C.P.D. Harris's Blog, page 43

The Shadow Wold Sagas: Red Fangs 2.35

Shadow Wolf time! This is part of my weekly writing exercise, written raw and rough. The first story arc, Blade Breaker, can be found here. The first story of this arc, Red Fangs, can be found here. The previous week’s post can be found here.

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It took Git several long minutes to clean the blinding serpent’s venom from my eyes with the cloth to his satisfaction. Berkhilda was kneeling above the stricken vampire woman that we had rescued. As I watched she pulled a heavy wrought flask from her side, unstoppered it and poured red liquid down the woman’s throat. The scent of blood, magnified by great potence, reached my nose. The woman stirred, and the brutal wounds on her shoulders where she had been pinned to the wall above the tub began to close. A moan escaped her lips and she looked around, more alert now, less terrified.

“Thank Vradule,” she said.

Berkhilda frowned “It would be better to thank the gods of the North, Furis and Skygge. They had more to do with your rescue I wager than the god of blood.”

The woman smiled up at the dour warrior. “Perhaps it was he that brought you here, kinswoman, after all you are one of his chosen people as well, are you not?”

“I do not count myself among them,” said Berkhilda, standing.

“Do not be offended,” said the woman. “You pray to your gods, I will follow mine. Please forgive me. I am Zavra.”

“I am Berkhilda Furisdottir of Clan Bloodaxe.”

“You are Lazar Vintul’s daughter are you not, Berkhilda?”

“I am,”

Git was finished. I saw Murith examining the various devices around the room. It would not do to trigger any of Cinder’s traps. The vampiric cobra had left us battered and bruised, and with daylight breaking outside Berkhilda and Zavra would have trouble moving around outside. I stood up and raised my voice.

“I am Ragnar Skyggeson, called Grimfang,” I said. “We have some questions for you Zavra. Firstly, do you know why Cinder brought you here?”

“Cinder?” said Savra, her face twisting. “Who would name their progeny after that old apostate? I was on my way home from a feeding party in Redsilks when we were ambushed. I lost my guards in the confusion. Some massive oaf dragged me here. I remember going through parts of the undercity. They… they speared me to the wall. It was a big one and a smaller one, both hooded. I passed out. I am not very good with pain. They gathered my blood and fed it to others down here. They planned to turn a bunch of them. When I last woke, everyone was gone, except the snake. It was… it was going to eat me… I know it! Thank Vradule you came.”

“Do you know why they wanted you?”

“I… I have strong blood.”

“Strong blood and a weak will,” said Berkhilda evenly.

“Not everyone is a fighter,” said Zavra, looking away.

“Strong blood?” I asked.

“Don’t you know anything Ragnar?” said Git, looking up from where he was examining the tub full of blood. “Some vampires have more potent blood than others. That trait is passed on by the vampire who creates them. Something about those who have it changes the blood they drink. It is fascinating stuff really.”

I looked at Berkhilda, she shrugged.

“So he wanted you for your blood?” I asked Zavra.

“The big one said that it would look bad on the watch if they killed me,” said Zavra, lips trembling. “I remember that distinctly. The two of them, just sitting there, talking about me like I was already dead. It was horrible.”

“What about–” my question was interrupted as the enormous serpent suddenly began to melt, flesh sloughing of bone, bone loosing shape, and both turning to blood before our very eyes.

“A blood construct,” said Berkhilda, her eyes wide.

Tuesday Teaser

This week, I’m going all the way back to Bloodlust: A Gladiator’s Tale, the first book in the Domains of the Chosen Series

Cover for Bloodlust: A Gladiator’s Tale. Click for amazon link…

“Chosen’s balls girl, you look angry,” drawled tall, flame-haired Karmal, trying to divine the source of her friend’s irritation. She was keen for the drama that usually followed when Sadira lost her temper. “Has some little tart dared to piss you off?”

“No Karmal,” answered small, bright eyed Vintia, pointing at Gavin “She’s trying to get the attention of that guy.”

“Who? Him?” said Karmal, trying to divine why Sadira, her friend and rival was interested in the figure below them. “He’s a Gladiator, but he doesn’t look like your type, Sadira; he’s not important enough for us to know and not attractive enough for us to care.”

“I think he’s handsome enough Karmal, but you know Sadira’s just angry that she can’t get his attention,” responded Vintia, snatching a small piece of honey-dipped, pickled ginger from a passing tray “He seems more interested in food than anything else. Maybe you could use that to your–”

“Good idea,” interrupted Sadira, snatching a sticky piece of ginger from the same tray and hurling it at Gavin’s head with a deft flick of her wrist. For a woman of her skills it was an easy shot and she hit her moving target perfectly, the honeyed ginger sticking to his cheek with a wet smack. Vintia’s mouth hung open in shock, while Karmal let out a delighted laugh that could be heard over the background chatter. Sadira waited for the man to turn, a thrill of anticipation quickening her pulse.

Gavin felt something splatter just below his eye, sticking to his face. A strong smell of ginger and a distinctive smacking sound accompanied this odd sensation. He heard Karmal’s laugh then, which sounded very malicious to him. He raised his hand to his cheek, which remained sticky even after he removed the offending hors-d’oeuvre. He looked around, colour rising to his cheeks, deeply humiliated at being the sudden centre of attention. His immediate thought was that someone was trying to humiliate him.

A lithe girl next to him raised her hand to cover her laughter. Gavin snarled, looking around, and his eyes were drawn inexorably to Sadira. When their eyes met, Gavin, full of anger, met her piercing eyes did not look away. Beauty did not matter to him then. He squared his shoulders, cloaking himself with all the dignity he could muster, ignoring everyone but his assailant. A long moment passed as the two stared at each other across the crowded room. A shiver ran down Sadira’s spine. She felt suddenly childish, embarrassed by her rash and mean-spirited behaviour.

