Aaron Dembski-Bowden's Blog, page 12

The Coffee Adventure

You stand in the hallway. To the east is an OFFICE. To the west is a BEDROOM. To the south is a BOOKSHELF with many INTERESTING TOMES. To the north is a STAIRCASE with a GATE and a TINY GUARDIAN. What do you do?

>> chk inv

That is not a valid command. What do you do?

>>check inventory

You check your inventory. You are carrying an EMPTY STAR WARS COFFEE MUG and an INFLATED SENSE OF YOUR OWN SELF-WORTH. What do you do?

>> go north

You travel north, down the FLIGHT OF STAIRS.

The journey is long and harrowing.

The wind blows.

In the distance, you hear the DARK RIDERS howl.

The ONE RING weighs heavy on its chain.

You reach the bottom of the FLIGHT OF STAIRS.

The STAIR GATE blocks your path.

The TINY GUARDIAN is looking at you like he’s just spilled Cheerios all over the floor in the other room – like he laid some fucking kind of Cheerio minefield.

What do you do?

>>go back upstairs and make space marines

Some Horoscopes: This Month in the Stars

ARIES – The Ram

It’s been a bad month for you, hasn’t it? You didn’t vote for Obama, and now he’s in power again, sipping babies’ tears while he reclines atop a mountain of skulls, in a castle of pain, upon a throne of blood.

The news gets even worse, though: he didn’t vote for you, either. He doesn’t even know who you are. You’re no one. You’re just some guy.

Do you even lift?

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TAURUS – The Bull

It’s probably not AIDS.

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GEMINI – The Twins

No one cares about the remake of RoboCop, so stop linking it on Facebook.

Look to the skies around the 24th, when you’ll see some clouds that look a little bit like Joss Whedon’s balls. Maybe you can worship them, like everyone else who quivered with the spillage of nerd-seed in their jeans during the final fight scene of Avengers Assemble.

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Cancer – The Crab

“There you see her, sitting there across the way.

She don’t got a lot to say, but there’s something about her.

And you don’t know why but you’re dying to try – you wanna kiss the girl.

Yes, you want her. Look at her, you know you do.

Possible she wants you to – there is one way to ask her.

It don’t take a word (not a single word), go on and kiss the girl.”

I appreciate that it’s good to be in love again, and you’re right: this one could be The One. But be wary of adopting Disney song lyrics out of context. What works for wooing spell-cursed, tongueless mermaids doesn’t apply to boys and girls on dry land, and in another setting, that verse could be considered quite rapey.

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Leo – The Lion

November is just another month where you carry everyone in your life kicking and screaming to success. Towards the 30th, you might find your strength lagging, but what are you going to do? Quit? Yeah, sure, then what happens? How will everyone else cope if you take your big boot off the accelerator?

You’re a lion. Or a lioness. Whatever. I don’t care. My point is this: the other guys are crabs and virgins and goats and shit like that.  If you don’t lead, then who will? Pisces? Pisces is a fish, dude.

Fish can’t even roar. That’s just science. That’s just scientific fact.

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Virgo – The Virgin

Not a bad month, with the planets in alignment to make all your dreams come true. You can even fly, albeit briefly and not particularly gracefully. You’ll also develop the most incredible superpower, allowing you to actually understand Scottish people for three whole days. Once you’ve mastered their tongue and learned their demands, feel free to tell the rest of us what they really want. Maybe if we fulfil their true desires, they’ll stop living in train stations and asking for money.

Unfortunately, your good luck fades on the 27th, when the police come for you. They checked your MSN logs, and have been monitoring you ever since you said “It only turns me on if I feel nervous Googling it.”

The upside is that you’re way too pretty to thrive in a prison environment, so you’ll be dead before Christmas.

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Libra – The… Scales (and Nude Man)

He’s not going to call. He’s just not into you. Although you still dreamily remember your balls getting fondled at the airport, it was the guy’s job, and apparently a vital moment in the War on Terror.

I spoke to him, and he didn’t even think your balls were that great.

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I’m Still Alive, Post-Canada (Mega Photo Update)

So here’s a photo of me touching Chris Wraight’s balls:

No, really. My knuckles bumped his balls. We had a Moment.

