Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
The Necropolis of Alkhezzar - Part V
*bam* *bam* *bam*
Fafnir came awake with a start, hands thrust out defensively towards the door. A ruddy glow seeped in through the small window bathing everything in a dull reddish hue. The room was stifling and Fafnir could smell smoke.
"...stard. Open the door!" The curse was matched with another *bam* *bam* *bam*.
"Pops?" Fafnir called out. He pushed himself off the bed and stood, rapidly coming to terms with his environment.
"Not for long if you don't let me in. You Locked your door." A scream sounded from somewhere distant and was cut off suddenly.
Fafnir concentrated for a moment. The door clicked. Pops threw himself inside and slammed the door shut again. In the moment the door was open Fafnir had the impression of bright light and heat.
"Lock it Lock it Lock it." Pops cried out in a rush.
Fafnir focused on the door and it made another audible click. A second later something slammed into it hard enough to shake the frame.
"What the hell, Pops?" Fafnir asked. "I thought we were done with the burning inns down phase of our careers."
"Wasn't our fault this time. Whew." The older halfling dusted himself off and tried to catch his breath. With a suspicious look back at the door he continued. "A handful of hood wearing nut bags are running a slightly smaller handful of chaos beastmen wild through the building. And, well, fire is about the only thing slowing them down."
"So ... you did start the fire." Fafnir said accusingly.
"What? Who cares? That's not important right now." The frame of the door shook again as something hit it with a crash. "Is that Lock enough to hold the door?" Pops asked as he backed deeper into the room.
"Only long enough to get this ready." Fafnir said with a grin. He brandished a silver tuning fork.
"Whoa!" Pops shouted and tumbled past the wizard as an even greater force slammed into the door. The frame and bits of the wall gave in with a splintering crash. The fires in the hall beyond the destroyed door backlit a seven foot monster with the face and eyes of a goat, three twisted horns and a bulky chitinous torso. It let out a frenzied snarl and began tearing through the wreckage to get inside.
*Binnnnnnng* Fafnir struck the tuning fork on the nearby bed frame. The whine of the fork was matched quickly by words and gestures.
*crack* A bright bolt of lightning shot from the wizard into the beastman, hurling it back into the hall.
*iiiiinnnnnng Pang* The tuning fork shattered.
"Blood!" Fafnir cursed. He dropped the useless piece of metal and turned to Pops. "Are you ready to leave, yet?" he asked.
"Thought you would never ask." He looked nonchalantly at a wall of the room that had begun to show smoke along its seams. "The management has really let this place go to hell," he said with a chuckle.
"Spare me." Fafnir groaned. He picked up a belt of small pouches and put it on. "Check the hall. We probably only have a few minutes before the entire building is unlivable."
"Voice of experience, eh?" Pops cackled as he moved back to the broken door.
"That was one time and it wasn't my fault."
"Says the guy with the fireball in his pocket."
"I was jumpy, bite me."
"Hallway looks cl .. " *pang* *thunk* A crossbow bolt embedded itself in the wall a foot from Pops head. "New plan. Hallway is not such a fantastic place. What about the window?"
*creeeak* The room shook and the two heard a not too distant crack of a large timber.
"Running low on time, Fafnir." Pops said. Fafnir crossed to the window and pushed it open.
"Remind me again why we take rooms on the second floor?" He asked the halfling.
"Security." Pops flicked a stone into the hallway. "missed." he muttered.
"And the logic behind a window overlooking a closed courtyard. A courtyard currently wreathed in flames I might add, it's quite spectacular."
"Thank you. I mean ... uh ... privacy."
"Hmmm. Ah ha. The kitchen. It's connected to the courtyard. Ok, Pops. Time to jump. I have a plan. Hold on to this feather. Try to avoid the bigger fires as you float past yet another once happy home crumbling to embers and ruin around us."
Pops crossed the room one more time to stand next to the tall man. "Oh! The usual. Why didn't you say so in the first place. Give me the feather." He held out his hand with a smile.
Fafnir came awake with a start, hands thrust out defensively towards the door. A ruddy glow seeped in through the small window bathing everything in a dull reddish hue. The room was stifling and Fafnir could smell smoke.
"...stard. Open the door!" The curse was matched with another *bam* *bam* *bam*.
"Pops?" Fafnir called out. He pushed himself off the bed and stood, rapidly coming to terms with his environment.
"Not for long if you don't let me in. You Locked your door." A scream sounded from somewhere distant and was cut off suddenly.
Fafnir concentrated for a moment. The door clicked. Pops threw himself inside and slammed the door shut again. In the moment the door was open Fafnir had the impression of bright light and heat.
"Lock it Lock it Lock it." Pops cried out in a rush.
Fafnir focused on the door and it made another audible click. A second later something slammed into it hard enough to shake the frame.
"What the hell, Pops?" Fafnir asked. "I thought we were done with the burning inns down phase of our careers."
"Wasn't our fault this time. Whew." The older halfling dusted himself off and tried to catch his breath. With a suspicious look back at the door he continued. "A handful of hood wearing nut bags are running a slightly smaller handful of chaos beastmen wild through the building. And, well, fire is about the only thing slowing them down."
"So ... you did start the fire." Fafnir said accusingly.
"What? Who cares? That's not important right now." The frame of the door shook again as something hit it with a crash. "Is that Lock enough to hold the door?" Pops asked as he backed deeper into the room.
"Only long enough to get this ready." Fafnir said with a grin. He brandished a silver tuning fork.
"Whoa!" Pops shouted and tumbled past the wizard as an even greater force slammed into the door. The frame and bits of the wall gave in with a splintering crash. The fires in the hall beyond the destroyed door backlit a seven foot monster with the face and eyes of a goat, three twisted horns and a bulky chitinous torso. It let out a frenzied snarl and began tearing through the wreckage to get inside.
*Binnnnnnng* Fafnir struck the tuning fork on the nearby bed frame. The whine of the fork was matched quickly by words and gestures.
*crack* A bright bolt of lightning shot from the wizard into the beastman, hurling it back into the hall.
*iiiiinnnnnng Pang* The tuning fork shattered.
"Blood!" Fafnir cursed. He dropped the useless piece of metal and turned to Pops. "Are you ready to leave, yet?" he asked.
"Thought you would never ask." He looked nonchalantly at a wall of the room that had begun to show smoke along its seams. "The management has really let this place go to hell," he said with a chuckle.
"Spare me." Fafnir groaned. He picked up a belt of small pouches and put it on. "Check the hall. We probably only have a few minutes before the entire building is unlivable."
"Voice of experience, eh?" Pops cackled as he moved back to the broken door.
"That was one time and it wasn't my fault."
"Says the guy with the fireball in his pocket."
"I was jumpy, bite me."
"Hallway looks cl .. " *pang* *thunk* A crossbow bolt embedded itself in the wall a foot from Pops head. "New plan. Hallway is not such a fantastic place. What about the window?"
*creeeak* The room shook and the two heard a not too distant crack of a large timber.
"Running low on time, Fafnir." Pops said. Fafnir crossed to the window and pushed it open.
"Remind me again why we take rooms on the second floor?" He asked the halfling.
"Security." Pops flicked a stone into the hallway. "missed." he muttered.
"And the logic behind a window overlooking a closed courtyard. A courtyard currently wreathed in flames I might add, it's quite spectacular."
"Thank you. I mean ... uh ... privacy."
"Hmmm. Ah ha. The kitchen. It's connected to the courtyard. Ok, Pops. Time to jump. I have a plan. Hold on to this feather. Try to avoid the bigger fires as you float past yet another once happy home crumbling to embers and ruin around us."
Pops crossed the room one more time to stand next to the tall man. "Oh! The usual. Why didn't you say so in the first place. Give me the feather." He held out his hand with a smile.
Monday, November 16, 2009
The Necropolis of Alkhezzar - Part IV
"You were right, Fafnir." Pops chuckled. "Oh were you ever right." Pops' eyes danced and sparkled with barely contained giddiness.
"Found something?" Fafnir asked quietly.
"Heard something," came the reply. Pops leaned in conspiratorially. "It's that Thomas guy. The Lady and the surgeon were settling him in. He was sort of in and out of it. Started mumbling ..." Pops paused and let the tension build. All of his weight was shifted forward.
"If he was a child, he would be skipping and dancing," thought Fafnir. Out loud he finally asked, "And?"
"It's the Alkhezzar." The word burst out of Pops in a bubble of glee.
"What?" Fafnir grimaced. "No. No. No. The fantastical lost necropolis that has been leading you around by your ... stomach, from one dive bar to the next and so far has turned up nothing?"
"I wouldn't cast our adventures in that light ..." Pops said.
"I would!" Fafnir's eyes flashed. "And don't call them adventures. Gambling with throat cutters for beer money in a rat infested tavern whores wouldn't enter isn't an adventure. It's idiocy. Just like your obsession with this vanished city of the dead."
"Lost necropolis." Pops insisted with an impatient tone. "There is a difference." Fafnir glared. "And it does exist," Pops added hastily.
"And Thomas, delirious with blood loss, disoriented, barely living let alone conscious...he just happened to confirm your every suspicion?"
"Well ..." Pops shuffled his feet. "He mentioned a map. Something about keeping it safe."
Fafnir sighed and gave Pops a rueful glance. "Let me guess the remainder, my honorable friend. Upon hearing of a map of unknown quality, content, and veracity you had to see it for yourself. You slipped away from whatever door you were listening at and ..."
"Hey..." Pops interjected.
"From whatever door," Fafnir continued over him. "Slipped away, rooted through his things. Found it. Took it. And are now trying to convince me that you have, finally, after months of not doing any real research, found a clue to your mysterious city."
"Well. Not exactly." Pops started rummaging through the nearby desk. The room was large. It was an overnight room for one guest and had a small writing desk near one corner. Pops, Fafnir knew, could not let a closed drawer remain unclosed.
"He probably doesn't even know he is doing it," thought Fafnir.
"What then exactly?" he asked the halfling.
"It is a map to the key." Pops proclaimed proudly.
"The key?" Fafnir sighed. The faintest beginnings of a headache were forming. He needed sleep. Soon.
"Yes. The key points the way to the necropolis, and presumably opens it. This is a map to that." Clutched in his fist was a roll of tired looking parchment.
"So ... it's a map to ... another map?"
"Ya," Pops beamed.
"Bones and Blood, Pops!" Fafnir swore. "Put it back. They've already lost one of their party, they might lose a second and if Tess thinks you're out to rob them ..."
"Hey, you were the one that said they would be interesting to follow," Pops said defensively. He slipped the parchment into a belt pouch.
"Your map to another map isn't the reason," Fafnir explained and then had a sudden thought. "You aren't just making all this up as an excuse to cover the fact you robbed him blind are you?"
"No! I mean, I'd never ... I mean, No! This is all I took. Once I saw the symbols in the thing, I figured you were a sure thing." The conspiratorial tone and smile crept back over him. "You like symbols," Pops finished with a grin and an earnest twinkle in his eye.
"Come on Fafnir," he cajoled. "How long has it been since you've had a paying job? The council doesn't trust you. The Watch ... watches you."
"The council doesn't trust battle wizards. They are concerned because I am not moving on to some nebulous 'front line'." Fafnir frowned at Pops and said, "The Watch watches me because they don't trust you. At all."
"Hey!"
"You are gaining a reputation. And making a name for yourself."
"Oh really?" Pops switched instantly from wounded to curious.
"The smiling swindler."
"What?" Pops cried. "That is a terrible name!"
"What do you expect? Merchants, on the Turn of all places, are complaining ..."
"No," Pops interrupted. "I mean, that name lacks flair. It lacks class."
"So, it's dead on then," Fafnir said with a chuckle.
"Hey!"
"I am just saying ... the powers that be in this city want me to move on and the merchants guild is pushing the Watch to find a way to contain you."
"It's not like I run the black market," Pops said.
"For lack of trying?"
Pops waved a hand in Fafnir's direction while the other tried another drawer at the desk. "Guilds are too much work. I am doing fine bartering."
"Stealing."
"Bartering ... with merchants ... here and there. Besides, with you around it isn't like they are going to hire someone to do something about it."
"I am not so sure about that ... tonight was odd." Fafnir softened his tone and looked thoughtful.
"How so?" Pops asked.
"That crew was operating far too close to a border everyone knows about. And the Cateris ... lurking around just watching ..." Fafnir frowned.
"I don't see what a pack of curious cat-folk has to do with our merchant problem."
"Your merchant problem," Fafnir corrected him. "Think of it this way: if someone hired that bunch to move in at a place where no one should be dumb enough to be found operating, how long is it until someone gets hired to do something lethal that is also in the best interests of everyone except you and I?"
"They could have been out of town employers. Or Thieves Guild themselves," Pops reasoned.
"Wasn't Guild. They were rabble and the Guild would have let the group move all the way in to their web, not jump them fifty feet from the door."
"Out of town, then?" Pops asked.
"Maybe." Fafnir grunted still thinking.
"Either way," Pops said with a smile. "It means they had something and I say it is this map." Pops patted the small satchel at his hip.
Fafnir sighed. "How soon are they going to notice it missing?" he asked.
"Not sure," Pops replied. "I pulled a swap with a spare bit of parchment I had lying around."
"Ok. Let's assume morning then. I need to rest."
Pops looked around the room taking in the heavy drapes and tapestries. "Is this enough to muffle your screaming?" he asked gently.
Fafnir sighed again. "It should be. I didn't use much power tonight."
"Are the nightmares ever going to stop?" Pops asked with true concern in his voice.
"No, Pops. That's the way it goes sometimes when you tackle demons. You know it as well as I do." Fafnir looked away. "Go, Pops. Try not to start a riot with the remainder of the night. I need to sleep."
"Good night, then." Pops let himself out and headed down the hall to his own room.
"Found something?" Fafnir asked quietly.
"Heard something," came the reply. Pops leaned in conspiratorially. "It's that Thomas guy. The Lady and the surgeon were settling him in. He was sort of in and out of it. Started mumbling ..." Pops paused and let the tension build. All of his weight was shifted forward.
"If he was a child, he would be skipping and dancing," thought Fafnir. Out loud he finally asked, "And?"
"It's the Alkhezzar." The word burst out of Pops in a bubble of glee.
"What?" Fafnir grimaced. "No. No. No. The fantastical lost necropolis that has been leading you around by your ... stomach, from one dive bar to the next and so far has turned up nothing?"
"I wouldn't cast our adventures in that light ..." Pops said.
"I would!" Fafnir's eyes flashed. "And don't call them adventures. Gambling with throat cutters for beer money in a rat infested tavern whores wouldn't enter isn't an adventure. It's idiocy. Just like your obsession with this vanished city of the dead."
"Lost necropolis." Pops insisted with an impatient tone. "There is a difference." Fafnir glared. "And it does exist," Pops added hastily.
"And Thomas, delirious with blood loss, disoriented, barely living let alone conscious...he just happened to confirm your every suspicion?"
"Well ..." Pops shuffled his feet. "He mentioned a map. Something about keeping it safe."
Fafnir sighed and gave Pops a rueful glance. "Let me guess the remainder, my honorable friend. Upon hearing of a map of unknown quality, content, and veracity you had to see it for yourself. You slipped away from whatever door you were listening at and ..."
"Hey..." Pops interjected.
"From whatever door," Fafnir continued over him. "Slipped away, rooted through his things. Found it. Took it. And are now trying to convince me that you have, finally, after months of not doing any real research, found a clue to your mysterious city."
"Well. Not exactly." Pops started rummaging through the nearby desk. The room was large. It was an overnight room for one guest and had a small writing desk near one corner. Pops, Fafnir knew, could not let a closed drawer remain unclosed.
"He probably doesn't even know he is doing it," thought Fafnir.
"What then exactly?" he asked the halfling.
"It is a map to the key." Pops proclaimed proudly.
"The key?" Fafnir sighed. The faintest beginnings of a headache were forming. He needed sleep. Soon.
"Yes. The key points the way to the necropolis, and presumably opens it. This is a map to that." Clutched in his fist was a roll of tired looking parchment.
"So ... it's a map to ... another map?"
"Ya," Pops beamed.
"Bones and Blood, Pops!" Fafnir swore. "Put it back. They've already lost one of their party, they might lose a second and if Tess thinks you're out to rob them ..."
"Hey, you were the one that said they would be interesting to follow," Pops said defensively. He slipped the parchment into a belt pouch.
"Your map to another map isn't the reason," Fafnir explained and then had a sudden thought. "You aren't just making all this up as an excuse to cover the fact you robbed him blind are you?"
"No! I mean, I'd never ... I mean, No! This is all I took. Once I saw the symbols in the thing, I figured you were a sure thing." The conspiratorial tone and smile crept back over him. "You like symbols," Pops finished with a grin and an earnest twinkle in his eye.
"Come on Fafnir," he cajoled. "How long has it been since you've had a paying job? The council doesn't trust you. The Watch ... watches you."
"The council doesn't trust battle wizards. They are concerned because I am not moving on to some nebulous 'front line'." Fafnir frowned at Pops and said, "The Watch watches me because they don't trust you. At all."
"Hey!"
"You are gaining a reputation. And making a name for yourself."
"Oh really?" Pops switched instantly from wounded to curious.
"The smiling swindler."
"What?" Pops cried. "That is a terrible name!"
"What do you expect? Merchants, on the Turn of all places, are complaining ..."
"No," Pops interrupted. "I mean, that name lacks flair. It lacks class."
"So, it's dead on then," Fafnir said with a chuckle.
"Hey!"
"I am just saying ... the powers that be in this city want me to move on and the merchants guild is pushing the Watch to find a way to contain you."
"It's not like I run the black market," Pops said.
"For lack of trying?"
Pops waved a hand in Fafnir's direction while the other tried another drawer at the desk. "Guilds are too much work. I am doing fine bartering."
"Stealing."
"Bartering ... with merchants ... here and there. Besides, with you around it isn't like they are going to hire someone to do something about it."
"I am not so sure about that ... tonight was odd." Fafnir softened his tone and looked thoughtful.
"How so?" Pops asked.
"That crew was operating far too close to a border everyone knows about. And the Cateris ... lurking around just watching ..." Fafnir frowned.
"I don't see what a pack of curious cat-folk has to do with our merchant problem."
"Your merchant problem," Fafnir corrected him. "Think of it this way: if someone hired that bunch to move in at a place where no one should be dumb enough to be found operating, how long is it until someone gets hired to do something lethal that is also in the best interests of everyone except you and I?"