This little morsel leapt to mind because it was my stepson’s birthday today (technically it is still Tuesday somewhere) and his grandmother took him to a local restaurant, the Old Mill. Despite never having the pleasure of eating there, the Old Mill was such a fixture of my childhood, riding past it every day on the bus, that it made its way into the Campus Martius.

This scene is where Gavin and Sadira meet for the first time. Gavin is as socially awkward as a young Gladiator can get while Sadira is a bratty teenage queen bee at the time. Queue fireworks!

The Two Diablos: D&D, Game Mechanics, and Design Philosophy PART ONE

This is an article about game systems, using one of my favourite game series to illustrate some comments about game theory.

I love both Diablo II and Diablo III, having put hundreds of hours into both. Recently I started playing III again with my girlfriend after work, just as a way of winding down. Luckily for us little Ronan is not offended by this past-time and seems content to feed, sleep, or coo at us from his play-mat as long as we don’t run too long.

Alpha gamers are very vocal about how much they like D2 over D3, and Blizzard has been very forthcoming lately about mistakes and theorycraft around the game. Fans have deconstructed the game as well, but Blizzard’s analysis is very metric driven, which makes it interesting to me.

In both Diablos the player takes control of a single character and runs them through a series of procedurally generated levels. The view is isometric (top down — action figure view if you will) and the main action has the player using various powers to mow down huge hordes of enemies and collect loot: money, modifiers, junk, and powerful magical items. The story in both games is about the player and their allies stopping the lords of hell, usually led by Diablo, and other forces from destroying the world. It is seriously epic stuff, but the story is somewhat convoluted to accommodate game length.

While the story, user interface, and basic elements of both games are very similar there is a deep divide between game mechanics and the driving philosophies behind them. This is why many players hate Diablo III with a passion; if those mechanical changes take away what you loved about D2, very little will make you love D3 — the games are just too different to gamers with an eye for mechanics.

Interestingly, this phenomena reminds me of the fragmentation of the D&D audience with the release of 4th Edition, which was an enormous departure from previous editions of the game. Even more interestingly, some of the major shifts in Diablo III are also present in D&D 4th, especially structuring characters around an all-important primary attribute and the role of loot.

Let’s break down some of the major differences between the two games.

Levels

D2: Diablo II had a level cap of 99. Each time you leveled up you were given a skill point and a few attribute points. The skill tree had a great deal of breadth, as well as serious depth with 20 base levels in most skills. It could take you some time to max out the few skills used by your build.

Monster and item levels did not progress as far as player levels for the most part. Once you reached the final act on hell difficulty monsters rarely got more difficult. This allowed players to outlevel content that might be otherwise hard for their build to overcome.
Reaching level 99 and finishing your skill build was a huge deal. Quests often added extra skills and attribute points, ensuring that players wanted to finish all of them on every level.


D3: Diablo III has a level cap of 70 (although it has paragon levels, you don’t get new skills beyond 70). Each time you level up your stats increase and you get a new rune, skill, or skill slot. You don’t have any permanent choices to make, and you can switch your skills out with ease.

Level in D3 serves an entirely different purpose than it does in D2. It mostly serves as a throttle for gear and a way to slowly distribute skills and powers over the early parts of the game so the player does not drown in choice and has some sense of progression.
There is less sense of building a character in D3 because of the way level is used. You certainly would not see people rolling different types of Paladins — you can just change skills whenever you want, which is both good and bad (also very much like D&D 4th)




Attributes

D2: In Diablo II each attribute functioned more or less the same for every character. While you could gimp your barbarian by maxing INT instead of STR, you sure had more mana. This could actually be useful for some builds. This was compounded by the fact that not all sources of damage depended on a prime attribute, often the level of the skill made the largest difference in damage done.

The balance between player choice in attributes was measure against the chance of making mistakes or just confusion as to what each build required.
Attributes offered a minimal, but impactful point of customization, both on gear and on leveling up. Sadly, like much of D2 they were not explained well enough for casual players to get it.


D3: Diablo III has a very rigid sense of character attributes. Players want to maximize the primary attribute for their class and vitality for hit points, and can safely ignore the other two beyond minimal levels.

Attributes are mostly increased through items, increasing the importance of gear.
Attribute customization is minimal. You want as much in your primary and vitality as possible and can only really get it from gear.
There is no common resource pool — each class has its own way of powering effects, removing the need for balancing mana for your build.
The Primary Attribute Mechanic when combined with the Damage Per Second system are what I consider to be one of the cardinal flaw of Diablo III, which I will have to explain in a later post. Just keep in mind how rigid the system is — there really is no choice here, beyond optimizing gear. What is the point in having four attributes when my character is really ever going to use two?

As you can see, there is a huge difference in just two basic systems. In next week’s post I will cover Gear, Damage, Scaling, and Abilities, before delving into the differences in reasoning and where they come from.

The Shadow Wolf Sagas: Red Fangs 2.34

Shadow Wolf time! This is part of my weekly writing exercise, written raw and rough. The first story arc, Blade Breaker, can be found here. The first story of this arc, Red Fangs, can be found here. The previous week’s post can be found here.

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“Why would Cinder imprison a bloodsucker?” asked Murith, eyeing Berkhilda. She was still enraged for the death of her squad, no doubt blaming herself, and could not abide the presence of a vampire, even a friendly one as a reminder.

“Bloodsuckers like myself do not support Cinder in any incarnation,” said Berkhilda. “The war he wants will destroy us all. It seems that this Cinder has taken up the old ways and started threatening those among us who do not support his vision. I am not surprised. The sooner we leave him to the tender mercy of the sun, the better.”

