C.P.D. Harris's Blog, page 55

Review of The Battle of Five Armies & Musings on the Hobbit

A few days before Christmas I went to watch the last part of Peter Jackson’s Hobbit Trilogy: The Battle of Five Armies. As anyone who reads this blog or knows me personally understands, I have mixed feelings about this series of movies, despite my love of the source material. I will give a general review first, and then dive into specifics after the red spoiler barrier.

Here is my review of The Desolation of Smaug (w/Spoilers), the��second movie, which was��the worst offender, in my opinion.

In short, once I set aside fidelity to the book, I enjoyed The Battle of Five Armies. It certainly did not suffer the same level of (new) plot violations that The Desolation of Smaug did. It was an entertaining action movie with a great Tolkien backstory, worth seeing for anyone who loves massive fantasy battles and over the top action scenes. The parting scenes at the end of the movie are particularly poignant, considering that this is the last time that we will see a new movie set in Middle-Earth for a while, at least. I think Mr Jackson was sad to put this chapter of his life behind him, and his love of the source material does shine through despite the somewhat clumsy attempts to alter and improve upon it. Unless you are complete Tolkien snob or just don’t really feel excited about a fantasy themed action romp, it is worth seeing.

As a whole I thought the Hobbit trilogy was decent, but lacked both the emotional impact and epic scope of The Lord of the Rings movie. The best scene in the whole trilogy remains the first one they shot, the riddle game between Bilbo and Gollum in The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey.

Here Be Spoilers!

The Good

Billy Connolly as Dain Ironfoot: I have to say that I was pleasantly surprised by Billy Connolly’s Dain. Mr Connolly’s distinctive voice��brought a strong personality to the pugnacious Dwarf (Thorin’s Cousin). Although the character was obviously CGI, the animation was decent enough (not Gollum level mind you) and really shone in fight scenes. Dain made the movie for me: Finally a Dwarf who isn’t outshone by Legolas!
The Dwarven Army: Although their screen time is fairly brief, the Dwarves finally show up in force and don’t immediately flub it. I was pleased to see some nice Dwarven formations and fighting styles here.
The Battle Scenes: The battle scenes were fantastic. There is some nice formation fighting, great epic shots, and wonderful fighting both in the field and on the ruined streets of Dale. My only complaint about the battle scenes is that there could have been more. The climactic scenes occur in an isolated ruin far away from the main battle.
The Acting: The acting was good. Nobody really seemed to phone it in or break immersion.
The raid on the Necromancer’s Tower: This is a scene that Jackson added that I actually liked, showing Elrond, Galadriel, Saruman, and Radagast working to free Gandalf and confront Sauron in the guise of the Necromancer. I thought it was well done, did not step on the toes of the source material, and gave Mr Jackson the chance to get those familiar faces on screen once more. Martin Freeman is amazing, but more on that below.
Legolas Running out of Arrows: I hate Legolas in the Hobbit. I nearly cheered when his endless streak of awesome ended and he ran out of arrows.
The Beorn Bomb: Sometimes Jackson’s penchant for over the top action works out.��When the eagles drop a transforming Beorn into the midst of the orc army it is an amusing moment.

The Bad

The Book is Called the Hobbit for a Reason!: Martin Freeman makes for a great Bilbo. Tis unfortunate then that this movie robs Bilbo of his major triumphs. In the book Bilbo sends a Thrush to tell Bard where the Dragon’s armour is weakest, thus helping defeat the great beast. While Bilbo is present in the third film he mostly putters around and looks conflicted. I was disappointed in his conversation with Thorin at the end and very annoyed that Bolg knocked him out.
Smaug’s Death: For fuck’s sake what is wrong with just having Bard shoot a bow? it works for Legolas! Everything about Smaug’s death stank. It was too early in the movie, occuring a mere fifteen minutes into the film. I blame the studio for this one, since they demanded that Mr Jackson make three movies, which required a longer battle of the five armies. It would have been much better for Smaug to die at the end of��the second movie than at the beginning of the third.
The Thirteen Dwarves: Thorin’s company mostly remain inert once again. You think with all this extra time they could develop personalities for the Dwarves that accompany Bilbo and Thorin, but the closest they come is giving them unique facial hair styles. They don’t even get to show their fighting skills here. Much like Bilbo they seem overlooked in this movie. Lost opportunity.

