C.P.D. Harris's Blog, page 66

Classic Villains: The Elder Spawn and Nameless Horrors

“We fought far under the living earth, where time is not counted. Ever he clutched me, and ever I hewed him, till at last he fled into dark tunnels. They were not made by Durin’s folk, Gimli son of Gloin. Far, far below the deepest delving of the Dwarves, the world is gnawed by nameless things. Even Sauron knows them not. They are older than he. Now I have walked there, but I will bring no report to darken the light of day. In that despair my enemy was my only hope, and I pursued him, clutching at his heel.” Gandalf recounting part of his battle with the Balrog in The Two Towers.

From the deep, the elder spawn rose…

Nameless horrors and mad cults have been a part of fantasy for some time. Recently however, I have noticed that the idea has evolved to new heights, with fresh infusions via Lovecraft, and crossovers from horror writers.

I was first introduced to the Lovecraft Mythos, Cthulhu, the yellow king, the mountains of madness, and all of that when I read the first edition Deities and Demigods, an old D&D supplement detailing villains, patrons, religions, and cults for aspiring dungeon masters. I suspect, given the huge influence that RPGs have had on the current generation of Fantasy writers, that much of the passion for elder spawn, nameless horrors, and the mad cults as villains in modern fantasy comes from that source.  Of course, as the above passage illustrates, even Tolkien had a thing for things that go bump in the night.

Characteristics of Elder Spawn

Primal: The Elder Spawn pre-date civilization. Mythlogically they are comparable to the Greek Titans; creatures that existed before men and even before the gods. As the name elder spawn describes, they are very old, far beyond the reckoning of men at least. This gives them a sense of primal mystery, as well as the idea that they are a proto-form, rough things created before the creators actually perfected their arts, or entirely alien to the current order.
Apocalyptic: The Elder Spawn have tremendous power, and don’t really care for humanity, the gods, or whatever the established order is. They are beyond evil, a primal force of corruption or destruction that makes a thousand years under Sauron seem like a preferable outcome. Awakening them has dire consequences, a trait that they share with Dragons in some ways.
Nameless: The Elder spawn are so alien to us that understanding is impossible, or brings madness. These things do not belong to the world of men, and thus are not named in the lore of men. If they have names, then those names are rumours, vague references to legends. The world forgot the Elder Spawn before history even began.
Displaced: We are on their lawn. The Elder Spawn were here first, and if they deigned to notice us they would be rather displeased with the fact that we are squatting in their homes. This ties in with the apocalyptic idea.
Sleepy: The Elder Spawn are not active. They are dormant, asleep, imprisoned, dreaming, or whatever.
Uncaring: In the end, while the Elder Spawn might offer a path to power, they care little for any cult or worshiper that invokes them. Often they end up destroying those who try to use them.

Using the Elder Spawn in Fantasy

Cults of Strange Gods: In the old Forgotten Realms books and the Campaign setting, I really loved reading about the weird cults trying to tap into the power of Elder Spawn (Dead Gods/Dragon Liches, etc). These cults made for awesome bad guys with there elaborate rituals and strange powers.
Dragons as Elder Spawn: Western Dragons could make excellent candidates for Elder Spawn. Powerful, slumbering creatures that pre-date even the elves, perhaps Dragons are the fallen gods of a saurian civilization displaced by men. Waking a single dragon is catastrophic, as usual, but waking too many would end the world in fire.
Forgotten Gods: What happens to a Deity that outlasts the people who pay homage to it? Perhaps time frays its metaphysical form, slowly turning it into an Elder Spawn. These lost and forgotten gods can be great allies or dire enemies who continue to fight old conflicts that have no meaning in the current world, but are still destructive. Best let them lie…
Imprisoned Foes: The Titans of yore were once noble, but the wounds of the war against the gods (or men, whatever) and their subsequent imprisonment have reduced and degraded them. They have become twisted and terrible, unknowable creatures best left in the dark places. Yet some still seek them out for the power they might give.
Lost Civilizations: Remnants of ancient and powerful civilizations are a staple of Fantasy. But imagine how different that powerful runesword the heroes must recover to save the world might be, if it was made by Servants of the Elder Spawn…

The Elder Spawn are a metaphor for madness, alien thoughts, ancient conflicts, and unknowable, amorphous dread. They work well as villains are mythological catalysts in fantasy stories looking for a tone that is both dark and wierd.

The Shadow Wolf Sagas: Blade Breaker 1.4

The Shadow Wolf Sagas are a little experiment of mine, working on first person and serial format, written raw so I can improve my first draft mojo as well.

Blade Breaker 1.1

Blade Breaker 1.3 (last week’s)

Some fools dream of becoming killers. They want the fear and respect that come with being hard men. Desperately seeking the validation of the shadows, they become easy prey for real predators, anyone who can promise them a place in the hierarchy of the dark woods. All to eager to serve those that they want to become, each one of them thinks that he will be accepted in the pack, if only he does what is required with enough fervour. They think everyone else is a clod, blind to the truth of blood and blade, willfully suppressing the knowledge that they are pawns.

I grinned because a chance to rid the world of such vermin was an unexpected boon.

“I don’t want any trouble,” I said, holding up my hands, trying to sound surprised. It is rarely difficult to convince such men that you fear them; they want to be feared like a man in a blizzard wants a warm hearth. They did not realize that I knew their friend was coming up behind me in the alley, and that I was merely wanted him to get closer.

“You’ve got trouble, mark!” said one, holding up a knife. I caught a whiff of alcohol and black crystal on his breath, mad recklessness waiting to explode. “Hand over your scrip or I’ll cut ya!”

