Now that I’ve finished it, I’ve been mulling it over.  Don’t worry if you haven’t read it yet, I’m going to try and make this as spoiler free as possible.

I don’t think that this book, or the last one (A Feast of Crows) is as good as the first three.  I reread A Storm of Swords right before reading Dragons so I could remind myself of what was going on.  I found some interesting and noticeable differences in style, some of which really kind of bugged me.

In Dragons, in nearly (if not) every chapter, there is at least one paragraph that describes in detail what the characters or creatures are eating.  I don’t know if Martin was on a diet when he was writing this book and really missed food, or if this was an attempt to submerse us in the story with another sense, or if its leading us to some other reaction.  But whatever the point of it was, as a reader I found myself time and again just glossing over those two or three paragraphs and thinking how if only he’d cut them out, we probably could have had another chapter with another character.

I’m saying the guy talked about food… a lot.

Being generous, I suppose it could be setting us up for what things will be like come Winter, when the characters have less.  But if I have to wait 6 years for the next book, is that what I’m really going to remember?

Well, since I’m moaning about it, I probably will.  But I bet a lot of people won’t.

Beside the food thing, my other complaint is that I just feel like, even after all the many, many, MANY pages of this book that, well, not a whole lot happens.  Ok, maybe that isn’t fair, there are a few VERY important, long awaited events that are cool and develop the story.  But damn it takes a long time to get there.  As he says repeatedly, “Words are wind.”  Frankly, I feel like I was in something of a wind storm, but there was very little rain.  We get new point of view characters and chapters that serve only to give us the back ground of a single action… something that was handled much more succinctly in the earlier books (such as finding out who sent the assassin after Bran).  We didn’t need 3-4 PoV chapters, we could have just had some detective work after the fact and call it a day.

And that’s another thing.  I felt the book was sprawling out of control.  There were simply too many threads.  For every one I was really interested in I had to wade through a bunch I didn’t care about.  And what’s with giving a single character a single PoV chapter?  If they are important enough to get one, surely they should have more.  And if they shouldn’t, they probably don’t need the first one to begin with.

Short of killing off a bunch of characters in needless ways, I don’t see how he can finish all of this in two books without it feeling forced.

Anyway, despite all of that, it was a good read.  Magic is coming back into the world in a pretty big way and the different styles and practitioners are very intriguing.  I enjoyed the good parts of the book, I just wished there were more of them.

Or, to put it another way, the dance was sweet, I just resent all the people who cut into it.

As a life-long fan of the X-Men, seeing some of this stuff done so well on screen was practically nerd-gasm inducing.

So why am I left feeling let down and a bit disappointed?

Warning, lots of spoilers contained below the cut!

One of the things the X-Men comics have always been about is the different, the misunderstood, the alienated.  Mutant kind have acted as a cipher for everything from different races to different sexualities.  There, behind the super-powered punch ups, is the theme that no matter how different a person is, they should be treated with dignity, respect, and equality.

So how did the makers of the new movie miss that?

Lets look at the sexual elements first.

How do you tell if a woman is bad in this film?

Hint, she is the least bit sexualized.  Which, by the way, is every female mutant in the film.  Yes, that’s right, the only really powerful women in the film are all, ultimately, villains.  Some go so far as to betray their former friends and even try to kill them.  Some just sort of get forced into the role of villain thanks to the ignorance and bigotry of humanity.  Regardless, they are all, at the core, villainous.  They are also highly sexualized.

Sure, this in part plays to either the source material (Emma Frost as a semi-dominatrix in white) or the previous movie designs (Mystique’s blue nude body), but with as many changes as they made to the canon, those things could also have been different if they’d wanted them to be.  Our first turn-coat is actually an ex-stripper, which I suppose goes to justify why, once she’s betrayed her companions, she decides to wear so little clothing.

The only good woman in the movie, Moira MacTaggert, though she is forced to strip to her (oddly sexy considering she’s on a stakeout) underwear, for the rest of the movie she shows absolutely no extraneous skin to the point you practically forget that earlier scene.  She is not only the most sympathetic of humanity, she is a chaste object of affection for Xavier.

I think the part that made me groan inwardly the most was when our heroic team first dons their Classic X-Men black and yellow uniforms.  Everybody looks pretty cool in their real world adaptations of their comic prototype costumes.  But Mystique decides that her outfit, which is designed primarily to protect their otherwise fragile bodies, really needs to show off some blue-cleavage.  So, unlike her male companions, she has her outfit unzipped down to her boobs.  This completely ignores the fact that she has only just begun to accept her true physical appearance instead of hiding it.

It seems an out of character choice on her part done entirely for fan-service.

But all of this doesn’t compare to the racial politics at work in the movie.

Who are the bad guys?  A diverse group of ethnic mutants, one of whom is middle-eastern, all led by a powerful white guy.  Angel, one of the only two non-white heroes on Xavier’s team, turns coat the second the chips are down and seems to have little issue with attempting to kill her former companions later in the film.

The only other non-white mutant, Darwin, who has what is probably the most awesome and powerful mutation in the movie, is killed quite quickly to show just how powerful the white guy villain is.

Yes, the black character dies first.  Sigh.

At least he doesn’t turn bad I guess.  That’s something.

So in the end, what do we have?   One racially and ethnically diverse group of evil mutants, battling it out with a group of white, All-Americans.  Even Banshee, who is Irish in the comics, is just some standard American kid.  We couldn’t even get a good European in our line-up of super-heroes.

