Matthew Roland's Blog, page 2

Writing Flawed Characters: What We Can Learn From the Failures of Captain Marvel

It is a truth widely acknowledged that a character’s flaws are much more interesting than any abilities they might have.

Iron Man’s suit of armour is the stuff of awesomeness, but let's face it: if he didn’t start his journey as a self-absorbed jerk who only cared about himself, then we would be much less interested in how his story ends.

Darcy’s flaws and struggles far outweigh his material possessions.

Boromir wouldn’t be Boromir if he didn’t already own the inherent weaknesses that made way for his cathartic redemption.

It is these emotion-fraught struggles that elevate a story’s status from “pretty good” to the unforgettable and deeply personal.

Subsequently, it is the deeply personal that most impacts their audiences, turning a good yarn into an instant classic for the ages.

We commune with such stories because they are vessels from which spring not only heroes and victors, but flawed men and women struggling to do the right thing, despite what consequences may arise against them.

As fallen creatures, continually harried by sin in all its forms and guises, we empathize with and admire those heroes who endure the same trials and tribulations which we must also undergo.

To better illustrate this principle, let’s take a look at Captain Marvel—a film that deviated from this long-heralded tradition and subsequently suffered the consequences—and see what we learn from its failure, in order to write compelling characters of our own.

Why Captain Marvel Falls Short of the Marvel Model
Many would quickly concur that Marvel Studios has endured the years and become the most renowned film franchise of our generation due to its investment in character growth and development.

The last two Avengers films succeeded because of skilful storytelling; but the reason fans showed up in droves to make them the highest-grossing films of all time, primarily owed to how invested they had become in the ensemble cast. 

Marvel films don’t sell solely due to their trademark humour, escapism, or even their expansive world-building: they sell because they’re some of the best in the business at crafting characters and personalities that connect with their audience.

Doctor Strange is perhaps the most striking example of this phenomenon. 

In terms of plot and overall world-building, it’s okay. It’s good, but not great. However, as many can testify, the saving grace of that film (apart from the humour and visuals) is the person of Doctor Stephen Strange.

When we first see him, he’s portrayed as a medical wizard, with an aptitude for remedying ailments that would have defeated even his celebrated peers. To put it simply: he’s the best there is, and he knows it. His amazing abilities are deftly contrasted with his maddening flaws. We are shown evidence of his astounding track record, only to watch him refuse patients one minute later that might taint his reputation. Yes, he’s a medical genius, but he’s one with a major ego and is, on the whole, an infuriatingly narcissistic individual.

So, what happens next? He’s in his Lamborghini, on his way to accept yet another prestigious award, when his car skids off the road in a freak accident, leaving him physically impaired. 

Next thing, he’s in the hospital, his once-gifted hands filled with needles. He will never perform another surgery again. He’s lost everything, save the love of those who care for him, which he drives away soon after in a fit of anger. 

It takes many more losses for him to finally realize that “it’s not all about you,” and it is only once he learns this essential truth and loses his ego that he is granted the means to defeat the villain.

Compare and contrast with Captain Marvel: Carol Danvers is not only the first female Marvel superhero to get a solo outing, but she’s the strongest. Her seemingly-endless display of powers makes those of every hero before her look puny and unimportant. And yet, for all that, Captain Marvel falls utterly short of the mark set by its predecessors.

Unlike the majority of her MCU counterparts, Danvers doesn’t really have any perceivable flaws, save for maybe being “too emotional”?

This shoddy attempt at grafting in real human conflict is present in one of the opening scenes, wherein Jude Law’s character makes a point of telling her, “There’s nothing more dangerous to a warrior than emotion. You have to let go of the part of yourself that makes you vulnerable.”

According to David Ehrlich of indiewire.com, the “context behind [his] axioms couldn’t be clearer, nor the message more pointed: Women are always being told that they’re too ‘emotional’ to lead, but [Danvers’] convoluted journey will lead her to see that emotions can be a superpower unto themselves, and that her vulnerability is also her greatest strength. If only [Danvers’] movie didn’t treat that sentiment like a self-fulfilling prophecy; if only it earned the beautiful idea that it lays out at the start.”

Gender politics aside, there are still several issues at play with this “flaw,” Number One being that Brie Larson’s persona repeatedly comes off as someone who has the exact opposite problem.

Whether this was intentional or not (an argument can be made for both sides), the idea of being “too emotional” as a flaw doesn’t really work quite that well within the context of the film.

At the end of the day, it’s just simple logic: If the story is trying to say that having emotions are invaluable to growth and success, then such a flaw is no longer a deeply-engrossing flaw—it’s something to aspire to, and not the other way around.

Her only real problem besides this is “being held back.” Throughout the film, she’s constantly searching for who she is and was, or the “best version” of herself. And it’s only when she breaks free (and non-coincidently, casts off the restraints placed upon her by male authority figures), that she becomes the famous Captain Marvel.

What Differentiates Captain America from Captain Marvel
Now, some might point to her lack of shortcomings and say that Danvers is just the female equivalent of Steve Rogers (and, indeed, the filmmakers referenced the latter in the development of her character); however, there are distinct differences at play here: Steve is an everyman.

He’s patriotic and loves his country; he’s constantly in conflict over what’s the right thing to do; he weeps and grieves and struggles over loss; and his convictions repeatedly come at a high cost to him and those he loves. 

Repeat: his convictions repeatedly come at a high cost to him and those he loves.

Also, stress: as the story of an amnesiac who’s trying to find her identity, Carol Danvers doesn’t yet have any concrete convictions.

As seen in illustrious figures like Superman and Captain America, static characters can work—and can do so exceedingly well—but only if they already have a set of values or morals that are frequently and determinedly challenged throughout the story. The attraction of those conflicts that causes an audience to empathize with such a character is seen in what they must suffer as a result of their beliefs.

However, in the case of Captain Marvel, it is not until the very end of the film that she forms any plausible convictions that might attract conflict; and even then, it’s difficult to pinpoint what those convictions actually are, other than the typical “it’s the right thing to do, so, of course, I’m going to do it.”

And strangely, it’s worth noting that the Captain America films—despite the unbending nature of their primary protagonist—are some of the most emotion-filled, heartstring-tugging films in the entire Marvel franchise. And this is, above all, because Captain America is a man we can feel for and commune with: we’ve seen him as the struggling, scrawny weakling, who eventually proved that it’s the heart, not the outward condition that matters the most. 

We’ve seen him stay true to his convictions, despite the consequences, of which there have been many. And in the end, I think few who would be at variance with the truth that the Star-Spangled Man has, perhaps, the most tragic history out of all his many colleagues.

On the other hand, Captain Marvel is none of that. It’s almost utterly bereft of the emotion and angst that have driven the success of those that came before. In the words of one critic, “Superhero films are not known for their romantic subplots, but Captain Marvel may be the chilliest of the lot. 

Indeed, the most affection we see on screen here is, really, the lavish attention that Nick Fury bestows on Goose, the movie’s enigmatic cat.” It’s a testament that some critics were irritated by the clear lack of heart that their annoyance overbore the fear of being politically incorrect. Indeed, at 78%, Captain Marvel owns one of the lowest ratings for a Marvel film on Rotten Tomatoes to date.

Looking back, Danvers’ perceived lack of a personality was an oft-noted complaint among fans during the marketing that proceeded the release of the film.

Dani Di Placido, a senior contributor at forbes.com, took to the internet to address these criticisms, postulating that the reason why she “looks bored” was, in fact, precisely “the point.” He goes on to say that “What we’ve seen so far indicates that this a story about a superhuman becoming human, rather than the other way around. This is…an emotionally detached character who has to rediscover her humanity in order to become a hero, rather than a super weapon mindlessly fighting on behalf on the Kree. And that is a really interesting concept for a superhero origin story, which tend to stick to the same tropes that were established more than a decade ago.”

At the time, I might have been inclined to concur with Mr. Di Placido. The idea of starting on the opposite side of the spectrum by forcing the most powerful superhero of them all to gain a degree of humanity is, by nature, a very intriguing concept.

However, this stance was taken about four months before said film was released to audiences around the world, and we now know the truth for what it is. And while Captain Marvel is certainly an entertaining film, it is still an objectively bad film, altogether due to the simple fact that she undergoes no real character arc.
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Let’s Talk About Character Arcs
Now, I, and you, and your grandmother, as I’m sure (I would hope?), are well aware of what a character arc is, but let’s just get it out of the way for the sake of this exercise. According to the wonderful, most-blessed Wikipedia, a character arc is the “transformation or inner journey of a character over the course of a story.” Another authority (lightsfilmschool.com) better defines it as “when a character starts the story off with a certain viewpoint and then through trials and tribulations, that viewpoint changes. Essentially, the arc is the emotional or psychological growth, transformation and development of your character.” Matthew Kadish, at medium.com, further asserts that “…character arcs allow the audiences to see a character transform.”

With this in mind, what does Ms. Danvers learn throughout the course of her story?

How does she transform in a way that fundamentally alters the prospects that face her?

In what way is she forced to change or grow by the end of her arc?

Well, for one, she learns who she once was. She learns that she is on the wrong side of a war. She learns the full extent of her powers. She forges a connection with Nick Fury, which will impact later events in a significant way. She meets a strange, demented cat named Goose. And…that’s all I can really think of.

Maybe you’re beginning to see a problem with all this. All these things are external, not internal. The external should always be the means, not the end. The plot is a vehicle to drive forward crucial character development, and Captain Marvel fails because, while these combined elements manage to change her external circumstances in the Marvel universe, they fail to change her internally in any significant way.

As an audience, we should ask ourselves these questions:

I) What does Danvers stand to lose from these externalities?

II) What inherent struggle must she overcome in order to triumph over the villain?  

III) Why should we (beyond in-the-moment entertainment) care about her story if we’re given nothing concrete to relate to?

The answer is this: Zero. Zip. Nada. Nothing.

For the sake of providing an equal amount of fairness, let’s apply the same questions to other famous superhero flicks of our time.

In what way is Tony Stark different from what saw of him at the beginning of Iron Man?

Well, instead of an extremely narcissistic, greedy individual, we have one, who (though, admittedly, still has a lot more growing to do) is now willing to sacrifice his own selfish ambition to better the interests and wellbeing of others.

In The Amazing Spider-Man, Peter Parker sets aside his restless, rebellious nature in the face of something greater than his personal vendettas and pursuits.

In 2011’s Thor, the arrogant, haughty God of Thunder undergoes a complete evolution.

Even in the much-maligned Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice, Ben Affleck’s Batman, learns to lighten up a bit.

And while many of these films suffer from a multitude of various problems, they all pack some sort of punch at the end because they are the recipients of clear character arcs and deep emotional stakes.

In fact, though I have many issues with Marvel Studios’ approach of sacrificing powerful character moments for yet another joke, I find myself hard-pressed to find a single film in their massively-long Infinity Saga that doesn’t end with the chief protagonist changing in some meaningful way or another (other than the aforementioned Captain Marvel, Spider-Man: Far From Home & Thor: The Dark World).

Contrast again, and the only thing that changes for Carol Danvers is her circumstances. The “best version” of herself is the same as the one given at the beginning, albeit one that now knows her past and has learned to harness her powers.

However, none of these external alterations truly impact her in any way, shape, or form.
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Developing Points of Contrast
So…how to go about fixing all of this?

