C.P.D. Harris's Blog, page 29

The Shadow Wolf Sagas: The Whores’s War 3.11

Murith and I hobbled away from the carving yard, after a brief conversation with the Master Butcher and the duty officer of The Watch. There was no sign of Ulfgorr and his two accomplices; I doubted that fate was kind enough to have show me his last day. If Ulfgorr was truly trying to kill me, then Wolki must have given the order. My former clan, or at least it’s leader, wanted me dead.

“Are you alright, Old Wolf?” asked Murith.

“The werewolf that tried to kill us was an old friend of mine.”

“I wondered. You seem pretty certain he isn’t dead.”

“He is Twiceborn and a Werewolf to boot. By Garm’s shining spear, I hope that he is slain, but I will not believe it until I see proof. Worse yet, Ulfgorr might threaten and intimidate on his own accord, but the Prime of the Shadow Wolves keeps him on a short leash. The leader of my former clan wants me dead.”

“Why wouldn’t he hire an assassin?”

Murith had a point. There were plenty of people willing to kill me in Myrrhn, and Wolki certainly had enough money. Although Wolki was not the greatest Prime the clan had ever had, he was still subtle enough to avoid recrimination and discovery if he used the Nightblades.

“I don’t know, Murith. Where are we going? I thought we agreed on ale.”

“Git’s house first. If your friend is still alive, I want more ammunition.”

“Wise.”

We walked in silence for a moment. The crowds parted and moved around us. We received a few curious glances, a limping watch officer and a battered Nordan, but most people just kept moving, flowing along the streets to reach their destinations. In a place like Myrrhn, remaining impersonal is considered polite. As we neared Git’s shop, Murith stopped and spoke up again.

“Ragnar. They were waiting for us there. They had to be. Do you think that this Ulfgorr killed Beauchamps?”

“Garm’s teeth!”

In truth, I had considered this, but dismissed it. What would Ulfgorr and Wolki care for the arcane workings of the Doxies’ Union in Myrrhn? It seemed odd and far fetched, but in truth, I was so out of touch with my homeland that I could not be certain at all.

“I don’t know Murith, but I cannot see any other explanation. Ulfgorr or one of his men killed Beauchamps and made it look like I might be behind the murder and then tried to ambush us when we followed the clues. I do not know what this portends, but it cannot be good.”

“Its not all bad, though.”

“How so?”

“They failed to kill us.”

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Election Night Update: Galadriel vs Sauron a toss up.

Ok, so in all seriousness, I wish that I was a US citizen right now so I could vote in what appears to be the most important election in recent times. I was going to write about how the presentation of latest wikileaks was all smoke and mirrors, but this is not the place to lecture my fans on such things three days before the bug event, especially since I am not an american citizen. You all know how I feel about Trump, and if I am stressed about the election then no doubt a person who is living through it might feel worse.

So instead, I though I would lighten things up with an election that is a little easier to understand.

Live from Middle-Earth

Melitot Took, Female Hobbit, Shire: This election cycle has been terrible. Orc raids and Nazgul on fell-beasts everywhere. How am I supposed to decide anything with this madness going on. Both candidates are terrible. I’m undecided. Sauron is an amazing jeweler and owns most of Mordor. He could really put that expertise to use and create jobs and no place has a stronger border than Mordor let me tell you. Still some people say that he has associations with Melkor. Meanwhile Galadriel has been running around Rivendell for a thousand years and what has that gotten us? Bottles full of light — how does that grow tomatoes in my gardens? Plus she held the ring once and got all scary! I think I’ll just stay home.

Thorin Mcguffinluvr, Male Dwarf, Lonely Mountain: Galadriel is an elf. Dwarves cannot vote for elves. My third cousin Gimli said he was going to vote for Galadriel and so I sent him an anonymous death-threat via grudge pigeon. We don’t vote for elves. They betrayed us once a long time ago and I am still personally offended. We don’t vote for elves; how bad can Sauron be?

Eowyn, Female Rohirim, Horseback: Really? REALLY? I killed one of his most trusted henchmen. Sauron is worse than Saruman. Why are we even pretending these two are equivalent? Wait is that a ring on your finger?

Spleenripper, Male Uruk-Hai, Raiding on the border of Rohan: I am pumped about this election. Finally we have a candidate that represents what I am feeling. Sauron will solve all of our problems and make Middle-Earth great again. I mean look what he has done with Mordor!