The battle is joined and, of course, the villains are defeated by our star-spangled, all white cast.  But in the end, when the bigotry of humanity proves that mutants and humans are doomed to be enemies, who is revealed as the ultimate villain?

A Jew.

Dreadful Tales: A Matter of Discretion Part 6

Carstairs grabbed Lady Brae’s hair, twisting it till she yelped.  Like a doll, he dragged her, kicking and struggling all the while, across the floor by her hair towards the whimpering captives.  Kneeling, Carstairs gazed at one of the captives, quelling his fear and mesmerizing him with his eyes.  The helpless man bent his head aside, offering his throat to the True Blood.  Carstairs opened the man’s neck with a slash of his nails.  Dark blood spurt from the wound, running down the man’s clothes.  But he did not move, even as his life was fleeing from him.

“Drink, cousin, and know what I know.”  He pushed Lady Brae towards the dying man, trying to force her lips upon the wound.  With all the strength remaining to her, Lady Brae struggled against Carstairs and the rising hunger within her.  She’d spent so much of herself just getting here, she was so terribly, terribly hungry.  But she’d never done this, never fed without consent, never drank the heart’s blood.  Her fangs pushed forward in anticipation of the feast, while her eyes changed, the iris’ becoming the yellow-green of a hungry wolf.  That little bit of her that was still herself cried out against this sacrilege and turned away, inches from the man’s neck.

“Drink, damn it, I said drink!” Carstairs shouted, gripping her jaw and forcing her head down on the crimson fountain.

Life and power surged within her.  All her reluctance disappeared beneath the red wave.  The captive crooned and sank into her as she savaged him, tearing deeper into his neck.

“Yes little cousin, that’s right, drink your fill.  See what they would deny you?  Never again,” Carstairs said, his own hunger rising at the sight of the feast.

“Are you…quite…finished?”

Carstairs swiveled around towards the voice.  Somehow, the warlock had managed to push himself off the ground.  One eye was already swelling shut, and his lip was busted, yet still he managed to lean on his cane.  His hat was gone, leaving long dark hair to cascade wildly around his damaged, but handsome, features.

“If it’s all the same to you, my Lord,” he said, spitting a gob of blood on the floor, “I’d rather not watch your degenerate show.  Lady Brae deserves much more than being turned into a monster like you, and if you are going to do that, well, then, I guess there is only one thing to do.”

Carstairs stood to his full height.  Though shorter than the warlock, his presence eclipsed the beaten man, eclipsed the very room itself.  “And what is that, mortal?”

Mr. Silver turned the handle on his cane and drew out a long, thin blade.  “Die like a man, I suppose.”  He slashed the air with the puny piece of metal.  “Though, to be honest, I’d always hoped I’d die like a richer man, surrounded by mistresses, but hey ho.”

Carstairs looked at the sword cane and then back to Mr. Silver’s face.  He began to laugh, a deep, mellifluous laugh.  When he finished, he wiped a bloody tear from his cheek.  “You know that won’t stop me.”

Mr. Silver shrugged.  “I’m all out of hexes I’m afraid.”

As the Lord strode towards him, he smiled, “You are going to die, warlock, but not like a man.  No, you’ll die like a stuck pig, squealing and baying at the sky.”

“Well, as long as we both know the stakes,” he said, raising the blade to an en garde position.

Carstairs laughed again.  Behind him, the messy noises of the captive’s death were growing quieter.  “Do you hear that, warlock?  She’s nearly finished, but she won’t stop there.  Maybe she’ll help me with you.”

Mr. Silver spared a glance behind the True Blood to see Lady Brae raising her blood smeared face and those terrible animal eyes hunting for something more to rip apart.  “Letting a woman do your work for you, Carstairs?  And here I thought you were a sporting man.”

“Sporting?” the Lord laughed.  “Tell you what, mortal, I’m so sporting I’ll give you a free shot.”  He opened his arms wide.  “Come, do your worst.  Then it’s my turn.”

Lashing forward, so quickly he almost blurred as well, Mr. Silver drove the point of his blade into the center of the noble’s chest.  Carstairs closed his hands on to the warlock’s shoulders in a painful grip.

Eyes locked, they stared each other down.  “Barely felt it,” Carstairs said, smiling.

“Give it a moment,” Mr. Silver said.

The noble’s eyes widened and his mouth spasmed in pain.  “What?” he cried out, looking down at the blade.  Smoke curled from the wound, and the sound of sizzling flesh was audible to all.  Numb fingers released the warlock, who stumbled away from him.  Carstairs fell to his knees.

“What did you do to me?” he asked, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

“You’re immune to metal.  Well most metal,” the warlock said, his eye narrowed.

“Blessed…silver?” Carstairs asked as the flesh around the wound began to blacken, and tiny veins of darkness burrowed beneath his skin.

“Worse.  Cursed.”  The warlock crouched down so they were eye to eye again.  “It won’t kill you like blessed silver would, at least, not for a very long time.  It’ll keep you alive, only weak and helpless, like those you wanted to pray upon.”  Mr. Silver leaned in, till their noses were almost touching.  “I could enumerate for you the various reasons why your plan is flawed like a hundred other new nobles before you that have tried something similar.  I could tell you how you were nothing more than a pawn to the one who made you, and your destruction will mean less than nothing to them.  Instead, I’ll just tell you to be careful what you wish for.”