First of all—in any character arc—you should always be searching for some point of contrast between then and now. Always. There must be some point of realization, throughout all the many trials and tribulations, where that character changes—for better or for worse—in a way that directly reflects back upon their behaviour in the first act.

Example- The Dark Knight Rises: Bruce Wayne is reforged from a hurting, reclusive exile to one, who at long last, learns to rise above his darkness in escaping the underground prison wherein he dwells confined.

Example- Revenge of the Sith: Anakin Skywalker transforms from the young, over-confident war hero to a man, driven by severe emotional duress, that ends up bringing about the demise of Mace Windu—and subsequently the entire Republic.

Example- The Hobbit Trilogy: Thorin Oakenshield is transfigured from the dwarf who continually rejected the legacy of his grandfather, despised the Elvenking Thranduil, and wished to destroy the dragon Smaug, to a person, who in essence, becomes all three of those figures simultaneously.

All of these illustrious persons make a distinct choice: one that radically reshapes the remaining narrative. They all face a single point of contrast that cements the development of who they are or who they are becoming.

And so, if one wishes to fix such a film as Captain Marvel, one has to thoughtfully consider what story elements might make for a powerful antithesis. 

If the goal of the story is to reverse the trends of previous superhero sagas by commencing at an inhuman level and gradually descending to a deeply-human, emotionally-charged bedrock that aims to provide powerful catharsis, then we need to do just that in the set-up of her arc: Make. Her. Emotionless. Not the bored, occasionally-wry character that exists for the duration of the film, but a merciless, ruthless, utterly-unsparing super weapon used by the Kree to further their political ambitions. 

The current version we were shown in the cinemas is much too agreeable, civil, charismatic, and all of the above. If the Kree are taught to be cold and unfeeling, then she should epitomize those principles to mirror her later desire to break free of their andragogy.

Going forward, you can intersperse the revelations of her past with what she’s assimilating about the Kree in relation to the Skrulls. This can consequently drive her to a much more potent and dynamic moral dilemma, where these two opposing, deeply-entrenched sides of her are forced into direct conflict with each other.

Unfortunately, the Carol Danvers we get is never faced with any great moral or philosophical conundrum. When the moment arrives for her to make a choice between the Kree or Skrulls, the answer comes easy enough.

Of course, she’ll turn against the Kree. She’ll do it, and quite happily, thank you very much, because it’s exactly in line with the character established early on. 

As such, this monumental choice, which should have been placed under much more stress, ends up feeling cheap and thoroughly unrewarding and does absolutely nothing to advance her character growth.
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What We Can Learn
If you develop characters with real, human problems and failings, people will inevitably be drawn to your work. However, if you perform the opposite extreme, don’t be surprised when it fails to attract an audience.

To better aid and abet you in forging characters as dynamic as Doctor Strange, Peter Parker, and Thorin Oakenshield, you should ask yourself those same questions as proposed above:

What does your character learn throughout the course of his or her story?
How does he transform in a way that fundamentally alters the prospects that arise against them?
In what way is he forced to change or grow by the end of his character arc?

Thoughtful foreshadowing and expert plotting can draw anyone in, but it is primarily complex and tangible characters that will keep your readers returning.

If you can’t get this one thing right, then your stories will suffer accordingly.

Plot is almost on level with the former, but we must keep in mind that it’s also just a vehicle to bring your characters into conflict with one another, and drive them to make the hard choices and go through the trials with which we most identify.

Hence why such a film as Avengers: Endgame (despite what plot or cognitive problems it may have had) was so roundly praised and acclaimed.

Complex characters who deal with real-life troubles, give your story something all the world-building and plotting can never achieve on their own: heart.

If you can’t create compelling characters with deep flaws, tangible struggles, and emotional stakes, then your story will become just another one of the many shallow stories that pervade the market.

After all, Captain Marvel was about as marvellous as mildew, and I’m sure you don’t want to reproduce that effect for your stories.

[the above was taken from Matthew's post on KingdomPen.org , which was originally published on June 8, 2020]

Even in the Midst of the Fire, You Can Rejoice

You don’t have to go to war to acquire battle-scars.

Whether it’s in the form of a crumbling relationship, stress over one’s livelihood, or personal temptations, we—as fallen humans dwelling within a sin-trodden world—are susceptible to agonizing hardships every day of our lives. It seems that as soon as we manage to claw and scrape our way back to our feet, we’re beaten back down again.

For the Believer, these realities can strike especially close to home. And unlike what every prosperity preacher will ever tell you—Life. Is. Hard.

But we should not despair, but rejoice; for, while (at the time) these trials are unwelcome, unfortunate, and lamentable, they have a purpose, and in that, we can find true consolation.

TRIALS CAN BE A COMFORT, NOT A BURDEN

We shouldn’t be surprised by hardship. In fact, if you call yourself a Follower of Christ but don’t experience trials (i.e., life is always good), then you should be somewhat concerned!

If you remember, over and over again, Jesus tells would-be-followers to consider the cost of sacrificing all to embrace him (Matthew 8:19-20; Luke 9:23; Luke 14:26-27), with the rest of the Bible repeatedly stressing the universal truth that the life of a Believer will be taxing, demanding, and full of various trials and tribulations.

Take 1 Peter 4:12-14, which asserts, “Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice insofar as you share Christ’s sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when his glory is revealed. If you are insulted for the name of Christ, you are blessed, because the Spirit of glory and of God rests upon you.”

So, not only should we not be surprised, but also comforted when adversity comes our way, seeking earnestly with all that is within us to glorify God and sing his praises!

TRIALS SHAPE AND MOLD

Through the fiercest fires and the hottest heat, steel is bent and shaped and refined over and over, till at last it becomes cold and resilient: a work fashioned in such a way so as to not break under the most extreme pressures.

Similarly, we are reminded in James 1:2-4 to “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.”

War is an able tester of man’s mettle: the battle-scars it gives us will define who we are, and make manifest to all the true nature of our faith. You and I must take the time to ask ourselves this question: how will our faith fare when put to the test in the ravaging heat of these fiery trials?

Will our faith be stronger than ever before: our trust and reliance upon our great Father strengthened beyond all hope?

Or will the weight of our perceived affronts and pride overbear, where true faith would have otherwise prevailed? Will we shake our fists in defiance, disparaging his wonderful promises and counsel, and renouncing our once-proclaimed Lord and Savior?

May it never be!

As painful as it is, we must not break in the fire, but instead persevere, holding fast to Christ alone, so that our faith does not falter, but persists in all joy and thanksgiving and love, which—though mingled with grief, grows only greater.

TRIALS DRAW US CLOSER TO CHRIST—AND IN HIM WE TRUST

Time and time again as soon as I think life is indeed “good,” and my own pride begins to master all other thoughts, I am shortly subjected to some form of a trial.

And in that trial, whether over the course of hours, a few days, or even several years, I am forced to humble myself and plead before God for not only respite, but strength: such strength that I might persevere and with his aid, turn that pain into joy and thanksgiving.

For, relying upon my own strength to relieve myself is impossible, and earthly pleasures, while perhaps occasionally drowning out my grievous afflictions, can only provide the very briefest of reliefs before they are gone forever, and I am left as I was, without comfort or hope.

And so these tribulations, while seeming wrought with the sole intent to destroy, are instead for our benefit: to build up our faith and shape us into the men and women we are called to be.

When I look back and think upon my own blessings and afflictions, I find it an easy thing to say I have grown closer to Christ through the latter, rather than the former—save when that blessing comes as a respite to my trial, for then I am prompted to praise and worship the Almighty God, King of Kings, and Lord of Lords, who can rescue me from the darkest of despairs and make my cup overflow with abundant goodness and grace.

So I say this to you, struggling Believer: though at times all may seem dark and heavy and under the shadow of evil and heartache of pain, place your trust and hope in God, and then stumble on ahead in this present battle we wage.

Remember, God has an accorded end in sight for all things, and as Paul reassures us in Romans 8:28, he “causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to his purpose.”

Therefore, when a trial comes your way, don’t despair: cling to Christ, seek his face, and in the midst of the fire, rejoice.

[the above was taken from Matthew's post on therebelution.com , which was originally published on February 7, 2020]

Our Singular Calling: The Desire, Duty, and Hope of the Christian

If you are a Christian, you possess new affections.

If you are a Christian, you have a solemn responsibility.

If you are a Christian, you are free from the shackles of despair.

You may struggle, and you may fall; you may capitulate to various temptations and allurements, and times will come when you stray from the path of righteousness; but because of the new nature which now indwells your spirit, you cannot be dominated by such failings.

Even in the face of death, that doom which awaits of all men, we are possessors of a common hope that will avail us of our greatest fear. Even in the fiercest fire and the darkest desolation, there is comfort still to be found, if we are willing to humble ourselves before God, setting aside the supreme vanity of our own perceived might to cling to Christ in our all frailty and weakness.

In spite of the darkness that abounds all about us, we need not ever fear the future, for God indeed "is the One who has shone in our hearts to give the Light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ." (2 Corinthians 4:6) Trials and tribulations will overtake all, but with the eyes of the seeing, wrought of God, we are now steadfastly aware that there is yet purpose and assurance and hope, which even in the direst peril can never be wholly lost to us.

The Worldview of the Wicked

Conversely, things could not be more different for the wicked and unrighteous man. Left to his own devices, without bonds and principles to stay him, he will consume not only himself but those of him in the vomit of his great vanity. The fruit of this mindset is acutely assessed in Job's description of the wicked to his mocking friends: "They say to God, 'Depart from us! We do not even desire the knowledge of your ways." (Job 21:14)

Having purposed within his heart to remove the hope of God and dwell in defiant ignorance and stupidity for all his days, such a man must now place his faith in fallen men, to the detriment of them all. In of itself, the fallenness of our flesh can never truly breed long-standing monuments to a confident expectancy, before the very nature of that which first erected it, brings about its own destruction. The hope of men, therefore, is a counterfeit ruse, doomed from the very beginning to beget despair.

In the absence of light, darkness must pervade all. "The Light has," indeed, "come into the world," but "men loved the darkness rather than the Light, for their deeds were evil." (John 3:19) When the one, true Light of Christ has been displaced from the hearts of men, no other alternative exists with which they might cast off the shadow of the dark. Only fear, the fear that they will lose the little they have left to them, remains. As a direct consequence of this defiance, the trials we face present a great danger to an unregenerate world.

To those blinded by egocentric self-interest to the Light of Christ, and thus, bound fully by the fraudulences of the flesh, there is always something dreadfully amiss; they fear what is to come and what will be.

To avail them in their need, the Unbeliever places merit in their riches and possessions and standing, determined to drown out the Truth with the inundations of the moment, but when faced with death, these things are rendered naught: for to such as these, Death is a horror and ever-present fear that cannot be undone till the world is mended.

Such claims, they may, of course, deny; but as many can now safely testify, our present circumstances (specifically the sheer panic that ensued on behalf of COVID-19) have assuredly brought to light their own self-deceit.

For the unsaved, there is no hope. There can be no hope. It is decreed by the very truths to which they declare themselves bound.

Our Unchanging Desire

Unlike the fallen philosophy of many who take up residence within the pews of our churches, we are not the world. We are indeed in the world, but not of the world. (John 17:14-19) If we were of this world, "the world would love its own," Christ reminds us, "but because you are not of the world, but I chose you out of the world, because of this the world hates you." (John 15:19)

This is important to differentiate because it defines our chief purpose in this life. No longer do we serve the interests of self, but Christ alone, being ourselves Followers of Christ. Our devotion has been removed from a state of perpetual narcissism to one of selfless commitment to the will of an almighty God. Certainly, we are still susceptible to the enticements of the flesh, but because of the radical work of the spirit which has taken place within us, these are deviations from a standard, not the standard.