The Ugly

CGI Muckups: The CGI was generally pretty decent. However, there were some pretty silly bits. After Azog kills Fili, the brother with no love interest, his weapons are strangely devoid of blood, let alone the serious gore that comes from running someone through. I understand the desire to keep in PG, but that was just silly. Even worse, however, was the way Smaug shrunk when he died. Before Bard kills him, Smaug is so enormous that he towers over the largest buildings in Laketown, striding with his feet on both sides of the canals as he attacks. When he falls out of the air, however, all he does is take out a boat. WTF.
Alfrid: Why the fuck does this guy get more screen time than any other character? Also we seem to be straying dangerously into the whole Randian ugly = evil trope with this character and all the orcs.
The Trolls: Every single troll in this movie was a unique and special snowflake, yet somehow they were not as interesting as the more uniform trolls seen in the first trilogy. The CGI jumped the shark a little when Legolas jumped onto a quadrapegic troll with ball and chain limbs and eyes that had been sewn shut. The ram troll was ok, the rest seem like the art department got a little out of control or the studio needed more filler.
The Sandworms: I nearly got up and left. The orc army has access to tunneling beasts that resemble the Sandworms from Herbert’s Dune. These serve no purpose in the movie, merely add a mindless visual flourish in getting the orc army onto the field. Too bad they also make Azog the Despoiler seem really, really stupid. I mean really, if they can burrow through solid rock why not have them burrow into the Fortress you want to take. Why not use them as weapons and undermine the enemy army or have your troops emerge at closer quarters so those elves get off less shots? No thought went into the tactical implications of adding these beasts to the story. How do the orcs even control them? For that matter where did they go afterwards? Why haven’t they used them before/after? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. King Kong moment right here.

In all, I enjoyed the movie, but found it deeply flawed. I think the series would have been better as one or two movies focusing more on Bilbo and the Dwarves. I much prefer the book in this case, while I thought the Lord of the Rings movies were better in some ways than the written trilogy.

The Shadow Wolf Sagas: Blade Breaker 1.46

Here it is, a bit late, but full of goodness nonetheless.

This is my weekly serial, you can find the first post here.

If you need to catch up a bit here is last week’s post.

Here is a helpful guide.

“Come now, old wolf, my spear thirsts!” said Thyra, showing her teeth as she smiled.

I smiled, despite the grim reminder of my shame. The other Nordan in the room, those who would see my name dragged in the mud, who would scoff at me in my exile, who nipped at my heels in my shame, looked at the two of us askance. Despite the tales and sagas, we always seem to forget that their are honourable people even among enemies and exiles. Thus when Thyra Hurnsdottir, the unbroken spear, a hero among��them sought my company loud and bold, many of them stared.

Of course, Thyra had ever spoken in my defence, even on the day when I was banished.

“Your spear��will get��its fill this day,” I said.

I must admit that I was touched. Myrrhn is a grand old city, and it is my home as much as the North is now, but I still ache for the acceptance of my people. I still yearn to overcome��my failure and cast off the yoke of exile.

“As will the blades of anyone who is willing to join you,” I added. Joining Ragnar the exile was too much for many of these men, even against the Devout, but going into battle with Thyra Hurnsdottir was a different story.

Harald Magnison and his sons stood.

“By Furis’s Bloody axe,” said Harald, looking as if he had just swallowed a pint of��pitch. “My son rests uneasy. I will follow you into battle, exile, and avenge him, even if it means my death.”

His sons echoed his sentiments heartily. They ran their��flesh of their forearms, just below the wrists, along the blades of their weapon, sealing their oath in blood. Several others stood and moved to support Thyra: a worthy dozen, hard men and women who had earned their names on the battlefield and were not afraid of the Devout.

“Lead on, Ragnar,” said Thyra.

“This should be interesting,” said Murith, looking up at me through a sea of legs.

<>

My heart pounded all the harder with Thyra and my countrymen at my back. Visions of glory danced in my head, chased by the fearful hounds of failure. I wanted this to go well. Perhaps I would win redemption this time. Or perhaps even Thyra would turn against me if this went badly.