His two friends snickered. I heard a soft footfall from behind me, followed by a tension, the gathering of force that precedes most attacks. I could smell the man now, his overeager excitement for the kill turned my stomach.

When the attack came, I read it first in the faces of the three in front of me. Their slack mouth started to tug upwards, and their frenzied eyes began to brighten with cruel glee. Then I heard the whisper of a shifting leather heel on wet cobblestone as he darted forward, aiming a blade at my back. I stepped forward, tracing a quarter circle with my back foot as I turned. The gutter-knife was in mid lunge, but my back was now out of easy reach. Like most men who kill, but do not dance, his form was terrible. He wanted to put that knife in my back with all of the weight of his body behind it, now with nothing to offer resistance he was off-balance. I grabbed his arm and pulled, turning back towards his companions, using his momentum against him as I tossed him at their feet, knocking one of them to the ground.

The two remaining gutter-knives slid around their writhing comrades and came at me, long knives glittering in the dark alley like pools of water in a cave. They came in low, letting me see the blades, as if such a thing might unsettle me. I showed my teeth and put a hand behind me, grabbing the leather wrappings of my trusty warhammer. Things were about to get unpleasant for my new friends.

The one on my right was smarter, letting the other take the lead. Lefty jabbed at me with one blade, aiming for my groin. His attack was predictable, and I sidestepped, sending him tumbling with a quick shove. The rightward attacker, eyes wide in anticipation of victory, slash at my throat. I caught his hand in mine, holding it fast, and then watched his look of triumph turn to horror as my hammer crashed into his face. His skull buckled under the blow and he fell like a sack of meal.

By now the other two had gotten to their feet. I could see the narcotic bravado warring with the reality in their eyes. Deep down even the mangiest of hounds knows enough to recognize a true wolf. A little bit of their friend dripped of my hammer. I grinned at them, listening to the one behind me.

“I am Ragnar Grimfang of Clan Shadow Wolf,” I said. “Twiceborn. I have fought giants on the world’s edge, hunted bane spirits with the Inuw in forgotten forests, and ridden the waves with old Tharn Furisborn. I died at Drajinskyg, as was my fate, but the grave spit me out. Who are you to cross steel with me, gutter-scum.”

The two in front of me ran. I have been told that my eyes, a brooding blue colour, can be quite piercing.

The one behind me, feral with rage, leapt at my back. I took two quick steps forward, listening to the sounds of his boots on the cobbles for positioning and pivoted, lashing out and burying the backspike of hammer in his ear. His mouth opened and close a few times in shock, and then, he too, fell.

I considered for a moment what I would have done in his place. Was he brave, trying to attack me when his friends had run, or just reckless? Perhaps he had simply been more desperate: few things drive men to death like fear of the future.

I considered going about my business, but decided to wait for the watch show up. By now several people were watching from the backs of shops. The laws of Myrrhn are very forgiving with cases of self-defence, and, so long as no one had bribed the watchmen, I would soon be free to go.

The watch was quicker than I expected, appearing at the scene of battle before the rats started sniffing. At their head was a familiar figure, a dwarfen lass with a shock of red fair. My old friend watch Sargent Murith.

She did not look pleased to see me. I grinned.

His hammer would be this style but more ornate.

Corruption and the villainy of systems: how every hero who lives long enough becomes a monster…

It was done for our own good, at least initially…

I believe in entropy, not only as a half-understood (by me :P) scientific concept, but also as a metaphorical construct.

Every thing that exists in the world, no matter how pure and close to perfection, is subject to change. Every ideology, no matter how well it is thought out, frays a little when it leaves theory and enters practice. This is probably not absolute, especially when dealing with simple ideas or easily observable phenomena, but when dealing with complex structures like modern institutions, economics, warfare and so on — it seems to me that those who possess absolute certainty  are always proven fools in the end. This is why I support science and democracy, which both admit that getting things right is an ongoing and problematic process, and very much subject to change and refinement.

I have frequently written about how ideologies and systems can be seen as villainous on this blog, turning a person who could otherwise be seen as good into a monster. Javert from Les Miserables is perhaps my favourite example of this, but it can be seen in Fantasy as well. Sauron’s obsession with order and control could have been a good thing at one point. King Arthur’s quest for the rule of law over the rule of might starts off well, but gives us Mordred, the Knight who follows all the laws openly and is thus protected by them, even though he is obviously rotten. These characters are all introduced as villains, however, what about characters who begin as heroes and are made villainous by the systems they support?

I have often seen this in real life. We invest a great deal of time in the ideas we believe in and the relationships that we build. Sometimes it can be difficult for us to admit when something that we love or believe in becomes flawed. Politics is the obvious example, only the most callous hack or foolish dupe would be unable to point to examples of corruption in the party they last voted for. But that is an easy and cynical observation, hardly worth a story these days. What about a respected family member who is doing something wrong? or an organization that a person has helped build that needs to be defended? These do not have simple answers and make for epic conflicts.

A personal example would be my forays into writing. I am an avid reader. I follow many authors and even count myself as a fan of several publishing companies, especially those who brought my favorite genres to the fore. I am, however, a self-published writer. This puts me at odds with some people who I once saw as great, almost heroic figures. A few traditional authors who benefit from the current system are naturally drawn to defend it, and some go too far in their resistance to change. It puts me in the interesting position of seeing how people who I admire can end up being my enemies.  It is particularly crushing to see some authors and critics violently attack all self-published works. It does, however, give me ideas.

A more fantastical example would be the Trojan war. Fate and the machinations of the Gods aside, it is Priams and Hector’s love for Paris that dooms their city. If they had promptly returned Menelaus wife to him and negotiated a suitable punishment for their thieving son, would Troy have survived? Probably not, but you can see how it would have robbed the Greeks of the moral high ground that  they used to launch and sustain their invasion. Ten years away from home is a long time to fight without a cause you believe in. Of course that would have required Priam and Hector to go against their own family. Few of us are so in love with justice that we would not have done the same.

