Archive for July, 2012

Chapter 2 again

Monday, July 30th, 2012

Hot kobold XXX! Just 999.99$ per month!******

“All right,” said Ærin. “This is the baron’s room. Let’s burst in and slaughter him.”

“Why?” said Abda. “You guys may have grudges against the empire but I don’t.”

You’re going to enter because I say so.

Then, his mind suddenly changed, Abda followed Ærin as she bashed down the door. Inside the room they saw a rug that probably had taken the lives of thousands of small furry creatures and a bed that could probably fit ten people although no-one was really sure why it would need to. Inside the bed there was a skinny man who probably thought of himself as rather dashing, and next to him was a wizened kobold wearing lipstick. Both of them were both in the process of taking their clothes off.

“AAHHHH!” shouted Magus as he attempted to claw his eyes out. “Brain bleach! I need brain bleach!”

“It’s not what it looks like!” shouted the baron. “And—wait, who are you?”

“Your death,” said Ærin.

“Didn’t we already use that line?” said Petrov.

“The death of me?” said the baron as he shrugged on a robe and pulled a rapier out from under the bed. “I’m not just a rather dashing wizard; I’m also a good hand with a blade. I think you’ll find that—“

There was a clatter as Ærin swatted the rapier out of the baron’s hand before he finished his dramatic monologue.

“Curse you Rohirm fiend! A pox on you and your descendants! May your car keys always fall into the deepest crevices of the sofa, and may your socks never match!”

“You call that a curse?” said Ærin once she was done laughing.

“Well I just started this wizarding thing. Just skimmed the introduction packet really. May I try again?”





More of chapter 2

Sunday, July 29th, 2012


“Well that was easy,” said Ærin. “Now for the hard part.”

“The hard part?” said Magus. “I thought this was the hard part.”

“Oh no,” responded Ærin. “The hard part is where law enforcement chases us in an attempt to have us executed for being dangerously competent and contributing to the public order. Trust me, I know how this goes.”

“This is the police!” shouted a voice from outside the guildhall. “Get on the floor and put your hands behind your head!”

“See what I mean,” said Ærin. “Come on, into the basement. We’ll figure out what to do from there.”

The basement was a place made out of stone, entered by a steel door at the end of a logn passage. Said passage was full of fortifications and arrow slits that couldn’t be used from that side. This, along with the dwarvish lock on the door, made it obvious the basement was a panic room.

The bunker was filled with iron rations, weapons, and barrels of water. It was obvious that Bromad had been planning to hold out in there for a long time.  There was a patch of mud in one corner with huge, purple mushrooms growing out of it, starkly contrasting with the rest of the room.

“Look!” shouted Petrov. “Plump helmets!”

“Plump helmets?” said Magus.

“Ve had zese back in old country!” replied Petrov.  “I didn’t know zat anyone knew about zem here!” Petrov then sat down, plucked one of the mushrooms, and started to eat it with every sign of enjoyment.

“Petrov?” said Magus. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Oh, yes,” said Petrov. “I completely forgot about you guys. I’m sorry. Here you go.” And with that, he threw them each one of the vile fungi.

“No Petrov,” said Magus. “I meant the cops.”

“I didn’t forget about them,” replied Petrov. “I just wanted a snack first.” Petrov then got up, shoved the rest of the plump helmets into his pockets, looked over at the wall, and said “This place ought to do.” He then wacked the wall with the spike on the rear of his axe.

“Petrov?” said Magus “What are you doing?”

“Mining our way out.” replied Petrov. “Everyone and zeir mother have basement these days.  If we mine through and brick up behind us, no-one will know!”

Petrov got into a steady pace, and soon they got through into the wine cellar of some other building three blocks down. The place was cool and damp, with shelves and shelves of wine bottles, going back to the eight hundreds.  Petrov took a sip of the oldest one, spat it out, and said, “Foul human rubbish. I’ll take vodka every time.”

“Does it matter?” said Ærin. “Anyway, where are we?”

“Some rich guy’s place,” said Abda. “Only a nob would have a wine cellar this big. An army of dwarves would take fifty years to drink all this stuff.”

“Why the yebut vould ve vant to!” responded Petrov.

“Look,” said Abda, “it vas a figure of speech!”

“Can we just get going?” asked Ærin. “If we stay here someone’s bound to find us.”

“And?” said Petrov.

“Well,” said Magus, “the sane thing to do right now would be to leave.”


“Here, I’ll make this simple,” said Magus. “We leave this wine cellar or I kill everyone in it.”