We raced through the streets, following the signs that the others had left for us, pausing only for a couple of watchmen that Murith trusted. The people of the city gave us a wide berth, and with sergeant Murith at our head, the officials look the other way. I could see the smoke from fires in other places in the city, and my ears picked ��up the distant sounds of battle. The Devout had unleashed their distractions it seemed.

We crossed past the Bazaar, over the bridge into the Old Port and then into the junkers of the Clinging Slum, over the Sunken Isle. The Isles of Myrrhn, even the slums, are crowded. The clinging slum is a mass of boats and tiny cliff-dwellings that shelter over the remains of the Sunken Isle and the Old Port. We ventured into the heart of these, earning fearful stares, until we came upon a towering rock thrusting out of the water. In the side of the rock was an old sewer entrance.

The signs pointed down, into the dark tunnels that now lay beneath the waves.

“Will we be able to navigate that?” asked Thyra, looking down the tunnel.

“Looks good as far as I can see,” said Murith.

“If the Devout can manage, so can we,” I answered. “Check your weapons everyone, this looks like a lovely place for an ambush.”

And then I vaulted into the tunnel, striding forward toward the ancient rungs that would take me down into the dark below.

 

Christmas Day!

Tis Christmas, be merry friends! I’ll put up Shadow Wolf tomorrow.

Teaser Tuesday

I always enjoy describing the secondary characters in Domains of the Chosen. One of my goals for the series is to get it popular enough to see some artistic interpretations of my characters. Bloodlust: Red Glory has tons of “gear porn”��describing��the weapons and armour of the new Gladiators.

Iron Lioness awaited her in the centre of the fighting grounds. An ebon-skinned Shadow-Elf, she was not much taller than Sapphire Kiss, but noticeably broader of shoulder and powerfully muscled. Her most impressive feature was a thick mane, layer after layer of pure white hair, which framed her face like a noble lion.

The Lion motif extended to her armour, a heavy harness that protected her vitals with thick iron-grey plates, etched with runes and scenes of great cats hunting and fighting. Iron Lioness bore a broad bladed falchion in her left hand, made of a black-mithril alloy, with a gold and silver lion���s head for a pommel. Her right hand was a large gauntlet, the fingers of which curved into talons. She wore a rounded buckler over the gauntlet with bladed edges, etched with a sleek lioness in a hunting pose.

The gauntlet in particular caught Sapphire Kiss���s attention. It seemed to flex and move naturally despite being metallic, seeming more liquid that solid at times. She saw no signs of plating or chain links, and wondered at what it was made from. Gladiators often had access to unusual weaponry, always masterful in construction. It was best to treat an unknown weapon with respect.

Sapphire Kiss knew that Iron Lioness was fast and strong, with elemental magic and a strong offensive technique. She was famed for using a variation of the stoneskin spell that activated upon impact, which did not impeded flexibility as much as the regular version of the enchantment. In addition during the tournament Iron Lioness had demonstrated magics that made her buckler stick to an opponent���s weapon, likely some form of magnetic enchantment.

Iron Lioness sneered at Sapphire Kiss as she closed the distance, and returned her salute curtly. Twas better than Lord Peerless���s outright rejection, at least.

Sapphire Kiss is not well liked by her more serious minded peers.��I wonder if she changes that.

Hummingblade was still considering her choices when Shagra the Bloodless was called into the arena. A broad-shouldered Orcish woman, dressed in dark green armour stepped into the arena carrying a large hammer. Shagra���s head was bald and smooth and her eyes were fearsome.

Despite her reputation for mayhem, Shagra was trained as a defender. Her main strategy was to outlast her opponents, and she used a combination of heavy armour, druidic magic, and incredible conditioning to survive. Unlike Rabid Edge, whom Hummingblade had faced earlier in the tournament, Shagra did not seek to attack relentlessly and overwhelm. Instead she seemed to endure her opponents until they made an error or she cornered them, then she struck them down with a well-placed hammer blow.

The hammer in question was large, and Hummingblade suspected that even a glancing blow from such a weapon could crush her. Shagra hefted it with the easy familiarity of a Master. She did not perform any tricks as she strode across the sands in front of the cheering crowd, stopping only to give her salute.

Up close Hummingblade could see that Shagra���s armour was made of ribbed plates that slid and moved as she walked.

