Seriously, go check it out and let me know what it needs. This is the first time I’m using Backerkit for crowdfunding and I welcome feedback. Not to mention all that sweet, sweet TTRPG crowdfunding money.
I mean, that’s pretty much the message, there. I had a photo of me taken that was good enough to make me want something other than the constipated-hobbit one I currently use, but those cost money. So… buy my books!
#commissionearned
Shorter than usual, but it’s been a really haywire week. Besides, I had to update the PDF and EPUB, and there’s been a bunch of extra content on Patreon already this month. I’m counting my blessings.
Kinda maybe BOOM. This is pushing my self-defined limits for my site, I know, but the concrete policy changes are just too potentially far-reaching for me to ignore. I also get that none of these people are inherently trustworthy. There’s no guarantee that any of this will happen. Then again, given the current circumstances, there’s no guarantee it won’t happen, either.
Via @eigenrobot.
It’s not really been a great time up there. One hopes that’s been coming across.
âCommander Marsh is in charge of the Americans here on the moon,â Reithner told him. âI am not even his direct subordinate. You should talk to him, not me.â
The cleaver-man scowled at Tobias. âHeâs not one of us. Maybe you are, maybe youâre not. If you are, you can tell us how to talk to him, get what we want that way.â
He might have said more, but Tobias interrupted. âLet me start right now. Harm the Lieutenant in any way, and youâll get nothing you want.â
âYouâre in no place to bargain, American. We have your life in our hands.â The cleaver-man reached out one of them, which looked more like claws than even before. âAll I have to do is make a fist.â
âWhat I said wasnât a bargain. It’s reality. And no, you donât have my life.â Tobias leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. âIâm already dead. We all are. Hell, Iâve been where we go after all of this. You want to hear what itâs like? The void, I mean? Well. Itâs dark, endless, empty — and, best of all: itâs not on the God-damned Moon. You think scaring me with going back is going to work? Iâd sleep there if I could!â
I really need to do more research on Hallmark movies, but I kinda don’t want to. But I need to. The things I do for my art…
Usually, you found people who didnât want to be found in the bad parts of town, but there werenât any bad parts of town. Not really. When they showed Timmy one, the only difference was that there were a couple of newspapers on the ground, a few garbage bags against a dumper, and an oil can with a fire in it. Timmy had been in places where people would vacation here.
Talking to the local bums didnât help, either. They didnât know anything, hadnât seen anything, and always started out talking gruff but then would stop and suddenly be all warm and fuzzy. The weirdest thing? None of them smelled bad. Bums were supposed to smell bad, because they never had soap.
Timmy didnât look down on bums for that. Thereâd been lots of times he didnât have soap, either. But these guys did. Or maybe they just donât get smelly, he thought, and tried not to shudder.Heâd searched the area for an hour before giving up. Frostvale Pines wasnât big, so heâd been thorough, but wherever this guy was, he was hiding really well. Timmy was starting to wonder whether there was even a guy in the first place. One thing he had learned quick in life was that adults could be wrong. Like, a lot.
No translation!
Tobias was not a small man, nor had he neglected his exercise training on the Moon. He still staggered when one of the attackers casually shoved him against the wall, then pulled out the cleaver that had been strapped to the side. The few lights set in the passageways that still worked made the cleaver-manâs face into a nightmare of shadow and scar, with a sneer that could have been carved into the very bone below. âEin dicker Amerikaner,â he spit. âGut. Das beste Fleisch muss eine Weile abgehangen werden.â
Beside him, Reitner gasped. âWarte! Bist du auch Schweizer?â
That stopped the cleaver-man cold. He looked Reitner up, down, then gestured at the two attackers who had grabbed Reitner. âZeig mir dein Gesicht,â the cleaver-man barked. Tobias decided that this was definitely German, but not quite the version still spoken in some parts of the EU. It sounded more guttural, and with fewer Euro loan-words.
The man must have said something like Reveal yourself!, because Reithner promptly made her helmet fully transparent. She looked⌠well, like Hell, Tobias admitted. We all do. Too-pale skin with frozen sapphire eyes, and her hair was buzzed too short to tell the color. But the set and shape of her face oddly matched the attackersâ. You could believe that they and she were related, and that thought filled Tobias with both horror, and pity.
I just can’t keep my eyes open any longer.
Itâs funny. Normally Iâm a lot less confident than I sound about a scheme. Youâd think that knowing that the complicated part in all of this was coming up with a line of nonsense that New Californians could believe would be less stressful than trying to fool a Dominion Archmage, but somehow it was even more nerve-wracking. They had more eyes to pull the wool over, after all.
Then again, what choice did I have? Was I supposed to tell them, Trust me. The ambassador has a secret heroine addiction? Theyâd never believe that. I barely believed it myself.
Stenches!
One of the advantages, and curses, of necromancy is that you become quite the connoisseur of stenches. Your nose becomes attuned to the differences between the various charnel bouquets, to the point where ghulmen are almost willing to admit that you might approach their level.Â
Unfortunately, oldmen do not get the ability to find rotting meat piquant. The best we can do is simply keep the thought of the smell away from our gorge. So when I sniffed the presence of recently-killed vermin coming from the local descent to the Antiquity, I did not enjoy the experience. Or if I did, it was the enjoyment of someone who had just literally sniffed out a trap.
âHold!â I muttered to Curwin and Marsh, both of whom were there to give me some physical safety while I performed my exorcisms. I can defend myself, but not while staring into the Veil. âThere is death ahead. Many small deaths.â
âChrist on His Throne,â Curwin muttered, blanching and crossing himself, and I hastened to correct him.
âNot small human deaths, Lieutenant. There are a great number of dead rats and squirrels in the passage ahead.â I sniffed. âA remarkable number of dead pigeons, too. They are just now starting to rot.â
