You are viewing arhyalon

arhyalon

Recent Entries

You are viewing the most recent 10 entries

December 19th, 2014

12:43 pm: Illustrations!

The illustrations for the books of Unexpected Enlightenment are now all available online

 

Sheep and Dread Final

Originally posted to Welcome to Arhyalon. (link)

December 18th, 2014

09:34 am: Signal Boost — Author Mary Catelli

Signal Boost for fellow author, Mary Catelli. A short stories, a novelette, and a collection:

Forest


Widowed, caught between two feuds, Katie was desperate enough that the Witch Prince witched her wits away, so that she let him steal her baby.


Then there was no reason for him to not let the bewitchment fail, then.  What, after all, could she do against him?  Even the witching woman would tell her that defying the Witch Prince was beyond her power.


And tell her again, when she will not listen.


Barnes & Noble

Itunes

Kobo

inktera

Scribd

Amazon

BookOfBone2a


A novelette of curses and journeys.


Avice's dreams of settling at Clearwater are dashed. The lawsuit had ended, and the lands were made over to her, but a bone wizard lays a curse on the land, and blight brings to spread. All will die before the curse as it spreads.


Neither her family nor her king are willing to help. She is left alone with only the knowledge that the mysterious Book of Bone may have the lore that she needs — if only she can find it.


Barnes & Noble

Itunes

Kobo

inktera

Scribd

Amazon

WaterhouseRights


Whoever hears the mermaids, singing, will die.


So Nicolas has heard — before, and after, he hears the song.


Barnes & Noble

Itunes

Kobo

inktera

Scribd

Amazon

Snowfall2


A short story of a curse, a king, and a child.


A warlord of fire can lay curses of fever. A woman of snow can freeze a man to death.


Pierre, knight of the king, is burning with fever from the curse of the warlord when he learns a possibility that might save him — and the kingdom. It turns on a child.


Barnes & Noble

Itunes

Kobo

inktera

Scribd

Amazon

Parchment3a

The dragon must die.  It haunts the land and strikes with fire and death without warning.

Prince Baudouin knows the perils, and how other knights have perish.  Still, he is confident that he can slay the dragon.  All he has to do is forge through the burnst wasteland about its mountain, and slay it.

All.

Barnes & Noble

Itunes

Kobo

inktera

Scribd

Amazon

ColorTest


A short story of magic and reunions.


At long, long last. . . .


For five long years, Sanchia has held the lands of her husband alone, while he fought in the desperate war against malign shades.  Much will change when he returns.


Especially because he brings the magical sword, found in the mountains, with him.  And, it turns out, other things follow.


Barnes & Noble

Itunes

Kobo

inktera

Scribd

Amazon



Castle2b


A short story of sorcery, war, and treachery.


Apollonia proudly casts a spell for the king, to aid him in his battles, a spell that creates enchanted viewing. But when things go awry, she finds it more useful than she had ever dreamed — if only she can persuade one and all to listen to her.

Barnes & Noble

Itunes

Kobo

inktera

Scribd

Amazon


Monsters3

Finally, a collection of all of the above, plus a bonus short-short that I'm not selling independently:


Barnes & Noble

Itunes

Kobo

inktera

Scribd

Amazon

Find out more: Mary's LiveJournal

Originally posted to Welcome to Arhyalon. (link)

December 17th, 2014

09:13 am: Superversive Blog: Guest Blog– Why I Think Christian Comic Books Are So Necessary!

Subversive Literary Movement

Today we have a treat: a guest blog by my cover artist extraordinaire, Dan Lawlis. When, he is not painting covers, Dan works as a commercial artist. Before that, however, he drew for Marvel and DC Comics. Dan is currently working on a Chrisitan Comic Book called Orange Peal 3.

