Douglas E. Berry

More fiddling with Barsaive. We have a slight problem on the map.

Sun, 22 Jan 2023 21:28:20 GMT

As I pointed out in my last post, the Earthdawn Barsaive setting is a close match to modern Ukraine. The designers have made it clear this was their intent. I approve because it gives a huge area for exploration and sweeping grand campaigns.

But there is a major issue. On the campaign map, the Black Sea has been replaced by a gigantic volcanic caldera. It is explicitly stated that this Death Sea fills the Black Sea's basin. Which creates huge problems when doing worldbuilding. Look, I'm as ready as anyone to accept huge magical effects in this setting, but this is just too much!

The Black Sea has a surface area of 436,400 km² (168,500 sq mi) (not including the Sea of Azov.) Lava, the proper term for liquid magma that reaches the surface, has a temperature that runs from 800 to 1,200° C (1,470 to 2,190° F). Normally, lava quickly cools into various fun forms of igneous rock. But here we're told the liquid state is constant. This is going to have extraordinary effects on every land that borders the Death Sea.

For starters, there is going to be a dead zone extending many miles from the coast. The heat, poisonous gasses, and just the ground being baked into fired clay pottery will kill everything. But that's minor compared to the climatic nightmare this would cause. As we all know, hot air rises. The air over this huge area will become superheated and rise quickly, creating an ungodly low-pressure system over the entire area. A book on climatology I read described Earth's atmosphere as desperately seeking to achieve equal pressure across the globe, but being constantly foiled by uneven heating and terrain.

Imagine the massive, constant hurricane-force winds rushing to the Death Sea. The collision of this relatively cool air and the already-heated air over the lava we'll create endless storm fronts that spiral off spawning tornados and world-shattering dry thunderstorms. The near-vacuum at the center of the sea will be a fountain of superheated air that will spread out and fall as it cools, creating storms hundreds if not thousands of miles from the sea.

Seen from space, the Death Sea would be akin to Jupiter's Great Red Spot, a never-ending cyclonic storm covering a huge area. Oh, did I mention that? Cloud cover that blots out the sun for years at a time. Given all this, most Kaers in Barsaive would open their gates, take three steps outside, and say "Well, this sucks" before resealing the gates and going back to work on 101 Ways To Spice Up Your Mushroom Stew.

Later retcons reduced the lava area to a few hundred miles around the Crimean Peninsula. But still, you have the same issues. Kīlauea showed an impact on the weather of the Big Island during its decades-long eruption. So we need a better fix.

I, of course, have one.

Let's put a Kaer on the Crimea right where Sevastopol exists. During the Time of Horrors, the Sorcerors maintaining the defenses also developed a doomsday device, a magical retribution strike that brought E=mc² into play. When a Horror did breach the defenses, the spell was triggered. Kaer, Horror, and a huge amount of territory vanished in an instant. What was left was a massive volcanic rift system that has grown to Mt. Doom proportions. The seabed cracked for hundreds of miles, releasing natural gases that ignite when they reach the surface.

So the Sea of Death becomes the Sea of Blue Fire. Life along the shoreline is still stunted and twisted, and the entire area stinks of rotten eggs and death. Sailing the affected areas is dangerous, not just because of the constant threat of fire (remember, these flames are still magical even if they come from a natural source) but because every so often a huge bubble of gas comes to the surface and explodes. Just being caught by the bubble can break your keel.

Closer to the site of the destroyed Kaer, the threat of volcanic activities rises. Plus, vengeful ghosts, Horror-touched monsters drawn to the inherent magical aura of the area, and a dragon. Because I need at least one Greater Wyrm in this place. What might be really fun is to drop clues that the Sorceror-Kings of that Kaer also built the magical equivalent of an aircraft's flight data box, holding their greatest secrets, including how to replicate the spell that destroyed the Kaer.

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I'll probably use Sprawlrunners for this.

Mon, 28 Nov 2022 03:44:39 GMT

While engaged in a discussion of Cyberpunk tropes everyone is tired of in TTRPGs, one person mentioned the pervasive Asian Chic feeling, with Japanese zaibatsu dominating the world, ninjas, and the entire manga/anime feel.

I agree heartily. What I want to see, and may have to write for the SWADE Cyberpunk system, is a setting where the African Renaissance is full speed ahead and the US and China have been greatly reduced in influence. African corporations are the big influences, African music is hot, and the current First World players like the US and China are collapsing.

Having a campaign set in Mombassa would be really cool, as you have a totally different feel and all of the Continent to play in. You could even ignore the US. Scandanavian mercenaries, Ukrainian bankers, Arab and Indian factors, and a dozen languages are spoken in the new Sprawl as Mombassa (and the space elevator just offshore) have made this city ground zero for intrigue.

What would make this setting unique is Mombassa is an old, old city. It dates back to at least the 14th century. It has ancient mosques mixed in with modern areas. I love the idea of Old Africa meeting New Africa.

And you have all of Africa to play in!

Yeah, I need to write this. I'll be using Sprawlrunners, a cyberpunk Savage Worlds rule set for this. Does anyone want to help?

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Captain Teker Erim, the protagonist of my novel.

Tue, 01 Nov 2022 00:34:54 GMT

Captain commander of the Rube Goldberg. A native of Derinkuyu, Erim has been gene-modified over several generations to withstand the 2.9 g (28.42mps^2) gravity field of his homeworld.

He is a dwarf, standing only 148cm, but built on a very sturdy frame and is deceptively strong.

Captain Erim is a dedicated, meticulous officer who has risen through the ranks on merit. He is aware of prejudice against "gene freaks" but up until now has depended on his record to shield him.

His one failing is his lack of political awareness. He has simply ignored this on his rise to senior commands and is unprepared for the reality.

Teker Erim is dark in complexion, keeps his hair buzzed close to his scalp, but cultivates a large mustache, that he spends time styling.

Erim is from a very wealthy family, a fact that embarrasses him. He would never think of using his family's influence to get ahead. This has put him at something of an impasse with his father.

Erim had an older sister, Albani, who proceeded him into the Peacekeeper Fleet. She was killed in a border Skirmish with the Dà tiānguó (the Great Celestial Empire.)

Teker begins the book depressed and feeling betrayed. He comes around and decides to make the most of the assignment if for no other reason than to piss off the forces that sent him here.

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This is for my NaNoWriMo Project, criticism and suggestions wanted!

Sun, 30 Oct 2022 21:26:05 GMT

This, after much research, is how I see the bridge and the surrounding deck area of the FFS Rube Goldberg which is a very important setting in my project. I really want to hear from Navy and Coast Guard veterans.