“I can get behind that,” muttered Murith, seemingly mollified.

“Speaking of the sun, let’s get moving,” I said, “Are you ready Git?”

“Yes,”

The Goblin alchemist finished loading a vial into a long metal cylinder with a nozzle on one and a pump handle on the other. I was skeptical about the device, but Git insisted that this would be worth the time it took to load.

Concentrating my senses, I crept to a window near the source of the crying with Git following in my wake. Murith covered us from behind with her crossbow, while Berkhilda, too big and heavily armoured to sneak, waited to spring into action. The window was dark and set with steel bars. The bars were new and expensive looking. I could see scratches in the old stonework on the other side of the bars and shattered glass. My neck hairs tingled.

Git, Murith, and I all knew sign language, basic stuff, from our adventuring days. Stealth matters when creeping through pirate lairs, old tombs, and daemon-infested caves and being able to sign meant we could communicate silently.

“Get ready to get behind me” I signed to Git as he approached the bars. I did not trust the weeping Vampire, nor the darkness behind the window.

Git nodded his understanding. He nimbly crept over the rubble near the window and then aimed the nozzle of his potion cylinder at it. He pumped twice, spraying a liquid on the bars. Immediately the liquid began to bubble, and before my eyes the bars began to rust. The smell was awful. Git ducked behind me as I prepared to strike the weakened bars.

Taking one last look at the window for traps, silently wishing we had a professional thief with us, I hefted my hammer. I braced myself and swung, aiming to smash through as many of the bars as I could. Glass shattered and metal gave way with a tortured groan, with two bars flying into the dark landing noisily.

I looked at Git, showing my appreciation, and then made to slip through the opening. The goblin stopped me with a hand on the shoulder, gesturing that I should cover my eyes. He then tossed a small glass orb contain two separated glass liquids into the dark. The resulting flash was so bright that I could see it even with my eyes covered.

“Go!” he yelled, and I swung my legs through the window and dropped, pulling shards of glass and rusty metal with me.

I landed in a large room. The whimpering vampire was held in place by spikes through her limbs and shoulders, pinned to a wall like a butterfly in a collection. Blood oozed out of the wounds and collected in a tub at her feet. The tub had a spout in it that was starting to drip onto a scale; part of some trap It looked like. But it was not the vicious nature of her imprisonment that had the vampire woman’s attention; that belonged to the enormous serpent that lay coiled before her.

The snake filled half the room with coils as thick as a small ale cask and a huge head, hooded like a cobra. It hissed, exposing deadly fangs, as I faced it, weapons held ready. Behind me I heard Berkhilda trying to negotiate the window, but it was too small for her armoured frame. I waited, watching the snake’s posture. Would it lunge and bite? Would it try to envelope me in crushing coils?

It spat. I was not quick enough to escape the splash of venom entirely. Ignoring the pain and panic that followed as some splashed in my eyes, I dove to the side. I felt the wind of something pass and heard the jaws snap shut as I rolled away. It hissed again. My hearing is far better than a man’s and the sound gave me all I needed to position myself. The serpent lunged. I heard it move and brought my weapons down over my head just as it struck me. The fangs lanced into my side, like daggers, filling me with fire. I felt the impact of my weapons as I roared with red fury. The snake  shook loose almost immediately as my axe and the crow’sbeak on my hammer pierced through the scales, sending me tumbling. I hit a wall and fell to the floor, numb, still blind, and struggling to get up.

The snake let out a hiss of alarm. I heard Berkhilda bellow and the sound of her axe whistling through the air. Wet blood splattered on my face. Unable to see my opponent I stumbled forward and began to hack at the coils. I heard the twang of Murith’s arbalest strings, and the din of battle filled the room. Moments later something knocked me onto my back. By the time I regained my feet the room was quieter. My vision swam.

“I can’t see,” I said.

“It’s ok Ragnar, we all made it,” said Git, nearby. “Let me help you while Murith and the big vampire help the captive.”

“Thank Skygge,” I said. “I’m glad you through that flash glob in here my friend. I’d hate to have been blinded before I knew what I was fighting.”

Git wiped a medicated cloth over my eyes. It smelled of something like onions. My eyes watered, but my vision cleared. I saw Berkhilda lifting the woman down as Murith began to bind her wounds.

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Teaser Tuesday

This week’s teaser is from Bloodlust: Red Glory, the fourth book in my Domains of the Chosen series. Red Glory takes the action back to the arena, with the whole book covering a single Grand Championship tournament from multiple perspectives.

Sapphire Kiss is one of the Gladiators who fights in the tournament. Because of the way that she has struggled to keep in the limelight, few take her seriously. Her internal conflict is shame at hurting her reputation as a serious fighter to make it to the tournament and a determination to show everyone that she is not just here as a curiosity to titillate the crowds.

She has a really cool weapon.

And yet her desire for glory did not dim. Desperate, Sapphire Kiss ingratiated herself with the powerful and influential, hoping to find a path back to prominence. She became a fixture at the parties thrown by the Blues and other influential patrons of the Arenas. There she had attracted the attention of Chosen Silvius himself. She had thought him handsome then, and fooled herself into believing that it was she who was seducing him. After they became lovers, she had been more than pleased when he asked her to become one of the founding fighters of his Skyclad League. She promoted the League, joined in the legendary revels, created an arena persona that was far more flashy than fearsome; All to stay relevant, to keep people interested in her. All to stay in the game.