Orange peel 3

From the comic Orange Peel 3 

 

Why I Think Christian Comic Books Are So Necessary

Consider your average kid is reading your average comic book, let's say its Batman. You know the story, the Joker is threatening the city, and in comes Batman, he throws his Batwing, it hits the switch that turns off the death ray, and saves the city in the nick of time. 

The problem is, it always works out. Batman never faces death, so he doesn't have to confront life. This is fine if you're a little kid. Kids shouldn't have to deal with the real world. But more and more comics are being read by older teens. That's a problem, because those fantasies aren't preparing them for the real world.

These teens get out in the real world, and things don't work out so well. In the real world Batman misses with his batarang and innocent people die. On top of that the jerk usually get's the girl.

Since Batman always wins he can avoid the need for God. The writers can neatly avoid God by filling any need with fantasy. When the kids try to mimic their heroes in the real world and lose, they aren't prepared for that, and they fall apart.

Over the years comic book story lines have grown up in subject matter, that is, the heroes face death more, but they haven't grown up spiritually. What's the result of this development? Well, you can see it all around you. The characters get angry at life. They become bitter, grim, mean, dark brooding types. Batman, Wolverine, even formally colorful upbeat characters like Spiderman and Superman have become more evil looking, grey and colorless. 

dan 1

They weren't colorless during Dan's tenure at Marvel!

Its almost as if they are invoking some dark power to supply themselves with power. In fact, that's exactly what their doing. In the absence of hope in God and heaven, these characters need power to deal with the real world. If you can't get it from God, you go to the other guy.

He's the one that seemingly comes to the rescue, selling his lies that if you just get mean and angry enough, you can have the power to force your will on the world, with no God needed but yourself. The characters become their own God. This is the evil message that is being taught to the kids, to become your own God, and you can bring the world under your power.

Talk about a setup for failure. 

dan 2

The price of failure!

There's only one realistic antidote to this situation. As writers and artists, we have to go into that fantasy world that these poor teens are caught in, and deliver a Christian message that will teach them the way out. It's sort of a rescue mission, descending into that shady comics underworld, looking for lost souls walking around like drug addicted zombies, and seeing if you can help them escape.

Its no accident zombies are poplar right now. Art is imitating life. These teens are literally becoming brain dead zombies in the wake of they're disastrous attempts at dealing with the real world using the hopeless secularist view of life. 

The Christian message is the positive one. It says go out and fight for what's right, but you can't lose, because there is always hope in this life, and the next. The bad guys may win the battle, but we have faith that we will win the war. I demonstrated this in the very first scene in my online comic book. My character, in Orange Peel 3, essentially took a beating. But if you notice, he wasn't bitter or angry. He knew he couldn't lose, ever.

This is why we need more Christian characters. A lot more!

Thanks for reading,

Dan

Also by Dan:

   

Originally posted to Welcome to Arhyalon. (link)

09:13 am: Superversive Blog: Guest Blog– Why I Think Christian Comic Books Are So Necessary!

Subversive Literary Movement

Today we have a treat: a guest blog by my cover artist extraordinaire, Dan Lawlis. When, he is not painting covers, Dan works as a commercial artist. Before that, however, he drew for Marvel and DC Comics. Dan is currently working on a Chrisitan Comic Book called Orange Peal 3.

Orange peel 3

From the comic Orange Peel 3 

 

Why I Think Christian Comic Books Are So Necessary

Consider your average kid is reading your average comic book, let's say its Batman. You know the story, the Joker is threatening the city, and in comes Batman, he throws his Batwing, it hits the switch that turns off the death ray, and saves the city in the nick of time. 

The problem is, it always works out. Batman never faces death, so he doesn't have to confront life. This is fine if you're a little kid. Kids shouldn't have to deal with the real world. But more and more comics are being read by older teens. That's a problem, because those fantasies aren't preparing them for the real world.

These teens get out in the real world, and things don't work out so well. In the real world Batman misses with his batarang and innocent people die. On top of that the jerk usually get's the girl.