There is the seed of a simple and great Fantasy story in the idea of a hero turned to villainy through their support of a system.

1) Loyalty to the Crown: Loyalty is a virtue. But what about the Hero who gives their loyal support to someone unworthy. The Samurai who serves a lord who is cruel, or a knight who is loyal to a corrupted church are excellent villains if written with sensitivity.

2) Old Prejudices: The orcs were once dire enemies of the free peoples. People who killed orcs were considered heroes. But times have changed, and a man who became a hero acting on his hatred of orcs now becomes a villain for acting on the same impulses that made him famous. Any race, ethnicity, or creed could be substituted for orcs. The idea is that the inability to swallow that enmity makes a hero a villain.

3) Changing Circumstances: The virtues that once made you great do not always hold. The founder of a great kingdom might be a hero during war and conquest, but turn out to be a terrible ruler in peacetime. A revolutionary who overcomes a great evil could turn out to be a tyrant in the end. A man who drags himself from the gutter with nothing but ambition and wit often becomes dangerous if he assumes that everyone can do the same and persecutes them if they don’t.

4) Traditions: Over time, traditions that once made perfect sense can become burdensome and downright oppressive. We all know that a suggestion to act modestly written in a holy book can be used by a zealot as an excuse for murder. But what about less obvious choices? Dragons may once have been the scourge of all, but at what point does a noble dragonslayer become a maniac bent on the genocide of a sentient race?

5) The Nature of Power: Power corrupts… why? because those who wish to retain power must often work to enforce their office. Even those who want to give up that power might find it difficult to do so. A man who has power has enemies, and those enemies may not feel benevolently inclined even if you give up that power. Power thus becomes an end unto itself, turning even a heroic reformer into a potential monster…

A final modern example is the NSA. They spy to prevent terrorism. We cannot know what they are doing because that would tip off the people that they are spying on. It is easy to see how those goo intentions have led to the current debacle, where those who protect us are arguably far more dangerous to our liberty that those who they are protecting us from. It is not to hard to take this basic idea and turn it into a great fantasy story!

The Shadow Wolf Sagas: Blade Breaker 1.3

A little experiment of mine, written raw for first draft practice.

Blade Breaker 1.1

Blade Breaker 1.2

I left the Pink Pearl whistling the tune of Furis and the Trolls, an old song about the red-haired god’s quest for vengeance and redemption. I was in a good mood, wide awake, my senses alive to the world; I was on the hunt. My prey was dangerous, so dangerous, in fact, that I would likely be sent to my grave a second time.

Myrrhn is notorious throughout the world for its assassins. Not only does the guild here operate semi-publicly, but they are willing to offer a money back guarantee on their services. The merchant houses of the city use the guild to eliminate rivals and settle differences when negotiations are not enough. Interestingly, putting a price on a rival’s death often causes a miser to reconsider the violent options. Myrrhnese assassins do come cheap, and the guild works very hard to ensure that they  have a monopoly on killers for hire. Not even the hardest gangers are reckless enough to cross them.

The guild is ruled by nine grand-masters, the very best of the guild, colloquially referred to as the Nine. To advance in the guild, one can wait for an opening, or enterprising assassins can challenge their superiors. I am not aware of the specifics of these challenges, beyond heresay, but they are vicious affairs that always end in the death of one of the participants. The only commonly known restriction on challenges is that an assassin cannot challenge his or her teacher, or their teacher’s teacher.

The guild is feared, but its assassins are one of the city’s major exports. They bring in hordes of gold from as far away as Dragmar and Thrax, anywhere where the death of a rival, quiet or brutal, is desired. They pay their taxes too, a major source of revenue for the city, and even cooperate with authorities when investigating unsanctioned murders by their membership.

The rules governing assassinations in Myrrhn are as unique as they are amusing to someone like me. There is a strange etiquette to the process, including rules of engagement and self defence laws., even places within the city where killing is not allowed. I do know that contacts are publicly listed on the boards at the Camel’s Tower, the guild’s place of business. One can find out if there is a contact on one’s head or even pay a fee to see if there is a contract on a named person, as well as how much that contract is worth. Of course, the tower is one of the places where an assassin is free to strike in any way they wish. Amusing.

Of course many of those who scoff at the assassins of Myrrhn also scoff at the weregild, which is something to consider.

I decided to check the Camel’s Tower. The assassin would have taken out a contract against Sapphire and her Nordan lover, if only to maintain propriety with guild regulations. Information like how much money he put the contract up for and when he did it would help me get a better sense of who I was up against, build a better picture of my intended prey. Of course, the trip would be somewhat dangerous for me, I am not very popular with the guild, something about killing the last couple of assassins who tried to cash in on me. It would be a enjoyable excursion.

Firstly, however, I wanted to head down to the shops and see if I could find an alchemist who could mix up a poison that could paralyze a half-giant. Such a concoction would be rare and expensive, and I doubted that our assassin would want to buy poor quality goods and risk having an angry Nordan making a mess of his plans.

The street outside the brothel was quiet. Madama Glorianna’s carriage was gone. An establishment that catered to the type of clientele that the Pink Pearl did was slow until the trading houses were closed for the day. I felt a shiver down my spine, sniffed the air, and caught a whiff of something off. I did not see anyone, but I was sure I was being watched.

I spotted a likely looking alleyway, about as dark as one would find in this part of the city, and slipped in. I waited for a minute, then five… I heard a scraping sound on the roof above me, but no one appeared, and no bolt slammed into me from a window across the street. Disappointing. Waiting in the alley, I felt like a man left waiting for a dance. Disappointing. I let go of my weapons and left the alley. It was a long walk to Burning Hill.