In short, our desires and affections have been thoroughly upended. We were born "haters of God" and lovers of that which is evil, but upon our conversion, these two sentiments were exchanged fully for one another. Our uttermost desire exists now for the glorification of a loving Saviour.

Evangelist and expositor Paul Washer articulates it in this fashion: "The closer you come to God, the more of the world you must leave behind. The two are polar opposites. Mutually exclusive. Incompatible."

As Followers of Christ, our chief desire should—no, it must—be to grow in the knowledge of the living God, and through that avenue, further our desire for Him. That is from where all our actions must stem. The more we grow in the knowledge of God and all that He has done, the more we will aspire to submit in faithful obedience to the full enormity of His will.

Washer, who is perhaps my favourite preacher to listen to, further encapsulates this monumental truth in the following words: "The goal of the Christian life is the pursuit of an intimate knowledge of God that leads to a greater estimation of His worth, a greater satisfaction and joy in His person, and a greater giving of oneself for His glory."

This is further affirmed in Daniel 11:32, where we are presented with an account of the future deeds of Antiochus (explicitly linked as a direct precursor to Antichrist): "By smooth words he will turn to godlessness those who act wickedly toward the covenant, but the people who know their God will display strength and take action." (emphasis added)

The man known to many as the "Prince of Preachers," one Charles Haddon Spurgeon, openly declared: "There must be knowledge of God before there can be love to God: there must be a knowledge of divine things, as they are revealed, before there can be an enjoyment of them."

In 2 Peter 3:17-18, the apostle Peter ends his two books with this command: "You therefore, beloved, knowing this beforehand, be on your guard so that you are not carried away by the error of unprincipled men and fall from your own steadfastness, but grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ." (emphasis added)

"Unless we know God deeply, we cannot love him deeply," contends the late R.C. Sproul. "Deepening knowledge must precede deepening affection."

The apostle Paul stresses the vast significance of this in his rebuke to the Corinthians: "Become sober-minded as you ought, and stop sinning; for some have no knowledge of God. I speak this to your shame." (1 Corinthians 15:34)

Similarly, Solomon's discourse between a loving father and his son in Proverbs 2 puts the "fear of the Lord" and the "knowledge of God" at the summit of all wisdom.

The desire for the manifold knowledge of God ought to be at the epicentre of our Christian walk in its entirety. If we wish to walk worthy of the calling to which we have been called, we need to better contemplate, ruminate, and meditate upon His glory and goodness. We must direct ourselves through prayer to search out the mysteries of all that is revealed to us through the Holy Word and study His many attributes, till all our thought is bent upon Christ and nothing but Christ.

To know Christ is to climb the threshold of understanding. It is the beginning of comprehension: the comprehension of the full glorious magnitude of what His sacrifice truly portends. To the one whose eyes have been opened like the blind man, such knowledge can only breed everlasting thankfulness, and joy, and gratitude.

For is that not our sole purpose on this earth? Ought that not to be the dominating mindset that masters all our wayward thoughts, binding them together for a higher yearning?

Indeed, so! affirms Paul in his letter to the Colossians, saying, "For by Him all things were created, both in the heavens and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things have been created through Him and for Him.” (emphasis added)

All that we say, all that we do is for Christ. This is the bottom line. That is the foremost duty of all of creation. Take 1 Corinthians 10:31, wherein we are commanded, "Whether, then, you eat or drink or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God."

As the great Paul Washer would counsel us, "Go to your studies!"

Our Unshirking Duty

It is for these reasons that we cannot shirk the responsibility laid upon us by our Lord, whom the Scripture calls the Father of Lights, most blessed of all. As bondservants of Christ, our solemn duty is not to follow our own hearts but Him and Him alone. As Christ has decreed, so we must act.

To what purpose, then are we called? The answer is simple: to obey God (Jeremiah 7:23; John 3:36; Acts 5:29). What does obeying God entail? Whatever he commands of us, chiefest of which are to I) abandon sin and its lusts, keeping Christ as the foremost priority in our hearts and minds, II) deepen our desire for heavenly things by increasing in the knowledge of God, and III) preaching the Gospel to all the nations, telling all of the wondrous nature of the blessed Saviour, and calling every man to repentance.

In these uncertain times, do then as you are called! Mourn not, and save the lamenting over perceived afflictions to the sons and daughters of the Kingdom of Darkness. Put an end to this madness, which dissuades you from your course. If you think yourself afflicted, read again of the works of the apostles and all they suffered for the sake of their Lord; and in light of that, all your many maladies and misfortunes will seem as naught. No longer can you languish in solitude and the self-pity of a despairing heart.

Rather, do as you ought: rejoicing and praising God for His goodness. Set aside your earthly wonts and practises, and persist instead in carrying out His will and bringing the Truth to the nations by whatever means made available to you. If you suffer and are afflicted, consider it all for the Glory of God.

Such a time should not diminish our calling. Nay, but such a time should perform the opposite extreme! Think to yourself: what an opportunity! What a beautiful, blessed opportunity to spread and scatter the seeds of righteousness that tell of the love and truth of Christ amid uncertain and wavering minds! What an opportunity to do as you are called!

So, get to it, Christian! Pray unceasingly and steadfastly, giving praise and thanksgiving in all things. Hold fast to Christ; never let go! Stray not into folly by trusting in the things of the flesh. Lean not on the philosophies of the world, which seem wise to men but are only foolishness to God.

Does your mind whither and fade in boredom or languor? Cease swiftly from such ways and meditate now upon the Word and the precepts of God! You cannot now claim the lack of opportunity deters you from such ends. You have a work and commission: do them!

Our Abiding Hope

These things, these trials, and tribulations, they are to be expected. They are the signs of what is: the portents of a breaking world: a fallen, utterly wretched creation calling out for aid, amidst the many tears of grief-riven hearts. They are the Bad that must transpire before the Good can arise to wash away the sin of the world.

Even darkness must pass. All this sadness, all this sorrow, it's all a passing thing. This wretched world is coming to an end. It and all of its much-vaunted attributes are passing away forever. But of the supreme glory of all the attributes of God, that shall never fade!

The Light of Christ is such that naught can hope to stand and endure before all the glorious wonder of His revealed majesty. Naught can ever hope to prevail. There is no balance between good and evil. The myth of a darkness that is matched as an equal force to the Light is just that: a myth, and wholly false. The Light of Christ is everything, and the Kingdom of Darkness is nothing. There is no alternative.

A time will come, yea, it is here even now, when the darkness will enshroud all and everything will seem altogether fraught with danger and peril and every evil thing. And in that time, you must return to the reading of the Word and steadfast prayer. You must remember above all else the hope that will yet avail us in our greatest need.

In time, this Shadow will pass, and the Light will shine again. The dawn is swiftly approaching, even as I write these words.

Soon there will be a new heaven and a new earth, and all our tears and fears shall be wiped away for all of eternity. Soon the taint of sin will be cleansed utterly, and we will sing and live and worship God in holiness and righteousness and every good thing. Soon the darkness will pass, and the Light will shine all the greater.

So, encourage because you have been encouraged. Give because you have been given. Lovingly reprove because you have been lovingly reproved.

Turn away from the deceits bred of our fallen kinsmen and fellow men. Turn away from darkness and despair and everything dour. Just as that marvellous hymn relates, "Turn your eyes upon Jesus. Look full in His wonderful face, and the things of this earth will grow strangely dim, in the light of His glory and grace."

For the True Believer, there is hope. There has to be hope. It is decreed by the very Truth to which we know ourselves bound.

And this is the Truth, for this, we know, that we need not ever fear death: our majestic God has already conquered the Grim Reaper, setting a boundary that it cannot trespass, and He did so at the Cross.

So, turn away from deceit. Turn away from despair. Turn your eyes to Christ, and look full in His wonderful face.

For He alone is our salvation. He is our sole assurance. And that is our shining hope.

What you can expect in "The Mighty Shall Rise"

Besides an occasionally (and admittedly, somewhat cryptic) synopsis reveal every here and there and an exclusive first excerpt published

Point Number One: Upon Which the Former is Founded

To start off, let’s get something out of the way:

The Mighty Shall Rise is brutal. I mean, really brutal.

This is not to say it’s a violent sort of brutal--in that the prose in some scenes might prove uncomfortable for the general reader (I think we can all agree we don’t need any more of that in our reading).

On a brief note: More and more, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve desired to write stories that can be enjoyed by not only adults but young children as well. This was something that many of the classical authors did exceptionally well (Tolkien, Austen, Lewis, just to name a few), and I think it’s an approach that desperately needs to be reconsidered and reevaluated in this age that specifically targets certain age groups to its (in my opinion) detriment.

Continuing: But while I have endeavoured to keep it brimming with colourful characters and jocular witticisms, The Mighty Shall Rise is, above all other things, a story about human suffering—and to what ends we can be pushed until we are forced to lash out at those closest to us. It’s very much a spiritual journey if you will: a journey through darkness or the “valley of the shadow of death.”

And to those who might be given cause to wonder, it doesn’t get any better. One of my proofreaders for a draft of the 300-page serial wryly remarked as to the number of dire tragedies which met the central characters—even going so far as to place a number in the margin every time some character met his or her doom.

But that’s entirely the point. As referenced in the title, the focus is primarily on this downward struggle, this “horrific descent into darkness and despair” that enshrouds the chief protagonist, whom I’ve aptly named Endurian Stonehelm.

And from Page One, Endurian’s struggles, his battles, his fears—they don’t get any better. He’s hardly back on his feet when he gets knocked back down again. Things simply refuse to go well. Fate is not kind.

This continual state of darkness is a tradition that virtually every descendant of Adam has been forced to confront: the good seldom lasts till it is usurped by evil, which mars what was. Even in the supposed good, we find ourselves confronted by discomfiting feelings of discontentment and festering ill-will toward our fellow men. If it is the aspiration to overthrow darkness which (momentarily) lends us the freedom we all crave, then it is the pride brought about by our seeming triumph that ultimately leads to yet another downfall, in a line of never-ending falls.

It is in the face of this unshakable, irrefutable truth concerning the world wherein we dwell that Endurian is faced with the age-old question, which he articulates in the following words: “Why? Why then do we fight? Why do we continue on when we stand not a chance? Why do we persist in the face of so much wrong?”

It is these very questions upon which The Mighty Shall Rise is founded, and (I hope) adequately addresses.

Point Number Two: In Which I Address the Inevitable Issue of Allegory

While also fiercely decrying allegory, and expressing his desire for the use of the term applicability, Tolkien explicitly defined The Lord of the Rings as a fundamentally Christian work, “unconsciously so in the writing, consciously in the revision.”

The same, I think, could be said for The Mighty Shall Rise.

To those who know me well, I’ve made it no secret that I started out this process doggedly opposed to allegory in any way, shape, or form. But, as I’ve grown and matured, not only as a storyteller but a Believer in Christ, I’ve come to find it almost impossible not to write allegory in stories such as these, if that makes any sense.

As a Christian, my worldview will be diametrically opposed to the philosophy of the world, and it is a very hard thing to prevent the ideology of any author from finding its way into their work—especially work that deals with fundamental, human problems.