Scatt At’Thems, Male Half-Troll, Avoiding the sun: Sauron is a master of manipulation. I know this because, I too, am a master of manipulation. Once you understand that how the world works, you realize that only a few people are truly awake and understand the power of manipulation. Galadriel is obviously asleep. Sauron, on the other hand, literally made the Rings of Power; he understands manipulation. Only someone who is awake to the power of manipulation can truly rule effectively. So what if he casts the land into eternal darkness, that won’t harm me .

Bloodtusks, Female Orc, Mordor: So the eye of Sauron can’t penetrate the voting booth, right?

Saruman, Male Wizard, Corrupting the Shire: I have seen the power of the One Ring. Neither candidate can be trusted to wield it. I personally tried to keep it from Sauron and know he wishes to see me hung from the gates of Mordor and flayed. He will likely end the world as we know it and cast us all into eternal darkness and Torment. I know, because that was my plan as well.  Still, I must endorse Sauron because of Galadriel’s stance on Ents.

Treebeard: Sauron hates Ents. Galadriel does not. Ents don’t mind waiting in line.

The Shadow Wolf Sagas: The Whores’s War 3.10

Hello! this is my weekly serial, written raw as a writing exercise.

You can find the first post in the series here.

Last week’s post is here.

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Instinctively, I rolled away from the snarling, screaming ball of white flame that had engulfed Ulfgorr. Gaining my feet I turned to face him, only to find the flaming werewolf was still chasing me. His lust for blood over-ruled pain or fear of death, and he swung a blazing claw at me. I could smell the fat of his flesh cooking and yet somehow he still came at me. I kept backing away, as much from the intensity of the blazing white heat than desire to avoid those scything talons.

Ulfgorr screamed and lunged as the fire consumed his fur. His fiery jaws looked like something from a children’s tale. I jumped back and smashed my axe into his nose. He roared and lunged again, forcing me to leap over a cart, which he then upended.

When I recovered and looked over the smoldering cart, Ulfgorr was racing away, howling. I heart the twang of Murith’s arbalest and watched a bolt leapt between them like a racing razorhawk. It hit Ulfgorr square in the back, and he stumbled, but did not fall.

The fire continued to consume the werewolf’s flesh, and I ran after him. He kept moving despite the blaze, smashing carts and doors aside like a drunken titan, and I realized that he was headed for the water.

Even on fire, he was too fast for me to catch. I swore as he half-jumped, half-fell into the water and rushed to the edge of the dock. I could see ripples, but the waters of Burning Hill are far too polluted to see below the surface.

Mumbling about fate, I made my way back to Murith, who was bandaging her leg while taking shelter in a cart. Workers were eyeing us from the other buildings, wondering at the commotion.

“How is it?”

“I’ll live,” said Murith. “Is it dead?”

“Until I see a body, I’m going to assume the bastard is still alive. What did you hit him with?”

“Something that Git gave me,” answered Murith. “It was during the Cinder incident. He said the heat and light was like the sun. I figured it would work. Is it true that only silver can kill a werewolf, then?”

“I have no idea what can kill Ulfgorr. He’s twiceborn, like me, and also a werewolf, but not like other werewolves among my people. I suspect dismemberment and decapitation would do the trick though. If he is alive, he won’t be back until he heals though.”

“How wonderfully reassuring.”

“They don’t call me Joyfang. Can you walk?”

“Aye.”

“Ale?”

“Get me a keg.”

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Teaser Tuesday

Tis Tuesday and time for another teaser. This week it is an excerpt from my new Shadow Wolf book, Red Fangs, which first appeared on my Thursday night serial.

This bit is something I added during re-writes; the appearance of a foil for Ragnar who plays a bigger role in the 3rd book.

At night Guthus’s Ladder was poorly lit and the ruins provided many dark alcoves that could shelter those who might wish to rob or harm passersby. That several notorious muders had occurred here in centuries past, as well as rumours of a haunting, did nothing to dispel its nightime reputation. In my experience, it acted as a shelter for those who could not find some better place to rest their heads than an ambush point. I had no fear of the place in the dark.

And yet as I approached the looming stone bulk of the place, my nose caught a scent among the nightime cornucopia. It was out of place, and yet familiar, speaking of fur and blood, and madness. I knew that scent well enough, and it filled me with cold dread. I knew the bearer of that scent and what he portended.

Stopping in the narrow street that led to Guthus’s Ladder, I scanned the shadows. There was nothing I could see in the wooden shacks nearby or in the shadows between. The deeper darkness in the ruined tower was impenetrable even to my eyes. I sniffed the air and listened, extending my senses.

