, but this is beyond anything your nose
could detect. Take no offense as none is offered.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
werewolf growled again but settled for chewing an unidentified piece
of meat instead of pushing his point.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “I’ve
been away from the rest of the world for many a year, so please
indulge me. How long have werewolves and necromancers been on
friendly terms? A century ago you were at war.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “And
before that vampires and necromancers weren’t exactly friends.
Wars come and go, bloodsucker.” He smiled and patted the seat next
to his. “I see you’re old enough to ignore the sun without
having to use an enchantment. You must remember a lot of wars.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “From
both before and after I was... blessed with this condition, yes.
You’ll forgive me if I refrain from sitting quite so close to a
fire, however. I may be immune to the sun but naked flames larger
than a candle still give me pause. It’s something burned, pardon
me, into the blood.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
werewolf growled to himself. A few short barks punctuated his
muttering, but he kept it very quiet. Even the vampire couldn’t
hear more than a few words, and they didn’t make sense without the
context.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Just
how long have you been away, your highness?” The necromancer
decided politeness might win him some points with the
obviously-more-powerful vampire. Especially since most elder
vampires were such snobs.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “One
hundred and eleven. I'd intended to sleep for merely twenty, but my
servant was killed by an adventuring party of Dwarf clerics, judging
by the bones I found in what was left of my resting place. The
council acted in my absence. You may have heard of the Short
Mountain clan's eradication?”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Indeed
I did. I was a neophyte at the time, but I was among the dozen sent to aid
Draconovit and Erethia in their attack on the Short Mountain. I was
wounded.” He held up his left arm, which was visibly shorter,
hairier, and darker-skinned. The hand was horny and gnarled and far
more powerfully-built than his right. It looked like it was more
used to handling a heavy hammer or pick than doing delicate magics,
and the fading tattoos were still legible. “I made do.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
vampire laughed. It was silken and hungry, but very infectious, and
even the werewolf found himself smiling.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Ingenuity.
Six thousand years I've walked upon this land and yet the cleverness
of the necromancers continues to impress me. That arm must have cost
you dearly among your fellows.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
necromancer nodded. “You are correct, your highness. I've had to
kill several who wished to kill me for not being pure. But I am not
a follower of Necroth, as many of my brothers and sisters are, so I
do not feel a loss of purity. I worship his sister, Retali. Her
favor means I am left alone, nothing more, and that is all I wish
from the gods.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
vampire nodded. “An unusual choice for a necromancer, indeed.
Most followers of Retali are monks.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
necromancer smiled and reached for a rock on the ground next
to him. He stabbed his hand down and the rock split cleanly in two.
“We all have our past lives, do we not?”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Speak
for yourself,” the werewolf said. “I was born to my clan, and
I'm proud of it.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “We
would have it no other way,” the necromancer said smoothly. “How
would you like to be addressed, your highness?”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Many
of my kind collect names like many of yours collect trophies. I
never saw the reason why. I speak more dead languages than you know
ever existed, have amassed more riches than a fair-sized kingdom,
collect tribute from every vampire that has established a dominion,
and oversee disputes between creatures more ancient than I am. What
do I care about having a name so long it could fill a book? I am
only the second king my race has ever known, and I've reigned for
twice as long as the first. I am the undisputed master of all eight
vampiric disciplines, the first of my kind to do so in over twelve
thousand years if not longer or even ever. Vampiric lore only
extends back to the death of last great wyrm, a secret we do not
lightly share with outsiders, and I've read the chronicles of each
discipline so often I can recite them from memory. None of them
speak of any of my kind mastering more than two. I have power beyond
even my own understanding, and even the demon lord Laal has sought my
council several times. From him I expect every honorific, every
courtesy. For a necromancer so bold as to attach the arm of a Dwarf
to replace his own, in the middle of a pitched battle no less, I
offer familiarity instead. Call me 'your highness' if you wish, but
I will accept Chirival. You I will call Fori.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
necromancer hid his reaction well, but the vampire king was far too
powerful not to pick up on it anyway.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
werewolf gnawed more meat off the bone and stared into the fire.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
Dark Lord's hands continued to rest on the onyx throne, but Djel felt
fingers probing his shattered eye socket. The fear that gripped him
wasn't new, but the intensity of it was. The Dark Lord's presence
created a fear that demanded obedience in all but the most powerful
or holy of creatures.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Djel
knew he was neither. He also knew his joints ached in the morning,
his hearing wasn't what it used to be, and his teeth were starting to
hurt whenever he drank something hot.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> He
was getting old and he knew it. At any time he'd be challenged for
leadership of the Black Skull Tribe by some young buck who'd best
him, and even if he survived the battle he'd have to sacrifice
himself upon the altar. Tallis was a merciless god, but the only one
to have considered the Goblin race worth taking under his blackened
wing.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> But
he was still cunning, and that cunning had served him well for
several years. When the Call summoned him, his cunning had kept him
alive on the long journey – many of the beasts that lived in the
Dark Lord's dominion cared not for their meals' loyalties.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “The
damage is quite extensive, little one. You're lucky to have survived
the blow. I could replace your eye, if it amused me to do so. It
does not. I could make you young again, even ageless, if it struck
my fancy. But I sense you do not wish to be ageless, or even young
again. The hourglass that times all our lives shall not stop for
you. But it does run quickly, and you sense the sands coming to an
end. I shall not stop them, but I shall slow them, because even if
you wish things otherwise your wishes do not matter. You shall not
have your eye back, little one. I like the scar and the crude rock
you placed where it would be.” The silken voice paused. “But I
think I like something even better. Come with me.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
vampire king may have been comfortable with necromancers and
werewolves, and tolerant of virtually all the races so far assembled
to their master's call, but the toad-like Kresaki were an exception.
Their goddess demanded death, like most of those whose followers
headed the Call, but demanded it to be final. Those who cheated
death; the lich, the ghoul, the awakened mummy, the vampire; were
anathema and to be destroyed at all cost.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> As
warriors, the Kresaki were laudable – physically powerful, immune
to poison, and with skin that resisted cutting better than well-cured
leather, they lived in a militaristic society that valued obedience
above virtually everything else. Their goddess, Dorchal, selected
her priests and priestesses personally, appearing every year at the
end of a festival that no outsider had seen and lived to report on.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Her
high priest had asked to join them around the fire. The werewolf had
left immediately, snarling something about rather licking a pile of
manure than share space around the fire with him.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “I
offer greetings of brotherhood,” the priest croaked in
surprisingly-good common tongue. “As Dorchal explained to me in a
dream the night before the Call came to me, my duty to the Dark Lord
is greater than any duty to Her, and the Dark Lord tells us to be
brothers.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
vampire king stifled a laugh, but the necromancer scoffed openly.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “You
expect me to believe that Dorchal's high priest is willing to work
with the undead and those that raise them? Just like that? I don't
think so.” He wiggled the fingers on his Dwarf hand. “The
necromantic arts include far more than the creation of zombies and
mummies, and Dorchal grants her faithful several necromantic gifts,
yet any others who use them are to be killed? For this arm alone you
should be seeking my destruction.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “What
you say is true.” There was a note of irritation in the priest's
croak. “But I assure you, things are different now. My mistress
has commanded me to submit to our master's will, and He says get
along.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
vampire listened to the two argue for several minutes before clearing
his throat to get their attention. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Liberation Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 100%;"> When a vampire king with six
millennia behind him clears his throat, it was impossible to ignore.
The two stopped talking instantly and turned to look at the him as
dead and dying insects dropped from the air around them.</span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: 'Liberation Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 100%;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Fori,
I think you missed something of great import that our friend the
priest here said.” His voice was flat, lacking all the glamor and
melodic tones it had possessed up to that point. “Why would a god,
any god, tell a worshiper that another mortal being should hold more
allegiance than to his or her god?”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Djel
stepped out of the box and fell to the flat stone floor. Being so
close to the Dark Lord had sapped more than just his energy. He
could feel his very life ebbing into infinity.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Arise,
Djel.” The silky voice lacked any hint of mockery or anger. In
its tones were a command as strong as that which held the room of the
Dark Lord's most powerful servants still.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Djel
rose, lifted by invisible hands with grips stronger than iron.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Good.
I am aware that being so close to me has... Deleterious effects on
those not prepared for it. You, my little Goblin, could never be
prepared. But listen to me, talking to you while the last of your
life flows away like water from that spring.” He chuckled, frost
forming on the points of Djel's ears. “Look, Djel. See. You will
have the strength you need.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> A
dark warmth spread through his body as the grip on his arms faded.
His one eye probed the near-total darkness surrounding them. Visual
acumen was a Goblin trait, even into the inky midnight of a moonless
night that was the brightest noon underground, but age had clouded
his vision – doubly so since the Dark Lord's magic had weakened
him.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Look,
my creature. See the water. Hear its music.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> As
if a hundred torches were lit at the same time, light flooded the
area, and the spring appeared. It burbled hypnotically, a sound that
had been muted in the blackness.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “The
Elves call it a sweetspring. There are only four known in existence
– the other two were destroyed in wars with the Orcs and the
Dwarves. To the Elf, Silver or Sable, it is sacred, a reason to wage
unceasing war to claim it. My immediate predecessor discovered it
and had it sealed up, working powerful magics to keep the pressure
from destroying the complex above. When I discovered this I had it
released so the spring could flow again. Beauty is universal, and
this is, perhaps, one of the most beautiful things in the world. Of
course, you are too simple to understand this, but you will see in
time. Now, drink of the waters, but do not poison the pool with your
hands or lips.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Djel
walked to the spring, stiff muscles bending only with protest, as the
warmth of the magic sustaining his life burned darkly in his chest.
