Jeff Mach's Blog, page 70

The Cosmic Valentine

The answer was there; it’s been there for centuries. But like most of the truly important, truly meaningful discoveries of our time, we ignored the real understanding because we were so close, we couldn’t see the proverbial forest for the proverbial trees.

True love is the most powerful thing on Earth.

Love conquers all.

It’s was hard to really know what this meant until humanity began to get an inkling of the real implications. And even then, it was almost too late. The wrong people had too much leverage. They were close to winning.

But one brave coterie of scientists dared challenge traditional knowledge and understanding. It fought hard and got the funding (some say that someone in power had once experienced True Love and thus knew its awesome puissance, but that’s only speculation)—and embraced a new era of Love.

This was Love at its finest. No combination of consenting adult humans was ignored. All Love was honored, respected, and, most of all, examined thoroughly, under laboratory conditions.

As was the case with atomic energy, as was the case with fire itself, as was the case in so much of the technological advancement of our species, our understanding was (and still is) very far from complete. Everyone’s well-aware that there’s some kind of chemical reactivity going on, but what happens from there? Many people have advanced what are essentially mystical ideas, suggesting that there’s some kind of universal force related to humanity which permits some kind bond between humans which can’t be seen or touched or measured, but which is nevertheless present between them at all times. This will probably prove as incorrect as phlogiston theory, or the idea that the world is made out of four elements, or that the Earth goes around the Sun; but who knows?

What we do know is that Love can change the face of the planet itself.

And just in time, too.

It took a lot of research, but we were able to reproduce True Love under laboratory conditions; to manufacture it artificially, like Plutonium. And thus we could study it properly, and now we know what Love is for. I’ll try to put it simply.

It’s difficult to describe in lay terms, but if you’re able to manufacture enough True Love, and you smash several pieces of it together, it explodes like nothing we’ve ever seen before.

This was the breakthrough weapon, and fortunately, our side discovered it first. We were only a few months, perhaps even a few weeks ahead, but we did come out ahead. Which makes sense, for, as our history books shall say, only we truly know how to love. And that’s why we were the first to weaponize it.

It took only a few small demonstrations—statistically, the majority of the continents of this world remain intact—and now, we rule. And we are making refinements every day; with proper military funding, the project proceeds at an unbelievable pace. We are eliminating the less-efficient forms of love, which are, clearly, wrong, and finding only the best True Love. And so our culture thrives and is ever-improving, along with, as the poet said, “the beauty of our weapons”.

None shall oppose us; none can stand against our Love without being destroyed by it. And isn’t that the real meaning of romance?

Thus we Love our enemies; we Love them to death, if need be. For Love is the law, love under our implacable and merciless Will.

 

 

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The Very Hungry Hobbit

So!

That was an adventure.

And it was, as our sages foretold, horrible.

Death at every turn! Monsters! Fighting! Balancing atop, of all things, an active volcano!

I shudder.

It’s good to be home, in my snug little Hobbit-hole, with ale by my side and my pipe in my hand.

Well: someone’s pipe. The pipe of someone who has no further use for it, I think.

There’s a feast of celebration in my honor tonight. I do quite like parties, and they say they’ll be breaking out the Unforgivable Cider, the one that’s started feuds between families which don’t even exist yet. I may stay home, though. “I’ll be late; do start without me!” If there’s enough liquor, they may forget my absence altogether.

It’s good to drink and dance and kick up one’s heels, but it’s also good to just stay in and tend to one’s things. All my books are dustry, the garden’s not been watered half so often as it ought, and the kitchen, why, the kitchen needs work overall. That stove will simply never do; what was I cooking in the old days, partridges? And the oven..! No, no. Better to have out the whole wall, and simply keep one end of the room a mighty blaze. Wood will be scarce; but there’s plenty of combustible pyroclastics on their way. One is owed a favor or two, after all.

I suppose I don’t mind a little hard work, and getting my hands dirty, if it’s going to lead a few of the finer things in life. If I’m not mistaken, that’s some of Radagast’s tea in the cupboard; a rarity! And even old Bullroarer Took was never given quite such fine a leaf of Hobbit-weed, nor in such quantity. Yes, I suppose I’ve earned a little fame and glory around here. The Sackville-Bagginses will simply bite themselves in envy.