The scent was faint but I want not imagining. I could hear music from far behind me and a cart in the distance but nothing nearby. Nothing. Not a breath. Not the sounds of sleepers. Not the faint creep of a rat skulking in the alleys. Nothing of the sounds that one would expect in such a place at such a time. I drew my weapons and faced the ruined tower squarely, ready to fight and to die.

“Ulfgorr, come out where I can see you.”

My voice shattered the stillness. I heard a scrape from within the tower and tensed. I saw a shadow move in the torchlight. I shifted my grip on axe and hammer.

I waited. Nothing else happened. I heard a sound from a nearby alley, a cobblefox or a rat. The scent was gone.

I waited to be certain and then ascended the ancient staircase, weapons still in hand, ill at ease.

3D Printing and Games

I came across an interesting website today, Heroforge, which lets you design a miniature using a simple 3d interface, including equipping it, posing it, and creating facial expression. Try it out.

3D printing is going to revolutionize tabletop gaming.

The ability to create, pose, and then order a miniature in the material that you want is already impressive. Once 3D printers become more common as household items, printing your own miniatures at home for your games instead of ordering them becomes a game changer. 3D printing at current speeds is slow, but 90 minutes is even faster than same day shipping (and cheaper).
Customization is easier. In traditional miniatures design putting a new set of armour, a new pose, or a new weapon on the same miniature can require a new sculpt of the miniature or modifications that are beyond casual players. Using software people can get creative much more easily. Experts will be able to create even more complex modifications is less time with starting points that are closer to their final vision.
As the price on 3D printed figures and printers drops, it will be easier to field larger armies in miniatures games.
Rare component that exists as digital files do not necessarily have to go out of print. This means that less popular factions will not always get the shaft over the long term in wargames.
In tabletop RPGs that use miniatures it can be very hard to find a mini that looks like your character. Now you can design a model that looks how you want the character to look, print it, and update it as the character grows in power and changes equipment, style, and even attitude. As the tech improves so will the level of detail possible.
Even little quality of life improvements will make tabletop gaming better; how often have you lost a custom component or wanted another? Soon you might be able to buy a file and print it on your 3d printer with a relatively short delay.
On the production side it will reduce risk for certain types of gaming operations. Small, custom games become more viable if they are sold via digital license and the components are printed by the consumer.
The ability to print small, complex items will greatly enhance creative cosplay as well.

I am really excited by the possibilities that 3d printing will bring to gaming. For the first time I could see creating a Bloodlust boardgame that allow the players to creature their own custom gladiators after they get used to the basics of the game. With this new opportunity the outflow of creativity could be massive and the potential savings and accessibility could bring many new people to the table for game nights.

I look forward to meeting at the local gaming cafe and playing the newest games with those cool custom minis we just printed out, one day soon.

The Shadow Wolf Sagas: The Whores’s War 3.9

Hello! this is my weekly serial, written raw as a writing exercise.

You can find the first post in the series here.

Last week’s post is here.

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Ulfgorr the Werewolf came at us in an explosion of broken wood and monstrous rage. It is one thing to know that such a thing exists, but quite another to be suddenly confronted with one. Especially this one.

In this form, Ulfgorr is even more unsettling than when he walks as a man. His features were part man, part wolf as one might expect, but there was something else in the mix, something nightmarish. He was long-limbed and skeletal thin, covered charcoal fur punctured by spines in places, with claws like curved knives, and a gaping maw full of teeth that were unnatural in both shape and multitude. Only his eyes remain recognizable, yellow-irised and full of madness.

I was dismayed with the speed and power with which he moved, smashing through the doors as if they did not exist and covering half the distance between us before my hands reached my weapons and the words escaped my mouth.

“RUN!”

Ulfgorr is feared among my Clan for a reason. He exists for only one purpose; to destroy those who have displeased Rathgrim. Even a Twiceborn champion has reason to be cautious aroundsuch a thing.

I stepped back as he scrambled over a cart, thankfully ignoring Murith. His limbs had deceptively long reach, and his talons scythed toward me, ripping up cobbles. I kept backing up, wishing that I had brought my greatsword. A set of slavering jaws, smelling of blood, snapped shut near my leg. I rolled under a cart. Ulfgorr smashed it aside and pounced. I scrambled away, but he caught me and I was sent sprawling by a blow that slashed through my sturdy kingsmail and raked my ribs bloody.