The spring bubbled up between two white rocks and fell into a shallow
pool, of a size, depth, and shape large enough for a large Human to
lay in comfortably and be completely immersed. It overflowed on the
far side from the source and ran down a small channel that followed a
well-worn footpath into the darkness below.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
smell was sweet. Normally offensive to Goblin senses, the sweetness
was somehow attractive, seductive. It brought within him a sense of
peace that soothed him in ways he never knew could be soothed. He
began to feel an overwhelming desire to taste the water.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Do
not poison the pool, my creature. I will not tolerate disobedience
in this.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Problem
solving was not a Goblin strong point. Thinking was not a Goblin
strong point. Goblins like things simple – kill, fight, mate, eat,
die, pray, prey – but Djel was far from the average Goblin.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> His
hand dipped and came up sparkling with water from the stream
disappearing in the distance. His tongue snaked out and lapped up
the drops before they could fall.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Obedience
will be rewarded, my creature.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
water was sweet, refreshingly so, and it made his mouth taste cleaner
than he would ever remember it feeling or tasting. Just the few
drops he managed to catch continued down his throat, extinguishing
the dark fire burning in his chest and replacing it with a cool,
soothing sensation that began to rapidly spread through his limbs.
In moments he felt better than he had in years.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “How
do you feel?”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Good,
my lord. Young, if you were to ask.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “I
do ask. Open your eye.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Djel
realized he'd closed his eye when the water had hit his tongue. He
opened it.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “By
the gods,” he breathed.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “The
sweetspring is named for the odor the water emits, but the power of
the spring is far greater than just a pleasant smell and taste. It
rejuvenates those who drink of it, even the ageless Elves who guard
the springs with their very souls.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “I
think I see why.” A note of awe touched his voice, making the Dark
Lord smile.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “You
fascinate me, little Goblin. Look in the pool, see your face now.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Djel
leaned over the edge of the pool and saw his face staring back – at
least, his face as he remembered it a decade before. He gasped.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “You
are younger, your life extended, your strength renewed, but only as
much as a Goblin ever is. For my purposes, this is not enough, but
it is enough for the moment. Tell me, have you ever had food
prepared for an Elf or Human?”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Once.
A party of my raiders ambushed a party of Human adventurers come to
delve Curlwood for riches. I tasted from the leather cauldron they'd
prepared. The food was terrible.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Amusement
tinged the Dark Lord's next words. “Spices and flavors unknown to
you, tasting worse than the ritual Griil fungus you consume to honor
your god?”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “The
Griil fungus tastes like the poison it is. This tasted worse.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
Dark Lord laughed in tones sweeter than the finest silver bells.
“Taste this, then.” He extended his fist and turned it over,
opening his hand in a shower of red sparks. The air tasted faintly
of burnt bone for a few seconds, but as the sparks faded a small loaf
of bread appeared, the crust around its bottom removed, showing off
the pale pinkish interior. The top crust, in an odd mushroom-cap
shape, was covered in a thick layer of a red paste that was both
shiny and dull in places. The smell was something the Goblin had
ever experienced, both sweet and fruity, but somehow attractive
despite the cloying sweetness that should have offended his sense of
smell.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “What
is it?” He found himself salivating and stepping closer.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
amusement in the Dark Lord's silken harmonics put a smile on Djel's
scarred face. “It's called a cupcake.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “What
I mean is obvious, if you think about it. Why would a god willingly
surrender a follower? Not only that, but actively encouraging their
high priest to swear allegiance to one who obviously cares little for
the divine?”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
necromancer scratched his chin. Even after decades of use far more
gentle than the century it had seen before its new life, the skin was
hard enough to make the motion audible to the fur-clad, blue-painted
man stepping into the circle.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Is
there room for one more, my lords?” His voice was roughened by
years of shouting across the chaos of a battlefield and a touch
hoarse from a wound that had left a faint scar across his throat, but
it was powerful and one obviously not used to deference. “I can
see by the position of the sun that I am too late for the meeting our
master has called.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
necromancer, his mouth open to speak before the warrior had appeared
out of nowhere, closed it, his reply to the vampire paused.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Please,
join us,” the Kresaki croaked. “Unless one of you two object?
I, for one, welcome the king of the Losarae to our circle.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “You
are far from home, your highness, and ill-dressed to meet the Dark
Lord.” The vampire grinned toothily. “I welcome you. Please,
join us. Might I ask as to why you are late joining those of us
heeding the Call?”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “I
thank you both,” he said, taking a very guarded position opposite
the necromancer. “I greet you, sub-lich.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “I
greet you, king of men.” The necromancer bowed his head slightly.
“I assure you, the feud between the Losarae and cult of Necroth in
no way threatens you. I am a follower of Retali.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “A
necromancer who doesn't worship the god of death? Wonders never
cease, do they?”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
necromancer looked at the Kresaki priest seated next to him, his
toad-like face twisted in what was actually a close approximation of
human earnestness, and laughed. “They do not.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “What
have you done to me?” Djel licked his fingers to get the last of
the crumbs.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Nothing.
The sweetspring merely cleansed you. All poisons and toxins,
physical or magical, have been neutralized. That includes the ones
in your mother's milk that damage your tongue, and the ones in the
fungi you consume do the same. You are tasting food the way it truly
tastes, perhaps for the first time in your life. The spring saved
you, it cleansed and rejuvenated you, and it's giving you the gift of
taste as well. I'm afraid, however, you will never again be able to
eat Goblin 'cuisine' again. If you get homesick for familiar flavors
you can still eat many of the same things, but you will find them
quite distasteful now.” The disdain in his voice when the Dark
Lord said “cuisine” was so intense the subterranean insects
crawling up and down the nearby walls died, each one exploding into a
fat spark. “But I think you will find the exchange acceptable.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “Thank
you, my lord,” Djel said, bowing his head respectfully.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “You
are welcome, little one. Never let it be said that I, Samur
Derebeyi, twenty-third Dark Lord of the Shadow Horde, can not be
generous to those who please me.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “I
will never say it, master.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
Dark Lord smiled. “Come, Djel. Your true recognition, your true
reward, awaits you.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Djel
waited for the Dark Lord to walk by him before assuming the
traditional place of deference; a pace behind and two to the left.
Not that he expected his master to have a problem with the gentle
slope, but Djel watched for any signs of a trip so he could help him.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> He
was feeling... Different. Deferential, yes, but somehow more than
that. Sensations and emotions he'd never felt before were beginning
to flow through his mind and, rather than being as unnerving as he
felt he they probably should have been, they were strangely
comforting.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
Dark Lord moved in silence. Even his silken robes made no noise as
they shifted. Djel, a master of stealth as only one born and raised
in shadows and caves can be, struggled to keep himself as quiet as he
whom he companioned. Struggled and failed, to the amusement of his
master.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> “When
you are clothed in shadows given shape, you will move this quietly.