<>

Alchemists are technically merchants, but no one wants to set up shop next to one, not even in Myrrhn. I suppose it might be because of the explosions, or perhaps the occasional flesh-eating gas-cloud blowing down the street. Burning Hill got its monicker from the frequent and spectacular fires, after all.

I hated the smell of the place. My nose started to twitch even before I had crossed the bridge. Sulphur. Acid. Blood. Smoke. Mercury. Exotic Spices. Powdered Gems. Amonia. Stranger scents that I could not identify. I spat, startling a noblewoman and earning a reproachful look from her bodyguard. I smiled at the man, looking him in the eye and tilting my chin his way. He shook his head and moved on, following his charge instead of responding to my juvenile challenge. A better bodyguard then most. I wondered briefly what his mistress was after: drugs? love potions? poison? 

The addicts in the alleys, victims of the more unscrupulous alchemists, eyes full of dreams and nightmares, watched as I moved past the gaudier shops,  heading to the heart of the place. I knew someone who would be able to help identify the poison.

I was nearing my destination, travelling through a dark passage between two old shops when three men with wild hair and long knives stepped out in front of me. I heard the sound of footsteps coming up behind me, as well. I could smell poison and madness, and saw the desire to kill in their eyes.

I grinned.

Cities in Fantasy: Moving beyond the Pastoral

Fantasy cities can feature very unique environments.

I am fascinated with cities, both modern, and ancient. Perhaps this interest comes from living much of my life in the country near a university town, about an hour away from Canada’s largest city. As I have matured, these communities have changed as the the town spreads outward, reaching for a greater connection to the city, while the older, more successful denizens of the city have spilled over into the quiet countryside looking for the pastoral life. Their is a certain magnificence in watching these interactions, like the feeling on gets from watching a tree grow or a great work take shape. Some things are best experienced in the fullness of time.

Urban themes are not new to Fantasy, but they are often under-represented. Even more complex modern Fantasy often limits itself to a Dickensian representation of the city: a place of corruption and chaos, squalor and oppression. There are a few exceptions, and a growing number of Fantasy writers seem to be interested in tackling city life both from a modern perspective and from periods analogous to anything from the late medieval to the napoleonic. I enjoy many of these shades of Fantasy, including such divergent works as Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser, Jonathan Strange and Mr Norell, Promise of Blood, or the Dresden Series. Perhaps it is the heady mixture of my fascination with cities and my love of fantasy that makes me prize these works above all.

Naturally I have tried to run city based Fantasy games. Some work well, and some fail. The ones that work best have a great deal of depth, treating the city as a character itself rather than simply a setting. Cities change, while castles are static, and many players will want to be a part of that. Here are some of the more interesting themes of the city that can be worked into Fantasy works.

The Melting Pot: People constantly flow into and out of the city. These migrations can become a source of intriguing character backgrounds as well as a reason for conflict as new people become involved in the city’s power structures. Even migrations within a large enough city can denote a drastic change, especially in places where certain addresses are synonymous with success or loss. In Fantasy a city is a great way for many wildly different characters to meet, allowing a creative writer to convey details about the larger world with these characters and their actions within the city. Individuals all have different reasons for being in the city, but they are all united in having to experience the city itself.
Complexity: Cities are complicated. It is not simply a matter of mazes of roads and infrastructure built up over time, which can be interesting enough, but more often the hidden social complexities that make a good urban tale. Multiple institutions are required to keep a city running and working properly, often with many more form simply to organize the chaos. In a Fantasy setting, the complexities of magic lend another resource and another layer of complexity to the city. If magic is common enough it will influence a city’s infrastructure in some way, and if it exists at all it will certainly influence the social structure. Just look at all the magic and superstition in real world settings. These competing interests create friction which can lead to much greater complexity of story than other settings.
Opportunity: Cities are place of opportunity. Whatever draws that many people together and keeps them together is bound to create opportunity. This can be as simple as jobs or as something more dramatic like a Fantasy city that is built around a place where reality has bent, making it the only place where people can work magic in a world. Opportunities can often occur as a result of serendipitous meetings between people, tying back to the social aspect of the city.
Corruption: Cities are also places of corruption. This is not to say that corruption does not exist outside of the city, which is laughable, but rather that cities can refine corruption in the same way that they refine other institutions. A larger population means more customers for elicit products as well as better hiding places for large scale criminal enterprises. With so many competing views it is often easier for the truly corrupt to slip through in the city.
Revolution and Democracy: Democracy comes alive in the City. It is that constant dance of new ideas, compromise, and the need to engineer behaviour on a grand scale that creates the environment where a concerned citizenry thrives. In the modern day, one can live a fairly informed cosmopolitan lifestyle in a remote area because of our advanced communications, but in the past that sort of exposure to ideas and information was nearly impossible outside of the great centers. Revolution, even guerilla warfare, ultimately targets the cities as the centers for change in the end. These themes have yet to be deeply explored in Fantasy, but I think, as we reach a troubling point where Democracy faces a new enemy, that they are very much on the minds of many Fantasy writers.

Cities are places of change and coming together in all their aspects. They can be both positive and negative, and I look forward to exploring them in my works and reading how other Fantasy writers use cities in their works in everything from modern cities with supernatural elements like Vampires and mages, to mad steampunk and classically inspired cities.