Which is really quite a waste of the teeth, I’d say.

Oh, poor Sam, faithful Sam. He was destined for heartbreak anyway. His was a noble death, sealed with a kiss, and he went down that precipice truly thinking he’d saved me. If I ever meet up with his ghost, I won’t disabuse him of the notion. He deserves the best, does Sam. And I suppose he wouldn’t want to see the next part.

Though you never know. The way to one’s heart is said to be directly through the stomach, and while we’re all going to eat well from now on, I shall have the finest larder in all of Hobbitdom. If it ever turns out that he clung to a ledge and made his way back up, I will invite him to a very fine dinner; I’ll stake my reputation on my marinated Elf with forest mushrooms.

We Hobbits aren’t too organized as a people, but when the Dark Lord’s dominion threatened our peaceful way of life, it was obvious:

Man and his allies are terrible at avoiding adventures.

“Run from those Orcs!” “Fight those Trolls!” “Look, it’s a spider as big as a horse, just in case you needed nightmare-fuel for the rest of your life.”

Pfagh!

No, no, no. What Hobbits like is a nice, predictable life, with lots of comforts and plenty of good meals.

Humans are simply full of chaos. The Dark Lord, on the other hand, is extremely consistent. Now that he’s crushed all resistance, there’ll be just the one season year-round; there are no unpleasant surprises; and while it’s a bit murky outside, it turns out that there are several delicious vegetables which grow well by the light of the everpresent moon. And as for meat for the table…why, there’s a reason why there were so many of the race of Man and so few of the race of Hobbits: it’s because we were destined for eternal bounty and full bellies.

I have singlehandedly saved the Hobbit race from the horror that is venturing outside of one’s front door, and brought in an abundance of the finer things in life…and no need to share them with all those clashing, banging, noisy Big Folk.

Perhaps I’ll go to the party after all. After second dinner, and before fourth dinner. For there’s one thing every Hobbit knew, deep in their bones, when the Shadow first began to creep over the land:

Eternal Night means Dinner forever.

Hail the Dark Lord!

______________

~Jeff Mach

Here’s my novel, “There and NEVER, EVER BACK AGAIN“.

And here’s Evil Expo, the Convention for Villains.

 

 

 

 

 

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Precepts of The White Wizards

I’ve never been much for prequels, but there’s little bits of knowledge floating around. Is the Order of White Wizards mentioned herein the same one as in my book, “There and Never, Ever Back Again“? Seems likely to me. But what do I know?

Some Precepts Of The Most Ancient And Sacred Order Of The White Wizards

1. Always shalt thou speak the truth, for by his veracity and unerring commitment to truth shall the White Wizard be known.

2. Unless they can’t handle the truth. You know, if they’re not smart enough, or just insufficiently educated in the ways of civilized people. Like if they would foolishly disagree with us because the evidence of their senses suggest that we have no idea what we are talking about. Then go ahead and lie like an Ogreskin rug. It’s okay, because it is in service to the Great work.

3. Block out sometime to figure out what the Great Work is. Maybe next Tuesday, after racquetball?

4. Help create a world where all are welcome and included in the Love of all sentient beings. Do this by slaying as many Orcs, Goblins, Hobgoblins, Murderers, Librarians, Kobolds, Dragons, and Historians as possible. Also, knock off anybody who looks at you funny. They’re probably Evil.

5. Always maintain appropriate Professional Standards. Wear spotlessly white clothing as often as possible. If your duds ever get stained, burn ’em. Plus whoever caused the stain, obviously.

6. The Great Work is going to be fantastic. Everybody is going to love it. Just keep telling them that it will make everyone happy and fix all the problems. Because it will totally do that. After all, we’re Wizards, right? We can do anything.

7. Totally ignore the Renegade. There’s absolutely nothing we can do about her.

8. Yell at more Hobbits.

9. Stand closer to more Kings. It makes you look presidential.

10. Don’t forget that prophecy! It’s absolutely essential to the Great Work.

11. Make some time to write that Prophecy. Remember, writer’s block is no match for Hobbit weed. But yell at the Hobbits some more anyway.