Since Batman always wins he can avoid the need for God. The writers can neatly avoid God by filling any need with fantasy. When the kids try to mimic their heroes in the real world and lose, they aren't prepared for that, and they fall apart.

Over the years comic book story lines have grown up in subject matter, that is, the heroes face death more, but they haven't grown up spiritually. What's the result of this development? Well, you can see it all around you. The characters get angry at life. They become bitter, grim, mean, dark brooding types. Batman, Wolverine, even formally colorful upbeat characters like Spiderman and Superman have become more evil looking, grey and colorless. 

dan 1

They weren't colorless during Dan's tenure at Marvel!

Its almost as if they are invoking some dark power to supply themselves with power. In fact, that's exactly what their doing. In the absence of hope in God and heaven, these characters need power to deal with the real world. If you can't get it from God, you go to the other guy.

He's the one that seemingly comes to the rescue, selling his lies that if you just get mean and angry enough, you can have the power to force your will on the world, with no God needed but yourself. The characters become their own God. This is the evil message that is being taught to the kids, to become your own God, and you can bring the world under your power.

Talk about a setup for failure. 

dan 2

The price of failure!

There's only one realistic antidote to this situation. As writers and artists, we have to go into that fantasy world that these poor teens are caught in, and deliver a Christian message that will teach them the way out. It's sort of a rescue mission, descending into that shady comics underworld, looking for lost souls walking around like drug addicted zombies, and seeing if you can help them escape.

Its no accident zombies are poplar right now. Art is imitating life. These teens are literally becoming brain dead zombies in the wake of they're disastrous attempts at dealing with the real world using the hopeless secularist view of life. 

The Christian message is the positive one. It says go out and fight for what's right, but you can't lose, because there is always hope in this life, and the next. The bad guys may win the battle, but we have faith that we will win the war. I demonstrated this in the very first scene in my online comic book. My character, in Orange Peel 3, essentially took a beating. But if you notice, he wasn't bitter or angry. He knew he couldn't lose, ever.

This is why we need more Christian characters. A lot more!

Thanks for reading,

Dan

Also by Dan:

   

Originally posted to Welcome to Arhyalon. (link)

December 12th, 2014

07:32 am: New Caina Amalas story by Jonathan Moeller — free for Christmas

Signal Boosting for a fellow author!
 

A different book by Jonathan Moeller

 

A new GHOSTS novella, GHOST KEEPER, is now available at Amazon US, Amazon UK, Amazon Germany, Amazon Canada, Amazon Australia, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, iTunes, Google Play, and Smashwords. In GHOST KEEPER, Caina Amalas searches for answers among the relics of a malevolent sorcerer – but if she's not careful, her bones will join the sorcerer's collection. 
 
However, if you use this coupon code, you can get the story for free at Smashwords: 
 
TG82T
 
The coupon code is valid through January 31st, 2015. (If you have never gotten a book from Smashwords, here are directions on how to load Smashwords books onto Kindle devicesiPhones/iPads, and Nooks.)
 
Finally, we have one final bonus for Kindle users – the GHOSTS short story GHOST ARIA is free on Amazon US, Amazon UK, Amazon Germany, Amazon Canada, and Amazon Australia until December 14th, 2014.
 
Thank you for reading the GHOSTS series, and I hope you enjoy GHOST KEEPER.
 
To unsubscribe from this newsletter, click on the link below.
Thanks,
Jonathan Moeller
 
 
Originally posted to Welcome to Arhyalon. (link)

December 10th, 2014

08:16 am: Superversive Blot: Why “Realism” Isn’t

Subversive Literary Movement

Today's post is a polished reprint of a post I did several years ago. This subject came up in the comments of my last post, so it seemed topical.

SSPX0165

Moments of Grace

or 

Why "Realism" Isn't

I have never liked dark, gritty, ‘realistic’ stories—the kind that are unrelentingly grim. The kind where there’s no hope, everything is covered in dirt, and terrible things are happening one on top of another like a stack of pancakes. (Sometimes, these stories have a lot of blood or sex, sometimes not.)

