Roads of Bone, Chapter 8: Exile

I am doing a little experiment.  I am going to write a series of chapters in a fantasy world of my creation and see if it goes anywhere.  Since I have not prewritten this story and have no outline, it will probably end up a convoluted mess.  I do not know how often I will be able to update this or if it will ever finish.  This is the link to CHAPTER 1.  (I have also found that I have to go back and clean up very broken sentences in previous chapters.  This is why I need an editor.  I understand what I am writing, but I need to make sure other people do too.)

Chapter 8: Exile

            As Pasgard walked off toward the tea house, Malachite rubbed the sides of his head.  He knew that there was a way to secure passage out of Orchard Town, but he was going to have to mention how important his family was, rather than relying on how amazing he was.  His frustration mounting, he found resolve, "Yeah, I'm doing this now."

            A random man walking by glanced over thinking Malachite was addressing him and then kept walking after grunting dismissively.

            Malachite went to the holding house he had been keeping his armaments, cloths, and coin, and changed.  Holding houses were common for those who moved along the river with any frequency, keeping an account of coin allowed access to a secure room to keep a chest of valuables.  This also meant not having to carry physical currency everywhere, instead relying on paper notes that could stand in for the money, if the holding house burnt down it would be impossible to claim your money, or they could be robbed and you possessions taken, but overall it allowed hard currency that might otherwise sit in a pocket to instead sit in a secure building, also allowed the holding house to make investments in shipments or even parts of LLC's, or farms to draw earnings from.  Most holding houses were part of a larger guild that could connect and insure the validity of the bonds in multiple cities, using numerous books and messages to help everyone keep track.  Since Malachite's family had coin and goods in every city on the Southern fork of the Color Line he could store his things safely in nearly any city on the continent.

            Malachite striped off his flashy doublet, mismatched pant legs, gold codpiece, and giant black velvet hat.  Donning in place his dark green doublet emblazoned with the dark red two headed bull, brown slacks, and a bronze circlet with the little bronze bull horns which never looked properly symmetrical.  The circlet being the only clothing that was more preposterous than what he had worn before.  Then ruffling thru a box of rings and jewelry, finally locating his own signet ring, the rest having been plundered from some raid in the Confederate Kingdoms or the Caliphate.

            The seal of Viscount Malachite Johansson the IV of the County of Hasenburg, (future) Warden of Southern Color, and Emissary to the Painted People.  A leather binder of parchments holding his title to office and a credit slip.  In the six years he had not been home he had avoided using his father's credit to buy one scrap of clothing, now he was using it to ship some old fat man who had yet to pay him anything.

            Perhaps I am under spell, he wondered.  Perhaps I just pity him.

            Leaving the holding house he started walking the docks.  Pass, pass, pass, yes.  It was the first LLC mercenary sailor he could see with an important looking hat standing next to a ship that looked too gorgeous to have ever been in a real fight.  "Hello, I am from Hasenburg," he said in introduction, tightening his posture and adding a slightly posh accent to his voice.  "Have you perhaps done business with my County in the past?"

            The sailor turned, black leather breast plate, polished bronze shoulder pauldrons, a bicorn hat with a bronze broach of two fish, and a face so bearded there were little whiskers that connected the eyebrows to the sideburns.  Sun brown, taller than Malachite, a golden tooth filled smile, and a bottom lip packed with slop (a weed that was treated with flavors to be sucked on thru the day to freshen breath or get its user euphoric dependent on the strength).  "Aye," he said, extending a hand.  "I am Captain Quintus of the Freshwater Shark.  You a baron who needs a ride home?"

            "Not a baron, and no," said Malachite, shaking hands and looking over the ship.  "I am trying to get to Bone and would like passage."

            "I never head to Bone," said Quintus.  "Their navy doesn't hire sell sails."

            Liar on both counts, thought Malachite, pacing and looking the ship up and down.  "That is a shame, because I notice that your ship looks fantastic, if they did pay you would earn top dollar."

            "It is," said Quintus.  "And it does with others."

            "How many Bloody river pirates have you fended off?"

            "Never need to," said Quintus.  "They run when they know what is coming."

