Hello, friends!

It’s official—I’m going to the Dragonsteel MiniCon, 2023! Tickets purchased and everything. Unfortunately, I can only go Monday (November 20th), and being a booth operator wasn’t an option for me this year, but I’d like those things to change in future years. If you’re going to be there and want to meet in person, Contact Me!

The Failed Technomancer chapter 11 is now live, which is also exciting news, I hope. Here’s this week’s “chapter beginning mood setting quote”:

Once, the utopian vision of the future was of a world post-scarcity. Now, such dreams are hilariously reserved. The E10 unit promises a world post-injury, post-illness, post-disability, post-weakness. All people will have the same resources, physical strength, beauty. And when the cognitive enhancers are working properly, all will be equally intelligent.

Arnon D’Bvaym

For the record, Arnon never shows up in The Failed Technomancer, and I have no plans for resurrecting her in either sequel, but she is the central character in the original creation, adoption, and worldwide growth of the rozies.

As a final note, I’ve given a shoutout to Cassette Beasts before, but I want to do so again. Still haven’t finished the game, can’t do a full review—I’m playing through it with my wife and we don’t have a lot of time—but it’s the most fun I’ve had playing a monster catching game in years. My favorite monster is Galagor… which will mean nothing to almost everyone that reads this… but for those who know, you’re either enthusiastically agreeing with me or devastated that I would play such a degenerate beast.

Bloggyness Review: Promise of Blood (Powder Mages, Book 1)

Just go read this book.

All right, fine, I’ll provide more details. I had an excellent time with Promise of Blood (Brian McClellan), and enthusiastically purchased the next book in the trilogy as soon as I finished. It has been a hot minute since a fantasy novel has kept me up late at night, wanting to finish just one more chapter, one more chapter, one more… chapter…

Promise of Blood is set in a world of black powder and magery. The setting and culture feels very much to me like what I imagine when I hear stories of the American Revolution (that time period, not necessarily that specific event), and adding single-shot rifles and pistols to a world with ultra-powerful mages (and many other sorts of magic besides) is very fun and very fresh. It makes me wish this style of fantasy was more widespread. (Maybe it is and I just don’t know what other books there are out there.)

The titular powder mages are a type of mage that you quickly learn is relatively new in this world. “Privileged” are your traditional wizards and sorcerers, capable of calling down fire or electricity (and doing other things), and “knacked” are everyday folk with magical tricks at their disposal, but powder mages are able to sense whether or not other people (as well as objects and locations) are magical, as well as use black powder to fuel various magical tricks. For example, powder mages can blow up explosives from a distance, redirect the energy of combusting black powder to control the trajectory (and punching power) of bullets and other objects, and consume black powder to gain heightened senses, strength, and endurance. It’s a really fun system with clear limitations that makes it easy to understand what sort of tools a powder mage provides to any situation, and it makes the “mages with guns” aspect of this series so much more fun. There’s also an exciting give-and-take to the different types of mages: powder mages have no hope in a 1v1 fight with a normal mage, but using a rifle they can snipe normal mages from distances the normal mage couldn’t ever hope to operate, making an almost rock-paper-scissors dynamic to conflict.

That’s all setting stuff. What about the characters? Tamas feels to me a lot like Sanderson’s Dalinar (Stormlight Archives), but with more “righteous” anger and violence, less mercy. Kind of like if a somewhat-younger Dalinar had decided to take the throne for himself rather than get drunk and allow [spoilers] to happen. Despite the comparison I just made, Tamas has his own unique identity, and is a lot of fun to follow as a juggernaut who has lived a long, full life and is still at the top of his game in most areas, with this trilogy being what will probably be his final, and greatest, campaign. He’s one of three characters that get the most focus in each book, and I consistently find myself tearing through his chapters.

Taniel Two-Shot is the son of Tamas, and he’s… very interesting. Truthfully, I enjoy Taniel’s chapters more for his companions (Ka-Poel, Bo, and a handful of others) more than Taniel himself, but Taniel is still interesting by virtue of being hyper-competent as a soldier, but severely lacking in self-worth. His terrible relationship with his father drives a lot of his actions.