The problem, I’ve come to find, is not the inclusion of allegory at all, but rather the approach/execution of that allegory. If the execution forces your message to dominate the story in a way that characters do things unnatural to what has already been established, then such allegory can only turn off your readers. This, sadly, has occurred with a frightening consistency since the passing of storytellers like Lewis, MacDonald, Tolkien, and all the like.

On a brief note: My influences/favoured storytellers are not obvious at all.

Continuing: To better understand this difficulty, allow me to present a portion of a letter I sent in response to a fellow author’s novel, which I had consented to read and provide feedback. While I misunderstood his intent in regards to a certain scene, which took me completely out of the moment, it still serves its purpose in explaining my issues with common allegorical practises:

There is a danger in the writing of fantastical fiction to “allegorize” or draw direct parallels to crucial periods in the history of our world. In all work of this nature, a sense of “escapism” serves as one of the primary draws/enticements to the reader. But that same escapism can easily be broken, which is always why extreme care must be taken whenever one attempts to create a commentary on historical events. In his Stormlight books, Brandon Sanderson has used the conflict between “light-eyes” and “dark-eyes” to address issues such as race relations. However, knowing how such a narration might easily draw his readers out of his story and into the present-day world, he has disguised it accordingly.

As Christian authors, we are presented with two approaches to allegory: the subtle applicability and deep-seated nuance of Tolkien, or the overt, undisguised parable of Lewis. Both are valuable, and both have their uses.

The problem that inevitably ensues is when a would-be-author attempts to merge both methods. That can only lead to disaster. When a reader consents to read the work of another person, they’re accepting it on the author’ s terms—or the conditions they believe themselves to have accepted. With Lewis or MacDonald, one knows that they are receiving a distinctly allegorical work. If that appeals to them, then they can subsequently accept it as it is, without deceit.

On the other hand, you have The Lord of the Rings, or perhaps even more appropriately, The Silmarillion. It is probable that many people have read the latter and never truly been aware of the deep metaphorical truths that reside within it. Whereas Rings focuses primarily on the conflict between light and dark, and what such conflict engenders, The Silmarillion is a meditation on the human condition, as spread over thousands of years. At its inception, it loosely adapts the creation narrative of Genesis and proceeds to tell a tale about how the desire for knowledge and power ultimately corrupts all good intentions. If it is the aspiration to overthrow darkness [that leads to a victory], then it is the pride brought about by our seeming triumph that ultimately leads to yet another downfall. It is only when one realizes that all his efforts are futile and vanity (as seen in Eärendil/Common Man) that one understands the need to reach outside of oneself to a higher power (Eru/God). And it is only with a humble and contrite heart that Earendil can approach that power and plead for the aid that would avail his people.

But again, such nuance can rarely be discerned in the first reading. And by the time we do perceive it, we have already fully accepted the work; and our original opinion (like or dislike) can only deepen, not rescind.

The problem I have identified above is precisely why I find it nigh impossible to read many of the “Christian stories” of our present day. They all endeavour to bring the grounded, yet otherworldly beauty of Tolkien into coexistence with the real world. There is no nuance. There is no distinction. There is no subtlety. It would be much more beneficial for me to read [the actual Word of God] than anything else.

In the end, despite all my efforts, The Mighty Shall Rise has taken on deep allegorical undertones, and is, unabashedly and unadulteratedly, a “fundamentally Christian work.”

But for it to succeed where others have failed and rise above its prominent fellows, the execution must be on point, which is one major reason why I missed my release date of July 15.

Point Number Three: On a Brief, Biographical Note

In a sense, the character of Endurian Stonehelm is inseparably me, symbolically, more than literally.

I first devised him in April of 2017 for a story I called The Stranger’s Fire. As has already been recounted too many times to count, the latter, through a series of radical reboots and restarts, eventually evolved into the story I now call The Mighty Shall Rise. This evolution has been so profound as to make both Fire and Mighty two entirely dissimilar stories.

However, throughout it all, the person of Endurian has (might I say, more appropriately) endured.

I have been following his journey through the more transformative years of my life, and it is only natural that a large part of me should become infused into him, and vice versa.

 

It is only natural that I would use my own struggles and failures over the past several years to directly inform Endurian’s own. And while I must necessarily say that one must be careful in attempting to draw direct connotations between his actions and my own, a few of his thoughts and sayings are things I’ve thought and said myself.

Enough said.

Point Number Four: Genre?

Expect everything.

A big reason why the medium of epic fantasy has the potential to tell some of the most compelling and powerful stories of our time is because of its inherent ability to infuse almost every style/genre imaginable (save for futuristic science fiction), allowing for rich symbolism and nuanced depictions of fundamental truths concerning the world.

And, for the most part, I tend to stay away from stories that are singularly focused on one element or emotion: I like my stories to have a little of everything, whether that be humour, horror, thrill, suspense, action, adventure, romance, revenge, betrayal, you name it.

So, yeah. Expect everything.

Point Number Five: On My Willingness to Wait

My style of writing is very different from that of my peers. 

I rarely start at the beginning of a story and even more rarely write through to the very end (in a first draft). 

My manuscripts seldom grow smaller with consecutive drafts, until I am forced to cut it down, resulting in an even longer waiting period.

I am also a perfectionist, through and through. I’m always polishing, always revising, and (likely to the horror of many authors out there) much prefer the editing to the writing.

This is why I am fully willing to wait a ridiculous amount of time just to get the story right where I want it.

My eye is presently settled somewhere on mid-January for a full-volume release of The Mighty Shall Rise.

But I’m also ready to wait until summer of next year if events arise in which I am forced to amend the manuscript beyond what was formerly envisioned.

Point Number Six: First Word on...the Screenplay

I’m in the midst of adapting The Mighty Shall Rise into a screenplay, and despite being only 43 pages into it, let’s just say I’m having a spiffing good time.

Point Number Seven: In Which I Take My Leave

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Until then.

NEWSFLASH: The Status of "The Mighty Shall Rise"

It was a noteworthy night on April 18, 1944, that Professor John Tolkien wrote these words to his son Christopher, "I hope to see C.S.L. and Charles W. tomorrow morning and read my next chapter -- on the passage of the Dead Marshes and the approach to the Gates of Mordor, which I have now practically finished." Some days later, on the 23rd, he wrote, "I read my second chapter, Passage of the Dead Marshes, to Lewis and Williams on Wed. morning. It was approved. I have now nearly done a third: Gates of the Land of Shadow. But this story takes me in charge, and I have already taken three chapters over what was meant to be one!" I say noteworthy because almost precisely 76 years later, I find myself in very similar circumstances. At the present moment, I'm up to my head in drafts, outlines, notes, and all the like. I've been tentatively sharing the beginning chapters and have received very enthusiastic responses to those--and subsequently, suggestions of deficiencies in later episodes that I myself have for long suspected. And like the good professor, both of us are pushing ever ahead into the breach these early spring months, believing the end to be in sight, but repeatedly impeded by the unanticipated expansion and evolution of our stories. I had hoped to complete a final draft by this Wednesday, April the 15th, but unfortunately, that is no longer possible. In fact, because of these late developments (which consist of both a complete restructuring of the story main and an overall reshaping of the general premise), I am forced to change the number of planned drafts (originally five) to seven. As stated in an earlier social media post, the book has lost its subtitle of "Swords Unhallowed," and will be titled simply, "The Mighty Shall Rise." This is, of course, in line with the new premise, which I will share below. At this point, Mighty simply serves as a much better presentation of the story as it currently stands than the former. Furthermore, The Mighty Shall Rise, which up until this time, had consisted of two books, each consisting of seven chapters each--with the addition of a Prelude, Interlude, and Postlude, will be fleshed out even more. The first book is in very good shape--albeit with the need for further (you guessed rightly) expansion (and the polishing/tightening of the dialogue and narrative)--but I'm encountering many obstacles in trying to satisfactorily wrap up the story in the final seven chapters. I tend to write rather long chapters and, on the whole, hold with contempt those pithy 2-3 page divisions which are so pervasive in contemporary fiction. However, I would also prefer to avoid a series of seven chapters that, on average, consist of 10-12,000 words--and I think the general reader would think likewise. It is with this in mind, that I will very likely (indeed, I am experimenting with this as we speak) flesh out the latter book into two installments, with the addition of a new interlude. If this holds out, the final story will compromise of approximately 21 chapters, 2 interludes, 1 prelude, and 1 postlude. Lastly (again, with the new premise in mind), I am endeavoring to remerge/repurpose parts and abandoned storylines from The Doom of Innocence, which, as you may remember, was originally apart of the tale I called, The Serpent and the Scroll. That, of course, was sundered into two separate stories: Doom being one, and Mighty being the other. Whether this effort will succeed or not, I am not wholly sure; but time will tell the tale soon enough. Moving on, then! Fourth Draft: Its completion & what that portends... Last night, I managed to finish the fourth draft, which I had started just upon completing the third. In all, it came to 150,616 words. But if you include all the material that I'm currently endeavoring to add from The Doom of Innocence and earlier drafts, it rounds out at 195,486 words. Now, I don't at all think the final draft will hit that enormous number (though, granted, many, if not all, of my word count predictions have fallen far short of the mark); and if I had to make a guess, I would say 170K at maximum and 125 minimum. For those who have difficulty translating word count to approximate size and length, that comes out to 739 manuscript pages or 640 5.5. x 8.5 pages (size of the published book). Unlike previous drafts, I have not burned out creatively (yet); and will likely commence on the fifth sometime this week (likely Saturday). What this portends for my release date of July 15, 2020, I cannot say. For the time being, it shall stay as it is. I am of the belief that I can finish that seventh and (presumably) final draft before that date; but I would like to let it sit for a month or so to get such feedback as I can before giving it a final polish. So, that said, there is certainly the possibility of it being delayed several weeks or months. Those who have been following my progress over the past year will undoubtedly note the relative dearth in communication and correspondence over the past course of this year, in contrast to the months proceeding. The reason for that is simple enough: what time I might have spent on those accounts has been repurposed for getting these drafts done, in addition to everyday responsibilities. I hope to maintain more consistent communication in the future, but I shall be hindered in those aspects until the final form of the story is nailed down. All other writing enterprises have been suspended indefinitely as I endeavor to bring The Mighty Shall Rise to a satisfactory conclusion. And now to the official synopsis & story details: For those persons yet unaware, The Mighty Shall Rise is what many would call an epic fantasy novel, though I myself much prefer to describe it as a heroic romance. Below is the official synopsis in its current state: "Recruited out of his exile, young Endurian Stonehelm forges an alliance with the legendary warrior, Tyrelion Ivronwine, to retrieve the lost Sceptre of Nórn from the White Tower in a move that will have long-ranging consequences for all of Pergelion in ways that they cannot even begin to imagine. "Drawn into these events is the usurper, Ir-Murazôr, whose mere presence promises a long-awaited end to Endurian’s desperate search for answers. But the tormented Endurian is fighting a losing battle against a lifetime of guilt and terror, and his inevitable confrontation with Murazôr spells disaster of the worst kind. "That, combined with the ever-looming shadow that is his family’s legacy, drive Endurian to sacrifice friendship and honour for the road of madness; and in his horrific descent into darkness and despair, the true conflict manifests itself not as a struggle to right past wrongs, but as a fight for Endurian’s very soul. To master the darkness within, he must reach beyond himself to confront the Dark King and in so doing, find his true place in the world." As Tyrelion himself would say, "Until we return, havas eru alkali frël ouri! May the stars shine brightly upon the path your feet do tread!"