            Another lie.  Why lie?  Especially when he's clearly bad at it.  Mercenaries are not pristine, and a pristine ship would not stay pristine.  A ship would take arrow hits, burns from dropped lanterns, something needed to be broken having shown some kind of combat.  "So you are just in Orchard to fill up on oarsmen who can swing swords?  And heading where after that?"

            "We are taking on men and headed south to your fiefdom," replied Quintus.  "I really would help you if you were going our way or if we ever went the other.  You seem well to do and I wouldn't leave you hanging if it weren't any trouble.  I'm somewhat part of the informal Navy of Hasenburg."

            "Watch that language Captain," said Malachite.  "Bit potentially treasonous there, Hasenburg has no Navy that they would wish to challenge any power that wishes to regulate the Color Line.  We are cowboys and free rafters, not a military," and Malachite winked.  The Maunder Empire despised the idea of other militaries having any presence near them.  They knew about them and did nothing about them so long as they were not called a formal military.

            Quintus returned the wink.  And they both took a pause.  "I think you should come aboard," said Quintus.

            "The Freshwater Shark looks more beautiful even from the deck," said Malachite to his host.  "The sort of place that makes one's hair blow majestically, caught in the winds of adventure even when only following the current."
            "Showing off that reading we royalty are so known for?" said the Captain.

            "It is rare that I run into someone else who had to suffer it," said Malachite.  "Which cousin of mine are you."

            "Who even knows at this point," said Quintus smirking.  "My father named me after his captain from when he served in the Maunder Legion.  My mother is from the romantic kingdoms way in the south.  And I work for a living."

            "The silver fish are freshwater sharks, that means you are the distant ones, past Red Clay near Port Padre," said Malachite.

            "No," said Captain Quintus.  "You got it.  Red Clay.  We're the Brickers, the ones with the fort."

            "When did you get a fort?" asked Malachite.  "And for that matter, when did this ship get built?  A week ago?"

            "We started building the fort the first time one of us took a trip to Orchard Town and noticed Maunder Troops taking accounting," said Quintus.  "Counting the buildings, counting people, counting ships, counting orchards, they were or are looking to project out and so we started turning the red clay into red bricks."

            "At least it isn't expensive," said Malachite.  "Hasenburg had to ship stone from the Mountains when building its bridges."

            "It's expensive in Man power but has had the unexpected benefit of making the river run faster and deeper in our area, so we are making good money as the place people can lighten their loads before the river gets steadily shallower.  I am rambling aren't I?"

            "Don't be embarrassed I do it all the time," said the Viscount.

            "I am guessing you are the Run Off Bull?" said the Captain.

            "The what?"

            "Malachite?" said the captain leaning against a mast.  "My Lord?  Is that the proper address?"

            "You know we don't do that," said Malachite, waving off the title as he took a seat on a short rum barrel, Quintus opened his mouth and raised a hand to object, but then waved it off.  "And yes, that is me.  Though that is a nickname I hadn't heard yet.  Sounds alright.  Bit cowardly for my taste."

            "Malachite," said the Captain pausing to gather his questions, while still looking at the barrel Malachite was sitting on.  "What do you need?  Really?  I can take you home, you've got to have enough glory by now."

            "Slaughtering mountain tribes that had been harassing people isn't very noble."

            "Sounds alright to me."

            "They were hungry."

            "Less alright."

            "They owned the route and were gathering a reasonable tithe," said Malachite glowering.  "The kind I've had paid a hundred times just as part of trading."

            "Okay, now you sound more like a bandit," said Quintus, walking toward the head of the ship face toward the docks and Malachite got up to follow.  "Trade is complicated, and more and more of it is getting controlled by fewer and fewer people.  Men like you and I have lots of good starting positions to be one of the people holding one of the leashes of trade.  But there is that one things standing in the way."

            "A stupid sense of right and wrong," said Malachite.

            "It is the damnedest thing."

            For a while they stood quietly, looking over the people moving around the piers, and out over the crowd Malachite saw Pasgard lumbering from the tea house shielding his eyes from the sun and headed over to a shop selling heavily seasoned and lightly charred lamb meat with cucumbers and probably 3 types of gourd.

            "I am helping out someone who has a sort of legend about him," said Malachite.  "He's shady in his own way, mostly that he is foreign and dark skinned even by the standard of where he comes from."

            "Skin color important to you?" asked Quintus.