Hummingblade returned Shagra���s salute. Their eyes met. Hummingblade saw a grim intensity in the other woman, but detected a surprising lack of arrogance or hatred. Without taking her eyes off Hummingblade, Shagra raised her weapon again.

Shagra is perhaps the most important of the Gladiators who is not a perspective character. She is my favourite of the Death Leagues fighters, grim and unrelenting, not really worried about what people think of her.

Sand Shark���s armour was a dull golden colour, highlighted with topaz. In form and function was a standard medium harness with breastplate, greaves, pauldrons, and bracers, but it also covered the outside of his dominant arm with a plated guarde. Toothy shark���s maws decorated the plates, disguising jagged edges on striking surfaces.

Sand Shark���s greataxe came up to the Ogre���s chest, making it level with Blue Hornet���s chin. Unlike most of the weapons made for Gladiators, this axe had a wooden haft. Ironwood, a rare and expensive wood from the forests of the Trapholds and near Dun Mordhawk, could be treated and laminated to have the strength and flexibility of steel. The head of the weapon had two long straight blades, both bearded, and was capped with a spike. The axe was plain save for the runes, but imposing for all its lack of decoration.

Sand Shark, basically a throwaway from an interesting fight. I often end up using characters like this in later works.

The Weird lived up to his name. Even his armour was unusual: he wore a hood, for one. Most Gladiators who covered their face did so with an armoured helm or a decorative mask. Admittedly, Fiona had considered wearing an executioner���s hood as part of her garb early in her career. Her red hair was too much of a crowd pleaser to hide, however.

Aside from the hood it was difficult to tell how much of The Weird���s attire was armour and what was clothing. Gladiator armour was strictly regulated in both coverage and weight, and the Deliberative checked each fighter���s armour and their weight before every match. The Weird���s clothing was made up of stripes of grey, brown, and black, woven with plates of dull grey metal that appeared and disappeared as he shifted.

The Weird���s staff was a hand longer than the quarterstaff Fiona had been practising with, but otherwise unremarkable at first glance. The man himself was like his weapon, tall and lean, though not so thing as a light fighter would be. He sized her up as she approached, dark eyes surprisingly human despite the hood and strange costume.

After she finished saluting the crowd, Fiona raised her weapons to The Weird. He returned her salute, raising his staff with one hand, showing proper sportsmanship.

The Wierd is my best concept fighter in the book, although also I introduce light magic, a shape-changer, and even a Gifted Fologi.

On Torture: Modern Fantasy and Dick Cheney

When the Senate report on torture surfaced last week, I was disgusted, but on certain level I was also excited. It was one of those moments where I felt that the rest of the world was catching up to me. It was as if the public conscious had��finally digested��all of the information that people who are interested in politics, power, and history had known about for years. As I sat down and watched Jon Stewart condemn the Fox news response to the report, I was minded of how people spoke out against the Robocalls during the last Canadian election, but it took some time for it to percolate into the general discourse. I was eager to finally discuss this issue with my friends.

Of course, I discovered that no one really talks about torture. This is doubly true during the holidays. I mean Dick Cheney said that the ends justify the means, was recorded, and the vast majority of people shrugged or twisted their noses

An overwhelming majority of��people feel that torture is bad. However, some feel that if it saves lives, like it did in that one episode of 24 (and in no real world case) it might be justified. That pretty much hasn’t changed yet. I was hoping that the information in the report would clear the veneer of partisan bullshit away and open up the discussion. It has, to a certain extent, but the general public seem deeply unwilling to grapple with the issue, especially in the western world. Instead the discussion goes on between pundits, political junkies, and people who are interested in power and history. Everyone else avoids the issue like the plague, except in fiction.

Modern Fantasy is awash��in torture and viciousness in pursuit of “the ends”. From the Book of the New Sun and The Sword of Truth series��to The First Law, The Broken Empire, and A Song of Fire and Ice,��fantasy authors have definitely stopped shying away from the ugly subject of torture. Interestingly the presentation is not once sided at all, as anyone who has even sampled those works could tell you. The only common denominator in the presentation of torture and the torturer is that it is inescapably present.

So as I sit back, somewhat bitter that very few of my friends and family want to discuss the deep and ugly truths of torture in democracy, I take solace in the idea that maybe people do want to grapple with these ideas, at least in Fantasy and genre fiction. That will eventually��blossom into real world action and opinion, I have no doubt.