"They could have been out of town employers. Or Thieves Guild themselves," Pops reasoned.
"Wasn't Guild. They were rabble and the Guild would have let the group move all the way in to their web, not jump them fifty feet from the door."
"Out of town, then?" Pops asked.
"Maybe." Fafnir grunted still thinking.
"Either way," Pops said with a smile. "It means they had something and I say it is this map." Pops patted the small satchel at his hip.
Fafnir sighed. "How soon are they going to notice it missing?" he asked.
"Not sure," Pops replied. "I pulled a swap with a spare bit of parchment I had lying around."
"Ok. Let's assume morning then. I need to rest."
Pops looked around the room taking in the heavy drapes and tapestries. "Is this enough to muffle your screaming?" he asked gently.
Fafnir sighed again. "It should be. I didn't use much power tonight."
"Are the nightmares ever going to stop?" Pops asked with true concern in his voice.
"No, Pops. That's the way it goes sometimes when you tackle demons. You know it as well as I do." Fafnir looked away. "Go, Pops. Try not to start a riot with the remainder of the night. I need to sleep."
"Good night, then." Pops let himself out and headed down the hall to his own room.
Friday, November 13, 2009
The Necropolis of Alkhezzar - Part III
Pops sling started buzzing as he jogged forward to close the gap. The scene revealed itself to him as he approached.
Two people in traveler's cloaks stood with blades bare beside the two fallen forms of their comrades. Five menacing night haunts closed in. The haunts were typical of their type: mismatched clothing, a piece of toughened leather here and there plus whatever weapon available or improvised. One of their number was on the ground already, a dagger shoved indecently through his throat. The two travelers, female, shifted back to back as the five remaining assailants spread out around them.
"No one else has to get hurt, lovelies. We's just looking for fun. Put those stickers down now," one of the bravos said in a raspy voice.
"Does that line ever work?" Pops asked loudly into the night over the buzz of his sling.
"Wha ... " *crack* The surprised question was cut off instantly by the slung stone and the brigand dropped like a puppet with cut strings. One of the would-be thieves recovered quickly enough to snap the yell, "Get them!" and brandish a cleaver. Two charged the travelers, swinging and screaming for blood. The Cleaver and his knife wielding sidekick spun toward Pops. Pops wasted no time in dropping another stone into his sling. The Knife charged at him, closing the distance in a few strides.
*thrummm*
The hairs on the back of Pops' neck stood on end as he felt a crossbow bolt zip past him too close for comfort.
*crack* The knife wielder dropped to the ground, a heavy bruise already forming at his temple where the slug tipped bolt him him. The Cleaver hesitated upon seeing his companion dropped from an unseen attack. Pops shot his stone at one of the attackers harassing the travelers. It banged into an elbow eliciting a startled cry and caused the man to drop his guard.
The nearest traveler used the diversion to run a long knife into her attacker. The thief coughed up blood and crumpled. The other attacker turned and ran off into the night.
"I know you, you little shit! You are going to pay for this," cried the Cleaver, unaware he stood along against four.
"I'd run now before you say something stupid..er," came the reply. "My friend in the shadows isn't the forgiving type." Pops scuttled away from the menacing man.
Cleaver snapped a quick look at the scene behind him and did the math. He started for the nearest alley.
"You'll get yours, little man. Just you..."
*Thrumm* *crack*
The cleaver made a dull clunk as it hit the ground a moment ahead of the brigand.
"Ah hahah. Not likely!" Pops danced over the fallen foe. Deft hands made a quick search for spare coins. Fafnir stepped out of the murk of the evening and retrieved his bolts. One of the women was crouched over one of her fallen comrades. Fafnir though he could hear small desperate sobs. The other held her sword out protectively watching Fafnir and Pops as they moved closer.
"Stay back," she warned.
"Thomas. Oh Thomas. No," called the other. "No. No. No."
"Let us help you," Fafnir said soothingly. "Your friends need medical attention."
"Were you with them?" The woman asked.
"No. We were on the street, too. We saw them jump you. Please. I know a night house nearby. If we hurry we can save them."
The woman nodded. "I am called Tess, this is Yemna. Thomas and Sven. I ... I think Sven is ..."
"Help me with him, Tess. Pops! Keep an eye out. Chibiguazu!" Fafnir whistled. "Go." The word was voiced with something more, a note of power.
Pops pushed Yemna into motion. Tess lifted Sven and pushed him to Fafnir. The man was thin and pale and cold. Fafnir didn't have much hope for him. Tess picked Thomas up on her own and turned to Fafnir.
"Which way?" she asked.
"Pops, get us out of here."
"With pleasure. This way if you please. I know the place he means." The halfling started back down the road, his feet made no sound as he wound his way from shadow to shadow.
Two people in traveler's cloaks stood with blades bare beside the two fallen forms of their comrades. Five menacing night haunts closed in. The haunts were typical of their type: mismatched clothing, a piece of toughened leather here and there plus whatever weapon available or improvised. One of their number was on the ground already, a dagger shoved indecently through his throat. The two travelers, female, shifted back to back as the five remaining assailants spread out around them.
"No one else has to get hurt, lovelies. We's just looking for fun. Put those stickers down now," one of the bravos said in a raspy voice.
"Does that line ever work?" Pops asked loudly into the night over the buzz of his sling.
"Wha ... " *crack* The surprised question was cut off instantly by the slung stone and the brigand dropped like a puppet with cut strings. One of the would-be thieves recovered quickly enough to snap the yell, "Get them!" and brandish a cleaver. Two charged the travelers, swinging and screaming for blood. The Cleaver and his knife wielding sidekick spun toward Pops. Pops wasted no time in dropping another stone into his sling. The Knife charged at him, closing the distance in a few strides.
*thrummm*
The hairs on the back of Pops' neck stood on end as he felt a crossbow bolt zip past him too close for comfort.
*crack* The knife wielder dropped to the ground, a heavy bruise already forming at his temple where the slug tipped bolt him him. The Cleaver hesitated upon seeing his companion dropped from an unseen attack. Pops shot his stone at one of the attackers harassing the travelers. It banged into an elbow eliciting a startled cry and caused the man to drop his guard.
The nearest traveler used the diversion to run a long knife into her attacker. The thief coughed up blood and crumpled. The other attacker turned and ran off into the night.
"I know you, you little shit! You are going to pay for this," cried the Cleaver, unaware he stood along against four.
"I'd run now before you say something stupid..er," came the reply. "My friend in the shadows isn't the forgiving type." Pops scuttled away from the menacing man.
Cleaver snapped a quick look at the scene behind him and did the math. He started for the nearest alley.
"You'll get yours, little man. Just you..."
*Thrumm* *crack*
The cleaver made a dull clunk as it hit the ground a moment ahead of the brigand.
"Ah hahah. Not likely!" Pops danced over the fallen foe. Deft hands made a quick search for spare coins. Fafnir stepped out of the murk of the evening and retrieved his bolts. One of the women was crouched over one of her fallen comrades. Fafnir though he could hear small desperate sobs. The other held her sword out protectively watching Fafnir and Pops as they moved closer.
"Stay back," she warned.
"Thomas. Oh Thomas. No," called the other. "No. No. No."
"Let us help you," Fafnir said soothingly. "Your friends need medical attention."
"Were you with them?" The woman asked.
"No. We were on the street, too. We saw them jump you. Please. I know a night house nearby. If we hurry we can save them."
The woman nodded. "I am called Tess, this is Yemna. Thomas and Sven. I ... I think Sven is ..."
"Help me with him, Tess. Pops! Keep an eye out. Chibiguazu!" Fafnir whistled. "Go." The word was voiced with something more, a note of power.
Pops pushed Yemna into motion. Tess lifted Sven and pushed him to Fafnir. The man was thin and pale and cold. Fafnir didn't have much hope for him. Tess picked Thomas up on her own and turned to Fafnir.
"Which way?" she asked.
"Pops, get us out of here."
"With pleasure. This way if you please. I know the place he means." The halfling started back down the road, his feet made no sound as he wound his way from shadow to shadow.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
The Necropolis of Alkhezzar - Part II
The perpetual evening mist was performing its nightly slow dance meandering across alleyways, clutching and clinging, fumbling slowly from stoop to stoop, eve to eve. The hard pack dirt was cut here and there with a section of choppy stone, remnants of a public works project long past. The only fixture held in the sky was the sullen moon, sickly yellow red with the torch haze rising from road and roof. It was not a well lit city.
Street lanterns were just close enough to give a sense of security in this section, but too far apart to truly banish the night. There were few that strode boldly from lamp to lamp; the ignorant or the untouchable. The old quick thieves call the gamble on which you'll get: the fool's take.
Fafnir and Pops were not strangers to the shadows. They stayed the hell away from anything that smelled like a trap.
"We should stay the hell away from this. It could be a trap," whispered Pops as the two moved swiftly but silently down a twisted road known as Crooked Knee Alley.
"You think everything is a trap," Fafnir replied. He peered into the murk. "It's a dark one tonight."
Pops gave a harumph and muttered, "Notice that I am still around? Common sense."
"I am going to cheat," Fafnir said decisively.
"About time," Pops whispered. "I hate leading through this." He gestured vaguely at the crawling mist. There was a soft thump as the lynx dropped smoothly to the ground. Fafnir passed a hand over his eyes and when they were uncovered Pops saw his companion's blue gaze replaced with shimmering green cat's eyes.
"That creeps me out every time." Pops shuddered.
"We should be able to follow at a comfortable distance now. Follow me." Guided by Fafnir, the pair moved easily through the gloom. After nearly twenty minutes Pops spoke up.
"Fafnir. I don't think these guys are from around here," he whispered with concern slipping into his voice.
"What makes you say that?" Fafnir asked.
"Because they are about to cross into the Bone Yard after moonrise. We should do something."
"Someone might be getting around to that without our help. Trouble ahead by the looks of it." Fafnir whispered. He peered into the low slung night mist towards shadows closing in on their marks.
"Trouble above," Pops whispered in return. He pointed at a pair of figures slipping quietly from roof to roof following the same group.
"Bad news, decrepit one. Those are Cateris."
Pops flinched at the mention of the cat-like men with the prickliest honor. "The ones ahead, too?" he asked in an uneasy tone. He fidgeted.
"Tell me you haven't been scamming the Cateris. And no, the group about to cause a stir are just the normal type of fun for around here."
"Sca ... scamming?" Pops sounded mildly offended. "What I do is business and ... uh ... risk management."
"Well, for the moment the cats are just watching. I am more concerned for what is about to go down."
The marks crossed an alley mouth as Fafnir finished speaking. The night came alive with the sound of rushing bodies and drawn steel.
"In or out, wizard?" Pops asked.
"In. Stagger it. We don't want to be seen as reinforcing the wrong cause."
"Timely then," Pops whispered and a sling appeared in his hands. A sudden wet thunk and terrible cry of pain split the night air.
"Not too timely," Fafnir replied. He was uncollapsing a small crossbow and shaking his cloak out of the way at the same time. "Get to it."
Street lanterns were just close enough to give a sense of security in this section, but too far apart to truly banish the night. There were few that strode boldly from lamp to lamp; the ignorant or the untouchable. The old quick thieves call the gamble on which you'll get: the fool's take.
Fafnir and Pops were not strangers to the shadows. They stayed the hell away from anything that smelled like a trap.
"We should stay the hell away from this. It could be a trap," whispered Pops as the two moved swiftly but silently down a twisted road known as Crooked Knee Alley.
"You think everything is a trap," Fafnir replied. He peered into the murk. "It's a dark one tonight."
Pops gave a harumph and muttered, "Notice that I am still around? Common sense."
"I am going to cheat," Fafnir said decisively.
"About time," Pops whispered. "I hate leading through this." He gestured vaguely at the crawling mist. There was a soft thump as the lynx dropped smoothly to the ground. Fafnir passed a hand over his eyes and when they were uncovered Pops saw his companion's blue gaze replaced with shimmering green cat's eyes.
"That creeps me out every time." Pops shuddered.
"We should be able to follow at a comfortable distance now. Follow me." Guided by Fafnir, the pair moved easily through the gloom. After nearly twenty minutes Pops spoke up.
"Fafnir. I don't think these guys are from around here," he whispered with concern slipping into his voice.
"What makes you say that?" Fafnir asked.
"Because they are about to cross into the Bone Yard after moonrise. We should do something."
"Someone might be getting around to that without our help. Trouble ahead by the looks of it." Fafnir whispered. He peered into the low slung night mist towards shadows closing in on their marks.
"Trouble above," Pops whispered in return. He pointed at a pair of figures slipping quietly from roof to roof following the same group.
"Bad news, decrepit one. Those are Cateris."
Pops flinched at the mention of the cat-like men with the prickliest honor. "The ones ahead, too?" he asked in an uneasy tone. He fidgeted.
"Tell me you haven't been scamming the Cateris. And no, the group about to cause a stir are just the normal type of fun for around here."
"Sca ... scamming?" Pops sounded mildly offended. "What I do is business and ... uh ... risk management."
"Well, for the moment the cats are just watching. I am more concerned for what is about to go down."
The marks crossed an alley mouth as Fafnir finished speaking. The night came alive with the sound of rushing bodies and drawn steel.
"In or out, wizard?" Pops asked.
"In. Stagger it. We don't want to be seen as reinforcing the wrong cause."
"Timely then," Pops whispered and a sling appeared in his hands. A sudden wet thunk and terrible cry of pain split the night air.
"Not too timely," Fafnir replied. He was uncollapsing a small crossbow and shaking his cloak out of the way at the same time. "Get to it."
Monday, November 9, 2009
The Necropolis of Alkhezzar - Part I
Smoke from the cheap wood crumbling to nothing in the fireplace across the tavern common room mixed with the oily ringlets of gray puffed out by the wide-eyed traveler. He leaned in, hooked on every nuance and intonation from the lanky man seated opposite him. Small stones and bits of animal bones were strewn in an indecipherable pattern on the table between them. A few dice and a bit of string rounded out the casting. The seer was dressed in a loose fitting cotton shirt with a short hooded cloak pulled over his head as if it were a ward against stray eldritch energy. From an unseen pocket he pulled a slim deck of cards and flipped one onto the table.
"There is a shadow creeping across the face of the world," whispered the man to the traveler, indicating the card. The traveler blinked and leaned back from the table.
"That's a sun," he pointed to the card.
"You have to have light to cast a shadow, " insisted the reader as twitch of a frown crossed his features.
"The people on the card look happy," the traveler said.
"It's ... uh ... upside down ... inverted." The man made an esoteric gesture and pushed the word out in a husky whisper.
"No. It's not. It's a sun and the people are smiling." The traveler pushed himself back from the table.
"You have to look at it from this side ... it's inverted. They are all frowning." The would-be seer paused for additional effect. "There is a doom coming."
"Ratman piss," A new voice interrupted the reading. "Just tell him he is destined for happiness and get his money already, Fafnir. Before he figures out you are a charlatan." The voice had the honeyed tenor of someone who could talk the rain out of falling. The halfling owner, a short and round opposite to Fafnir, hopped up on a nearby bench and looked at the chaos of junk spread across it.
"Oh wow," he laughed, "Are they still falling for your bag of stones and bone bits? Don't any of your marks know anything about fortune reading?" The question was followed by another chuckle.
"Pops, dammit." Fafnir turned to the halfling with a pleading tone. "I am with a client."
"No, you aren't," Pops said with a cackle and pointed. The traveler had risen and moved away, muttering to himself.
"Wait! Sir?" cried Fafnir, "The shadow..."
"It was a sun, you hack," The traveler said over his shoulder as he stomped off.
"Pops, you bastard. That was my meal coin." Fafnir reseated himself dejectedly and began gathering his stones and bits into a small bag.
Pops laughed again. A smile was wide on his face and it made his eyes sparkle with mischief.
"Here," he said, and flicked a coin at Fafnir. Fafnir snapped it out of the air in an eye-blink then stopped and looked at the small golden disc in his palm.
"A gold half-crown? What are you playing at?" he asked the halfling.
"Pips, mostly. I just can't seem to lose tonight."
Fafnir gave Pops an icy stare. Pops fidgeted.
"Everything was on the up and up," Pops defended himself. "Mostly. I mean ... I didn't take much."
"If you are doing so well, then why are you over here chasing away paying customers?" Fafnir asked with surly frown.
"Well, one," Pops ticked off reasons on his small but dangerously deft fingers, "You are better than this garbage stuff. You should be selling the real thing. And two, I ... uh ... might have been a bit ... too ... good. Honestly, they were happy to see me step away." The last bit was said in a muttered rush.
"I don't believe you." Pops feigned shock at the statement. "So," Fafnir said with resignation. "How long do we have until two huge guys come over here looking to get their coin back?"
"Oh ... minutes at least," Pops replied.
Fafnir scanned the room. The hood of his cloak fell to his shoulders. "And by minutes," he said with a sigh, "You, of course, meant from the moment you came over here?"
"How many?" Pops asked with an air of curious indifference.
"Three. Dammit. I was hoping for a quiet night."
Fafnir looked quickly at the room over Pops' shoulder and gauged their options.
"Hey, night's young," Pops said sneaking his own glance. The twinkle rekindled in his eyes.
"Fair enough. You have a plan?" Fafnir asked.
"I was thinking a Horse's Mouth might be in order."
"Ok." Fafnir said in agreement. "Ghost up. Now."
Fafnir cleared his throat and returned to picking up his things from the table. Pops hopped off the bench and was instantly lost in the mill and press of a few busy nearly tables. The moment Pops vanished, the approaching trio stopped and looked around. The brief pause was all Fafnir required.
The three goons were near a bench home to a few equally thuggish drinkers when Fafnir threw his voice and said, "You three come as a pretty set or do we hav' ta pay fer extra pillows?" Followed immediately by, "Pull up a bench, pull up your shirt, and let's get to known' each other." The results were predictable. In moments the center of the common room was a cloud of dust, splinters, broken crockery, and swinging fists. Pops reappeared at Fafnir's side as he slowly circumnavigated the brawl.
"Very nice, Fafnir!" he chuckled. "Smooth as silk."
"It's just one more tavern we have to avoid for a while," Fafnir muttered in reply. "Think it will pull the watch?"
"Not sure," Pops said at the same moment as a meaty thunk and distinctive groan sounded from the center of the fight. "Check that. Yeah. This is going to get messy. You really hit a sore spot this time."