            "No," said Malachite, embarrassed to have phrased it that way. "But I know that even here in Orchard, a place that sees people from the Oases all the time, the people here still act like he is going to take their children back to the Caliph to be transformed into some kind of fire warrior.  He's not some kind of djinn, just an old guy who wants one last adventure before he finally feels he did his last adventure."

            "What's in Bone?"

            "I have some friends that will be helpful, after that I will..." he stopped and looked back over the ship.  "It occurs to me, you never told me when this ship was built."

            "What do you mean?"

            "Why is this brand new ship here?" asked Malachite.  "You're building a fort.  This boat is new.  Is something happening?"

            "Just like you can't say out loud where you are headed," said Quintus.  "I can't tell you everything that is going on."

            "I am a Viscount.  I out rank you.  Don't you have to tell me?"

            "You are the Run Off Bull," said Quintus.  "When you go home you can ask."

            "Wonderful," said Malachite.

            "That's why I know you," said the Captain.  "You're the fool in the codpiece."

            "That was an expensive codpiece."

            "I'm sure," said the Captain.  "You should go home, you can't be in too deep with this desert man yet.  Just go home."

            "Home for scolding, for admonishments, for answers to why you have a new boat," said Malachite, slightly sneering.  "I'll put it off."

            "Well," said Quintus.  "I won't tell anyone I saw you."

            "That's a relief actually."

            "I will also take you to the River's Fork if you want," said the Captain.  "I tend to stop there for food anyway, they have really fresh everything."

            "Maybe I could catch a ride there once a cargo lets off some of the load from here to there."

            "It's your best option," said Quintus.  "There is a reason you can't find passage all that easy."

            "Which I will discover at home?"

            "Yes, another answer you'll find at your father's house," said the Captain, who then paused.  "Where is the codpiece?  It's like meeting Achilles without his shield.  Why are you dressed like that if you aren't going home?"

            "I thought I might use my father's credit with the shipping people to secure a ride," stupid plan.  "Or I missed dressing plainly."

            "Maybe you should go home and find out."

            "No, but that you for comparing my penis to a demi-god," said Malachite.

            "Complement?" asked the Captain in a tone.  "I compared him to a warrior that died because of hubris."

            "The fate of all great penises."

            "HA!"

            "I will go find my friend," said Malachite, standing.  "We have a cart, horse, two big chests.  Lot of your space we'll be taking up."

            "I can make room," said the Captain.

            "I owe you," said Malachite.  "One of these days I will show up and offer you a job that will too good to resist, and you will become a great friend."

            "Good to know."

            "You have a nickname by chance?"

            "Not that I know of," said Quintus.

            "How about I call you Captain Quintus the Shark," said Malachite.

            "Seems an excessively fearsome name considering I am taking you one port and kicking you off."

            "It will help me remember you," said Malachite.  "Better than Captain Quentin the Ferry."

            "I can see how that name might confuse people," said the Captain.

            "I am otherwise awful with names," said Malachite.

            "What's your black friend's nickname?"

            "He has been given more names by more foes, than people I have yet to meet."

            And so Malachite headed back to the holding house, and changed again, circlet, doublet and trousers away.  Slashed sleeves shirt, mismatched tights, and golden codpiece on.  I am wonderful.  And then he left orders for his things to be ready to ship in an hour, and headed to get Pasgard... And some delicious over seasoned goat meat with various gourds as a side.

Roads of Bone, Chapter 7: Show Off

I am doing a little experiment.  I am going to write a series of chapters in a fantasy world of my creation and see if it goes anywhere.  Since I have not prewritten this story and have no outline, it will probably end up a convoluted mess.  I do not know how often I will be able to update this or if it will ever finish.  This is the link to CHAPTER 1.  (I have also found that I have to go back and clean up very broken sentences in previous chapters.  This is why I need an editor.  I understand what I am writing, but I need to make sure other people do too.)

Chapter 7: Show Off

            Malakite watched as Pasgard lumbered over to the parasols the tea house had laid out over part of the dock.  The cafe had opened a section of the dock so that the patrons could dip their feet into the flowing water of the Color Line.  Tiny river fish would nibble off the callous of feet, making them smooth and tender.

