C.P.D. Harris's Blog, page 56

The Shadow Wolf Sagas: Blade Breaker 1.43

Once again tis Thursday and time for my weekly serial. Join Ragnar Grimfang and his band of misfits as they defend the streets of Myrrhn!

Want to start at the beginning? link here.

Missed last week’s post? try this link.

Also, there is this useful guide.

One moment I was charging, ready to pounce on Lord Torvul, the next I felt like a bull had rammed me, as a wave of mystic force flung me through the air like a child’s toy, smashing me through the reinforced wooden wall of Madame Glorianna’s office. I could feel glass and wood in my bare skin. My vision dimmed. I heard a woman sobbing.

I pushed myself up just in time to be flattened again as something heavy and sharp slammed into my back. Most of the blow was deflected by my chainmail. I was not so luck on the second hit. I growled, reaching for the man’s leg, receiving an steel boot to the face for my efforts. I held on though, like a stubborn dog with a bone, toppling my assailant. I pulled myself onto him, raising my axe.

Before I could bring it down, Lord Torvul’s voice sounded again. This time I braced for the impact, which sent me tumbling into another wall.

“Leave him,” I heard Torvul say as I began to pick myself up. “I don’t have time to kill a Twiceborn right now.”

“Let me take his head,” said another voice.

“I am leaving now,” said Lord Torvul. “You will be rewarded if you bring the head to me, Kitirix. But be quick about it, his friends are nearly here and one of them has killed Varm.”

“I will not fail you Lord,” said Kitirix, sounding uncertain.

“Only the strong,” said Lord Torvul. My vision was now clear enough to see Lord Torvul leaving along with Madame Glorianna and another Devout. A pair of boots and the end of a sword suddenly filled my vision.

“Look at me, dog, while I kill you,” said Kitirix. Time seemed to slow. Kitirix took another step forward, raising his sword. I could feel blood on my back and broken ribs. I drew a breath, closing my eyes and summoning strength. I waited for the sound, that unmistakable intake of breath that would come as he struck. When I heard it, I sprang, growling.

The Devout, despite his master’s warning, did not expect me to have any fight left. I saw his eyes widen in shock well enough, as I stood, ramming a hunting blade up and under his chin, through the small gap between Heaume and mail. I drove it home. His swing was spoiled but Kitirix did not die easy, bashing my head with the pommel of his blade, once, twice, before we both toppled to the ground. I went black again.

I was in a forest. Not the kind of forest that people from Myrrhn would picture when I said forest. Big trees, uneven ground littered with broken trunks, and uneven patches of scrub. Moss, fungus, and shadow everywhere. It looked like the forests of my clan. I was running through them again in my dream.

I became aware of others running with me. Most people would call them wolves. I knew better. 

“It is good to run with you again, brother,” said one. I felt the pack echo the sentiment.

“I cannot run with you in exile, great wolf,” I said.

“You are exiled from the land, not the pack, brother,” said the alpha, a big black beast with fur like the midnight sky.

“Ragnar,”

“Ragnar!” said Murith, standing over me.

“Wuuuuh?” I said, nearly retching as Git applied some foul smelling salve to my wounds. I looked around. I did not see any wolves, but Kitirix the Devout lay dead in a pool of his own blood. Of the rest there was no sign.

“Renoit?” I asked, looking up at Murith.

Tuesday Teaser

Tis Tuesday once more, and time for a teaser from my upcoming book, Bloodlust: Red Glory.

“That was brave,” said Sadira as Sapphire Kiss passed out of the arena. “I’m not sure I would have the steel to do that. She looked so confident as well.”

Gavin smiled, remembering his first match against Sadira in this every arena, which had ended up with him losing and her naked. Life was strange. 

“Looks can be deceiving,” said Ravius from the other side of Gavin. “I’ve heard ugly things about the Skin Leagues.”

“I think they are an insult to the Games,” said Vintia from beside Sadira. “I can’t believe that woman made the final selection and neither Tenisha nor Richelle did.”

“Popularity counts,” said Sadira. “That has always been part of the games. How is Sapphire Kiss more of an insult than Gloria Bella Maxima?”