There was a soft scampering noise and a small bundle of fur hopped from a nearby ledge on to Fafnir's shoulder.
"What's the story, my friend?" Fafnir said quietly to the lynx balanced comfortably next to his head. The lynx purred and something passed between the two of them. "All is not lost, Pops. I think we have some interesting prospects tonight after all."
"Oh? Of what sort?" the halfling asked.
"Not sure just yet. Something old and ... tingly is the best way to describe it."
"I don't think it is. What's tingly?"
"Lynx for vaguely mystic in origin I think. See that group slipping out the front? Chibi says they have a lead on something interesting. And..."
"Tingly...got it." Pops sighed. "You know ... you don't have to make up stories to get me out of this perfectly crazy room." A piece of a chair spun past Pops as he spoke. "I have zero issue with leaving." He laughed and smiled.
"For truth, my friend. Our rapidly vanishing 'friends' have a very old piece of parchment," Fafnir explained and picked up his pace toward the door.
"Like a map?"
"Would you like it to be a map?"
"Maps are interesting. I've sold my fair share of maps and I can tell you..."
"It might not be a map." Fafnir interrupted. The pair twisted past a handful of onlookers screaming drunken encouragement at the fray.
"Well, why are we following them, then? There are four of them and two of us and they look armed to the teeth." Another chair smashed into the wall next to Pops.
"Treasure, mystery, adventure Pops." Fafnir explained with a bit of drama. "That's line item one in the manifesto. Come on."
"Your manifesto," Pops countered. "Mine starts with beer. Then ale. Then cheese, sausage, and beer in that order."
"Four people are on the ground over there and I am reasonably sure that the people you robbed aren't among them. Come on, Pops." Fafnir said with a sly smile.
"Hey, hey, hey." Pops protested as Fafnir practically pulled him out the door and into the night. "Rob is pejorative. It was a friendly game of cards."
"I thought you said pips."
"It's not my fault they didn't know the rules."
The whistles of the watch sounded in the distance as the noise of the fight intensified. Fafnir and Pops slipped into the night and faded away.
"There is a shadow creeping across the face of the world," whispered the man to the traveler, indicating the card. The traveler blinked and leaned back from the table.
"That's a sun," he pointed to the card.
"You have to have light to cast a shadow, " insisted the reader as twitch of a frown crossed his features.
"The people on the card look happy," the traveler said.
"It's ... uh ... upside down ... inverted." The man made an esoteric gesture and pushed the word out in a husky whisper.
"No. It's not. It's a sun and the people are smiling." The traveler pushed himself back from the table.
"You have to look at it from this side ... it's inverted. They are all frowning." The would-be seer paused for additional effect. "There is a doom coming."
"Ratman piss," A new voice interrupted the reading. "Just tell him he is destined for happiness and get his money already, Fafnir. Before he figures out you are a charlatan." The voice had the honeyed tenor of someone who could talk the rain out of falling. The halfling owner, a short and round opposite to Fafnir, hopped up on a nearby bench and looked at the chaos of junk spread across it.
"Oh wow," he laughed, "Are they still falling for your bag of stones and bone bits? Don't any of your marks know anything about fortune reading?" The question was followed by another chuckle.
"Pops, dammit." Fafnir turned to the halfling with a pleading tone. "I am with a client."
"No, you aren't," Pops said with a cackle and pointed. The traveler had risen and moved away, muttering to himself.
"Wait! Sir?" cried Fafnir, "The shadow..."
"It was a sun, you hack," The traveler said over his shoulder as he stomped off.
"Pops, you bastard. That was my meal coin." Fafnir reseated himself dejectedly and began gathering his stones and bits into a small bag.
Pops laughed again. A smile was wide on his face and it made his eyes sparkle with mischief.
"Here," he said, and flicked a coin at Fafnir. Fafnir snapped it out of the air in an eye-blink then stopped and looked at the small golden disc in his palm.
"A gold half-crown? What are you playing at?" he asked the halfling.
"Pips, mostly. I just can't seem to lose tonight."
Fafnir gave Pops an icy stare. Pops fidgeted.
"Everything was on the up and up," Pops defended himself. "Mostly. I mean ... I didn't take much."
"If you are doing so well, then why are you over here chasing away paying customers?" Fafnir asked with surly frown.
"Well, one," Pops ticked off reasons on his small but dangerously deft fingers, "You are better than this garbage stuff. You should be selling the real thing. And two, I ... uh ... might have been a bit ... too ... good. Honestly, they were happy to see me step away." The last bit was said in a muttered rush.
"I don't believe you." Pops feigned shock at the statement. "So," Fafnir said with resignation. "How long do we have until two huge guys come over here looking to get their coin back?"
"Oh ... minutes at least," Pops replied.
Fafnir scanned the room. The hood of his cloak fell to his shoulders. "And by minutes," he said with a sigh, "You, of course, meant from the moment you came over here?"
"How many?" Pops asked with an air of curious indifference.
"Three. Dammit. I was hoping for a quiet night."
Fafnir looked quickly at the room over Pops' shoulder and gauged their options.
"Hey, night's young," Pops said sneaking his own glance. The twinkle rekindled in his eyes.
"Fair enough. You have a plan?" Fafnir asked.
"I was thinking a Horse's Mouth might be in order."
"Ok." Fafnir said in agreement. "Ghost up. Now."
Fafnir cleared his throat and returned to picking up his things from the table. Pops hopped off the bench and was instantly lost in the mill and press of a few busy nearly tables. The moment Pops vanished, the approaching trio stopped and looked around. The brief pause was all Fafnir required.
The three goons were near a bench home to a few equally thuggish drinkers when Fafnir threw his voice and said, "You three come as a pretty set or do we hav' ta pay fer extra pillows?" Followed immediately by, "Pull up a bench, pull up your shirt, and let's get to known' each other." The results were predictable. In moments the center of the common room was a cloud of dust, splinters, broken crockery, and swinging fists. Pops reappeared at Fafnir's side as he slowly circumnavigated the brawl.
"Very nice, Fafnir!" he chuckled. "Smooth as silk."
"It's just one more tavern we have to avoid for a while," Fafnir muttered in reply. "Think it will pull the watch?"
"Not sure," Pops said at the same moment as a meaty thunk and distinctive groan sounded from the center of the fight. "Check that. Yeah. This is going to get messy. You really hit a sore spot this time."
There was a soft scampering noise and a small bundle of fur hopped from a nearby ledge on to Fafnir's shoulder.
"What's the story, my friend?" Fafnir said quietly to the lynx balanced comfortably next to his head. The lynx purred and something passed between the two of them. "All is not lost, Pops. I think we have some interesting prospects tonight after all."
"Oh? Of what sort?" the halfling asked.
"Not sure just yet. Something old and ... tingly is the best way to describe it."
"I don't think it is. What's tingly?"
"Lynx for vaguely mystic in origin I think. See that group slipping out the front? Chibi says they have a lead on something interesting. And..."
"Tingly...got it." Pops sighed. "You know ... you don't have to make up stories to get me out of this perfectly crazy room." A piece of a chair spun past Pops as he spoke. "I have zero issue with leaving." He laughed and smiled.
"For truth, my friend. Our rapidly vanishing 'friends' have a very old piece of parchment," Fafnir explained and picked up his pace toward the door.
"Like a map?"
"Would you like it to be a map?"
"Maps are interesting. I've sold my fair share of maps and I can tell you..."
"It might not be a map." Fafnir interrupted. The pair twisted past a handful of onlookers screaming drunken encouragement at the fray.
"Well, why are we following them, then? There are four of them and two of us and they look armed to the teeth." Another chair smashed into the wall next to Pops.
"Treasure, mystery, adventure Pops." Fafnir explained with a bit of drama. "That's line item one in the manifesto. Come on."
"Your manifesto," Pops countered. "Mine starts with beer. Then ale. Then cheese, sausage, and beer in that order."
"Four people are on the ground over there and I am reasonably sure that the people you robbed aren't among them. Come on, Pops." Fafnir said with a sly smile.
"Hey, hey, hey." Pops protested as Fafnir practically pulled him out the door and into the night. "Rob is pejorative. It was a friendly game of cards."
"I thought you said pips."
"It's not my fault they didn't know the rules."
The whistles of the watch sounded in the distance as the noise of the fight intensified. Fafnir and Pops slipped into the night and faded away.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Snippets IX - The Custodians
Snippets are small pieces I am considering expanding into larger works.
The click-clack-click click-clack-click of rail car passing over tracks fades into the background score even as it remains ever present, permeated into every element of the car. Every few minutes a sliding crescendo of sharper sound, the outside air rushing past unmuffled by walls, signals the occasional opening and closing of the doors to either end of the car.
Through the windows, countryside slides by peaceful and undisturbed. There is a faint rocking back and forth on the tracks, like the swell and crest of a ship at sea but left and right instead of up and down. Today the country is green, rolling hills covered in evergreens, rusty hills in the far distance, dim and out of focus. A stream just shy of being a river flirts with the rails on the left side.
There is no one else in the car.
There never is.
The swooshing sound of the rear door does not care, however. No one comes in or out but the sound goes off at least once every seven minutes.
Sigh. I guess they had to miss something.
A tone sounds, soft on the edges but unmistakeably not the sort of sound expected in an antique rail car.
"Program ending in thirty seconds. Program ending in thirty seconds."
"Already?" I checked my chronometer. Spot on, as always. I am not sure why I have been spending my sim-time on the train. It always speeds by.
The sim decouples with a fade to gray followed immediately by soft lights coming up in the sim room. The couch releases and retreats.
"Agenda." A tone acknowledges receipt of the instruction.
"Today's agenda:" The polite but impersonal female voice spells out my fate for the day.
"Ship time oh nine hundred, observational maintenance, stasis wing seven. Ship time eleven hundred, observational maintenance, stasis wing eight. Ship time thirteen hundred, meal, commissary. Ship time thirteen thirty, observational main.."
"Stop," I say with exasperation. "Why don't you just tell me the only thing I am doing today is checking popsicles for nonexistent temperature fluctuations and give me ten more minutes with the rail car?"
"Query error. Daily simulation time has been expended. Agenda is not monolithic."
"Not monolithic? It's a pile of two hour shifts looking at stasis readouts!" I groan and rub my eyes.
"Ship time thirteen hundred, meal, commissary," the voice replies.
"Oh, right. I forgot. I get to eat lunch." I grumble to myself and start heading for Wing Seven.
**********************************************
And that is it for Snippets. Hopefully there was something in the lot you enjoyed. A few of these are stabs at some story working its way through my head (all that ice - ghoul - northwest passage stuff). I have a full length novel of The Custodians that is in deperate need of a complete rewrite. "Pearson Was A Fool" is a kick off for the prequel to my first novel "Means to an End" which is undergoing editing at the moment. In fact, I am going to go back to that post and put the original opening in the comments. The working title of that novel is "The Fools". At the moment Fools is trapped somewhere between my ears.
November is going to be exciting and adventurous for me. I am going to serialize the full length story "The Necropolis of Alkhezzar". I have been finishing it up this week and will have a special treat going up on Friday the 30th in celebration.
Thanks for reading!
-np
The click-clack-click click-clack-click of rail car passing over tracks fades into the background score even as it remains ever present, permeated into every element of the car. Every few minutes a sliding crescendo of sharper sound, the outside air rushing past unmuffled by walls, signals the occasional opening and closing of the doors to either end of the car.
Through the windows, countryside slides by peaceful and undisturbed. There is a faint rocking back and forth on the tracks, like the swell and crest of a ship at sea but left and right instead of up and down. Today the country is green, rolling hills covered in evergreens, rusty hills in the far distance, dim and out of focus. A stream just shy of being a river flirts with the rails on the left side.
There is no one else in the car.
There never is.
The swooshing sound of the rear door does not care, however. No one comes in or out but the sound goes off at least once every seven minutes.
Sigh. I guess they had to miss something.
A tone sounds, soft on the edges but unmistakeably not the sort of sound expected in an antique rail car.
"Program ending in thirty seconds. Program ending in thirty seconds."
"Already?" I checked my chronometer. Spot on, as always. I am not sure why I have been spending my sim-time on the train. It always speeds by.
The sim decouples with a fade to gray followed immediately by soft lights coming up in the sim room. The couch releases and retreats.
"Agenda." A tone acknowledges receipt of the instruction.
"Today's agenda:" The polite but impersonal female voice spells out my fate for the day.
"Ship time oh nine hundred, observational maintenance, stasis wing seven. Ship time eleven hundred, observational maintenance, stasis wing eight. Ship time thirteen hundred, meal, commissary. Ship time thirteen thirty, observational main.."
"Stop," I say with exasperation. "Why don't you just tell me the only thing I am doing today is checking popsicles for nonexistent temperature fluctuations and give me ten more minutes with the rail car?"
"Query error. Daily simulation time has been expended. Agenda is not monolithic."
"Not monolithic? It's a pile of two hour shifts looking at stasis readouts!" I groan and rub my eyes.
"Ship time thirteen hundred, meal, commissary," the voice replies.
"Oh, right. I forgot. I get to eat lunch." I grumble to myself and start heading for Wing Seven.
**********************************************
And that is it for Snippets. Hopefully there was something in the lot you enjoyed. A few of these are stabs at some story working its way through my head (all that ice - ghoul - northwest passage stuff). I have a full length novel of The Custodians that is in deperate need of a complete rewrite. "Pearson Was A Fool" is a kick off for the prequel to my first novel "Means to an End" which is undergoing editing at the moment. In fact, I am going to go back to that post and put the original opening in the comments. The working title of that novel is "The Fools". At the moment Fools is trapped somewhere between my ears.
November is going to be exciting and adventurous for me. I am going to serialize the full length story "The Necropolis of Alkhezzar". I have been finishing it up this week and will have a special treat going up on Friday the 30th in celebration.
Thanks for reading!
-np
Monday, October 26, 2009
Snippets VIII - The Demons of Ice
Snippets are small pieces I am considering expanding into larger works.
They are a terrible scourge, the ice demons that crawl in with the darkest of night and winter. As the spider webs of frost steal across a pane of glass or a still puddle, they slip through the crisp air. They slip through night so deep a million faint stars play loudly among their usual brethren, through air so sharp the slightest whisper of breath between snow shrouded branches carries a mile. They move as dancers, bereft of sound in stride or cry, they leave no marks upon new laid drifts. Their eldritch blue visage held aloft by lament and the yearning of centuries they quest forth in endless pursuit of those that violate their lands. The cold and unwelcome realms of eternal ice cloaked in perpetual night are their haunts.
Some must have escaped their extended claws else no one would know the danger of those lands. Instead they would be mysteries themselves who ventured beyond the last villages, insane wanderers and fortune seekers so bent to their task they know nothing of the merciless death that awaits.
But how much is story and how much is truth? Do their eyes burn as cold as the night but with an azure gleam? Does their grasp hold man and beast rooted to the ground unable to flee but fully aware of their impending end? Who has survived to bring these tales to the light? Or is there another purpose? Do they walk among us even now awaiting the eternal creep of winter and the coming night to transform in sinister alleys into sorcerous wraiths of hate and evil?
They are a terrible scourge, the ice demons that crawl in with the darkest of night and winter. As the spider webs of frost steal across a pane of glass or a still puddle, they slip through the crisp air. They slip through night so deep a million faint stars play loudly among their usual brethren, through air so sharp the slightest whisper of breath between snow shrouded branches carries a mile. They move as dancers, bereft of sound in stride or cry, they leave no marks upon new laid drifts. Their eldritch blue visage held aloft by lament and the yearning of centuries they quest forth in endless pursuit of those that violate their lands. The cold and unwelcome realms of eternal ice cloaked in perpetual night are their haunts.
Some must have escaped their extended claws else no one would know the danger of those lands. Instead they would be mysteries themselves who ventured beyond the last villages, insane wanderers and fortune seekers so bent to their task they know nothing of the merciless death that awaits.
But how much is story and how much is truth? Do their eyes burn as cold as the night but with an azure gleam? Does their grasp hold man and beast rooted to the ground unable to flee but fully aware of their impending end? Who has survived to bring these tales to the light? Or is there another purpose? Do they walk among us even now awaiting the eternal creep of winter and the coming night to transform in sinister alleys into sorcerous wraiths of hate and evil?
Friday, October 23, 2009
Snippets VII - The Necropolis of Alkhezzar
Snippets are small pieces I am considering expanding into larger works.
"You were right, Fafnir." Pops chuckled. "Oh were you ever right." Pops' eyes danced and sparkled with barely contained giddiness.
"Found something?" Fafnir asked quietly.
"Heard something," came the reply. Pops leaned in conspiratorially. "It's that Thomas guy. The Lady and the surgeon were settling him in. he was sort of in and out of it. Started mumbling..." Pops paused and let the tension build. All of his weight was shifted forward.
"If he was a child, he would be skipping and dancing," thought Fafnir. Out loud he finally asked, "And?"
"It's the Alkhezzar." The word burst out of Pops in a bubble of glee.
"What?" Fafnir grimaced. "No. No. No. The fantastical lost necropolis that has been leading you around by your...stomach, from one dive bar to the next and so far has turned up nothing?"
"I wouldn't cast our adventures in that light..." Pops said.
"I would!" Fafnir's eyes flashed. "And don't call them adventures. Gambling with throat cutters for beer money in a rat infested tavern whores wouldn't enter isn't an adventure. It's idiocy. Just like your obsession with this vanished city of the dead."
"Lost necropolis." Pops insisted with an impatient tone. "There is a difference." Fafnir glared. "And it does exist," Pops added hastily.
"And Thomas, delirious with blood loss, disoriented, barely living let alone conscious...he just happened to confirm your every suspicion?"
"Well..." Pops shuffled his feet. "He mentioned a map. Something about keeping it safe."
Fafnir sighed and gave Pops a rueful glance. "Let me guess the remainder, my honorable friend. Upon hearing of a map of unknown quality, content, and veracity you had to see it for yourself. You slipped away from whatever door you were listening at and..."
"Hey..." Pops interjected.
"From whatever door," Fafnir continued over him. "Slipped away, rooted through his things. Found it. Took it. And are now trying to convince me that you have, finally, after months of not doing any real research, found a clue to your mysterious city."
"Well. Not exactly." Pops started rummaging through the nearby desk. The room was large. It was an overnight room for one guest and had a small writing desk near one corner. Pops, Fafnir knew, could not let a closed drawer remain unclosed.