I was in Canada for a while, with a bunch of the other Black Library authors. Here’s Dan, Nik, Jim, Chris, me, Gav and Graham. Gemma, who actually organised the event, isn’t here for some reason. But many thanks to her for playing hostess with aplomb. As I’ve said before, I don’t travel well, but this was a pretty magnificent week away.

I had my usual pre-event (and indeed, during-event) discomfort that nothing short of growing a backbone will ever stop, but no one died. I consider that a net gain for humanity. I also got to meet the Chestermere town mayor dressed as a Sister of Battle (no, really) and ate Vietnamese food for the first time ever, which was life-changingly good. (Thanks, Nathan and his Lilliputian bride, Theresa.)

As always, I took no decent photos. You may recall my trip to Chicago? Yeah, where this pic from the Lego store was the only photo that made it back with me:

My photos from Canada are similarly useless and/or meaningless to anyone who isn’t me.

Here’s one of the Rockies that’s actually real and not fake:

This is a real place. I was actually there, and actually took this photo.

And here’s one at Banff, one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen in my life:

And as you can see, I used it to be mean to Houston, for beating the Suns in the 1993 playoffs. No, I won’t get over it. No, you shut up.

Also, Katie and Jim Swallow jazzed up my Chaps Raptors by introducing this… this Disco Madness or whatever:

And for some reason, I have this photo of me in a restaurant:

And (true story) that was taken by a Marines Errant player by the name of Jason, whose Chapter I killed off in Blood Reaver. 

He was very forgiving.

There was also this guy:

…who looked crazy-similar to my friend Nik. So much so, that I made him stand there while I texted Nik this very photo. “STAY THERE, MAN. OH MY FUCK, YOU LOOK JUST LIKE MY FRIEND NIK. HE HAS TO SEE THIS SHIT.”

My friends Nik and Rob (who I have, on occasion, been known to call my brothers in the most exquisite moments of bromance) came over to see me, Katie and Alexander while we were at my mum’s place for one night, pre-Canada:

…and as you can see, I was totally justified in my claims of clonehood. That guy looked just like Nik, man. I kept staring at The Clone for the rest of the day, which I hope he didn’t notice, as in a strictly legal sense, I was probably stalking him.

Also, here’s one of Rob and Alexander:

I’m pretty shit at taking photos, but the two ones above really touched me. They were great moments – but then, I cry at the end of How to Train Your Dragon, so I’m not really an emotionally stable human being. My word simply cannot be trusted.

For some reason, totally out of order, there’s also one I took on my last jog:

…which I stopped, breathless and disgusted, to take. Rural Ireland is a very rainy place, and it pulls shit like this on the countryside lanes all the time. It’s like it has a gentle grudge against the people that live here. Sometimes there are trees in the road, because Ireland just thought that would jazz the place up a bit. Sometimes the diesel freezes in your car, putting you at very real risk of death unless your father-in-law has a pimpingly huge 4×4 to get groceries. It’s the sort of place that resents human intrusion, and isn’t shy to let it show.

I ran through that puddle a moment later, and it was almost Geneva Conventions-breakingly cold. As I did it, I thought of all the soldiers who read my work, and all the cross-country training they do. I’d like to say I had a moment of unselfish perspective and realised my problems weren’t all that great after all, but that would be a lie. My feet were wet, cold, and fuck you because that was bad enough.

But I have no idea why that photo is there, completely out of order.

While we were gone, Alexander was playing at my mum’s house for the week. Every day, she’d update her Facebook with pictures and a blog of what he’d been up to that day, and some absolutely beautiful shots came out of it.

Here’s a couple with his great-granddad:

I want to get the second one blown up and framed for the hallway wall.

And, perhaps most importantly, Mum was good enough to start grooming my replacement. She says he was updating his blog, but I’m intensely sucky at that, so this casts his entire lineage into question.

Also, it’s finally, finally done. Betrayer went to the wire, being just as late as The First Heretic, Blood Reaver, and The Emperor’s Gift. Let it never be said that I’m not consistent, even if it’s consistency in the very worst ways.

But since none of you care about any of that, here’s a new infrequent feature that I’m sure to forget about. Desktop Watch! What I’m working on right now:

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The Underworld War is my Gal Vorbak story in the Mark of Calth anthology, detailing the ins and outs of daemonic possession, and the Word Bearers left to die on Calth, hoping for reinforcements that aren’t coming.