Until that happens, here is why I think Dick Cheney would make a near-perfect template for a villain in Fantasy Fiction.

The Ends Justify the Means: The idea that the ends justify the means is about the most deplorable intellectual stance that anyone can take. People who feel that the ends justify the means perform a sort of arithmetic which allows them to justify any behavior by saying that the end result was worth those unpleasant bits along the way. For many years writers thought that it was too cliche or unrealistic for a villain to follow this thought process, but hey, here we are. A few examples of the ends justifying the means in Fantasy: A peace loving Kingdom that is raided by Orcs starting a “war of pacification” to finally achieve peace by subduing all Orcs, everywhere; A ruler who wants perfect order and so drugs his people so that they are obedient zombies; A druidic cult that sees that humanity will destroy nature and so decides to destroy humanity first; A
Emotional Appeal trumps Rational Discourse: The idea that it was fine��to torture and kill people because it might have prevented another attack is morally indefensible. Torture is not only demonstrably wrong and ineffective, it is also very likely to be used against the nation that supported it; after all, if there is one thing these people fear more than the enemy outside their borders, it is the enemy within. However, instead of trying to rationalize the idea of torture, Mr Cheney directly appeals to strong emotions when defending it. He brings up 9/11 and the safety of American children as a counter to every argument because he knows that that appealing to fear, patriotism, and hatred of the enemy erases the short term capacity for rational thought. Fear is the mind-killer, as a wise man one said. Fear and Hatred lead to the dark side too, I hear. Pastoral fantasy often paints the enemy as inherently evil, like the xenomorphs in aliens, or Tolkien’s orcs. Modern Fantasy demands more complexity from its antagonists, and so nations roused to vile acts through fear and loathing are particularly poignant.
Twisting Words: I often feel that language loses its meaning as people try to muddy the waters to justify ugly actions.��Rectal rehydration is a lovely example of this. Here we see a medical technique that is useful only in marginal cases (when IV rehydration is not available or possible, which was never, ever the case here) medically��to justify anal rape as a part of a programs��of torture. By calling it rectal rehydration they can redirect the public away from the ugly truth of the fact that they are violently sodomizing the people that they detain in order to break them down. The same is true with the modern euphemism for torture: enhanced interrogation. Torture is illegal in every court and standard of law, but if we call it something else then it helps avoid backlash, at least for a while. This kind of propaganda has obvious uses in a Fantasy narrative, since breaking down the very words and ideas that people use to communicate helps isolate opposing factions in nay conflict. If we get stuck on the definition of torture it is very hard to deal with the problems the act presents and put a stop to it, which is kinda the point.
Innocents Don’t Matter: Chances are that if you torture someone, they will end up hating you and fearing you if they live. This kind of action is self perpetuating since even an innocent who goes through the process has a strong chance of being brutalized. It turned out that of the cases reviewed in in the senate report on torture around 20% involved mistaken identity, including deaths. In a Fantasy fiction narrative one can follow this same pattern.
Torture is the Ends: People have known that torture is ineffective at collecting information for as long as people have bothered to study the results. People will simply say anything to stop the pain. The inquisition was well aware of this, and would often use torture to extract the names of people that they wanted to persecute from the lips of their victims. It is well known that The Templars were destroyed after the confessed to blasphemous rites under the duress of torture, including things that were plainly impossible, like raising mummies and demons. Thus torture is not really the means, it is an end itself. If you can create a situation where torture is acceptable then you can really justify anything. Don’t like Frank? torture someone until they name Frank as complicit. Want to stay in power? torture people to name your political opponents. The uses for a Fantasy villain are obvious.

A genre fiction can explore ideas like torture without getting bogged down in the morass of modern politics. In a sense I am glad that Fantasy authors are readers have been willing to delve into these subjects in the way that old media has not. Dick Cheney gets endless TV time, while the victims are virtually ignored in old media. I hope this changes, but until then writers will have to carry the torch. In the end, truth is often uglier and less palatable than fiction.

Shadow Wolf Sagas: Blade Breaker 1.45

Tis very late, but I cannot sleep without appeasing the wolf.

Shadow Wolf is my weekly serial, here is the first post.

