- The Diary of Mitch R. Singer
- Hanging with the Goon
- The Consummate Politician Apologizes
- Rating the WWE's Roster by Their Stench
- The Esteemed Critic's Multiple Sentence Reviews
- Conan Brothers' Q&A
- Theme Park Mistress
- Hillsdale Paranormal Society
- Writer's Block
- Select Farmers Only Profiles
Friday, April 20, 2018
I'm currently working on another idea for a novel (superhero deconstruction), and even though I've put a lot of work in the Heart of the Thief, I'm not going to start a rewrite until I've gotten most of the lore sorted out, so be prepared for quite a few of these posts.
An excerpt from Peter's Apocrapha: Faeries: A People of Legend
Many a housewife has told a tale of a missing ladle or a sack of flour and blamed it on faeries. Unlike hobgoblins or poltergeist, faeries were once a real race, not so different from men! Of course, they had elongated ears that somewhat resembled those of a rabbit, and there is some evidence that they had tails as well; but in general appearance, they looked like fair men and women, though taller and slenderer. They lived before the Dominion of Man, perhaps soon after the Age of the Gods met its end. The ruins of their civilization are still found towards the East of the Continent, though many archeologists acribe their elegant architecture to the Emperor's Revival, despite their construction being beyond even the skill of Pallas's best. The Lung of Rankar is thought to have been their totem. They were the first to create music, and it is said that you can still hear traces of their songs in the forgotten dells and haunted groves of the Great Woods. What happened to them is unknown, but the Corruption is blamed, for it is the bogeyman that is always cited when something is inexplicable. More likely, they suffered some sort of plague or environmental catastrophe. We will likely never know for sure.
Wednesday, April 18, 2018
The North and the Mechanics of Being
The technological wonders coming out of the North have prompted many in our ignorant lands to regard our distant neighbors with suspicion. The Cult of Rankar refer to inhabitants of the Laurasia as heretics, and the Council of Mages spews vile propaganda about pogroms in which witches are beheaded and magical books burned. True, magic is banded in the North, for the Laurasians made a choice one-hundred years ago to rid themselves of a dependence on sorcery, instead embracing science and mathematics. This Enlightenment is responsible for the many amazing inventions Laurasia has produced: steam ships that are powered by coal; gunpowder and firearms; zeppelins that float high above in the clouds. Critics say that the Northerners have made a terrible sacrifice, trading their souls for a godless existence. This is pure hearsay; I have met Northerners, and let me tell you, they are as human as you and I. I must admit that their language is strange, and their habits and manners much different from our own, but they are not like the men of the Shivering Isles, who are doomed to degenerate into ravenous walking corpses. Were we to do as they do, then all of Capetia would benefit! Indeed, it is inevitable that magic and mages become distant memories, for if we do not match the technology of the Laurasians, we may one day call them Master, for their ambitions are plain, and it is only a matter of time before they set their eyes on the South.
Tuesday, April 17, 2018
The Corruption and the End of the First Age
Even the most ardently secular scholar among us does not dispute that there were other races before man. The reasons for their disappearance, as well as the legends regarding their powers, are the main areas of debate. According to the beliefs of the Cult of Rankar, the first people to gain sentience in the Maat were the Theodoti, who were erroneously referred to as the Gods in many heretical texts. Certainly they were a powerful people; in their veins flowed ichor, and they lived lives far longer than creatures today. Some sources claim that they were of a gigantic stature, and that they possessed magic surpassing that of even the most powerful wizard of our days. It is surmised that they discovered more than one piece of Rankar, which would explain their semi-divine status (though the Cult will bristle at my choice of words). After eons, the civilization of the Theodoti collapsed during a civil war. The Corruption, as it would later be called, is thought to have originated during these mythical days. The reason for the war is unknown, but the Corruption was the result of a defilement of one of the pieces of Rankar, for from the pieces the Theodoti drew their power. The Corruption spread to all the pieces of God that the Theodoti had in their possession, and their powers lessened, and many of them died, and those that survived retired to the deep places of the world, becoming monsters and lesser things. The vicious Barbarian God Prax is hypothesized to have been a fallen Theodoti, or at least based upon one such individual. All of this is speculation and relies upon sources that may as well be apocryphal. What truly happened in the early days of the world is lost. What is known is that the Corruption survived the First Age, and that it ended the Second Age as well. Who knows what will happen in the last days of our world?
From Tales and Legends of Set
Friday, April 13, 2018
On Capetia, the Great Pearl of the Gulf
The great port-city of the Gulf of Katan, Capetia is all that is left of the Kingdom of the Pharaohs, which once stretched across the entirety of the Dash-Margoh desert. The arrival of the Pallas Emperor, of course, brought the reign of the Pharaohs to an end, although the Kingdom was one of the few lands that willingly joined the Empire without engaging in armed conflict. Located on the south side of Capanne Mons, Capetia developed its own unique culture in the post-Empire days, as a merchant class grew rich off of trading and fishing. Ever a melting pot, a visitor to this fine jewel of a city can savor the cuisine of the world, provided they have the coin. Though long infamous for its crime rate (it is still said that one should count themselves lucky if they pass the Row with their purse still on their belt), recent efforts by the Eighteenth Duke of Massalia have proved fruitful, and the city is now as safe as any idyllic Galvanian town. Due to the shared border, tensions have always been high with Galvania, a larger yet poorer nation. Yet don't let the threat of war dissuade you; only once in four-hundred years have the two powers come to blows. The Temple of Rankar rests in the buried pyramid of Arat, around which the palace estate of the Duke and his nobility was built. Inside the Temple is the Heart of Rankar, a religious artifact of much significance to Capetians. The Pallas Emperor himself is said to have given the Heart to the Capetians for safe-keeping, and the honor of that gift still stands with the Duke and his House.