“Why?” Carstairs gasped.

“You wanted to make Lady Brae into a monster, like you.  Well, here she comes.  And she looks hungry.”  Mr. Silver drew a knife from his boot and sliced it across the Lord’s throat.  Unable to heal, the wound leaked the dark, turgid blood that animated all of the True.  Mr. Silver withdrew as the wild eyed creature approached, sniffing the air.  Her gaze fell upon the open wound and she bared her fangs.

“No, please, I beg you. I beg you!” Carstairs shouted as Lady Brae fell upon him.  Her fangs ripped and tore at his flesh with terrific savagery.  The noble screamed and cried and struggled, but the cursed metal held him fast.  Mr. Silver back away, but he did not take his eyes off the horror before him.

Carstairs was a long time dying

When she was finished, Lady Brae looked up at the warlock.  He had no more tricks left and, even if he did, he did not know if he could bring himself to harm her.  Though there was something of herself in that gaze, she was a feral creature, a wild and deadly beauty.  She leapt upon him and bore him to the ground.

“Don’t drink from me,” he admonished as she began to lower herself to his neck.

Something of herself must have crawled to the surface because she dragged herself back.  Growling, she asked, “Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be proper.”

Lady Brae blinked as though she’d been slapped.  Shaking her head, she pulled away from him.  When she looked back at him, her eyes were normal again, only wide with terror and self-loathing.  “By the Shadow, what have I done?” she asked, her voice shaking.

Pushing himself up on his arm, he said, “Only what you had to, for Queen and Country.  Only what you had to.”

Dreadful Tales: A Matter of Discretion Part 5

“It’s madness, insanity.  The Houses are pointing fingers at each other.  Old slights have become the only incentive for duels and mobs.  Gloomhaven is inches from a civil war.  As goes Gloomhaven, so goes the Empire. At best, the Houses will link your activity back to us and our House will be destroyed to soothe the feathers you’ve ruffled.  At worst, if enough blood is spilt, the Queen may rise and become involved.  No one wants that!”

“I long since tired of being told what I cannot do, cousin.  I do not think anyone will ever control me again.”

“We all have duties, even if they pain us,” Mr. Silver said.  “None are so powerful that they escape that simple truth.”

“Oh really, warlock?  Yes, I know what you are.  Do you think that you and my cousin pursued me without being observed?  What do you know of power and duty?” he demanded, his eyes ablaze with wrath.  “Everything you have, all your magic is stolen or bargained for.  You’ve not earned any of it.  You dance with darkness for a glimpse of power.  What right do you have to tell me what I can and cannot take?”

Mr. Silver said, “What I’ve done comes only at a cost to myself.  What you are doing,” he waved his hand, indicating the bodies on the floor, “is murder.”

Carstairs kicked a corpse.  “These people live and die to serve the monarchy.  What does it matter if their death comes a bit earlier than normal?  Besides,” he leered at Lady Brae, “it’s so intoxicating.”

“But it’s forbidden!” she cried.

“Do you know why its forbidden, cousin?  It’s to keep us weak.  False Bloods have been kept down, forced to drink animal blood and only partake of real blood when the Church of Shadow allows us.  And who controls the church?  The True Bloods.”  Carstairs grabbed one of the chained humans, pulling his head back by the hair.  “They want to keep us as their pets, that’s all we are to them.  Or, I guess I should say, that’s all you are to them, cousin.”

“What I am?  What do you…No!  You can’t be serious.”

The warlock cleared his throat.  “What are you two on about.”

Lady Brae turned to Mr. Silver, her face ashen.  “He’s been Honored.  He’s True now!”

Mr. Silver swallowed hard, while Carstairs smirked at them both.

“Who?  Who Honored you?” Lady Brae demanded, turning her anger back on him.

“I am not alone in desiring a change in how the Empire runs.  When the Houses are tearing themselves apart, we will rise above them and claim our rightful place as lords and masters.”

“But the Queen, this will attract her notice!  She will rise and destroy you all.”

“Let the old bitch wake,” he spat.  Mr. Silver and Lady Brae both gasped at the near blasphemy of such language applied to the Queen.  “By the time she’s able to do anything about it, we will be in control.  All she cares about is stability; she will accept the New Order so long as we are the ones to put things to right.”

“I’m afraid this will take more than sharp words, Lady Brae,” Mr. Silver said.  She turned and studied him for a moment before reluctantly nodding.

“Well, Lord Carstairs, it seems you have everything figured out,” Mr. Silver continued, pulling out a kerchief from another pocket.  “But there is one thing I wonder.”

“What’s that, warlock?”

“What does being on fire feel like?”

“What?” the nobles both asked.

Mr. Silver dropped the kerchief, revealing a small, red stone.  Muttering a hex, he crushed the stone between his fingers.  Blue lightning arced from his fingers, striking Carstairs in the chest.  With a howl, the Lord flew back and smashed into the wall while electricity played across his body.  His clothing smouldered and burned where the lightning touched him.

The bolt ended as suddenly as it began.  Carstairs snarled and tore off the burning jacket.  The heavy wool ripped easily and fell, smoking, to the ground.  Burns and scorch marks covered Carstairs white torso.

“That hurt, human,” Carstairs growled, his fangs extending.  “I’m going to enjoy feasting on you.”