Read the compelling first excerpt from Matthew Roland's epic fantasy debut "The Mighty Shall Rise"

Intended to be enjoyed by both children and adults of all ages, The Mighty Shall Rise is currently slotted for digital and physical release on July 15, 2020. The following is an excerpt from "The Mighty Shall Rise" by Matthew Roland. It follows young Endurian Stonehelm, who is recruited out of his exile by Aragonez Ivronwine—former high-prince of the Kingdom of Ared’dor—and is swept into an epic quest to steal the Sceptre of Nórn from Ir-Murazôr himself: chiefest of tyrants. But even with all of Ared’dor at his mercy, Murazôr does not sit idle, and Endurian, who is tormented by memories of his bloodstained past, must eventually confront the Dark King, and in doing so, find his true place in the world. ARAGONEZ STRODE THROUGH the dusty and gravely road that was supposed to the fishing village’s main thoroughfare, the one thought on his mind to find himself a hero. The sky was a pallid grey, and long slashes of darkened clouds were draped across it. The wind wasn’t particularly biting today, but it still made being out in the cold air somewhat uncomfortable. Knee-high boots wrought sharp, grinding indentures within the ground as Aragonez passed weather-beaten house after weather-beaten house. His authoritative gait made those that wandered the uninviting street look at him twice, then scurry off. That was well. He was here to make a presence anyway. To his right, he could see clearly the object of his exertions come into view. The Common Hall was, like the rest of the village, a drab, colorless building that was solidly rooted in the hard earth that made up the land about them. Of note, it was much larger than those sitting alongside it, having been specifically designed––or thrown together––for village meetings, such as the one he intended to interrupt right now. Two untried sentries stood in front of the doors, spears crossed at their sides in a lazy, half-hearted manner. At Aragonez’s approach, they jerked upright, low eyelids fluttering as they attempted to look somewhat dignified. Aragonez ignored them and strode up the creaky steps to the door beyond. “Wait just a minute there!” said one guard, his helmet off-centered to one side of his head and a slightly bewildered expression on his face. “You can’t just––” Aragonez didn’t so much as bat an eyelash, marching right past the two incompetent guards, and leaving them slack-jawed, seemingly helpless to hinder his approach. Perhaps it was his dusty attire, or maybe it was the jeweled sword strapped to his side, or possibly it was even the sharp gleam that resided deep within his eyes, which caused them to stop short. Whatever it was, it induced them to positions of mute incomprehension, and without a second look, Aragonez slid past them to the heavy wood doors. Setting his palms across the seams, he flexed and then pressed, thrusting them inwards with one, forceful push. The doors slid inwards, falling back against the inner walls of the Common Room with a thunderous bang that shook the old building to its very roots. At his ingress, many therein turned to eye him with startled expressions. Striding forward, Aragonez again ignored their many looks of surprise, marching through their midst to the front of the room. As one entity, they parted like water before a rock, leaving him ample room to walk. Gloved hand resting upon the pommel of his sword, Aragonez made his way to the small platform that rose in the back. Several men who stood at the front looked at him in surprise, their weather-beaten coats and ragged beards bespeaking of a hard life. Then, their eyes hardened into pointed glares. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” said Aragonez. “I hope you don’t mind if I take the floor for a moment?” “You have no right to come barging in here like this!” said one. “My thanks to you as well,” Aragonez replied with a grim smile. “I shall not use too much of your time, I think.” Another one of the men barked something at him. Reaching into his side-pocket, Aragonez withdrew his hand, holding out a small moneybag. Immediately, the men’s expressions lightened considerably, and one of them stepped forward, eyes eager. Without a second thought, Aragonez tossed it to the man who caught it with an outstretched hand. Upon this, the others rushed to his side, poking and prying, each one trying to claim a fair share for himself. Aragonez stepped past them to look upon the gathered assembly, who were eyeing him with interested expressions, some curious, others calculating. “I have come here with a purpose!” he said. “I am looking for a man: a stranger to your folk, perhaps, or not at all. I have heard tell that he makes his dwelling here among you. I wish to meet this man; indeed, I am most interested in acquiring his distinguished services, if he were amenable. Has anyone here heard of the name, ‘Endurian Stonehelm’?” There was silence. Aragonez twisted his mouth into a hard line. This, it appeared, was going to be harder than he had anticipated. “Come now!” he said in a softer voice. “I know that some here know of whom I speak. Come! Stop hiding behind your closed countenances and give me that which I seek. There is much, much more available where that moneybag I just proffered to your leaders came from.” He eyed the crowds with a scrutinizing expression. He was just giving up hope when one of the men stepped forward. “There is one among us who goes by the name of Stonehelm,” said he. “One who––” “Mahúr!” yelled a voice not far from him. “Enough! Yrsti althvä!” Another man stepped forward, the crowd making way for him. This man, though, Aragonez would have recognized anywhere. With a long, well-maintained beard that reached nearly to his belt and a smile that would light any room, Khaderas Awyrgen was recognizable by his voice alone. However, at the current moment, his usual smile was nowhere to be seen. “Lord Aragonez,” he said, eyes grim. “I have been expecting you. The Lady Lithariel was kind enough to warn me.” “That is not surprising,” replied Aragonez. “And it is well you see you here. But urgent matters beg my attention, and I must see Master Stonehelm as soon as I can.” “I’m afraid I cannot help you.” Aragonez opened his mouth to speak, but Khaderas interrupted him. “But I can lead you to him, though it will do you no good. If even I cannot suffice to move him, then any chance you stand will be impossible.” “We shall see,” said Aragonez, and at Khaderas’s beckoning, the crowd of fishermen stepped aside to let him through. Aragonez could feel their eyes on him as the door shut behind him. When they were outdoors and walking in the street where none could eavesdrop on them, Khaderas said, “Because of your name, will I show you where Endurian makes his dwelling, and not for any other reason. But again, I must warn you: any proposition which you will endeavor to entice him with will in every likelihood, be rejected.” “I was already aware of that coming here.” “Good,” said the man. “Then, you are already prepared for rejection, although I will admit that it would do him much good to break free from where he now dwells confined.” Aragonez frowned. “Why do you say that?” “I say it because Endurian has become, in essence, his own worst enemy. Over the past four years, I have seen his mind deteriorate to the point that, well…you will soon see what I mean for yourself.” The bearded man shook his head. “Regardless, anybody would readily agree that holing oneself up and taking not an ounce of action for an extended period of time, can only be to their detriment. Which is what he is doing, for your information. “You well remember Orendel. His sons have retained much of their father’s bearing, and Endurian most of all. He is like to grow moody and grim, at times; that has never surprised me any. But this time, though, there’s something…different. I’ll keep my own suspicions to myself, suffice to say that he’s afraid.” “Afraid?” Aragonez arched an eyebrow. “Endurian Stonehelm, who was for a time, the most notorious outlaw in the Darklands, is afraid?” “Aye. He’s afraid; that much I know for sure, and he needs help desperately. I’ve tried persuading him, but, unfortunately, he has grown too proud to realize it.” Aragonez walked onwards in silence, somewhat stunned by what he had just heard. Endurian the Outlaw, afraid? He was so wrapped up in that thought that it took him a moment to realize that Khaderas had come to a stop. “There,” said Khaderas, pointing past the village, and over a long gap of shoreline, to a cliff that overlooked the swirling sea below it. “You’ll find him there.” Aragonez looked in the direction of Khaderas’s hand and saw a large, rickety, yet ornate house perched atop the edge of the cliff. The house was easily the most inviting in miles around. “Just up that hill, you should find him. When you knock, give your name and state your business directly. Maybe one of old Pelendûr’s maids will let you in. For now, farewell and good luck.” Khaderas saluted him, then turning on his heel, strode back the way whence he came, leaving Aragonez alone. ✶ ✶ ✶ Aragonez pounded his fist against the door. There was silence. He beat again, and then a muffled noise sounded from behind the door, and it swept back to reveal a young scullery maid, wiping a dirty hand on her stained apron. “Hello?” she said. “The master isn’t seeing anybody the moment. But if you could come back at another time, perhaps…?” “I have a prior appointment,” said Aragonez firmly. “With one who is called Endurian Stonehelm.” The girl’s face whitened. “Lord Endurian is…come in, lord. I shall tell him you’ve come.” She made way, and he strode through, entering into a large, open-spaced entryway. He wiped his boots on the mat and turned, when the maid said, “As whom shall I announce you?” She eyed him nervously, then added a hasty, “Lord.” “You may tell him that an old acquaintance has come to see him,” Aragonez replied, eyeing the room about him. “And that he would do well to come as soon as possible.” “You want me to say all that?” The girl put her hands to her mouth, seemingly mortified at what she had just said. “Sorry, lord. I’ll tell him. Right, this way.” She led him down the corridor into a large sitting room, wherein were set several cushioned chairs and an oak table. Then she departed. Or fled. Aragonez shook his head and made his way around the room, searching for a place to sit. At last, he settled upon a high-backed armchair that was nestled in the far corner of the room. Slowly, he sat himself down. Then sat back up. He did not need to be accustoming himself to comfort. The last thing he needed was to succumb to such temptations; there were important things he had to be about. So, he made his way to the fireplace and leaned against the stone there, arm resting against the inset beam of polished wood that stuck out of the wall. “Who are you?” said a voice. “What do you want?” Aragonez turned and there, in the doorway, stood Endurian Stonehelm. It was like seeing a ghost. Endurian’s eyes were sea-grey, a trait that he had inherited from his father, but his hair was more brown than black, strained throughout with streaks of bronze––unlike Orendel or his brother for that matter. A thin layer of dark stubble coated his face, and his clothes were mostly unkempt. When looking upon him, Aragonez was faintly reminded of the boy he had once known so very long ago. But only faintly. For Endurian had changed in that span of years, and when looking into his eyes, it was immediately apparent that not much was left. Endurian stiffened upon eye contact. “Lord Aragonez.” “Endurian Stonehelm,” said Aragonez. “We have much to discuss.” Endurian’s eyes immediately hardened. “What makes you so sure of that?” “Many things.” “There is naught to discuss. This conversation was over as soon as it began.” Endurian looked away, and it seemed to Aragonez that he was attempting to conceal some emotion, but when he looked back, his eyes had the same look as ever before. “I assume Khaderas led you here?” “After some persuasion.” Endurian nodded. “Khaderas was staunch once upon a time, but his hold is beginning to weaken.” He looked Aragonez in the eye. “I’m sorry, but you must leave. There is nothing here for you. Anything that you may have to say will prove to be utterly fruitless, and I am not in the mood to converse with anyone for that matter.” He inclined his hand to the door, motioning for Aragonez to leave. “Very well. Your wish is granted; I shall leave,” said Aragonez, striding to the door––and subsequently to Endurian. “But first, you must allow me to say one thing.” “Say it quickly, then.” He came to a stop several feet away from Endurian. “I once knew a young boy who bravely stood over the bleeding body of his defenseless father. In spite of he who faced him, this boy stood firm in the face of those mightier than he, holding a shaking sword in defiance of the dark, holding his ground: utterly determined to protect him who could not protect himself. Tell me, what happened to that boy?” “You haven’t a clue as to what you’re talking about!” scowled Endurian. “No, but I do,” he said. “However, I could say much the same of you.” “I say that you should not have come here, and I stand by my word.” Endurian again motioned to the door. Aragonez walked through the door and into the corridor, Endurian close behind to hurry his departure. Coming to the door, he opened it and stepped out into the cold. Somehow, he found that refreshing. Quickly, he made his way down the steps and then turned to look back. Endurian stood in the doorway. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But the Endurian you seek is not here.” He prepared to close the door. “Endurian Stonehelm!” said Aragonez in a loud voice. “You cannot hide from the world forever. Sooner or later, it will find you, for you are apart of it just as much as it is apart of you. You cannot just disappear and decide that you are no longer one of us.” The door swung back. “Yes, I can,” said Endurian, as if through gritted teeth. “The world kicked me out. I know when the time has come to let go. Unlike yourself, I have embraced my destiny; do not think to convince me otherwise. Besides, you are wrong. I am not Endurian. Endurian is dead; he died long ago from grievous wounds more horrendous than any mortal man could possibly hope to overcome.” “I think not.” “Doesn’t matter. Don’t care.” “I care,” replied Aragonez. “And I think it does matter. I need you, son of Orendel. You have grown proud and haughty in your exile. Your maturity has brought its own wealth of complications, but do not think that you are any wiser than myself. I knew you when you were no more than an infant in your mother’s arms. I would not say that you dead but in need of resuscitation. Remember, the world once greatly benefitted from your acts. They can again.” “In doing so, I lost a large part of myself. The world can go to Múspell’s Abyss, for all I care. I am done expending myself for this ungrateful world.” “And yet here, I find you spending your time with lowly fishermen. Rumor has yet spread of your applied skill, and these pathetic villagers have shown their loyalty to you, for having supplied food to those who might starve otherwise.” Endurian laughed almost darkly. “They treat me in a much different fashion than all others did. Here, I am at least respected, not cursed, and blackened by my own name.” “I respect you. Why else do you think I have traveled so many leagues to seek out your services?” “Anything you have to say will only––” “The time to redress the wrongs wrought against our people has come again,” said Aragonez, voice rising in the cold air as he stepped forward. “Your people need you. The time has come that you answer their call.” “Our people are dead, and you know it,” said Endurian. “They are an impoverished, weak, people who wander desolate lands in desperate search of something that shall never be. Their will is broken beyond remedy, beyond cure, and I consider it the greatest of luck to have never fallen into their present state of mind.” “You are not wrong,” said Aragonez. “But, like you, they need resuscitation. They have naught to strive for, precisely because they have naught to strive to. Only one such as yourself or your brother could help me fill that role.” “Then why are you here speaking with me, when you could be speaking with my brother? He is elder than I by some years if you do not remember rightly.” “I have spoken with him,” said Aragonez. “And though he thought any attempt at reconciliation was futile, he recommended that I search you out.” “Like our people, Orodeion longs for something that can never be. Our home was completely and utterly destroyed. That which was once held fair and beautiful is now scarred beyond repair and can never be restored.” “Your brother said much the same, but he quickly realized it to be mindless speech and bereft of all wisdom. You––and our people––will continue to wander as you do, until you set yourselves to the grand task of reclaiming your lands of old. What is it to live? To die, knowing that you accomplished nothing, save for an unsated heart? Or to die trying? The latter is much more superior, for at least you can rest with the assurance that you tried. And even if you should fail in the end, you can rest assured that there was nothing you could have possibly done to change things for the better. “I myself will admit that I, Aragonez Ivronwine, was once as you were: broken in mind, spirit, and yes, even in body. But as I lay gasping in my ruin, clutching for my every breath, I was able to grasp on to something. A thought, an idea, may it be. And since that day, that something has provided me with all that I have ever needed to persevere and move onward: to take that one, agonizing, painful step day by day. You are not the only one who has suffered, Endurian, son of Orendel. I too have suffered much on behalf of my kinsmen. I too have lost that which I held most dear to me. But I have a goal: a motivation: a purpose. It is this that drives me forward every day. And every day, I tell myself that one way or another, I shall, in time, dethrone that wretch, Murazôr, curse his name. One day, I shall fell him from his high seat. One day, I shall have my vengeance. And on that day, my thirst shall, at last, be utterly sated, and my heart set at ease. “Oh, of ease! Of comfort! Of rest! These things I have neither felt nor known for many a year. Of these things, I both long and hope for. When shall I find rest? I ask myself. The answer is clear: when I have toppled that dark traitor from his accursed throne, then and only then, shall I find peace. So, tell me, Endurian Stonehelm, do you thirst for vengeance?” For the first time in their encounter, Endurian looked to be somewhat uneasy. “I did…once upon a time,” he said at last. “But now…now there is nothing. It has grown cold within me, like the very stone of this fell earth. And as I told you before, you should not be here. I exiled myself from the world for good reason. It would not be right for me to come forth as I once did in times past, though indeed, my heart yearns at times to do just that.” “You possess an Anakamäril.” That stopped Endurian cold. “What?” “Don’t bother denying it; your brother suspected for the longest time that your father bequeathed one to you ere he died.” “Even if that were true, why does it matter to you?” Endurian said coldly. “It matters to me because evidently, it matters to Ir-Murazôr. You are not safe, so long as it remains in your possession. No mountain, no hill, no cave will hide you from him.” “You present facts without proof. What makes you so very certain that Murazôr would be after something so small as this? And how can you be certain that he would know of my dwelling here in the first place?” “Even the smallest of things can change the course of the future,” said Aragonez. “And so many questions require so many answers. If you would but come with me, I shall illumine your thoughts when I can spare the time.” “Nay.” “You are not safe here; he will come for you, and soon. Yes, he will come, and when he comes, there will be no denying him. Not now. Not this time.” “I should very much like to see him try,” said Endurian. “But my words are set in stone, and my will is adamant; I have no wish for vengeance or to join your band of foolish fugitives for that matter. My place is here, and here I shall stay, regardless of the chances fate may play me.”