“Her record isn’t as good,” said Vintia. “But I don’t like Gloria Bella Maxima any more. Neither of them would last through a real battle.”

Sadira laughed. “You are getting curmudgeonly as a Warbound, love. I’m sure many people thought the same about myself.”

“I never did,” said Vintia. “But you’re right. This, all of this, just seems so disjointed after the realities of campaigning in Ithal’Duin.”

Sadira shrugged.

“I can see what you mean Vintia,” said Gavin. “Everything seems a little off.”

“No surprise there,” said Ravius. “You still have trouble grasping the fact that you’re a Chosen, little brother.”

Sadira laughed, Gavin smiled.

“Do you suppose Crimson Rod is going to come out naked as well?” asked Sadira.

Sapphire Kiss, one of the main characters introduced in Bloodlust: Red Glory, is a Gladiatrix with a checkered career who keeps her dreams of being a Grand Champion alive by joining the Skyclad League. The Gladiators in the Skyclad League must fight with their loins and chests bared and can only wear armour, not clothing. It is the invention of the perverse Chosen Silvius, who seeks to exploit the already sexualized nature of the Great Games. [Note that I am aware that Skyclad means no armour either, in traditional use.]

Objectively the Skyclad League is no worse than the Death Leagues, which seek to exploit the savagery of the games. However I find the idea of the Skyclad Leagues more difficult to write about. I suppose, even for me, sex is still more taboo than violence. Such is North American media culture I guess.

The Skyclad League, often called the skin leagues in a derogatory fashion, is generally looked down on. Yet it does get Sapphire Kiss into the Grand Championships. It is a dilemma we are all familiar with in the modern world.

Paradigm Shift: Systems, Change, and Fantasy

We live in fascinating times: we are experiencing impressive changes in technology that will shape our lives and our future. I am going to use one of these shifts to illustrate how paradigm shifts can be a wonderful source of conflict in genre fiction, focusing on Fantasy.

Oil is the keystone of the industrial economy. It seems obvious to any forward looking person, however, that oil will be knocked off its pedestal by renewable energy sources within a decade or two. At this point the same people denying that oil is facing a serious challenge are the same people who deny climate change, mostly for the same reasons.

However, oil has been so important for so long that whole systems have sprung up around it. Oil not only dominates the energy industry, it has a huge amount of influence on the automotive industry, construction, the air industry, and so on. Just watch the fluctuations on various stocks when the price of oil changes. Here in Canada we have become so closely tied to oil that when the price of oil drops the TSX often drops with it, and the valuation of the Loonie seems tied to it. Meanwhile if the price of oil drops stock in airlines will often go up, for example, as they save more fuel costs.

With this kind of importance oil and oil companies have a lot of power. Many people argue that certain recent wars have been fought mostly at the behest of oil interests, and even if you disagree, you have to admit that the idea of wars fought over oil sound plausible. They are the sort of conflict that could easily replace good vs evil in a fantasy novel , but more on that later.

Entities with a great deal of power will use that power to put down threats to that power. The transition away from an oil based economy is as inevitable as the transition from a primarily paper based workplace to a digital one. Oil won’t cease to be used, but it will no longer be nearly as important. Obviously this is a problem to anyone who is heavily invested in that lovely black stuff. This is why we see have seen so many seemingly stupid, misguided attempts in recent years to shut down renewable energy. People who have a vested interest in oil are trying to prevent rooftop solar from gaining popularity, for example, and are willing to pay large sums of money to politicians to do so. This bleeds over into other sectors as well. Gasoline is a big boon to the oil industry, so suddenly electric cars become a political target, after all if you can charge a vehicle with energy from solar or wind then that takes a big bite out of the demand for oil.

The most interesting, and ugly, use of the power that the systems built around oil have accumulated is in the twin dismissals of climate change and concerns over oil spills and pipelines. People are being paid to lie, change laws, and enhance the profits of an enormous industry which is doing serious damage to the environment, possibly on a very large scale. Rather than sit back and examine it, the industry seems determined to use short term political power to preserve its dominance. If you look at it properly, it all sounds very human, like a rich king trying to keep his throne at all costs even as the clamour for democratic reform reaches a fever pitch.