"He probably doesn't even know he is doing it," thought Fafnir.
"What then exactly?" he asked the halfling.
"It is a map to the key." Pops proclaimed proudly.
"The key?" Fafnir sighed. The faintest beginnings of a headache were forming. He needed sleep. Soon.
"Yes. The key points the way to the necropolis, and presumably opens it. This is a map to that." Clutched in his fist was a roll of tired looking parchment.
"So...it's a map to...another map?"
"Ya," Pops beamed.
"Bones and Blood, Pops!" Fafnir swore. "Put it back. They've already lost one of their party, they might lose a second and if Tess thinks you're out to rob them..."
"Hey, you were the one that said they would be interesting to follow," Pops said defensively. He slipped the parchment into a belt pouch.
"Your map to another map isn't the reason," Fafnir explained and then had a sudden thought. "You aren't just making all this up as an excuse to cover the fact you robbed him blind are you?"
"No! I mean, I'd never...I mean, No! This is all I took. Once I saw the symbols in the thing, I figured you were a sure thing." The conspiratorial tone and smile crept back over him. "You like symbols," Pops finished with a grin and an earnest twinkle in his eye.
"Come on Fafnir," he cajoled. "How long has it been since you've had a paying job? The council doesn't trust you. The Watch...watches you."
"The council doesn't trust battle wizards. They are concerned because I am not moving on to some nebulous 'front line'." Fafnir frowned at Pops and said, "The Watch watches me because they don't trust you. At all."
"Hey!"
"You are gaining a reputation. And making a name for yourself."
"Oh really?" Pops switched instantly from wounded to curious.
"The smiling swindler."
"What?" Pops cried. "That is a terrible name!"
"What do you expect? Merchants, on the Turn of all places, are complaining..."
"No," Pops interrupted. "I mean, that name lacks flair. It lacks class."
"So, it's dead on then," Fafnir said with a chuckle.
"Hey!"
"I am just saying...the powers that be in this city want me to move on and the merchants guild is pushing the Watch to find a way to contain you."
"It's not like I run the black market," Pops said.
"For lack of trying?"
Pops waved a hand in Fafnir's direction while the other tried another drawer at the desk. "Guilds are too much work. I am doing fine bartering."
"Stealing."
"Bartering...with merchants...here and there. Besides, with you around it isn't like they are going to hire someone to do something about it."
"I am not so sure about that...tonight was odd." Fafnir softened his tone and looked thoughtful.
"How so?" Pops asked.
"That crew was operating far too close to a border everyone knows about. And the Cateris...lurking around just watching..." Fafnir frowned.
"I don't see what a pack of curious cat-folk has to do with our merchant problem."
"Your merchant problem," Fafnir corrected him. "Think of it this way: if someone hired that bunch to move in at a place where no one should be dumb enough to be found operating, how long is it until someone gets hired to do something lethal that is also in the best interests of everyone except you and I?"
"They could have been out of town employers. Or Thieves Guild themselves," Pops reasoned.
"Wasn't Guild. They were rabble and the Guild would have let the group move all the way in to their web, not jump them fifty feet from the door."
"Out of town, then?" Pops asked.
"Maybe." Fafnir grunted still thinking.
"Either way," Pops said with a smile. "It means they had something and I say it is this map." Pops patted the small satchel at his hip.
Fafnir sighed. "How soon are they going to notice it missing?" he asked.
"Not sure," Pops replied. "I pulled a swap with a spare bit of parchment I had lying around."
"Ok. Let's assume morning then. I need to rest."
Pops looked around the room taking in the heavy drapes and tapestries. "Is this enough to muffle your screaming?" he asked gently.
Fafnir sighed again. "It should be. I didn't use much power tonight."
"Are the nightmares ever going to stop?" Pops asked with true concern in his voice.
"No, Pops. That's the way it goes sometimes when you tackle demons. You know it as well as I do." Fafnir looked away. "Go, Pops. Try not to start a riot with the remainder of the night. I need to sleep."
"Good night, then." Pops let himself out and headed down the hall to his own room.
"You were right, Fafnir." Pops chuckled. "Oh were you ever right." Pops' eyes danced and sparkled with barely contained giddiness.
"Found something?" Fafnir asked quietly.
"Heard something," came the reply. Pops leaned in conspiratorially. "It's that Thomas guy. The Lady and the surgeon were settling him in. he was sort of in and out of it. Started mumbling..." Pops paused and let the tension build. All of his weight was shifted forward.
"If he was a child, he would be skipping and dancing," thought Fafnir. Out loud he finally asked, "And?"
"It's the Alkhezzar." The word burst out of Pops in a bubble of glee.
"What?" Fafnir grimaced. "No. No. No. The fantastical lost necropolis that has been leading you around by your...stomach, from one dive bar to the next and so far has turned up nothing?"
"I wouldn't cast our adventures in that light..." Pops said.
"I would!" Fafnir's eyes flashed. "And don't call them adventures. Gambling with throat cutters for beer money in a rat infested tavern whores wouldn't enter isn't an adventure. It's idiocy. Just like your obsession with this vanished city of the dead."
"Lost necropolis." Pops insisted with an impatient tone. "There is a difference." Fafnir glared. "And it does exist," Pops added hastily.
"And Thomas, delirious with blood loss, disoriented, barely living let alone conscious...he just happened to confirm your every suspicion?"
"Well..." Pops shuffled his feet. "He mentioned a map. Something about keeping it safe."
Fafnir sighed and gave Pops a rueful glance. "Let me guess the remainder, my honorable friend. Upon hearing of a map of unknown quality, content, and veracity you had to see it for yourself. You slipped away from whatever door you were listening at and..."
"Hey..." Pops interjected.
"From whatever door," Fafnir continued over him. "Slipped away, rooted through his things. Found it. Took it. And are now trying to convince me that you have, finally, after months of not doing any real research, found a clue to your mysterious city."
"Well. Not exactly." Pops started rummaging through the nearby desk. The room was large. It was an overnight room for one guest and had a small writing desk near one corner. Pops, Fafnir knew, could not let a closed drawer remain unclosed.
"He probably doesn't even know he is doing it," thought Fafnir.
"What then exactly?" he asked the halfling.
"It is a map to the key." Pops proclaimed proudly.
"The key?" Fafnir sighed. The faintest beginnings of a headache were forming. He needed sleep. Soon.
"Yes. The key points the way to the necropolis, and presumably opens it. This is a map to that." Clutched in his fist was a roll of tired looking parchment.
"So...it's a map to...another map?"
"Ya," Pops beamed.
"Bones and Blood, Pops!" Fafnir swore. "Put it back. They've already lost one of their party, they might lose a second and if Tess thinks you're out to rob them..."
"Hey, you were the one that said they would be interesting to follow," Pops said defensively. He slipped the parchment into a belt pouch.
"Your map to another map isn't the reason," Fafnir explained and then had a sudden thought. "You aren't just making all this up as an excuse to cover the fact you robbed him blind are you?"
"No! I mean, I'd never...I mean, No! This is all I took. Once I saw the symbols in the thing, I figured you were a sure thing." The conspiratorial tone and smile crept back over him. "You like symbols," Pops finished with a grin and an earnest twinkle in his eye.
"Come on Fafnir," he cajoled. "How long has it been since you've had a paying job? The council doesn't trust you. The Watch...watches you."
"The council doesn't trust battle wizards. They are concerned because I am not moving on to some nebulous 'front line'." Fafnir frowned at Pops and said, "The Watch watches me because they don't trust you. At all."
"Hey!"
"You are gaining a reputation. And making a name for yourself."
"Oh really?" Pops switched instantly from wounded to curious.
"The smiling swindler."
"What?" Pops cried. "That is a terrible name!"
"What do you expect? Merchants, on the Turn of all places, are complaining..."
"No," Pops interrupted. "I mean, that name lacks flair. It lacks class."
"So, it's dead on then," Fafnir said with a chuckle.
"Hey!"
"I am just saying...the powers that be in this city want me to move on and the merchants guild is pushing the Watch to find a way to contain you."
"It's not like I run the black market," Pops said.
"For lack of trying?"
Pops waved a hand in Fafnir's direction while the other tried another drawer at the desk. "Guilds are too much work. I am doing fine bartering."
"Stealing."
"Bartering...with merchants...here and there. Besides, with you around it isn't like they are going to hire someone to do something about it."
"I am not so sure about that...tonight was odd." Fafnir softened his tone and looked thoughtful.
"How so?" Pops asked.
"That crew was operating far too close to a border everyone knows about. And the Cateris...lurking around just watching..." Fafnir frowned.
"I don't see what a pack of curious cat-folk has to do with our merchant problem."
"Your merchant problem," Fafnir corrected him. "Think of it this way: if someone hired that bunch to move in at a place where no one should be dumb enough to be found operating, how long is it until someone gets hired to do something lethal that is also in the best interests of everyone except you and I?"
"They could have been out of town employers. Or Thieves Guild themselves," Pops reasoned.
"Wasn't Guild. They were rabble and the Guild would have let the group move all the way in to their web, not jump them fifty feet from the door."
"Out of town, then?" Pops asked.
"Maybe." Fafnir grunted still thinking.
"Either way," Pops said with a smile. "It means they had something and I say it is this map." Pops patted the small satchel at his hip.
Fafnir sighed. "How soon are they going to notice it missing?" he asked.
"Not sure," Pops replied. "I pulled a swap with a spare bit of parchment I had lying around."
"Ok. Let's assume morning then. I need to rest."
Pops looked around the room taking in the heavy drapes and tapestries. "Is this enough to muffle your screaming?" he asked gently.
Fafnir sighed again. "It should be. I didn't use much power tonight."
"Are the nightmares ever going to stop?" Pops asked with true concern in his voice.
"No, Pops. That's the way it goes sometimes when you tackle demons. You know it as well as I do." Fafnir looked away. "Go, Pops. Try not to start a riot with the remainder of the night. I need to sleep."
"Good night, then." Pops let himself out and headed down the hall to his own room.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Snippets VI - Forests of the Carolinas
Snippets are small pieces I am considering expanding into larger works.
The beaten dirt road twists away through the remnant haze of the morning's slow rain. Forest walls of living green press in from both sides. It had been the sort of apathetic shower that never builds momentum, that lacks conviction or direction and, the moment it totters between becoming something and becoming nothing, it turns sideways and wanders into an equally apathetic mist. The humidity exists as a creature of the forest. The air is heavy and no dust kicks up behind the jalopy; the oppressiveness extends to the earth itself.
"How far does it go like this?" I ask. The canopy is folded away and I have to shout to make myself heard over the throaty growl of the engine.
"Like what?" My driver asks. The question pulls him from the tedium of his task. The man does not turn his head. His eyes blink slowly as if the mind behind it has only just crawled out of bed to find noon well at hand. It is ten thirty, however, and we have been bumping and bumbling our way down this cruel rutted track for hours.
"The walls of forest split only by this road. The green canyon before us. How much further?" I ask again.
Another slow blink. This time I get through to him. The humidity and the heat of the sun has beaten away at the man.
"Thirty miles, maybe a little more. Less than two hours," he answers. And with those sentences pulled from him I watch the lassitude return, his brow relax, and his eyes gloss over as they focus again on the road beyond the front glass.
I turn away from the driver and look again at the forest. It pushes to the edge of the road or perhaps the road holds it at arms length through some quiet threat or promise. The only breeze, felt as a faint combination of our forward progress and the distant siren's lure from the edges of autumn, is just enough to breathe rippling life into individual trees. The effect is unsettling, as if each wall of shifting green holds itself paused but a moment for breath before continuing its slow maddening dash to crush the hated road and its occupants between the two sides.
The beaten dirt road twists away through the remnant haze of the morning's slow rain. Forest walls of living green press in from both sides. It had been the sort of apathetic shower that never builds momentum, that lacks conviction or direction and, the moment it totters between becoming something and becoming nothing, it turns sideways and wanders into an equally apathetic mist. The humidity exists as a creature of the forest. The air is heavy and no dust kicks up behind the jalopy; the oppressiveness extends to the earth itself.
"How far does it go like this?" I ask. The canopy is folded away and I have to shout to make myself heard over the throaty growl of the engine.
"Like what?" My driver asks. The question pulls him from the tedium of his task. The man does not turn his head. His eyes blink slowly as if the mind behind it has only just crawled out of bed to find noon well at hand. It is ten thirty, however, and we have been bumping and bumbling our way down this cruel rutted track for hours.
"The walls of forest split only by this road. The green canyon before us. How much further?" I ask again.
Another slow blink. This time I get through to him. The humidity and the heat of the sun has beaten away at the man.
"Thirty miles, maybe a little more. Less than two hours," he answers. And with those sentences pulled from him I watch the lassitude return, his brow relax, and his eyes gloss over as they focus again on the road beyond the front glass.
I turn away from the driver and look again at the forest. It pushes to the edge of the road or perhaps the road holds it at arms length through some quiet threat or promise. The only breeze, felt as a faint combination of our forward progress and the distant siren's lure from the edges of autumn, is just enough to breathe rippling life into individual trees. The effect is unsettling, as if each wall of shifting green holds itself paused but a moment for breath before continuing its slow maddening dash to crush the hated road and its occupants between the two sides.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Snippets V - Exits are: Out
Snippets are small pieces I am considering expanding into larger works.
The emergency klaxon signifying the imminent destruction of the station fades into the persistent hammering of your morning alarm.
"This recurring nightmare crap has to go," you think as you emerge from sleep. "And that alarm is the worst." The dream of fiery destruction fades and you open your eyes.
White Room:
You are lying on a warm white bed barely large enough for you. The room is square with white walls, ceiling and floor. A white light is blinking on the top of a white box next to the bed.
An alarm is beeping.
Exits are: Out
>>out
You can't get close enough to the door for it to activate while lying in bed.
You are in a white room. A white light is blinking on the top of a white box next to the bed. An alarm is beeping.
Exits are: Out
>>turn off alarm
You thrash and smack at the top of the white box until the alarm clicks off in mid beep. The room becomes peaceful and relaxing. The bed is warm.
Exits are: Out
>>examine bed
The bed is warm and inviting. It is a white rectangular slab heated from within by an unknown source. The surface of the bed conforms slightly to your body. The firmness of the bed is optimized specifically for you. Lying in bed makes you drowsy and you yawn.
You are yawning.
Exits are: Out
>>examine box
The white box sits next to your white bed within the white walls and ceiling of this white room. You wonder who thought all of these white surfaces would be calming and relaxing. Whoever is was, they were right! You feel calm and relaxed. The box seems featureless but you know it has a variety of white buttons set into its smooth white surface. You yawn deeply.
You are yawning.
Exits are: Out
>>press buttons
What buttons do you want to press?
A giant yawn escapes from within you and you settle quietly into the warm, calming, relaxing bed. It is a fantastic bed and you fall back to sleep quickly.
The room shakes violently as a rogue asteroid smashes through the central frame of the space station. Lights in the room flash blood red. An emergency klaxon drives every thought from your head. A terrible hiss builds quickly into a deadly rush. Seeping cold devours all warmth from the room. You blackout.
.
.
.
You failed at everything in only 5 turns.
Your score is: 0.
Try again? (y/n)
>>y
loading ---%
.
.
.
The emergency klaxon signifying the imminent destruction of the station fades into the persistent hammering of your morning alarm.
"This recurring nightmare crap has to go," you think as you emerge from sleep. "And that alarm is the worst." The dream of fiery destruction fades and you open your eyes.
White Room:
You are lying on a warm white bed barely large enough for you. The room is square with white walls, ceiling and floor. A white light is blinking on the top of a white box next to the bed.
An alarm is beeping.
Exits are: Out
>>
The emergency klaxon signifying the imminent destruction of the station fades into the persistent hammering of your morning alarm.
"This recurring nightmare crap has to go," you think as you emerge from sleep. "And that alarm is the worst." The dream of fiery destruction fades and you open your eyes.
White Room:
You are lying on a warm white bed barely large enough for you. The room is square with white walls, ceiling and floor. A white light is blinking on the top of a white box next to the bed.
An alarm is beeping.
Exits are: Out
>>out
You can't get close enough to the door for it to activate while lying in bed.
You are in a white room. A white light is blinking on the top of a white box next to the bed. An alarm is beeping.
Exits are: Out
>>turn off alarm
You thrash and smack at the top of the white box until the alarm clicks off in mid beep. The room becomes peaceful and relaxing. The bed is warm.
Exits are: Out
>>examine bed
The bed is warm and inviting. It is a white rectangular slab heated from within by an unknown source. The surface of the bed conforms slightly to your body. The firmness of the bed is optimized specifically for you. Lying in bed makes you drowsy and you yawn.
You are yawning.
Exits are: Out
>>examine box
The white box sits next to your white bed within the white walls and ceiling of this white room. You wonder who thought all of these white surfaces would be calming and relaxing. Whoever is was, they were right! You feel calm and relaxed. The box seems featureless but you know it has a variety of white buttons set into its smooth white surface. You yawn deeply.
You are yawning.
Exits are: Out
>>press buttons
What buttons do you want to press?
A giant yawn escapes from within you and you settle quietly into the warm, calming, relaxing bed. It is a fantastic bed and you fall back to sleep quickly.
The room shakes violently as a rogue asteroid smashes through the central frame of the space station. Lights in the room flash blood red. An emergency klaxon drives every thought from your head. A terrible hiss builds quickly into a deadly rush. Seeping cold devours all warmth from the room. You blackout.
.
.
.
You failed at everything in only 5 turns.
Your score is: 0.
Try again? (y/n)
>>y
loading ---%
.
.
.
The emergency klaxon signifying the imminent destruction of the station fades into the persistent hammering of your morning alarm.
"This recurring nightmare crap has to go," you think as you emerge from sleep. "And that alarm is the worst." The dream of fiery destruction fades and you open your eyes.
White Room:
You are lying on a warm white bed barely large enough for you. The room is square with white walls, ceiling and floor. A white light is blinking on the top of a white box next to the bed.
An alarm is beeping.
Exits are: Out
>>
Friday, October 9, 2009
Snippets IV - Of Rings
Snippets are small pieces I am considering expanding into larger works.
It is elegant. A band of metal with no special quality or luster, it is unremarkably caught closer to silver than to white in hue. There is an unnatural heft to the thing such that when dropped, if one is careless enough to do so, it remains fixed where it first strikes the floor without bounce, rebound, or slithering cymbal crash.