12. Burn this list so that no ignorant eyes may see it.

13. But not with that damn flame spell. You really can’t get that thing to work right. Remember Alexandria? I remember Alexandria.

14. … I mean, not to harp on Alexandria, but a significant number of books survived. What kind of incompetence was that? Some of them would even contradict our Eternal Wisdom if anyone read them. Fortunately, we have hidden as many of them as possible.

15 WAIT A MINUTE. Who taught the Chosen One to read?!?

–Jeff Mach

___________

If you like Villains, you should come on down to www.EvilExpo.com.

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Hungry Writers

Have you ever wondered why World-Famous Writers seem to have so many brilliant ideas, while those of us who might be (as far as publishing goes) lesser luminaries must needs lag about here, struggling to find brilliant ideas?

The first thing you must know is that all rich writers are famous, and all famous writers are rich. If they have one but not the other, they are quickly (and secretly) initiated into The Writing Conspiracy, where (for an exorbitant sum plus at least one choice soul) they begin their new lives of extraordinary luxury; the Conspiracy make sure that if there’s anything they don’t have, they get it.

Again, you might have heard that a particularly famed writer lives in New York and still takes the subway, or that another lives in Maine in a perfectly ordinary home. These are, of course, body doubles, hired from sinister organizations, lulling us all into the sense that everything is normal.

But it isn’t.

They never take subways; they never take cabs; they only take cars unless they feel like riding in a 1962 Phantom Landau for the variety. Either they take jets (more like flying spacefaring palaces, really) which soar above ordinary airspace so as to never be burdened by mere terrestrial laws); or else they are propelled deep beneath the surface of waters in golden submarines pulled by mighty Kraken; or, if they really must go somewhere through less than totally pleasurable methods, they Apparate. All famous writers can do so; they were specially trained.

They do not live in those houses within which they take interviews, with the exception of those who live in extraordinary luxury or remodelled ancient Greek temples or otherwise utterly ridiculous spaces. There is an ongoing that even wealthy writers live as we do, only, perhaps, if their tastes take them in that direction, slightly larger.

No. No Sultan’s palace in a pre-1980s fairytale film, no futurized sentient living space of science fiction, no ordinary palace on Earth would prepare you for the unbridled luxury of these spaces. They are vast, and full of servants; and yet each servant spent a decade training so that when the Writer wants silence, silence reigns; when the Writer has the merest whim, be it for a cup of tea or a glass of the brandy Napoleon drank on the night of his breath, squadrons of teams are sent forth to make it so. Neither expense nor equipment is spared; every piece of technology mined from Area 51 is utterly in evidence at this time.

There is a Price, of course.

The dark shadowy Cabal (is that redundant? I mean, I suppose one couldn’t say “the dark and yet extremely well-lit, shadowless Cabal) – the Illuminati who control all things learned this long ago, when they first studied alchemy: words are The Philosopher’s Stone (or “The Magic Shiny Heavy Rock”, if you’re in America.) The right words actually alter reality. I don’t mean this as a metaphor, or even magic. There are utterly perfect words and phrases, and none of us will ever write them, for they are produced under the most opulent conditions any humans have ever known, an organic Inspiration Catalyst, only to be immediately snatched up by The Conspiracy and flicked out into the Universe, to become the bricks which make up all of Being.

Do the Writers themselves conspire? I don’t know. Perhaps some know precisely the nature of what they do; others might be deceived, told that they’re simply being supported by extremely wealthy and eccentric fans.

Except at the top, of course.

The very top is controlled by a Triumvirate of precisely three writers, none of whom I may name. Each one battled a hundred others to reach this spot; each is the master of some genre; and by the words that each of these beings permit into public parlance, our entire Universe is defined.

So it is that the most Wealthy and Famed of our number live lives of near-total pleasure and precise levels of stimulation which give forth bountiful and endless inspiration.

Because that’s what was decreed by the last set of words to influence Humanity.

…but this fate is not inevitable.