Sapphire Kiss was not ashamed of the nudity. In her view, sex had always been deeply intertwined with The Great Games. If two fighters were equal in skill and story the crowd would always favour the better looking. The problem with the Skyclad League was that sex and titillation were the real focus, eclipsing all else. Her skill as a fighter was a barely a consideration. It was masturbatory, in every sense.

Even the matches themselves had a lascivious quality to them. And lately, some of the newer fighters joining the League were being put up against beasts that seemed more interested in rape than battle. It was only a matter of time before Sapphire Kiss ended up facing some sort of tentacled horror with the crowd jeering as it tried to probe her. And yet she was never able to bring herself to quit, especially since she was the most popular Gladiatrix in this new League. Anything to stay relevant, to claim her chance at the big prize.

Perhaps she should have joined a troupe of fighters for the Green or Orange Factions and worked her way back into the crowd’s graces that way. It would have been more pure, but far less certain.

Sapphire Kiss wondered if Crimson Rod had the same sort of mental crisis. She doubted it. The men in the Skyclad League rarely seemed to care. Then again most men admired and looked up to promiscuous males, while Sapphire Kiss was routinely denounced as a slut by both men and women.

And yet she had remained in the Skyclad League, and even excelled within it. She had always wanted to fight in the Grand Championships and now she had the chance. Why then, had the arrival of the letter announcing her selection, accompanied by a handwritten note from Chosen Silvius, inviting her to attend a “banquet” in her honour, filled her with sadness. Was she that ill at ease with what he had become?

“I suppose we can add self-pity to my list of flaws,” she muttered, then shook her head.

The trumpets sounded. It was time for her to fight. She looked in the mirror one last time. She had to admit that she looked alluring. How could any man resist that ass? Her armour consisted of a series of leather straps on her arms and legs, set with metal plates that she could use to parry attacks. Light armoured fighters had to rely on avoiding attacks. A wider, thicker plate protected her waist and further emphasized her hips. Shoulder plates and a thick iron collar with a large ring at the throat rounded out the look. No doubt many of her fans dreamt of attaching a chain to that ring.

 The dark leather and black metal contrasted nicely with her tanned skin. Solvanar had superb beaches and far more sun than Krass.

Satisfied, Sapphire Kiss squared her shoulders resolutely, ready to face the crowd, to make them hers. A small smile formed on her gemlike lips as she left the mirror and sauntered into the arena.

The crowd roared and jeered lewdly as they saw her.

Chosen Silvius himself stood at the announcer’s podium. He smiled down at her. As she gave her salute, she noted that the monster, which should already be in the arena, was absent.

“Welcome my lovely,” said the Chosen. “You all know Sapphire Kiss, the jewel of our beloved League.”

The crowd responded with cheers and lewd propositions.

“Tonight, in honour of what might be her last fight in front of us, she will be pitted against one of my favourite beasts,” said the Chosen. “A deadly creature that we have come to love in the Skyclad League: the Priaptian Squid.”

The arena shifted and a hunched form rose out of the sands. Its skin glittered obscenely in the twilight. Sapphire Kiss rolled her eyes as twelve phallic tentacles rose from the bulk.

“Have fun, you two!” said Silvius. At that moment Sapphire Kiss hated him with burning passion.

The trumpets sounded.

“This is what we do!” snarled Sapphire Kiss, whirling her weapon, channelling power.

The priaptian squid is exactly what it sounds like. Chosen Silvius is a massive bastard.

Sapphire’s story is a little different than that of the other Gladiators. I wanted to examine the lengths that people will go to after losing in life. If you get past the Skyclad bit, which is obviously pervy, she is really admirable, pushing forward despite all odds, trying to capture that dream…

Thoughts on the Canadian Election

This is political, and not directly related to writing or fantasy in general.

We had an interesting election here in Canada this Tuesday. A man who has held power for over almost a decade and has been an influence on Canadian politics for even longer has been defeated resoundingly, even taking losses in places where he was though to be invulnerable.

Stephen Harper

Harper was a conservative’s conservative. His greatest accomplishments were political, uniting the fragmented Canadian right wing which was lost in the wilderness after many years of Liberal rule and leading them to power. If the CPC survives his defeat then he deserves credit for that, at least. He, along with his media allies, are also responsible for the crushing defeat of the Liberal party, their longtime rivals. At one point the party was declared dead, losing even official opposition status as Harper’s CPC trampled them into the dirt. This led to the rise of the NDP, my favoured party, which captured official opposition status.

Jack Layton and Tom Mulcair

Jack Layton was a popular figure in Canadian politics. He died from Cancer in 2011, and was succeeded by Tom Mulcair, who led the party this election. The NDP kept the faith for left leaning political junkies like myself after the Liberals were beaten down. Layton was much loved, engineering the NDPs highest seat total ever, and a hard act for Mulcair to follow. And then there’s Justin Trudeau:

Justin Trudeau

Trudeau was the last great hope for the Liberals and the worst nightmare of the Conservatives, who hated his father, a popular prime-minister (But not popular in all of the country, of course). He came on strong at first, weathering the CPC media assault as only someone who has been under media scrutiny his entire life can. He seemed to stumble a year before the election, but ended up convincing the people of Canada that he was the best choice to unseat Stephen Harper, showing great acumen in defeating opponents who led him for most of the race.