With those points in mind it is very easy to see how a paradigm shift over something as seemingly banal as oil can ignite conflicts that can easily power a compelling narrative. The best part is, in a Fantasy novel, the author can illustrate these changes without stepping on any political toes and offending readers or tailor the paradigm shift directly to the story he wants to tell.

Anyone who has read my works knows that I enjoy using magic as a metaphor for power. So let’s replace oil with magic. Imagine, for example, that a certain type of magic has risen to pre-eminence, but it is somehow limited to a small number of people. Heredity would be a good example of this. If magic is passed down only through certain bloodlines, then it is easy to see how those bloodlines would become a sort of feudal nobility by default, especially if magic is powerful. Those bloodlines would wield a tremendous amount of influence, even beyond the power that they possess.

The magical nobility would likely treat non magic-users as second class citizens.
Magical dynasties would make sure to control the destiny of the bloodline. It would be bad for one of their young to marry someone without magic and thus dilute the line. Arranged marriages are almost certain, while breeding programs are not out of the question.
The power structure of each nation would be based around the family, again similar to feudal societies.

So lets say that our mages have set up a kind of republic, with only those with magic allowed into achieve full citizenship. To avoid the standard medieval feudal setting we have our mages meet in some kind of senate, where only they are allowed to vote. Each family vies against the others for control, and they all more or less ignore the non magical plebs or use them as pawns.

Then one day, someone discovers that fashioning a staff out of a certain kind of wood and topping it with a certain kind of crystal will allow anyone to use certain kinds of magical effects.

We decide that this type of magic is less powerful, but just about anyone can use it.
The wood and the crystal are common enough that this type of magic spreads quickly, but not so common that it becomes ubiquitous or can’t be controlled.

The reaction of the magical nobility, and the conflicts that followed would be interesting. Here are a few thoughts on what this paradigm shift would cause.

The magical aristocracy would likely first try to make the staves illegal and hunt down anyone who knows how to make them.
If the magical aristocracy was powerful enough they might try to take over the sources of crystal and wood. There would be a huge black market for these items and they would inevitably become available.
People would become less reliant on the mages. This would lead to them wanting more say in their government.
Cracking down on this new form of magic could make even the most loved of the magical nobility into villains in the eyes of the people.
Someone would eventually form an army of staff wielding soldiers. This would create whole new forms of warfare.
Places where the staffs become commonplace would have a better of quality of life than the others, setting off even more desire for reform in places where they aren’t.

Acting to preserve one’s own power is not inherently evil, but as things shift conflict occurs, and those who resist an inevitable change can become more and more desperate to hold on to their beloved source of power and influence. This can easily lead to an excavating series of oppressive and evil actions that could make a wonderful plot for a fantasy series.

The Shadow Wolf Sagas: Blade Breaker 1.42

Tis Thursday, and time for my weekly serial. So sit back and enjoy a tale of Ragnar Grimfang and the mean streets of Myrrhn.

Want to read the first post, follow this link.

Want to read last week’s post, follow this link.

A helpful guide.

“Go!” said Renoit, stroding purposefully toward the armoured Ogre, Varm. I felt a knot in the pit of my stomach as I turned and ran. I knew Renoit was a magnificent swordsman, but his blades looked like toothpicks for a monster like Varm. Cursing, I bounded up the stairs, heading deeper in the the Doxies Union headquarters.

Familiarity with the building worked in my favour. I had often worked here in my time under Madame Glorianna’s employ. I knew she had a secure office, I went there first.

I passed more than a few corpses, mostly bodyguards and staff. I recognized some. The Doxies Union had put up a valiant resistance, but they simply weren’t capable of handling an attack like this. Mobs, angry customers, small mercenary bands, and the occasional assassin were nothing compared to the Devout.

I heard screaming in more than a few places as I passed. I kept running. There would be a lot more screaming in the city if this Lord Torvul found Madame Glorianna and the waygate he was looking for.

Rounding a corner, I found a muscular devout holding down a pretty girl by the throat, eager for the rape. I didn’t even break stride. The Devout’s helm gave a satisfying crunch as my hammer came connected.  He fell over and the woman gave an enraged cry as she struggled up. As I kept running I heard the sound of something heavy smashing into metal.