Here is last week’s post if you missed it.

Here is a helpful guide. And here is a little bit about the Devout.

“He may not believe you Ragnar Grimfang, but I do,” said Thyra Hurnsdottir.

I turned, feeling a chill run down my spine. Thyra Hurnsdottir had not changed very much since we’d last met. She was tall, well-built, and eagle-eyed. Her hair was hidden by her helm, but I knew there was no grey in those red-blonde locks, even though nearly four decades had passed. I could almost picture her covered in mud and gore like that day on the Spearmarch, the day when I died my first death.

For a moment I was there on the field again. I could feel the ground shaking as the enemy charged. So many. Who could have though that a small forest could have disgorged such a blood-feast? The king, the High King of all the North, refused to run. Weather old Sigurd decided to hold his ground out of stubborn pride or to buy time for his family to escape I could not say. I was sworn to hold at his side. I saw my death coming in that screaming horde, Skraelings and murder wights, and muttered a quick prayer to Skygge and Garm.

We met them head on, charging into the onrushing horde. Thyra was beside me. At first we made great headway. Sigurd and his Carls clove into the screaming, frenzied Skraelings, seemingly unstoppable. Bright blades rose and fell, red with blood. The air was thick with the war-shouts of the North and muttered oaths��to the gods of my people. It watched a murder wight, fearsome and fell-handed come upon the High King in battle, swinging a dread blade. Old��Sigurd��caught that terrible sword on his own and struck the wight’s head from its shoulders in a single blow. It was glorious. For that one moment we felt as if we could do anything. I howled and I heard Thyra screaming next to me. Our weapons were light as air, our armour was unbreakable. We pushed on, full of red joy.

And then the tip of our wedge broke. I saw a shadow behind the High King and then he was gone. The tip of our spear was blunted. We began to falter. The remaining murder wights rallied the Skraelings driving them into. The pushed into our lines like blizzard winds through an old barn. The line disintegrated. Men went down. For every Skraeling we killed two more took its place. We fought in knots, then pairs, then finally alone. The tide of bodies drew me away from Thyra and I watched hopelessly as a murder wight came upon her, brandishing a black sword in one hand and the heads of the fallen in the other. I tried to push my way to her, hacking, spitting, cursing. I went berserk, lost myself in the battle-rage and that is all that I remember.

Thyra made her name on the field that day. Where most were killed or cursed, she stood her ground and became a legend. The saga of Thyra Hurnsdottir and the band of ten and how they held the High Kings body until reinforcements came is well known. They were they only survivors of the Kingslaying at Spearmarch not executed or exiled. Such were their deeds.

“Thyra,” I said, looking down.

“Let us not be maudlin, old wolf,” said Thyra. “I have followed rumours of the Devout to this port. I take it as a good sign that you are here to lead me to them. Come now, my spear thirsts!”

Teaser Tuesday

Time for a little teaser from my upcoming book, Bloodlust: Red Glory.

The last thorn in his side over the lead-up to the Grand Championships had been trying to take control of the trade in Kirifan narcotics. These had appeared in Krass shortly after the announcement of the coming championships. The most popular of these, Greensalts, could be mixed into food and drink, and was now the drug of choice among anyone who could afford it. Corvian had given up trying to gain control of Greensalts after every person he sent to investigate either disappeared or ended up addicted to the stuff. It was better to cut his losses, for now.

The crowning use of the information had been to inform one of the Chosen. To many Chosen, nothing was more important than the Great Games. They vied against each other to influence which Gladiators would become Champions. To them, the knowledge that an unexpected Grand Championship would soon be held was worth much to them.

Corvian was a Red at heart. He���d grown up in the shadows of the East Shallows Tallhouses. His father had been a Red and his grandfather had been a Red. Corvian stayed true to his roots, even if he was now a wealthy man and the East Shallows streets were long behind him.

Of course he was also a businessman, and although he favoured the Reds for sentimental reasons, the Blues were more realistic about the value of information.

Two of the Ungifted (no magic) characters in the book are involved in organized crime. One, Corvian, comes by this as honestly as one can — it is the best way out of poverty and into wealth for him.

It occurs to me that politics and the underworld are great venues for “normal” people to gain power in an Empire where most of the positions of strength are awarded to the few Gifted who earn the people’s trust. It bears further examination, at least.