Here are some salient points about the Canadian Election

The Lead Up

A year before the election the CPC were on shaky ground. A scandal broke out over the way the Prime Minister’s Office handled one Mike Duffy, a CPC senate appointee. Stephen Harper gave contradictory testimony in question period and his credibility dipped.
Then ISIS became an international sensation, which coincided with a series of attacks in Canada that left two soldiers dead, and an assailant shot dead in parliament. Security is a conservative strongpoint and so PM Harper immediately took control. He introduced bill C-51, which is Canada’s version of the patriot act, which Trudeau signed on and Mulcair opposed. He also introduced C-24, which received less attention, but was kind of a big deal as well (we will get to that later)
Mulcair stood firm against C-51. This was his proudest moment. He was initially hammered in the media (which usually ignores the NDP), but as Canadians examined the bill he ended up looking better and better for opposing such a knee jerk reactionary, monstrous bull. Eventually he took the lead in polls. Meanwhile Trudeau and his liberals looked weak for not opposing the bill, essentially for political reasons and dropped to their lowest point in years. Harper strengthened his base, and readied to attack the NDP.

The Campaign

Harper’s Strategy should be familiar to anyone who has seen a modern conservative campaign. Many of the bills he passed made it harder for people to vote. C-51 declared war on terrorists, which oddly enough also included people who harm the “economic interests” of Canada, which played to conservative fantasies of jailing hippies. C-24 literally introduced the idea of SECOND CLASS CITIZENS in Canada, which certainly nabbed the nationalist, anti-immigration vote. He was for oil, against renewable energy, muzzled scientists, and ignored a plee to start an inquiry into missing aboriginal women. Going into the election Harper had all the weapons he needed to win, despite being scandal ridden and unpopular, he just needed to deploy them properly.
Harper, using rules that he wrote, made the campaign longer to give the CPC opportunity to bring its deep coffers to bear.
Harper refused to engage in traditional debates at the CBC, opting for friendlier broadcasters where questions could be controlled. He strictly limited media access to himself and his candidates, showing unparalleled message control, but looking a little like a paranoid micro-manager at times.
Mulcair was riding high for most of the Campaign. Unfortunately for him, the traditional media are allergic to the NDP, and basically criticized him for anything they could. At one point they actually called him arrogant for running like a front-runner, when he was the front-runner. This is the cross the NDP must bear, and will bear until they get some media support of their own.
Trudeau seemed to flounder in the early days of the campaign. The conservatives bashed him constantly with ads noting how he was young and not ready to be PM (Harper was the same age when he became PM, with exactly the same amount of experience) and also a teacher (conservatives these days hate teachers, something about unions and lefty propaganda). He made some odd statements about running a deficit and growing the economy from the heart outwards that were roundly mocked by the media (but not by voters, which is key here)
The Conservatives engineered themselves several boosts during the midpoint of the campaign. A sudden budget surplus, which mas mostly smoke and mirrors (selling of assets and dipping into EI funds) gave them a boost among their base who really care about security, taxes, and the economy (except the jobs part).
A second boost came from new baby bonus cheques — these are the conservative strategy of ’boutique’ tax cuts meant to win them support with certain groups, essentially by bribing them with some sort of fiscal incentive. This is where Trudeau showed an acumen that really should have warned his opponents: he hopped in with Mulcair to show that the baby bonus was smoke and mirrors since it was taxable, but then he offered his own, better version of said bonus, tax-free, and aimed right at lower/middle income Canadians. (I think the line was “Ill cancel Stephen Harper’s baby bonus, which Tom Mulcair supports, and stop sending cheques to millionaires. I’ll use that money to give middle class families a bigger bonus, tax free.)
As the midway point was reached the media turned to the Duffy trial, which had proven to be an achilles heel for the conservatives before. The CPC was smashed and sunk to third in the polls. Harper looked finished, but he knew this was coming and had actually prepared.
As Harper sunk, Trudeau and Mulcair began to battle each other. Nobody really questionned why Trudeau was rising though, at least not in the coverage I watched.
As the Duffy trial became boring again, Harper deployed his secret weapon. It is pretty much confirmed that he hired Lynton Crosby, a monstrous asshole who engineers xenophobia into victory for conservative parties from australia to the UK. He started using words like “old stock canadians” in his speeches. He stripped a terrorist of citizenship using the powers given to him by C-24. Then he deployed his greatest weapon of the campaign — the Niqab.
The Niqab ‘debate’ was an example of dog-whistle politics. A woman wanted to wear her Niqab during part of an citizenship cerimony. She even offered to wear a wire so they knew she was saying the words and so on. But the press went into a frenzy of islamophobia. The CPC surged and the Duffy affair was forgotten as the Canadian election suddenly became about us versus them.
The NDP, which was strong in Quebec, was smashed as Mulcair stood his ground on the right of people to wear the Niqab. Unfortunately for the NDP, much of their strength came from the places where the anti-Niqab crowd was the most rabid. This was exactly what Harper wanted, and is actually a very astute, if incredibly ugly strategy when it comes down to it. Most Canadians were offended by the debate in the end, but with his base behind him 100% (all of the time, no matter what — as long as he wins) and his enemies splitting the remaining vote, Harper was withing striking distance of a minority Government.

The Grand Finale

The Last week was a frenzy of activity.
Voter turnout increased by a massive amount. (61% up to 68%, a huge jump)
First Nations leaders, angered at Harper’s refusal to call an inquiry about the missing aboriginal women, called on their people to vote en masse, creation an increase of 270% in first nations voters,
Some idiot dissed Atlantic Canada, saying that it had too few seats to matter.
To shore up support Harper held a rally with the Crack dealing and Crack smoking Ford brothers, conservative stalwarts.
Trudeau kept moving up. As the election day dawned most people thought he would get a majority. It turns out that he was constantly consulting voters and creating an appealing platform while trying to be as positive as possible (the Jack Layton strategy). He actually moved left of the NDP, who were too busy trying not to alienate people who thought they might be secret communists to notice (can you tell how much I hate the way our media portrays the NDP?). In the end he came out strongly against the Niqab ban, smashed C-24 as uncanadian, and even managed to seem like he might be ok on C-51 and the TPP. Canadians saw him as the clear alternative and rewarded him with a majority.
VISION mattered. Trudeau articulated a vision of Canada that brought people out to vote.
Jon Oliver delivered an awesome plea for Canadians not to vote Harper.
The American Media noticed that Trudeau was handsome.