“Ha!” shouted Petrov. “Vizard boy, you couldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Really? Ardens gaudendum!”

As Magus spat out those words, a ball of flame burst out and hit a small casket of brandy, causing it to explode, scattering burning alcohol everywhere.

“Vhat the hell’s wrong with you!” shouted Petrov.

“I’m sorry; I couldn’t hear you over the sound of being surrounded by several thousand gallons of ethanol.”

“Hey, vizard? What say we go upstairs?”

“Much better.”

So, they went upstairs, passing lots of racks of elderly wine bottles as they did so. The upper half of the house seemed to emanate wealth, with floors made out of mahogany and walls coated in plaster.

“Vhat a dump,” said Petrov. “Vhy, back in the old country—”

“No-one cares!” said Magus. “If the old country was so good then why did you have to leave?”

“I fell out of favor with the Tzar.”

“The who?” asked Abda.

“The Tzar. It means king. He and his nobles rule over our realm with an iron fist, squeezing all money he can out of peasants.”

“This coming from someone who obviously used to be a peasant squeezing noble,” responded Magus.

“Well, you see—” said Petrov, but then, in the middle of his sentence, a rough voice shouted out “Oy! Don’t you know it’s illegal to develop the plot in other people’s homes! That’s breaking and narrating that is.”

As the source of the voice walked into view, the fellowship saw that it was a guard wearing the uniform of the empire. His face was—

“Hey! That goes for you too mister. If you want to narrate, go do it somewhere else.”

Did you just say what I think you just said?

“Yes, I did. Now get out or we’ll have you in chains.”


And so, as the guard stood there dumbfounded like the insipid little mortal fool he was, a bolt of purple lighting burst down from the sky and hit the guard right in the chest. His body flopped around in agony for several seconds as the eldritch flame burnt through muscle and sinew, until there was nothing left but bones, and soon even these were consumed, leaving nothing but a gray powder. As the heroes watched, somehow they knew that despite the fact that the guard’s mortal form had been destroyed, his spirit was still alive in some nether-hell, soon to be eternally tormented by a foul demonic being that would leave him wracked in pain for what would be a unnaturally extended life.

“Wow,” said Magus. “Great job. I really liked that glowy text effect.  Next time maybe you could work on the insults a little though. Insipid seems a bit cliché. Be a bit more original next time. Maybe try something with maggots.  That bit at the end was good though.”

Thank you.

“Don’t mention it. Anyway, can we get back on the road now?”

Oh all right, if you insist. Anyway, the fellowship went onward, sneaking, with nothing but the sound of their boots to tell you that they were there. Well, the sound of boots and armor. But the armor wasn’t that loud. Just sort of a CLANG BANG CRASH BASH BOING BOP PITING. See? Not that loud at all.

“Hey!” said a guard. “Who are you? You can’t be thieves, or at least not good ones. I could hear the sound of your armor from a mile away!”

Magus thought quickly and shouted, “Surprise inspection! Quick, where are you?”

“The baron’s house,” replied the guard.

“Good,” said Magus. “Now, what are you supposed to do when you find a bunch of intruders dressed up as surprise inspectors?”

The guard thought for a bit and said “You’re supposed to shout ‘GUARDS, GUARDS!’ and then—ARGH!”

That last bit there was not so much something he said voluntarily as much as it was something that you say when your internal organs have turned into kittens. Just in case you were wondering.

“Now what?” said Ærin. “We can’t do that to all of them.”

“Why not?” responded Magus.

“Because, there’ll be more people with them, and they’ll probably notice the corpses,” said Ærin.

“And?  We’re the heroes,” said Magus. “Winning when we’re outnumbered ten to one is what we do.”

“That sort of thing only happens in stories.” responded Ærin.

“Exactly!” said Magus. “Look down there! A page number! This is a story.”

“So was ‘The Horror at Insmouth’,” said Ærin. “That didn’t have a happy ending.”

Suddenly, a voice came out of the darkness! Again!

“Oy!” it said. “Wot the ‘ell are you doing in ‘ere?” Rather like the previous voice, this one belonged to a guard.

“Surprise inspection!” shouted Magus.  “Quick, what you do when you find traitors disguised as surprise inspectors standing over the corpse of your comrade while contemplating how to kill you?”

“Well you’re supposed to—ARGH!”

After gutting the guard, Petrov turned back to Ærin and said, “Told you so.”


Book Review: The Galactic Mage

Saturday, July 28th, 2012
Space. Space! Wanna go to space!

The cover art.