I caught a flash of movement from an intersecting corridor and a bolt of some sort, from a Devout or a jumpy Doxie I could not be sure, just missed my head. I cursed myself for losing my helm.

The main entranvce to Madame Glorianna’s fortified office looked like an abattoir. Her bodyguards had gone down fighting, even taking a few of the Devout with them. I heard a voice from within. I took it all in and charged into the room, beseaching Skygge for silence.

I was two steps into the room before anyone noticed me. One of the Devout turned, and I clubbed him in the font of the helm with my hammer, hard enough to knock him off his feet. I saw thin man, scowling, turning away from a terrified looking madame Glorianna. I roared and drove my pick into the head of the second Devout in my way, as two more turned and lifted their shields.

“Lord Torvul, I hope,” I said, pointing my weapon at the thin man. The body of the second Devout crumpled the ground, blood leaking from the hole in his helm.

“Why would you hope such a thing?” asked the man. His voice was cold and casual, almost bored, as his eyes met mine. I saw power there, and a ruthless intelligence.

“Because I hate being wrong twice in one engagement,” I said.

He smiled. “I am indeed Lord Torvul,” He said. “I would ask your name, Nordan, but I doubt I will be using it again.” I started forward, aiming to leap over the two Devout shieldsmen in my way, but before I could take two steps Lord Torvul made a gesture and shouted a word of power. A wave of force smashed into me, sending me careening into the wall hard enough that I came out the other side. Head swimming, I tried to rise.

Tuesday Teaser

Its Tuesday somewhere still…

To calm her nerves before the match Sapphire Kiss picked up her Flying scythe and began some warm up movements. Starting with a series of simple cuts, slow at first but gaining speed, she tossed the scythe, watching it flash silver as it passed through a beam of sun slicing down from a high window, and jerked it back. Then she flowed into a more aggressive stance, whirling the weapon around her faster and faster, weaving patterns in the air. She lost herself, leading the Flying scythe in an intricate dance, leaping over the whirling blade and swinging it wide. It helped her forget her troubles.

“You look succulent when you dance, my pet,” said Chosen Silvius, flat eyes staring at her from the doorway.

Sapphire Kiss caught her weapon and snapped into a bow to her patron. Silvius was a man who demanded respect, despite his flippant exterior. Besides, the bow would help hide her sneer. She hated the way the man looked at her now, his eyes roaming her body like they were young lovers, or perhaps the way a butcher looks at a cut of meat. It was not proper.

“I came to bid you good fortune,” said Chosen Silvius. “And to make sure you were warmed up.”

“Thank you, patron,” said Sapphire Kiss carefully.

Sapphire Kiss is one of the more complicated characters that I have tried in the Domains of the Chosen series. On the surface she is a determined charismatic fighter, but early stumbles in her career forced her off the beaten path. To grow a fan base she turns to the Skyclad (naked) League and Chosen Silvius. Thus while she is pleased to make it to the Grand Championships, she carries a lot of baggage with her.

I put this character through a lot of humiliation, some of it makes me cringe to think about. I was unsure if I was on the right path, but early response to Sapphire Kiss has been very positive.

On the fighting grounds Sapphire Kiss uses the flying scythe, a weapon similar to a kasurigama. This gives her a very unusual, flowing style with a lot of surprises…

The Flying Scythe… kinda

Sunday Evening teaser: Fiona The Executioner

Fiona the Executioner is a familiar face to anyone who has read my short story, Bloodlust: The Great Games. In that work she is a an up-and-coming protege, who wins great acclaim by taking a big risk to win a Faction Challenge. Fiona primarily uses Necromantic magic, and has sort of a punk rock stage persona, all swagger and snarl, mixed with celtic knotwork for visual embellishment. The weapons on the cover of Bloodlust: The Great Games are hers.

The Gladiatrix was sure that her blow was accurate, but the whirling colours fooled her yet again. The silver arc of her weapon narrowly missed The Weird’s head as he fell back, rolling over his shoulder and coming to his feet.