Tuesday, April 10, 2018
I'm in the nascent stages of rewriting my epic fantasy, The Heart of the Thief. After 100,000 words, I concluded that the world wasn't rich enough, nor had I invested enough time in making my fantasy stand out. Anyone writing a fantasy is going to be indebted to The Lord of the Rings; I needed to make my novel unique in a genre full of Tolkien imitators. Thus, I decided to start a series on the blog devoted to fleshing out the lore. The brief piece below discusses the cosmology of my universe (which doesn't have a name yet like "Middle-Earth" or "Narnia").
On the Creation of the Maat, and the sacrifice of Rankar
In the beginning, there was nothing. When God, known as Rankar to our race, awoke, time and space were born, and God realized his own existence. A great loneliness filled His being, and this loneliness manifested a desire for creation. In a sacrificial act, God sundered his form. Out of the hollow of His body, the three tiers of of the world were made. The Heavens were made from His skull, the Earth from His rib cage, and the Underworld from His bowels. His organs were distributed amongst the Earth. Whoever found a piece of God was granted the Gift of Rankar--awareness of their own being. How many pieces of God existed is not known, though since Man is thought to have been made in His image, some scholars believe that for every organ of Man, Rankar left a corresponding piece. What we do know is that our sentience is tied to the Heart, which lies in the buried pyramid of Arat, housed in the Temple of God. Were it to suffer the Corruption, the quick diminishment of our race would ensue. Soul-less husks we would become: Lilu, creatures doomed to madness and slow decay. For this reason, the Heart shall never leave the Temple. For any but a Priest to speak of It is forbidden. Any man who does not heed this edict is sentenced to death, and dishonor follows his house for ten generations. So shall this Age continue, and the evolution of Man be protected.
--From the Vulgate of Herodotus
Saturday, April 7, 2018
I'm going down to New Orleans, gonna find me a hot dog stand
I'm going down to New Orleans, gonna eat as many dogs as I can
Down in New Orleans, I'm gonna visit a lotta hot dog stands
When I get to New Orleans, someone gonna treat me right
When I get to New Orleans, I'll eat hot dogs through the night
Down in New Orleans, many hot dogs will lose the fight
Mama won't you tell me, how many dogs can you eat?
Mama won't you tell me, how many dog can you eat?
If you won't tell, mama, then you can smell my feet
Going to the bayou, with a hundred dollars in my hand
Going to the bayou, gonna live it up like a man
Going to the bayou, gonna eat all the dogs in the land
Somebody better help me, I think I'm gonna poop my pants
Somebody better help me, I think I'm gonna shit my pants
If somebody don't help me, I'm really gonna crap my pants
When I get to the toilet, I'm gonna find sweet relief
When I get to the toilet, I'm gonna find my soul's peace
Down in the toilet, I'm gonna make hot dog beef
Forgive me Jesus, I didn't mean to eat so bad
Forgive me Jesus, I didn't mean to wear plaid
Forgive me Jesus, I didn't mean to make you mad
When you get to New Orleans, run from the hot dog man
When you get to New Orleans, run from the hot dog man
Down in New Orleans, stay away from that hot dog man
Friday, March 30, 2018
I'm sorry. I can't stand it anymore. I have an announcement to make to the office. You all are, without exception, a bunch of horrid troll-beasts. Please, have a seat and allow me to elaborate.
Christine, there is no reason to belch aloud fifteen times a day. I'm assuming that there is nothing medically wrong with you, other than your troll lineage. When you belch, your lips vibrate, almost exactly like Homer Simpson's. Do you want to be a fucking cartoon character, Christine? Keep your gases inside yourself, for everyone's sake.
Barbara, you do not need to constantly fart and then laugh about it. It's not that funny; in fact, it's rather sad. Your farts smell like death and brewer's yeast. I can't imagine what you put into your body to make it manufacture an odor so repugnant. I don't want to ever smell any of your farts again.
I feel like I'm the only one who has the slightest idea what constitutes proper office etiquette. And before you say something, Hilda, just because I don't constantly talk about the health of my vagina does not mean that I'm a rich person. I make just as little as you do. I just learned long ago that there are some thing that you do not share with one person, let alone the whole office.
Ted, if you show up tomorrow smelling like a sack of wet Indian food, I swear, I am going to throw up. It's called deodorant, Ted. Apply it liberally, or at least hose yourself off before you walk in the door.
Sandy, I don't understand how one person can produce so much garbage. Do you ever consider the impact you are having on the environment? Of course you don't; you don't see anything wrong with drinking ten diet cokes and then throwing the cans away. Goddamn it, I put the recycling right next to the trash can! I did that for you, Sandy! Fucking try, just a little bit.
That's all this is about, really. I just want you people to fucking try to act like civilized human beings. Pretend that you're meeting the President or Ted Nugent or whoever the fuck you people respect. Would you burp in Ted Nugent's face? Well yes, I know you would, Christine, but I'm talking to the other troll-beasts. There's still hope for some of them.
Well fine then. Keep ignoring me. Continue to be troll-beasts. If you can't manage the slightest sliver of self-respect, then I'll keep referring to you all as subhuman monstrosities. I may work with you all, but I have my dignity. I can keep my bodily gases from noisily escaping my orifices. I'm not a human trash machine. You all can go eat some cigarettes. Troll-beasts.