The ring is pleasantly cool to the touch as if it was fresh from the ice box on a summer day. That delightful sensation persists from the moment it slips down around your finger, deposited comfortably smug in the soft walls between your digits, until the time when you foolishly remove it.
Never take it off.
It is a gift receivable only once, Catholic in its ideal but not technically so as you may voluntarily divorce yourself from it. But, once so divested, you may never again gain from it. The ring will not remove by force, through what arcane mystery no science has been able to fathom. And there have been rumors that the finger, the hand, and arm possessing the ring cannot be removed from the body.
What is known is that the dead hold their rings for eternity. Cremation destroys both body and sorcerous metal, but none have been so adorned and dead long enough to know if putrescence bites the mysterious band as it does the flesh. And all agree, who have slipped the wondrous thing over two knuckles, the world is a better place behind the gifts of the ring than it ever was without it. It quiets the systemic storms of noisy nothings, it is a sliding glass door falling with the heavy grace of engineering locking out the caterwauls and wretched cries of the world beyond.
It is elegant. A band of metal with no special quality or luster, it is unremarkably caught closer to silver than to white in hue. There is an unnatural heft to the thing such that when dropped, if one is careless enough to do so, it remains fixed where it first strikes the floor without bounce, rebound, or slithering cymbal crash.
The ring is pleasantly cool to the touch as if it was fresh from the ice box on a summer day. That delightful sensation persists from the moment it slips down around your finger, deposited comfortably smug in the soft walls between your digits, until the time when you foolishly remove it.
Never take it off.
It is a gift receivable only once, Catholic in its ideal but not technically so as you may voluntarily divorce yourself from it. But, once so divested, you may never again gain from it. The ring will not remove by force, through what arcane mystery no science has been able to fathom. And there have been rumors that the finger, the hand, and arm possessing the ring cannot be removed from the body.
What is known is that the dead hold their rings for eternity. Cremation destroys both body and sorcerous metal, but none have been so adorned and dead long enough to know if putrescence bites the mysterious band as it does the flesh. And all agree, who have slipped the wondrous thing over two knuckles, the world is a better place behind the gifts of the ring than it ever was without it. It quiets the systemic storms of noisy nothings, it is a sliding glass door falling with the heavy grace of engineering locking out the caterwauls and wretched cries of the world beyond.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Snippets III - The City Below The Mountain
Snippets are small pieces I am considering expanding into larger works.
In my youth I heard a tale of a lost world held in the depths of the earth.
"Something none of us have heard before, grandtha!" There was a crash of violent thunder and a triple blaze of lightning. The sky through the window lit briefly showing a rolling mass of blue black clouds bursting with energy stretching into the infinite horizon. The storm was near its height, drunk with elemental power.
"Oh you've heard all my stories before." The old man chuckled. Boom. Another peal of thunder. The young one before him were wide-eyed, too old to be called children, and not yet men and women. They had not felt a storm like this before.
"Please. There has to be something. The night is come early with the storm and the mood is perfect for it."
The old man gazed out the window, drinking in the physical presence of the gale outside. It would blow for hours yet, drawing on the mountains for sustenance. The next blast of lightning licked down from the bulbous clouds and detonated against a distance cliff face. There came a far off rumble of fallen rock.
"There is one." This was greeted with a cheer. "But I warn you!" he said with dire emphasis. "It is not a tale told lightly. It is filled with horrors and wonders both. A tale of a land you have never seen, one that holds treachery, danger, and mystery at every turn."
"Tell us! Tell us!" came the cries.
"Very well." he took a deep breath. "Gather round and listen, for there are dark places in the world. Deep places. There are lands without sun. And a city beneath the mountain that holds wonders of a time too far gone to recall."
In my youth, not much different in age than you, I heard tales of a lost world that existed below the earth we live upon. I thought them mere fancy. Stories to pass the night. And then, on a night much like this one, the violent rains and thundering strikes from the sky shook the world so vigorously that a piece of the mountain fell away. There were floods of earth and water both. And, after three days of such heavy forces, the elements relented and we were left mouths agape at the gateway etched into the mountain's side.
In my youth I heard a tale of a lost world held in the depths of the earth.
"Something none of us have heard before, grandtha!" There was a crash of violent thunder and a triple blaze of lightning. The sky through the window lit briefly showing a rolling mass of blue black clouds bursting with energy stretching into the infinite horizon. The storm was near its height, drunk with elemental power.
"Oh you've heard all my stories before." The old man chuckled. Boom. Another peal of thunder. The young one before him were wide-eyed, too old to be called children, and not yet men and women. They had not felt a storm like this before.
"Please. There has to be something. The night is come early with the storm and the mood is perfect for it."
The old man gazed out the window, drinking in the physical presence of the gale outside. It would blow for hours yet, drawing on the mountains for sustenance. The next blast of lightning licked down from the bulbous clouds and detonated against a distance cliff face. There came a far off rumble of fallen rock.
"There is one." This was greeted with a cheer. "But I warn you!" he said with dire emphasis. "It is not a tale told lightly. It is filled with horrors and wonders both. A tale of a land you have never seen, one that holds treachery, danger, and mystery at every turn."
"Tell us! Tell us!" came the cries.
"Very well." he took a deep breath. "Gather round and listen, for there are dark places in the world. Deep places. There are lands without sun. And a city beneath the mountain that holds wonders of a time too far gone to recall."
In my youth, not much different in age than you, I heard tales of a lost world that existed below the earth we live upon. I thought them mere fancy. Stories to pass the night. And then, on a night much like this one, the violent rains and thundering strikes from the sky shook the world so vigorously that a piece of the mountain fell away. There were floods of earth and water both. And, after three days of such heavy forces, the elements relented and we were left mouths agape at the gateway etched into the mountain's side.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Snippets II - The Ice of the Northwest
Snippets are small pieces I am considering expanding into larger works.
I know nothing of ritual or any eldritch pattern of tongues long dead with the passing of innumerable centuries. The mysteries of life and death remain tangled threads to my mind. What I do know, what I can clearly recount to these borrowed tattered pages is that the world, the night, and the darkestplaces therein hold their secrets clutched fiercely to their breast and only release those terrible wonders to the bold, the foolish, or the doomed. I have certainly been accused of all three in the recent past, however, as I hope these letters can somehow convincingly relate, insane is an unwarranted moniker.
The happenings of the weeks prior to my internment in this miserable abode are imprinted fresh on my mind each night when my eyes at last close. And although my eyes burn with those wretched sights, my tongue falls dry and freezes stiff whenever I attempt to recount the tale to what few visitors I receive. My hope is that the icy spectres of fear and memory will fail to find purchasewithin the hand that wields this pen. But enough, now, of prevarication through the abstract retelling of the terror lodged firmly in my core. Although eventually doomed, the path of this tale, that first thread dealt into that first stitch by the fates themselves, begins in the wilds of the great Northwest.
There are three of us on this adventure, the Goodman Kemper, the ubiquitous Smith, and myself whom the other two have taken to addressing as, quite plainly, Doctor. We let loose our guide several days ago, but kept most of the dogs, trusting Kemper and his uncanny ability at orientation. So far we have seen little beyond the ebb and flow of ancient forest and the perpetual roll of unbroken hillocks and bumps snow coated by the hand of a master confectioner. The dogs are dire things standing nearly as tall as a man's waist and crafted by the surrounding winter into frost hounds pulled from an ancient Norse legend; at once steaming with energy and coated in saber rattling wind chimes of jagged ice. It is easily ten long days since last we huddled beneath a civil structure and sipped a piping hot tea.
Rising above the unending wall of trees to the north are crags of white capped rock, rough edges of violently upturned crust peaking through on sheer faces and outlined with snow at each wrinkle. We travel a north easterly line. A part of me wishes it was northwest instead if only to hold the future promise of the eventual Pacific as some measure of an end to this quest. We are each left alone to thoughts of this sort. At least, this is a common path my mind takes to divest itself from the constant battle against glare and cold and the continuous whuffing and yipping of the dogs. I know not how the wheels turn for my companions. Kemper is meticulous to a fault and it is ever a wonder to me that he can leave aside his planning, maps, and calculations to actually embark on adventure. Smith is older than both Kemper and myself. He has seen places and events that make familiar border with the unmentionable. He is a survivor although I have yet to determine if that makes him especially lucky or unlucky.
I know nothing of ritual or any eldritch pattern of tongues long dead with the passing of innumerable centuries. The mysteries of life and death remain tangled threads to my mind. What I do know, what I can clearly recount to these borrowed tattered pages is that the world, the night, and the darkestplaces therein hold their secrets clutched fiercely to their breast and only release those terrible wonders to the bold, the foolish, or the doomed. I have certainly been accused of all three in the recent past, however, as I hope these letters can somehow convincingly relate, insane is an unwarranted moniker.
The happenings of the weeks prior to my internment in this miserable abode are imprinted fresh on my mind each night when my eyes at last close. And although my eyes burn with those wretched sights, my tongue falls dry and freezes stiff whenever I attempt to recount the tale to what few visitors I receive. My hope is that the icy spectres of fear and memory will fail to find purchasewithin the hand that wields this pen. But enough, now, of prevarication through the abstract retelling of the terror lodged firmly in my core. Although eventually doomed, the path of this tale, that first thread dealt into that first stitch by the fates themselves, begins in the wilds of the great Northwest.
There are three of us on this adventure, the Goodman Kemper, the ubiquitous Smith, and myself whom the other two have taken to addressing as, quite plainly, Doctor. We let loose our guide several days ago, but kept most of the dogs, trusting Kemper and his uncanny ability at orientation. So far we have seen little beyond the ebb and flow of ancient forest and the perpetual roll of unbroken hillocks and bumps snow coated by the hand of a master confectioner. The dogs are dire things standing nearly as tall as a man's waist and crafted by the surrounding winter into frost hounds pulled from an ancient Norse legend; at once steaming with energy and coated in saber rattling wind chimes of jagged ice. It is easily ten long days since last we huddled beneath a civil structure and sipped a piping hot tea.
Rising above the unending wall of trees to the north are crags of white capped rock, rough edges of violently upturned crust peaking through on sheer faces and outlined with snow at each wrinkle. We travel a north easterly line. A part of me wishes it was northwest instead if only to hold the future promise of the eventual Pacific as some measure of an end to this quest. We are each left alone to thoughts of this sort. At least, this is a common path my mind takes to divest itself from the constant battle against glare and cold and the continuous whuffing and yipping of the dogs. I know not how the wheels turn for my companions. Kemper is meticulous to a fault and it is ever a wonder to me that he can leave aside his planning, maps, and calculations to actually embark on adventure. Smith is older than both Kemper and myself. He has seen places and events that make familiar border with the unmentionable. He is a survivor although I have yet to determine if that makes him especially lucky or unlucky.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Snippets I - Pearson Was A Fool
Snippets are small pieces I am considering expanding into larger works.
Where to begin? Pearson was a fool; brash, arrogant and filled with the unyielding conviction of his own mortality. That we followed him, that we ourselves were filled with the same, well...we should have seen the hypocrisy sooner. The fact remains - Pearson was a fool and too few of us survived that discovery...
Beyond the white-stone wonders of the capitol the loyal state of Virginia stretches to the west and the south. The touch of man fades as a late summer sun dwindling slowly through the evening without care or worry. Suddenly discovering the lateness of the hour, it hastens through its final arc and beyond to plunge all in ever deepening dark. Buildings fade from monumental to stately and from stately to service, service to functional, then homes, then farms, until even the farms are swallowed by the forest. The forests of Virginia are alive. They breathe and swell with the wind and water poured over them by low clouds tripped on fog and pierced by ancient mountains toppled low.
It is into this rolling verdant maelstrom of nature that I find myself, riding out the last moments of wind and rain as the steam engine relentlessly pulls its train of rusting cars into station. With a slow grating screech and a final light lurch, the cars settle into hissing stillness. The locks are thrown. In minutes my companion and I find ourselves on the platform - the only passengers to step off. The brakeman are already making to continue their westward voyage. The station is so small that I doubt it would have seen a stop was it not our specific destination.
We are not alone on the tracks, but the group waiting has made no move toward the slumbering metal beast. There is a tense moment. I am mentally combing through my possessions. Is the pistol in the coat I am wearing or is that reassuring weight some other similarly bulky trinket? The group moves toward us.
"Smith? Is one of you Smith?" one of them calls. There is a small click from the man at my right. The whereabouts of his pistol, at least, is not a subject of debate.
"And if I am?" my companion calls back. It is an interesting tactic as, truth be told, I am Smith. His name, through some curious twist of fate and dark humor, is Merlin. And Merlin is an extraordinarily dangerous man.
There are three of them, all long coats and hats pulled low. We are, both groups that is, cagey to a fault. Ours is not a mild profession of simple service for meager fare.
"That will do," Merlin instructs the three. Something in his voice signals to them that the business end of something is likely pointed in their direction.
"We...we are not your enemies, Smith." The man in the lead whispers something else caught only by his companions. "I...we...are taking our hands out of our pockets. Empty save for the paper in my left, a timepiece, and slowly on all counts."
And they do - in an eerie unison, not in to any form of submission or admission of fear, merely cautious as one would show a great cat caged at meat time.
"My name is Heinrich. I was instructed to meet a misters Smith and Merlin out from the capitol on a matter of urgency." Heinrich hesitates and then continues, "and some delicacy which is at risk the longer these introductions take. By your watch what is the hour?"
For the first time I speak up. "By my watch I make it twelve minutes before the hour of ten. And by yours?"
The man turns to me after clicking closed a small pocket clock. "Nearly a full eighteen before the bells."
I think for a moment, juggling codes and numbers in my head. "Then we shall have but the bells to decide who is right." I reply. All parties relax. "I am Smith. This is Merlin. Perhaps we should adjourn to somewhere more discreet?"
"Indeed." says Heinrich. "We have a car waiting. Right this way."
Where to begin? Pearson was a fool; brash, arrogant and filled with the unyielding conviction of his own mortality. That we followed him, that we ourselves were filled with the same, well...we should have seen the hypocrisy sooner. The fact remains - Pearson was a fool and too few of us survived that discovery...
Beyond the white-stone wonders of the capitol the loyal state of Virginia stretches to the west and the south. The touch of man fades as a late summer sun dwindling slowly through the evening without care or worry. Suddenly discovering the lateness of the hour, it hastens through its final arc and beyond to plunge all in ever deepening dark. Buildings fade from monumental to stately and from stately to service, service to functional, then homes, then farms, until even the farms are swallowed by the forest. The forests of Virginia are alive. They breathe and swell with the wind and water poured over them by low clouds tripped on fog and pierced by ancient mountains toppled low.
It is into this rolling verdant maelstrom of nature that I find myself, riding out the last moments of wind and rain as the steam engine relentlessly pulls its train of rusting cars into station. With a slow grating screech and a final light lurch, the cars settle into hissing stillness. The locks are thrown. In minutes my companion and I find ourselves on the platform - the only passengers to step off. The brakeman are already making to continue their westward voyage. The station is so small that I doubt it would have seen a stop was it not our specific destination.
We are not alone on the tracks, but the group waiting has made no move toward the slumbering metal beast. There is a tense moment. I am mentally combing through my possessions. Is the pistol in the coat I am wearing or is that reassuring weight some other similarly bulky trinket? The group moves toward us.
"Smith? Is one of you Smith?" one of them calls. There is a small click from the man at my right. The whereabouts of his pistol, at least, is not a subject of debate.
"And if I am?" my companion calls back. It is an interesting tactic as, truth be told, I am Smith. His name, through some curious twist of fate and dark humor, is Merlin. And Merlin is an extraordinarily dangerous man.
There are three of them, all long coats and hats pulled low. We are, both groups that is, cagey to a fault. Ours is not a mild profession of simple service for meager fare.
"That will do," Merlin instructs the three. Something in his voice signals to them that the business end of something is likely pointed in their direction.
"We...we are not your enemies, Smith." The man in the lead whispers something else caught only by his companions. "I...we...are taking our hands out of our pockets. Empty save for the paper in my left, a timepiece, and slowly on all counts."
And they do - in an eerie unison, not in to any form of submission or admission of fear, merely cautious as one would show a great cat caged at meat time.
"My name is Heinrich. I was instructed to meet a misters Smith and Merlin out from the capitol on a matter of urgency." Heinrich hesitates and then continues, "and some delicacy which is at risk the longer these introductions take. By your watch what is the hour?"
For the first time I speak up. "By my watch I make it twelve minutes before the hour of ten. And by yours?"
The man turns to me after clicking closed a small pocket clock. "Nearly a full eighteen before the bells."
I think for a moment, juggling codes and numbers in my head. "Then we shall have but the bells to decide who is right." I reply. All parties relax. "I am Smith. This is Merlin. Perhaps we should adjourn to somewhere more discreet?"
"Indeed." says Heinrich. "We have a car waiting. Right this way."
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
The Kindle part 9 - Final Thoughts
The Kindle is an electronic book reader produced by Amazon.
I am sitting in Panera for lunch quietly consuming my Creamy Tomato Soup and Bacon Turkey Bravo half. As often happens, my original schedule has become a work of fiction, a laughable dream of deluding myself that this time it will not all be finished at the last minute. In my line of sight are three laptops and one Kindle (not my own). I had planned on working on a different writing project over food, but the Kindle sighting spurs me into finishing out this topic.
I am not going to interrupt the woman's lunch with questions even though I am curious about her story. When I escape to any number of nearby lunch time haunts with my reader all I want is some solitude to cram in a few chapters. She is an older woman, probably in her 50's. Her device is a Kindle 2.0 and she has it propped upright inside its lime green cover. Every time she pages forward she does so by reaching out and tapping the device. In contrast, I typically set mine flat on the table with a finger in close proximity to the next page button.
The sandwich is amazing, as usual, and the soup is warming. Fall is sneaking in and the temperature is starting to turn.
Ok...She just finished her lunch so I had to spring a few questions:
"Excuse me, how long have you had your Kindle?"
"My Kindle? About a month. I love it." Even with the cover, now closed, the Kindle 2 has a slim profile. She slips it into her bag and I ask another question.
"Did you buy it for yourself or did someone get it for you?"
"I bought it after a friend showed me hers," she replies. "It's so convenient. I take it everywhere."
"What do you read on it?" I ask, fully aware that this constitutes a "here's your sign" moment. However, she offers up the distinctions I was hoping to catch.