Read the compelling first excerpt from Matthew Roland's epic fantasy debut "Swords Unhallowed"

One of two contiguous parts, Swords Unhallowed is currently slotted for digital and physical release on July 15, 2020. The following is an excerpt from "The Mighty Shall Rise: Part 1 - Swords Unhallowed" by Matthew Roland. It follows young Endurian Stonehelm, who is recruited out of his exile by Aragonez Ivronwine—former high-prince of the Kingdom of Ared’dor—and is swept into an epic quest to steal the Sceptre of Nórn from Ir-Murazôr himself: chiefest of tyrants. But even with all of Ared’dor at his mercy, Murazôr does not sit idle, and Endurian, who is tormented by memories of his bloodstained past, must eventually confront the Dark King, and in doing so, find his true place in the world. ARAGONEZ STRODE THROUGH the dusty and gravely road that was supposed to the fishing village’s main thoroughfare, the one thought on his mind to find himself a hero. The sky was a pallid grey, and long slashes of darkened clouds were draped across it. The wind wasn’t particularly biting today, but it still made being out in the cold air somewhat uncomfortable. Knee-high boots wrought sharp, grinding indentures within the ground as Aragonez passed weather-beaten house after weather-beaten house. His authoritative gait made those that wandered the uninviting street look at him twice, then scurry off. That was well. He was here to make a presence anyway. To his right, he could see clearly the object of his exertions come into view. The Common Hall was, like the rest of the village, a drab, colorless building that was solidly rooted in the hard earth that made up the land about them. Of note, it was much larger than those sitting alongside it, having been specifically designed––or thrown together––for village meetings, such as the one he intended to interrupt right now. Two untried sentries stood in front of the doors, spears crossed at their sides in a lazy, half-hearted manner. At Aragonez’s approach, they jerked upright, low eyelids fluttering as they attempted to look somewhat dignified. Aragonez ignored them and strode up the creaky steps to the door beyond. “Wait just a minute there!” said one guard, his helmet off-centered to one side of his head and a slightly bewildered expression on his face. “You can’t just––” Aragonez didn’t so much as bat an eyelash, marching right past the two incompetent guards, and leaving them slack-jawed, seemingly helpless to hinder his approach. Perhaps it was his dusty attire, or maybe it was the jeweled sword strapped to his side, or possibly it was even the sharp gleam that resided deep within his eyes, which caused them to stop short. Whatever it was, it induced them to positions of mute incomprehension, and without a second look, Aragonez slid past them to the heavy wood doors. Setting his palms across the seams, he flexed and then pressed, thrusting them inwards with one, forceful push. The doors slid inwards, falling back against the inner walls of the Common Room with a thunderous bang that shook the old building to its very roots. At his ingress, many therein turned to eye him with startled expressions. Striding forward, Aragonez again ignored their many looks of surprise, marching through their midst to the front of the room. As one entity, they parted like water before a rock, leaving him ample room to walk. Gloved hand resting upon the pommel of his sword, Aragonez made his way to the small platform that rose in the back. Several men who stood at the front looked at him in surprise, their weather-beaten coats and ragged beards bespeaking of a hard life. Then, their eyes hardened into pointed glares. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” said Aragonez. “I hope you don’t mind if I take the floor for a moment?” “You have no right to come barging in here like this!” said one. “My thanks to you as well,” Aragonez replied with a grim smile. “I shall not use too much of your time, I think.” Another one of the men barked something at him. Reaching into his side-pocket, Aragonez withdrew his hand, holding out a small moneybag. Immediately, the men’s expressions lightened considerably, and one of them stepped forward, eyes eager. Without a second thought, Aragonez tossed it to the man who caught it with an outstretched hand. Upon this, the others rushed to his side, poking and prying, each one trying to claim a fair share for himself. Aragonez stepped past them to look upon the gathered assembly, who were eyeing him with interested expressions, some curious, others calculating. “I have come here with a purpose!” he said. “I am looking for a man: a stranger to your folk, perhaps, or not at all. I have heard tell that he makes his dwelling here among you. I wish to meet this man; indeed, I am most interested in acquiring his distinguished services, if he were amenable. Has anyone here heard of the name, ‘Endurian Stonehelm’?” There was silence. Aragonez twisted his mouth into a hard line. This, it appeared, was going to be harder than he had anticipated. “Come now!” he said in a softer voice. “I know that some here know of whom I speak. Come! Stop hiding behind your closed countenances and give me that which I seek. There is much, much more available where that moneybag I just proffered to your leaders came from.” He eyed the crowds with a scrutinizing expression. He was just giving up hope when one of the men stepped forward. “There is one among us who goes by the name of Stonehelm,” said he. “One who––” “Mahúr!” yelled a voice not far from him. “Enough! Yrsti althvä!” Another man stepped forward, the crowd making way for him. This man, though, Aragonez would have recognized anywhere. With a long, well-maintained beard that reached nearly to his belt and a smile that would light any room, Khaderas Awyrgen was recognizable by his voice alone. However, at the current moment, his usual smile was nowhere to be seen. “Lord Aragonez,” he said, eyes grim. “I have been expecting you. The Lady Lithariel was kind enough to warn me.” “That is not surprising,” replied Aragonez. “And it is well you see you here. But urgent matters beg my attention, and I must see Master Stonehelm as soon as I can.” “I’m afraid I cannot help you.” Aragonez opened his mouth to speak, but Khaderas interrupted him. “But I can lead you to him, though it will do you no good. If even I cannot suffice to move him, then any chance you stand will be impossible.” “We shall see,” said Aragonez, and at Khaderas’s beckoning, the crowd of fishermen stepped aside to let him through. Aragonez could feel their eyes on him as the door shut behind him. When they were outdoors and walking in the street where none could eavesdrop on them, Khaderas said, “Because of your name, will I show you where Endurian makes his dwelling, and not for any other reason. But again, I must warn you: any proposition which you will endeavor to entice him with will in every likelihood, be rejected.” “I was already aware of that coming here.” “Good,” said the man. “Then, you are already prepared for rejection, although I will admit that it would do him much good to break free from where he now dwells confined.” Aragonez frowned. “Why do you say that?” “I say it because Endurian has become, in essence, his own worst enemy. Over the past four years, I have seen his mind deteriorate to the point that, well…you will soon see what I mean for yourself.” The bearded man shook his head. “Regardless, anybody would readily agree that holing oneself up and taking not an ounce of action for an extended period of time, can only be to their detriment. Which is what he is doing, for your information. “You well remember Orendel. His sons have retained much of their father’s bearing, and Endurian most of all. He is like to grow moody and grim, at times; that has never surprised me any. But this time, though, there’s something…different. I’ll keep my own suspicions to myself, suffice to say that he’s afraid.” “Afraid?” Aragonez arched an eyebrow. “Endurian Stonehelm, who was for a time, the most notorious outlaw in the Darklands, is afraid?” “Aye. He’s afraid; that much I know for sure, and he needs help desperately. I’ve tried persuading him, but, unfortunately, he has grown too proud to realize it.” Aragonez walked onwards in silence, somewhat stunned by what he had just heard. Endurian the Outlaw, afraid? He was so wrapped up in that thought that it took him a moment to realize that Khaderas had come to a stop. “There,” said Khaderas, pointing past the village, and over a long gap of shoreline, to a cliff that overlooked the swirling sea below it. “You’ll find him there.” Aragonez looked in the direction of Khaderas’s hand and saw a large, rickety, yet ornate house perched atop the edge of the cliff. The house was easily the most inviting in miles around. “Just up that hill, you should find him. When you knock, give your name and state your business directly. Maybe one of old Pelendûr’s maids will let you in. For now, farewell and good luck.” Khaderas saluted him, then turning on his heel, strode back the way whence he came, leaving Aragonez alone. ✶ ✶ ✶ Aragonez pounded his fist against the door. There was silence. He beat again, and then a muffled noise sounded from behind the door, and it swept back to reveal a young scullery maid, wiping a dirty hand on her stained apron. “Hello?” she said. “The master isn’t seeing anybody the moment. But if you could come back at another time, perhaps…?” “I have a prior appointment,” said Aragonez firmly. “With one who is called Endurian Stonehelm.” The girl’s face whitened. “Lord Endurian is…come in, lord. I shall tell him you’ve come.” She made way, and he strode through, entering into a large, open-spaced entryway. He wiped his boots on the mat and turned, when the maid said, “As whom shall I announce you?” She eyed him nervously, then added a hasty, “Lord.” “You may tell him that an old acquaintance has come to see him,” Aragonez replied, eyeing the room about him. “And that he would do well to come as soon as possible.” “You want me to say all that?” The girl put her hands to her mouth, seemingly mortified at what she had just said. “Sorry, lord. I’ll tell him. Right, this way.” She led him down the corridor into a large sitting