Until then, do not try.”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> The
passage they were following cut through rock polished first by water,
then by tools and the bare hands of thousands of slaves. What little
light there was made the walls glint and glow, but the passage
quickly opened up into another natural cavern that was lit dimly from
so many hidden sources that it was impossible to identify any of
them. Shapes, indistinct even to Djel's recently-rejuvenated eye,
moved at the bottom of the cavern. A short walk ahead terminated in
a curving staircase cut out of the living rock. The steps were
obviously carved for human-sized legs, but Djel knew he could manage
them.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: Liberation Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Even
if he couldn't have, he would have. Somehow.</span></span></div>
S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-88433617080407749302016-02-19T15:42:00.002-05:002016-02-19T15:42:40.658-05:00Midwinter UpdateGood afternoon from the East Coast of the USA. Pretty quiet here, it seems. Not much feedback all around, so let's see if we can't change that.<br />
<br />
Work hasn't progressed much after I hacked some stuff I wrote years ago together with a fair amount of recent work and some stuff I wrote off the top of my head. Got a circa 20,000-word chapter done (at the cost of a few days of very little sleep, a few days' recovery, and feeling like crap for a week), most of another one done (see above), and have begun writing down (yes, with pen and paper -- and an obsessive amount of fountain pens at that) later scenes. Hopefully I'll have more to report soon.<br />
<br />
Other than that I've been dealing with a slightly-dislocated hip for the last few months that <u style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">finally</u> started to go back into place with a series of "amusing" pops that tend to stop me in my tracks but are so relieving when they're done that I don't mind. Nothing too major there, though, as it has been an entire financial quarter I've been dealing with it and mostly ignoring it. I can't, however, say the same thing about the the weather. That's been screwy. Like cartoon-level screwy. Keeping in mind those of us in the USA are still using the Imperial system of measurement (and I don't intend to start an argument over the superiority of a base-10 system versus a base-12), I want to relate a few numbers. 20 inches of snow in 5 hours -- on a day we were predicted for 1-3 inches. -40 degrees the next night, -27 the night after that, and the intervening day got up to a balmy -7! But that's not all, because a few days later we got rain and the temperature never got over 30 -- in other words, freezing rain. Half an inch on top of two feet of snow. Hilarity abounds.<br />
<br />
Currently I have no water because my pipes -- which survived the -40 without freezing other than the showers and toilets -- couldn't take a surprise -9 a couple nights ago. It was working at 3:30AM, but by 8AM and a good 20 degrees increase in temperature, it had frozen everywhere. I have hopes for a thaw tomorrow because it's been ~40 degrees today, only supposed to go down to 30 tonight, and be at least 40 tomorrow while it rains. Dealing with all of this has a pretty solid impact on productivity for the obvious reasons. For those of you in milder climates, let me tell you that melting snow and icicles to get water to give my animals and to use for cooking takes forever, especially when you have to boil it. I could go to a local artesian well to get a few gallons of water all at once, but all my gallon jugs are pretty leaky by now and my "big blue jug" for camping is missing parts after years of hard use during situations like this and leaks like mad. Really need to replace it, but can't really afford it right now, what with having to buy other things like food. Luckily I still have electricity, but I've been doing a lot of my cooking (and all of my ice-melting) on a pressurized kerosene stove. It's a lot faster than the 1500-watt induction burner/hob I've been using (my range died years ago and I don't have the $10,000 I need to rewire this place so I can replace it, and the cost to put in 1propane/lpg seemed excessive when the plan's been to replace this whole building for a few years now), and I like that I can use all of my old pots and pans on it, unlike the induction burner/hob. It also doesn't trip any of my breakers if I forget to turn off one of my electric room heaters.<br />
<br />
Anyway, just wanted to give you an update. I am still working, I am surviving, and I'm in pretty good health at the moment. Let's hope all of the above continue for the foreseeable future! Thanks for reading and, as always, looking forward to hearing from you!S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-48668523903240096852016-02-06T22:30:00.000-05:002016-02-06T22:30:12.420-05:00The Tick has TockedGood evening ladies and gentlemen. I'm going to get right to it because I'm not feeling that great tonight and I'm hoping to get to sleep before 4AM.<br />
<br />
Well, I can see by the lack of comments on the last post that there isn't enough interest in my next piece to warrant posting an excerpt of any size at present, so I'm not going to post one for now. I really wanted to get another post up saying basically what I'm going to say below, but I also wanted to wait for the responses. I thought I'd get the requisite number in a matter of days. Instead I waited two weeks and only got two. I apologize for those disappointed by my decision, but since the set conditions weren't met, I don't feel like it's worth the effort. Maybe there will be more interest at some point in the near future and the wait won't be too long. Guess we'll see.<br />
<br />
Having said that, I've been making some real progress on the project I'm working on. As soon as I'm done with that I'll take a short break to recover and then I'll be back on track with other projects, including the one I'm sure the vast majority of those reading this are interested in. Unfortunately, as I've said in the past, I can only write what my brain will create at the time. Right now I have some great creative energy, but only for what my brain is willing to put it toward. If I try to force it elsewhere, the whole system breaks down, and I wind up frustrated and blocked.<br />
<br />
Nobody wants that.<br />
<br />
So, on that note, I'm going to go and try to get back to work. Thanks for reading!S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-2194481395523443172016-01-23T23:58:00.001-05:002016-01-23T23:58:48.346-05:00Pardon My Reach...Mellow greetings, gentle (or not so gentle, depending on your inclinations) reader!<br />
<br />
Wait. Sorry. If I'm going to start with the word "gentle", I should probably avoid finishing with an exclamation point. I guess if that's the only error tonight then I'm doing well.<br />
<br />
Alright, greetings; mellow or otherwise. With the new year comes a new start and, hopefully, more feedback from yours truly and <i>to</i> yours truly. To translate that, I'm going to try to post more, share more, <i>and </i>I want to hear from you, the reader.<br />
<br />
I apologize (which I do a lot, apparently) to anyone who feels like I ignored them and their offers to proofread for me. It wasn't personal. I wasn't really asking for help, just explaining my problem as I saw it at the time. You see, I spent most of last year really depressed (my knee re-injury, physical therapy, problems in my personal life, money issues, etc.), trying to cope with various and sundry, and the only thing I found that helped was spending as much time as possible out-of-doors, dangling sharpened bits of bent wire in water, trying to entice the local wildlife to mildly injure their mouths and have an out-of-water experience. I went places I'd never been before, saw some incredibly beautiful vistas, and spent a lot of time soaking up sunlight. All-in-all, it was very relaxing and, three months after having to give it up for the winter, I'm missing it every day.<br />
<br />
Still, it was therapeutic no end, and I face the blank page with a renewed vigor I haven't felt in a long time. I've done some work of higher quality than I've managed in a while, and reviewed several projects I'd started and given up on due to my feelings about their quality. Interestingly enough, they were all much better re-reading them than I felt when I gave up on them. They may not go anywhere, and at least one of them is probably beyond my abilities at the moment, but I've returned to them and have been finding gold where once I saw only slag.<br />
<br />
Progress has been made on the sequels to <i>Triggerbreak</i> and <i>Subject 12</i>. I've been bouncing ideas for another short story to possibly add to <i>Reagent Protocol</i>, and I've done some work on an eventual followup to <i>The Grand Granger</i>. That one is probably too grand a grasp for me at the moment, as I delve into the politics of the Empire and visit some of the intricacies of the Tal'Red to a depth I've never attempted before. On the other hand, I had some fun, and I <i>love</i> working on the weaponry and other technical details of the technologies involved.<br />
<br />
So, here's where the title of this post may begin to make sense. You see, I fully intend to interact more with you this year, barring anything unexpected happening. That means more updates more often, announcements as they become pertinent, and the occasional surprise in the form of more excerpts. Of course, all of this is predicated on the idea that you, the reader, want any and all of the above, so I'm reaching out to you.<br />
<br />
To begin this little experiment, if I hear from at least five people in the comments section here, I will share a snippet from the book formerly known as <i>Rogue</i> in a blog post. It will be a few hundred words long, but since it explores a bit of Hammer's past as well as his present, I think you'll like it. It also gives away the setting for a portion of the book that's not going to change before it gets published, but I don't want to talk about it too much before I post it.<br />
<br />
Time to wrap up, so I'll leave you to get back to whatever activity you were occupied with before visiting my blog. Thanks for reading and for supporting me through all this, and don't forget to tell all your friends and family about my books if they'd be at all interested!S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-83713855938370412022016-01-16T01:59:00.003-05:002016-01-16T01:59:58.587-05:00Still Alive and, Yes. I Have Been Writing.I'm going to keep this quick because it's late, I'm tired, and I'm going to try to get back to writing here as soon as possible.<br />
<br />
Alright, yes, I've been writing. Not much, but some, and the quality has been higher than I was getting before I took the summer off. Much higher. I've actually found voices for characters I'd nearly forgotten how to write entirely, so productivity should be better from here in.<br />
<br />
On a side note, for those of you who haven't given up, I've decided that <i>Rogue</i> will only be the working title for the book. While this means I now have to find another title (and titles and names are two things I really struggle with), it also means I can save it for something more appropriate.<br />
<br />
And on that note, have a safe and productive day. I'll be offering a sneak peek or two if I feel there's enough interest, so feel free to drop me a line!S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-5226312404564056542015-12-22T19:31:00.001-05:002015-12-22T19:31:08.662-05:00Holiday UpdateI'm as sick of writing these as you are of reading them, or would be if I were more rigorous about posting as these things happened.<br />
<br />
So, this will be very brief. First off, happy holidays! Merry Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Three Kings Day, St. Lucia Day, Ramadan, Yule, Winter Solstice, Hump Day, Space Movie Day, or whatever you might celebrate. I wish you good and bright tidings for the holiday of your choice and for the new year!<br />
<br />
Next up; I'm currently dealing with my second case of bronchitis since September, which ran right on the heels of my second case of pneumonia since November. In fact, I never really recovered from the second bout of pneumonia, it just (ma)lingered, making me cough more and start to wheeze until my sinuses plugged up like a sewer with a <a href="http://www.walesonline.co.uk/news/wales-news/dont-watch-youre-faint-hearted-its-8612189" target="_blank">fatburg</a> in it and then I was coughing nigh-incessantly. I'm on my second course of antibiotics for the last six weeks and hopefully this will clear things up.<br />
<br />
I find it nearly impossible to write when I'm so sick I can't breathe without gasping like a goldfish in a cat's mouth or coughing until I vomit in my mouth, and that's been my state of health for basically the last two months. So, not much progress to report other than I'm breathing much easier today than I was yesterday at the doctor's office.<br />
<br />