Lessons Learned

The conservatives underestimated Trudeau and his team.

Trudeau is smarter then thy think he is: The Conservatives famously said during one debate that the bar for success for Trudeau is to show up with his pants on. While this is red meat to their base, who reveled in hating Trudeau, it seems that many of them believed it and were caught with their own pants down when he turned out to be more than just a pretty face.
Trudeau’s political team had a smart plan that involved Canadians in creating a winning platform. The slow and steady gains show that this was a winning strategy.
Conservatives will blame everyone under the sun for their loss, including maybe dear leader, but it might be time to rework the old platform. Trickle down and wedge politics is getting old, guys.


The NDP got hammered, yes, but their strategy going forward is much clearer,

Mulcair scored points on C-51 and opposing the TPP.
Tech leaders seemed attracted to the NDP because they opposed C-51 and the TPP, which harm the businesses of the future in favour of the current dominant interests. Marrying the NDPs socially progressive policies with innovative business support could be a winning platform.
Relying too heavily on one region (Quebec) was bad. Most of Canada is politically volatile. (see insulting Atlantic Canada)
The NDP needs a strong media ally.


Social Media mattered. Strategic voting was very strong in this election. People also showed up to early voting in crazy amounts and
Dog Whistle politics can win, but it can also backfire. Harper’s use of the Niqab to get back in the campaign after the Duffy Dip was sleazy, but cunning.
Trudeau and his advisers were much, much smarter than anyone thought, Their strategy was solid, building a platform that Canadians could love, and stealing NDP votes by leaning left while the NDP moved to the centre to rumble with the CPC.
Whoever pissed off Atlantic Canada should have kept their mouth shut. Having an entire region vote for a single party in every riding is usually reserved for conservatives. Atlantic Canada has now demonstrated just how important it is, politically. They can give support, and they are willing to take it away.
There were very few promises made by any side this campaign. I remember campaigns where politicians would come up with hundreds of promises. The new media makes that type of campaign a liability since people can track promises much more easily.
It is fucking stupid to call a gruelling, long, brutal campaign against a guy who is a decade younger than you and immune to attack ads. While Harper and Mulcair were tiring, Trudeau was hitting his stride.
Ultimately Canadians did not fall for the politics of division. Good for us.

The Shadow Wolf Sagas: Red Fangs 2.33

Shadow Wolf time! This is part of my weekly writing exercise, written raw and rough. The first story arc, Blade Breaker, can be found here. The first story of this arc, Red Fangs, can be found here. The previous week’s post can be found here.

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None of the others could hear the sobbing that filled my ear, but that was to be expected. My sense are well-honed. I itched to respond, as all those with heart do when they hear another’s distress, but I knew it was a trap. I was glad that Berkhilda did not hear; it would have been difficult to keep her from charging in.

“Did Cinder expect us to come?” asked Berkhilda. The thought sent a shiver down my spine; such a prediction would signify a foe of truly fearsome cunning.

“No,” said Murith. “He expected the watch to come.”

“That makes more sense,” I said. “How would the watch go about securing this area.”

“It depend on who is commanding,” said Murith. “You can be damned sure that I would see this as a trap.”

“But you are supposed to be dead,” I noted. “Killed by vamps. Imagine whoever they sent to replace you, after mopping up the lessers, they find this. How would they play it.”

“If they go by the book, they cover all exits and flush whoever is in there.” said Murith. I raised my brow. I only know one watch Sargent who is that cautious  when blood has been spilled. “Fine. They would find the access points and move in swiftly, attacking any hostiles they encounter. They would sweep room by room after securing the prisoner.”

“So they would go in and find whomever is crying,” I said, tapping my chin.

“Why does this matter?” asked Berkhilda.

“Because if I can guess what Cinder expects us to do, We stand a better chance of not getting caught in his trap.” I answered. “If Murith is right then he may have poached some very dangerous substances this evening; perhaps he doesn’t want to sell them and instead wants to use them, letting the watch trigger them.”

“We have only a short time before the sun rises,” growled Berkhilda.

“I will be quick then.”

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I stalked toward the sound of distant whimpering. It grated on my ears, and my heart leapt when it ceased momentarily, only to start anew a few heartbeats later. I could tell now that it was a woman.

The smell of blood and narcotics was overwhelming, increasing as I prowled closer. The most obvious entrance to Cinder’s local hideout was a basement doorway, but I could not see behind it and could not be certain that there was a tripwire or some other mechanism behind it. I did notice that the door looked new and sturdy, surprising for a supposedly derelict area.

I made my way around the basement. The building must have been a warehouse or sanitarium at some point, judging by the bars on the windows. None of them looked worth testing. After long minutes of frustration I found a cellar hatchway with a lock on it. The lock was open. I took a closer look, smiling when I saw the shadow of a wire through the crack of the hatch.

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Git was there when I returned, carrying his adventuring kit. He shrugged, when I nodded to him. It looked like he’d applied some salve to Murith’s wounds while they waited. Berkhilda pace impatiently, axe in hand,

“Just the man I wanted to see,” I said to Git. “Do you have any of that acid that you used to weaken those steel bars in Jagen’s crypt?”

“Something like that.”

“Good. This place is rigged to release something dangerous if we go through the doors. I’m not certain what it is, but I found a trap-wire on the back door.”

“Why don’t we just leave it?”

“Someone is in there,” said Murith.