Adamat is an aging inspector. His chapters focus more on intrigue and mystery than Tamas’ or Taniel’s chapters, which makes him a welcome break to catch a breather before Tamas and Taniel get back to cracking heads. I thought his chapters started off a little slower, a little less interesting, but once Adamat got going (and once he started having sidekicks to bounce off of) he quickly became one of my favorite characters.

Finally, Nila is a washwoman… with a lot of powerful men she’s looking to kill, all in an effort to protect the life of one child who is very precious to her. She gets the lowest word count out of all the above characters, but her chapters consistently bring some of the most tension because of what you, as the reader, know is happening elsewhere.

All of the above ties into a well-paced, gripping narrative with extremely likable characters. The excitement (and tension) is further heightened by interesting plot twists and a few character deaths that are unexpected, but not unearned, and also used with a light enough hand that the story doesn’t become grimdark.

A fair warning, this story is pretty realistic to war and other horrible situations without glorifying it or becoming graphic. For example, it’s a sad reality that war and rape often go hand in hand; the existence of such things in a wartime scenario is acknowledged in this story, but nothing graphic occurs. To be very clear, there is nothing graphic of a sexual nature, or of any nature that makes me sick and put down a book forever (like graphic torture or graphic suffering of children), in this story. There is a little swearing and plenty of violence.

Writing Updates

I’m really bad at predicting completion dates.

The article on constructing languages for SFF stories was not posted over the weekend. Why? I put a lot of work into The Courage in a Small Heart last week, and as a result finalizing the article was de-prioritized. That doesn’t mean I didn’t work on the article, just that I am now predicting it to be finished… by this time next week! Ha ha ha!

It is a pretty long article.

Now for rapid fire:

• The Courage in a Small Heart is finished and undergoing revisions. In a week or two I’ll have feedback from most everyone I generally share my writing with, then I’ll submit to Writers of the Future. My current goal for the story is to shave down to 17000 words without damaging what’s good in the story, or exacerbating what needs improvement.
• The Betrayed Technomancer: I have written some notes on a scene I would like to write after I finish the language article. Progress is still very slow.
• Inner Demon: Baen slush pile.

Send-Off and Sample Scene

What are some unusual fantasy stories or settings that you have enjoyed? Why?

Also, here’s one more scene from The Courage in a Small Heart. I don’t plan on sharing more after this until I can share the entire story, so I hope this one is strong enough to tide you over for a while.

Also, “Thistle” had her name changed to “Hazel.” Not entirely sure I’m set on that change, but that’s how drafting and revisions work.

—————

It was early; the sun had not yet gone down, judging from the waning light that spilled into the hollow’s entrance. Hazel stirred, stretched, then sat on her haunches and yawned. She felt much better after a long day’s rest. The cat, and all the other dangers of the world, seemed distant things now.

There was some rustling in the hollow. Mice were rousing themselves and gathering around the bloodskræcher’s dead fire. Its remnants were now greasy, black charring in the dirt, coupled with a scent that offended Hazel’s nose. Standing behind the dead fire was a mouse that Hazel easily remember the name of: Nusk No-Tail. He had seemed popular when she had first been introduced to the band. He stood as tall as he could, but without a tail to tripod on he couldn’t fully leave a hunch. Still, he held his head high, and with everyone else sitting he had an easy view of the crowd. A rope was tied to his tail-stump, trailing behind him in poor imitation.

The gathered mice were now settled down on their haunches; they munched on remnants of the previous night’s meal, tender roots clawed out of the dirt walls, or seeds from their back-bags. Pebble sat on the crowd’s edge with the bloodskræcher at her side, engaged in quiet conversation.

“We don’t want to miss this,” Twitch said. “Nusk is an excellent storymus.” He hopped up to stand, waved a paw to invite Hazel to join him, and scurried away.

Hazel felt cold on her side after Twitch left; they had been pressed against each other all night. She followed him to where he sat, next to Pebble—and the bloodskræcher. She felt uncomfortable sitting near him—when he glanced at her, his black eyes twinkled within his hood like midnight puddles reflecting starlight—but she didn’t want to sit by herself.

Clearwater noticed Hazel and wiggled his nose at her with a smile. Hazel smiled back, then he turned his attention back to Nusk.