Carstairs ran forward, his form blurring with speed.  Another shape slammed into him inches before he reached the warlock.  End over end, Lady Brae and Lord Carstairs rolled across the ground, shattering the sparse furniture as they fell through it.  They howled and roared at each other as they fought, snarling like wild animals.  The captives who could, screamed in fear.  Mr. Silver pulled another stone from his pocket.

When the dust settled, Lord Carstairs straddled Lady Brae, holding her against the ground by her pale throat.  Her hat was long gone, and her burgundy hair spilled out upon the ground like coiled snakes.  Red stained rips covered her once fine jacket and shirt.  A trickle of blood oozed from her lips and down her bruised cheek.

“That was some fine sport, cousin, but your blood is still False while mine is True.  You cannot hope to defeat me while you are mired in their demands and restrictions, while you hold back.”  He leaned in close to her, too close for Mr. Silver to risk taking a shot, and said, “I like your spirit, cousin, maybe I’ll make you one of my brides when I rule this city.”  Looking up at the warlock, he said, “And as for you…”

Mr. Silver never saw him move.  One moment Carstairs menaced Lady Brae, the next he slammed into the warlock, throwing him roughly against the wall.  The True Blood’s fists raised again and again, battering the frail human with their stony might.  He stopped just short of killing the man.  Smiling down at his bloody handiwork, he returned to his cousin who was trying to crawl away.

“Now, now, cousin,” he whispered as he walked after her, “I have so much more to show you.  No use in running from the truth.  I’m going to set you free from all their lies.  No more communion, no more animal blood.  Now it’s time you tasted what you’ve been denied for so long.”

To be continued!

]]> http://micahblackburn.wordpress.com/2011/05/23/dreadful-tales-a-matter-of-discretion-part-4/feed/ 0 micahblackburn http://micahblackburn.wordpress.com/2011/05/21/give-me-some-of-that-old-time-religion/ http://micahblackburn.wordpress.com/2011/05/21/give-me-some-of-that-old-time-religion/#comments Sat, 21 May 2011 16:00:19 +0000 micahblackburn http://micahblackburn.wordpress.com/?p=142 ]]> Yeah, so, the Rapture came today.

Oh…wait…it didn’t.

What a surprise.

The thing that amazes me, is how often people predict ‘the end of the world’.  I mean, it’s not always a religious apocalypse they are predicting of course.  That’s just the most common.

Apparently Family Radio missed the whole ‘thief in the night’ stanza…

Other times, its weird prophesies from cultures simultaneously so in tune with the future they can predict the end of the world, but yet they somehow failed to predict the destruction of their own culture or the dangers facing it.  Yes, Mayans, I’m looking at you!

I wonder why people focus so much on The End, and why so many who believes in a mythological End believes its ‘coming soon’?  I think, to a large degree, it’s a selfish belief.  If The End happens in their life time, proving their beliefs correct, it would somehow give their own lives greater meaning.  And they hold on to these beliefs while ignoring how often in (recent) past this has been predicted to no result.

Of course, part of it I guess is simply fear mongering… an attempt by some to enforce behavior on others through fear.  Not unlike a lot of politics and news outlets I suppose.

Fear and ignorance work.  Governments and religions know this and have gladly use it to control the masses.

I just wish people would stop falling for the same old tricks.

I mean, we all know how its REALLY going to end…

Dreadful Tales: A Matter of Discretion Part 4

Shrugging, the warlock dropped the medallion beneath his collar and walked over to the wyghts she had killed.  “That’s interesting.  Notice anything about our friends there?”

She looked at the body a moment before retrieving her parasol.  Frowning upon discovering a rip in the dark fabric, she said, “I tried not to pay too much attention to them at all.”

“Then you didn’t notice their clothing?” he asked, cleaning his cane’s handle with a kerchief.

“Other than that they were foul, like the rest of those beasts, no.”

Poking at the corpse with his cane, Mr. Silver said, “These clothes are new.”

“New?” she asked, looking up.

“Well, not new, but certainly of a modern style.  Not at all what I’d expect wyghts to be wearing this far beneath the city…”

“Unless they were recently made!” she said, beating him to the punch.

“Exactly.  It’s not just thralls of Duke Astor that are dead or missing.  Remember the dock workers that haven’t shown up for work in days?  Their clothes look like a worker’s clothes.”

“But why make wyghts?  And why so many?  They would become unmanageable in short order.”

Mr. Silver nodded.  “Indeed.  But what if you didn’t want to manage them?  What if you wanted to set them against a foe and just watch the carnage?”

Lady Brae stamped her foot.  “That’s abominable!  Why would anyone do that?”

“Judging from Duke Astor’s reactions and the antagonism between the Houses that seek to lay the blame at each other’s door; I’d guess our quarry wants a war.  Already fingers are being pointed and accusations made.  A nest of twenty or thirty wyghts released into someone’s territory might be all it takes to tip the balance into more bloodshed.”

If it was possible, Lady Brae paled even more.  “He must be stopped.”

“Agreed.  Shall we continue?”

The pair resumed their journey into the vast gloom.  As the tugging of the lead teardrop became more insistent the sounds of screams and cries of terror became more distinct.  With great reluctance, Mr. Silver turned off his oculatron and allowed Lady Brae to lead him in the darkness.  Neither wanted to announce their presence any more than they had.