            All around the tottering black man people became aware of him, we was from a very distant place and that made some of them prickly.  Pasgard had seen worse starting attitudes, "Come young ones to see the wonders of an old fool who wishes to show you the little bits of fun I learned when I was not much older then you."

            Pasgard's finger moved like he was signally hidden instrumentalists and distant haunting music began to play, like a distant fair ground.  "This is spooky," said someone getting up to leave.

            "Fear not young man," said Pasgard, pointing to the little fish.  "I seek only to pass on a little something that was passed on to me."  The instruments that previously seemed distant grew closer.  While adults all around felt nervous, the children looked amazed.

            "See the little fish," said Pasgard, with a wave of his hand the nibbling fish started to emanate blues and yellows.  Swimming in big sweeping patterns, a ring, a figure 8, 3 wavy lines, then a spiral.  Each change prompted by the wave of Pasgard's hand.

            From under the parasols the light of the midday sun seemed very distant.  The little fish glowed and sparkled, moving faster thru the water like shooting stars.

            "When I was just a young man," said Pasgard.  "A wizard did this show, though he used a flock of humming birds.  I like the little fish.  They move in patterns good."

            By then even the previously nervous parents were taken in, as this little area of the tea house was turning into a surreal bubble of night sky in the middle of the day, but with an eerie hum of invisible strings, a beat of distant drums, and some deep feeling of having been made free.

            Bit by bit the lights and sounds faded, the fish stopped glowing and swimming in patterns, and all of the children were smiling ear to ear.  The parents and other adults were dazzled.  There was one left over, a little girl with ragged hair, freckled face, a smile missing many baby teeth, simple clots, and no parent.  "How?" she asked.

            "Little one," said Pasgard, his eyes tearing up.  "Oh that I could be young enough to teach you such things.  I have done this show before, and seen so many smiles, and always there is one left who asks how."

            "Why are you crying?" the little girl asked, suddenly so nervous for the wizard.

            "I'm sorry little one," said Pasgard.  "My time as a teacher is passed," there was a coin in his hand that he was making spin.  "I have taught so many before you, and this would be all I needed for me to try again, but I just don't have the time left.  I'm sorry because I can already tell, you be a great wizard." He then fumbled the coin.  She tried to catch it, missed, and chased it to the edge of the water, she smiled, turned, and frowned.  The old wizard was gone.

Roads of Bone, Chapter 6: Passage

I am doing a little experiment.  I am going to write a series of chapters in a fantasy world of my creation and see if it goes anywhere.  Since I have not prewritten this story and have no outline, it will probably end up a convoluted mess.  I do not know how often I will be able to update this or if it will ever finish.  This is the link to CHAPTER 1.  (I have also found that I have to go back and clean up very broken sentences in previous chapters.  This is why I need an editor.  I understand what I am writing, but I need to make sure other people do too.)

Chapter 6: Passage

            The Color Line River was frequented by three types of sailing craft.  The first group were called free rafters, those who owned there own boat delivering small amounts of materials, salvaging, fishing, and piracy (the last one was mostly limited to the Black Marsh as the river made escape from various law enforcement agents nearly impossible without the cover of foliage, and the southern fork which was more lawless).

            Small companies were the next group, these were groups of ships own by LLC's, or limited liability companies.  Essentially these were two or more boats that were owned by men and women who worked on land and had crews that were paid wages plus a share of the profits from whatever job the company committed to.  The advantage to being part of the collective owners was owning a small share in each boat.  Meaning if one boat sank they all lost a small amount, and whenever one did a job they all profited a small amount, rather than the Free rafters who would lose or gain everything on the gamble of a single ship.  The Maunder Empire is responsible for the protection of these craft and the trade interests they control, which brings up the last group.

            Group three is the Maunder Imperial Freshwater Navy.  Very fast boats whose tactics were to pull along side ships, lash on, and deploy numerous marines to take control of the ship.  Small fleets, or flotillas of these were deployed to the Black Marsh area to combat piracy, but were almost never seen on the Southern fork.  LLC's whose job it is to employ seasoned marines for security on those ships who are not in the regularly patrolled areas of the river exist, but are not expected to protect anyone who is not flying their standard.  Unless a free rafter or shipping LLC was flying a banner that meant they were already under contract with a particular marine company, if a pirate were to attack a shipment the marines would more often allow the pirates to simply pay them a cut of the looted vessel (or turn over living sailors to be impressed into mercenary service) rather than act to protect the victimized ship.