Deck 3 of the Rube Goldberg is home to the main bridge. The bridge itself is an octagonal space. At the center is the command chair, used by the Captain or the Officer of the Deck whenever the Captain is off the bridge. This station has a control panel on a swing arm if the OIC (Officer in Charge) wants to examine a specific detail of the ship's operations directly.

Directly in front of this station is a fairly large holographic display. Normally, this is used to track the position of the Rube Goldberg in relation to its assigned battle group. In combat situations, it can be used to monitor threats and the Captain can direct the ship's escorts based on this information. The display can also provide information on the ship's status, updates on replenishment or repair operations on other ships, as well as a variety of live camera shots, both from fixed cameras and remote platforms.

To the left of the display is the Maneuvering station. Here the two pilots (normally an experienced Petty Officer and a rating) work in concert, controlling the ship's movement along the three axises as directed by the commander. Also at this station are an engineering PO who monitors the performance of both the six main drives as well as the maneuvering thrusters. Supervising them is the Maneuver Officer.

To the left of that station is the Environmental Control station. Manned by a Petty Officer and a Rating, they monitor the interior status of the ship, everything from gravity control to O₂ levels and the health of the ship's solid waste recycling plant. Most of their job is watching, as the actual work is spread out through the ship.

To the immediate right of the display is Sensor Analysis. Manned by a junior officer and Chief Petty Officer, this station takes in all the information coming from the various sensors, as well as updates from the Battle Group, and organizes it for the main display. They have a team on Deck 4 That does the initial filtering and analysis.

On their right is Communications. Responsible both for exterior and interior communications, this station is manned by the Communications Chief (a CPO) and two operators. They work closely with the sensors crew so message masers are aimed correctly.

Behind the Captain's Chair is Operations Management. As the Rube Goldberg is a Fleet Repair/Supply Ship, this station is a repeater for the one in the Operations Master Control Center on Deck 33. When the ship is engaged in any evolution involving the transfer of materials, repairs, or anything else where OMC is active, a team from the repair and logistics crew will be on the bridge, updating schedules and answering that commander's questions. This station is a holotable, about 1x2 meters, with workstations built in. This is the one station not equipped with seating, although emergency acceleration couches can be rolled out from the back wall.

The space is crowded, with multiple monitors, control panels; and the walls have multiple emergency air hook-up stations, firefighting equipment, and plaques filled with operational procedures and warnings. every station has a binder with printed checklists and troubleshooting guides. The lighting is usually kept dim to reduce eye strain and make the holotank easier to read.

There are two entrances to the bridge. The one to the left of the holotank as you face it is known as the Captain's Hatch and opens onto his office and underway cabin. The one to the right leads to the lift area, a security station, the midrats galley, and the "crash room" and space outfitted with bunks for quick naps during extending operations. Also on this deck are the Navigation Center (Real Space) and the office of the ship's feared head of the FIS, Fleet Internal Security. It should be noted that there is an entrance to the Captain's Office off the main corridor and that Internal Security is posted both at the Lift Lobby, and at the hatches to the Bridge and the Captain's office, as they are quite close to each other.

These are hatches heavy, manual, and designed to hold pressure.

So, what did I fuck up? What did I miss?

OK, what did I miss?

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Getting back on the writing horse

Thu, 19 May 2022 01:10:53 GMT

So, I've been playing with this idea. Take The Odessey, set in space, and make my protagonists drug-addicted bio-sculpted soldiers discarded when they were no longer needed. This is my start. Please, let me know what you think beyond "good job!" I need feedback. What worked, what was clunky, and how y'all see this being better with a few changes.

( Untitled NaNoWriMo Project )

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Looking forward with slightly improved vision. Here comes 2022!

Thu, 30 Dec 2021 20:22:59 GMT

Considering my original long-term survival goal was living to see 2000, I take every new year as a win.

So, what's coming up for me and Offhand Manor in 2022? Well, my health is going to dominate things for at least the next few months. We need to find out the cause of the inflammation seen in my eyes and now in a lymph chain in my chest. I had a head MRI yesterday, and still need to schedule a PET scan and a lumbar punch. Ow. Plus there's now a cataract in my right eye that needs to be dealt with. There are plenty of appointments coming up. Just to make things more fun, my hemo-oncologist retired and I'll be dumping this all on a new doctor.

Fun times, folks.

Alongside that, I'm going to keep working on physical and mental health. My job makes getting my daily steps in easy, but I really need to get the TRX bands out at least three times a week and work on getting back to the gym when possible. Mentally, I was able to recognize that I was setting myself up for failure in a situation and back out of it, which was a win, but I need to set aside time for mindfulness. 30 minutes a day of quiet meditation really helps center me.

One big thing coming up is our July roadtrip to Tonopah, Nevada for Westercon 74. kshandra has really wanted to get me away from the warzone our neighborhood becomes over July 4th, and besides the con, there are some cool things to see in Tonopah. Like the The World-Famous Clown Motel !

We won't be staying there. But we will kill the camera batteries in the 19th-century cemetery across the street. It'll be a fun trip!

What's really cool is Burning Man is coming back! After a two-year hiatus, we're going back to the desolate, dusty, sun-blasted Playa we love. Planning is already in progress, as I was born to be a staff officer. Speaking of which. . .

The Free Trailer Beowulf is dead, long live the Far Trailer Marava! After five years, the homemade kludginess of the Beowulf is showing. Rather than fight a long battle to keep it road-worthy; which we really lack the skills, tools, and funds to do right; we've decided to take the plunge and buy a real trailer.

We're getting an Outbound Extreme Standard Model. Scroll down a little to see the model. Ours is the base white with black trim. We did go for a few necessary options (which you can see on the Order page.)

Exterior Options
100 Watt Solar Panel, 30-Amp LCD Display Solar Charge Controller with Battery Temperature Sensor.
15" Spare Trailer Tire
Front Cargo Rack
Front Diamond Plate
Rear Support Jacks

Interior Options
Roof Fan, 3 Speed
Memory Foam Mattress
Front Storage Cubbies
Electric Package (basically a surge protector power strip with USB ports mounted inside the trailer.)

We'll need to pick up a new marine battery, battery box, trailer lock, and a few other things. If you're in Northern California and want a trailer that is in decent shape but needs some work, contact me or Kirsten for details. We'll throw in the solar power panels we've been using.

Also, I am determined to spend the time to make Sideways Solutions work. So I have a schedule to make sure that when NaNoWriMo kicks off on November 1st, I will have everything ready to roll. The total word count goal for the 1st draft is 90,000 words. Expect to see a lot of drabbles and ficlets in this space, and folks, I need your feedback. Not just "that's cool!" but tell me what works, and where I'm weak. I'm a former infantryman, I can take harsh criticism!

The only other big thing on the schedule for the year is we have vouchers for a couple of San Francisco Giants' games, and in September, the long-delayed Rammstein show in LA may finally happen. Crossed fingers.