By now Fiona had conjured two more of the screaming skulls, which hovered menacingly above her shoulders. Undaunted The Weird went on the attack, leaping forward, then lunging at the Gladiatrix. His long lean form, combined with the dizzying patterns of his attire, made it difficult for Fiona to judge the blow. She opted to simply sweep the staff aside, instead of trying to sidestep or deflect.

There was a flash of power as The Weird wove a spell, and Fiona found herself off balance as her weapons swept past the the staff, which seemed to be warping, twisting in the air. She pivoted, but the attack caught her just above the hip. The tip of the staff was blade now, and she felt it bite into her unarmoured flesh.

Fiona’s story is about the weight of expectation. She is lucky enough to be mentored by Chosen Marius, one of the most distinguished men in the Empire, and really wants to live up to this.

Waiting in her arming room, sweating from her pre-match warm-up, Fiona had trouble calming her nerves. She tried to remember that she had fought in this arena many times, while the Weird had not. She also had the Capital advantage; the crowds here knew her and loved her. If it came to a show of thumbs she would most likely carry.

Nonetheless, Fiona wanted to show her fans that she was worthy of their support. The weight of expectation, both hers and others, was upon her. At times she felt unworthy: the people of Krass, a Chosen for a Patron, the Gift itself. She was lucky, and felt the need to make the most of it. 

Despite the snarl and the swagger, Fiona is the most approachable and normal of the six Gladiator I chose to follow in Bloodlust: Red Glory. She is good to her fans. She respects those who help her. She is also the only one who does not contemplate engaging in shenanigans outside the arena to better her chances at winning.

Will the Golden Laurels fall to her? We shall soon find out…

 

The Shadow Wolf Sagas 1.41

Once again tis time for the adventures of Ragnar Grimfang and his merry band!

This is my weekly serial, the first post can be found here.

Last week’s post can be found here.

A helpful guide can be found here.

“Of course,” said Git, reaching into the apron he habitually wore when he expected trouble. A long sweeping garment made of drakescale and reinforced with metal plates, Git’s `utility apron’ ranked among the ugliest pieces of clothing that someone has worn more than once. The drakescales were a patchwork of varying sizes, in varying condition, and from various breeds of drake. There was no discernible pattern to the colours and shapes, and it was covered with pouches, buckles, and buttons. According to Git the drake scales protected him from the elements, and Git always seemed to be able something useful its many compartments.

Git pulled a small globe of white liquid from his pocket.

“Stand back,” he said, rather unnecessarily. “Be ready with your hammer Ragnar.”

Then he tossed the globe against the door. It shattered and the liquid splashed against the metal and wood. I felt the rush of wind, as if from a an explosion, followed quickly by a precipitous drop in temperature. Frost crept outward from the impact, chased by ice. I could hear the frame warping, as if in protest of this violation. Git looked at me expectantly and I stepped forward, raising my hammer.

“Wait!” said Murith. “We don’t know what is on the other side. Let me use my crossbow so you aren’t standing right in the open.”

I nodded and stepped to the side. Murith was right, I would have been easy prey for a line of archers on the other side. Her arbalest twanged. The bolt hit the door with a sound like river ice breaking in spring thaw, along with the screams of metal. Sure enough a volley of bolts lanced through the doors. I wasted no time in charging through the door, figuring that all of the enemy had loosed their weapons.

An armoured figure, big as a half-giant, loomed over me before I could get to the bowmen. I felt that little tingling feeling in the back of my head that signaled the presence of another ascended. I stepped out of the way of a swipe from his two-handed scimitar.

“Lord Torvul, I presume,” I raised my chin defiantly at the Devout Leader.

“You shall not have the honour of meeting our lord in this life,” said the figure. “I am called Varm.”

“I am Ragnar Grimfang, exile of the Shadow Wolf clan,” I returned.

“It is good to know who I am to kill,” said Varm.

As Varm and I circled, Sildus somehow slipped in. I saw the assassin in the shadows as one of the archers fell. A throwing knife perhaps. I was forced to defend myself before I could make sense of it. Varm charged. He was stronger than me, and larger. His armour looked thick. Given time I could wear him down, but time was not on my side.

I ducked to the side, hooking his leg with my pick. Varm tripped, falling toward the tile floor. He did not smash into the ground as I expected, however. Have you ever seen a man in full plate armour roll? It is a simple enough manoueuvre, but made exceptionally difficult by the weight and lack of flexibility of such a suit. Varm managed it, rolling to his feet and sending jumping back with a swipe of his sword before I could close.