“So, what’s going to prepare you all for the day, eh? Shall I lift spirits, or sharpen wits? Cat hunting we go—something about the mighty Purrecta and her wicked litter of mouse-eaters? Prepare us for their tricks?” Nusk waved his paws as he spoke and twitched his long oval ears to accent each sentence.

“There’s nothing so distressing as the merciless Purrecta!” a mouse grumbled.

“I want to hear about Ha-Thitsle,[1]” Bramble shouted. “Any of his stories, really.”

“Yes, Ha-Thitsle!” Twitch added.

“I’m feeling for a Fryth story,” Pebble said. At that, the bloodskræcher snorted quietly.

Nusk cleared his throat. “Fryth! Well, Ha-Thitsle was on my mind already, as luck would have it—but let me see if I can serve those who wish to hear of Fryth as well. Here’s a story my great-grandfather, a spectacularly wise mouse of five winters, would tell to me. Let’s see if I can keep your whiskers twitching.” His voice was high but clear, which made it easy for Hazel to keep her attention on him. As he spoke, Hazel found herself transfixed:

~

Back when the world was new and had never been touched by winter, Fryth lived alone. Because he sought variety, he commanded the ground to reshape into strange formations, and it did. Because he sought beauty, and food, he commanded the ground to grow forth plants, and it did. Because he did not wish to be lonely, he commanded the ground to grow him a companion, and up sprouted a shell with two halves—not unlike a walnut, although much larger.

Fryth was pleased with his creation, for he saw within it life unformed. He whispered to it, told it what shape and attitude to take, and let it grow until he was satisfied. Then he cracked that nut open and set it free.

That was the first, and greatest, beast born of Fryth’s animal garden—and the mere description of such a wonderous creature would fill up much more time than we have now. So pleased was Fryth with his own creation, immortal like himself, that he continued commanding the ground to produce these life-bearing nuts, and he continued to whisper to them, instructing them to take the forms and attitudes that he imagined. From these came all creeping beasts, and those that climb, those with wings that claim the sky; hungry monsters and satisfied creatures, ones with mouths full of sharp or flat teeth, or none at all; in short, all beasts that are, Fryth imagined and created their first forebear, and named each one.

Fryth thought to garnish his work with a small but clever creature to live in the spaces where his larger beasts could not. But when Fryth called this beast forth from the depths of the nut, his paw outstretched to invite the creature into the light of day, instead it emerged and bit Fryth before scurrying off.

“Cursed Matagroskr!” Fryth said of the beast that would one day become known as the hungry, the Rat King. But Matagroskr was already gone, and it was too late for Fryth to finish a curse befitting the creature’s betrayal. Disappointed in his supposed last creation, Fryth began again, whispering all the more carefully this time, creating a creature like Matagrosker, but lesser. He knew this creature would have a hard time in a world with beasts like Matagroskr in it, not to mention Purrecta and the many other predators Fryth had envisioned, so he gave it a clever mind and a will to live anywhere. With this, Ha-Thitsle emerged from the nut and into a world that thought itself already complete.

Seeing the world and the dangers within it, Ha-Thitsle was concerned. He knew Fryth had made him to produce more mice, but he did not see a place for them in all of creation. Even in the short time that Matagroskr had been free, he had been hard at work filling all the small spaces of the world with his breed. “Oh Fryth, how will we survive?” Ha-Thitsle cried.

“By your wits and your wariness; by your willingness to live where none other will,” Fryth said.

“But another that you have created is already doing this!” Ha-Thitsle stated. He shivered in the face of the task set before him.

Curiously, Fryth did not respond immediately. Instead, Fryth sat by Ha-Thitsle and watched as the distant sun set and waited for Ha-Thitsle to calm. Eventually he responded, “You are my sunset creation, Ha-Thitsle, to fill even the spaces Matagroskr could not. I have had much practice. You must trust that I know what I am doing.” And he left.

Ha-Thitsle did not have long to ponder on Fryth’s words, for shortly after Ha-Thitsle had been left alone did Matagroskr appear. That great rat, the pattern of his kind, ambled toward Ha-Thitsle, urinating on everything that he passed, claiming it as his own. When he reached Ha-Thitsle he stopped and grumbled, “So this is the false creation Fryth has set to replace me. Well, I don’t see much merit in it. Hardly more than a mouthful, I imagine. Watch, craeratta!” Then he opened his mouth and lunged toward Ha-Thitsle.