There was blackness, vast and impenetrable, and then there was light.  A soft glow shown from around a corner.  Approaching with even greater caution, the pair stopped at the corner.  Mr. Silver drew a pocket watch from his waist coat and thumbed it open.  The metal was polished to a mirror sheen.  Holding it low to the ground, he turned it until he could see what was causing the light.

Candles flickered in the distance, their light reflecting off the slick black walls.  Lines of them lay on the floor, leading down the tunnel towards an open arch.  A scream reverberated down the tunnel, echoing off the walls as it tore its way towards them.  The air smelled heavy, metallic.

“There’s nothing for it, really,” he whispered.  “There’s no way we can avoid being seen going down that passage.”

Lady Brae’s eyes were wide.  She ran her tongue over her lips.  “There’s something else.  I smell blood.  Lots of it.”

“He’s feeding?”

She shook her head, loosening more of her burgundy tresses.  “No.  He’s gorging.”

Mr. Silver sighed.  “That’s all we need.”

“You should stay here,” she whispered, “Or return to the surface.  It’s not safe for you.”

Grinning, he said, “It rarely is.  But I said I would see this through, so please, let us end it.”

With a frown, Lady Brae nodded.  They then turned and together strode down the lit tunnel and through the arch.

A charnel house greeted them on the other side.  The room was a large circle, covered by a dome of the same black stone.  Other arches led out of the room, like spokes on a wheel.  There were some furnishings; a table and chair, a cot.  Otherwise the room was bare of any amenities.

And then there were the corpses.  Six bodies lay strewn about the edges of the room, flies buzzing around their white, unmoving forms.  Cowering on the ground, a group of filthy men and women looked up with wide, terrified eyes.  Chains bound them tightly together.  The stench was awful.

“What in the name of the Shadow is going on here?” Lady Brae gasped.

“It would seem,” a voice called for the darkness, “that my home is being invaded by uninvited guests.”

A shadow peeled away from a distant arch and slithered across the sleek stone.  Coalescing in human form, the darkness fell away, revealing a tall, but gangly, man with wild auburn hair and cruel eyes.  He wore a fine, dark suit and waist coat, with a tall hat.  The only thing that marred his appearance was the thick crust of dried blood spattered on his cravat and lapels.

“Dominic Carstairs, I presume,” Mr. Silver said.

“You would do well to remember my title, human,” Dominic said, spitting the last word.

Lady Brae, unable to contain herself anymore, stepped past the warlock.  “Cousin, you must stop this madness.”

“Cousin?” Mr. Silver said, surprise showing on his normally unflappable features.

Dominic leered at the pair.  “Didn’t she tell you?”  Then, to Lady Brae, he said, “Did our dear Grandfather send you to clean up the family mess?”

“I’m sorry to have deceived you, Mr. Silver,” she said, her features stern, “It was a matter of some discretion.”

“My entire career is built around discretion, Lady Brae.  I assure you I could have kept your little secret safe,” he sniffed.

“Can we not fight about this right now?” she asked, indicating her cousin with a slight nod.

Mr. Silver grit his teeth, but nodded.

“Yes, cousin,” Lady Brae began, “grandfather sent me to find you and stop you, if it was you as he suspected.  Things have gone too far.  You have to end this now.”

“Oh, but I’ve really just started, cousin.  Why, in Shadow’s name, would I think of stopping now?”

To be continued!

]]> http://micahblackburn.wordpress.com/2011/05/16/dreadful-tales-a-matter-of-discretion-part/feed/ 1 micahblackburn http://micahblackburn.wordpress.com/2011/05/09/dreadful-tales-a-matter-of-discretion-part-3/ http://micahblackburn.wordpress.com/2011/05/09/dreadful-tales-a-matter-of-discretion-part-3/#comments Mon, 09 May 2011 17:05:25 +0000 micahblackburn http://micahblackburn.wordpress.com/?p=134 ]]> And now for Part 3!

Dreadful Tales: A Matter of Discretion Part 3

With blinding speed, she caught the monster’s arm before its claws could touch her.  “Unhand me, you brute,” she cried, twisting the wyght’s wrist.  Bones popped like kindling and  the creature let out a howl of pain as it dropped its prey.  She was up from her crouch before it could turn away and grabbed it on both sides of its face.  With its unbroken hand, it tried to pry loose her steely grip, but even its unnatural strength was no match for hers.  The creature’s eyes were white with fear as she pulled it close.

“That was very rude.  I love that parasol.  I’ll probably never get it clean.”

The thing whimpered as it stared into her predatory eyes.

She twisted her hands, hard and sudden.  The crack of the creature’s neck was like thunder.

As the wyght fell to the ground, she turned to Mr. Silver.  He was pressed up against the wall, swinging his cane to and fro, trying to hold several of the creatures at bay.

“A little help, my lady!” he called out.

She grabbed two of the creatures by the remains of their clothes and pulled them back.  One tried to slice her with a claw.  She pivoted back, bending only at her waist, letting the claw pass overhead.  Springing up, she caught the wyght on its overextended shoulder and, using its momentum, spun it all the way around into the wall.  Bones cracked with the impact.  As its knees gave out, she snapped a kick into the face of the other wyght as it lunged for her back.

Her heel plunged into its face, piercing the skull in the center of its forehead.