"Just books. Not magazines. I don't find it convenient for that. But for books, it's wonderful..."
Ugh - sidetracked - Overheard while writing this: "Dad died on the operating table this morning." I can't help listening in to the man on the cell phone at the table over my shoulder. Am I a soulless bastard? The cell conversation I can hear sounds like this:
"The hotel is giving us a hard time. Can you wire me $100. I don't get paid until tomorrow night. I don't even have $30 on me."
And I think, "Why are you eating lunch in a Panera where you are going to spend at least $8 on a single sandwich?"
It sounds like a con to get people to give him money. Honestly, I pulled out my wallet just hearing one half of the story. I check my instinct to dump my cash on hand into his and I get up to leave instead. I look back as I hit the door. He is standing up looking for a new place to sit now thatno one else is close enough to hear his plight. I am convinced that not giving this guy the $50 in my pocket is the right call.
Back to my recollection of the conversation with the Kindle user...
She continues unprompted, "It's wonderful for traveling. You can finish one book and go right to the next just by visiting their store. And it cuts down on the number of books you have to pack. Just this!" She points at her bag.
I hear my own words spun back at me. I smile and offer up positive sounds such as "Oh, interesting." and "That sounds nice." Then she hits me with the following and I keep a straight face:
"You can even change the font size to make the text bigger. I don't need reading glasses to read it."
"Quite so", I think and my mental checklist of the pitch is complete. After she leaves I have the realization I have been searching for all month:
I doesn't matter which device does what or whether print will fade to the realm of the hobby collector. People like to read. They are going to find a way to read and reread books, newspapers, magazines...anything. The existence of the Kindle, the circumstances that led to my lunch time conversation, are all echoes of this desire. 'If it isn't one thing, it's another." Right now, it is the electronic book reader. Enjoy the moment.
-----------------
This concludes the Kindle as a topic of Fading Interest. Thank you for taking the time to read it. The next set of pieces should start on October 1st. At the moment the set is called "Snippets" and will consist of nine (ish) writing samples I have put together (or puked out) in the past few months. I am going to firm them up enough so that each could be completed as a short or a novel in the future. At least...that is the plan. Right now it sounds terrible interesting. We shall see what my opinion is in another three weeks.
I am sitting in Panera for lunch quietly consuming my Creamy Tomato Soup and Bacon Turkey Bravo half. As often happens, my original schedule has become a work of fiction, a laughable dream of deluding myself that this time it will not all be finished at the last minute. In my line of sight are three laptops and one Kindle (not my own). I had planned on working on a different writing project over food, but the Kindle sighting spurs me into finishing out this topic.
I am not going to interrupt the woman's lunch with questions even though I am curious about her story. When I escape to any number of nearby lunch time haunts with my reader all I want is some solitude to cram in a few chapters. She is an older woman, probably in her 50's. Her device is a Kindle 2.0 and she has it propped upright inside its lime green cover. Every time she pages forward she does so by reaching out and tapping the device. In contrast, I typically set mine flat on the table with a finger in close proximity to the next page button.
The sandwich is amazing, as usual, and the soup is warming. Fall is sneaking in and the temperature is starting to turn.
Ok...She just finished her lunch so I had to spring a few questions:
"Excuse me, how long have you had your Kindle?"
"My Kindle? About a month. I love it." Even with the cover, now closed, the Kindle 2 has a slim profile. She slips it into her bag and I ask another question.
"Did you buy it for yourself or did someone get it for you?"
"I bought it after a friend showed me hers," she replies. "It's so convenient. I take it everywhere."
"What do you read on it?" I ask, fully aware that this constitutes a "here's your sign" moment. However, she offers up the distinctions I was hoping to catch.
"Just books. Not magazines. I don't find it convenient for that. But for books, it's wonderful..."
Ugh - sidetracked - Overheard while writing this: "Dad died on the operating table this morning." I can't help listening in to the man on the cell phone at the table over my shoulder. Am I a soulless bastard? The cell conversation I can hear sounds like this:
"The hotel is giving us a hard time. Can you wire me $100. I don't get paid until tomorrow night. I don't even have $30 on me."
And I think, "Why are you eating lunch in a Panera where you are going to spend at least $8 on a single sandwich?"
It sounds like a con to get people to give him money. Honestly, I pulled out my wallet just hearing one half of the story. I check my instinct to dump my cash on hand into his and I get up to leave instead. I look back as I hit the door. He is standing up looking for a new place to sit now thatno one else is close enough to hear his plight. I am convinced that not giving this guy the $50 in my pocket is the right call.
Back to my recollection of the conversation with the Kindle user...
She continues unprompted, "It's wonderful for traveling. You can finish one book and go right to the next just by visiting their store. And it cuts down on the number of books you have to pack. Just this!" She points at her bag.
I hear my own words spun back at me. I smile and offer up positive sounds such as "Oh, interesting." and "That sounds nice." Then she hits me with the following and I keep a straight face:
"You can even change the font size to make the text bigger. I don't need reading glasses to read it."
"Quite so", I think and my mental checklist of the pitch is complete. After she leaves I have the realization I have been searching for all month:
I doesn't matter which device does what or whether print will fade to the realm of the hobby collector. People like to read. They are going to find a way to read and reread books, newspapers, magazines...anything. The existence of the Kindle, the circumstances that led to my lunch time conversation, are all echoes of this desire. 'If it isn't one thing, it's another." Right now, it is the electronic book reader. Enjoy the moment.
-----------------
This concludes the Kindle as a topic of Fading Interest. Thank you for taking the time to read it. The next set of pieces should start on October 1st. At the moment the set is called "Snippets" and will consist of nine (ish) writing samples I have put together (or puked out) in the past few months. I am going to firm them up enough so that each could be completed as a short or a novel in the future. At least...that is the plan. Right now it sounds terrible interesting. We shall see what my opinion is in another three weeks.
Friday, September 25, 2009
The Kindle part 8 - The Future of Digital Readers
The Kindle is an electronic book reader produced by Amazon.
No! The series isn't over yet. I wish it was but I have a few more pots to tip over. Following closely on the heels of my middle-of-the-road, everybody wins Part 7 "gem" I bring you the other side of the coin:
Electronic books aren't going anywhere.
Question: Do you have any idea how much just the US spends on books? I don't, but it is a lot. Ok. Fine. I will actually use some of my powers and do a spot of research. (No one said this was going to involve research.)
Answer: $25 billion in net sales of books by US Publishers in 2007 (according to statistics collected and presented by the Association of American Publishers)
Rest assured the marketing guys and gals at Amazon and Sony have a clear idea as to the size of the money pot. As long as capitalism is singing loud and strong a commodity market with that kind of market capacity is going to see epic battle after epic battle.
So...Supply and Demand. That's it, honestly. Everything about this industry is going to play into that single bullet point. There is a demand because the device is:
What is the difference between Sexy and Slick? Sexy - other people notice it and you notice them noticing. Slick - the damn thing works and works well.
All of that demand rolls right around to supply. The consumer mouth is open wide and the corporate shovels are tossing in coal as fast as they can.
Do you remember your first mp3? I do not. The concept of digital music is so drowned in the sea of ubiquity I cannot pull memories from its murky depths. We are becoming anesthetized to the concept of digital print. And, there are more entrants to the field than Amazon and Sony. Say hello to the Royal Phillips Electronics' e-reader:
The iRex DR800SG
This contender is backed by Best Buy, Verizon, and Barnes & Noble. It supports the open e-pub format (ala Google Books), it has a touch screen and some other crazy competitive features sure to start the next round of ebook wars. Now we have three major players in a multi-billion dollar market. Competition breeds choice and innovation. This is capitalism, this is consumerism, this is a winning battleground for the customer. E-books are here to stay.
No! The series isn't over yet. I wish it was but I have a few more pots to tip over. Following closely on the heels of my middle-of-the-road, everybody wins Part 7 "gem" I bring you the other side of the coin:
Electronic books aren't going anywhere.
Question: Do you have any idea how much just the US spends on books? I don't, but it is a lot. Ok. Fine. I will actually use some of my powers and do a spot of research. (No one said this was going to involve research.)
Answer: $25 billion in net sales of books by US Publishers in 2007 (according to statistics collected and presented by the Association of American Publishers)
Rest assured the marketing guys and gals at Amazon and Sony have a clear idea as to the size of the money pot. As long as capitalism is singing loud and strong a commodity market with that kind of market capacity is going to see epic battle after epic battle.
So...Supply and Demand. That's it, honestly. Everything about this industry is going to play into that single bullet point. There is a demand because the device is:
- Fast,
- Convenient,
- Sexy,
- and Slick.
What is the difference between Sexy and Slick? Sexy - other people notice it and you notice them noticing. Slick - the damn thing works and works well.
All of that demand rolls right around to supply. The consumer mouth is open wide and the corporate shovels are tossing in coal as fast as they can.
Do you remember your first mp3? I do not. The concept of digital music is so drowned in the sea of ubiquity I cannot pull memories from its murky depths. We are becoming anesthetized to the concept of digital print. And, there are more entrants to the field than Amazon and Sony. Say hello to the Royal Phillips Electronics' e-reader:
The iRex DR800SG
This contender is backed by Best Buy, Verizon, and Barnes & Noble. It supports the open e-pub format (ala Google Books), it has a touch screen and some other crazy competitive features sure to start the next round of ebook wars. Now we have three major players in a multi-billion dollar market. Competition breeds choice and innovation. This is capitalism, this is consumerism, this is a winning battleground for the customer. E-books are here to stay.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
The Kindle part 7 - The Future of Print
The Kindle is an electronic book reader produced by Amazon.
Holy hell does that title sound pretentious. No lie, the tail end of this topic has been akin to pulling teeth. I keep reminding myself that I am writing to improve and that all of this is merely practice. For a week now the topic of next month's dull and dreary op eds has been a shifting and elusive target. It snapped into focus this morning and the excitement built instantly within me pushes me to wrap this Kindle nonsense up.
The Kindle will not destroy the printed book. The shift of a library here or there to an all-digital, all the time format is not the herald to a tide of technological revolution. Everyone that comes down passionately on either side of this issue is fooling themselves with their personal brand of extremism. The printed book is not going away.
The Kindle is a dependent technology. In order to function you must live in a world that gives you access to electricity. You must live in a society where the materials presented by the Kindle are created and available. You must live in a realm where possessing a Kindle is permitted. And you must live in an environment where the Kindle will function.
What if Amazon goes under?
What if authors stop producing Kindle works?
What if there is a two week blackout?
Hurricane?
What if you are on a boat?
In a cave?
What if your job says no to unrestricted wireless connectivity?
What if the Kindle is replaced by new technology?
The last is a sticky wicket and the only honest question of the bunch. Ideally, Amazon will offer a migration path for your purchased content. But beyond all these crazy hypotheticals there are three reasons that print will live on:
1. Not everyone wants, needs, or will buy an electronic book reader.
2. It is difficult for someone to take a physical book from your collection permanently.
3. The mark-I eyeball does not need an upgrade to read a printed book (as long as you treat them well or are not already blind)
I have seen all sorts of dire what-if predictions relegating print books into the same historical bin as vinyl and 8-track tapes. The people shouting are using their time on the soap box to decry the progression represented by electronic book readers. I do not have anything classy to condemn that level of one-sided blindness. All I can say is: suck it. This time everyone wins. Your print books are not going anywhere and neither are electronic book readers.
Holy hell does that title sound pretentious. No lie, the tail end of this topic has been akin to pulling teeth. I keep reminding myself that I am writing to improve and that all of this is merely practice. For a week now the topic of next month's dull and dreary op eds has been a shifting and elusive target. It snapped into focus this morning and the excitement built instantly within me pushes me to wrap this Kindle nonsense up.
The Kindle will not destroy the printed book. The shift of a library here or there to an all-digital, all the time format is not the herald to a tide of technological revolution. Everyone that comes down passionately on either side of this issue is fooling themselves with their personal brand of extremism. The printed book is not going away.
The Kindle is a dependent technology. In order to function you must live in a world that gives you access to electricity. You must live in a society where the materials presented by the Kindle are created and available. You must live in a realm where possessing a Kindle is permitted. And you must live in an environment where the Kindle will function.
What if Amazon goes under?
What if authors stop producing Kindle works?
What if there is a two week blackout?
Hurricane?
What if you are on a boat?
In a cave?
What if your job says no to unrestricted wireless connectivity?
What if the Kindle is replaced by new technology?
The last is a sticky wicket and the only honest question of the bunch. Ideally, Amazon will offer a migration path for your purchased content. But beyond all these crazy hypotheticals there are three reasons that print will live on:
1. Not everyone wants, needs, or will buy an electronic book reader.
2. It is difficult for someone to take a physical book from your collection permanently.
3. The mark-I eyeball does not need an upgrade to read a printed book (as long as you treat them well or are not already blind)
I have seen all sorts of dire what-if predictions relegating print books into the same historical bin as vinyl and 8-track tapes. The people shouting are using their time on the soap box to decry the progression represented by electronic book readers. I do not have anything classy to condemn that level of one-sided blindness. All I can say is: suck it. This time everyone wins. Your print books are not going anywhere and neither are electronic book readers.
Friday, September 18, 2009
The Kindle part 6 - The competition
The Kindle is an electronic book reader produced by Amazon.
There was a time when I could surreptitiously read my Kindle at work on a slow day. Two things have happened to make those days a fanciful memory:
1. The term 'slow day' is no longer contained within my vocabulary
2. Everybody knows what is contained within the faux leather rectangle found always at my side.
My interest in the device intrigued one of the executives in my office. We struck up a conversation on the merits of an electronic book reader as a substitute for carrying piles of papers in a briefcase while travelling for business. Long story short, we decided to compare the Amazon Kindle and the Sony Reader for this purpose. We settled on the Sony for him primarily because of its native ability to handle pdfs.
When the device arrived, I took it for a spin so I could train my exec on the ins and outs.
As much as I would love to write an original, mind-blowing breakdown of the pros and cons between the Kindle and the Sony Reader - it has already been done. The article linked below lays out the major points:
http://dearauthor.com/wordpress/2009/03/08/how-to-decide-between-the-sony-and-the-kindle-eink-readers/
The article compares two models of Sony with one Kindle (the 2.0) according to the following categories:
The DearAuthor article was written in March 2009. I have the following brief update from the Kindle side: The Kindle DX is available for people who primarily read magazines and newspapers. It is bigger in the screen but I believe it stands as another pointer to the 'one device / one function' issue I mentioned at the end of part five. I thought that the Kindle was now able to borrow books at some public libraries, but that may have been a dream because now I can find no evidence of the ability.
Personally: I prefer the Kindle. It is lighter and I like the screen more than the Sony. I do not like the computer dependency the Sony seems to have out of the box (here is some software for you to install!). Honestly,whispernet has been so good to me, so dependable, that the Kindle has generated a significant quantity of product loyalty within me.
In closing, I am going to present the excellent prioritization summary from the DearAuthor post I linked above.
From: http://dearauthor.com/wordpress/2009/03/08/how-to-decide-between-the-sony-and-the-kindle-eink-readers/
There are five features of the Kindle that are superior to the 700
There was a time when I could surreptitiously read my Kindle at work on a slow day. Two things have happened to make those days a fanciful memory:
1. The term 'slow day' is no longer contained within my vocabulary
2. Everybody knows what is contained within the faux leather rectangle found always at my side.
My interest in the device intrigued one of the executives in my office. We struck up a conversation on the merits of an electronic book reader as a substitute for carrying piles of papers in a briefcase while travelling for business. Long story short, we decided to compare the Amazon Kindle and the Sony Reader for this purpose. We settled on the Sony for him primarily because of its native ability to handle pdfs.
When the device arrived, I took it for a spin so I could train my exec on the ins and outs.
As much as I would love to write an original, mind-blowing breakdown of the pros and cons between the Kindle and the Sony Reader - it has already been done. The article linked below lays out the major points:
http://dearauthor.com/wordpress/2009/03/08/how-to-decide-between-the-sony-and-the-kindle-eink-readers/
The article compares two models of Sony with one Kindle (the 2.0) according to the following categories:
- Screen clarity
- Screen refresh
- Size
- Covers
- Memory
- Dictionary
- Controls
- Folder Management System
- Price
- Content
- Non Proprietary Content
- Page display
- Customer Service
- Ability to take notes/Highlight/Annotate
- Library compatibility
- and Lighting
The DearAuthor article was written in March 2009. I have the following brief update from the Kindle side: The Kindle DX is available for people who primarily read magazines and newspapers. It is bigger in the screen but I believe it stands as another pointer to the 'one device / one function' issue I mentioned at the end of part five. I thought that the Kindle was now able to borrow books at some public libraries, but that may have been a dream because now I can find no evidence of the ability.
Personally: I prefer the Kindle. It is lighter and I like the screen more than the Sony. I do not like the computer dependency the Sony seems to have out of the box (here is some software for you to install!). Honestly,whispernet has been so good to me, so dependable, that the Kindle has generated a significant quantity of product loyalty within me.
In closing, I am going to present the excellent prioritization summary from the DearAuthor post I linked above.
From: http://dearauthor.com/wordpress/2009/03/08/how-to-decide-between-the-sony-and-the-kindle-eink-readers/
There are five features of the Kindle that are superior to the 700
- Screen quality (the refresh speed difference is negligible in my opinion)
- Note taking ability (except when it comes to taking notes)
- Dictionary function
- Buy on Demand
- Interoperability with the iPhone
There are four features of the Kindle that are superior to the Sony 505
- Speed of refresh (the Sony 505 has a superior screen quality)
- Note taking ability
- Dictionary function
- Buy on demand
- Interoperability with the iPhone
There are five features on the Sony 700 that are superior to the Kindle
- Built in light
- Touchscreen
- Collections/folder management system
- More than one format ability
- Ability to edit the meta data (the Calibre program works with the Kindle so if you use Calibre, this “feature” is negligible).
There are four features on the Sony 505 that are superior to the Kindle
- Screen quality
- Collections/folder management system
- More than one format ability
- Ability to edit the meta data
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
The Kindle part 5 - Other things you can do with it
The Kindle is an electronic book reader produced by Amazon.
Over ten years ago, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. She fought it and fought hard. The chemo took her hair and her stamina. She bought a wig that made her look like Mary Tyler Moore. Her treatments caused her lymph system to swell one of her arms until she was embarrassed by it. Through all of that she fought...and won.