“Well, I also think it might be rigged to go off on its own.” I added. “I’m going to guess at dawn. We need to move Git.”

“Wait… why dawn?”

“Because the victim is a vampire…”

Teaser Tuesday

This week is book three of the Domains of the Chosen, Bloodlust: The Shield Maiden. I often look upon this book as a failure of kind. I failed to keep up the momentum from Domains of the Chosen #2 by naming it Warbound: The Shield Maiden on release. My plan was to signal that this book took place outside the arena, but all I did was confuse readers. Sales picked up after I changed the name, but it took two more books to recover.

This scene is from the middle of the book, and has been altered to cut spoilers.

The Spire Lady shook her head. “You are deluded Legate. You hold two of my people. You have no right to shelter them–”

The Legate raised his hand, swiftly, cutting the Kirifan woman off. Her Elites stirred, like angry bees. The Legate smiled and spoke. “I’m afraid that I do, Spire Lady [Click]kith. The laws of my people are quite clear in these matters. I must do my best to protect any citizens of the Empire who shelter with me. Your daughters-in-law became citizens of the Empire when they married the Chosen. I have a clear duty to shelter the citizens of the Domains, under the laws of my homeland. My hands are tied. They remain with us, unless you can convince them to return of their own free will.”

“Don’t be foolish Legate,” said the Spire Lady. “Look at what you are facing. You cannot possibly face the united armies of Kirif and survive. You are alone here, cut off from your people and surrounded by enemies. Make pragmatic choices and you might survive to return home. You gain nothing by keeping these [Click]ka.”

Lady [Click]kith spat the last word; the Legate laughed.

“If we are speaking frankly, perhaps we should invite the Deomen to this talk as well. After all, while you may be able to defeat us I will make sure to bloody the waters enough that the sharks come calling. The Deomen are watching. Your city is wounded Spire Lady; two citizens of Krass are not worth the hardship that will come if you face us.”

“Will your men die for these whores?” snarled the Spire Lady.

“No,” said the Legate. “They will kill for these women. They will drown this field in Kirifan blood to protect their citizens and their brothers and sisters in arms. They will fight to the last Legionnaire, if they must, having seen the viciousness with which you turn upon your allies. And as they fall, they will be comforted by the knowledge that if they do not return, then the Legions will seek out their lost brethren. My people will come here, in force. You cannot understand what this means, but remember that your husband saw our power and that is why he chose to ally with us. One Legion put flight to your greatest foes. This was an expedition of peace. What will you do when we come for war?”

Here we have a bit of a culture clash between a Kirifan noble and a Legion Commander. It takes place on the field as the Legion is withdrawing to seek safety.

The war altar flashed again, blasting men and spears into the air, followed moments later by a great concussive boom. A cry of dismay went up from the Kirifans in that section, and they wavered. Had they not been defending their homes they would have broken and run.

In the shadow of the Eastern spires the Kirifan Phalanx struggled against the Deomen horde. The scale of the battle was overwhelming and frantic, more like the shifting tides than the acts of men.

Headtaker finished a wounded Silver Mask with a dismissive kick, pausing to survey the field as the Phalanx pulled up and reformed behind her. The Kirifans communicated their battle orders with a series of fluid sounds that she could hear even over the din of battle. She saw the gap in their lines where she was needed most and ran toward it.

Their goal was to hold the Eastern Bridge. It was a grim effort. The immense War Altar had shattered the wall of eastern Kirif and was now turning its power against the armies holding the breach. Wherever it struck the brave Kirifan Hoplites were reduced to red ruin and chaos.

In the wake of each blast the Deomen surged forward. They did so now, howling gleefully, a dozen warped giants wearing Gold Masks at the forefront. Kirifan siege engines fired, glass globes spreading noxious fumes among the enemy. One of the crews, by fortune or by skill, shattered a globe of clear liquid on the face of a Gold Mask, melting both mask and face, sending the beast sprawling, drawing a cheer from the Kirifan lines. The Spireless, now armed as skirmishers or with discarded Deomen slings bombarded the Howlers from above as the lines closed.

This bit is from the first siege of Kirif, where Gavin and Sadira are drawn into a larger conflict, that will culminate in book 5.

Focus Stones and Spell Plates: Magic for the People in End of Kings

Service Notification: I am looking for Beta Readers for the Blade Breaker (Shadow Wolf Sagas #1). If you are interested PM me.

As part of my continuing interest in Steampunk/Industrial Age Fantasy I started running a homebrew RPG that I call End of Kings. As the name denotes the game is about revolution and the growing pains of democracy and the modern state as they shift away from a feudal power base. In End of Kings the basis for the power of the aristocracy is not inherited land, peasants, and the right/obligation of arms, but power that is literally passed down through noble bloodlines. The kings and other nobles have powers associated with their bloodline which make them far more formidable than regular mortals.

Bloodline Powers are essentially a set of inherited magical powers that all members of a particular bloodline share.
Bloodline Powers are watered down if the ‘noble’ breeds with a ‘commoner’, they can also be enhanced through selective breeding or altered by breeding with other families. Obviously this leads to eugenics.
Bloodline Powers are based on industrial age literature, with vampires, ghosts, lovecraftian beasts, and so on making appearances among the nobility.
Magical items were tied to the Bloodline.
Inbreeding is a major factor in the plot. As the ruling families breed to concentrate power they make increasingly powerful, but unstable progeny.
Obviously, there are a large number of bastard children with bloodlines powers. This is important for next point.
Before the current era, when a noble family became too unstable to be viable they were eliminated by the other nobles, or the Church. The Church, who believe that the source of the bloodline powers is a streak of divinity, keep tabs on the bastard children of noble families, often taking them and raising them. When a noble family became a problem, the church could easily find a replacement, even when the nobility could not.
Yes, the Church in End of Kings has a small army of elite Bloodline powered orphans.