Have a happy near year and hopefully I'll have more positive things to share come the turn of the calendar. Thanks for your support!S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-2199752177069432602015-08-21T00:26:00.000-04:002015-08-21T00:26:01.585-04:00Regarding My Knee InjuryHi, all. Just a quick note regarding my knee -- I've begun physical therapy that will last six weeks to see if I can avoid surgery for what the MRI says is two tears in my meniscus. The pain has subsided, thanks to a few visits to my chiropractor to put my back and hips into place, but the weakness persists. I also have some low-grade neuropathy and some other nerve-related -pathy, but since I'm no longer in constant pain, I'm not that concerned at the moment. I have, after all, injured this knee repeatedly over the last twenty-five years.<br />
<br />
Anyway, between the pain and writer's block and everything else that's been going on this summer, I've basically said screw it and gone on what I'm told is called a "staycation". Done a lot of fishing, worked on lowering my stress level, and tried to get my brain back into gear. Now, if only I had a laptop that I could stand to type on for more than a minute at a crack without cramping up or cursing Lenovo for such a shitty keyboard... I might be able to get some work done.<br />
<br />
I've been having some good ideas, so hopefully when I knuckle down and get back to work I won't hate what I'm writing so much that I'll actually get something done.<br />
<br />
I'll update with regards to my knee and when I can get back to work. Hammer <i>will </i>strike again.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading!S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-21588031132184263452015-05-30T22:29:00.005-04:002015-05-30T22:29:51.126-04:00Warning, Brief Info Dump AheadBrief, not briefs. I am <i>not </i>going to discuss my underwear preferences or lack thereof on the internet... Well, at least not in a blog post. And I'm sure virtually all of you are sighing in relief.<br />
<br />
You're welcome.<br />
<br />
Okay, already distracted.<br />
<br />
So, I went awfully quiet after posting frequently. That's something I should explain because I'm sure someone is wondering what's up.<br />
<br />
I've been dealing with what my doctor has diagnosed as an "internal derangement". It's something that's been going on for 17.5 years (literally half my life) since Halloween, 1997. Long story short, I had a night that ended with me pushing my kneecap back into place, and the next day the doctor who "fixed" my knee is no longer legally able to practice medicine in NY.<br />
<br />
So what does that have to do with the here and now? Simple. It's become worse. Much worse. As in, I have a hard time standing, walking, or even sitting. In fact, while being examined this past Wednesday afternoon, I became so severely dizzy while laying on my back and bending my knee that I couldn't sit upright after for several seconds. The nerve involvement is that bad. Often while bending my knee I will experience a burning/tearing sensation, and then I wind up feeling like I have a thousand fire ants crawling and biting around my kneecap. Imagining that? Sorry, I know how that must be, but that's what I get. I'm also walking with a cane again, something I haven't had to do with any frequency for years.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, it's hard to be creative when you can't sit still for any length of time, etc. I've been transcribing the hand-written rough draft, but it's slow going thanks to the SHITTY keyboard on this laptop (Lenovo Z50-75, I do <i>not</i> recommend this, or any other, Lenovo product) and the pain, etc.<br />
<br />
But I have a referral to an orthopedic surgeon, so hopefully I'll be getting my knee fixed within six weeks of my appointment, so that pushes it out to about three months before I can get surgery. Then six more weeks of healing.<br />
<br />
Alright, I'm out. Thanks for all your support!S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-11475104392530489752015-04-07T23:04:00.000-04:002015-04-07T23:04:33.037-04:00There's ALWAYS a Downside.Apparently a lot of the traffic reaching my site is from Turkey these days. I'm really thinking someone's using a VPN or TOR to look at my site. I'm not sure if I should flattered or afraid. Since the advice I've always received is "Be afraid!", I'm going to go with the latter.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, for anyone who got the reference in this post's title, way to go! You just won an internet.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://cdn.meme.am/instances/500x/36380226.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://cdn.meme.am/instances/500x/36380226.jpg" height="200" width="151" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
No sexism intended, that was just the picture that came up in a Google search.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Ahem. Moving on.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, to reference my title yet again, there's always a downside when it comes to a writer's choice of writing methods. Mine makes me feel connected to the words, allows me to write virtually anywhere, and gives me near-stream-of-consciousness access to my inspiration/muse/etc. That means my rough drafts are often rough, but in transcribing it to my computer's word processor I get the chance to edit on the fly. So my first draft is significantly better, smoother, and often more inspired.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So... The downside. I'm basically writing things twice. Writing longhand whenever the inspiration strikes me and continuing while the mood is upon me means I end up with a lot of pages needing typing.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A lot.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That's a lot of typing. So much so that it's a little daunting, and I'm only talking about a single chapter. I have a little over twenty-five pages to type up. I realize that some of that will fall by the wayside (I knew it as I was writing it, but I refused to let that stop me from going with the flow.) as I'm editing it, but it's still <i>a lot</i> of work to do. With that in mind, I'd best get back to it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thanks for reading!</div>
S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-13374979668164083492015-04-03T14:34:00.001-04:002015-04-03T14:34:42.096-04:00What's the opposite of an update?Sorry, but that just occurred to me. And what would constitute said opposite, anyway? Lying in an update? Deflecting every question with noninformation?<br />
<br />
Wait, the latter would make me a politician or CEO apologizing for, well, anything.<br />
<br />
Okay, it was just a thought. My brain does some odd things at weird times.<br />
<br />
So, since this is the opposite of the opposite of an update, that makes this an update and someone might think at this point I'm just stalling.<br />
<br />
STALLING! Of course! The opposite of an update is a stall, and not the cow/horse/engine kind. In a sense, it's a shame pigs live in sties/pens, because then the comparison to politicians ends, though it's really not fair to domestic pigs because given a chance they live cleanly and take care of their young.<br />
<br />
Well, I feel better.<br />
<br />
Okay, update time. Writing continues apace. I'm doing a couple thousand words a day on average, though that's an estimation because I'm not counting what I'm writing longhand. My word processor takes care of the actual word count when I'm typing, so I have a decent metric for said estimation...<br />
<br />
Anyway. Let's see how the editing goes once I get everything lined up. I'm seriously not censoring myself when I'm writing because rough drafts are like that, but once I get into the first draft I may blood my axe until it needs some major sharpening. We shall see, my friends. Indeed we shall.<br />
<br />
Oh, before I go, I have to say hello to the Aussie fan(s) who keep hitting my page from Google.com.au. Hello! I hope you have a pleasant winter. It's still awesome to me that people a world away can see what I'm writing as soon as I'm done writing it, and <i>have done so</i> on more than one occasion!<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading and, as always, thank you for your continued support!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-31992995175674604422015-03-30T18:11:00.000-04:002015-03-30T18:12:13.250-04:00Hello... Is this thing on? Oh, right, I forgot to flip the switch over here...Well hello out there in the internet... World? Tubes? Networks? Something, in any case. Greetings from this tiny corner of the internet-thing.<br />
<br />
To be honest, I'm sick of being formal -- it doesn't seem to net me any extra readers, garner me any ad revenue (because I'm not making any ads pop up on your computer if I can help it), or do anything for me except make me sound stiff. My knee? That's stiff, but that's a whole other story. My writing, as any of you who have read it will probably agree, isn't. My characters, fights, worlds, etc, are rough, yes. But it's not <i>stiff</i>.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I appreciate the support and kind words I've received via Twitter (which I will respond to as soon as I can) and elsewhere. Life has been hell; crazy health issues, crazy relationship issues, crazy friendship issues, crazy weather, writer's block... But I've gone over most of these before. No point in rehashing the issues.<br />
<br />
So I figured I'd give you guys, gals, and everything in between a quick update on what was going on.<br />
<br />
Regarding my health: I've had some severe medication issues. When I say severe, I mean severe. It's next to impossible to get anything done with the medication you're trying to take puts you in the bathroom for upwards of four hours a day. I'm not going to go into details, you haven't done anything to deserve them that I'm aware of. But I'm better now that I'm no longer taking said medication, though I'm sure my doctor will try to put me on the third member of the family when I see him in a couple weeks.<br />
<br />
Regarding my relationship issues: Crazy, crazy, stressful, crazy, stressful, stressful, stressful, crazy. Now that I'm done with last week, I can talk about this week... Only a mild exaggeration, purely for comedic effect. Seriously, only a <i>mild</i> exaggeration. Last winter I lost thirty pounds before February and gained them back by year's end. This year instead of losing weight I lost hair. To be honest, I preferred the weight loss, even if it meant everything from getting an ultrasound of my liver to genetic testing that came back with interesting results.<br />
<br />
The weather may finally be settling down, so let's see how that goes.<br />
<br />
And now for the one most of you are probably at all concerned about, the writer's block. I've been writing a lot lately. I gave in and went back to my old method of creating -- long-hand writing with a fountain pen (or two or four or... Okay, I need to go through and count my pens again) for the rough draft, then typing it up and smoothing/editing while doing so, then going back and polishing it, etc. I did roughly five thousand words in less than twenty-four hours a few days ago. It's mostly been scrawling things out since, but I figure I did a couple thousand words yesterday. That's a lot of writing, at least long-hand. Going to be a <i>lot</i> of typing later, and I'm excited at the prospect.<br />
<br />
So what am I writing? I can only write what my muse lets me. In this case, it's<i> </i><u>not</u><i> Rogue</i>. Sorry, folks, but I'll get back to that soon. I'm working on the sequel to <i>Triggerbreak</i>. Some of you might question why I'm writing the sequel to a book that's sold somewhere around forty to sixty copies, especially when there's still demand for the <i>Subject 12</i> sequel, and you'd be right to do so. My answer has already been given, though. I can only write what my muse lets me.<br />
<br />
Speaking of <i>Rogue</i>, I do have some good news on that front. I've decided to go ahead and write what I'd originally planned. That means serious tie-ins to both books that came before, but mostly it'll just be more Hammer-y goodness for those of you who like that kind of thing. The bad news to go with the good is I'm going to finish this project, which I'll reveal more about when I get closer to the end of it, before I get back into Hammer's head.<br />
<br />
Speaking of heads, any of you remember the short-lived Fox sitcom Herman's Head? I liked that show, but in retrospect it was pretty-well doomed from the get-go. Still, it was better than <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Partners_%282012_TV_series%29" target="_blank">CBS's utter waste of time, Partners</a>. Holy crap, if there was <i>ever</i> a poster child for bad chemistry, bad writing, and banal directing, this show was in the running. There was <i>zero</i> chemistry between anyone on the show except the gay partner and the girlfriend, and that was for about two minutes in one scene of one show. None of the characters had any depth, it was just badly-written joke after unfunny joke after insultingly-bad or outright insulting joke, and nobody was believable as anybody in the show. Hell, half the time it seemed like they never even rehearsed together, it was just a couple minutes in front of a mirror before they went to the soundstage to film.<br />
<br />