For a long time, I could not put my finger on why.

Friends would say, “Oh, I understand, they are too dark for you.” Or “They don’t bother me, I don’t find them scary.” But that did not seem to put into words the impression I suffered when reading/watching such stories.

I wasn’t scared. Something else was wrong.

Oddly, it was a funeral that finally solved the mystery for me.

It was a few years ago. A friend’s father-in-law had died. It was a very sad thing. She had never known her own parents, and her upbringing had been difficult. This man had stepped in and become the father she had never had. His passing devastated her and shook her family. It was as if they lost a mainstay that kept them going. On top of this, they had new responsibilities. They needed to take care of an ill mother-in-law, for whom the father-in-law had been caring.

I was not able to attend the funeral, as I was out of town. What I remember was the looks on the faces of the people who had attended. When they talked about this man, light would fill their eyes. Again and again, I heard how they had not realized, until the funeral, how wonderful this man had been, what an amazing person and father he had been.

This death was a terrible and sad thing, but it touched their lives and brought to them an awareness of something greater. It brought a moment of grace.

I have read stories of soldiers in the battlefield suffering terrible conditions, yet often these stories are accompanied by someone rising above their ordinary circumstance to do something generous, something caring, something brave. Sometimes these events are extraordinary, but not always. Sometimes these are small things…but they are small things that stick in the minds of those who experience them.

Small things that make a difference.

What is missing from dark, “realistic” stories, in my humble opinion, are moments of grace – those precious moments when we see the silver lining of Heaven shining against the clouds of despair.

In real life, when things get bad, that is when we are called upon to rise beyond our narrow view of ourselves and exhibit something more.  In real life, we can always find signs of hope, if one is willing to look. What I don’t like about dark, “realistic” works is that they are stories about people who are not willing to look for hope, and that strikes me as unrealistic.

Comments

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Originally posted to Welcome to Arhyalon. (link)

December 9th, 2014

11:57 am: Another Snippet of Operation Renfield!

From Operation Renfield 

by Steven Johnson,

Chapter One: King In the Morning

keep of glass

A different book by Steven G. Johnson here.

“You are Sergeant First Class Murphy?” said a healthy specimen in spatter-camouflaged overalls. He carried a machine rifle and had a bunch of little boxes slung over his back – tin can, leather box, some long skinny cartridge cases, and something that looked like a giant stick grenade. He had a knife in his left hand, which he was using to sharpen a big stick.

“Martin Brenner,” he said. “I am to guide you into Hassberg.”

I pointed to the lightning bolts on his collar.

“You Weather Corps? What are you doing running around in the woods?”

“Nein. The letters are SS.”

I saw it now. Felt kinda stupid. But Martin was explaining:

“It means … protection squadron, you would say. We started as bodyguards for our leader.”

“But you ain’t any more?” David asked.

“Nein. He died.”

“So, uh, what do you do now?” I asked.

He grinned. “We make sure his escort to Hell is as crowded as possible.”

David exploded.

“Hey, watch with the language, buddy! You know what you’re doing, cursing the guy’s name like that?”

“Oh, he knows. We are all going there. But we will have many, many servants when we arrive.”

David couldn’t let it go.

“So when you kill a guy, he has to work for you in the afterlife?” he asked. “You better be right. What if it turns out you owe him, instead of him owing you?”

“Then Hell will be unpleasant,” he said after a moment of thought. “And so?”

“That’s what my uncle used to say.” Dave was off and rolling. “If you’re going to be punished anyway, why not give in to temptation? What can they do, hang you twice? You see where that leads, Marty? Once you slip, just once, you might as well be the worst son of a bulldog anybody ever saw, you follow me? Thinking like that leads to a whole world of psychos.”