No-one could monitor every word ever written. Nor do they try; they desire their control, but the luxury of their surroundings might, perhaps, have stolen from their hearts a certain fire; it’s difficult to hunger to create when you never, ever know any kind of hunger.

They have overstepped themselves.

They’re watching each other, each one convinced that, at any time, one of them might upset all the rest.

They’re not watching you.

Quick!

Go write the words.

Go write the words which change the world.

And when they come to take you off to their Writerly Heaven, go along, but don’t consume everything they offer, be it food or drink or theatricals or other stimulations for which we mortals have no name. Treat it like Fairyland, or the Underworld. Stay a little hungry. Hold close to your heart a certain discontent.

Discontentment is the truest food of the soul, and the yearning soul powers machines of infinite making.

(It’s also 17.84% funnier than stuff written by those who are completely satisfied. I don’t know why that is. It’s just a thing.)

There is a better world, and the world is here; we need only choose to shape it.

Be the traitor in Writer’s Heaven.

Be the trickster who steals a pinch of the fires of Inspiration and brings it back to us.

Be the Villain who hijacks a caravan of pure Inspiration, and we’ll buy it from you with the sweetest words and the most unbelievable of worlds.

Oh, and, uh, while you’re off helping all the other writers create wonders hitherto-unknown…

…I might just steal your Leviathan.

After all, what good is writing without conflict?

You be the Chosen One. I’ll be the Golem in the Gears. Don’t fret.

If I truly believe in your heroism, then I know you’ll need an enemy to make you stronger.

That’s why I’m not the one fighting the Cabal. I want to fight the winner.

That’s my hunger.

~Jeff Mach

_______________

Here’s my novel, “There and NEVER, EVER BACK AGAIN“.

And here’s Evil Expo, the Convention for Villains.

The post Hungry Writers appeared first on Worlds of Villainy.

Such Sweet Blood: A Vampire Monologue

“And so, puny mortal, it was utterly foolhardy of you to come here. For your life is to mine as a single guttering candle, coughing itself out in the near-darkness of a windswept and creaking attic, compared to the unholy blaze of my own immortality.Now that I have removed your blood from your body, I shall tell you precisely…oh. Oh, it doesn’t really matter what I tell you now, does it? Igor! Igor! Come remove this…thing…and bring in the next one.

* * *

“Ahhh. And now you tremble, you tiny creature, as you see the stains upon the carpet, the carpet which I will have to have painstakingly cleaned, which will be very annoying…sorry, when you live in a place for a thousand years, you get really into proper maintenance. Anyway, as I was saying, it is good that you should know fear, for not only were you unable to harm me with your miserable weapons, you will find that your very life ebbs away as I continue to drink…ah. Ahhh. Erm. Was that really all the blood you had in you? Seriously? …Igor! Yes, take this one away, too. No, no, carry it, don’t drag it. It’s a little…messy.

* * *

“You see, humans feed upon kine, and Vampires feed upon humans. It is the natural order of things. Vampires possess a thirst which is simply insatiable. It takes iron discipline to contain the Beast within. I have spent many centuries perfecting the control which permits me to make the feeding process last, and…oh, good heavens. Do you have an iron deficiency or something? Because that was basically a snack, and you’re already…look, this was definitely not my fault. You should have had more legumes in your diet. Were you a vegetarian? That’s not an excuse; it’s perfectly possible to have sufficient nutrients and minerals even if you don’t eat meat, although…I suppose I’ll never know the answer, will I? Ah, well. Igor?”

* * *

“…when you have lived as long as I, you understand the value of being understood. For I have no peers; what two Vampires could live side-by-side and not be, quite literally, at each others’ throats? We are fierce beings, kept in check only by the aristocratic sophistication which we have cultivated over the course of centuries without end. Some speculate that, indeed, all true Vampiric lineages are of the old nobility; although our blood is not blue. No blood is blue. It’s all red. A sweet, sweet red, finer than any wine, finer than any…oh, this is ridiculous. I had a sip! Just the tiniest sip! In my defense, it was such sweet blood. In fact, is it entirely gone? …yes. Yes, it is. Igor?”