After Breaking Bad, it seemed natural to have one of these Characters introduce a new Drug to Krass.

The Devout, an Antagonistic Culture

The Devout from Chronopia

Those of you who read my serial, the Shadow Wolf Sagas, will be somewhat familiar with the Villains known as The Devout. They are an antagonistic culture that I created for one of my Fantachronica games over a decade ago, and recycled into the Shadow Wolf Sagas.

Often when gaming, I was��forced to come up with a new threat when my group caught��me off-guard or a play session lengthened into Epic territory. In one such case I needed to add a little variety to an enemy army. That week I had been perusing the old Chronopia game, and had been struck by the lovely art for the Devout Greatswords unit. I could not find the actual picture I was thinking of, but I did find one of a Devout Unit. I dropped them into the game, mostly as scenery — a cool unit of Gothic Greatswordsmen with a certain fanatical quality to them.

Over time I filed the serial numbers off, and created a whole backstory for their culture. Eventually they became a major threat and my last great Fantachronica game with the Kitchener Crew ended with the players leading a fleet to find the homeland of the Devout and bring the fight to them. Sadly we never got to play.

So for those of you who read my Shadow Wolf Sagas, or are simply curious, here are my thoughts on the Devout.

It’s All About Style: The Devout began as an image. I really loved that old Chronopia art piece with its spikey sensibilities. The Devout engage both a uniform fetish, and my love of armour of all types.
What is an Antagonistic Culture?: My definition of an Antagonistic Culture can be summed up with with one word: Nazi. Nazis make the perfect villains. While the individuals might occasionally be portrayed as human or even sympathetic, a sane person cannot redeem the culture that created Auschwitz. Nobody really sympathizes with an SS trooper who is gunned down or killed, unless the creator takes extreme lengths to humanize that character (or the reader is deranged). An Antagonistic culture is one that is at odds with our beliefs to such an extent that we view it as evil. The Devout believe in eugenics, human sacrifice, and the right of the powerful to such an extreme degree that they fall into that same mind-space as Nazis, and thus make great antagonists for a war.
Not Really That Devout, Actually: I really wish I hadn’t used the name The Devout. Sadly, it stuck. You see the Devout are not especially religious . Instead the are fanatical adherents to a philosophy of strength.��In their view the truly powerful can become gods. They believe in this view to the point that their entire culture is shaped by it. In Fantachronica, the game I was running, some individuals can ascend beyond mortality becoming legendary heroes and villains. In the Shadow Wolf Sagas, Ragnar is actually one of these ascended, a Twiceborn who returned from the grave to live a second life. The Devout are led by their ascended who vie against each other, and the rest of the world, to ascend again, into Godhood. Since most ascended are created by conflict, Devout society is conflict driven. This drives both their internal and external interactions. They are fanatical and vicious, destroying and conquering all they can.
Only the Strong: The Motto of the Devout is actually something that I came up with entirely for the Shadow Wolf Sagas. Only the Strong perfectly sums up the way The Devout view the world. Only the Strong matter. Only the Strong can rule. Only the Strong have rights. Only the Strong shall prosper. And so on. It is a view that has undeniable attraction to the already powerful. It also attracts those who want to be strong or who naturally follow the strong. Anything that hones, breeds, or enhances personal power is desirable, and the strong can do what they wish.
The Lost Homeland: The Devout developed cut off from other cultures and outside ideas. In the end I situated them on a set of islands in a remote corner of my world, a place surrounded by dangerous seas. Their lands are��rich in resources, but very crowded. I pictured it as a Aztec architecture with high medieval armour and stylistic flourished. Can you imagine a Gothic Ziggurat? In the end however, the Devout homeland��is not meant to be something that people visit, either in games or in books, I like the idea of leaving it with a degree of mystery.

In the Shadow Wolf Sagas timeline, I assumed that the Devout were defeated and cut off from the rest of the world. Enough of them are left in the outside world��to keep the ghosts of their ideas alive, with the threat that if they could somehow link up with the remaining forces of their homeland then they could once again bring war and ruin.

The Shadow Wolf Sagas: Blade Breaker 1.44

Tis Thursday night, and time once more for Ragnar and his pack to prowl the pages of my blog.