The Lord Inquisitor, quite obviously, is WIP document for The Lord Inquisitor. I’ll restate for the bajillionth time: me and Erasmus are redoing the whole story, and the voice actor in the proof of concept trailer is long, long gone.

The Talon of Horus is the synopsis for, uh, a novel with the working title of The Talon of Horus. It’s the first in my (hopefully long-running) Sons of Horus / Black Legion series. But we’ll see. It’s just in the first tentative stages right now, and I’m a changeable creature.

So now you’re up to date.

Leave me alone.

Dan Talks ‘Pariah’

A second viddy link for you, my pretties.

Let’s talk about Pariah. I’ve read Pariah, you know. Twice, in fact.

Read it and loved it, and read it again.

Anyone with any affection for the Eisenhorn and Ravenor trilogies may find this worth a looky-look, as Dan talks about the saga, and what’s coming up next:

 

 

 

 

 

Horus Heresy – Forge World’s First Details

I’m sure you’ve all seen this today:

Please note, Alan Bligh is a shockingly nice fellow (and, as it happens, in my 40K campaign, playing the Adeptus Mechanicus), and if you’ve not clicked Like on his Facebook page by now, you probably should.

You can’t imagine how long we’ve had to be hush-hush about this.

You probably can imagine how amazing this game will be.

Gemma Noon & the Black Library Expo

Gemma Noon & the Black Library Expo. Man, that sounds like the most awesome Harry Potter book.

Here’s the very first guest blog post I’ve put up. It’s by the lovely Gemma Noon (duh…) and regarding Black Library’s mega-event in Canada next month.

Please enjoy. Or don’t. Jesus, whatever, man.

Leave me the fuck alone, I’ve got a novel to finish in the next 3 weeks.

 

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The first time I met Aaron Dembski-Bowden I decided that I was I never, ever, reading anything written by him ever again, and that it would be a cold day in Hell before I attended any event where he was one of the guests of honour.

Yeah, turns out I was wrong.

Aaron, alongside seven more BL authors, including Dan Abnett, are coming to Alberta next month for the first Black Library event held over our side of the pond. And I invited them. I am risking my job on an event that headlines with a writer who argued with me over whether or not he should sign my book, because he didn’t believe I had read it.

I had, as it happens. I like to collect signed books, and I have a thing about keeping them pristine. Maybe it’s because I’m a librarian, or possibly because I am anally retentive. Either way, the easiest way to achieve this is to buy two copies of books that I love – one to read, one to get signed. This is what happened when I met Aaron at Black Library Live in 2010. I had loved reading Soul Hunter and was an excited fangirl about getting to meet the author, right up until he refused to believe I’d read it because the book was in perfect nick.

After a five minute argument about whether or not I knew the first thing about Soul Hunter he grudgingly signed it, but all I could think of to say in response to his accusations was, “well, yeah, I did read it, and it was totally awesome and… and… yeah I’m going now.”

Classy comeback, eh?

Anyway I kept the book, even if I did shove it behind my signed copy of Ravenor in an attempt to avoid the PTSD flashbacks from occurring. I even held out on not reading anything else by Aaron for, oh, maybe a year. The problem was that I really did love Soul Hunter, so I had to finish the series. Then, of course, he was writing for the Horus Heresy as well, so I HAD to read his books. Somewhere along the line, I had to grudgingly admit he was a brilliant writer.

 Still, I consoled myself with the fact that I wouldn’t need to buy second copies of his books for signing ever again, and I’d never come out with an idiot fangirl comment along the lines of “Oh my Gods I loved this book, like, totally, and it is, like, amazing, and, like, so are you!”

(I did actually say that to Dan Abnett at one signing. I still cringe.)

Then, by some weird twist of luck, I ended up in a position to invite the Black Library to Chestermere, Alberta, and the Black Library Expo was born. Eight authors had agreed to take part – including Aaron.

Well, shit. I need to buy second copies of his novels after all.

I’m sure you can understand my concerns when I started emailing Aaron about various aspects of the Expo, talked him into doing a podcast and generally harassing him for help publicising the event. Turns out he’s actually quite a nice bloke who is also relatively helpful, especially if you email his wife when he ignores your requests for info.

The other plus side to having spoken to him on a few occasions is that the chance of me saying something completely dumb like “Ohmigod I like totally love you please sign my forehead!” is significantly lower than it would have been six months ago. Mind you, it isn’t at zero. It depends how much space Mr McNeill’s signature takes up. And at least he knows I’ve actually read his books now, so there is no real excuse to be mean to me this time. Not really.