Hell, crossing my fingers for all of this! Happy New Year!

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NaNoWriMoNO

Wed, 20 Oct 2021 02:18:52 GMT

After a lot of thought, I'm not doing NaNoWriMo this year. The whole eye saga has cut into my ability to do my research and plotting, there may be more appointments coming down the road that could make things much worse, and I'm going back to work on the same day the writing starts.

Not the best way to handle this. So I'm opting out. Apex will wait a year while I get everything set up, characters set, all three sections absolutely mapped out both in location and action (and I'm going for Tim Powers levels of 'OMG, I've BEEN there!'), and can start writing with confidence on Day One, 2022.
The way the Giants season ended also is a factor.

But, to get an early start, the book is about a world where vampires are solitary apex predators and concerns the vampire who has taken San Francisco as his hunting territory since 1945 finding himself being hunted by another vampire. It's mostly suspense. I'm using Apex as the working title as it describes where the vampires sit, but can you think of another title?

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Trading one work schedule for another.

Wed, 02 Jun 2021 21:26:03 GMT

Well, I'm not working until mid/late August when the school year starts, and me being me, I'll keep right on waking at 0630 despite turning the alarm off.

Which means I'll be awake, dressed, and coherent by 0700 most days. Now, there are a ton of things to get done around here; delayed cleaning, getting Darby's 60k service done, things like that, I have a plan to better utilize those hours where I'd normally be standing on a corner with a stop sign.

0730-0900 and 1100-1230 are now my writing times when I put everything else aside and do something related to producing written content. It could be playing with Scrivener, doing actual research for a project, writing stream-of-consciousness pieces, or producing actual works that I want people to feel are worth paying for.

Getting that rhythm is important. and once school is back in session, I can adjust the hours to conform with my (hopefully) longer breaks between shifts in the 21-22 school year.

So look for some content in the next week. And please, PLEASE, give feedback for good or ill. The only way I grow as a writer is by hearing what works and more importantly, what doesn't.

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San Francisco in the Time of the Red

Wed, 13 Jan 2021 21:30:16 GMT

One of my focuses in doing the SFBA:RED thing is to make San Francisco noir again. The wharves are revitalized as shipping goes back to smaller cargo ships. The general SOMA area is a maze of bars, tiny shops, and sailors hostels. The streets are clogged by food carts and bar runners. Sailors from around the Pacific Rim rub shoulders with longshoremen and slumming Execs.

Most of the Sunset and Richmond are combat zones. In the inner sunset and Richmond massive defensible hives have grown up, called Kowloons by the locals. They house the lower class workers who ride downtown on the over-stuffed N train every morning to their menial jobs.

Chinatown has become a foreign territory, controlled by the Tongs who rule the smuggling trade. The Finacial District is revitalized with an influx of NewCorps challenging the last few Megacorps.

Yeah, I've got a lot of writing to do.

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Barely Alive (ttto: Dead or Alive by Jon Bovi)

Mon, 11 Jan 2021 21:27:04 GMT

Barely Alive
(ttto: Dead or Alive by Jon Bovi)

It's all the same, only the doctors change
Every day, it seems I'm wastin' away
Another lab where the exam room is so cold
I drive all over just to get sent back home

I'm a patient, on gurneys I ride
I'm breathing, barely alive
Breathing, barely alive

Sometimes I sleep, sometimes I sleep for days
Phlebotomists can never find my veins
Sometimes you tell the hour
By the medicine that you take
And when the fevers hit, all you do is bake

I'm a patient, on gurneys I ride
I'm breathing, (sort of) barely alive
Breathing, (coughing) barely alive

Oh, and I ride
Oh, and I'm a patient, on gurneys I ride
I'm breathing, barely alive

I lay in bed
Loaded IV's in both arms
I'd watch TV, but only Sister Act is on
Been seen by everyone, but they still don't know what's wrong
I've seen a million doctors
And I've confused them all

I'm a patient, on gurneys I ride
I'm breathing, (Low O2) barely alive
I'm a patient, the guy beside me just died
I'm breathing, (Code Blue) barely alive
And I abide, barely alive
I still thrive (sort of thrive) barely alive
Barely alive, barely alive, barely alive, barely alive. . .

(Guitair outro to flatline sound.)

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So, what would you do?

Fri, 08 Jan 2021 22:23:25 GMT

Time Out
- or -
The Critical Importance of Always Wearing Clean Underwear

The world, as we knew it anyway, came to a shuddering stop on February 12th, 2019. Which for me was a bummer, as I was this close to my Ph.D. with my thesis on the people of North Sentinel Island nearly ready for printing. That and my gig managing a Starbucks were my tickets to mere survival.

It was on that day that the aliens showed up. We all learned a lot of science in the next few weeks as scientists tried to explain what had happened. The alien ship - calling a sphere nearly the size of our moon a “ship” feels wrong - didn’t just suddenly appear in the sky. No, it came to a complete stop after moving at 99-point-a-lot-of-nines to get to our L-4 point. Another thing we all learned; that’s a place where the gravity of the Earth and the Moon cancel out.

So it shows up and just sits there as the planet goes nuts. People were claiming that it was Jesus, others were screaming we were being invaded, and others were packing their bags because they were going to hitch a ride. There were riots in a few places, and nations that had a history of clamping down clamped harder. North Korea announced it was Kim Il Sung, come back to lead the people to victory and True Communism.

But after one of the longest days ever, after everyone on the planet had a chance to see this weirdly purple orb hanging in the sky, the First Message was received by humanity. And I mean humanity. Everything that had a speaker carried this message, and it was broadcast in all the local languages. It was one word.

“Ten.”

The voice was clear and unemotional, unlike the talking heads on every channel who began debating the meaning of the message. Me? I turned on the Classic Cartoon Channel. Underdog was on.

Exactly one hour after the first message, a second one was sent. “Nine.” At that point, there was a global consensus. It was a countdown. But to what? Preppers took to their bunkers, churches were filled, and the president was tweeting about how he had been right about needing a Space Force. I decided to get stoned and grab a nap. I thought about calling my ex and reminding her that I told her leaving me would be a disaster but resisted the impulse.

It wasn’t a good nap. Turns out, switching off the radio didn’t stop the countdown from coming through. So there I was, watching the planet go insane as the final hour ticked away. At five minutes to go, there was a sudden calm. Even the idiots on CNN stopped yelling. The final seconds melted away and all of humanity leaned forward to hear what was coming.

There was a pleasant chime. Then a very different voice from the countdown.