This is my weekly serial. Here is the first post.

Watch to catch up with last week’s post first? here it is.

Finally, here is a useful guide.

“Renoit?” I asked, fearing the worst.

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Ragnar,” said Murith, rolling her eyes. “Renoit is fine. I put a bolt in the back of that big brute’s head while our fencing friend was distracting him. It didn’t put him down, mind you, but Renoit made short work of him after that. I take it you did not rescue Madame Glorianna.”

“Don’t be glib Murith, I have a headache,” I said, groaning as I sat up. “Lord Torvul commands some impressive magic. Like being caught in a hurricane, really. I suppose I should be glad he was in too much of a hurry to kill me. Where are the others?”

“Sildus and Git went after Lord Torvul,” said Murith. “Renoit is finishing the last of the Devout in the building. Shan’t take him long.”

I shook my head. While Lord Torvul’s minions were to true Devout as a cub is to a wolf, they were still capable fighters. I looked at Kitirix, the one who had stayed behind to take my head, lying in a pool of his own blood. I felt suddenly tired.

“Murith, how easily can we rejoin Sildus and Git?” I asked.

“Easily enough,” said Murith. “Torvul has to travel underground, which is slowing them down.”

“Good, it is time that I kept a promise to a countryman,” I said.

<>

“So you say the assassin did not kill my son?” said Harald Magnison, called Ironmast, a mountainous man, the peak of his head capped in red hair. “Why should I believe you, exile?”

“I don’t care if you do, Sea Wolf,” I said. I was speaking to Harald in front of his ship, with his sons and brother watching over us. They all looked useful in a fight. “The assassin will be there as well. Once we stop the Devout you can bury your axe in whichever man you think is responsible.”

“Watch your tone, exile,” growled one of Harald’s burly sons, a younger version of his father in surly temperament as well as looks.

“I think you’re telling tales, exile,” said Harald, his eyes narrowing. Obviously he considered this a trap.

“We don’t have time for this Ragnar,” said Murith. “Lord Torvul has to act soon or the whole city will come down on him.”

“Very well,” I said. “I have done as you asked Harald Magnison. I do so out of respect for your family and your fallen son. I know that I am an exile and you have no reason to��trust my word, but I speak the truth. I swear an oath to all the gods of the north, and on my clan, the shadow wolves that your son was killed as part of this plot of the Devout.”

“He may not believe you, Ragnar Grimfang, but I do,” said a voice from behind me.

My blood turned to ice at the sound.

 

 

 

Teaser Tuesday

I sat down to watch some Rome and forgot to post this:

The Platinum Laurel Lounge of the Grand Arena was so long that it would take Corvian almost three-quarters of an hour to walk the full circle at a brisk pace. It comprised an entire level of the enormous structure, connecting all of the private boxes to a single posh lobby. The entire floor was tessellated with scenes from the early days of Krass, the struggles of the Reckoning, and famous matches from the first century of the Grand Arena.

An army of pages, valets, bartenders, and restaurant staff manned the numerous eateries in the Lounge.

While it was simple and frequently desirable to climb to one���s private box unseen, the Lounge was a hub for the powerful in the Capital. Even when the rest of the arena was empty the bars and eateries of the Platinum Laurel Lounge were full of men and women. Deals were made here, fortunes secured, and alliances sealed.

It was also one of the few places where the Chosen mixed freely with the elite citizens of the Domains, regardless of Faction.

Corvian wished he could bring Darius here. Darius would be thrilled at the view of the fighting grounds. It was the dream of every young pup growing up in East Shaloows to walk these halls, to be part of the Platinum Laurel Club. Corvian was equally sure that his humble, hard-working friend would frown on some of the goings on here. Most people would not want to see the inner workings of power, more mundane and yet more disturbing than they would guess. Corvian was able to accept these systems as they were, it was one his greater talents he supposed. He hated to admit it, but that was why he was a member of the Club and Darius was not.

Corvian and Darius are both characters that hail from Bloodlust: The Great Games, a short story I wrote. I exported them into the main storyline because they fit nicely into certain roles. Darius is the everyman fan of the Great Games, a stand in for the reader in some ways, while Corvian is a more cynical, opportunistic fellow who demonstrates some of the types of opportunity that the great games bring.