Turning back to the first, Lady Brae snapped its neck with a vicious twist.  Then, with a snarl, she slammed her foot down on the neck of the one she’d kicked.  It writhed on the ground, holding its bloodied face and trying to wriggle away.  There was an audible crack as its neck broke, but she continued to grind down with her boot, smiling, as she felt the jagged bones moving underfoot.

“A little more help please,” Mr. Silver cried out behind her.

She tore herself away from her plaything and moved to the last wyght with a snarl.  Mr. Silver was holding it back with his cane as it snapped and snarled for his neck.  She wrenched it away from the desperate warlock.

“About time,” he muttered as he swung the heavy metal handle of his cane into the howling mouth of the wyght.  Bone and teeth shattered beneath the blow.   Lady Brae held the wyght while Mr. Silver began to smash it again and again, till she let go and allowed it to collapse on the ground.

Mr. Silver, perhaps overtaken by the situation, continued thrashing the unmoving wyght that lay at his feet.  After a moment he stopped to look up.  The head of his cane was covered in gore.  The creature was not dead, that took fire, sunlight, or a severed neck to accomplish, but it would not rise anytime soon.

“Are you quite all right?” he asked Lady Brae, unable to look away from her face, and her iris’ that were larger and ringed with yellow.   Lady Brae watched him in a cold, calculating way he had not seen her use before.  He could see her hunger peeking out.

Then, as though by some great act of will, she came back to herself.  Blinking, she turned her gaze away from him and sagged against the nearby wall.

“I’m just so…tired,” she said.

Looking at the wyghts that had died by her hand, Mr. Silver said, “I was aware that False Bloods were strong, but I must admit I’m impressed by your thoroughness.”

“I may breathe, and eat, and live, but I was born with the Queen’s blood in my veins.  We do not need the Honor of True Blood to best such wretches as these,” she said, crossing her arms and standing straight.

Gazing at the wyght she’d stamped to death, he said, “Quite.”  Turning back to her, he asked, “Why did you not begin with such gusto?  I would be considerably less…ruffled if you had.”  He began brushing his jacket off.

“I should not have fought it like that.  It was improper of me,” she said, frowning.

“Ah yes, the renowned control of the Bloods.  How could I forget?”

Narrowing her eyes, she said, “I’d appreciate it if you would change your tone.  Our control is what separates us from beasts and monsters.  To lose control is unconscionable.  Fighting in the manner that I did is dangerous.  It taxes our will and makes control much more difficult.”

“It got the job done, my Lady, and considering the alternatives, I’m glad that you erred on the side of misbehaving.”  Marcus crouched over the remaining wyght.  Juggling the oculatron and his cane with one hand, he pulled a medallion from beneath his shirt.  “Speaking of misbehaving, don’t tell anyone,” he said, grinning up at her before dropping the medallion in the wyght’s ruined mouth.

Lady Brae arched a brow but quickly stepped away from the wyght as it spasmed and mewed on the ground.  White fire poured from its mouth and torn cheeks.  The creature tried to rise, tried to escape the pain, but Marcus held it down with one booted foot.  “Not so strong now, are you?” he asked it as its burned from within.

Covering her gasp, Lady Brae asked, “What did you do?”

“Blessed silver.  It’s a bit more messy than a severed spine, I’ll admit, but it does get the job done.”

The fire consumed the creature’s flesh while an oily smoke rolled off its body.  When nothing but bones remained, he reached into the ash around the creature’s skull with his cane and pulled the medallion out by its metal chain.

“How is it that you have any silver at all?  I thought all that remained was in the hands of the True Bloods?”

He smiled and dropped the medallion into his outstretched hand.  Lady Brae hissed, but he held the piece of metal with no sign of discomfort.  As he put it back around his neck, he said, “I do business with a wide variety of clients, Lady Brae.  Some pay me in artifacts rather than coin.  It is an equitable arrangement, and you would be amazed at the trinkets I’ve acquired that way.”

“I’ve never actually seen any silver before, not up close.  How does it not burn you?” she asked, sparing a glance at the smoldering corpse.

“It’s not the metal that burns, but rather the corruption inside them,” he said indicating the burnt body.  Holding the medallion up off his chest, he offered it to her.  “Would you like to hold it?”

Lady Brae reached for the medallion but then hesitated.  “I’d best not touch it.”  Looking away, she muttered, “Just in case.”

To be continued!

]]> http://micahblackburn.wordpress.com/2011/05/09/dreadful-tales-a-matter-of-discretion-part-3/feed/ 1 micahblackburn http://micahblackburn.wordpress.com/2011/05/02/dreadful-tales-a-matter-of-discretion-part-2/ http://micahblackburn.wordpress.com/2011/05/02/dreadful-tales-a-matter-of-discretion-part-2/#comments Mon, 02 May 2011 16:13:31 +0000 micahblackburn http://micahblackburn.wordpress.com/?p=118 ]]> And now for Part 2!

Dreadful Tales: A Matter of Discretion Part 2

The swinging pendulum, now tied to the handle of Mr. Silver’s outstretched cane, led them deep into the bowels of Gloomhaven.  Ancient stone vaults, built by hands that had long since rendered to dust, loomed above their heads.  The Oculatron’s light cast strange, shifting shadows upon the crumbling bricks and thick columns.  Rats scurried away from this invasion of their ancestral territory.  Following the ever tugging pendulum, they worked their way deeper into the sewers, twisting and turning through narrow and hidden passages, guided only by the warlock’s magic.  Brick and mortar walls gave way to rough-hewn stones and architecture that was both older and stranger the further they ventured.