So what changed all this and allowed mere mortals to even the scales somewhat with the super-powered nobility of end of kings? In a word the discovery a of a new form of magic that was available to a new set of people. Focus Stone is Chromatite an uncommon mineral that changes colour when a person concentrates on it. For the longest time it was simply a mildly interesting bauble, mostly favoured by the lower classes. However, as early systematic inquiry came into being (similar to our scientific method) scholars became interested in WHY it changed colour when people concentrated on it, and why some people were so much better at it and why a few travelling performers who worked with the stone had achieved a great deal of control over the colours. Eventually this line of inquiry led to the first true Focus Stone, a mineral that could convert willpower into magical energy and store it briefly. By itself the Focus Stone could be used to power devices like a battery, and revolutionized methods of production, slowly giving rise to machines and early mass production.

What really challenged the reign of kings was combination of the Focus Stone with The Spell Plate. The Spell Plate was an older device that was used by aristocrats to createenchanted items keyed to their bloodline powers that could be used by others. Eventually those interested in the uses of Focus Stones considered using Spell Plates to create effects. After much trial and error they figured out how to do so, and revolutionized warfare.

Many Firearms in End of Kings use Focus Stones and Spell Plates. The user arms the weapon by concentrating on the Focus Stone, which changes colour depending on how much energy it holds. Once it is armed, the user points the weapon at the enemy and pulls a trigger which briefly connects the Focus Stone to the Spell Plate. The Spell Plate translates the energy into a spell effect which is then fired from the gun.
The Focus Stone and Spell Plate method powers a number of devices beyond firearms including melee weapons.
A further refinement over the Spell Plate method is Spell Shot. Spell Shot uses part of the energy transferred from the focus stone to create an arcane explosion or magnetic effect that propels a bullet. Spell Shot is cheaper and requires less concentration to energize than a full Spell Plate. The best arms available combine Spell Shot and Spell Plate to create a projectile that has a spell effect on impact, but these are specialist weapons.

While a Spell Plate weapon doe snot make an ordinary soldier the equal of a powerful noble suffused with bloodline power, it does make it possible for a mob of people to take one down. Even worse, trained soldiers can become exceptionally adept with focus stones, becoming even more of a threat. Hegemony is broken and the wold changes.

The Shadow Wolf Sagas: Red Fangs 2.32

Shadow Wolf time! This is part of my weekly writing exercise, written raw and rough. The first story arc, Blade Breaker, can be found here. The first story of this arc, Red Fangs, can be found here. The previous week’s post can be found here.

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“Killing your men was only part of the plan,” I said. “A little voice tells me the black hearted whoreson was here to steal something as well.”

“That makes a fair bit of sense actually,” said Murith. The Dwarven woman was pale and tired, but anger had stiffened her spine. She looked ready to kill in fact. Murith is not a person to take lightly. I’ve seen her face down an angry sea serpent and put an arbalest bolt through a necromancer’s head at two hundred paces.

“What would someone like Cinder want to steal?” I asked Berkhilda.

“I do not know Ragnar,” said the tall Vampire woman. “He must have taken it by now, the sun will rise soon. It must have been important though, turning all of these poor addicts must have taken some time, even if Cinder had the help of others of his kind.”

“His kind?” asked Murith.

“I am not like Cinder,” aid Berkhilda. Both women eyed each other dangerously. Murith was frustrated and not too fond of Vampires right now, while Berkhilda was born ready to fight. The last thing I needed was them at each other’s throats.

“Wait…” I interjected. “Berkhilda, you said making these crazy bloodsuckers would take some time?”

“Yes.”

“And you had no reports of attacks before today Murith?”

“No.”

“So, he must have kept them penned up somewhere nearby,” I said. “If we can’t find what he took, perhaps his local lair will provide a clue as to what he was after.”

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Burning Hills has its own slums. Shops burn down with alarming frequency dues to alchemical accidents, leaving husks of buildings. These condemned areas become home to the addicts that have fallen prey to the darker side of alchemy, junkies like the fools that Cinder had let loose on Murith’s watch patrol. After checking a few of these we found ourselves in an area called the Husk, where an entire street had been consumed by flame and not yet rebuilt. It was a dismal sight, the bones of once vital buildings looming through the mist like the carcasses of long forgotten beasts.

“The basements on most of these places will still be intact,” said Murith.

“Great place for an ambush,” I said.

“Or a trap…” said Berkhilda,

I raised my hand for silence and walked forward, concentrating, letting my senses go. The smell of smoke and ash and ash was overpowering, but underneath I could detect the scent of blood and the same drug that I had smelled on the vampires that attacked Murith and her squad. That was as expected. I sifted through the other scents. Human waste. A venemous creeper vine. Cheap liquor and old sweat. It took me a moment to realize that something was missing.

“This is the place,” I said. “Cinder had cleared it out. Barely a living thing bigger than a cat here now.”

My ears twitched.

“Is that good or bad?” asked Berkhilda.

“Well, I see tracks leading to and from to that big basement staircase over there, recent ones too,” I said. “Which likely means that we’ve found where Cinder’s minions were held. That’s good. On the other hand, it seems to me that someone wanted us to find it.”

“That’s bad?” said Berhilda.

“I think so,” I could definitely hear a sound now, a faint but steady sobbing muffled by layers of earth and broken buildings.

“Fuck it Ragnar,” said Murith. “Why don’t we call in reinforcements. The watch has trap experts.”

“Well… Murith… the thing is I hear someone alive down there, crying I think.”

“Bait on the hook… lovely,” said Murith.

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