I know, me doing something silly and unrelated to the novel. Unbelievable, right?

Anyway, here we have it: A review for The Galactic Mage by John Daulton.

When I saw The Galactic Mage, I was really interested. I really like fantasy, and it’s a well-known fact that space is one of the few settings that instantly improves all works including it. Better yet, this book was about a Space Wizard, the most awesome thing this side of Teddy Roosevelt boxing with a Sharktopus. What more could I want?

For starters, I could want some closure. The mystery of the Empty Planet started off as the driving force of the plot, and I was looking forward to seeing what kind of Cosmic Horror could annihilate an entire species so thoroughly that there was no trace it had ever existed. In fact, I still am, as the writer seems to have forgotten about that plot thread around Chapter 43, page number 484, paragraph eight, line five, otherwise known as the exact point when the novel started being shit.

As the characters got closer and closer to meeting, and began to approach said point, I found myself getting sucked in more and more, wondering how they would interact. Instead of interesting interpersonal interactions and Dramatic Revelations, there was some love at first sight crap, and the tone went from ‘Pulp SiFi/Fantasy’ to ‘Shitty Chinese clone of a Disney Princess Movie.’ The change in tone was so drastic I would not be surprised if the author had the second half ghostwritten, possibly by a five year old girl.

I do realize that there will be a sequel, but by all rights it should have been part of this novel. Even though the novel was getting to five hundred pages, a thousand page doorstopper to rival Atlas Shrugged is still preferable to a normally sized novel that ends halfway through. If, (God forbid) rocks fell and everyone died in the final chapter, that would have been still preferable to the rushed and unfinished ending, as it would have at least been funny.

Still, despite all its flaws, The Galactic Mage is still a good story. It’s just a shame that the ending in my copy got switched with that of Barbie Princess Adventures.

Three stars.

Product link:

A video.

Wednesday, July 25th, 2012

I made this for school a while ago and finally got around to putting it on the intertube.
Yes, I did show this to the entire class.

Wait, when was the last time I updated this thing.

Friday, July 20th, 2012

Hum de dum, looking at my blog, OH HOLY SHIT I FORGOT TO UPDATE IT.

Here, have a longer piece as an apology.


The guildhall turned out to be a sturdy building, made out of stone, unlike the wooden buildings around it. The outer walls were coated in fortifications and murder holes, making it obvious that no-one would take the building without a fight. Armed guards patrolled the rooftops and nearby alleyways at all times, supplemented by several people near the front trying so hard not to be seen that they were more suspicious than if they had just stood out in the middle of the road.

“There’s no way we’ll take that building without a fight,” said Ærin, nicely recapping the situation for readers who skipped the previous paragraph. “We’ll have to find another way in.”

“How about the sewers?” said Magus.  “We could head up through the—”

“No,” responded Ærin.



“Well then what should we do?” said Magus. “I suppose you could dress up as a whore and—“

“You know what,” said Ærin. “If you think that’s such a good idea, why don’t you do it?  You’re the one wearing the dress.”

“Robe!” shouted Magus. “It’s a robe!”

“Same difference,” said Ærin, right before flinging Magus through a window. “What’s it like in there?”

“There’s a lot of thugs,” responded Magus. “I hate youAGHHH!”

Inside, Magus was surrounded; outnumbered twelve to one, and the leader of the thugs had just punched him in the gut. Magus fell onto the floor.

“Staying down little wizard?” said the thug. “We were hoping to have some fun first.”

“No,” said Magus, pushing himself up by his staff. “I am a wizard of the eighth arcane circle.  I am a speaker at the council. I will still be alive while you are all moldering in your graves and you shall not talk to me that way! Inferno ardere!”

Eldritch balefire burst out of Magus’s staff, burning with an eerie purple light. It flew toward the thugs, slamming into the one in the lead. The resulting explosion not only killed every one of the villains, it also shattered a huge hole in the wall and set the floor on fire. Magus, standing alone unharmed in the middle of the flames simply turned toward his companions and said “Coming?”


Meanwhile, in the council room of the guildhall, all was not going well for Bromad. The guild had grown large, and all around him were people who were vying for his position. He was getting old and was starting to get tired of guild politics. Things just hadn’t been the same, ever since that raid on the nineteenth. The Empire had been cracking down, and the Emperor himself had made a statement saying that he disapproved of the smuggling, assassination, and other services that the Guild provided.