Though they saw and heard no others where they travelled, the signs of others’ passings were evident to them both; discarded modern refuse, fresh tracks, both boot prints and drag marks in mud and waste.  There was even torn fragments of clothing, still mostly clean, to be found where it was no doubt ripped from a passing body.

A winding stair carved into the rock itself led them to a passage made entirely of some black, glossy stone that neither had seen before.  Mr. Silver’s breath condensed in the cold air, but Lady Brae’s was nearly invisible.  Here and there they saw strange characters cut into the walls, by minds curious and alien, judging from the bizarre script.

“What is this?” she asked, her voice quiet and reverent, her fingertips hovering over the writing.

Shaking his head, Marcus placed his hand on hers and pushed it down, away from the markings.  “Gloomhaven is built on the carcass of many ancient civilizations.  Undoubtedly our quarry hides beneath ruins from before the  Empire, possibly before even the Queen herself.  What better place to perform his secret and illegal deeds?   At least we’re out of the sewers.”  He stopped to study the spidery script.  “It’s not Alfar, nor Duergar.  I must admit, I’ve never seen its like before.”

In the blue light of the Oculatron, the script seemed to move.  Marcus blinked, and everything returned to normal.  He opened his mouth to speak, when Lady Brae silenced him.

“Did you hear that?” she asked, craning her neck.

He turned from the writing and listened to the darkness.  There was no sound but the dripping of distant water.  Then he heard it, a faint echoing out of the darkness.

“What is that?” he whispered.

She glanced down the black tunnel.  “A scream,” she said.

“Someone is screaming.”

They proceeded down the darkened tunnel, moving with as much alacrity and stealth as possible.  Even in her heels, Lady Brae made little noise.

Turning a corner, Lady Brae raised her hand, motioning for Mr. Silver to stop.  “We’re not alone,” she hissed, crouching down.  Mr. Silver held the Oculatron higher, trying to see what she was talking about.  Scraping, shuffling noises came out of the darkness, along with a hideous moaning that clawed its way down their spines.  Terrible shapes shifted in the gloom just on the edge of the Oculatron’s light.

“What are they?” Mr. Silver asked.

“Wyghts!” Lady Brae gasped.

Pale, ambulatory corpses pierced the safety of the light.  They wore filthy clothing, covering most of their white, desiccated flesh.  Their hair hung in brittle clumps.  Fingers ended in black, broken nails, as sharp as any razor.  However, it was their faces that caused the most distress.  Their lips curled back in a rictus of pain.  Gums black with rot revealed sharp fangs that clattered and gnashed the air.

“Stand back, Lady, I’ll deal with these fiends.”  The warlock strode forward, tracing a symbol in the air with his cane.  As the wyghts gibbered and bounded towards them, the air burst into flame in the shape of the symbol.  Howling in fear, the wyghts cowered back, trying to shield themselves from the flame’s bright light.

But some worked their way around the warding flame, and one reached out towards Lady Brae.  She thrust with her parasol, stabbing the thing in the face with the sharp tip.  It snarled and fell back, holding the ruin of its eye.

“That’s a start, Lady, but they’ll need more than sharp rebukes,” Mr. Silver said, sliding next to her and brandishing the flaming sigil at a nearby wyght.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, did you have a better idea?” she asked through grinding teeth.

“Surely they are no match for you?” he asked, backing them both away from the swarm of creatures that hissed and howled, snapping their chattering jaws at the burning light.

She sniffed.  “You are impertinent, Mr. Silver.  I am no animal.  I would not lower myself to engage them in that way.  It would be unseemly.”

Marcus spared a moment of concentration to glare at her.  “While I’m sure my Lady’s principles are all that keep Gloomhaven on the straight and narrow, I’m afraid that these beasts are not so well-heeled.  They’ll happily rip us apart.”

Raising her parasol, she said, “Let them try.”

Rolling his eyes, Marcus surged forward, pushing the flaming sigil into one of the wyghts as it tried to sneak past.  It howled in agony as its dry skin and hair caught like parchment.  The wyght flailed back, writhing in pain and spreading the fire to some of its compatriots.  Panic spread, with the flame, and soon the mob was disintegrating.  Burning wyghts fled in all directions.

The assault cost them, however, for the sigil was gone, its fire snuffed in the act of engulfing its target.  Several wyghts, braver than the rest, did not flee, but saw this opportunity and surged towards the pair.  They swarmed around them, lunging for them both.

Lady Brae tried to jab one with her parasol, only to have the savage brute knock the weapon from her grasp.  Its clawed hand wrapped around her throat, tighter than any collar, and he slammed her against the black stone wall.  Raising its other clawed hand, it hissed in glee.  It swung the broken nails for her delicate face.

To be continued!

]]> http://micahblackburn.wordpress.com/2011/05/02/dreadful-tales-a-matter-of-discretion-part-2/feed/ 2 micahblackburn http://micahblackburn.wordpress.com/2011/05/02/so-many-punks/ http://micahblackburn.wordpress.com/2011/05/02/so-many-punks/#comments Mon, 02 May 2011 13:18:54 +0000 micahblackburn http://micahblackburn.wordpress.com/?p=120 ]]> I’ve known of, and been a fan of, Cyberpunk for years.  In the last decade, I’ve learned about Steampunk and fallen a bit in love with the aesthetic and style of this genre.