room, wherein were set several cushioned chairs and an oak table. Then she departed. Or fled. Aragonez shook his head and made his way around the room, searching for a place to sit. At last, he settled upon a high-backed armchair that was nestled in the far corner of the room. Slowly, he sat himself down. Then sat back up. He did not need to be accustoming himself to comfort. The last thing he needed was to succumb to such temptations; there were important things he had to be about. So, he made his way to the fireplace and leaned against the stone there, arm resting against the inset beam of polished wood that stuck out of the wall. “Who are you?” said a voice. “What do you want?” Aragonez turned and there, in the doorway, stood Endurian Stonehelm. It was like seeing a ghost. Endurian’s eyes were sea-grey, a trait that he had inherited from his father, but his hair was more brown than black, strained throughout with streaks of bronze––unlike Orendel or his brother for that matter. A thin layer of dark stubble coated his face, and his clothes were mostly unkempt. When looking upon him, Aragonez was faintly reminded of the boy he had once known so very long ago. But only faintly. For Endurian had changed in that span of years, and when looking into his eyes, it was immediately apparent that not much was left. Endurian stiffened upon eye contact. “Lord Aragonez.” “Endurian Stonehelm,” said Aragonez. “We have much to discuss.” Endurian’s eyes immediately hardened. “What makes you so sure of that?” “Many things.” “There is naught to discuss. This conversation was over as soon as it began.” Endurian looked away, and it seemed to Aragonez that he was attempting to conceal some emotion, but when he looked back, his eyes had the same look as ever before. “I assume Khaderas led you here?” “After some persuasion.” Endurian nodded. “Khaderas was staunch once upon a time, but his hold is beginning to weaken.” He looked Aragonez in the eye. “I’m sorry, but you must leave. There is nothing here for you. Anything that you may have to say will prove to be utterly fruitless, and I am not in the mood to converse with anyone for that matter.” He inclined his hand to the door, motioning for Aragonez to leave. “Very well. Your wish is granted; I shall leave,” said Aragonez, striding to the door––and subsequently to Endurian. “But first, you must allow me to say one thing.” “Say it quickly, then.” He came to a stop several feet away from Endurian. “I once knew a young boy who bravely stood over the bleeding body of his defenseless father. In spite of he who faced him, this boy stood firm in the face of those mightier than he, holding a shaking sword in defiance of the dark, holding his ground: utterly determined to protect him who could not protect himself. Tell me, what happened to that boy?” “You haven’t a clue as to what you’re talking about!” scowled Endurian. “No, but I do,” he said. “However, I could say much the same of you.” “I say that you should not have come here, and I stand by my word.” Endurian again motioned to the door. Aragonez walked through the door and into the corridor, Endurian close behind to hurry his departure. Coming to the door, he opened it and stepped out into the cold. Somehow, he found that refreshing. Quickly, he made his way down the steps and then turned to look back. Endurian stood in the doorway. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But the Endurian you seek is not here.” He prepared to close the door. “Endurian Stonehelm!” said Aragonez in a loud voice. “You cannot hide from the world forever. Sooner or later, it will find you, for you are apart of it just as much as it is apart of you. You cannot just disappear and decide that you are no longer one of us.” The door swung back. “Yes, I can,” said Endurian, as if through gritted teeth. “The world kicked me out. I know when the time has come to let go. Unlike yourself, I have embraced my destiny; do not think to convince me otherwise. Besides, you are wrong. I am not Endurian. Endurian is dead; he died long ago from grievous wounds more horrendous than any mortal man could possibly hope to overcome.” “I think not.” “Doesn’t matter. Don’t care.” “I care,” replied Aragonez. “And I think it does matter. I need you, son of Orendel. You have grown proud and haughty in your exile. Your maturity has brought its own wealth of complications, but do not think that you are any wiser than myself. I knew you when you were no more than an infant in your mother’s arms. I would not say that you dead but in need of resuscitation. Remember, the world once greatly benefitted from your acts. They can again.” “In doing so, I lost a large part of myself. The world can go to Múspell’s Abyss, for all I care. I am done expending myself for this ungrateful world.” “And yet here, I find you spending your time with lowly fishermen. Rumor has yet spread of your applied skill, and these pathetic villagers have shown their loyalty to you, for having supplied food to those who might starve otherwise.” Endurian laughed almost darkly. “They treat me in a much different fashion than all others did. Here, I am at least respected, not cursed, and blackened by my own name.” “I respect you. Why else do you think I have traveled so many leagues to seek out your services?” “Anything you have to say will only––” “The time to redress the wrongs wrought against our people has come again,” said Aragonez, voice rising in the cold air as he stepped forward. “Your people need you. The time has come that you answer their call.” “Our people are dead, and you know it,” said Endurian. “They are an impoverished, weak, people who wander desolate lands in desperate search of something that shall never be. Their will is broken beyond remedy, beyond cure, and I consider it the greatest of luck to have never fallen into their present state of mind.” “You are not wrong,” said Aragonez. “But, like you, they need resuscitation. They have naught to strive for, precisely because they have naught to strive to. Only one such as yourself or your brother could help me fill that role.” “Then why are you here speaking with me, when you could be speaking with my brother? He is elder than I by some years if you do not remember rightly.” “I have spoken with him,” said Aragonez. “And though he thought any attempt at reconciliation was futile, he recommended that I search you out.” “Like our people, Orodeion longs for something that can never be. Our home was completely and utterly destroyed. That which was once held fair and beautiful is now scarred beyond repair and can never be restored.” “Your brother said much the same, but he quickly realized it to be mindless speech and bereft of all wisdom. You––and our people––will continue to wander as you do, until you set yourselves to the grand task of reclaiming your lands of old. What is it to live? To die, knowing that you accomplished nothing, save for an unsated heart? Or to die trying? The latter is much more superior, for at least you can rest with the assurance that you tried. And even if you should fail in the end, you can rest assured that there was nothing you could have possibly done to change things for the better. “I myself will admit that I, Aragonez Ivronwine, was once as you were: broken in mind, spirit, and yes, even in body. But as I lay gasping in my ruin, clutching for my every breath, I was able to grasp on to something. A thought, an idea, may it be. And since that day, that something has provided me with all that I have ever needed to persevere and move onward: to take that one, agonizing, painful step day by day. You are not the only one who has suffered, Endurian, son of Orendel. I too have suffered much on behalf of my kinsmen. I too have lost that which I held most dear to me. But I have a goal: a motivation: a purpose. It is this that drives me forward every day. And every day, I tell myself that one way or another, I shall, in time, dethrone that wretch, Murazôr, curse his name. One day, I shall fell him from his high seat. One day, I shall have my vengeance. And on that day, my thirst shall, at last, be utterly sated, and my heart set at ease. “Oh, of ease! Of comfort! Of rest! These things I have neither felt nor known for many a year. Of these things, I both long and hope for. When shall I find rest? I ask myself. The answer is clear: when I have toppled that dark traitor from his accursed throne, then and only then, shall I find peace. So, tell me, Endurian Stonehelm, do you thirst for vengeance?” For the first time in their encounter, Endurian looked to be somewhat uneasy. “I did…once upon a time,” he said at last. “But now…now there is nothing. It has grown cold within me, like the very stone of this fell earth. And as I told you before, you should not be here. I exiled myself from the world for good reason. It would not be right for me to come forth as I once did in times past, though indeed, my heart yearns at times to do just that.” “You possess an Anakamäril.” That stopped Endurian cold. “What?” “Don’t bother denying it; your brother suspected for the longest time that your father bequeathed one to you ere he died.” “Even if that were true, why does it matter to you?” Endurian said coldly. “It matters to me because evidently, it matters to Ir-Murazôr. You are not safe, so long as it remains in your possession. No mountain, no hill, no cave will hide you from him.” “You present facts without proof. What makes you so very certain that Murazôr would be after something so small as this? And how can you be certain that he would know of my dwelling here in the first place?” “Even the smallest of things can change the course of the future,” said Aragonez. “And so many questions require so many answers. If you would but come with me, I shall illumine your thoughts when I can spare the time.” “Nay.” “You are not safe here; he will come for you, and soon. Yes, he will come, and when he comes, there will be no denying him. Not now. Not this time.” “I should very much like to see him try,” said Endurian. “But my words are set in stone, and my will is adamant; I have no wish for vengeance or to join your band of foolish fugitives for that matter. My place is here, and here I shall stay, regardless of the chances fate may play me.”