So I’m not quite as worried as I was about having Aaron at the Expo. I mean, he’s a nice guy, right? And Katie will be there to keep him under control. He’s done a lot more of these events since he was mean to me, so I’m sure he knows the ropes by now.

I mean, it’s not like he’s going to mean to any of the people who come to get their books signed, or start arguments with his fans. 
No. Of course he wouldn’t.

Shit.

Painting Black – Um. Help.

I come to you, asking a favour. Guide me, if you will. Take pity on my poor (currently unshaven) head.

It’s about 6:50am and I really need to crash to catch a few hours’ sleep. Betrayer is going well – going great, in fact, which is lucky since I’ve only got a month to finish it. ‘The Underworld War’ for The Mark of Calth anthology is winding up to completion, too. It’s about the Gal Vorbak left on Calth after Kor Phaeron flees, and they’re slowly coming to terms with the fact that Lorgar isn’t coming to save them. They’re trapped there. They’re going to die there. Night after night, the Word Bearers lose more men to Ultramarine guns.

At this stage, I’m working about 12-14 hours a day, most of which involves going back over sentences I wrote earlier and deleting them before anyone realises I have no right to call myself an author. I don’t mention those hours to incite you to start secreting some kind of oil, ill-deserved sympathy juice from your empathy glands. No, no. I tell you purely so I’ve got an up-front excuse for blogging even less than usual.

I bought two copies of Dark Vengeance. I’m using over picking up a third, but I should probably calm the fuck down on that score, seeing as the Dark Angels in it will see absolutely no use. Some of the Cultists are earmarked for use as models for my Necromunda gang, the Dart Frogs. As you may recall, I play Necromunda. My gang rolled five (yes, five) ‘Slag’ territories, meaning my gang claims a slice of the Underhive the other gangs sniggeringly call Slaghaven. The whole turf is about as valuable and useful as a punch in the dick.

Anyway.

I’m crazy-tired. Excuse my rambling.

I come to you in need. With the new Citadel paints and the step by step guides in White Dwarf, I can actually risk painting rather than just basecoating and dipping. And, for once, I actually quite enjoy it, though I paint about as ‘quickly’ as I write, which is deeply unimpressive. But I’m having a load of trouble with black.

Black power armour, to be precise. I’ve got various reds down really well, but the black is kicking my teeth in.

What I’m after is that “so black that it’s blue” kinda blackness, as shown in these pics:

But, even more specifically, I’m looking for a guide (or advice) using the new Citadel paints, to keep things simple and achievable for my monkeyish paws.

If anyone can give me any advice, or a link, or something more useful than “You’re shit” and “Use different paints”, then you’ll live forever in the Hall of Valour, and when I inevitably ascend to Godhood over the world’s insomniacs, I guarantee* I’ll reward you by totally buying you a rollercoaster.

The kind of step-by-step guides I mean are the White Dwarf ones, like so, that tell you to Basecoat, Layer, Glaze, and so on:

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* Not a legally binding guarantee

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Prince of Crows Review & New Talos Artwork

Oh, man, just when I was thinking I’d have to kill someone with my replica Gears of War Lancer in order to actually have something to  post this week, this bad boy drops into my lap.

Ladies and gentlemen: Talos on the bridge of the Echo of Damnation, circa the beginning of Void Stalker, when he’s… ah, ‘communing’ with Ruven.

It’s by David Sondered (whom many of y’all will know from his Colrouphobia blog and his Deviantart site), and was commissioned by Ash Timms.

Um.

So.

What, exactly, am I supposed to say to this? It’s fucking breathtaking. You can see that. What is there for me to say except “SSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII—–” which is more or less what I said when I first saw it?

C’est incredible. 

And in much less thrilling news, to answer some of the endless questions I’ve been getting about ‘Prince of Crows’ in Shadows of Treachery, here’s a review up at the lovely Civilian Reader:

“Prince of Crows” by Aaron Dembski-Bowden

Night Lords! During the Horus Heresy! Written by Aaron Dembski-Bowden! There was really very little chance I wasn’t going to thoroughly enjoy this story, and thankfully the author does not disappoint.