            There is a colloquial joke that the Red Clay portion of the river is caused by all the blood spilled just up stream by Bloody Field's raiders who have managed to capture a small ship run aground by passing too close to the shore.

            Orchard Town is up stream from most everything except the scantly populated mountains, and they shipped boatloads of excess harvest everywhere else.  It never seemed like the town was poor for passage elsewhere, at least to those who could pay as much as the number of apple bushels they took the place of.  Coming back was always odd though.  Going against the current required people to row, sails to be full, and the hold to not be stuffed with goods, so the only trade coming back was usually very high craft items from the larger city of Bone, which was home to far more craftsmen, who could make clockwork, lock work, musical instruments, books, softer clothing, bedding, art, lots and lots of shovels (the tool makers guild was subsidized because of a law too old to contextualize and too ingrained to ever repeal), and exotic animals or spices from the rest of the empire (very expensive and rarely fresh because it is always the material that didn't manage to sell in Bone itself and since the trade of it was controlled by the Empire you couldn't get it anywhere else without paying a smugglers' price).

            Malachite knew all of this, having traded with Orchard Town small but regular amounts in the past (coming back from Solace, his parties would stop off in Orchard Town for the last leg of the trip to be made down the river, shipping materials the south route with escort and the sending them back with pepper and beef for the trouble as payment, Hasenburg's ancient credit was taken as sacrosanct).  But since Malachite did not want to go home he found a much harder time negotiating, carrying two extra people instead of food was seen as more and more costly with each free rafter he talked to.  LLC's under contract to deliver quotas of material were already laying off extra rowers they had used to get to Orchard, and the mercenaries were small in number and only looking to head south to guard a bigger shipment.

            Malachite was already failing the first task he had been given by the wizard... But was keeping that fact from Pasgard as best he could.  "They are loading nothing but Cider, but it isn't spiced yet and the sweet air will make us sick in a day."  "I have worked with them, they charge too much to move cows, I can only imagine what they would milk us for."  "The crew was very rude to me."  "Boat has a worm eaten stern and the captain would not listen to my warning about it.  I wouldn't set foot on deck."  "The only women on board have brown teeth."  "No pillows in the bunks."  The man had more excuses than any lay about could dream up.

            Adding to this was shipping their equipment.  Pasgard had a cart loaded with bits'n bobs, and presumably a lot of physical money, paper slips and promises from the Caliphate would not have been the wise currency to bring on a trip like this.  Malachite would need his armor, greatsword, abus gun (which he never got enough chances to use, but relished those times he did, always a good opening to any battle), and while he had no attachment to the horse he owned he hated shopping for them when he needed one, forget the cost of boats, horses were damn expensive.  "I never got a squire."

            "What?" asked Pasgard.

            "A young man to help me with my equipment and clothing," he said.  "I was one for a while.  That was part of the trade missions I did."

            "I was something similar when I was young," said Pasgard.  "The Caliphate used to recruit or force young men into civil service, as sort of high ranking slave.  One of my brothers was taken when I was very little after my father had disappeared in the waste one day.  They told my mother that part of the money they gave her each week to help us live without my father meant that they needed her sons to serve the Caliph."

            "When did you get taken?" asked Malachite

            "I was still to young to know my age," said Pasgard, wistfully.  "They came to take my other brother, and they would have, but my mother cut off one of his fingers so he couldn't hold a sword properly."

            "Gods," said Malachite wincing.  "She could bear to see you go?  Was it so bad?"

            "From this side of it," said Pasgard.  "Looking back thru time.  No, it was not so bad.  My mother did not know what the service really was."

            "She just couldn't bear to see you go?" asked Malachite, feeling genuinely sorry for the old man, but also very curious.

            "She did not fear for us that way," said Pasgard.  "She had taken our father's disappearance well, always hoping he would one day walk out of the desert with palms filled with jewels, and a wagon full of silk.  She even pictured my brother coming back.

            "No, she was afraid of not knowing us if we came back.  They would force you to learn and practice the state religion," said Pasgard.  "Normally they just charged a tax on those who followed some other faith, it was to fund the upkeep of their temples, my family worshiped a number of gods and paid the tax.  But when taken you were made to follow the state's faith and then sent to fight for it.  My first brother died fighting beyond the desert."