The Shadow Wolf Sagas: Blade Breaker 1.2

Blade Breaker 1.1

The Pink Pearl certainly lived up to its name. Personally I prefer leather to lace, but this brothel catered to the type of person who values a veneer of respectability, even in their darker past-times. The women, and the few working boys, that I passed were all breathtakingly beautiful in that delicate, ethereal fashion. I felt like a giant striding through a shop full of fine porcelain. Even the bouncers were clean shaven and well dressed, although they all had that edge to them. Madame Glorianna is very serious about keeping order in her establishments.

I found it odd that Madame Glorianna had decided to remain outside. When I worked with her directly, we dealt with some very ugly situations and her composure had remained as steady as a troll hunter’s.

As I followed my escort, an older woman named Chloe, with platinum hair and lovely arse up the stairs, I heard a lovely voice singing an old Inuw song. I had almost forgotten the songs of our brethren on the ice. Such is the pain of exile, a disconnection from the places that made you what you are, a banishment to the present, the theft of your past.

I shook my head and followed Chloe up the stairs. Now was not the time for regrets. I died that day on the fields of Drajinskyg, and my second birth turned that honourable passing into a blemish. It was not worth thinking about. Not now, at least.

The stairs to the fourth floor were guarded by two large men. Chloe nodded to the burly pair. I could smell blood clearly now, though I doubt many others could. Not with all the competing odours from the brothel and the city. I caught a whiff of vomit as I passed.

“Its that room,” said Chloe. “I’ll answer all your questions, but I am not going back in there messir.”

“Ragnar,” I said. “I can meet you downstairs if you like. I’m sure one of your lads can direct me to you.”

She smiled quickly, relieved, and fled down the stairs.

The smell of blood was heady, mixed with stale fear sweat and rage. I have to say I was excited. I strode to the door and pushed it open, careful not to touch any surface that might still have print or scent.

The first thing I saw was the man. A Nordan, one of my people. Enormous, this one had giant blood somewhere in his family line. Sea Wolf by his tattoo. Long hair the colour of wheat at harvest time. He was dismembered. His hands and feet had been hacked off. The fingers were gone from the hands. The genitals were a mess of cuts and stab wounds. The blood pooled neatly around him. His clothes and weapons lay neatly to one side.

I was so engrossed in my dead countrymen and all the possibilities I saw within that I nearly missed the woman. She too was naked, bound to a chair, although that may have been the client’s doing. She had struggled against her bonds. She’d been raped, of course. Her eyes and tongue had been cut out and then her heart had been opened with a precise thrust with a long thin-bladed knife.

I chuckled. This was obviously a jealous lover. Some men became attached to women that they bought, a chemical reaction that they foolishly confused with real bonding. He had slipped into the room while the pair were sleeping. The assailant had used magic or, more likely, some kind of potent alchemy to paralyze the giant. Then our mystery killer had tortured the man to death, in front of the woman, while he was helpless from the drug. Thus the blood had pooled so neatly and my countryman had died without a struggle; I hoped his deeds were already enough to merit the high halls. The fact that the Nordan had merited this kind of attention meant that he must have been seen a competitor for the woman’s affections.

The rape had been frantic. The killer had not achieved satisfaction, possibly even felt guilt or regret. He’d put out her eyes and tongue because of guilt and spite and finished it quickly even though he’d planned a far slower end in his dreams. His sickness underlay everything in the room. I licked my lips.

Wolves in the wild weed out the sick and unworthy. I think that this is noble.

The killer was skilled. He had planned this attack meticulously, but his preparations and stone cold facade had frayed when it came to the woman. Perhaps she’d mocked him in the end. Smart girl if she did. I suspect that our friend would have had something truly grim in mind for the woman who ‘betrayed’ him.

I looked around the room. The clan would come for the weapons. Sea Wolves range far afield and their kin are numerous. I would have to explain to Madame Glorianna how to handle my people. The last thing we needed was a raid on the Pink Pearl. I checked the walls and windows,  then sniffed the bodies, trying to identify the paralyzing agent. I picked up a peculiar scent and set it to memory.

I went and saw Chloe afterwards. She did not like talking about the death. The woman, known as Sapphire, was one of her star attractions. The Nordan was one of her ‘regulars’ meeting at his regular time. The girls in the rooms on either side hadn’t heard anything unusual. It was the silence that had alerted them in the end; Sapphire and her Nordan lover were very enthusiastic usually. The windows were barred. I asked about Sapphire’s other regulars, but Chloe said that she could not divulge this information. That answer struck me as odd.

“So her other man was an assassin?” I asked. Chloe looked away.

I laughed. Sick prey indeed.

World-Building: Culture Clash

Culture Clash: great fodder for stories of all sorts.

Culture is not static. While some groups might resist outside influences, becoming increasingly xenophobic, isolationist, or simply clinging to tradition as matter of course, living societies will adapt and change.

In the real world this is a controversial subject. Certain groups will constantly resist change, while others embrace what they see as positive change or simply ‘go with the the flow’. A large part of our political discourse in North America is based around the conflict between those who resist change and those who embrace it. An example of of this is the rhetoric over gay marriage in the US — some groups see it as an erosion of traditional values, while others see it as a great victory for freedom. In this case it is a clash between modern egalitarianism and traditional biblical values. In reality it is a clear cut case of equality, one of the founding principles of modern western democracy, and any possible legal issues are already covered under the basis of consent. This does not stop certain people from using gay marriage cynically to whip up support.

What is an annoying, grinding conflict in real life can be the basis of a fascinating fantasy tale. Removing the reader from their comfortable political positions and presenting them with a new culture clashes will engage their political mind without devolving into the ugly, frustrating talking points of the 24 hour news channels.