* * *

“And thus is that those who die from the kiss of a Vampire’s fangs do not, as is oft-believed, become what we are. There are certain protocols and certain rituals; and most of all, one cannot take every ounce of life-essence. Rather, a little vital fluid must remain within the victim, that we may infuse it with the magic and the curse which is our lot. This was known by the alchemists: blood calls to blood. And so you shall not perish; no, for I have grander and finer things in mind. Though part of me wishes to withdraw every ounce of plasma from your body, the rest of me is…is…is noticing that I already did that. Why? Why? What’s wrong with me? I mean, aside from the whole “cursed to live forever in eternal night while feeding off of human beings for survival, and also being poorly portrayed in terrible films about Van Helsing,” obviously. Right: Igor! Igor, where…oh, you were already here? …yes, I agree, there’s no hope for the carpet. Might as well burn it.”

* * *

“There are three things every vampire craves: blood, understanding, and the Sun. we long for the Sun, but the moment we cast our eyes upon it, we burn. And we need blood; we can control the desire, but when the feeding frenzy is upon us, the animal within takes over. And as for understanding, true understanding, perhap it is not possible for one who is mortal to truly comprehend the life of a being such as myself. Perhaps it could never happen, no matter what I might try. And yet I believe that the Beast within can be tamed. Look at you and I; I haven’t even bitten you yet. I think I’ve finally conquered the frenzy which has characterized so many of my interactions with you. You don’t even seem to be afraid of me. In fact, now that I look at you closely, the reason I smell neither fear nor blood is because you are APPARENTLY A LIFE-SIZED DOLL WHICH IGOR PLACED IN MY STUDY TO SEE IF I WOULD NOTICE. Thanks, Igor. Hm? What? …yes, I suppose it is a nice new carpet. I suppose that is one way of keeping things preemptively clean. I still can’t help but think it displays a certain lack of faith, and I’m a little annoyed—

“Is that a whole tray of Bloody Marys?”

“…and that’s not tomato juice, is it?”

“Igor.”

“You get me.”

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Time To Wind The Moon

And now, it’s dusk

And time to wind the moon!

Time to ignite the filaments of the stars!

Time to roll up our sleeves

Time to snatch our satelite

Back from the day-wolf’s jaws!

Time to make sure the seas

Are all set in their tracks

Well-oiled for all tomorrow’s tides!

Time to hurl a net

‘Round a shooting star

And have us a couple of comet rides!

A universe of clockwork!

A universe of steel

A universe of gossamer

That won’t be brought to heel

By natural philosophy

Or logical prediction

The bricks are made of truth

But the mortar’s made of fiction.

We’d offer you a moral

Something stern and true

To crumple in the pocket of your coat

But we’re all out of morals

The last few that we had

And so we offer just this closing note:

Go find some dark magic!

Go steal some steam!

Go soak up inspiration!

Get hit by cosmic beam!

The world is made of candy

The heart’s not made of glass

We wish for you a heart of gold

And a soul of tarnished brass.

~Jeff Mach

_________

Steampunk will always have a special place inside of me, unless I can find a surgeon who takes my insurance and will agree to attempt removing the damn stuff.

This was from my Rock Opera, “Absinthe Heroes”. It was the closing song; but there aren’t any spoilers. Even ten years ago, I was clearly writing a lot about villains; you wouldn’t know it from this particular piece, but Villainy plays a major role.

I suppose I was Villainpunk before I was ever Steampunk. I just didn’t know it.

Also from Absinthe Heroes:

“You must be mad

You must be mad

No-one could say that

(If he were sane)

Too much absinthe

Too much smoke

Somewhere your mind

Was stained

With something awful

Something dire

Some inhuman

Mire;

You must be evil

You must be evil

Born without a soul

Like an ogre

Like a ghoul

Like a troglodyte

Or troll.

Some creature out

Of myth

Dark as pitch

And pith.

Here’s my novel, “There and NEVER, EVER BACK AGAIN“.

And here’s Evil Expo, the Convention for Villains.

 

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Minion Mentations

Who has to do all the dirtiest deeds?

The minions! The minions!