“A worthy attempt, northman,” said Varm, his voice jovial. “Only the strong.”

Behind me, Varm’s archers were panicking. I heard a body fall. The twang of Murith’s crossbow. I heard a scream from deeper in the halls. I looked around for a way past Varm.

“Leave him to me Ragnar,” said Renoit, stepping past me.

“You’re sure?” I asked, looking from the duellist to the armoured giant.

Renoit shrugged. “Go!”

Teaser Tuesday

Tuesday again, and time for a teaser from my next book, Bloodlust: Red Glory.

“As you have no doubt heard by now, there will be a Grand Championship Tournament held soon,” said Chloe diSilk, announcer at the Killer’s Circle, gazing down at the finest Gladiators and Gladiatrices in the Death-Leagues. “After some discussion, the members have decided to offer all of you the chance to win their support. This support will guarantee the best of you a place in the Grand Championships, you may be assured.”

Twenty Gladiators, all master ranked or close to it, looked at each other. Some of them could not help but compare their situation to a rabble match.

“The rules are simple, elegant, really,” said Madame diSilk. “You will fight until only four of you remain standing. Let the games begin!”

Spells began to fly almost immediately. A fireball scorched half a dozen fighters before the echo of the trumpets died. None of them fell, however, and the Gladiators broke into knots of action.

Chloe diSilk is a character from Bloodlust: Will to Power, a woman who bootstrapped herself off the streets of Dregs to become the Arena Master of the most important Death League in the Domains.

I fished her out of the backstory to use as a foil for one of the new characters in Red Glory and to show how an influential outsider can try to alter the course of the games.

Of course, where there is a Chloe diSilk, there is also a Baron Bones…

Digital Video Content and Modern Fantasy: A Better Fit?

I’d love to see this as a series.

I keep hearing that we live in the Golden Age of television. It is an interesting notion, and much has been written about it. Personally I believe television has quietly been supplanted by digital content. Certainly the traditional pattern of Televison watching has been mostly supplanted by the digital age pattern of consuming media. If my friends miss Game of Thrones or Vikings they store it as a file and watch it when they want. That they cannot legally watch it from their computers or phones in some cases is the vestige of old TV culture, while the pattern and content fits something newer. Of course, much of Digital Content evolved out of TV in many ways, so it is hard to separate the two.

Regardless of whether you agree with me or not that Digital Content is the man in the iron mask, the way we now consume our video media is much better for Fantasy series. Here are a few salient points as to why:

Digital Consumption: Fantasy requires more investment. The rules of a particular world require that the audience take the time to learn them. With old media it was often hard to get difficult concepts into a show because of the episodic nature of consumption. If I introduced a complex notion in one episode and then used it in another episode, there was no guarantee that the viewer would have seen it, so I would either have to explain it all over again or risk them not picking up the important points. Since exposition is often dull, this can create problems. Obviously some shows worked around this limitation, but now it isn’t a limitation at all.
Serial Format: The Serial has become the dominant form of video content. While it has its roots in mini-series and the early serials from the pre-millennial years serial television came into its own under digital consumption patterns. The fact that we can watch these shows when we want to, often on whatever device we have available, save our place, go back to check things, and so one makes complex serials possible. This serial format is brilliantly suited to Fantasy, which often proceeds at a stately place that is at odds with a movie and impossible in episodic TV. Epic Fantasy, in particular, works better as a serial revolving around a long plot. It still requires adaptation from book form to fit the highs and lows of one hour episodes, but that is becoming easier and easier especially as obstacles like commercial breaks are often absent in digital shows.
Cheaper, Better FX: Rome was cancelled after two seasons because of the enormous expense of the show. Game of Thrones pushes the envelope of what is possible on a TV show of any budget. Both would have been impossible prior to the digital age. FX are becoming better and better in nearly every way. Even amateur youtube videos often have better special effects than the TV series that I grew up with. Meanwhile we are reaching the point that a TV series with a modest budget can actually afford to emulate super heroes and magical powers and not come off as cheap or cheesy. This is great news for fantasy fans.
The Audience: As formats align and costs come down, it becomes easier to make a profit satisfying a niche audience. With the enormous competition between a multitude of channels it often pays to cater to a niche that has a large ready-made fan base. Not every show can expect to break through into the mainstream, like Game of Thrones, Vikings, Rome, and so on but if we are not yet at a point where a decent Fantasy serial can be made for a niche audience we will be very soon. Of course, as modern fantasy matures and branches out, there are more and more fans willing to watch shows about elves, orcs, magic, and the fantastical and take them seriously. Additionally those who are curious, but not used to the nuances of a particular niche, can easily find online guides and communities willing to help them “get it”.

