Riverboat Gambler: Shrine of Sanctification

 

she threw a rock. she didnt want to throw rocks at him because he was her brother. he found a thing in the hard stuff. it was like the gold blades they carried but it was blue in color. he kept it because he had never seen anything like it and he didnt understand it was forbidden. he had no way of knowing because hed never seen it before. the others knew and they caught him swinging it at a cactus and they threw stones at him until he died and she had to throw too even though he was her brother. they were all brothers but they still threw the stones. a large stone fell on him where one of the older brothers threw it and he died.

 

the judges came and burned him and burned the blue knife. the body of her brother burned but the flames made the blue knife glow bluer. the judges sang a song and the tribe went away but when the sun went down the blue glow was still visible. it lit the glass around it so it looked like the little moon had fallen and got stuck in the bled. she thought of her brother and his blade and thanked god.

 

Riverboat Gambler: The Dent in the Shield

Stomp your foot
Flick your sword

Across the body

Of the fat

Thing from the

Jar and toss

With the same 

Motion your shining

Sword to the 

Man waiting to

Catch it so

The blade is

Not lost as

The pincers close

Around your head

You are not

The dancer you

Are the dance 

So if you

Miss one step

The part that

Matters will 

survive

 

The Great Glass Mountain - Session Five

Chain Knight Valenta, Horn Knight Auckland and the Squire Reme rode back to the orchard. They got there at sunset and caught Sparenot and her kids putting away their tools for the day. She invited them inside for dinner and a drink. Valenta sent Kemp and Kana outside to go get grandpa Crucifer, what she had to say wasn't suitable for children. Sparenot wouldn't have tolerated anyone except the queen of the realm issuing direct orders to her children. She feared the worst.

Riverboat Gambler: Three More Tombs

David Roberts

 

The enormous statue had once stood over the river but the river had meandered in the ages since it was erected. The sages at first believed the features had been scraped away. A supernatural confirmation kill in one of the dynastic struggles on the ancient Plain. But it had simply been sculpted like that. Faceless except the open mouth. Without eyes and ears and nose the expression was unreadable despite the carefully sculpted teeth and tongue. It communicated fear or laughter or pain or hunger as the viewer wished. 

 

The engineers clustered around the statue at the neck and prepared to blow it up. The Bronze Head was going to open a new restaurant in Hylem-Xylem, which everyone just called Sugar City now that the rhyming slang of the chaotic argot was out of favor again. They couldn't find another bronze head, or they just didn't believe in doing the same thing over and over again.

  

Gorgojo had never been to Last Autumn. He had the architectural drawings. The sketches of the streetscape and planned exterior facade and interior decor. He knew how much space he had to work with and the maximum weight the structure would support. But he had no real sense of the place to which he would take his prize. He was from the pampa, the sea of grass where a single tree was a sight to behold. A city rising out of an ocean of trees shaded red and purple and yellow and orange sounded like something out of a dream.  

 

The charges would break the head free and the sorcerers would catch it with floating discs. They would bear it to the barge, and from there down the river where it joined with the river Hog. From there to the sea, and then back to the world. Once aboard the ship it was the responsibility of the captain. Gorgojo would, nonetheless, accompany it to its new home. He wanted to look up at it while he drank annix and ate purple worm in mole negro. Then look up further still at the trees.

 

The engineers verified, for a third time, that the charges had been set correctly. The mages promised, again, that they had triple checked the carvings at the base of the statue. Lorem ipsum. The same word repeated again and again without meaning. They had to move soon. The potions would wear off and they'd have to dip into the reserve during the trip back.

 

The heat haze made the tongue dance in the statue's mouth. Gorgojo thanked Logic and The Draftsman for checking his work and lit the fuse.

Riverboat Gambler: Three Tombs

Clearing a tomb of undead was routine. You approached by half light or by day and you used a weapon that burned everything inside. The average grave was no more than a few rooms deep. Enough flasks of alchemist fire generated convection sufficient to cook unliving flesh until it fell off the bone. Skeletons charred into heaps of cremains, wights came gibbering out the entrance to dissolve in the sunlight. Mummies made sounds like a man suffocating in a bag. The loss of scrolls and cloth and delicate artwork was regrettable. So was being chewed for an hour as the potion of troll blood surging through your veins kept you alive just long enough to feed the ghouls.

 

For living things it was the same. Set an ambush at the entrance, smoke them out and slaughter them. 