Ah, should have been a TV/movie/restaurant critic. Anyone know of any openings in the northern part of New York for any of the above? Drop me a line in the comments. Heck, drop me a line in the comments over anything. I swear I'll do better about responding in the future.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading! Back to work for me!<br />
<br />
P. S. In case anyone thought I was being something other than attempting to engage a little with my last two blog posts... Shame on you! (Just kidding.)S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-27683622156602483352015-03-25T14:28:00.000-04:002015-03-25T14:28:10.971-04:00Well, Back to Work.Okay, nobody wants to talk. That's fine. Guess I'll get back to work, then.<br />
<br />
Have a nice day, everyone!S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-70850069672354503692015-03-22T01:16:00.001-04:002015-03-22T01:16:55.111-04:00Let's TalkThere are things we don't talk like to admit to that we all do. Then there are the things few of us have done: Stolen to feed ourselves or our family. Killed in self-defense. Washed the blood of our enemies off our faces while staring at ourselves in the cracked bathroom mirror of a closed gas station, trying to ignore the disgraced doctor stitches up a knife wound in our thighs with nothing to dull the pain except a light dusting of some unknown powder said doctor had been stuffing up his nose ten minutes before. Stab a needle into our legs to inject farm store penicillin every day for a week while delirious from fever, the only saving grace the burning pain from the injection lost in the agony of the infection slowly eating away at our wound. The nightmares so lovingly called "fever dreams" claiming us every time we pass out, only to snap awake and stare at the water-stained ceiling of a condemned motel that was far too close to the hunters, the police, to allow any rest while awake.<br />
<br />
But maybe we need to talk about these things, lest we forget they ever happen; lest we doom ourselves to repeat them.S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-16120972548585727262014-11-03T13:52:00.002-05:002014-11-03T13:52:41.093-05:00Catharsis or just confession? I'm not sure.With my apologies for, in my own mind at least, letting everyone down again, I want to share a little of my life lately.<br />
<br />
For starters, I am now single. My girlfriend of approximately four years (discounting the three months she was seeing someone else before agreeing to a serious relationship with me) dumped me last Sunday. Via text message. I won't go into detail beyond that little gem, nor will I expound on her cheating on me on Valentine's Day with the guy she'd been seeing.<br />
<br />
So, as you can imagine, my life's been a mess for, if I want to be honest, a year now. With that in mind it's a small miracle that I got <i>Reagent Protocol</i> finished and published this year. Now, that particular book hasn't been well-received, and I have some ideas on that, even though I still think the story and characters are in some ways superior to previous works. One of these ideas, simply put, is a lack of feedback while I was writing it.<br />
<br />
Not so simply put, I have a method for writing that probably is a little less self-reliant than it should be. When I struggle with a sentence, or if I wonder about a passage, I like to ask people to read the parts in question and give me some feedback. Frequently, the simple act of posting the questionable content in a chat window, e-mail, or what-have-you, gives me insight. This insight usually leads to small changes, but the feedback I get from the friend(s) I shared with is frequently invaluable to me.<br />
<br />
The fact that I don't have a professional editor to help me is also a reason why I find this particular exchange so useful and valuable.<br />
<br />
I won't lie and say that the feeling I get when my friends ask me for more of the story to read (especially when it's unsolicited) is unwelcome. It's very encouraging, actually.<br />
<br />
I've had none of that for a very long time.<br />
<br />
The net result is that I wrote the last half (or more, I can't remember) Shawn Doolish part of <i>Reagent Protocol </i>without any appreciable amount of feedback and an unbelievable amount of personal stress from an unhappy relationship. Actually, I wrote the whole think with no real feedback. The reasons for this are several-fold. Many of my friends are no longer in my life in any way. Most of those have moved on, or at least moved away from the only ways I had to contact them. Of those remaining, none of them have the free time they used to, so I can't ask them to do more than peek at a line or two once in a great while.<br />
<br />
Some of you would ask, why not ask the girlfriend for her help? Well, um, that's a good question, actually. It warrants a good answer. I'll give one, just not quite yet.<br />
<br />
During the last two years I haven't been exceptionally productive, writing-wise. Actually, that's incorrect. Since I published <i>Subject 12</i>, I haven't been very productive. I wrote <i>The Grand Granger</i> and <i>Reagent Protocol</i> in these intervening years, but neither is especially long, nor particularly successful. Oh well, as teenagers say all the time. But I haven't been very productive, it's really that simple.<br />
<br />
So, why? I've been distracted, depressed, busy, and in a relationship that appears to have been far more one-sided than I'd ever thought. My girlfriend was rarely supportive of my writing. Or of me, for that matter. When the chips were down and I really, truly needed support because my world was collapsing around me and it wasn't entirely internal, she was there for me. That's something that I respect her for, but as for the rest of the relationship it just didn't work. I threw everything I could into it; I changed behaviors and goals, spent money I couldn't afford to spend and barely had, sacrificed friends and damaged relationships with other people I cared about, drove an hour to visit her two and three times a week, and found myself including her in every decision I made whenever she was around (other than the food I ordered at restaurants), all just to be with and try to make happy a woman who felt that she was making me miserable. At least, that's the story she tells. To be honest, I believe she was unhappy with herself and her medical problems, and her refusal to compromise on virtually anything drove me batty. I wont go into more details, but I will say that her cheating on me wasn't the worst thing that happened, even if it felt like it at the time. The things she's accused me of indicate such a negative opinion of me that I honestly don't know why she wanted me around at all, and to be honest with myself, it really hurts to think someone I care about thinks so badly of me.<br />
<br />
It was, in short, a bad relationship. It ate up my life, leaving me little else to subsist on. That little else did not include much writing; I did get some done on various projects, but not enough to say I did enough, and the quality has, no doubt, suffered from my distraction and stress. We fought constantly. Due to this relationship I've gained and lost over sixty pounds in the last year. If that doesn't tell you what my life has been like, I don't know how better to explain it.<br />
<br />
That's not to say it was all bad. We did share some good laughs, some good times, and some good food. If I hadn't been trying to show her that I was changing, I wouldn't now own a fedora that I wear a lot (though it's borderline amazing that I found a hat that fits me). Yes, I said a fedora, not a damn trilby. If you don't know the difference you should look it up, because pimps, hipsters, and neckbeards wear the trilby, Indiana Jones and Humphrey Bogart wore a fedora.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/3e/ae/dc/3eaedccd082bc37c0c060cb430803d5e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/3e/ae/dc/3eaedccd082bc37c0c060cb430803d5e.jpg" height="250" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
But I seem to be getting a little off-topic, don't I? Sorry, I do tend to ramble.<br />
<br />
At this point I should answer the question I asked earlier. Why couldn't I ask my girlfriend to read what I wrote? Because she didn't like it. Any of it. She says she enjoyed <i>The Grand Granger</i>, and I believe her, but there was nothing else she found entertaining, amusing, or at all interesting. She constantly got after me about my writing -- that I was complaining about being blocked (I didn't do it that often, but, yes, I admit I said I was blocked and it was bothering me.), or that I needed a "real job". She said I was waiting around for something good to happen, hinting that I needed to give up on my dream. She'd moan about how she lost the manuscript for her book, a poem collection, and never let me forget that at some point I apparently compared her work (which I've never read, I want to add, because she never shared) to someone else's (which I never did, having never read hers) whose work I described as being in an archaic style. Okay. So, I should give up on my dream because she lost her manuscript and gave up on hers. That was my takeaway.<br />
<br />
Why would I get support for something important to me when she secretly hates that I'm trying to do what she couldn't bring herself to do? So, no matter what, I couldn't ask her for the support I needed, and having lost (and driven away) friends that used to do it for me (and would make her jealous that they were doing something she patently refused to do), I had nobody to do it for me.<br />
<br />
This situation hasn't improved, but I'm going to try and work around it.<br />
<br />
As for how I'm doing, I have to answer with a simple, "I'm okay, thank you." and not expound too much. I really am okay. I'm a little depressed, I'm pretty lonely, and I have two nights that I have to work between ten and fourteen hours apiece without any real break. It's decent money, but it's a couple of <i>long</i> nights, and this is the first year that I won't have any visitors to help break up the monotony. On top of this, I've watched almost everything I care to on Netflix, Amazon, Hulu, etc. Did I mention it's not a hard job? Well, it's not. My duties include staying awake, walking around, and making sure the drunks don't go through the area. Actually, I'm responsible for making sure people don't come in and steal or break stuff. But what it amounts to is keeping the drunks (Friday and Saturday night at a hotel with a bar, in a college town. Need I say more?) out and telling people to come back in the morning.<br />
<br />
Those nights, though, are going to be very difficult for me if my brain decides to take a trip down memory lane. Or if it decides that it's time to go over every failed relationship I've had, and remind me of every mistake I made in the last one. You know, typical post-breakup stuff we all go through.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I apologize for spending so much time talking about something other than what I've been writing. I just wanted you guys and gals to know why I haven't been talking much, doing much, or writing much. I also guess I just wanted to show everyone that yes, I'm a human being too, with all that entails.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading and for your continued support!S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-82678499352601920952014-09-12T02:04:00.000-04:002014-09-12T02:04:27.207-04:00I found this gem while digging through old compositions on my desktop. I really need to spend more time on my desktop.I found this little gem on my desktop, which I don't spend nearly enough time on lately. It's from at least ten years ago, but I still like it. There's a whole story in here somewhere, but I don't know if I'll ever dig it out.<br />
<br />
In any case, enjoy! Posted as-found, corrected only for formatting. I call it "Butcher Bullet" for reasons that will become obvious.<br />
<br />
<style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.08in; }</style>
<br />
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The young recruits sat
in a row, their new uniforms chafing their still-soft, as yet unused
to such harsh clothing but toughening fast, skin. The day was
overcast but still hot; sweat was starting to half-moon under their
arms. The dark cloth was unsuitable to such conditions as the
<span lang="en-US">recruits</span> had experienced so far; the long
sleeves were the only symbol of rank, earned by surviving their third
week.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The instructor only had
one arm, the other ending just above the elbow – the rest had been
replaced with a cybernetic prosthesis that whined quietly as it
moved. He strode around the scarred wooden table with a purpose, the
quiet whines of the cybernetics almost drowned by the sounds of his
mirror-bright boots hitting the wind-hardened earth. The crease in
his trousers was sharp enough to shave with and one recruit snickered
quietly at the thought of this two-meter-tall instructor staring into
his shoes to shave with his pants.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Recruit Thompson,”
the DI said as he came to a stop in front of the assembly, “do you
find something funny about today?”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“N-n-n-n-no, Sir!”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Then, if I have your
permission, I'd like to begin.” The air chilled slightly.