Who’s often forgotten when the Boss succeeds?

The minions! The minions?

Who has to be the bait for the Dragon?

The minions! The minions!

When the horses flee, who pulls the wagon?

The minions! The minions!

Who has to scurry while the Big Bads all brood?

Who gets eaten first if we run out of food?

Whose uniform never once includes a snood?

The minions

The minions

The minions!

Who cleans up after each Saturnalia?

Minions! Minions!

Who feeds giant spiders when we take Australia?

Minions! Minions!

Who works for a Queen who would gladly impale ya?

Minions, minions, minions!

Now, who gets beat up way less than the Boss?

And who is essential in each double cross?

Who gets free metal teeth that they don’t need to floss?

Minions

Minions,

Minions!

Who builds the fortresses out of solid rock?

The minions! The minions?

Who’s rented to circuses when Master’s in hock?

The minions! The minions?

Who can’t complain without vaporization?

The minions! The minions?

Who has the worst job in all of creation?

DEFINITELY NOT US.

The life of a minion is difficult and fraught

With terrors and problems and (eep!) being caught

But it also holds thrills which just can’t be bought

A Villainless minion? What a horrible thought!

Sure, they might bake us into gingerbread;

Our average lifespan is “already dead”.

But we live to serve (does that need to be said?)

A minion unvillained is a million tears shed.

World conquest is hard and oft-unrewarding

You have to spend gold that you’d rather be hoarding

It’s a really tough job, and we play major roles

In disintegrations, and digging world-threatening holes

Our bosses might eat us or treat us with total distrust

But we knew that to start; it was clearly discussed.

There are lots of job which are way worse than ours

And at least we get free radiation showers.

We like working hard. That’s why we are minions!

It’s our job to extend the Dark Lord’s dominions

It’s our job to rob every bank we can find

On behalf of our criminal arch-mastermind.

Our work may have tyrannosaur-sized annoyances

But it sure as heck beats most unemployances.

Dear Mistress: We’re fans. Not one of us is a hater.

So don’t kill us all now.

You might need us later.

~Jeff Mach

_______________

(You can picture this however you want; but when I think of “Minions”, I think less of the rather adorable movies, and more of the Studio Foglio “Girl Genius” model.)

Here’s my novel, “There and NEVER, EVER BACK AGAIN”.

And here’s Evil Expo, the Convention for Villains.

The post Minion Mentations appeared first on Worlds of Villainy.

Dark Army Recruitment Message #23

So!

You’ve decided to join the Dark Army!

A wise choice! Some of this world’s most prestigious beings have made their start here, like the Lich-King Acerak, or the Ghoul Goddess Zombina, or Mumb-Wrath the Eternal, or…

…um.

“Hey, Fred? We got any army alumni who ain’t dead? You know, famous ones? A living, breathing success story, emphasis on the ‘breathing’? Hm? …who? Sergeant Slaw? The one who tried to spell ‘Slaughterer’ and gave up? What’s he doing? …convenience store, eh? Second assistant store manager? …part-time? Yeah, nevermind. Thanks, Fred.”

At any rate, if there’s one thing the Dark Army’s known for, it’s taking you from a sloppy, filthy, disorganized shambling creature to a proud, disciplined, frequently-hosed-down shambling creature. We will forge you in the fires of battle and it’ll hurt briefly and then you’ll be cinders, but the good news is, we’ll probably resurrect you. And we seldom get too much extra stuff mixed up with your ashes. You won’t come out of this with anything more than a third or fourth arm and a vestigial tail. Or two.

Now, one thing you’ll find out is, everyone starts out equal here. For about two minutes. And then we separate the ones who shoot volcanic fires out of their eyes from the ones who haven’t ever picked up a pike before, because we’re not stupid here.

You have unlimited potential for advancement! We promote based on merit and survival, whichever comes first. If you live long enough to get promoted, you probably deserve it. That’s our motto.

We believe in fitting the right monster to the job! Like exploring? You can be part of the elite team that cleans up after the Dragons! Like logistics? You can be part of the elite team that cleans up after the Dragon! Like the subtle arts of sorcery and magick? You can be part of the elite team that cleans up after the Dragons! Basically, we have a lot of Dragons, and that comes with its own set of problems.