Tabor fondled his amulets and mouthed a prayer to the Hungry Dungeon before tossing the flask. Eda and Salvador had thrown theirs unlit, a "wet shot" to splash fuel into the corners before igniting. With the God propitiated, he threw.

 

A word came from the cave. He didn't understand it.

 

The burning oil went out. With it, the sun.

 

Eda kindled a Light spell but it would not spark. Without even the moons to light them the dunes looked like waves in some primal watery abyss, awaiting the creation of the world.

 

The sound came again. Tabor realized it was his name, spoken from the mouth of the tomb. 

Riverboat Gambler: Twelve Points of Interest

 

 

She stood at the helm of the riverboat and raced the pike-shaped congregation of egrets above as it flew across the Plain. The cold surged up from the swift water and dueled with the killer heat that scoured the land beyond the river of life. 

 

It passed over her and for a moment she was back.

 

On the lakeshore, one side of her shivering and one side warmed by the bonfire that ate the snow before it touched the beach. The Giantess' heavy body fit to burst out of the dozen animal skins she wore for her wedding, flushed red and blue. The Giantess surging down to embrace her new husband, then exploding when the rebels struck her with the death spell, splattering blood over the freshly crowned King of the Giants. The brawl that erupted in the stands as the Red Ball wizards raised their winestained fists and struck with their wands, battering the Giant clergy with magic missiles that smelled like juniper and blossoms of annix. The adventurers lashing out with poisoned bolts and bullets and strokes of their enchanted blades. The cake leaping in the air with the lifting charge and detonating at chest height to cut down pikemen and ogre doppelsoldner before they could reinforce their deceased mistress and her guests. The brave mage and his stone men who held the wedding ground against all comers until the red dragon incinerated the proceedings. The mage transformed into a red dragon himself in a gambit to escape the consuming flames, holding off the ancient worm in a desperate melee until it tore out his throat. 

 

She couldn't go back. Not to the path of agriculture and the social contract and duty to family and the Goddess. The path that led her family through the ovens and onto the Giantess' table. 

 

No. For her there was only the life of adventure. Men and monsters. Spells and magic swords. Step into the grave and catch the blade with your heart. Strike while your foe's weapon is immobilized and trust the Godman behind to heal you through the damage. Snap back from unconsciousness or from death and leap back into the fight to be struck down again. O Sun chased over the horizon by Great Moon, then chased by the sun, then the moon again.

 

The Halflings lying around on the deck were friends she met on the killing floor after the wedding. She had said nothing in the kitchen when the little alchemist had crawled out from under the cake, black with chocolate and coffee dust after planting the bounding mine inside. He held a gloved finger to his lips and replaced his beret and she let him leave without telling the guards, although another bomb would have meant complete extermination of all the slaves in the holding. For this they named her a Neighbor Man when they found her scavenging magic items on the beach. One of the good humans, who could be trusted to accompany them on adventures. Because for them, it was the same. Their village too had been fired and there could be no return to bass fishing and meat pies and blocks of cheese. The only holes in the earth they could now delve were tombs.

 

She gave a cry, because up ahead were the rapids. The rapids that ate the hulls of ships so the things that lived in the rocks could eat the crew. In an instant the hairy little gluttons came to life. They prepared to repel boarders and to guide the vessel through the cataract into the uncharted waters beyond. They yanked dust tarpaulins off the swivel guns. They pulled on their hoods of dark cloth, leaving only their grinning mouths exposed.

 

The Great Glass Mountain - Session Four

 

The Company woke up atop the sea cliffs to the sound of shouting. It was audible over the sound of waves and it came from the landward side. The Company shouted back, unsure if leaving their camp was wise in the middle of the night, worried it might be another mirage out of time. Kemp shouted that the voice was his grandfather Cruicifer. The Salt Knight ran down the mountain path, Reme and Kemp following him. He rapidly lost his way in the dark, less concerned with following the path than descending quickly, but avoided injury as he hopped down the boulders and rocky slopes. 

At the bottom of the mound was an old guy dressed in nothing but a breechcloth, cloak caught on a gnarled tree root sticking out of the earth. He was trying to climb a boulder and getting nowhere. Kemp rushed past Tiber and went to help him up, but something yanked Crucifer's leg down. The Salt Knight and Reme rushed to help. A gnarled root wrapped around the old man's leg. Tiber leaped down to hack away the root and the old guy was yanked downward into the earth. The Salt Knight grabbed onto him and was pulled with him. The earth closed over them without a sound.