I smashed into the side of a shed and surged to my feet, but Ulfgorr was too swift. With irresistible strength he massive, sinewy form slammed into me. We burst through the wall of the shed. I twisted desperately, avoiding those reaching claws, turning and slashing at a long forearm with my axe. The blade bit as I backpedaled from the massive clawing form of my foe. I ducked another slash, then another, slammed my hammer into Ulfgorr’s knee and then dove past him, out into the open.

I almost made it.

But he was too fast and too strong. Ulfgorr lunged through the wreckage, growling, and snatched my leg. With a single, powerful motion he lifted me from the ground, dangling my upside down. I kicked and slashed at his arm with my axe, but the beast gave a kind of chuckle and flexed the talons of his free hand where I could see them.

“Garm–” I began to intone.

“Clear!” shouted Murith as she mounted a wagon five paces away, leveling her arbalest at Ulfgorr.

The werewolf looked at the dwarf woman with a puzzled expression. Ulfgarr is not used to being defied. I took the opportunity to swing my hammer as hard as I could, up and between his legs. Ulfgorr dropped me. I hit the ground at rolled, feeling the heat of his maw and the wind of his claws as he close on me. Then I heard the twang of Murith’s weapon.

That won’t do anything, I thought.

Then there was a bright flash, and a rush of heat from behind me, followed by an inhuman scream of pain.

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Teaser Tuesday

It’s Tuesday and time for yet another teaser. This week it is from my upcoming book, Red Fangs (The Shadow Wolf Sagas #2). It is still a WIP, very raw and rough.

“Is this how the people of Cliffshadow operate now, turning on their own families for coin?”

“What do you know of this place, Nordan?”

“Enough to know that you have overstepped, Curran. I have lived in Myrrhn for longer than you’ve drawn breath; I know the streets.”

“I’ve heard of you, Ragnar the Exile,” said Curran. “Is it true that you are ascended?”

“It is.”

“Here that boys? Ascended blood is real rare, I wager; this one will be worth a lot to our friends. The one who takes him earns a set of fangs like mine.”

The thing about the Shadow Wolf clan is that we hear better and see better at night than most men. That goes double for me after crawling out of my own pyre. Thus, while the cut-throat gliding through the shadows behind me had every reason to think he would live up to his name he met with my fist instead. Or rather he met with the plate of metal over my fist, and crumpled in a heap. My eyes never left Curran’s.

“I am Ragnar Grimfang of the Shadow Wolves, I am twiceborn, called Bloodaxe and Nighteyes, I slew Torvul and Magni Red-sails,” I intoned, my voice carrying in the night. Sometimes a little theatre can strike fear into ones opponents. I honestly hoped the other boys would run, my only care was for Curran. “I am here for my friend Delilah, who clawed her way out of this place with will and hard work, only to be betrayed, slaughtered, and sold by someone she trusted. Your guilt is written on your fangs Curran. I have come for you, and any who are foolish enough to get in my way.”

To punctuate my speech a low growl sounded from the dark behind me.

Idea: Focus Crystals

This is an idea for a book series that I will likely start writing in 2018, after my third Shadow Wolf Book (The Whore’s War) comes out.

I have gone on about industrial age fantasy before. My current favourite book series that fits the idea is Brian McClellan’s flintlock fantasy which begins with Promise of Blood. I believe that we will see more and more industrial age settings as the genre branches out. I can even see it becoming one of the dominant forms of the the fantasy genre. Steampunk has done well, but the industrial age is larger than victoriana.

The Focus Crystal

The idea behind the Focus Crystal is to combine the industrial age with fantasy magic. The crystal is a specially treated mineral that converts concentration into magical energy that can be used to power magical effects, or as a mundane source of energy.

Key Points

The Focus Crystal works better for people with stronger will and better concentration.
The Focus Crystal can store energy for a limited period of time. Small crystals lose half their stored energy every 15 minutes while the largest and most elaborately made have a storage half-life of 24 hours.
The energy from a focus crystal can power a spell. Originally they were used by hereditary sorcerers to supplement their magical abilities, but it was eventually discovered that the energy could be used for more mundane uses like electricity in the real world. Eventually it was discovered that it could be used by a non-sorcerer to power a magical effect when combined with a spell plate.
Focus Crystals can be mass produced from materials extracted from the earth.

In the setting I am considering Focus Crystals undermine the nobility, who claim power through hereditary sorcerous power, by making magic more accessible.

The working title for the series is End of Kings.