“But if you are damned, Corporal, and you know it? What then?”

“Hey, there’s always hope,” David said.

“That is not your people’s view,” Martin said. “Perhaps you do not agree with them?”

“Jews?”

“Dwarves.”

“What, like your grave has to be on granite? Like slate is bad luck? Like you gotta braid copper into your beard with your left hand, but if you do it with your right hand, you gotta eat a peck of coal to wash away the taboo? Who can even keep track of what the dirt farmers believe, back in the Old Country? My opa came over to Brooklyn to get away from all that.”

“But you are ‘back in the Old Country’ now,” Martin pointed out. “You do not share your kinsmen’s views?”

“Hey, buddy, look at the patch,” David said, jabbing his shoulder at him. “I’m an American, got that? Everything else is just ancient history.”

“You do not like the old things, then?”

David smiled tightly.

“You could sum it up that way, yeah.”

Martin smiled back and resumed sharpening his stake.

“Good. For I do not like the old things either.”

Comments

 

Originally posted to Welcome to Arhyalon. (link)

11:57 am: Another Snippet of Operation Renfield!

From Operation Renfield 

by Steven Johnson,

Chapter One: King In the Morning

keep of glass

A different book by Steven G. Johnson here.

“You are Sergeant First Class Murphy?” said a healthy specimen in spatter-camouflaged overalls. He carried a machine rifle and had a bunch of little boxes slung over his back – tin can, leather box, some long skinny cartridge cases, and something that looked like a giant stick grenade. He had a knife in his left hand, which he was using to sharpen a big stick.

“Martin Brenner,” he said. “I am to guide you into Hassberg.”

I pointed to the lightning bolts on his collar.

“You Weather Corps? What are you doing running around in the woods?”

“Nein. The letters are SS.”

I saw it now. Felt kinda stupid. But Martin was explaining:

“It means … protection squadron, you would say. We started as bodyguards for our leader.”

“But you ain’t any more?” David asked.

“Nein. He died.”

“So, uh, what do you do now?” I asked.

He grinned. “We make sure his escort to Hell is as crowded as possible.”

David exploded.

“Hey, watch with the language, buddy! You know what you’re doing, cursing the guy’s name like that?”

“Oh, he knows. We are all going there. But we will have many, many servants when we arrive.”

David couldn’t let it go.

“So when you kill a guy, he has to work for you in the afterlife?” he asked. “You better be right. What if it turns out you owe him, instead of him owing you?”

“Then Hell will be unpleasant,” he said after a moment of thought. “And so?”

“That’s what my uncle used to say.” Dave was off and rolling. “If you’re going to be punished anyway, why not give in to temptation? What can they do, hang you twice? You see where that leads, Marty? Once you slip, just once, you might as well be the worst son of a bulldog anybody ever saw, you follow me? Thinking like that leads to a whole world of psychos.”

“But if you are damned, Corporal, and you know it? What then?”

“Hey, there’s always hope,” David said.

“That is not your people’s view,” Martin said. “Perhaps you do not agree with them?”

“Jews?”

“Dwarves.”

“What, like your grave has to be on granite? Like slate is bad luck? Like you gotta braid copper into your beard with your left hand, but if you do it with your right hand, you gotta eat a peck of coal to wash away the taboo? Who can even keep track of what the dirt farmers believe, back in the Old Country? My opa came over to Brooklyn to get away from all that.”

“But you are ‘back in the Old Country’ now,” Martin pointed out. “You do not share your kinsmen’s views?”

“Hey, buddy, look at the patch,” David said, jabbing his shoulder at him. “I’m an American, got that? Everything else is just ancient history.”

“You do not like the old things, then?”

David smiled tightly.

“You could sum it up that way, yeah.”

Martin smiled back and resumed sharpening his stake.

“Good. For I do not like the old things either.”

Comments

 

Originally posted to Welcome to Arhyalon. (link)

December 8th, 2014

12:57 pm: Caption This!