In short, I believe that the consumption pattern, sophisticated audience, and simple possibilities of the digital age is better for making a Fantasy “TV” series. I hope to see more soon.

The Shadow Wolf Sagas: Blade Breaker 1.40

The first dusting of snow twinkles like a field of secret diamonds under the streetlights and I set about envisioning the foggy streets of Myrrhn.

This is Shadow Wolf, my weekly serial. Follow this link for the first post.

Watch to catch up by reading last week’s post. Try this link.

Here is a helpful guide.

Sildus did not meet us on the way to meet Madame Glorianna. This worried me somewhat, but Myrrhn is unpredictable, and The Guild doubly so. Who knows what the masters of the Obsidian Spire would think of the assassin’s tale. They might simply cast him down for his impudence, rather than believe foolishness about the Devout and Elemental summoning bracelets that doomed the wearers. Power can cloud the mind, especially against the threat unaccounted for.

We shouldered, stared, and cursed our way through the crowded streets to the Doxie’s Union stronghold. I noted the presence of additional security as I strode up to the front gate. Big men, all scarred.

“Ragnar Grimfang, here to see madame Glorianna,” I said.

“She is currently indisposed, mr Grimfang,” said an enormous Ogre. It was then that I noticed that none of the men were ones that I recognized.

“Of course she is, brothers,” said I, holding up one of the rings we had pilfered from Stazz and Sons. “Hope you saved some for us. Only the strong.”

The guard smiled and the gate swung open.

“Only the strong,” he said. “Glad to see you arrived so soon, brethren. Lord Torvul is within. We have not quite subdued of the whores and their simpering protectors yet. Needless to say you can keep what you conquer.”

“Excellent,” I said, stepping past the Guard.

I nearly made it to the front door before he made us.

“Wait, you’re a Nor–” he began. The rest of his words were drowned in blood as the point of Renoit’s elegant blade blossomed underneath his chin. Of course being a disciple of the Devout, the enormous ogre did not die that easily. Instead he flailed about, trying to get at Renoit, who simply kept behind him. T’would have been grimly amusing if it were not for the fact that the rest of the courtyard exploded into action.

Murith’s crossbow twanged, taking a man off his feet. Git tossed a glass globe on the ground that shattered, spreading a rapidly expanding gel on the cobbles. Several men slipped and fell as they tried to cross the greasy stuff.

Meanwhile I shouldered into one of the Devout running toward us from the other direction. I was armoured and he was not, but my impact had little effect on him. As he sneered and tried to bring his weapon to bear, however, I swung my hammer up, smashing it into his groin. The fight left his eyes and he fell to the ground as surely as any man would. Another pair were upon me before I could triumph, pushing me back ferocious swings of their heavy swords.

Renoit leapt into the fray beside me, His blade danced, slicing open the eye of one and stabbing the other in back of the knee. I finished the latter as he stumbled, bringing my hammer down on the back of his neck and sending him crashing into the ground. I heard Murith’s crossbow twang again, some shattering glass and a whoosh of flame, then I saw a shutter open above us.

I was about to shout warning when I realized that it was an allie. A woman firing a bow of her own in defence of the Doxie’s Union. One of the unarmoured Devout went down as she shot him in the back and then in the head. Renoit finished the last one with a swift jab to the heart.

Then the Ogre fell down.

I looked at the group. Everyone was fine.

“Git,” I said. “The door with be barred from the inside I wager. Got anything that will get us in without setting the whole place ablaze?”

“Of course,” said Git.