“Are we on? Yes? OK! People of Earth, humanity, whatever you call yourselves these days, hi. As you’ve probably guessed, we are representatives of sapient species from other star systems. Yes, we’ve been buzzing Earth in UFOs, and did, in fact, kidnap some people. We did put everyone back, and we do apologize for the anal probes. We’ve been examining you for about, oh, 200 years now, and our mission time is up. We’ve got to head back and present our findings.
“I’ve got good news and bad news for you, humans. The good news is . . .” There was a triumphal flourish of horns. “You are not alone! This globular cluster you live in is just teeming with life! Thousands of intelligent races of us have come together and formed a society that has endless energy, no want, no war, and pretty good civic light opera. Most of us think planets are pretty passe and live in structures much like our little ship here. In fact, and here’s a big spoiler for you, what you call Tabby’s Star is my home system, and those are giant megastructures orbiting it! The universe, even our small part of it, is filled with wonders and things beyond your imagination!

“Now the bad news. You’re not invited. Honestly mankind, we’ve been struggling to find an excuse for your behavior for centuries! We get war when it’s about resources, we’ve all been there, but you guys fight over stupid things! Variations in skin tone, outdated governmental styles, even insults between members of inbred ruling classes!

“And you’re so tribal! Yes, being a successful technological civilization usually means evolving from social animals, but you, you take it to extremes! You fight and loot when your team wins! That is not normal, mankind! Sport is supposed to be relaxing and enjoyable, not an excuse to beat each other silly for wearing the wrong color!

“I could go on, but I’m getting stern looks to cut it short. So, while you aren’t being invited, we aren’t leaving without a few parting gifts even though we really shouldn’t. First, we're deploying a cloud of satellites. They will both continue to monitor you and report back to us on your progress but are equipped to neutralize any nuclear weapon they find. All of you are now out of the mass destruction business. These satellites can defend themselves, don’t even think about it. They also serve as excellent GPS transmitters, amazing weather sats, and will be broadcasting HBO for free to everyone. Just kidding about that last part. We’ll also be removing the 206 million pieces of junk we’ve found in orbit around your planet. Clean up after yourselves next time!

“Secondly, along with the extensive, painful, and detailed list of your utter failings as a planetary society being sent to your so-called leaders, we will be sending data to various organizations and people on ways to look better next time. This includes pan-immunity, effective birth-control that women control by thought and spreads like a virus, a couple of hints on fusion power, and the formula for Coca-Cola.

“Kidding! But look for a lot of answers to the past so you can focus on your future. Seriously, we’ve come to like you humankind, but you just aren’t ready for the big leagues yet. See you in a few centuries! We are Eastbound and down!”

With that, the alien ship vanished, leaving over 2,000 new satellites orbiting Earth.
What followed was pandemonium. If not knowing was bad, being snubbed was worse. A few quiet tests showed that the alien wasn’t lying; every nuke on the planet was inert. A Russian attempt to inspect one of the alien satellites ended with a very surprised crew back on the ground while their shuttle was eventually spotted leaving the solar system at close to the speed of light. A rogue lab released the birth control bug, and suddenly women had control of family planning in a way never imagined. Coupled with pan-immunity, condom manufactures went broke around the world.

But now, five years later, there are bright spots emerging. Almost all of the Americas have joined into an economic union, defense spending has dropped worldwide, and the message along with “Kim Il Sung” vanishing, led to a revolution inside North Korea.

But there is one thing that is bothering me.

A few days after the aliens left, I finally decided to get back to work on my thesis. The mystery of the people living on North Sentinel Island had fascinated me since I was a kid, and now I was betting a doctorate in anthropology on my being able to offer new theories into that isolated tribe. But when I opened my work folder, I saw three new file folders.

- ENOUGH TO GET YOU BY
-THE BIGGER PICTURE
-THE WHOLE STORY

The first folder held references to sources I hadn’t known existed. They confirmed some of my ideas and forced me to change some conclusions. I eagerly made use of those resources, easily earned my degree, and landed a teaching post at Colorado State. I’ve peeked at the second folder, but only skimmed a couple of items.

That last folder, the one promising the whole story, was huge: nearly 2.4 terabytes, with dozens of sound and video files. I have to wonder if that last file is a test. Am I greedy enough to just take the information? Or do I really want to work for the answers? Is one of those alien satellites monitoring my decision?

It’s 2:37 AM. I have to be at work in four hours. My pointer has been on that last folder for two hours just waiting for me to click it.

What do I do?

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Setting Goals Is A Good Thing.

Fri, 01 Jan 2021 02:32:38 GMT

I don't like the word resolutions. In conjunction with the new year, that word has become laden with a heavy sense of obligation. I prefer goals, things to aspire to, and reach. So, here are my goals for 2021:

Write. I have an unfinished novel, a great idea for turning the Bay Area into a Cyberpunk setting, and a thousand other concepts flying around my head. Buckle down and write. Which leads into. . .

Study the Craft. Having books on writing do you no good if you don't read them, study them, and do the exercises. The same goes for my copy of Scrivener and Scrivener For Dummies. If I really want to improve my writing and my use of that great writing tool, put in the grunt work!

Exercise! I have been terrible about even trying to make my daily step count, and I'm angry that the bike we bought for me has barely been touched. I also have the TRX band and the push-up paddles. Devote time each day to doing some form of exercise. It's not only good for my general health, it improves how well I digest things. Which brings us to. . .

Eat Better. A Little. Look, I'm never going to be bellying up to the salad bar, but I can try to improve my diet. Even little things like reducing my reliance on microwaved chimichangas in favor of fresher food will help. Eating three meals a day is also a goal.

Work On Getting New Dentures. This is a biggie, but I'm not getting some coverage under kshandra's new insurance, so I might be able to get the work done so I have teeth that work. Be warned, we may run a Go Fund Me campaign to cover the costs. Being able to chew properly will be a boon to my health.

Talk Less, Smile More. To quote Hamilton. I get drawn into too many pointless online arguments. It wastes my time and causes stress.

Take Me Out To The Ballgame. . . Try to make six ballgames this year. San Franciso or San Jose, either flavor of Giants is good for me. The schedule will be posted, all are welcome to watch me get tortured.

Run A Game! Face to face or online, I need to shake off my Gamemaster dust and run a game. I'd love to run a game of Bulldogs! which is a really fun FATE-based space opera game. Finally. . .

Breathe. Take Time To Be Mindful. I need to spend more time centering myself. Using the skills I learned in therapy to relax and refocus.

I haven't mentioned Burning Man as that is out of my control. If we're on for this year, we'll go. If not, we'll plan for the next year.

Happy 2021, y'all!

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As usual, I am inspired by history.

Mon, 19 Oct 2020 22:15:45 GMT

It is the distant future. Humanity spread to the stars, founded a glorious empire, and long ago that Emire fractured. Now, the Successor State squabble and fight border wars, while Earth has become a backwater. People make quasi-religious pilgrimages there, but it's not really that important.