For a while.
Some evils can never be destroyed.
A few years ago it came back. This time it was lodged firmly within her liver. She fought again. It was much harder this time, but she fought and fought. My final journey home before her defeat and quiet passing contained within it a small item germane to the topic this month.
The home of the second half of my youth is nestled within a no-man's land of wireless signal. The high speed cable stops a mere few hundred yards from the house and the cable company has refused for years to extend it. Internet connectivity can be accomplished in one of two ways: outrageously expensive satellites or outrageously slow dial-up. The phone needed to be kept clear therefor my options were zero.
Except that they were not quite zero; enter the Kindle.
Does anyone remember a time before Mozaic when the majesty of the new internet was navigated with Links? Links, for those that do not know or do not recall, is a text only browser for the webs.
The Kindle, at least my version one, is hit or miss on surfing the modern web. Most sites break and I have no idea how exposed it is to maliciousness. However, I had dropped everything and ran home with my Kindle as my only piece of tech. I had my laptop but without a net connection it was not much use to me. This was a few weeks before the start of my I-phone days. I needed to get messages out, needed to post what the hell was happening, and I only had my Kindle.
I was just enough.
I located the spot in my home where my whispernet ran full bars, punched through to a message board I frequent, and got my messages out. It is not the greatest browser in the world, in fact it is probably one of the worst. Butwhispernet is clutch. Amazon eats the cost and it works in interesting places.
It seems like these feature pieces are merely one bullet blown out into a long-winded story followed by three more, less represented points. Ok...it is exactly that. Here are some of the other interesting things you have at your disposal with a Kindle:
And so on...and so on with a handful of small, semi-useful features. Honestly, the Kindle, and most book readers, are odd devices in today's tech landscape. They are mostly one dimensional. The Kindle does one thing well...it displays pages of a digital work. All of the other devices in my life are multi-purpose. This is probably the second biggest long term weakness of the device. The first would be the "have to have a stable society that provides electricity and content" thing. The second, in my opinion, is the convergence toward multi-faceted tech.
I have recently downloaded the Kindle app to my I-phone. The screen is smaller and it does not sync well with the version one (because of battery life and the related fact that I rarely turn on the wireless). I prefer to read books on my Kindle, because it is the better device for that purpose, but I am already experiencing situations where I leave the Kindle on the table because of where I am going or what I am doing ... and the I-phone Kindle app has me covered.
Over ten years ago, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. She fought it and fought hard. The chemo took her hair and her stamina. She bought a wig that made her look like Mary Tyler Moore. Her treatments caused her lymph system to swell one of her arms until she was embarrassed by it. Through all of that she fought...and won.
For a while.
Some evils can never be destroyed.
A few years ago it came back. This time it was lodged firmly within her liver. She fought again. It was much harder this time, but she fought and fought. My final journey home before her defeat and quiet passing contained within it a small item germane to the topic this month.
The home of the second half of my youth is nestled within a no-man's land of wireless signal. The high speed cable stops a mere few hundred yards from the house and the cable company has refused for years to extend it. Internet connectivity can be accomplished in one of two ways: outrageously expensive satellites or outrageously slow dial-up. The phone needed to be kept clear therefor my options were zero.
Except that they were not quite zero; enter the Kindle.
Does anyone remember a time before Mozaic when the majesty of the new internet was navigated with Links? Links, for those that do not know or do not recall, is a text only browser for the webs.
The Kindle, at least my version one, is hit or miss on surfing the modern web. Most sites break and I have no idea how exposed it is to maliciousness. However, I had dropped everything and ran home with my Kindle as my only piece of tech. I had my laptop but without a net connection it was not much use to me. This was a few weeks before the start of my I-phone days. I needed to get messages out, needed to post what the hell was happening, and I only had my Kindle.
I was just enough.
I located the spot in my home where my whispernet ran full bars, punched through to a message board I frequent, and got my messages out. It is not the greatest browser in the world, in fact it is probably one of the worst. Butwhispernet is clutch. Amazon eats the cost and it works in interesting places.
It seems like these feature pieces are merely one bullet blown out into a long-winded story followed by three more, less represented points. Ok...it is exactly that. Here are some of the other interesting things you have at your disposal with a Kindle:
- Note taking (cumbersome and awkward but functional)
- Dictionary lookups (I have used it a few times for real words I did not know, but mostly as a whiz-bang for demos)
- Dogearing pages (I need to get more in the habit of this because every time I let someone monkey with my Kindle I spend minutes trying to find my place in my book)
- Music (if you care to spend the time to burn and rip your music out of your I-tunes proprietary format into something more universal. I have exactly one album on my Kindle and I only use it to demo the sound)
And so on...and so on with a handful of small, semi-useful features. Honestly, the Kindle, and most book readers, are odd devices in today's tech landscape. They are mostly one dimensional. The Kindle does one thing well...it displays pages of a digital work. All of the other devices in my life are multi-purpose. This is probably the second biggest long term weakness of the device. The first would be the "have to have a stable society that provides electricity and content" thing. The second, in my opinion, is the convergence toward multi-faceted tech.
I have recently downloaded the Kindle app to my I-phone. The screen is smaller and it does not sync well with the version one (because of battery life and the related fact that I rarely turn on the wireless). I prefer to read books on my Kindle, because it is the better device for that purpose, but I am already experiencing situations where I leave the Kindle on the table because of where I am going or what I am doing ... and the I-phone Kindle app has me covered.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
The Kindle part 4 - A Plea to Authors
The Kindle is an electronic book reader produced by Amazon.
There is a small fear within me that my premise is too on target; too case-in-point. This entry in my Kindle series is not on schedule and my desired end of month down time has been attacked.
I forgot about Labor day.
Well...I also went out of town. Then procrastinated. Then forgot about Labor day. Then it was Tuesday (primary raid night) and now it is Wednesday...night (although it is actually Sunday, hooray work!). In my defense for this last excuse surrounding my ever fading interest in holding on to one subject, I was suddenly asked to hop a plane and fly to New York and then Boston. In fact, I am writing this on a piece of paper stuck between the sandwich bread that is the direct warning to power off all electronics and the startling airborne ding ... oh awesome ... we have just been delayed for forty minutes. The saving grace is that we are not being held inside the sandwich.
My Kindle is turned off at the moment, primarily because I have finally caught a few moments to write and secondarily because of Wil Wheaton.
It turns out I love Wil Wheaton. In 2007 and 2008 he saved me from the depths of dark depression with ad infinitum relistens of his PAX 2007 keynote address. He continually inspires me with his ability to revel in his geekdom and in his ability to turn out pages and pages of delightful material. I read his site. I follow his tweets. I am chronically too shy to approach him in any digital manner to express my gratitude and warm feelings for his work. Wil Wheaton is a great writer and I want to be one, too. Not just that, I want to be as good as Wil. The polished style, the voice...he pushes me to better at this.
The other day, while perusing WWdN in Exile, I decided, if I had any chance at gaining the skill Wil demonstrates, I should probably get around to reading his print works. Clicking...clicking...clicking...ah ha! Just a Geek ... I can get that on my Kindle! Done.
I did not dig in to it directly. That turned out to be a good thing. Instead, David Weber finally released By Heresies Distressed and I lost hours and hours of my free time catching up with him.
Yesterday I was tricked by Weber. Tricked in that the final thirty or forty page turns were a dramatis personae and a brief glossary. It was the same as book 1 (Off Armageddon's Reef - my first read on my Kindle) and book 2 (By Schism Rent Asunder). I forgot. The same thing has happened three times in a row and I forgot.
Anyway...tricked by the promise of more to read and suddenly denied the pleasure, I skimmed through my collection and noticed Wil's book: Just a Geek. What the hell...click.
I went to bed late. I arrived at work late. I was simultaneously reading while working...while driving...right up to now where I find myself suddenly full of words for my next piece.
The writing in Just a Geek is exactly what I needed to see in print. But the message...the message is what I needed to hear. Thank you, Wil Wheaton.
This part was intended to be a plea to authors. My intent was to point out that I own all the Miles Vorkosigan books, but, during the first few lonely nights in the tiny box that was my last apartment, while all my books were locked within cardboard cubes, I purchased and read a pile of them on my Kindle. I was going to mention that while I love the three Weber books currently available, I would be more thrilled to see all of the rest including the Harringtons and the sequel to Shadows Over Saganami. And I was definitely going to point out that having Steven Erikson's amazing Malazan books on the Kindle store is wonderful, it is criminal that the the only three available are books one, six, and seven.
I was going to wrap all of that into a plea to authors to put more content into the Amazon Kindle Storefront. But I think the reason I delayed is because I had yet to experience Just a Geek, and by extension, I had yet to be led to the following realization:
Everyone needs to be more like Wil Wheaton.
Also: Wil needs to put more of his works on the Kindle.
And behold! We are once more held in the sandwich of the Luddites. The tower has cleared our path and my tray is once more locked in its upright position.
There is a small fear within me that my premise is too on target; too case-in-point. This entry in my Kindle series is not on schedule and my desired end of month down time has been attacked.
I forgot about Labor day.
Well...I also went out of town. Then procrastinated. Then forgot about Labor day. Then it was Tuesday (primary raid night) and now it is Wednesday...night (although it is actually Sunday, hooray work!). In my defense for this last excuse surrounding my ever fading interest in holding on to one subject, I was suddenly asked to hop a plane and fly to New York and then Boston. In fact, I am writing this on a piece of paper stuck between the sandwich bread that is the direct warning to power off all electronics and the startling airborne ding ... oh awesome ... we have just been delayed for forty minutes. The saving grace is that we are not being held inside the sandwich.
My Kindle is turned off at the moment, primarily because I have finally caught a few moments to write and secondarily because of Wil Wheaton.
It turns out I love Wil Wheaton. In 2007 and 2008 he saved me from the depths of dark depression with ad infinitum relistens of his PAX 2007 keynote address. He continually inspires me with his ability to revel in his geekdom and in his ability to turn out pages and pages of delightful material. I read his site. I follow his tweets. I am chronically too shy to approach him in any digital manner to express my gratitude and warm feelings for his work. Wil Wheaton is a great writer and I want to be one, too. Not just that, I want to be as good as Wil. The polished style, the voice...he pushes me to better at this.
The other day, while perusing WWdN in Exile, I decided, if I had any chance at gaining the skill Wil demonstrates, I should probably get around to reading his print works. Clicking...clicking...clicking...ah ha! Just a Geek ... I can get that on my Kindle! Done.
I did not dig in to it directly. That turned out to be a good thing. Instead, David Weber finally released By Heresies Distressed and I lost hours and hours of my free time catching up with him.
Yesterday I was tricked by Weber. Tricked in that the final thirty or forty page turns were a dramatis personae and a brief glossary. It was the same as book 1 (Off Armageddon's Reef - my first read on my Kindle) and book 2 (By Schism Rent Asunder). I forgot. The same thing has happened three times in a row and I forgot.
Anyway...tricked by the promise of more to read and suddenly denied the pleasure, I skimmed through my collection and noticed Wil's book: Just a Geek. What the hell...click.
I went to bed late. I arrived at work late. I was simultaneously reading while working...while driving...right up to now where I find myself suddenly full of words for my next piece.
The writing in Just a Geek is exactly what I needed to see in print. But the message...the message is what I needed to hear. Thank you, Wil Wheaton.
This part was intended to be a plea to authors. My intent was to point out that I own all the Miles Vorkosigan books, but, during the first few lonely nights in the tiny box that was my last apartment, while all my books were locked within cardboard cubes, I purchased and read a pile of them on my Kindle. I was going to mention that while I love the three Weber books currently available, I would be more thrilled to see all of the rest including the Harringtons and the sequel to Shadows Over Saganami. And I was definitely going to point out that having Steven Erikson's amazing Malazan books on the Kindle store is wonderful, it is criminal that the the only three available are books one, six, and seven.
I was going to wrap all of that into a plea to authors to put more content into the Amazon Kindle Storefront. But I think the reason I delayed is because I had yet to experience Just a Geek, and by extension, I had yet to be led to the following realization:
Everyone needs to be more like Wil Wheaton.
Also: Wil needs to put more of his works on the Kindle.
And behold! We are once more held in the sandwich of the Luddites. The tower has cleared our path and my tray is once more locked in its upright position.
Friday, September 4, 2009
The Kindle part 3 - The Amazon Kindle Storefront
The Kindle is an electronic book reader produced by Amazon.
My first experience with the Kindle Store was shocking with a side order of Orwellian onion rings. After allowing the device to languish unloved on my only table for the better part of a week, I decided one sleepy, sunny Saturday morning to investigate the thing.
The combination of newness and strangeness drew me ever closer as I puttered around that morning. Eventually I freed it from its box and settled in for a bit of exploration. After a few minutes of investigation following an obligatory battery charging session that must have been brief because I cannot recall any impatience, I powered up the wireless system and connected to the Amazon Kindle Store.
The first two parts of this series were generally positive and bordered on fanboydom (which is absolutely a word). The Kindle Store is home to much of my criticism for the device, however. With the caveat that I am still using version 1, and that the battery life of the device with the wireless system engaged is incredibly brief, I will continue.
There are seven major sections to the Kindle Storefront. I use exactly two of them and both of them occur at the bottom of the screen. The top 75% of the screen contains the following:
Browse the Kindle Store
New York Times Best Sellers
Kindle Top Sellers
New & Noteworthy Books
Kindle Daily Post
and then the two options I actually use:
Recommended For You
and Search Store
Browse the Kindle Store - I suppose there are people that enjoy sifting through various paid content such as magazines, newspapers, blogs, and books (those are the choices) looking to spend money they had not planned on spending. In my mind, that is what browsing is - a determination to spend money you don't need to spend but an indeterminacy upon the target. Regardless, it is not a section I haunt. I lack the battery life and would rather get straight to reading. I do not enjoy shopping.
New York Times Best Sellers - Flat out, there is a lot of complete shit on this list. I am not of the opinion that majority opinion is an excellent needle for picking out what you should read next. Moreover, a popularity contest is not going to focus on the types and styles of books I want to read. I suppose there are those that want to read what everyone else is reading. I have never read a Dan Brown novel and I do not intend to start now.
Kindle Top Sellers - The same argument only with less range and depth of content. It bothers me that this takes up space on my screen. It isn't useful information.
New & Noteworthy Books - Technically I have clicked in to this once or twice, but it was on a dare. Or maybe I was young and impressionable. I certainly did not spend any money. The only time I have been magically coerced into making a purchase I had no intention of reading was while listening to a riveting story on NPR. That books was not even featured in this section of the Storefront, but I did complete the transaction while waiting for a red light to change. I suppose I should not condemn the New & Noteworthy section, but there is a reason it is not called New & Purchaseworthy (well...two reasons, because I don't think "purchaseworthy" is a word).
The Kindle Daily Post - Completely useless. Completely useless. I don't care, Mr. Kindle Marketer Guy. I am a walking billboard for your product, I do not need your version of the kool-aid. I am already invested. I have bought in. Now you are just taking up space on my screen.
I am going to roll the last two sections (the pieces of the experience I use) into the rest of column and pick up where I left off with my mention of Orwellian onion-rings. All of these sections were blatantly obvious as to their function and purpose when first I connected to the Storefront and went a-poking. I was sitting on my front stoop in the delicious North Carolina sun on a quiet Saturday morning. I did what I do whenever I enter a bookstore...head for the sci-fi & fantasy and start searching for my favorite authors. That morning I started with David Weber.
Search Store: david weber [go]
....
....
And behold, a few titles popped up. Most of them were not by my author, and the specific ones I was hoping to see were not there at all. However, at the top of the list was a title, by my author, I had not known existed (it was new): Off Armageddon's Reef. by David Weber. If you have read this book then you understand that at that moment I had no idea what the gem before me held.
Scroll to the book [click]
The individual pages for books are great. They have tons of useful and useable information, the screen is filled to bursting with data I need to evaluate my selection. There are link outs to reviews and also links to additional titles by the same author. There is even the Amazonian "people who bought this item also bought..." section. All of this is incredibly useful for determining the priory of a book with respect to its series companions and whether or not you should buy it. I rarely do nowadays, but on that day I showed a measure of caution and used the "Read a Sample" option.
Read a Sample [click]
... a few seconds go by and suddenly "New item downloaded" flashes briefly on my screen. I navigated back to the home screen, found my book snippet and dug in. It was the first chapter / prologue bit and I was completely hooked only a few pages in. Hell yes I wanted to buy that. Back to the store! (and here come the onion-rings)
Upon my return to the book page, I scrolled up to "Buy Now" and gave it a click:
Buy Now [click]
This was my first purchase and my Kindle greeted me warmly by name (the device is registered to me). It also said the following (in text, paraphrased):
Hello! This is your first purchase on your Kindle. Here is every credit card you have ever used ever in the past ten years or so on Amazon. Which one do you want to use for your one click purchasing of Kindle books?
Scared the hell out of me. There were 16 digit numbers on that screen I had not seen in years, many many years. Before the shock could wear off I gently scrolled the wheel up the screen, and with a breathless "uh ... this one:" I clicked.
The book arrived in its entirety less than 20 seconds later. I noticed that my battery life was dipping so I killed the wireless and read my book.
It was epic.
Upon my return to the store the next week (looking at my usage file, my uptake was slow but steady) and over the course of the next month, I watched my Recommended For You section warp and grow as I made a few purchases. I am not sure if it pulls any data out of my non-Kindle purchases...I think it might. I appreciate the Recommended Section, however I have two major issues with it.
1. The damn thing is only 4 pages long and cannot be extended. Yes, I admitted before that I don't browse...what I meant is that I do not browse collections that are not targeted directly to me. If I was presented with a refreshable, extensible, lengthy Recommended For You (me) section, I would browse. Dammit...I want to see more than 40 books!
2. Fuck Terry Pratchett. I mean, you cannot, from the Kindle, tell Amazon to drop something from your list. The moment I snagged a Garrett novel by Glen Cook (think Chandler meets low fantasy) combined with a few Bujold rereads (yes I bought electronic versions of books I own physically), 75% of my damn Recommended For You (me) section was filled with Terry Pratchett. I have read a few of them, but I am not interested in his entire collection! In fact, I am not that enthusiastic about reading him at all. I have recently discovered that I can manipulate the list from the interwebs, but this is not an ideal solution. I want to be able to drop books off that list from my Kindle.