Fantasy worlds are often presented as relatively static, with cultures rarely switching sides. One needs only look at our own recent history to see how this is nonsensical. Germany and Japan, once dire foes of the western democratic are now staunch allies. Meanwhile the partnership between the philosophies of capitalism and democracy, once thought to be two sides of the same coin seem to be coming unglued as the equality gap widens and the middle class can no longer act as a referee between the lower class and the upper class. For a Fantasy world to maintain a status quo for decades or even centuries would be remarkable, and would also require some interesting world building to retain suspension of disbelief. This is especially true given the action and magic found in a typical fantasy epic.

Aside from the usual social tensions, wars, and shifting alliances Fantasy offers a chance to showcase true culture clash, such as when two cultures encounter each other for the first time. This sort of event has caused huge shifts in our world, with problems, and changes that can be felt to this day. It is great fodder for Fantasy novels, where the reader does not necessarily have the same emotional investment in the cultures portrayed.

Here are some of the conflicts that can arise when two cultures meet, and the changes that can result.

War: War is the most obvious conflict that can arise when cultures clash. It seems to be the default in fantasy, where cultures are often portrayed as mutually antagonistic and engaged in a struggle for dominance or even existence. Interestingly it is a characteristic often shared by both grimdark fantasy and pastoral feudal fantasies.
Trade: Trade relations are far more natural than war. However, they are harder to portray in an interesting fashion. Black markets, drug cartels, and slavers all have a place in fantasy cultural clashes, but even simpler forms of trade are worthy of consideration when building a fantasy world. After all the colonial system was based on an economic model that was considered sound at the time, and look at all of the conflicts it created.
Crisis of Faith: New cultures can bring new ideas, and new ideas can run counter to old traditions. One of the most interesting culture clashes occurs when the mere appearance of a culture undermines a long held belief, causing cultural upheaval. Isolated cultures suddenly become aware of a wider world. Ancient religions must compete against new gods and philosophies, feudal and tribal systems may have to justify themselves against more advanced methods of governance as people become more worldly.
Crisis of Advancement: The technological or magical advancements created when new cultures meet can really stir the pot. Firearms followed the European expansion, changing the very face of conflict all over the world. Imagine the disruption that could be caused one day by the arrival of a simple merchant bearing guns for sale. Imagine what could happen if something as powerful as magic or new forms of magic occur as a part of cultural exchange. People will seek to resist these advancements or take advantage of them, creating internal conflicts.
Crisis of Exploitation: Often the new opportunities afforded by this culture clash will cause a certain set of people to try to take as much advantage of the changing situation as possible. A merchant might try to maintain a monopoly on some new product at any cost. An iconoclast might use the disruption of an old belief to cast doubt on the whole structure of society. A warmonger might seek to tilt the balance of power by seeking new allies. A despot might use the fear of change to solidify his hold on power.
Crisis of Survival: What happens if one culture is so overwhelmingly powerful that it simply shatters or displaces the other culture? This has happened several times in our history, and while it is a sensitive topic, it is a story worth examining.

Culture clashes provide many opportunities for world builders and writers. The meeting of cultures invariably creates both conflict and opportunity, which makes for great story and great background for your world.

The Shadow Wolf Sagas: Blade Breaker 1.1

Ragnar Twiceborn, Grimfang! / A wolf without a pack, /He prowls the stone shadows, /Bringing wrath and ruin.

I woke, heart drumming, to the ghost of a wolf’s call, clear and mournful, ringing in my ears. Neither of my sleeping companions, however, were disturbed from their slumber. The wolf’s sound was not meant for their ears. I sat and listened, communing with the night. The sounds that came to me were familiar, and spoke of deep night. I heard low voices and the clink of glass. A watchman’s mail from a patrol nearby. All was well. I saw the red moon smiling, high in the sky and settled back in my sheets. I would need my rest, if the signs were right, tomorrow would be an eventful day…

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I woke to the crack of a whip and the half-delighted yelps of some brat prince from the Diamond isle. The girls were working today. The bed was empty, but there was a fresh scone, chocolate and orange waiting for me. There was also a small purse containing my ‘allowance’.

I smiled. It is a wonderful thing to be taken care of.

I ate the scone. I stretched. I exercised, concentrating on my legs, and then washed the sweat off in the bath. My mind was wonderfully empty, save for a sense of anticipation.

Today was a day for armour. A studded leather jerkin, obvious but stylish seemed to fit the occasion. My most prized possessions, a matching warhammer and crow’s beak made from silver-black mithril, decorated with wolf’s head and inlaid with runes, found their way onto my belt rings. I decided against anything more ostentatious and set out to the pub.

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The Inn of the Willing Wench has a long and storied history in Myrrhn. The three story common room was busy at all times of day, with music playing, drinks served, games of chess and Kavaka in the corners, and starry eyed would-be adventurers at half the tables. I went there for the bacon and the ale.

I was just washing down the former with later when a peculiar shudder ran through the room. I didn’t bother to look up; I could identify this person by scent, even a across a room packed with sweating travelers, strong food and stronger drink. Was she here to see me? Let’s just say I felt lucky.

“Hello Northman,” said Madame Glorianna, sitting down across from me. She was dressed for business, and wearing black. Not a social call. Her bodyguard, a Sirutiran Sword-bride, known as Crimson Wind took up position at the end of our booth. Crimson Wind was still carrying her swords, albeit peace-bonded.

Madame Glorianna was one of the city’s players, the current head of the Doxy’s Union. I knew her from my early days in the city, freshly exiled from Nordan lands. I had taken up life as a bouncer and earned myself a bit of a reputation. I am no stranger to the shadows.

“Hello Madame Glorianna,” I said. “What brings you to my table?”

I met her eyes as I spoke. I could see it immediately: anger. A roaring inferno of vengeance blazed behind those clear blue orbs.

“Someone offed one of my… more promising… up and comers,” she said, painted lips twisting into an involuntary snarl.