Four centuries ago, a rapidly expanding alien empire took Sol almost without a shot. As they allowed travel and trade to continue unimpeded, no one really cared. Life went on. But in the last twenty years, things have changed.

A new faction has emerged, preaching a New Empire of Man, and regaining Earth is a matter of manifest destiny! Seeing the opportunity to gain more territory, and possibly claim the new Terran Throne, the Successor States are mobilizing for war! But they still don't trust each other.

In case you don't recognize it, this is the start of the First Crusade in 1096 set in shiny space opera. Plenty of space (no pun intended) for different governments, epic personalities, strange tech, and an alien menace more concerned with trade and spreading their faith/philosophy than fighting, but they are more than capable as warriors.

I've dedicated the rest of this year to working on my long-neglected novel Sideways Solutions, but this might be an idea I play with.

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Enfolded in Shadows

Thu, 17 Sep 2020 20:54:03 GMT

This is the background write-up for my new D&D character.

Igan drained the last drops from the flagon, then slammed it onto the table in appreciation. "Damn fine mead, I've not had such since I left Daggerford!"

The lady publican smiled as she refilled Igan's flagon. "You're from the North? How interesting! You are very far from home, my lord." Igan noted that his host was a quite stunning example of the fair sex. Her long black hair framed a face so fair he suspected she might be a halkf-elf.

Igan carved a healthy slice from the roast capon. It was as fine as the mead. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve before speaking.

"Oh, I've been farther, I suspect. Although to be honest, I'm not really sure where I am at the moment. But my trade has carried me all across the Realms. You see, I am a Hunter of Men." Igan laughed, "Men, elves, dwarfs. . . I'm in it for the game and the gold. I'd track down a Celestial for the Lords of Hell if the price was right."

"I see." the publican settled down at the table. "You are filled with pride for one so young. Tell me, when you hunt men for gold, do you work with others?"

"Rarely, m'lady. I've been on my own since my father, he was a fur trader, was murdered and I had to drag the men who did in for the bounty. I've learned that my liberty is best pursued by myself. Every man for himself and Malar take the hindmost! Life is a game, and never tell me the odds!"

"Young and bold. Excellent qualities, and what I look for. But, did you know you were dying, Igan Pavlovich Kulnov?"

The Inn dimmed and Igan was struck by terrible agony. He looked down to see his tunic shredded and soaking quickly with blood."

"Am I dead then? Are you some servant of Kelemvor? Am I truly to be judged now?" Igan could barely conceal his panic.

"Calm yourself, Igan Pavlovich, I am not a judge of the dead, and you are dying, but not yet dead. I bring you an offer. Service to the Shadowfell and the Raven Queen. In exchange, your life and powers undreamt of, if you are strong enough."

"And what do I owe for these boons?" Even on the edge of death, Igan couldn't avoid his fear of entanglements.

"You will be asked, from time to time, to perform a task. Many of them will be what you already do, tracking down people and items. Our touch is light unless you cross us. There are shadows everywhere, and we are in all of them. The offer would have been made anyway, your current situation forced our hand. Either way, we will heal you."

The room darkened until all Igan could see was his hostess' faintly glowing eyes.

"Do you swear to obey us?"

"I do, on my soul."

"It is done."

Ivar awoke in the alley where his quarry had surprised him with two assassins. They lay dead on the urine-soaked cobblestones. His quarry, a Waterdeep merchant wanted for embezzling, was neatly tied up. As Igan was hauling him to his feet, he heard a rustle of wings and voice in his head "Go to Waterdeep, you will gain your first grants from us along the way. The mark on your arm, show it always."

Igan ripped his sleeve off and stared and the large complex tattoo, the mark of a Hexblade. Sighing, he led his captive back towards the mule cart he had bought, and the long ride to Waterdeep. Igan was already wondering if he was just as much a prisoner as his captive.

Nearby, a raven cawed. It sounded like mocking laughter.

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Ave Apocalypsin!

Tue, 08 Sep 2020 23:31:23 GMT

I just finished a very successful game of Civilization VI. Playing Rome on King difficulty, continents map, and I was using the Secret Societies game mode.

This is fun, there are four secret societies, the Voidsingers, the Owls of Minerva, the Sanguine Pact, and the Hermetic Order. Each has benefits and adds a new level of play. Early in the game, I was offered a chance to join the Voidsingers.

The Voidsingers follow a dark religion of ancient gods and sow chaos to control adversaries. Joining them unlocks the Old God Obelisk, which replaces the Monument. It has all of the Monument's base effects and provides additional Faith and Great Works slots. The Voidsingers also have a unique unit, the Cultist. Purchased with Faith, Cultists can spend a charge to recruit followers in enemy cities, reducing the target city's Loyalty by calling its citizens to madness.

The fun part is that every city Rome builds starts with a Monument, so all my new cities started with the Old God Obelisk already in place, which meant a quick +4 Faith from each city even before I built a Holy Site! When I did, I used a custom religion called the Eye of Madness. I also didn't stint on the research. As a result, I won a religious victory in 1560 after conquering 6 or the 11 rival states and converting the others. In the end, I was pulling in over 300 Faith a turn!

As I won the victory, all I could think of was the vine-choked Imperial Palace in Roma, past the hollow-eyed guards and the gibbering priests, to where the withered husk of Trajan, the Imperatoris Aeterna, rises from his throne for the first time in centuries, his dry voice echoing with eldritch force.

"The stars are right."

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Boy, does he have some explaining to do!

Wed, 26 Aug 2020 22:25:40 GMT

I'm cleaning out some old files and found this one. Enjoy!

( Joshua )

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Thursday's Children

Sat, 27 Jun 2020 01:34:45 GMT

I'm cleaning out old files in preparation for the new computer and the brain transplant. I kind of like this one.

“Brother! Come quickly, our sister has found something and we must go see!” Brother looked from where he had been piling stones. Big Sister was at the top of the bluff, hands on hips, looking down expectantly. “Come quickly!” she shouted before turning abruptly and walking away. Abandoning the half-finished fort, Brother began limping up the slope. “I am coming,” he said to no one in particular, “but I cannot move too quickly because of my knee.”

Little Sister was on the south beach, not far from the shelter the children had erected long ago. By the time Brother made it, Big Sister was already listening to Little Sister's tale. “I was looking for my bear. I thought he might be on the beach because bears like fish. So I came to look and found this.” Little Sister pointed to a clump of seaweed that had washed up. There was a white ring tangled up in the plants, along with something lumpier. The trio moved closer to inspect the find.

“The ring is a life-ring. People on boats used them to help them swim.” Big Sister looked at the mass of seaweed closely. “There is a body in the ring. He must have fallen off a boat and his people couldn’t rescue him. Bodies are dirty and we shall not touch these things.” After several minutes Brother spoke up. “I think he was a pirate. He was thrown off his ship for not telling where his treasure was buried. We should hunt for the treasure and make swords to fight the pirates.”