Read the compelling first excerpt from Matthew Roland's epic fantasy debut "Swords Unhallowed"

One of two contiguous parts, Swords Unhallowed is currently slotted for digital and physical release on July 15, 2020. The following is an excerpt from "The ...

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It's taken me some time, but I've managed to boil it down to this: narratively, The Rise of Skywalker feels like two movies welded into one massive juggernau...

REVIEW: "Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker" - PART 2

It's taken me some time, but I've managed to boil it down to this: narratively, The Rise of Skywalker feels like two movies welded into one massive juggernaut moving at breakneck speed, with all frenetic action of an amusement park ride. It's so jam-packed that it's quite easy to imagine the first five minutes serving as their own film. And this is not necessarily the fault of Abrams: unlike Christopher Paolini, who could simply split his final volume into two books in favor of allowing for more character-growth, this is Star Wars: and anything other than a trilogy is impossible. I won't cover much of the film here because Brian Tallerico already does that well enough in his review on RogerEbert.com: "The midsection of the movie is its most effective. After a clunky first act that’s filled with way too many scenes of people talking about who they are, where they need to go, and what they need to do when they get there, the film finally settles into a groove with an excellent chase scene that somehow both echoes “Return of the Jedi” and “Mad Max: Fury Road.” There is a nice subplot with an old acquaintance of Poe’s named Zorii Bliss (Keri Russell), and a fantastic, water-soaked lightsaber battle between Rey and Kylo. These scenes don’t have the weight of course-correcting that drags the first hour or the desperate need to please of the final half-hour. When “Rise of Skywalker” can just be its own fun, sci-fi adventure, it succeeds." He sums up the film by saying, "Whatever one thinks of The Last Jedi, if that film was trying to build a new house on familiar land, this one tears it down and goes back to an old blueprint. Some of the action is well-executed, there are strong performances throughout, and one almost has to admire the brazenness of the weaponized nostalgia for the original trilogy, but feelings like joy and wonder are smothered by a movie that so desperately wants to please a fractured fanbase that it doesn’t bother with an identity of its own." The Critics and the Fandom Now, to make things clear: these are the words of a critic from a site that positively lavished The Last Jedi with praise upon praise just two years earlier. And though both fans and critics managed to mostly concur on The Force Awakens, it's safe to say things haven't been the same since. Let's take a moment to review the critic and audience scores on Rotten Tomatoes for all three films of the sequel trilogy: The Force Awakens: 93% critics to 86% audience (-7% gap) The Last Jedi: 91% critics to 43% audience (-48% gap) Rise of Skywalker: 55% critics to 86% audience (+31% gap) Interestingly enough, if you compare every Star Wars film ever made, you'll come to find that the fans––and not the critics––tend to be the most critical. First things first, though: Jedi is not as bad as 43%, and in the same way, Skywalker is not as awful as the 55% would seem to relate. They both also aren't quite as deserving of the positive scores they received either. It should also be noted that Episode II: Attack of Clones (easily the worst film in the saga) somehow acquired a 65% rating among critics and a 56% among audiences. I think it's safe to say there's been some major overreacting going on in both camps. In no way is The Last Jedi or The Rise of Skywalker as bad as the aforementioned Attack of the Clones. They have flaws, certainly, but to brand them as the worst films in the saga is both absurd and downright spiteful. Paul Tassi of Forbes.com really captures the essence of what took place in the following excerpt: "To sum up what happened, fans were mad that The Last Jedi took traditional Star Wars arcs and shattered them, ignoring questions like the mystery of Snoke and Rey’s origins, and that the film turned Luke from shining hero to grumpy sacrificial lamb. And that’s exactly what critics liked about the film, that it broke away from tropes and tried something new. "That’s why those same critics are so mad now because JJ Abrams did everything possible to undo so much of what Johnson did in The Last Jedi, providing specific answers to those questions that Johnson said weren’t important. [Abrams] mocks Last Jedi moments [such as]...Luke throwing away his lightsaber." "But fans like it A) because they got those Last Jedi “fixes” they were looking for and B) it was specifically…made for fans. The film is rife with fan service, which is often viewed as a negative by critics, but you know who likes fan service? Fans. And that’s what’s happened here. Rise of Skywalker doesn’t care about erasing tropes, it embraces them...And it’s an admittedly satisfying end to the saga, albeit not a terribly original one. But it’s enough to satisfy most fans who felt burned by The Last Jedi, so here we are, with these wildly different takes on two movies that I would say, are both pretty great in their own ways, despite each of them having flaws." Two Positives Before moving on to whether they actually succeeded in proving their worth to the rest of the saga, I would like to draw out two positives that stuck out to me: 1) Adam Driver's Kylo Ren, aka Ben Solo: if there's one thing Rise of Skywalker proved, it's that Kylo Ren (who was originally feared to be a mere carbon copy of his grandfather, Darth Vader) was the best thing produced from this, at times, inconsistent, divisive, and ultimately bittersweet trilogy. He suffers from the fear that he will not live up to the legacy of his grandfather (as evidenced by his rages when confronted with failure), is haunted by the death of his father, Han & struggles (and fails) to balance his attachment to Rey with his ambition for power. His story arch is easily the most unpredictable of any other character (though this is not to disparage Rey as it could easily be argued that she is his foil). Thus the reason why it feels so worth it when he and Rey finally team up to take down Palpatine. 2) The Relationship between Rey and Ben: The connection between these two remains pervasive throughout all three movies, and it finally reaches its climax in a bittersweet, yet beautiful way in the final episode. We hear Ben tell Rey that they are "two that are one," and nothing is closer to the truth. Like two sides of the same coin, both are consistently unable to overmatch the other when their environment renders them without any apparent advantages. Both are unable to summon the courage to kill the other when they gain that advantage, and both use the Force in an almost-symbiotic fashion to heal the other of mortal wounds. That One Little Detail At long last, the time has now come to decide whether this late sequel trilogy truly crafted a well-founded argument for itself. And to its credit, I must concede that Rise of Skywalker endeavors in nearly every conceivable way to justify its existence and the entire trilogy for that matter. Except for, of course, missing the single, most important detail in the history of the dubbed "Skywalker Saga." For a man who stated the following, the logic behind the disregarding of this "detail" doesn't make a whole lot of sense: “This is about bringing this thing to a close in a way that is emotional and meaningful and also satisfying in terms of actually answering [as many] questions as possible,” said Abrams, back in October 2019. “So if years from now, someone’s watching these movies, all nine of them, they’re watching a story that is as cohesive as possible.” The key to "satisfying" and making this story "as cohesive as possible" is relatively simple, and it still surprises me that all the many executives, producers, and various persons involved were yet unable to understand this one, fundamental truth, which I give below. The Story of Anakin is the Story of Star Wars Virtually every Star Wars fan will be able to tell you that from the very beginning, the original six films were the story of Anakin Skywalker, and his infamous alter ego, Darth Vader. From his turbulent rise to his egregious fall, and at last, to his subsequent redemption, his story has been the glue that has tied every episode together. So...if you're going to make direct sequels to someone's story, then it only makes perfect sense to either include or at least reference that someone in some capacity. But for some strange reason, the authorities seemingly chose to almost completely ignore any reference to the prequels––or Anakin for that matter. It's almost as if they went out of their way to write sequels to the original trilogy on the basis that the proceeding events never took place. But then, that's directly refuted by the quote given above, and we are left right where we were before. Now, one could argue that this "ignorance" occurred because of the less than positive attention heaped upon said prequels. But, as I mentioned at the very beginning of this criticism, this had the exact opposite effect to that which was intended; and the popularity of those prequels (and Lucas) only rose, not at all diminishing. If Anakin is Dead, How Does His Story Continue? It's clear the reveal that Rey is the granddaughter of Palpatine was an effort to tie in her story with that of the previous films and replace the need to continue that of Anakin's. Unfortunately, it came across as a little tacky due to being underdeveloped and not clearly explained or executed. In response, some may argue that since Anakin already died, it was impossible to truly "continue" his story. However, I think otherwise. Allow me to explain. In the end, The Rise of Skywalker's big reveal shouldn't have been that Rey was a Palpatine, but that the "Chosen One" myth surrounding Anakin Skywalker was just that: a myth. In fact, there's really no possible way to reconcile all three trilogies without doing so in some fashion. Think about it: if Anakin is indeed the Chosen One, then the Story of Skywalker truly ends with the culmination of Episode VI. But if it in fact, continues, then that must simply mean that Anakin wasn't the Chosen One after all, which then puts to question the entire theory of a "Chosen One" in the first place! From who or what then did this theory spread in the first place? The only plausible answer has to be Emperor Palpatine, who is famous for pulling strings and manipulating the lives of others from afar. To better understand this, let's briefly revisit we already know about Anakin's backstory: According to Episode 1, this young boy from Tatooine was supposedly conceived via the Force itself in one of the most significant turning points in the entire history proceeding it. Later, in Episode III, we are informed by Palpatine that the Sith can manipulate the Force to create life. Through this idea, Palpatine endeavored to seduce Anakin to his allegiance with the promise that he could save his beloved Padmé from a premature death. Further hints were later dropped that hinted Palpatine himself may have been the force responsible for Anakin's conception––an idea which was never really followed through. However, there just so happens to exist a deleted scene from the film that explicitly confirms this to be the case. In that scene, Palpatine acquaints the young Skywalker with the knowledge that he "Arranged for [his] conception" using the powers of the force "to will the midichlorians to start the cell divisions that created [him]." This revelation would subsequently make Palpatine the supreme mastermind behind every event that took place in the years after. But how does this tie in with the story of Rey? Well, there exists a solution which not only answers how Rey cannot be a direct Skywalker and yet own powers equatable with those of Anakin's but also ties the sequel trilogy to the original six in a way nothing else could have possibly hoped to achieve. And the answer is this: Rey is not the granddaughter of Palpatine, but the actual "daughter," having been conceived in the same way as Anakin. We must not forget that Anakin ultimately proved to be Palpatine's great failure; for though he successfully converted him to the dark side, Anakin ended up with all but one of his limbs removed in the climactic duel with his master, Obi-Wan––not to mention having most of his organs and body fried by fire––and because of this, he lost much of his power when becoming Darth Vader. Not to mention that he ended up turning against Palpatine, inflicting severe bodily harm that should have killed him (but somehow didn't). Thus, it makes perfect sense that Rey should be the body he was looking to inhabit (instead of feeling rushed and overly-complicated as it was in the film). It makes sense to assume that Palpatine (being one of the most paranoid and suspicious beings in the galaxy, and rightfully so), prepared a way for himself to be avenged should he be betrayed. And the story would almost certainly have resonated more, had Christensen somehow reprised his role as a Force ghost to help guide Rey; for, with his own experiences, he would undoubtedly be the domineering force that would have best aided her in avoiding his own mistakes. I rest my case. So, All that Aside, did The Rise of Skywalker Manage to Justify Itself? After much deliberation, I have to say no. Skywalker managed to be a better film than what I was expecting, but ultimately, its downfall (in my mind) stemmed from a failure to truly justify undermining Anakin's sacrifice, and its entire existence in the first place. If you look at this ill-fated trilogy as a monument of nostalgia for the original Star Wars films, then you'll likely enjoy it. But I find it impossible to appreciate as the last three chapters of a nine-chapter saga. At the end of the day, The Rise of Skywalker is a good film with a number of unfortunate shortcomings. But that's really all it is: a good film––and not a great one.