Strangely, the recruits started to sweat even more.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Yes, Sir!”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The DI placed two rifle
magazines on the table and stepped forward.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“My name is Gunnery
<span lang="en-US">Sergeant</span> Smith. Some of you may have seen
me talking to Colonel Park so you know what weight I pull around
here. You <span style="font-style: normal;">will</span> shut up, you
<span style="font-style: normal;">will</span><i> listen</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
and you </span><i>will </i><i><b>not </b></i><span style="font-style: normal;">repeat
a word that I say to you today. I have you for an hour and a half
and I do not intend to use half of that time. The rest of the time
you will spend talking amongst yourselves like the plebes you are and
you will, no doubt, discount everything I say to you. That would be
a mistake, but it's what almost every single one of you little pukes
has done for the past fifteen years so I don't expect anything
different this time. What I'm about to tell you may save your life
or may get you killed, it all depends on how good or how goddamn
lucky you are. In case any of you doubt it, I have seen combat and I
have lived through it. I have over two hundred CK's, that's
Confirmed Kills for those of you still not up on military speak, as a
sniper. They don't count the ones you get with an assault rifle in a
general melee. I have been wounded sixteen times, earning a citation
each time for bravery above and beyond the call of duty, been awarded
two medals of honor, five bronze stars, three silver stars, and given
the highest award for soldiers by six foreign governments. The last
time I was wounded I lost my arm and my combat fitness </span><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;">rating</span></span><span style="font-style: normal;">,
and have been pulling this REMF duty ever since. I have refused
promotion more times then I can count or remember and turned down at
least twelve cushy civvie jobs. Civvie jobs that all I'd need to do
was smile and pose for photos at seventy times the pay I'm getting
now. Why do I stay? Because maybe, just maybe, I can save </span><i>one</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
of your sorry butts a year. Some of you will be soldiers – the
best job, finest title, and highest honor, a man can have. If I can
keep one of you alive to come home to your mother or wife and kids,
then I have been paid in some currency far more valuable than money.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No
doubt some of you are asking yourselves, 'I've never heard of this
pompous windbag. If he's half as decorated as he's claiming to be I
should have, right?' I have an answer for you; no, you shouldn't
have. Every single medal they've pinned to me has been kept so
hush-hush you couldn't even breathe where the people with the
security clearance to know about it live. And if any of you have any
bright ideas, you're the last group I have before I leave for another
camp. As of eighteen hundred hours today, I'm a ghost.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">“The
more observant of you no doubt noticed that I put two things on this
table here. The ones with a functioning brain probably figured out
that these are thirty round magazines for the RAKS assault carbine,
with which you are becoming familiar. What many of you do </span><i>not</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
and up till now have had no </span><i>reason</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
to know about is that there is a custom-made, semi-automatic-only
variant of it called the RAKASHA. Whereas RAKS stands for, as your
instructors no doubt beat into your heads till you can see it when
you close your eyes, 'Rifle, Automatic, Kalashnikov, Short-barrel',
the RAKASHA stands for 'Rifle, Automatic, Kalashnikov, Specialty,
High Accuracy' and is so damn expensive a civvie could buy a family
sedan for less. The object I have in my right hand is the magazine
for the RAKS. You will note the how the translucent plastic allows
you to count how many unfired rounds remain. This is a nice feature
on the range but is damn near useless in a firefight because anyone
who takes his eyes off the enemy long enough to count shells instead
of shooting them usually earns a large hole that spurts blood. There
is a reason you've heard the phrase 'when in doubt, empty the
magazine' and I can assure it doesn't mean with your thumb.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">“Recruit
Thompson</span>, would you please tell me how many rounds are left in
this magazine?” He held the translucent green plastic rectangle
over his head, accompanied by the whine of servomotors.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Thompson stood up,
sweating and looking nervous. “I can't see from here, Sir.”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Recruit Thompson,
that's the smartest thing you've said today. This should illustrate
my point perfectly. First, it's damn near impossible to see how many
rounds are in the magazine in low light, so don't bother to look.
Try to count your rounds as you fire, if you can and need to; it's
more reliable. Thirty rounds mean ten trigger pulls, after that
you'll just be making your rifle go click. Recruit Thompson, have
you seen a RAKS yet?”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Yessir.”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“About how much of the
magazine was inside the rifle?”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“About half, Sir.”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Thank you. You may
sit down now. 'About half of the magazine.' That's twenty rounds,
my dear recruits, that you can't see. That's my other point. Making
the magazines translucent was, as I said, a fine idea for the range.
In combat, if you take the time to look at your magazine without damn
good cause, you'll be coming home in either a large box or several
small ones. This is a fine magazine; very rugged and far cheaper to
produce then an all-metal one, which was their alternative. However,
it can be distracting, and distractions mean death for the men in a
hot zone. This is now <i>you</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> my
dear recruits.” He stabbed his cybernetic finger at them to
punctuate his point and put the magazine back on the table. The
servos whined as he pushed his wide-brimmed cap back to expose the
faint scar on his forehead. “The RAKS is general issue and so is
the ammo for it. Some instructors will tell you to load twenty-eight
rounds into the mag to ease pressure on the magazine spring. This,
in theory, causes easier feeding so it doesn't jam.” He paused, a
twitch at the corner of his mouth the only giveaway to his emotional
state. “Some instructors have not only </span><i>not</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
seen combat but haven't left this camp, other then to go to the
cathouse in the village, in twenty years and the only med call
they've seen is for VD. I'm not going to say these are the same
instructors, but I will say that I have eaten more dirt then they've
seen on a two day training maneuver and I always load thirty rounds.
I have had one jam and that was because a cartridge blew up in the
chamber</span>. That's how I got this. There's a reason the RAKS is
general issue – after I picked myself up and could see straight
again I stumbled away with the rifle in tow. By the next day I had
it unjammed and was back on the line.”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The recruits whispered
amongst themselves at that point, hushed arguments over believing him
or not.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Some instructors
here, probably the same ones who say not to load those last two
rounds in the magazine, seem to think that the equipment our enemy
uses is nothing but cheap junk. My arm came off to a single round
from some of that 'cheap junk', fired from far enough away I was down
and hadn't found my arm yet when I heard the report. That 'cheap
junk' has mowed down more soldiers in my vision than I care to think
about. That 'cheap junk' is being held by dedicated, well trained,
men and women who seem to show up at the worst possible time and
always seem to have more then enough ammunition. Their weapons are
not as reliable or as powerful as ours on average, true, but power is
a relative term. Does it really matter if the slug that just tore
through your left lung was traveling at twice the speed of sound or
only half that speed?</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Speaking of power, I
wish for you to look at this next magazine. Please note, those of
you that can see, the notch on the left hand side. This is the
slider for the locking pin on the RAKASHA's bolt. The pin engages
this notch and holds the magazine perfectly stable during the feeding
cycle – the round fed into the chamber suffers no deformation or
vibration from the loading, especially on follow-up shots. The
action of the RAKASHA is a gas-tap, delayed buffer system that only
unlocks the bolt and ejects the shell only after the fired round has
left the barrel. The special magazine locking system I just
explained is for added accuracy and, I assure you, works damn well.
For this reason, the standard magazine will <i>not</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
function in the RAKASHA, which is fine because the standard magazine
has been found deficient in both primary and followup shots at ranges
over three hundred meters. However, since there is no locking pin on
the bolt of the RAKS, a RAKASHA magazine will function perfectly fine
in the other weapon. There is no improvement to accuracy, however,
from such a substitution.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He
walked around the table and picked up the other magazine. He pushed
the top cartridge from each, set them on their primer end, set the
magazines behind the cartridge that came from them, then walked back.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">“From
a distance, these two cartridges appear to be identical. They are
not. The one on my left, standard issue; full metal jacket, lead
core, standard primer, non-expanding, explosive muzzle velocity.