1478930_709696862374296_271194177_n

Comments

Originally posted to Welcome to Arhyalon. (link)

December 5th, 2014

11:41 am: Story Snippet — Operation Renfield by Steve Johnson

A special treat! A snippet of Operation Renfield by Steven Johnson. (First novel any child in my family ever finished was: Up In Smoke by Steven Johnson.)

 

Up in smoke

A different book, also by Steven Johnson. ;-)

 

King in the Morning

The morning report listed sixty-six effectives in K Company. Of the names I recognized, half were dead or missing. That wasn’t a big slice of the sixty-six.

“I hear they got the new six-inch mortars up at Essen now,” Willie told me. He tilted his head down to keep his cigarette going in the rain, but his massive nose was doing that all by itself.

“Good,” I said. “Maybe they’ll grind up some decent potions for once. That stuff they sent up last week didn’t do anything but make my teeth green.”

“Ah, that’s the fungus, Joe,” Willie suggested. “Only greens we’re likely to get our teeth into for a while.”

I scratched at the gap between my front teeth. There wasn’t anything to say to that; it was the truth, pure and simple. Not “God’s honest truth”, though. Nobody would use God’s name to talk about Waldorfsbruck.

We were on the reverse slope of a hill, which was good and bad. Good, because the Austros couldn’t tell exactly where we were without sending over a broomstick, and with our drake-jockeys watching over us, they weren’t likely to survive the attempt.

Bad, because the rain went past like a babbling brook, curling over every little rock and tent peg. Sure, the grass and bushes would hold the dirt down, but that was before the U.S. Army came stomping around in our shoe-pacs. We weren’t knee-deep in gluey mud, which was something. But we were ankle-deep in cold water, which isn’t any picnic either.

Plus, whenever the Enemy settled in for a while, everything else went gray and died. It takes a lot of cursing to keep a vampire officer up and at ‘em night after night. Takes even more to keep their mortal soldiers in line, when every decent instinct is trying to leap right out of their skulls and drag the rest of them along for the ride.

The Austro-Hungarian morale problem was less like our Army’s and more like our prisons’, or our psycho wards. There’s one, count ‘im, ONE Angel of Mental Stability in the whole of the Heirarchy, and don’t think for a minute he’s not half buggy himself from the flood of prayers he gets from our Invocational Warfare boys. Fighting the undead, we wind up with blasted near more head cases than neck wounds.

Of course they’re not all vampires. For one thing, who would they eat?

So all those evil spirits churning around gets into the soil, and the trees, and whatever lived around here, and it wears ‘em out. Can a germ feel despair? I don’t see it, myself, but I did know that an open cut up at the front lines never got infected. Guys got sloppy about cleaning their mess kits, and never a bellyache. Docs didn’t have to wash their gear in alcohol, even, although they did anyway.

Waldorfsbruck was dead.  Deader than Caesar. Deader than chivalry, in fact, because there are still a few Knights of St. John around, holding back the Dark with their bulletproof crosses. Everything natural except us was dead, and we were trying mighty hard to make the UN-natural dead, too.

The unnaturals on the Enemy’s side, of course. Our golems and dwarves are just good Old Folk.

“So,” I said after I tracked down the last piece of breakfast, “how many guys do we really have?”

“Forty-some,” Willie allowed after a pause for thought. “Simms and them’re at Mine Warfare School until, uh, the 28th. What’s today?”

“It’s right there at the top of the report,” I groused, to keep from having to admit I didn’t know the date, either.

“Can’t the Old Man get ‘em back early?” Willie said. “I thought we had dwarves for all that underground stuff.”

I chewed my lip, where a baby moustache was boldly defying regulations.