What I didn’t know was that there so many other ‘punk genres, as subdivisions breed subdivisions I suppose.

Turns out I’m also a fan of Clockpunk and Atompunk, without even knowing it.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cyberpunk_derivatives#Retrofuturistic_derivatives

Dreadful Tales: A Matter of Discretion

“Surely, Sir, you cannot be serious?” asked the woman in the grey dress.  She crossed her arms, a sure sign of her displeasure.

The object of her incredulity crouched beside an open storm drain, holding a tear-drop shaped piece of lead swaying on the end of a string.  Unseen forces tugged the lead, pulling it towards the open hole.  “Oh, I assure you, Lady Brae, that I do not joke about such endeavors.  Our quarry has descended below, and,” he cast a rakish glance towards her, “if you wish to continue following the trail, below is where we must descend.”

“That’s filthy, disgusting,” she said closing her parasol.

Standing with unhurried grace, the handsome man looked at the city around them.  Tall, soot covered buildings leaned precariously close to each other above their heads.  Foul water dripped from eaves and gutters, while the sweet smell of rot pervaded the alley they stood in.  The ever-present misty shroud that obscured the sun was unusually low today.  The shadows of vast air ships prowled above it, like great whales beneath the surface of a turbulent ocean.  Rats watched them brazenly from a nearby corner.

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed, my Lady, but you have aptly described the whole of Gloomhaven.  Or has our trip through the lower quarters not shown you enough of how those below the spires live?”

Lady Brae sniffed and brushed back a strand of burgundy hair that had strayed from beneath her hat.  “There is no call to be rude.”  She peered over the edge of the hole and then wrinkled her pert nose.  “You haven’t been wrong yet, warlock, so I must take your word for it.”

“Now who is it that’s being rude?”  The man crossed his arms and leaned away from her.  “I thought we were past this.”

Brandishing her parasol, Lady Brae said, “You style yourself as the ‘Gentleman Warlock.’  Why should it displease you if I address you thusly?”

Pushing the tip of her weapon from his face, the man said, “Because you left off the ‘gentleman’ part, first of all.  Secondly, because you know my name.  I would expect a highborn scion like yourself to use it.”

The pair locked eyes for a moment before Lady Brae lowered her parasol.  “You speak truthfully, and I have forgotten myself in the excitement of the chase.  Please accept my apologies, Mr. Silver.”

Mr. Silver took one of her gloved hands and brought it to his grinning lips.  “Apology accepted, Lady Brae,” he said, before planting a kiss on the back of her hand.  A little color rose on her pale cheeks.  “And please, call me Marcus.”

The Gentleman Warlock stepped back and gazed down the hole.  “Now, I’m afraid, there’s nothing for it but to hold one’s nose and jump.”

“I think you’ve gone far enough. Mr. Silver,” she said.  As he looked back to her, she took a deep breath and continued.  “I believe that we must now part ways.  You have performed your duties admirably, but I fear this next part is for me alone to face.  I have made the arrangements already; you shall receive the agreed upon payment for your services.”

“Indeed?” he said, eyebrow raised.  “You wish to go into that dank sewer?  Alone?”

She nodded, but it was a half-hearted motion.

“Why?”

“My Lord Grandfather has commanded that I perform this task.  I do not think that you should involve yourself further.”

“My lady, what kind of gentleman would I be if I were to allow you to face such dangers on your own?”

“A sensible one.”

He sniffed, dismissing the remark.  “Already we have faced ruffians and thugs together.  Who knows what forces await below.  No, it would be unforgiveable of me.   Besides, this murderer must be brought to heel.   I may be just a simple Gentleman Warlock, but you have my talents at your disposal until this adventure is concluded.”  He bowed low, doffing his tall hat as he did.

Lady Brae threw a hand in the air.  “Fine, Mr. Silver, I will not attempt to dissuade you any longer.  But I expect the utmost discretion in this matter.”

Mr. Silver nodded.  “Of course.  In my line of work, one must always show discretion.  Now, allow me.”  He returned the tear-drop shaped pendulum to his pocket and retrieved his cane from where it lay against the alley wall.  Without another word, he disappeared down the ladder.

“It seems safe enough,” he whispered from the darkness below.

Taking one more deep breath, Lady Brae placed her foot on the first rung of the old, rusty iron ladder.  “I would thank you, Sir, to step away from the ladder.  It would be unseemly to watch me descend.”

“Of course,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.  He disappeared from view, and she began to climb down.

Marcus waited for her to finish her climb, a handkerchief held out for her.

“Oh, that stench is foul,” she said, taking the offered cloth and holding it to her nose.  “Does it not disgust you?”

“Even if my senses were as sharp as yours, we warlocks have a few tricks to make life easier when faced with disturbing sensations.”

“Could that work for me?”

“Alas not.”  Reaching into a pocket, Marcus drew forth a watch.  When he opened it, the gears and cogs inside started to whir, and a crystal on its face began to glow with a bright, blue light.

“What is that?” she asked, blinking.

“A Galvanic Oculatron.  To help us find our way.”

Lady Brae turned and stared into the shadows beyond the blue light.  “It’s all right, Mr. Silver.  While your new-fangled contraption is quite impressive, I can see adequately in this darkness.”

“Of course my lady, how foolish of me to forget.”

To be continued!