This is called the surgeon bullet, so called because early versions
used to have an insufficient jacket and distinctly higher muzzle
velocity – this caused them to explode inside a soft target, such
as your body, making lots of hard work for the cutters. Now it's
called that because it leaves a nice, clean hole all the way through.
This is what you are issued, this is what you will use. This is the
only ammunition you can legally </span><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;">possess</span></span><span style="font-style: normal;">
in a war zone.” He picked up the other cartridge. “This one is
</span><i>not</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> standard issue.
As those of you in the front row can see, it has a hollow tip. This
makes it a hollow-point bullet. This shifts the weight to the rear
making it more accurate, but it also means that it </span><i>does
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">expand. It is, therefore,
</span><i>illegal</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> in a war zone
and carries a penalty of death to anyone caught with it. It is
issued only to snipers, and only on soft-target, single-kill
missions. I did not just say that, you did not see it, this bullet
does not exist, it never did, it never will. I doubt any of you will
see it after today, but if you do, remember this; load it last so
it's fired first. We call this one the butcher bullet because anyone
who's hit with it might as well go to the butcher because they're
just so much wasted meat.”</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He
slipped the second cartridge into a pocket and buttoned it closed.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Another weapon of
note today is the Crow. The Crow is our standard-issue submachine
gun. Actually, it's called the CAW, Close Assault Weapon, but since
a crow goes 'caw' the name is pretty obvious to figure out. I, for
one, felt like a fool asking someone to pass me one of the CAWs
before de-assing an APC. The Crow fires our standard pistol
cartridge at six hundred rounds per minute in single shot, three
round bursts, and full auto, and thereby compares favorably to our
enemy's five hundred and fifty with both single shot and full auto
capabilities. Our pistol cartridge, however, is not as powerful as
our enemy's standard submachine gun loading, nor as accurate, but it
suffices.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Only a fool keeps his
weapon on full auto all the time. It's wasteful of ammo and it's
hard on the weapon, particularly the silenced variants some of you
may one day live to use. The Crow should be set, as a general rule,
on three round burst mode unless special circumstances arise. These
are <span lang="en-US">suppression</span> fire when you cannot see
your enemy, extractions, executions and when employing a silencer
device. Anyone who tries to fire their Crow on full auto with a
silencer deserves to lose their fingers, like they will, when the gas
pressure ruptures the cheap metal housing. This is something you
should damn well remember because your regular instructors don't
mention it for some reason. The Crow is a fine weapon to about half
the range you'd use the RAKS. Beyond that and the bullet has lost
enough velocity to be nearly worthless except to kick up some dirt,
which, while it may make someone keep their hear down, isn't very
useful. If you train with it you'll notice how much closer the
targets are, though smaller, then the ones for the RAKS. Now you
know why. The difficulty is the same, but it's all an illusion.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“The last two things
I'm here to speak about, if any of you are actually listening, are
the pistol and radio discipline. One is a poorly designed but
cheap-to-manufacture device that might save your life, the other is a
well designed, rugged, useful tool that <i>will</i> save you. Anyone
wish to guess which is which?”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A <span lang="en-US">tentative</span>
hand went up in the back row. Though the owner of the hand's face
was obscured, the instructor addressed him by name. “Put your hand
down, Recruit Brownfeather, you're wrong. The radio is not cheap to
manufacture because the chemicals in the power cell are exotics.
Before any of you start to think that I'm pulling your leg, I'm going
to ask you all a question. How much do each of you make in a year
serving here? Double that. That's what a combat radio costs.
That's why there's only one per squad that you're all linked into via
that headset you've all been grumbling about over chow. Your
radioman is your lifeline; keep him alive or you're all worm food.
As for radio discipline, I only have three things to say. One, keep
your messages brief, to the point and as full of details as you can.
That way there are fewer questions, less air time, less chance of
getting traced and less lag before the air support or artillery hits.
Two, never keep a channel open, especially if you're scouting. Send
short, coded messages when you have to and shut up the rest of the
time. Third, when the crap explodes, and it will, the first thing
you do is hit the panic button before you return fire. I take that
back. First you <i><b>duck</b></i>.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“The issue pistol has
several major issues. First off, it's <span lang="en-US">inconsistent</span>
when it comes to feeding. While this has been addressed by a stiffer
magazine spring, the angle of the loading ramp remains the same. It
doesn't like the <span lang="en-US">truncated</span> cone shape of
the issue ammunition and will jam on average once every fifteen
rounds because of it. Issue magazines are twelve rounds. Do the
math. Another glaring problem with the pistol is the sights.
Whatever genius decided to put a graduated ramp at the rear of a
pistol's slide obviously never fired one in combat. It comes loose
at the slightest provocation and blocks your view of the blade,
making sighting impossible. Don't trust it. The power of the issue
ammunition has already been addressed, but remember what I said when
you have to use some. In the pistol it's even worse because of the
shorter barrel, and the muzzle flash and blast are tremendous.
Finally, we have to consider the fact that everything is made by the
lowest bidder the government can find. Since the standard issue
pistol is considered a secondary or even tertiary arm, the standards
applied are about as loose as a bride's thighs on her honeymoon.
Don't trust it. Use it if you have to, but don't trust it.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I could lecture you
for the next week for eight hours a day and still not give you <i>half
</i>of what I learned the hard way. I could spend the next month
running you through drills and giving you proper hands-on training
with these weapons and their counterparts and you still wouldn't be
ready for combat. Nothing we can do here will prepare you mentally
for the blood and terror you're going to have to deal with without
destroying you as human beings. The best we can do is train your
bodies to react properly, your minds to make the right decisions and
give you the most important pearls of wisdom we have found and hope
to hell you adapt enough to come back alive and sane. The
instructors here are full of crap, but they're well trained, and so
will you be when you graduate. Common sense says that an
individual's chances of survival in a battle are better if he runs
away, yet, statistically, more people die during the 'mopping up'
phase, after the line has broken. Therefore, <span lang="en-US">mathematically</span>,
your chances of surviving as a <i>whole</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
are </span><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;">significantly</span></span><span style="font-style: normal;">
higher if you stand and fight. Remember </span><i>that</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
when things get hot and you'll do well for yourself, your squad and
your army.</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I
wish you all the best of luck and I hope there's a single smart one
among you who'll remember what I've said here. I hope I kept
someone's mother from getting a folded flag to show the neighbors
what she sacrificed. I am leaving now but you have just over an hour
to wait here and relax before your next instructor arrives. Use that
time well.”</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
He
saluted them. Then, rather then wait for them to return the salute,
he turned on his heel and marched off, the faint whine of servos
disappearing when into the hot, still, summer air.</div>
S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-67144589645261602202014-08-04T23:15:00.000-04:002014-08-04T23:15:17.317-04:00Research, Reagent Protocol, and The FutureHello, everyone. This is going to be a quickie, but I felt like I owed you all something to prove I was still alive.<br />
<br />
First off, I want to touch on what I do for research. I frequently do hours of research (though to be fair, it's done online and some of it comes from Wikipedia, so you can give me as much credit for accuracy as you wish) for small details, just to make sure they're right. For example, the Sanskrit I used for Skorpion's gloves in <i>Reagent Protocol</i> and the mythology associated with the word I chose for poison took me over two hours. That doesn't seem like much, when you consider the years some people spend researching certain subjects, but most of these people are doing research for entire books, or series, etc, not just a small aspect of one. I could have picked almost anything, but I wanted something different, perhaps unique, to make the book stand out. Besides, I do pride myself a little bit on accuracy, even if it is fictional.<br />
<br />
Let me give you another, specific, example of the research I do. When attempting to find some way for Shawn to forge the one ring (couldn't resist) he made in <i>Reagent Protocol</i>, I watched a demonstration of something called crucible steel. When I say demonstration of it, I mean a demonstration of everything from the forging of a sword from the steel to the actual refining of the ore. That's where I got the idea for the oven he melted the ore in, actually. Okay, that's where I ripped the idea from. I just added a little magical pizzazz to make it fit better. If you have <i>any </i>interest in seeing this demonstration, I can highly recommend an episode of Nova where they make a Viking sword roughly a millennium ahead of its time. For those of you with Amazon Prime video streaming, you can watch it through that service in high definition. You'll want <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B009PGDHAK/ref=dv_dp_ep11" target="_blank">Nova Season 8, episode 11</a>. If you're anything like me, just watching the sword getting forged is very entertaining, but in the finest traditions of the Nova show, it's also very informative and moves along at an excellent pace. If you're not a Prime subscriber but you <i>are</i> a Netflix subscriber, you can watch it there, too, if you'd like. Just do a search for "Secrets of the Viking Sword" and it'll come up fine. If you don't subscribe to either, <a href="http://video.pbs.org/video/2284159044/" target="_blank">you can watch on PBS's website for free</a> (assuming you're a resident of the USA or have a proxy set up properly to view content). I found it fascinating.<br />
<br />
So, if you've ever wondered why I'm so specific about certain details in my writing, it's because I have reason to be.<br />
<br />
Anyway, speaking of <i>Reagent Protocol</i>, I have plans to eventually add another short story to it. After all, I've only showed what, arguably, are success stories for those seeking redemption. Not every story has such a happy ending.<br />
<br />
Moving on to the future (don't want to disappoint people by not coming through on that), my plans seem to fluctuate with whatever I can create at the time. At the moment I'm working on a (hopefully much more successful and, outlined, much longer) followup to <i>The Grand Granger</i>. I'm in very early stages of the rough draft, but we'll see where the tides take us. That's not to say I'm not also pecking away at <i>Guild Files: Rogue</i>, but it's definitely taken a back seat. Why? Sociopaths are easy to create but hard to write.<br />