Suddenly the door to the counsel room burst open, interrupting Bromad’s train of thought. Standing in the center of the doorway, there was a leather-clad kobold dual wielding punching daggers, a dwarf who carried a battleax and wore purple robes emblazoned with spikes and hanging rings, and a Nordic looking woman with red and orange armor, a red shield, and a sword with a green hilt. Oh yes, and some brown haired freak wearing a blue dress. Probably a transvestite.

“Who are you?” shouted Bromad.

The freak with a dress stepped forward, pointed at Bromad and said “We are your death. Exterminarent!” A fell green ray shot out of the freak’s upraised finger, and Bromad realized what he was far too late. A wizard.


All had been going to plan. They had burst into the council room and Magus stepped forward and cast disintegrate on the man in the center of the room, a man with a military haircut and shifty blue eyes.

That was when things started going wrong. The green ray glanced off of Bromad, who jumped up shouting “I knew the magic armor was worth it!” and then threw off his cloak to reveal scale mail with runes inscribed on it with gold.

Bromad pulled out a sword before jumping at them, and Ærin had to jump back to stop him from skewering her. Petrov rushed forward with his axe, but before he could reach them the rest of the people in the room recovered from their shock and drew their weapons as well. Magus was in the middle of the fray, deflecting blows with his staff and trying to find an opening to use his dagger. His opponent, an ugly, wart faced man, kept on the offensive, slashing in an X pattern that provided no openings. Magus walked backward from him, but disaster struck when he tripped over a corpse. The thug raised his sword, but suddenly, he fell down. Magus looked up to see Petrov wrapping his arms around the guy, the spikes on his clothing penetrating wart-face’s back.

“Get up manling! Ve’ve got work to do.”

Magus did so, but he stuck with Petrov, stabbing the dwarf’s foes in the back when they were distracted. Eventually, the fight settled down until the only living enemy was Bromad, still fighting with Ærin. He attacked again, knocking Ærin’s shield out of her hands. He pulled back for the killing blow, but found he could not. Ærin had pulled a hand-axe out of somewhere and used the hook at the bottom of the blade to grab his sword. As Ærin approached, raising her sword, Bromad’s last thoughts were “Mommy.”


Chapter 2!

Sunday, July 8th, 2012

Chapter 2
When You’re Tired of Civilization, You’re Tired of Living in Ankle Deep Shit.

“All right,” said the shopkeep. “So that’s one breastplate of temperature resistance, one shield, one sword of kitten transmutation, two punching daggers,  and one knife with squiggly runes engraved on it. Will that be all?”

“There’s also a battleaxe!” interjected Petrov. “Don’t forget the battleaxe!”

“Ah yes. And one battleaxe. That will be one hundred lords please.”

“Lords?” asked Magus.

“The steel coins.”

“Oh, sure. Here you go.”

Magus handed over the money, but when they walked out of the shop a group of people carrying instrument cases and pretending to be bards walked over. Since all of them were over six feet tall and wearing cheap suits, it wasn’t very convincing. The largest of them, a hulking giant with one eye, picked up Magus by the hem of his robe and said “I dot Midder Bromad made it clear dat nobody was to buy nuffen ‘ere.”

“Sorry!” Magus squeaked.

“Youz gonna die mage.”

Magus turned to the party and squeaked, “Help!”

“I might as well,” said Ærin. “I was looking forward to seeing what this sword could do.”

Ærin poked the thug with her new sword and a droplet of blood dripped down it.

“Was that supposed to ‘urt!” said the thug. Or at least that was probably what he had been meaning to say. It descended into agonized screams halfway through, quickly dropping Magus in order to writhe in agony properly. After a while, his thrashing stilled, and there was a scratching sound. Then, a claw punctured his abdomen from the inside. The small hole was widened and soon, out came a litter of tabby kittens, coated in blood and gore, along with a black cat that tunneled its way out of the thug’s skull via an eye socket.

The other thugs looked at this for a bit, recovered, and then opened up their instrument cases. Surprise, surprise! They weren’t keeping instruments in them. While Magus crawled off, Ærin and Petrov leapt into the fray. The nameless thugs attacked, but they were obviously outclassed. Ærin feinted left and right, stabbing them every time. Arms, legs and kittens were scattered everywhere. When Magus finally got up and reduced one of the remaining thugs to a pair of boots with smoke coming out of them, the rest lost what little morale they had left and ran off.

Ærin looked down at her sword and proclaimed, “I shall call you Kettlingr.” Then she turned to Magus and said “Now what? I can’t follow them in heavy armor, and we both know you’ll get your ass kicked if you head on alone.”