Fortunately, Ha-Thitsle was too quick for Matagroskr, or none of us would be here to tell this story. He leaped to the side and led Matagroskr in a great chase around the broken nut, barely keeping in the lead, wondering what he could do to save his own skin. He was quick; so was Matagroskr. He was clever; he had every reason to believe Matagroskr was the same. But he was small, and Matagroskr big. What could be done?

The other beasts heard the noise of Matagroskr’s cursing and came to witness what was happening. Soon a large crowd had gathered round and were laughing at the sight of Matagroskr chasing Ha-Thitsle. Ha-Thitsle despised the attention, but Matagroskr laughed with the rest of them; in fact, at times he even stopped to pose and to boast in his greatness. This gave Ha-Thitsle time to think, to plan how he would escape the Rat King. He noticed the pieces of the nut he had been grown in were far more than two; it appeared that Fryth had been hasty in releasing his final creation, and while the majority of the nut’s shells were in two pieces, many fragments littered the ground.

This gave Ha-Thitsle an idea. He leaped on one of the shell fragments and covered it with his hindquarters while Matargoskr’s face was turned; he waited as the great rat charged toward him, then slowed, curious and suspicious. Matagroskr realized that Ha-Thitsle had a plan, but did not yet suspect what it was.

“Great Matagroskr, are you so afraid of me? The least of Fryth’s beasts?” Ha-Thitsle asked. The creatures surrounding him snickered. Matagroskr glared at them out of the corner of his eye.

“Puny, pathetic Ha-Thitsle, I merely wanted to give you a moment more to appreciate the life that Fryth had blessed you with while it lasted.” Matagroskr smiled a yellow smile.

“Funny, but other beasts do not sit before helpless food as you do; even El-Aifaynra pounces on lettuce the moment he catches up to it, though it cannot run away. Surely you are braver than a rabbit, great Matagroskr?” Ha-Thitsle crouched to make himself as small as possible.

Matagroskr’s eyes flashed red. “None of Fryth’s clever creations are more brash than me!” he roared. With movement like a snake striking, he leaped upon Ha-Thitsle; that was almost the end of the father-mouse. He hadn’t expected Matagroskr to be as sudden as he was. But just in time, he leaped so that he fully entered Matagroskr’s mouth, and Matagroskr’s teeth snapped right on the shell fragment that Ha-Thitsle had left behind.

It is now that I should remind you, Fryth’s creations are largely known for filling their purpose exactly, and the nut-shells that all beasts were formed within were made for strength. Only Fryth was strong enough to crack them open and free the creature inside.

So when Matagroskr’s large incisors struck the shell, his top-right one shattered with a spray of tooth and blood! Matagroskr roared in pain, giving Ha-Thitsle the moment he needed to leap again from Matagroskr’s mouth, leaving pellets behind as a gift. While Matagroskr writhed in pain, and the other beasts of Fryth’s creation rolled on backs and bellies with laughter, Ha-Thitsle escaped into the world, so ensuring that you and I could be here today.

~

Hazel hung breathlessly on Nusk’s every word. When the storyteller finished and bowed his head, she broke into squeaking applause along with the rest of the band, cheering for Ha-Thitsle’s resourcefulness. Many mice jumped on each other and began wrestling in imitation of Ha-Thitsle’s and Matagrosker’s first fight.

“Nusk always knows the right story,” Twitch said, his ears happily perked upright. He hopped to his paws and wriggled his whole body, then began bounding about the hollow, joining in the explosion of energy. It was like watching a nest of pups explore what they were capable of; Hazel watched with pleasure, thinking she was just the right size to play the Ha-Thitsle to any other mouse’s Matagroskr, when Twitch’s celebrations brought him near the hollow’s entrance—

“Stop!” Pebble shouted—

A paw, claws, movement so fast Hazel almost couldn’t register it—

Then Twitch was gone.

A high-pitched squeak rent the air; it just as quickly was silenced by a wet crunch. Hazels bones threatened to shake out of her as a throaty purr followed, reverberating through the hollow.

---

[1] Ha-Thitsle (hah-THEETS-l) is a mythical mouse hero, somewhat like a combination of your Adam (the Ancient of Days) and Loki.