<br />
Take from that what you will.<br />
<br />
On that note I'm going to wrap things up. Yes, I'm still alive. Yes, I have reasons, and reasons aplenty, why I haven't been more talkative or creative lately. No, I'm not going to share them. They're personal and this isn't a blog about my personal life.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading and be sure to tell all your friends about how awesome at least some of my writing is!<br />
<br />
S.S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-62580706466312573432014-04-06T18:59:00.001-04:002014-04-06T18:59:13.500-04:00Number Five, Still Alive!Other than the clever-ish title, I don't have too much to say other than I'm still alive and I'm currently doing the early-stage work on a new Confederation universe story. Everyone likes pirates, right?<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And some more information about the Tal'Red will be revealed. Maybe. After all, a little mystery is a good thing, right?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thanks for reading!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
(Oh, and if you haven't checked out <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Reagent-Protocol-Guild-Files-2-ebook/dp/B00ISCO66G/ref=la_B007IOCY4G_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1396824998&sr=1-2" target="_blank">Reagent Protocol</a> </i>or <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Triggerbreak-S-W-Douglas-ebook/dp/B00IK7MG52/ref=la_B007IOCY4G_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1396824998&sr=1-4" target="_blank">Triggerbreak</a> </i>yet, now would be a good time. If you have, thanks! Also, please tell your friends!)</div>
S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-59130213741314263992014-03-21T22:13:00.003-04:002014-03-21T22:13:38.323-04:00The Writer's CurseI did laundry tonight. For various reasons I'm not going to go into I'm <i>not</i> working on <i>Rogue</i> at the moment, but the urge to write is still strong. How strong?<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I wrote this tonight. It's rough, but it's what I wrote. This is what my brain does to me frequently.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The first thing I noticed about him was his hat. I supposed this was intentional. Everything else about his clothing was hard-wearing, worn, and possibly even a little shabby. From his almost-olive-drab t-shirt, blue jeans that had holes in one leg, shoes that looked like they'd seen better months, unzipped jacket that looked tough enough to stand by itself when taken off, three-day stubble, and single ring gracing the middle finger of his right hand, I'd have been forced to say he was halfway to vagrancy.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>But there was more. His beard was growing out from a neat trim but was still well-maintained. It was a fussy style, too. His sideburns grew down his jawline, along his jaw, and into a goatee. His neck, which looked like his razor needed replacing, was shaven – aside from the stubble. His hair was long, but he'd pulled it back in a loose tail so it wasn't in the way, and just starting to gray a little at the temples.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>His middle was thick, like he was used to eating big, or at least heavy, meals, but not so thick as to make someone think he was fat. His legs were well-hidden by the jeans, but the thighs looked ever-so-slightly strained over the muscle moving when he walked. Actually, when he paced.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He kept his hands in his pockets, but he hooked his thumbs into the belt loops just above them, like he was used to resting his hands on something hanging off his belt. His eyes darted from door to door and looked out each window. He never looked over his shoulder when he changed direction, but you could tell his awareness was keyed up.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He didn't pace like a caged animal as he waited for his clothing to finish getting mauled by the industrial washing machine. No, he moved too slowly and deliberately for that. His pace was measured and cautious, like he'd grown used to watching where every footfall went. He never moved in one direction too long, either. He didn't turn his head, he turned his whole body to check behind him. And there was more. Whenever he didn't have his hands in his pockets, his thumbs locked in his belt loops, he moved his arms in a curious way. They swung like coiled springs, ready to loose their tension in less than a heartbeat on anyone incautious enough to come too closely.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I felt the corner of my mouth curl ever-so-slightly in a half-smile.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The hat, though. His jacket was faded and starting to fray around the cuffs, his shirt had bleach spots from a hurried hand putting the cap back on the bottle, his jeans were torn in several places on his left thigh, and his shoes sported soles that were obviously more than half worn and the bodies were starting to deteriorate, but he had that damn hat. Everything else he was wearing was obviously hard-used and designed to take it, but the hat was new and, aside from a few stray cat hairs, well-cared for.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It looked good on him, don't get me wrong. It just stood out like a sore thumb, and nobody could say it was laundry day and that's why he was dressed down. He was far too comfortable wearing the shabby clothes to be that image-conscious.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The hat was a fedora. Not a damn trilby, a fedora. There's a big difference, just so you know. Anyway, it was black, with a smaller brim than I would have expected, but nothing too obvious. It rode his head comfortably, and he was patently used to wearing it because he didn't hit it on anything he could have.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It just seemed, well, odd.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>His right leg was minutely stiff and he had a barely-discernible limp from it, but nothing that would disqualify him from a ten-kay march.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>No, the more I watched him the more I came to the conclusion that the deliberate movement was to conserve energy, that the thickening middle was from eating habits from long periods of privation and heavy exercise rather than laziness, his hat was a peacock tail, and that this man had spent some serious time first in the suck and then in the shit. And, like so many other veterans, still spent part of his time there. At least he did in his own head.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He didn't engage anyone. The only time I caught his eye I could see a stare that went beyond the horizon. I didn't try to hold it. He wanted to be left alone and it was the least I could do for someone who still hadn't come home. I left him alone to continue his solitary march through hell.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
Well, there you have it. By the way, if you're not following me over on Google + you're missing out on a few things.<br />
<br />
If you want updates on <i>Rogue</i> or <i>Reagent Protocol </i>then follow me there or on Twitter, because I post there more than I do here.S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-6071165147398877312014-03-05T12:56:00.003-05:002014-03-05T12:56:31.259-05:00Reagent Protocol and a Pricing Change<i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00ISCO66G" target="_blank">Reagent Protocol</a> </i>is live in the Kindle store and for sale at the very-reasonable price of $2.99 US. For those of you not in the know, <i>Reagent Protocol</i> is the followup to the successful <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0049P1OW0" target="_blank">Subject 12</a></i>, or Volume 2 in the Guild Files series (for those of you who keep track). Sales are off to a modest start, so why don't we see if we can't boost those?<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
With the release of <i>Reagent Protocol</i>, I'm lowering the price of <i>Subject 12</i> to $2.99 to match. Sorry for the one person who bought it at $3.99 earlier in the month, but I'm keeping those extra few cents. The price change should be reflected in the Amazon store shortly.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, pick up a copy of <i>Reagent Protocol</i> for yourself. It's DRM-free, for those of you who pay attention to such things. Actually, why not buy a copy for your friends as well as one for yourself?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thanks for reading and thank you for your continued support!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
P.S. I will get back to work on <i>Rogue</i> after I get some things in my life settled and myself back on a good track. My physical health has to be a priority for a while. I'll update people on what's going on if anyone's interested, otherwise I'll just go back to blogging about my books.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
P.P.S. Did I forget to mention <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00IK7MG52" target="_blank">Triggerbreak</a></i>? It's not a bad book, in my opinion, and it's a great way to support your favorite, starving author.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
S. W. Douglas</div>
S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-35794423032500028892014-03-04T18:55:00.002-05:002014-03-04T18:55:49.209-05:00Reagent Protocol is LIVEI don't know if you can buy it yet, but the link is live. Have fun, boys and girls! So, without further ado, a link.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Reagent-Protocol-Guild-Files-2-ebook/dp/B00ISCO66G/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1393977217&sr=1-1&keywords=reagent+protocol" target="_blank">Click me!</a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And by the way, it's DRM-free, for those that care about that kind of thing.</div>
S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-33494461481772169722014-03-04T16:41:00.002-05:002014-03-04T16:41:55.543-05:00Reagent Protocol Countdown<i>Reagent Protocol</i> has been pushed to the Kindle store. I'll post linkage as soon as I have one that works.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thank you for your patience and support!</div>
S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-50155114238715227312014-03-03T15:06:00.001-05:002014-03-03T15:06:01.044-05:00Guild Files: Reagent Protocol coming soon<p dir=ltr>Since I'm mobile I'll keep this as brief as possible. <i>Reagent </i><i>Protocol</i>, the second book in the Guild Files universe, will be done in a few days. The cover is holding me up at the moment. While I'm sure many of you reading this wouldn't care what I used for a cover, it's still important for overall sales.</p>
<p dir=ltr>On another note, to all those who find this blog via Google, looking for my second Guild Files book, stop by and drop me a line. I'd love to hear from you.</p>
<p dir=ltr>Thanks for reading!</p>
S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8409568454389757680.post-80355315506189177322014-02-20T22:21:00.002-05:002014-02-20T22:21:52.001-05:00Triggerbreak is live!<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Triggerbreak-S-W-Douglas-ebook/dp/B00IK7MG52" target="_blank">Triggerbreak</a> is live over on Amazon. Go get yourself a copy if you feel it's worth it! The page is still a little rough -- I'm working on it as best I can within the system.<br /><br />
Don't forget to read the preview if you want. Make sure the book is something you want before you buy! Thanks for reading and thanks for your support!S. W. Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423346986020804561noreply@blogger.com0