Interesting. Normally Madame Glorianna handled her own enforcement. I had been part of that at one time. Crimson Wind was more than adequate to end the sort of cowards who would kill a prostitute. There must be something odd about this death.

“I would be happy to lend my assistance,” I said. I meant it to. The Doxy’s Union is a dirty business, but it takes care of the women who work for it. And as for Madame Glorianna, she had earned my respect. The Merchant Lords of Myrrhn don’t take kindly to any unions; it took someone tough and cunning to do her job. In a way she reminded me of Helma, the defender goddess.

“One of your people was found dead with the girl,” said Madame Glorianna. “We think she got caught up in some sort of blood feud.”

My ears perked up. We Nordan do have an unfortunate reputation for violence. People just don’t understand the finer points of our laws, equating weregild with buying the right to murder. I suppose there was also that time that Cassander sacked Myrrhn and Thrax, but people always forget he was only half-Nordan. To be honest many of our exiles end up in Myrrhn, and those who seek them out for vengeance have given rise to this concept of a blood feud. I did not press the point with Madame Glorianna, however, a discussion of unfair ethnic stereotypes could wait.

“I take it you have preserved the crime scene?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Madame Glorianna. “I will need you to come now so we can clean up. I don’t want word of this to get around either, it will be bad for business.”

“I will keep my teeth together,” I said.

“I know,” said Madame Glorianna. “You have always had a certain talent for this sort of thing Ragnar. I appreciate your willingness to help. I will reward you well if you bring me the person or people who did this.”

I paid my bill and we went outside and climbed into Madame Glorianna’s ornate black carriage. The morning fog had yet to dissipate. Madame Glorianna was not inclined to speak, and I’m not sure I had ever heard of Crimson Wind talking, so I watched the city roll by through the window. We crossed three bridges into Hightown island, ending up at the Pink Pearl, one of the few Doxy’s Union brothels not on Red Silk island.

“I’ll wait for you here Ragnar,” said Madame Glorianna. “Once was enough.”

Wondering at what sort of viciousness it took to turn up the nose of someone as hard edged as Madame Glorianna, I crossed the threshold of the Pink Pearl and followed my escort to the top floor. An interesting day, indeed.

Weapons, Swords in the Middle Ages, and Oakeshott

I recently read an article about the dominance of the sword in the middle ages, or more precisely, that of the Oakeshott XIIIa type sword (this link describes the sword, it is not the article that annoyed me). The XIIIa is a ~37-40 inches long,  with a wide blade, a more rounded (spatulate) tip, and a 6-10 inch grip, and weighed 3–4 pounds (when plain). The offending article annoyed me for the following reasons:

It claimed that this sword was the dominant weapon of its time.
It claimed that this type of sword is under-represented in fantasy.
It ignored the fact that Oakeshott created his system to combat this kind of generalization.

First off, for those of you who have not heard of Oakeshott, he is a key figure in changing the way modern historians, hobbyists, and writers see swords (useful link, if you wish to get into it). Before Oakeshott, medieval swords were often seen as massively heavy, brutish weapons and Knights were seen as clumsy, if invulnerable warriors. TH Whyte’s Arthurian series has a bit of this. Oakeshott’s contribution was to catalog and categorize, and then to point out that from a data driven perspective that the sword changed greatly over the Dark Ages and the Medieval period, mirroring the constant changes in armour as well as local battlefield conditions. His conclusions were  that the idea that Western swords were clumsy weapons was not at all based in reality and that there was no such thing as a single dominant sword type. Just look at an abbreviated picture of the sword types he categorized.

Oakeshott Types.

Let us take a closer look at the XIIIa

an Oakeshott XIIIa from tinkerswords.com

Does this sword shape and size look underrepresented in fantasy fiction? NOPE. Moving on then.

Not only were there many types of sword, but knights used all kinds of weapons (and also crazy armour, too, but we won’t get into that). In fact some had squires to carry around extra lances and extra weapons for them. I am briefly going to go over some of the more common of these weapon types and why they saw use.

The Spear (and lance): The spear is by far the most under-represented weapon in modern fantasy. Don’t even get me started on this. Every Knight worth his salt would have at least a lance or some sort of spear to use from horseback, often with spares in case they broke on the charge. The Spear was likely the one weapon every knight would have at least one of on the battlefield, if only in lance form. It was also the most common footman’s weapon. Spears offered great penetrating power with the tremendous force concentrated on the smallest area. They also offered great reach which was imperative for both charging (hence the lance) and receiving a charge. I would place my bet on spears being the greatest casualty causing battlefield weapon of the middle ages (somewhat behind trampling and suffocation in actual casualties caused though), and possibly the the greatest casualty cause knightly weapon as well. Spears survived the middle ages and even outlived swords on the battlefield as the bayonet. The downside of a spear is that once an opponent is past a certain point, it becomes difficult to wield against them.

Spears and lances.

I’m going to stay away from polearms for now, although my favourite weapons are probably the swiss halberd and the bardiche.

The Flail: The Flail is a hard weapon to write about. We know it was difficult to use well, but it was not uncommon and had a brutal reputation. Jack White’s Uther is the only character I can think of in Fantasy that uses one of these. Too bad: they almost belong in a grimdark anti-hero’s grasp… We do know that flails were used to strike around shield edges and could work up quite a bit of force whirling around. Hard to describe them in a novel though…

A flail of the mace and chain/ball and chain variety.

The Warhammer: As plate armour became more common, knights needed better tools to break it open. The warhammer provided a handy set of tools to do just that. Bash the plates out of shape and finish with the spike if need be. Much like a sword, the warhammer could be used when a spear was no longer at optimal range,  bashing the brains out of footmen right through their helms and crushing other knights. The warhammer is another under-represented weapon, but maybe that is because in early editions of D&D it did crap damage

I just like this one.