“Prince of Crows” is set shortly after his previous Heresy short story – Lion el Johnson has just beaten Curze in single combat, inflicting horrific wounds on his brother, leaving the Night Haunter stuck in the apothecarium on board a Night Lords’ ship, their doctors and specialists at a loss for how to fix their Primarch. As their Primarch slowly (oh-so slowly) recovers from his wounds, the power/leadership vacuum leads the remaining members of the Kyroptera (the Night Lords’ leadership council) to squabble over the Legion’s next moves. Sevatar, the insouciant First Captain, puts his foot down and basically appoints himself head of the Legion until Curze recovers, dealing with dissent in a very… final manner. He’s condescending and infuriating towards his fellow captains, as well as his Primarch, which makes him very fun to read about and one of the most engaging characters in the whole series. He spouts plenty of quips throughout the story that made me chuckle. Despite the fact that he is an absolute sociopath – Dembski-Bowden actually uses the character’s inability to relate to others very well, creating an almost-outside-observer perspective.

As the traitor Legion least wedded to Horus’s cause, Sevatar isn’t remotely concerned about voicing his dissent and distaste for the Warmaster’s plans and the overall rebellion to begin with. The Night Lords will do what is necessary, and no more.

“Do I look like I care what the Warmaster wants of me?” Sevatar’s skullish faceplate stared with its red eye-lenses. “We never cared what the Emperor wanted of us. Why should we waste our lives out here in the back end of the galaxy, dancing to the Warmaster’s tune? … He has leashed us for three years. I am done with obedience. To the abyss with Horus and his arrogant whims. He is no better than the Emperor.”

The story also contains some more background on Konrad Curze, through his memories of his arrival and bloody rise to power on Nostramo. Sevatar is, however, absolutely the central focus of the story, and the author really pulls out all the stops for the story finale, which has some almost Avengers-esque action, and a brilliant (if also potentially stupid) gambit from our protagonist – all of which builds to a ferocious, awe-inspiring climax. And then a bit of a cliff-hanging end, which suggests there should be more to come.

And I really do hope we get some more Night Lords Heresy fiction, and especially stories written by Aaron Dembski-Bowden. No author has done a better job of fleshing out and realising any of the original Legions than this author, and that he’s done it with two traitor Legions (the Night Lords and Word Bearers) that could so easily have just been caricatures of Chaotic madness and excess… It’s pure genius.

I was a little confused by the inclusion of one character who was, as far as I’m aware, wholly new and sticks out a bit like a sore thumb: Alastor Rushel, the Raven? Who is he, and where did he come from? I have no memory of reading about him in any other Heresy fiction. Anybody else know? His presence offers up a whole host of questions, some of which could form the basis of really interesting fiction in the future.

The writing is superb, the characterisation the best in the book. The pacing is fluid, and the story expertly executed. A brilliant chapter to close this anthology.”

Neil Armstrong – He Dead

Neil Armstrong died today.

A few hours ago, or something.

He was, in every imaginable way, possessed of the Right Stuff. A hero of the human race, to the point where even his sweat stank with the musky spice of courage.

I, like every other useless cunt on this wonderful world, have nothing but depthless admiration for him, and I’ve felt the guilty shadow of emotional investment in his achievements, as if I had anything to do with them beyond the sheer dumb luck of being born in the same species. “We” made it to the moon, like I did anything 21 years before I was born, in a field I’m too much of a coward and an idiot to ever take part in.

What he did, and how he did it, will forever remain inscribed upon the sphere of human knowledge. A name that’ll never be forgotten.

I’m not ashamed to admit I sat in stunned, melancholy silence for a few minutes after I found out, and read several news articles hoping it wasn’t true – or that his final moments had somehow been as vital and enlightening and world-changing as those first steps on the moon. Like anyone without their head up their own arse, I’m mourning a hero.

And yet.

And yet.

It’s a sad testimony to me as person that this is actually the most emotional photo I’ve seen today, and it made me burst into tears. The kind of crying you do as a kid, when something is so insanely uplifting that losing your shit with a huge grin and leaking ocular saltwater is all your body will allow you to do. A rather more immediate reaction than my otherwise sincere mourning, and I’d like to apologise to Neil Armstrong’s ghost/zombie for the injustice done to him by my too-human heart.

Stop hugging him.

You’re making me cry.

At the Heresy Meeting…

Photos from the scene.

The thrills!

The spills!

Look how unimpressed Graham is. This one’s a keeper.