 

Riverboat Gambler: Encounters in Hogman's Plain

Tap the arquebus on the soft sand with enough force that the ball falls down the barrel. After a couple shots the bore will be fouled enough to require the ram, but if the next volley doesn't break the charging Mantids there won't be need for another.

  

Strike the earth 

Shovel the soft mud aside. By nightfall the sand will crawl and the camp must be completely encircled by the little canal to protect you. Damp earth is a portent of danger where you're from. An incipient flood, already too late to stop. On the plain it's a luxury. Perhaps you could rest a moment until it closes over your head. The water is dark. The water is black. 

 

Strike the earth

 

Your payday is cornered in its burrow. A fortified tunnel system with a trapped entrance, suicide to take by frontal assault. You stand on the outcrop over the grave and press your ear to the stone. Pound once, twice with a clenched fist. Brush aside the sand. Draw an X with your charcoal stick. Work fast with the pick, leave time for killing before the sun comes up. Brush the grit from your beard.

 

Strike the earth

 

These ones have ears. You don't have to stretch them out and work two at a time to take the heads.

 

Strike the earth 

 

You wanted to be a cheesemaker.

 

Strike the earth

 

Aim low to skip the ball off the ground. In the dunes the sand swallows the shot but on rock the bullets track flat surfaces. Into the ankles of the laughing men, beneath their manskin shields with metal plates sewn into the fabric.

 

Strike the earth 

Can the Hammerer punish a man if that man is an inert lump of clay? How many blows will it take?

Strike the earth 

The hyena shovels the scrimshaw bone into its mouth. The Caster sees this and lifts a finger to stop it but all the creature has to do is bite down. The cracking sound comes from somewhere inside your body. Inside your head.

 

If it's your leg they won't take you with them.

Strike the earth.

Unknown Armies NPC: Bartholomew Gates

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The Great Glass Mountain - Session Three

Valenta the Chain Knight, Tiber the Salt Knight and his squire Reme arrived at the Seat of Power on Sceptremas, the high holiday where the vassals of the realm renewed their loyalty oaths to the ruler. The Glass Mountain was a series of triangular spires, clad in white limestone so they shined in the summer sun. The jagged range of wavering peaks swept down to a white walled bailey overlooking a harbor at the end of a vast inlet, stretching south for leagues and widening until it was too far to see across from east to west. 

The Knights watched as ships from the Pearl Knight's domed cove tied up at the docks. The largest vessel beached itself on the pebbly beach, where teamsters waited with wooden rollers to haul it out of the water.

 

The Great Glass Mountain - Session Two

Valenta the Lost Knight and Tiber the Salt Knight tumbled down the hill, away from the shadows and away from Reme and the horses. Tiber bashed his head on a rock, leaving him addled and vulnerable. He asked Valenta if the Knight he rescued had escaped the shadows. She told him that it was so. He got up and looked around. The Squire would either double back and try to find them after losing any pursuers, or would climb to a high place to get a better view of the area. The Knights decided to do the same. Tiber was headed into the mountains anyway to find the shining thing atop the spire that he saw from the deck of the wrecked ship. The one the Pearl Knight denied was there.

The Lost Knight opened the locket she carried down the mountain with her, alongside her armor and longsword. Inside was a man she didn't recognize. Or couldn't name. The face was familiar. The white and gold clothing.

mellonbread reviews Starwater Strains

I wrapped the Starwater Strains collection a month or two back. I didn't believe the cover art was real until I actually had the book in my hands. I love Endangered Species but the best stories are squirreled away at the end and there are a lot of duds to wade through. Wolfe At The Door has some bangers, but also several stories I only enjoyed reading in conversation with his other work (and some juvenalia that's only worth reading out of historical interest). I think Strains strikes the right balance of rich-but-approachable. Like in At The Door the stronger entries are strategically placed to prop up the weaker ones so there's never a losing streak, and the longer entries are bookended by shorter ones so the reader never leaves exhausted.

As usual, I'll skip the summaries and go straight to my thoughts.

Mythic Bastionland Myth: The Flying Swords

 

The faithful five

The flying swords

High-hearted, fierce-fighting wind-warriors

The closer they get to the sun

The further they have to fall