Little Sister clapped her hands and said that sounded like a good game. Big Sister agreed that it was a good game so long as no one got too dirty. The discussion of pirate treasure was interrupted by the rumble of distant thunder. “Oh, the rain is coming! We need to go back to the shelter!” Big Sister declared, setting off with her determined stride. Little Sister followed, skipping merrily. Brother set off after them. “I am coming, but I cannot move too quickly because of my knee.”

The shelter was a large, tattered tent on the island’s highest hill. A fire pit held the long-dead remnants of a bonfire. Discarded tools and toys lay all around. The rain began as the children reached the top of their trail, passing the carefully constructed stone cairn at the edge of the encampment without a glance. Once in the tent, Big Sister looked around with a big smile on her face.

“What a good day we had! We all had fun, and we learned so many things! Just think! Tomorrow is a whole new day! Who knows what new games we’ll play! Now it is time for sleep. Goodnight!” At that Big Sister ceased moving, her eyes closed. Brother and Little Sister soon followed Big Sister’s lead. The next day the body and the life preserver were gone. No one ever mentioned them again.

The children continued in their routines. Brother planned for battles against pirates, Little Sister searched for her missing bear, and Big Sister chided them about the disgraceful state of their clothes, ignoring the fact that her clothing had all but disintegrated. Each night ended in the same way, in the tent with Big Sister telling them how wonderful tomorrow would be.

It was during one of the island’s periodic big storms that the pattern changed. The tent had developed several leaks. Big Sister and Brother were discussing repairs when Little Sister suddenly leaped to her feet and cried out “My bear!” Brother looked at where she was pointing. “Little Sister, I do not see your bear. Do you remember where you left it?” Little Sister ignored him, running out of the tent into the storm shouting “Bear!” over and over. Brother began struggling to his feet when Big Sister stopped him. “We cannot go after her in the dark. She will come back on her own, or we will look for her in the morning. “ That being settled, Big Sister announced it was time for bed.

The next morning dawned bright and clear with no sign of Little Sister. Big Sister decided that she would search the southern half of the island, while Brother took the northern half. Using a tree branch to steady his increasingly bad knee; Brother limped off, calling for Little Sister. He crisscrossed the island, checking meticulously for any sign of his missing sibling. It was while checking some sea-caves that his knee completely failed. Unable to keep his balance, Brother tumbled off the edge of a cliff and fell onto the sharp rocks. Seeing that he had been run clean through by one of the ricks, Brother opened his mouth and let out a piercing klaxon wail.

“Please help. I am an International Robotics Childhood Companion robot. I have been damaged beyond self-repair capabilities. I require immediate repair. I can access most phone systems for a toll-free call. “ Again, the klaxon. “Please help. I am an International Robotics Childhood Companion robot. I have been damaged beyond self-repair capabilities. I require immediate repair. I can access most phone systems for a toll-free call. . .” Brother continued to repeat his plea as the tide rose around him. When the tide receded, there was nothing but silence.

-

The clearing had almost returned to its wild state. The tent had long past blown away. What was left of Big Sister sat in the mud motionless. She came to life with a jerk, scaring off the birds that had been harvesting her hair for nesting material. She grinned with a half-frozen face.

“Wh-wh-what a good day we had!”

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About Writing, my review

Thu, 09 Apr 2020 15:11:19 GMT

About Writing by Gareth L. Powell

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

An indispensable guide. Not on how to write, although there is some of that, but on how to be a writer. How to organize ideas, find writing times, self-editing, even tips on marketing and social media.

Highly recommended.

View all my reviews

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A great campaign idea from an Avatar song.

Thu, 02 Apr 2020 19:04:57 GMT

In 2018 Avatar released its seventh studio album Avatar Country, a sort of concept album about a mythical heavy metal nation. A companion film was recently released, chronicling the was between Avatar Country and an evil nation dedicated to Electronic Dance Music.

You really should watch it, it's fun. But be sure to watch the video for A Statue of the King immediately after, as it should have been the ending of the movie.

But enough about that. There's one song on the album, King After King that struck me as a great basis for a fantasy RPG campaign. Let's look at the lyrics, shall we?

The last spoken will of a warrior King:
"Bury me next to my soldiers
Set my horse free and let people sing
Of their son with the world on his shoulders
Then look to the mountains
I left my grave wide open."
Eyes fixed on the mountains
"I was buried at dusk, at dawn I'll return."

Here it comes
Death undone
King after King

From this tomb we shall build you a throne
In your name we shall sing
Light your torch, let the flames lead you home
Long live the King!

OK, a great start. a heroic warrior king is struck down and tells his followers that he will return at dawn. Let's take some license with that. After all, a king who comes back after a good night's rest isn't much of a legend.

The heart of a King can be measured in dreams
Reaching the sleep of his people
A whisper of ghost saying we'll be redeemed
From our sins he will build us a castle
One day we'll be stronger, we will ride right beside you
Until we are stronger, we put stone upon stone
Await your return

Here we go! The dead king is reaching out, calling his people to . . . build? Fight on? The call to grow stronger so that when the king returns his people will ride beside him.

The longing for sun and a heartbreak undone
Breaking the back of false idols
Bring our King home, for among us are none
Who is worthy to be his disciple
Out there in the wasteland, there's something coming for us
A call from the wasteland:
He was buried at dusk, at dawn he returns

There it is. The King fell battling a menace, and since his death, the sun has vanished and the world is a wasteland. And something is coming. We need to find out how to bring the King back, for he is the child of the Sun God, and since the other gods have fled (the "breaking the back of false idols" line)the world needs heroes to step up, face the threat, and brave death itself to bring back the King and bring the dawn!

I could write this up as a full level 1-20 campaign, starting with defending a city, then scouting and fighting the enemy, to greater quests for information and artifacts, and finally, awakening the Sun King and saving the world!

This would be like the old Dark Sun campaign setting; a dim star burning like a coal, widespread food shortages, gold is no longer worth much. Also, there would be severe restrictions on clerics in the beginning. Probably no more than 5th level until quests have been completed to begin bringing on the dawn.

I have time, I might start doodling this up.

Glory to our king
Our lord
The master of steel
Glory to our knight in shining armor
Long live our king
My lord
We raise our swords
The legend has come true
You've come to save us

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The Starpower State – A Reexamination of Traveller’s Third Imperium, Part I

Wed, 25 Mar 2020 19:58:57 GMT

I. Introduction

In 1977 Traveller was released by Game Designers’ Workshop, and the world of role-playing games changed. Traveller was the first real science-fiction game, and one of the first to introduce detailed character backstories through the character generation process. Traveller characters weren’t callow youths, but experienced professionals.