“Don’t worry,” said Petrov, “I can find them.” He then walked over to the nearest hobo, picked said hobo up, slammed him into the wall, and shouted in his face “Vhere’s Bromad! Vhat you know about him!”

“I don’t know nuffen!” responded the hobo.

“A double negative!” roared Petrov, taking out his axe and shoving it in the hobo’s face. “Vhere is he hiding!”

“He runs the adventurers’ guild!” said the hobo. “The guildhall is up on Short Street!”

“Much better!” said Petrov. “Ve won’t kill you. Yet.” Then he turned to the rest of the party and said “Bromad leads ze adventurers’ guild, vhich is placed up on Short Street. Come on, let’s go.”

Ærin looked at him and said “I’m all for fighting, but shouldn’t we check the place out first? I mean, what if everyone in there is as powerful as us?”

“Oh fine. You humans and your caution,” said Petrov. “Why, back in ze old country-”

“Nobody cares,” said Magus. “Anyway, come on, let’s check this building out.”


So, yeah. Tell me what you think!

Yet more of chapter 1

Friday, July 6th, 2012

Here you go!


“One thousand ninety eight, one thousand ninety nine… eleven hundred,” said Magus as he went through the coin purse of the recently deceased. “I think we have enough money to rearm ourselves. According to the map, there’s a discount magic item shop nearby.”

After a bit of travel, our heroes got to a shop which, for inexplicable reasons, had a picture of a cat on its sign. The store looked unfrequented, unlike the other shops to either side. Inside, there was dust everywhere. The weapons were cluttered together in umbrella stands, with labels on them saying things like “fifty percent off!!” or “GREAT BUY!!!!” which had not been changed for some time. Suits of armor were hanging from the walls, ranging from a chain hauberk to a full set of plate mail. There was no light other than that which came in from the windows, and although the merchandise had been taken care of, it looked like no-one had been in the store for a very long time.

Ærin took a broadsword out of a bin, swung it around a bit and said “This one. This one’s mine.”

“Why can’t we just steal weapons too?” asked Abda.

“Because,” said Magus, “any wizard capable of making magic items would be able to fireball anyone who tries to steal them.”

“Let’s go find the counter then.”

Suddenly, out of nowhere came a bald, stunted and gray bearded apparition with blue robes and a black cape. The specter walked up to the party before looking at Petrov and saying “Allo, Privet!

Allo!” responded Petrov.

“Wait,” said Magus. He then looked at Petrov and said “Your last name is Privet?”

The two dwarfs looked at Magus and burst into laughter.

“No, no,” said Petrov after recovering. “Privet is what you say when you meet someone.”

“And the allo thing?” responded Magus.

“Zat means Hello,” replied the dwarf.

Magus looked at Petrov for a bit and decided to drop it.

“Anyway,” he said to the dwarven shopkeep. “We’d like to buy this and a couple daggers.”

“And a battleaxe!” said Petrov.

“Really!” said the shopkeep, a rising hope in his eyes. “Bless you!”

“Why are there no other customers?” asked Ærin. “Your weapons are very well made.”

“Because,” said the shopkeep, “the adventurers’ guild is boycotting me. Said my goods veren’t up to snuff. What’s worse, it’s not because of their quality, it’s because of their effect. That sword you hold turns its victim’s internal organs into kittens! Sure, it doesn’t look as cool as a flaming sword but it has a far more useful effect!  I haven’t had any customers in months!  Hell, buy a shield too and I’ll throw in a breastplate for free!”

“All right then,” said Ærin. “Do you have them in red?”


What do you think? Comments would be appreciated.

Table of contents: Guess what each chapter is about.

Monday, July 2nd, 2012

Here’s the table of contents for the novel. First person to figure out what each chapter revolves around gets a free copy of the rough draft.


Table of Contents

Prologue. 2

Chapter 1: They All Met in a Cliché. 5

Chapter 2: When You’re Tired of Civilization, You’re Tired of Living in Ankle Deep Shit. 14

Chapter 3: Elf Qaeda. 28

Chapter 4: Khazad-Dumb. 39

Chapter 5: Orpheus can suck my Gonarch. 49

Chapter 6: The Greater Purge. 55

Chapter 7: Odin for the Ӕsir, and Pain for the Elves. 63

Chapter 8: And Yet It Moves. 70

Chapter 9: The Tax Romana. 81

Chapter 10: For Doom the Bell Tolls. 86

Chapter 11: The Dork Lord. 90

Chapter 12: ONE MORE FINAL: I Need You (Not). 96

Put guesses in the comments section.