The Mace: While the spear does not get its due as a knightly weapon, the mace is outright bloody ignored. I rarely see them in movies, despite the fact that they were so well loved that they appear throughout the period in a stunning number of forms. Flanged maces were created to puncture and crush armour, and ball maces were just nasty. Both existed as shorter footmans weapons that could be used very close up and longer horseman’s versions. Maces were often completely made of metal, and these were far more durable than swords. An added bonus of the mace as a knightly weapon is that it rarely got stuck in a wound. Ceremonial maces are still common in our Parliaments.

Flanged Mace

Ball mace, spiked.

Axes: Axes were a more common weapon than many realize, able to work up tremendous cutting power. Axes were favoured for their ability to hack apart shields better than any weapon. They came in a very wide variety as well.

Even in this ridiculously brief and overly generalized discussion of medieval weaponry I think we can put the idea that any sword type dominated the middle ages to rest. Oakeshott created his categories so that people could discuss the incredibly wide variety of bladed weaponry that fell into and out of use throughout the middle ages. He did not create it for people to narrow it down into sword X is better than sword Y in internet fanboy arguments.  If there were a dominant family of swords this variety would not have existed, nor would maces, axes, spears, lances, and other weapons been nearly as common. Fantasy writers owe mr Oakeshott a debt of gratitude for showing us that the medieval sword, and indeed all medieval weapons and armour were more than just the clumsy implements those damned fencers told us they were

Finally, let us not forget that Knights wielded a huge variety of weapons, and many of them had the money to afford a tool for every occasion.

Thoughts on my Nomads Project.

As I mentioned, last week’s Nomads will likely be the last, at least until I have had a while to think about the series.

Nomads began as an experiment. I did not start it to get page views. I’m not actually sure how many people read this blog since page views can be misleading, or if any of you are even interested in serial fiction. Mostly, I wanted to hone my writing skills, especially with first draft and writing in first person. The challenge I set for myself was to write a thousand words every week, with little preparation, as quickly as possible and to see if I could wrangle a coherent story from that. Here is my assessment of that project.

1) Draft Hard! I did find writing a serial in the raw to be great practice for writing better first drafts. One of my weaknesses as a writer (and game designer, actually) is that I love tinkering with a near finished product. I rewrote Bloodlust: A Gladiator’s Tale seven times and would probably still be re-writing it to this day if not for the realization that it would never be perfect. Bloodlust: Will to Power only had two rewrites and most of the people I have chatted with feel it is a better work. I feel that the Nomads project helped me shape in this regard: I write faster now, and I am able to control my desire to re-write. 

2) Confidence: leaving a swiftly written story with minimal corrections up requires some bravery. 

3) A taste of first person: First person is an interesting writing style. I have pealed back a few of its layers, but much of it is still beyond me. It helps to a very strong sense of character, which is always worth working on. The  character’s perspective must be both understandable, and yet their voice must stand out. Exposition is a particular hazard, since most people do not think about the facets of their culture and surrounding that are familiar to them but might be very alien and exciting to the reader. Forcing this in first person is, if anything, more obvious than in third person. Yet another reason why I like The Name of the Wind.

4) The Serial Format: I have great respect for people who can write a serial and keep it going. I learned that it is best to end each episode on a question or some other hook. (not necessarily a cliffhanger) Not only does this help keep the story fresh in the reader’s minds, it also gives the writer something to work with for the next episode. For the same reason I prefer to leave an unfinished sentence on your novel when you are done writing for the day; it gives me an easy place to start when I get back to work.

The problems I encountered in writing the Nomads serial were not insurmountable by any means, but they did make it less fun. Here are my thoughts on the problems I encountered.

1)  Introduction woes: Nomads begins in medias res. The first line of Nomads was a recording from a Nomad who has just been gunned down, sent to Raven. We follow Raven as he investigates how Jessup died. The problem with this is that in a first person narrative it is imperative that you establish voice and character first. Putting the action first without establishing Raven’s personality and voice was a wasted opportunity. This becomes especially confusing since I have to convince the readers that they should care that this Jessup dude died, all at the same time. Bit of a disaster, really, but kind of fun nonetheless.

2) Raven: As a voice character, Raven was not particularly interesting. Firstly, he was lacking in any meaty defects or even super-spy suave. Secondly he was too neutral in his opinions, which is inappropriate when you have access to a character’s thoughts and perspectives. A subtle character is best left to masters of the form, I should have tried something simpler or bolder.

3) Military Setting: The Nomads were essentially an elite military squad, equivalent in many ways to modern special forces but with futuristic toys. The problem this created is that I really wanted to stay away from that kind of atmosphere. Oops. 

4) Documentation: I keep a lot of notes when I work on m novels. One of these a spreadsheet with details on characters, geography, terminology, slang, and any other world-building miscellany. Whenever I need to recall details, I refer to this spreadsheet first. It helps maintain consistency: you never know when a character’s eye colour might come up again. With Nomads I was constantly reading previous posts to look up names, callsigns, jargon, weapons, and suit types.

5) Source of Enthusiasm: When I started writing the Nomads serial I was playing a game called Firefall. I enjoyed the armoured-suit style action. I went with the Nomads idea because Firefall was boosting my enthusiasm for that type of story. Low and behold, when I stopped playing Firefall, my enthusiasm for Nomads suffered. It would have been better to choose a longer standing interest as a base for a serial.

In the end I feel that the Nomads serial was a success. I learned quite a bit and I enjoyed it while it lasted. I will likely try the form again, or perhaps pick up and try to rescue Nomads, at some point.