And, of course, you could die during the character creation process. It’s a tough galaxy.

What Traveller lacked, initially, was an official setting. This wasn’t uncommon, as it was expected that groups would create their own campaigns using the rules as a framework. But the gamers of the day wanted official campaigns and settings. So we got places like Blackmoor and Greyhawk, Glorantha and Tékumel, all epic worlds for fantasy adventures. Game Designers’ Workshop (GDW) handled things differently.

The first mention of an established empire in Traveller came in Book 4: Mercenary, which was released in 1978. The book states that Traveller assumes that there is a distant central government, the Imperium, that due to travel times and the vast area it controls, has little influence on the frontiers. As Marc Miller has stated that the idea was to create a Roman Empire feel, this image of the Imperium gave you the idea that games would be played in the interstellar equivalent of Gaul or Palestine.

The problem is that nature and gamers abhor vacuums. We demanded more details, and, with the rise of the internet, began to create more and more stuff to fill out this vague distant government. What became an issue was that most of these writers, fan and professional, were living in western federal states, with a strong central government that handles almost every aspect of government. The writers, knowing almost no other way to govern, began inventing Imperial ministries and departments. There were multiple variations on Imperium-wide law enforcement and court systems.

A great deal of this was caused not just by our reliance on centralized government in our own lives, but on a catastrophic failure to understand the consequences of information moving only at the speed of travel. We are all used to living on a globe where information and communication moves almost instantly. I could, right now, check the current weather in Istanbul, a city some 9,000 miles away. (46 degrees, but a little windy.)

It is impossible to overstate the consequences of Traveller’s “jump takes one week” rule on how an interstellar government would work. Even in a subsector, news of a crisis might take weeks to reach the nearest naval base of subsector capital, and weeks for help to arrive. Informing the Throne? Months. Just to get word of a crisis on the edges of the realm, even with high-jump couriers on stand-by, the core worlds will never have a handle on what is happening in the Imperium except on the largest of scales.

With that in mind, it is clear that the Imperium has to cede most of the powers of planning and enforcement to the local nobles and to the officers of the Navy. The Emperor simply cannot rule in anything short of plans for the next decade. The Imperium is ruled by the nobles of the realm under the guidance and authority of the Emperor. This is a paradigm shift and needs further explanation.
Last summer I read an amazing book. Seapower States, by Andrew Lambert. It examines those historical states the eschewed traditional land empires in favor of sea power and trade. It’s an incredible book, and I highly recommend it. But in reading it, I was struck by how states like Carthage and Holland resembled the canonical Third Imperium.

• The Imperium contains 11,000 worlds, but actually controls less than a hundred of them.
• The Imperium rules the “space between the stars", rather than worlds directly.
• The Imperium allows its members almost unlimited self-rule.
• Most of the rules the Imperium forces on member worlds enhance trade. (Universal currency, calendar, trade language, etc.,)
• The Imperial Navy is cruiser-heavy, and many of its missions support free trade.

From that reading, and close examination of the canonical writings on the Third Imperium, I have to conclude that, for most of its recent history anyway, the Imperium has been operating as a starpower state, if you will. Cleon Zhunastu saw that the cause of the Long Night, and what killed so many failed states during that era, was the failure of trade. The empire he forged was dedicated to one thing, and I’ve created a quote that sums up his view.

“Without the free flow of trade and ideas, without open markets and open minds, the flame of civilization dies in the darkness.”

The Third Imperium at its heart is a trade federation. Everything it does is to encourage trade. If you look at it that way, you see that there is no need for a large, central bureaucracy. The power structure of the Imperium is not a pyramid, it is a web, with all parts working in tandem.

But there is one final problem. Seapower states universally were run by parliamentary organizations. The Senate of Athens, the Dutch Staten-Generaal, even when there was some sort of hereditary monarch or other executives. I have to conclude that the Imperial Moot is far more than the debating society portrayed in official publications. At some point, the Moot grabbed the reins.

That is a topic for the next essay, which is my slightly modified history of the Imperium, showing how it went from expanding empire to trade federation. After that, I’ll tackle the structure of the Imperial government and the Moot, the role of Imperial Consulates on member worlds, and finally, having written Ground Forces, I’ll take on the Imperial Navy.

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C'mon, twist my arm!

Wed, 25 Mar 2020 01:12:12 GMT

So, who wants to see me write an epic set of essays based on the idea that Traveller's Third Imperium is more a seapower state than a traditional empire, which means the Moot will by necessity have more actual power? Bonus essays on the role or regional nobles, consulates, and making the Imperial Navy the primary arm of Imperial power.

I need to write, and I just need a nudge.

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Another question for the brain trust.

Mon, 09 Mar 2020 19:28:29 GMT

As I work on the second draft of Sideways Solutions, I'm trying to keep an Age of Dreadnaughts feel in ship to ship combat, especially once in laser range, which is around 12 thousand kilometers.

So I'm looking for something that these big UV lasers would use as ammo. Some sort of canister, preferably big and bulky for the main guns, that would be placed in or near the laser mount, consumed on firing, and removed for the next shot.

A big superconducting capacitor? Micronukes using Californium or something? Something unstable that needs a big shell to keep it happy until it is triggered to release its energy to make a big happy laser pulse that dumps all that energy in an enemy ship.

Because I really, really, want to pull an HMS Hood-style "boom" at one or two points.

Any help is appreciated.

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I am so fucking done right now.

Mon, 02 Mar 2020 21:25:33 GMT

For about five years now I've been going to Santa Clara Adult Ed's Creative writing Workshop. It wasn't a class on writing, but rather we'd bring stuff to read and share copies so people could write notes and discuss the piece.

As you can imagine, it was far more a mutual support group than a true writers workshop. We attracted mostly older folks (the group was at 1000 hrs on Mondays) and the writing quality ran from horrific to amazingly good. The goals of the attendees differed. Some were just there to work on writing skills. Others were organizing informal memoirs or family histories. A couple of us wanted to write fiction. I came because after the stroke I needed a focus and I wanted to write. I made friends, read some good stuff, even saw one of our classmates finish and publish her novella.

I've been questioning just how much I'm getting from this group for some time now. Yes, it's nice to have a sounding board, and I did make a few friends, especially with a woman who writes amazing YA fantasy stuff, the total investment of time, money, and energy seems wasted in the face of the group moderator. This woman has such a lack of acceptance of anything outside her personal experience that anytime I brought in one of my SF/F pieces she would dismiss it with a "well, I don't get it." I've kept going more out of inertia than anything else, but today was the final straw.

Last week I brought in the 2nd draft of the first section of the first chapter of my novel. This is the first 2,000 words or so of a book that will be close to 80-90,000 words when finished. I read it, got some good feedback, and the moderator asked to keep her copy so she could go over it in some detail.