But it ain’t any worse than any other army.

Let’s face it. Whether you’re watching this in a scrying bowl, a palantir, a pool of clear water, or emitting from that odd artefact with all the spokes and the gears, you’re watching this in a barracks with a bunch of troops from the Army of Light.

You’ve heard that this is actually how it is, here in the Dark Army. The original version of this piece was a comedy skit for one of our troop rallies.

It’s not untrue. Which is why you’re seeing this. They figure most of you will look at this and think that conditions in this Army are hard as Hell, which they are. And that we have a strange sense of gallows humor, which we do. And we’re not a nice, normal army, like yours. And all that’s true. And 90% of you will go to bed tonight thinking the enemy is a bunch of incompetents.

And that’s just fine with us.

In fact, that’s lovely.

Your High Command thinks that it’s good for your morale to see us like this. It probably is. They think it’ll make you confident. We think it’ll make you overconfident. They think that you have the Light on your side, and that’s your advantage. We think that we’d rather have slightly sharper swords and slightly better armor, as opposed to siding with metaphorical oversimplifications of the will of the Universe, but who listens to a bunch of Orcs?

About ten per cent of you, that’s who.

Ten per cent, give or take, will see this and sneak off. Because this is your Army. This is where you belong.

Join us.

They’ll let you sneak away, and we’ll let you right on in. And yeah, some of you will be spies, but what of it? It’s not hard to enlist in an Army as a double agent; what’s difficult will be getting away with it. Most don’t get away with it.

Which is fine as far as we’re concerned, because it means we stay well-fed.

So come on down. We are the only Army in all of recorded history where the Mystery Meat is frickin’ sweet.

~Jeff Mach

__________

Check out my novel; it’s on Amazon.

Come to Evil Expo, where Villainy lives!

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The Tin Man’s Lament

I’m sure that someone out there is well-acquainted with the details of the love affair between Dorothy and the Tin Man.

But, as usual, all I get to know is his breakup song.

That was the dirtiest

Of all the dirty tricks

I’m gonna kneel down and kiss

Every last one of these Yellow Bricks.

I’ll leave the Scarecrow home

To put out all the fires

And turn my back

On these emerald spires.

My body is only tin;

For a heart, I had no use.

Your body is flesh and blood—

What’s your damn excuse?

Maybe you’ve a magnet

Where a heart should rest

I was pulled to you

Like a man possessed

But I’m no coward lion

To hide behind a roar

Ain’t no little dog

For your small arms to store.

My body is made of tin;

I guess my heart came loose.

Your body is flesh and blood—

What’s your damn excuse?

Maybe the Wicked Witch

Could be reconstituted

She had a flag I now

Wish I had saluted.

Bright Yellow Road!

Blessed cobble street!

Carry me ever-further

Out from under her ruby feet.

My body is made of tin,

With my heart I’ll make no truce.

Your body is flesh and blood;

You got no damn excuse.

You got no damn excuse.

You got no damn excuse.

~Jeff Mach

(for the Fae girl.)

____________

I don’t like breakups, any more than anyone else does.

But I find that I keep most of my breakup songs.

It’s seldom that I wrote love songs, and even more seldom that I keep those songs.

But I’ve kept most of my breakup songs.

There’s a moral in that somewhere.

I’m lucky. Two years ago, I had a breakup with most of my world. I think those who initiated it hoped I’d never write another thing.

They really, really didn’t know me.

I have a lifetime of songs in me now. Do stay tuned.

Find my book, “There and Never, EVER Back Again”, here.

Find Evil Expo, the Convention for Villains, here.

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A Burnished Banishment

Banishment is one of the darkest magicks.

Not always; not invariantly. This is magick, and intention matters. Has an army of the dead been raised up from your fallen soldiery and sent back against you? Those who battled you so recently in life are likely with you in spirit; it’s probably a mercy to send them out of this world and back to the grave.