Over all, the Kindle Storefront does what it is supposed to do. I do not spend much time on it, but when I am there I find what I am seeking quickly (or determine it is not there quickly enough: Weber, what the hell...I want Harrington on my Kindle!). I am certain the experience is more user friendly for the Version 2 people. I have definitely burned out the last joule of battery life completing a series of downloads. The whispernet, the protocol used to deliver items to your Kindle is fast and free (to the user). If the adjustments were made to the Recommended Section I would probably spend more time in the store and make more purchases. The credit card thing was freaky at first, but now it is merely a small story I tell when giving a longer version of my pitch. As a librarian, I can appreciate that search is front and center and, finally, the ability to cross navigate from a book to all books by that book's author is incredibly sweet.
My first experience with the Kindle Store was shocking with a side order of Orwellian onion rings. After allowing the device to languish unloved on my only table for the better part of a week, I decided one sleepy, sunny Saturday morning to investigate the thing.
The combination of newness and strangeness drew me ever closer as I puttered around that morning. Eventually I freed it from its box and settled in for a bit of exploration. After a few minutes of investigation following an obligatory battery charging session that must have been brief because I cannot recall any impatience, I powered up the wireless system and connected to the Amazon Kindle Store.
The first two parts of this series were generally positive and bordered on fanboydom (which is absolutely a word). The Kindle Store is home to much of my criticism for the device, however. With the caveat that I am still using version 1, and that the battery life of the device with the wireless system engaged is incredibly brief, I will continue.
There are seven major sections to the Kindle Storefront. I use exactly two of them and both of them occur at the bottom of the screen. The top 75% of the screen contains the following:
Browse the Kindle Store
New York Times Best Sellers
Kindle Top Sellers
New & Noteworthy Books
Kindle Daily Post
and then the two options I actually use:
Recommended For You
and Search Store
Browse the Kindle Store - I suppose there are people that enjoy sifting through various paid content such as magazines, newspapers, blogs, and books (those are the choices) looking to spend money they had not planned on spending. In my mind, that is what browsing is - a determination to spend money you don't need to spend but an indeterminacy upon the target. Regardless, it is not a section I haunt. I lack the battery life and would rather get straight to reading. I do not enjoy shopping.
New York Times Best Sellers - Flat out, there is a lot of complete shit on this list. I am not of the opinion that majority opinion is an excellent needle for picking out what you should read next. Moreover, a popularity contest is not going to focus on the types and styles of books I want to read. I suppose there are those that want to read what everyone else is reading. I have never read a Dan Brown novel and I do not intend to start now.
Kindle Top Sellers - The same argument only with less range and depth of content. It bothers me that this takes up space on my screen. It isn't useful information.
New & Noteworthy Books - Technically I have clicked in to this once or twice, but it was on a dare. Or maybe I was young and impressionable. I certainly did not spend any money. The only time I have been magically coerced into making a purchase I had no intention of reading was while listening to a riveting story on NPR. That books was not even featured in this section of the Storefront, but I did complete the transaction while waiting for a red light to change. I suppose I should not condemn the New & Noteworthy section, but there is a reason it is not called New & Purchaseworthy (well...two reasons, because I don't think "purchaseworthy" is a word).
The Kindle Daily Post - Completely useless. Completely useless. I don't care, Mr. Kindle Marketer Guy. I am a walking billboard for your product, I do not need your version of the kool-aid. I am already invested. I have bought in. Now you are just taking up space on my screen.
I am going to roll the last two sections (the pieces of the experience I use) into the rest of column and pick up where I left off with my mention of Orwellian onion-rings. All of these sections were blatantly obvious as to their function and purpose when first I connected to the Storefront and went a-poking. I was sitting on my front stoop in the delicious North Carolina sun on a quiet Saturday morning. I did what I do whenever I enter a bookstore...head for the sci-fi & fantasy and start searching for my favorite authors. That morning I started with David Weber.
Search Store: david weber [go]
....
....
And behold, a few titles popped up. Most of them were not by my author, and the specific ones I was hoping to see were not there at all. However, at the top of the list was a title, by my author, I had not known existed (it was new): Off Armageddon's Reef. by David Weber. If you have read this book then you understand that at that moment I had no idea what the gem before me held.
Scroll to the book [click]
The individual pages for books are great. They have tons of useful and useable information, the screen is filled to bursting with data I need to evaluate my selection. There are link outs to reviews and also links to additional titles by the same author. There is even the Amazonian "people who bought this item also bought..." section. All of this is incredibly useful for determining the priory of a book with respect to its series companions and whether or not you should buy it. I rarely do nowadays, but on that day I showed a measure of caution and used the "Read a Sample" option.
Read a Sample [click]
... a few seconds go by and suddenly "New item downloaded" flashes briefly on my screen. I navigated back to the home screen, found my book snippet and dug in. It was the first chapter / prologue bit and I was completely hooked only a few pages in. Hell yes I wanted to buy that. Back to the store! (and here come the onion-rings)
Upon my return to the book page, I scrolled up to "Buy Now" and gave it a click:
Buy Now [click]
This was my first purchase and my Kindle greeted me warmly by name (the device is registered to me). It also said the following (in text, paraphrased):
Hello! This is your first purchase on your Kindle. Here is every credit card you have ever used ever in the past ten years or so on Amazon. Which one do you want to use for your one click purchasing of Kindle books?
Scared the hell out of me. There were 16 digit numbers on that screen I had not seen in years, many many years. Before the shock could wear off I gently scrolled the wheel up the screen, and with a breathless "uh ... this one:" I clicked.
The book arrived in its entirety less than 20 seconds later. I noticed that my battery life was dipping so I killed the wireless and read my book.
It was epic.
Upon my return to the store the next week (looking at my usage file, my uptake was slow but steady) and over the course of the next month, I watched my Recommended For You section warp and grow as I made a few purchases. I am not sure if it pulls any data out of my non-Kindle purchases...I think it might. I appreciate the Recommended Section, however I have two major issues with it.
1. The damn thing is only 4 pages long and cannot be extended. Yes, I admitted before that I don't browse...what I meant is that I do not browse collections that are not targeted directly to me. If I was presented with a refreshable, extensible, lengthy Recommended For You (me) section, I would browse. Dammit...I want to see more than 40 books!
2. Fuck Terry Pratchett. I mean, you cannot, from the Kindle, tell Amazon to drop something from your list. The moment I snagged a Garrett novel by Glen Cook (think Chandler meets low fantasy) combined with a few Bujold rereads (yes I bought electronic versions of books I own physically), 75% of my damn Recommended For You (me) section was filled with Terry Pratchett. I have read a few of them, but I am not interested in his entire collection! In fact, I am not that enthusiastic about reading him at all. I have recently discovered that I can manipulate the list from the interwebs, but this is not an ideal solution. I want to be able to drop books off that list from my Kindle.
Over all, the Kindle Storefront does what it is supposed to do. I do not spend much time on it, but when I am there I find what I am seeking quickly (or determine it is not there quickly enough: Weber, what the hell...I want Harrington on my Kindle!). I am certain the experience is more user friendly for the Version 2 people. I have definitely burned out the last joule of battery life completing a series of downloads. The whispernet, the protocol used to deliver items to your Kindle is fast and free (to the user). If the adjustments were made to the Recommended Section I would probably spend more time in the store and make more purchases. The credit card thing was freaky at first, but now it is merely a small story I tell when giving a longer version of my pitch. As a librarian, I can appreciate that search is front and center and, finally, the ability to cross navigate from a book to all books by that book's author is incredibly sweet.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
The Kindle part 2 - A cost analysis
The Kindle is an electronic book reader produced by Amazon.
The Kindle is not an inexpensive device. When I purchased mine I shelled out $400. Currently, it is down to $299. When the Kindle 2.0 hit the shelves, the desire to possess one burned within me. However, the device is not for everyone. At its core, the Kindle is a luxury and some might argue that it is a status symbol. There are people for whom the Kindle has little allure. I am not one of these people, but they exist. Like all consumer electronics and the lifestyle they either accessorize or promote, there are hidden and not-so-hidden costs.
"I went shopping for some books today," my friend proclaims as we settle in for a delicious night of sushi out and about in Old Town Alexandria.
"Did you find anything you wanted to read?" I have my follow up questions set to fire. Her fractious combination of shopping and non-possessiveness has always astounded me.
"A few titles," she replies and tells them to me. I do not remember what they were but I had not read them.
"So....", I begin, hoping the mischievous twinkle I felt should be in my eye actually was sparkling away. "I thought you were not allowed to have anymore books in your house?"
"Oh well...that's easy...something has to go," she grins. "Four books for as many dollars." And then proceeds to take a bite of her five dollar nigiri.
I've asked my friend for the particulars of her system and have shook my head in amazement at her ability to actively prune her collection. There are surprisingly few books in her home that have tenure track status. And a large number of her transitory books are acquired for less than two dollars. She doesn't burn with the same need to possess as I do and she has incredibly interesting and not too complex rules (once you examine them) about the value of money.
The Kindle is not a good match for her.
When I was a teenager, one of my big birthday presents every year was a season pass to the nearby ski resort. The challenge every year was to go at least the number of times necessary to "break even" on the pass. I always did, and once I had passed that mathematical boundary, I felt like I was skiing for free. The initial buy-in for the Kindle is similar. The break occurs with the discount found on most books (Hey Scalzi, what gives?). So, theoretically, if I purchase enough books, the device "pays for itself". Technically true...however...
I bought my Kindle in April of 2008. The Kindle 2 came out in the Fall of 2008. I decided that, if I had "saved" $300 on book purchases I would upgrade and eat the extra $100. I did the math...and was barely breaking $75. No new Kindle for me. On the other hand, I had saved $75 !!
But did I?
I have no data to show it and I have no method to extrapolate it, but I wonder if my rate of new book purchases is significantly greater now than when I did not have the device. I know...I flat out know...that I am purchasing and reading more books. The convenience factor is just too big when reading a series to move from one to the next immediately. But is the difference in my consumption now, versus a year ago inside the typical 20% discount on purchases? I have my doubts.
In my opinion, based on observation of one subject (myself), the presence of the Kindle drives me to purchase more books and to purchase books I might not have found skimming through my local bookstore.
My friend from the story above does not buy new books, or if she does, it is a rare event. She makes use of her library and she enjoys digging through inexpensive paperbacks at used book stores. I used to do that as well (the digging; even though I am a librarian, I don't use my public library for books).
So far, I have focused solely on books via the Kindle. There are many more types of materials available. The selling point for one of the confirmed sales I spoke of in part 1 was her ability to get the Economist delivered to her Kindle. And she does, and she reads it, and she loves it (and two days ago I showed her how to get her text to speech active for it). There are numerous blogs, magazines, and newspapers that can be delivered directly to your Kindle for a free.
Currently I subscribe to no pay services.
It is not for a lack of content. The amount of pay content is stunning. But I do not use my Kindle that way. My Kindle is read while waiting in line, falling sleep, lying on the couch, or waiting at red lights (yes...I know...that is not a good thing...I am aware that it is, in fact, a stupid thing. If my authors weren't awesome, perhaps I wouldn't have this problem. Hey Scalzi, what gives?). I do not need a subscription to a newspaper, that is why I have Google News. I do not need paid delivery for the various blogs I read, that is the purpose of the first 30 minutes of my work day. However, it is important to realize that for many Kindle users, these ongoing subscriptions are rolled into their cost and their value proposition. They are never going to "ski for free". But then again, I don't think I will either.
The Kindle 2 is currently listed at $299. That is a damn sexy number for consumer electronics. That number combined with the thought collecting I have been doing for Fading Interest this month made me pull out my xls sheet (conveniently named Kindle Math.xls) and update it.
The latest entry reads:
Date 24-Aug-09
Order # …
Title Just a Geek
Price $9.99
AdjPrice $16.99
Savings $7.00
Cumulative Savings $228.70
Since April of 2008 I have saved $228.70 in book purchases that I may or may not have made if I did not have the Kindle. Odds are low that I would have discovered some of the authors I have found in the past year, but that is a conversation for another day. Nearly $230 saved...nearly $300 to upgrade. The trend line of my data says $300 saved on May 10th, 2010...or I could just buy the damn thing now. Even if I waited until May 10, I will still be $100 below what I paid for the device. I will not be skiing for free for a long time yet, if ever. Plus, once I upgrade, the lure of paid content will be strong. My friend with the Economist is delighted with her choice. I might even be able to convince my manager that reading headlines on my Kindle was work related. But the point remains that the Kindle and the lifestyle that comes with using the device, the choices that are made because it exists in your world, mean that the economics will never take you back to positive territory. The Kindle remains a product for a consumer. It is a luxury and a wonderful target for disposable income.
My conclusion for you today is this: do not use the financial cost involved in obtaining and living with a Kindle as your sole reason to have or have not. Take a deep look at how books, magazines, blogs, newspapers, and other rich content touch your life and decide on the level of luxury you want when experiencing it.
The Kindle is not an inexpensive device. When I purchased mine I shelled out $400. Currently, it is down to $299. When the Kindle 2.0 hit the shelves, the desire to possess one burned within me. However, the device is not for everyone. At its core, the Kindle is a luxury and some might argue that it is a status symbol. There are people for whom the Kindle has little allure. I am not one of these people, but they exist. Like all consumer electronics and the lifestyle they either accessorize or promote, there are hidden and not-so-hidden costs.
"I went shopping for some books today," my friend proclaims as we settle in for a delicious night of sushi out and about in Old Town Alexandria.
"Did you find anything you wanted to read?" I have my follow up questions set to fire. Her fractious combination of shopping and non-possessiveness has always astounded me.
"A few titles," she replies and tells them to me. I do not remember what they were but I had not read them.
"So....", I begin, hoping the mischievous twinkle I felt should be in my eye actually was sparkling away. "I thought you were not allowed to have anymore books in your house?"
"Oh well...that's easy...something has to go," she grins. "Four books for as many dollars." And then proceeds to take a bite of her five dollar nigiri.
I've asked my friend for the particulars of her system and have shook my head in amazement at her ability to actively prune her collection. There are surprisingly few books in her home that have tenure track status. And a large number of her transitory books are acquired for less than two dollars. She doesn't burn with the same need to possess as I do and she has incredibly interesting and not too complex rules (once you examine them) about the value of money.
The Kindle is not a good match for her.
When I was a teenager, one of my big birthday presents every year was a season pass to the nearby ski resort. The challenge every year was to go at least the number of times necessary to "break even" on the pass. I always did, and once I had passed that mathematical boundary, I felt like I was skiing for free. The initial buy-in for the Kindle is similar. The break occurs with the discount found on most books (Hey Scalzi, what gives?). So, theoretically, if I purchase enough books, the device "pays for itself". Technically true...however...
I bought my Kindle in April of 2008. The Kindle 2 came out in the Fall of 2008. I decided that, if I had "saved" $300 on book purchases I would upgrade and eat the extra $100. I did the math...and was barely breaking $75. No new Kindle for me. On the other hand, I had saved $75 !!
But did I?
I have no data to show it and I have no method to extrapolate it, but I wonder if my rate of new book purchases is significantly greater now than when I did not have the device. I know...I flat out know...that I am purchasing and reading more books. The convenience factor is just too big when reading a series to move from one to the next immediately. But is the difference in my consumption now, versus a year ago inside the typical 20% discount on purchases? I have my doubts.
In my opinion, based on observation of one subject (myself), the presence of the Kindle drives me to purchase more books and to purchase books I might not have found skimming through my local bookstore.
My friend from the story above does not buy new books, or if she does, it is a rare event. She makes use of her library and she enjoys digging through inexpensive paperbacks at used book stores. I used to do that as well (the digging; even though I am a librarian, I don't use my public library for books).
So far, I have focused solely on books via the Kindle. There are many more types of materials available. The selling point for one of the confirmed sales I spoke of in part 1 was her ability to get the Economist delivered to her Kindle. And she does, and she reads it, and she loves it (and two days ago I showed her how to get her text to speech active for it). There are numerous blogs, magazines, and newspapers that can be delivered directly to your Kindle for a free.
Currently I subscribe to no pay services.
It is not for a lack of content. The amount of pay content is stunning. But I do not use my Kindle that way. My Kindle is read while waiting in line, falling sleep, lying on the couch, or waiting at red lights (yes...I know...that is not a good thing...I am aware that it is, in fact, a stupid thing. If my authors weren't awesome, perhaps I wouldn't have this problem. Hey Scalzi, what gives?). I do not need a subscription to a newspaper, that is why I have Google News. I do not need paid delivery for the various blogs I read, that is the purpose of the first 30 minutes of my work day. However, it is important to realize that for many Kindle users, these ongoing subscriptions are rolled into their cost and their value proposition. They are never going to "ski for free". But then again, I don't think I will either.
The Kindle 2 is currently listed at $299. That is a damn sexy number for consumer electronics. That number combined with the thought collecting I have been doing for Fading Interest this month made me pull out my xls sheet (conveniently named Kindle Math.xls) and update it.
The latest entry reads:
Date 24-Aug-09
Order # …
Title Just a Geek
Price $9.99
AdjPrice $16.99
Savings $7.00
Cumulative Savings $228.70
Since April of 2008 I have saved $228.70 in book purchases that I may or may not have made if I did not have the Kindle. Odds are low that I would have discovered some of the authors I have found in the past year, but that is a conversation for another day. Nearly $230 saved...nearly $300 to upgrade. The trend line of my data says $300 saved on May 10th, 2010...or I could just buy the damn thing now. Even if I waited until May 10, I will still be $100 below what I paid for the device. I will not be skiing for free for a long time yet, if ever. Plus, once I upgrade, the lure of paid content will be strong. My friend with the Economist is delighted with her choice. I might even be able to convince my manager that reading headlines on my Kindle was work related. But the point remains that the Kindle and the lifestyle that comes with using the device, the choices that are made because it exists in your world, mean that the economics will never take you back to positive territory. The Kindle remains a product for a consumer. It is a luxury and a wonderful target for disposable income.
My conclusion for you today is this: do not use the financial cost involved in obtaining and living with a Kindle as your sole reason to have or have not. Take a deep look at how books, magazines, blogs, newspapers, and other rich content touch your life and decide on the level of luxury you want when experiencing it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Interesting...for now
About Me
- Nathaniel Perkins
- Geek - Gamer - Librarian - Writer. Only awesome at one of those things at a time, unfortunately.