Sworded Tales

Gerard leapt over the fallen log with a nimble plant of one gloved hand, his lean form arcing through the moist morning fog.  His bare feet absorbed a great deal of the impact as they pattered to the mossy earth in rapid succession.  The mists consumed the remainder of his passage, clamping down on the noises with a choking undulation.  Even Gerard’s labored breathing was lost amidst the gray waste that floated around him.  The thrumming in his ears was paramount.  That rhythmic hammering of his nectarine sized heart, rapid firing in his chest.

The sweat soaked Halfling wasn’t sure how long he had been running.  The first day was clear enough at the time, but the ceaseless pursuit over the overgrown barrens was dissolving his sense of time and place.  The perpetual silver hue and the lack of any disturbance in the stagnant weather made travel in the darklands difficult under the best of circumstances.  That is, after all, the task for which he was trained.  This mindless fleeing, a thin shadow blurring through the bland backdrop, was an altogether different matter.  Many seasoned travelers had navigated the dead zone perimeter and had wandered into their final nightmare.

Gerard wasn’t about to join them.

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DMG Original Cover (1979)

I will always return to sword & sorcery.

Ever since cracking that first edition of D&D and rolling up some hack-and-slash monstrosity, I was consumed.  Don’t get me wrong.  I didn’t realize that my fate had been sealed just yet.  This was only the first wave of the fantasy assault which would shape me.

So, I wax colored polyhedral dice and dabbled with power gaming for a brief time.  Beholders feared me.  Illithid feared me.  Even Demogorgon himself was no match for my pre-teen omnipotence.  Then, I set this novel new game aside for a time and followed the fickle fancy of youth elsewhere.  A decade would pass before I would find my way back to the allure of tabletop roleplaying.

My older brother had just finished reading The Sword of Shannara (1977) by Terry Brooks.  His recommendation and my own budding interest in fiction beyond comic books were enough encouragement to try tackling this tome.  With over 700 pages!  An abridged Webster’s seemed less daunting.

If you haven’t had the pleasure of journeying with Shea, Menion, Allanon and the bunch, I envy you the opportunity to do so.  Brooks has an enchanting ability to weave multiple story lines together with nail biting chapter closures.  The pages fly by.  So much so, that he is a go to author for me to this day.  Some of the blame is his, but not all.

Lord of the Rings (1978)

The animated version of The Lord of the Rings (1978) certainly played its role.  I can see so many  of those vintage images with poignant clarity,  Boromir’s death scene, the battle with the Balrog and the haunting Ringwraiths.  I still sing this little ditty more often than I care to admit.

Are you singing it now too?  You’re welcome.

The final formative element to this love affair was the computer game Wizardry (1981).  I was fortunate enough to have access to potent technology of the era, and I of course chose to spend countless hours dungeon crawling and mapping.  Oh my god the mapping!  Those of you who have crawled this path with me will remember the graph paper with a shadowy fondness.  I still dream of it from time to time.  Curse you Sir-Tech.

There are other elements to my gamer inside, comics and horror and sci-fi and holocaust and growing up in the arcade generation.  Many of which I will explore here with fervor.  Know this though, whether I dabble in a zombie apocalypse or digress into a Magic the Gathering montage, my wanderings will always find their way back to the beginning, to sword & sorcery.

That’s the magic of first love.  That’s the heart of Sworded Tales.

Amethyst stood on the reedy bank of Lake Ire looking across the stagnant waters.  Her revenant orange eyes were cast to the far shores, gleaning the minute details from the harsh terrain all around her.  Her glum countenance was lost in the recent past, swimming along the lines of memory which lead her to this place.  Her final destination. Continue reading

We all live storied lives.  Each of us carries a unique muse that wields the limitless potential and horrifying burden of creation.  The terror of shadow and the radiance of song calls to us all.  The choice seems to be in deciding what you will do with this power, this singular glimpse of eternity that is yours and yours alone.

My own spark tends toward the darker elements of the trails we wander.  I fancy swordplay, and apocalypse, and abominations that strain the mind.  I will be true to story and character, and there will be ample grim tidings to overshadow the moments of bliss, and I will cuss aplenty.  Sworded Tales is my concourse of these elements, of the writer, of the gamer, of the explorer, and I make no apologies.  Nor should you.

I write for myself.  I do not know where the journey will lead, but you are welcome to walk beside me.  Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Background for Jillian Defarrik

The nightmares of shadow and stone refresh Jillian’s anxiety with each new dawn.  The sun’s rays may dissipate the darkened corners of her room, but the memories of her family’s imprisonment lurk ever more in the dim recesses of her mind.  She would scream into her pillow if she could, but she can’t.  Her voice would betray her to the hunters. Continue reading