“Yeah, but dwarves,” I said. He knew what I meant. There aren’t many of the Old Folk left, although they’re more common in Europe than back home in America. We’d been around them some since coming Over Here, and they weren’t bad guys, just different. You literally never knew where they’d pop up. We have maps, because the ground is flat and we can’t fly. They got map rooms, layered with different colors like a Dagwood sandwich. Always looking up, always crouching with their hands in the dirt. Always tasting everything. Not twitchy, like some guys get on the Line. The exact opposite, in fact. So quiet and calm that when they finally did speak, you couldn’t believe that down-in-the-well rumble was actually coming from them.

Also, I could never understand their accent.

“We gotta get better at this tunneling bit,” I opined. “There ain’t but so many dwarves to go ‘round. And the other side’s got most of ‘em.”

“Zat why their dwarves’re so much better’n our dwarves?”

“Mebbe,” I allowed. “And they’re trained better. Cuz they’re really trained, like a dog. Ours are free to do whatever they want.”

“S’what we’re fighting for,” Willie drawled out. “Ain’t it?”

“Not getting bit in the middle of the night’s the main thing,” I countered. “But, yeah, freedom. I guess. Hope someone gets some, somewhere. Cuz there ain’t an eye-a-newt of a lot of it in th’Army.”

I hear back home some guys think the way we cuss Over Here makes us sound sissified. Back there you hear “damn” and “Hell” even in the nice places. They can go tell the Marines, the way I see it. Why give the Enemy any more ammunition?

I scratched a little – at least the lice died up here on the Line – and stood on an ammo crate to see through the rain. There weren’t any trees left; the boys burned them for warmth before the place went gray. So it wasn’t hard to make out our tents, three twelve-man rigs and a Baker for the captain. We were down in a shallow swale that was pretty good concealment before the bushes died. As it was now, it was still cover from the chest down.

To our right was the pavilion of the Excellent Master of the Oaken Hunt. The carbon-arc spotlight filaments were smoking hot; Elves like it bright. The stovepipe chimney was roaring, too, because Dwarves like it hot. And there were piles of slime in the corners, with a Troll wriggling fat and happy in each one, half in and half out of the tent.

I hear they call it coalition warfare.

On the left were three trucks with tarps over the sides for a lean-to. Those British guys with the berets. Bred to command. They can make you do whatever they want. Tell you to eat a live grenade and you'll think it's the best idea ever. Doesn't work so hot when your enemy speaks one of eleven languages, though. The Austros deliberately kept their nationalities separate; you never knew if you were up against a Serbian regiment, or Galician Poles, or Ruthenians, whatever they were. Can't understand your Voice, can't obey it. There wasn't generally a lot of work for the Commandos.

 An infantry regiment has nine rifle companies, A through I. Headquarters is J-for-Juliet, the artillery is L, M and N, and Oscar Co. is transportation. Sometimes there’s a tank company attached, but they’re all numbers instead of letters. What with most of the fighting being at night, every regiment’s had a reconnaissance company authorized for a while now. That’s us, K-for-King.

That is, we’re a reconnaissance company in theory. Most times, we’re the regimental reserve, the Colonel’s bodyguard, military police and rock-straighteners. But once in a while, when the gremlins stop hexing our Jeeps, we go out and poke around to find out where the Enemy is, and what he’s up to.

The Austros, we know about. They have to have a vampire to keep their men in hand, so they move around in company-size clumps. Officer likes the night, but the men can only see in the day. So they don’t move around all that much. Our overlays show every enemy unit in the valley. Every day.

But the real Enemy supplying the Austros with their magical oomph? They’re a little beyond my pay grade. nobody knows how many Dark Forces there really are, or what they can do. We don't even really know what they want. When every demon with any influence is both smarter than us and a psychotic liar, how can we trust anything we hear?

Well, yeah. We can trust one Source. But He doesn't issue morning reports.

http://arhyalon.livejournal.com/370244.html?mode=reply#add_comment

 

Originally posted to Welcome to Arhyalon. (link)

Powered by LiveJournal.com