Today, we have a light turnout. Which resulted in me getting attacked for close to twenty minutes. Because she couldn't understand my writing. Not constructive criticism, but an attack. She said so in those exact words after I complained that I felt like I was being attacked personally.

Eventually, it came to light that she doesn't think that there's a market for Mil SF novels, or any SF/F because she doesn't read them. And I should write "for the group." My immediately reply was that I was writing for myself and an eventual audience who do understand common terms like "gas giant." Also, she was judging my entire novel on the first fraction. I was ready to walk out right there. But then the bomb dropped.

She said I should dumb down my writing.

Fuck you.

I stayed simply because I had a good bit to read, and I didn't want to give her that satisfaction of me walking out.

I didn't say that, but I did point out - again - that I was writing for myself and for an audience that was intelligent and scientifically literate. Just as Stephen King writes for people who like horror, I want to write for people who appreciate massive battleships, existential alien threats, and political maneuvering.

After the session mercifully ended, The YA author and I chatted, and we've agreed to look at forming our own group of people working towards publication.

But right now, I'm still fuming.

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Brummig der Sieben

Sat, 22 Feb 2020 17:53:22 GMT

Reposting this for the players in my D&D game.

The inn was a large one, as befitted a prosperous merchant town at the meeting point of two rivers and numerous roads. Inside the crowded common room, voices were raised in a dozen tongues, calling for beer, food, or just in celebration.

Watse had noticed the dwarf while singing an old ribald ballad from a tabletop. The dwarf sat alone at a table, scowling at the levity around him in between long pulls on his tankard. “There’s a story there,” Watse mused, “and tonight I’m going to learn it.” Taking some of the gold his audience had gifted him, he bought a small keg from the bent old woman tending the bar before carefully making his way through the jostling crowd to where the dwarf sat, still glaring.

“May I sit, my lord?” Dwarves were notoriously picky about status; best to err on the side of caution.
The dwarf grunted, saw the stout barrel Watse was carrying and shrugged. “Sit as you will, although I am no lord. You may call me Brummig der Sieben.”

Watse bowed as he sat, placing the keg and his cup on the table. “My pleasure, Brummig. I am Watse of Isinius, a teller of tales, singer of songs, and a fool of fools.”

Brummig rubbed his large nose. “Singing. I can’t stand singing anymore. Loathe it.”

This wasn’t going well, Watse thought as he poured himself an ale. Another tack was needed. “So, no singing for you. Fair enough. Might I ask what brings you to this place at this time?”

Brummig took a deep pull of his beer and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his red tunic. He stared for a moment at the fire roaring on the heath.

“Fine, Watse of Isinius, professional fool. You shall have my tale. I am on a quest. I seek my six lost clan brothers. Well, five brothers, and one who we adopted as a mascot. He made the others laugh. I have never been one for merriment.”

“A tragedy indeed, losing those close to you. May I ask what led to this sundering? Was it war? A plague?” Watse pulled a scrap of parchment and a bit of charcoal from his bag and started writing.

“War? Do you think a war would cause me to forget my oaths? Stupid humans, it is you who run at the sound of battle! No, it was our own stupidity that caused this pain.” Brummig drained his mug and Watse was quick to refill it.

“Two moon’s march east of here is my home, carved into the Black Rock Mountains. They were rich in gold and mithril, and my clan thrived and served the Underking faithfully. But our greed was unbound by caution. My brothers and I were sent to reopen a mine in the lands controlled by a woman, a sorceress of some power. The mine was rich in gems. . . diamonds as big as your fist! We were ordered to work in secrecy, hidden in a glen. The six of us prospered, then we made our first mistake. We allowed Blöd to join us.”

“Really?” Watse asked. “Who was Blöd? Another dwarf?”

“No, not a dwarf. We never figured out what he was, as he didn’t speak. Hairless, mute, but as I said he entertained my brothers and did passable work. But then came our biggest mistake. We let the girl in.”

Brummig gulped his beer like he was dying of thirst. After a belch that rattled the table, he continued.
“We should have killed her. That was my say on the matter. Our job was to work in secret. But I was shouted down. Arzt, our leader, said we needed to give her shelter. But she freely admitted to being on the run from the lady sorceress. She was her kin! Of course, the sorceress tracked her down! We return from work to find ourselves exposed, with some noble’s son rescuing the girl, and taking her to wife. They lived happily ever after, or so I’m told.”

“What of the sorceress?” asked Watse, sharpening his charcoal.

“Fell off a cliff. The others said she died, but I didn’t trust their judgment.”

“But I don’t understand. The girl was rescued, the sorceress defeated -- why were you and your brothers separated?”

“Because we failed, you fool! Not a tenday past the fall of the foul lady, and there are human soldiers at our mine, at our home, and the prince’s father laying claim to the entire area. We were marched back to our hearth hall in disgrace. The Underking cursed us and took our clan names from us. Blöd was so terrified, he ran from the halls before we could stop him. The rest of us were put under a spell that made us travel away from both the Black Rocks and each other for 20 years. That time has ended. I will find my brothers, and we shall regain our honor. That is my story, Watse of Isinius. Dwarves do not beg easily, but I beg you to spread it far and wide. I am done here.”

With that, he drained the last of his beer, pulled a ragged brown stocking cap over his grey hair, and left the hall. Watse watched him go in amazement before frantically writing the last few lines of the story. He picked up the now-empty keg and carried it back over to the crone tending the bar. She really was ancient, bent back and a horribly swollen eye.

“I see you spent all night talking to that sad little dwarf,” she cackled. “Get a good story out of him?”

“Oh, yes. . . the Tragic Tale of Brummig der Sieben and His Lost Brothers.” Watse was already thinking in titles.

“You do know that’s not his name, yes, dearie? His name was taken from him. Even so, no dwarf would tell a human his real name unless they were bound by oath. Oh, don’t look so surprised, I’ve been watching that one for a long time.”

“Then what was the name he gave me?” Watse spluttered.

“A quest name. Combination of the nickname he used with human folk and a reminder of his quest. Brummig der Sieben means ‘Grumpy of the Seven.’”

She reached under the bar and brought out a shiny red fruit.

“Apple?”

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2019: Look back myopically, look ahead with 20/20 vision

Wed, 01 Jan 2020 02:34:59 GMT

Well, I've made it through another year. Continuing to defy the medical odds, and actually thriving somewhat. 2019 was a year of continued recovery, pushing myself, and doing things that I thought I would never be able to do.

Let's review, shall we?

( Health )

( Work )

( The Arts )

( Baseball )

( Creative Work )

( Burning Man )

So, that's 2019. I know I missed things, but the summation of the year is this: I didn't die, and had fun living.

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