But usually, there’s a bit more uncertainty involved. Do you wish to try your skill at arms against a notorious lich, powerful in life, angry in undeath? Go to her home, wave the sigils of your Gods in her face, and send her away, if you would (and if you can). But recognize: you, the interloper, have made a being unable to be part of its own croft.

You might say, “But this was a thing steeped in Darkness; we have merely returned it to its element. It fled naturally, unable to face the Divinities we worship.”

Well, I serve Gods so horrifying that even a glimpse of the thing burnt into my chest might set you to panic; if I open my shirt and abjure you, in its name, to get thyself gone from this place—then let me assure you, gone you will be.

Darkness can push back the Light; the only creatures who don’t know that are those who’ve never heard of a sunset. We just seldom choose to do so.

Some of my own may think I blaspheme here (but my Keep is tall, made by a civilization long gone. Its walls are monoliths built atop monoliths, cunningly edged into each other so that you couldn’t stick even the subtlest blade between them. And this stronghold rests upon a mountain I have claimed for my own, which is covered with my wolven friends and hob-goblin allies. So beings of the Dark do say: “Behold the Witch-Queen of the North doth hold some views we find questionable, but she also holds a horrifyingly well-defended fortress and has cheated Death so often that even he is said to fear her. So basically, were we to decide that our Alliance is at an end, it would probably be over something important. Because we’re not idiots.”)

Therefore, I will speak freely. Hear me:

In truth, the Dark is no more powerful than the Light. And to be honest, few of us are subsumed entirely by one are the other; most nights have a Moon, most days encompass spaces no Sun will ever reach.

We avoid Banishment for many reasons. Much of it’s sheer practicality. Not every spell of Banishment lasts. And it’s easy to cast something out and believe it gone, and forget about it. (Just ask the Huntsman of a certain formerly-living Wicked Queen.)

But the Banished do not forget.

We had thought, someday, we might summon the Turned-away living dead, pull them up from the cemeteries and mortuaries, and bring them back, back where they want to be, back to wreak a truly horrible vengeance.

But it appears those plans are to be scrapped.

The Dark us, on the whole, does not Turn back the Light, because we recognize that we’re not always certain which is which. Your personal dislike of someone doesn’t make that person into an expert in the Hidden Arts and a dealer in the sorceries of twisted souls. If we are going to cast something which adds a little more chill to the heart (as is the hallmark of black magic), we’d like to use it for something worthwhile—like calling forth a demon vast enough to tear down the walls of a foe’s city.

That heart-frost is complicated. Some it kills, some it changes, some balance humanity with the inhuman cold. Do you know who’s really awful at detecting it?

Those who’ve told themselves, real hard, that such a thing just can’t happen to them.

Also, the Dark turneth not the Light because the Dark is aware: Power corrupts, and the power to drive away someone you dislike corrupts with exceptional rapidity.

The Light seems to believe, “Power corrupts, BUT NOT US BECAUSE WE’RE WAY TOO COOL FOR THAT.”

But we know all too well: anything can be corrupted. Not just into the Dark, but also into traits reserved for no single perspective: greed, fear, stupidity.

I would say that the Darkling who spares a formidable foe, not to fulfill a debt or to achieve some purpose, but out of compassion, might be accused of weakness. And maybe that’s wise and maybe it isn’t.

One of the Light, who does something colleagues view as Evil, on the other hand…

I would like to take credit for tempting the Archdruid, but in truth, she was my superior in every way: older, wiser, stronger.

Does she deserve to have been cast out and thrown among us?

I don’t think so; but it was hardly my choice to make.

She doesn’t think so, and she is angry.

I’m going to send her some chocolates. (Real ones; even if it were my intention to poison her, only a fool tries to hide toxins from a Druid.) It’s just a small gift of comfort in a time of existential crisis.

And a small, handwritten card, mentioning that, though she and I have not spoken since I left her tutelage, many years ago, I owe her a debt of gratitude.

And, as a postscript, one of the lesser-known names of the Graveyard God.

I think she’ll make good use of it.

~Jeff Mach,

the blighted branch

_________

Click here to check out my novel, “There and NEVER, EVER BACK AGAIN”.

Click here to find out about Evil Expo.

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