The Shadow Wolf Sagas: The Whores’s War 3.8

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“Something wrong Ragnar?”

Murith’s hand rested on her crossbow. We stood in the slaughter yard of the Ramstag carving house. The iron grating on the floor reminded me of the little arena in the Gemarkand residence and Lily’s game. The smell reminded me of Cinder’s warehouse; an ocean of blood, but here it was tempered by smoke and salt. There were entire warehouses full of ice and carcasses here.

“In the North we still hunt our meat or slaughter the herd animals ourselves. It is sacred. I wonder if this will come to us if our cities grow to be like Myrrhn in size.”

“Your people will have to stop fighting all the time for that to happen,” snarked Murith.

“Or breed more… shouldn’t there be more people around?”

“The Carving House is mostly closed at night. I did not want to disturb the workers.”

I nodded.

“Let’s find the carts.”

We found the carts near the warehouses where they stored the meat. There were a dozen ready and more than a hundred in a nearby building.

“Where are the horses?”

“They likely keep the horses off-premise or have a deal with one of the other guilds. The blood and the sounds would spook some animals,” answered Murith. “Well does it smell familiar?”

“I think that this is the place, let me get a closer look at the carts.”

The scent was definitely familiar. The problem was that we were not alone. I could sense several men lurking, ready to pounce. I signed this to Murith, using the silent language that we used in our time adventuring in the ruins below the Undercity. I wanted to get close to the carts because they would provide some measure of cover against arrows and bolts.

Our attackers were smarter than most. They moved before we got close to the carts. I saw a flash of movement, which prompted me to dive out of the way. Something hit my shoulder, and my roll turned into more of a sprawl.

The twang of Murith’s Arbalest rang out, followed by the sound of a thud. I came to my feet, turning. Something whispered through the air beside my face. Drawing my weapons, I kept moving and took stock of the situation.

Murith was in the back of a cart, shielded while she reloaded. There were two men with bows firing at from the shadows, one on either side of the carts. They were using greatbow, firing arrows as long as my arm. They were big men. I could smell poison on the arrows that fell near me and something else, feral and dangerous. I felt fear, cold and serpentine, knot it my belly — not fear for myself, but fear for my friend.

I waited, watching. The shadows moved, I ducked and dropped by axe, my hand swiftly finding a slender handle. I whipped the knife toward one of the bowmen in a smooth motion, and turned to Murith.

“RUN!”

Then the doors of one of the buildings burst open, showering the courtyard with splinters and something, huge, hairy, all teeth and claws charged toward me.

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Teaser Tuesday

This week’s post is from my WIP: Red Fangs (The Shadow Wolf Sagas #2)

In this novel, Ragnar visits many of the more out of the way slums in Myrrhn, in search of a murderer masquerading as a revolutionary. As you can tell, it is still very raw, but take a look at Cliffshadow.

I went in to the slums of Myrrhn dressed for war. In hindsight, twas not the best of ideas, but I was angry and wanted to make a statement. People who crawl out of Cliffshadow or West Junker and make something of themselves are special. That is doubly true of those who do so without exploiting their fellows, like Delilah.

I knew it was her brother. As sure as the pack alpha knows which member of the herd they will cleave off from the rest; I knew that the brother was my man. Who else would Delilah risk herself for? She was too smart to fall for some handsome thug who would lure her into an alley and definitely wise enough to steer clear of assassins, thieves, and pimps.

The Cliffshadow Slum clung to sides of three of Myrrhn’s larger islands. It reminded me of the mold and fungi growing on the sides of old forest trees: ugly and slime-ridden, but hardy and full of a vitality and vibrancy at odds with its surroundings.

Dwellings of all shapes and sizes spilled out from the cliffs, a mad honeycomb of wooden shacks, slate hovels, and even shining houses built from discarded copper roofing tiles. There was no rhyme or reason to the place, save that every space that could fit a house would have at least two.

The narrow walkways were crowded as I descended into Cliffshadow. Beggars, labourers, and ill-starred tradesmen mingled with would-be assassins and very real cutpurses. Dirty children, too young for the pickpocket gangs, played in the street, their joyous laughter at odds with my mood and the desperate eyes of some of those around them. As fate weaves, I suppose.

People parted before me. A fully armoured Nordan, obviously angry, is not someone that even the most mindless ganger with a chip on his shoulder wants to pick a fight with, at least not a fair one. It suited me just fine.

In the final re-write I will emphasize the ramshackle nature of the place, but also call out the inhabitants and their activities a little better.