            "You have all your fingers," said Malachite.  "Did they take your brother's lost finger as a protest and just not bother you again?"

            "They beheaded my mother for trying to stop the recruiters from doing their work," said Pasgard, as Malachite drew breath thru his teeth, his heart feeling heavy.  "They took me and the rest of my brothers to a training camp for boys destined to be soldiers, my brother with the missing finger was made... manager?  Not sure the equal word in your words.

            "My sisters were betrothed to a number of family's, and are house sold to pay their dowries,"  He paused.  "I don't remember the name of the goddess my mother wanted us to worship.

            "For the next few years I cleaned the guard houses, sharpened swords, and learned my prayers," Pasgard frowned.  "When I was old enough they sent me to the Eastern most Oasis and told me my job, I was to guard the pass.  That is what I use as my name when traveling.  Pass.  Guard.  Pasgard."

            "That is not your real name?"

            "I have never met someone out of the Caliphate that could say my real name," said Pasgard smirking.  "There is no letter for one of the sounds in it."

            Malachite was boggled from the sad story, and was just grasping to make the subject lighter somehow.  "How?  That is so odd to me."

            "Are you named after a gem?"

            "Yes," said Malachite, talking faster.  "But, West of the Caliphate people name their children after objects all of the time.  Why not just use the literal translation of your real name if you are going to go by something else."

            "My name means 'Messenger of God'," said the wizard.

            "Okay, I can see how that would sound pretentious," said Malachite.

            "Pray?  Ten?  What?" Pasgard looked confused, and his little book was out again.

            Malachite took a second to discern his question.  "Oh, 'pretentious'.  It means acting better or more important than who you are."

            Pasgard started chuckling, "I can imagine you hearing that word a lot."

            Malachite started laughing to too.  "Yeah, sometimes people I meet have to ask me for a good word to call me.  That one I go to a lot," said the swordsman.  "Go to that tea house to relax while waiting," he pointed to a corner restaurant.  "Read thru your little book a bit.  I will find us a ship eventually," even if I have to do something I loath.

Some Netflix Reviews

Four Movies I watched on Netflix this weekend while playing video games.

I ranked them chronologically.

(I also watched 13 episodes of "Sword Art Online" which is a strangely engaging).

            Three of these movies (all but "Monsters") came from recommendations from a critic I enjoy called Cecil Trachenburg, who has a show called "Good Bad Flicks" on the Agony Booth.  He tends to suggest movies that flopped in the box office or are relegated to the ghetto of genre fiction (lot of horror, sci-fi, and some fantasy).  Watch him.

"Strange Days" (1995)

6/10

            High concept science fiction about the idea of downloading other people's memories and experiencing things, like romance, lust, murder, or even the death of the person whose memories you are feeling.  This is also the "future" (2000) as envisioned by 1994, so HOLY COW RACISM.

            I feel like people should watch this movie because it is a really cool concept, it doesn't pull punches with violence or sex, it is engaging.  Problem is the super-super political bent that has nothing to do with the premise.  There are two plots that end up crashing into each other in a silly way, a murderer who forces his victims to watch their own murder thru his eyes with a live stream of his actions as he does them (AWESOME) the other has to do with finding the memories of a girl who saw police murder a very prominent rapper/community-organizer... and the potential resulting riots that might come of those memories going public (RODNEY KING, TOOKIE WILLIAMS, and TUPAC SHAKUR all in one).

            This movie has an interesting main character, a lot of cool tricks with mirrors and first person perspective, and a really good premise.... Crazy person plot.  there is also a mystery with enough real actors to make you wonder at who is doing stuff.  If they had focused on either the racial politics or the murder mystery the movie would have been infinitely better.  It is much like many movies nowadays in that it is two movies shoved together.

 

Awful poster.  Just fucking awful.

"Gattaca" (1997)

7/10

            This is a high concept science fiction movie about a world in which genetic engineering has allowed people to proof their children against genetic defects like color blindness, baldness, and heart defects, this also has the byproduct of making children "better" than their non-tailored counterparts, kids whose parents did not like mucking with their child's DNA.  This follows a guy who is trying to get into a space program and since he is not genetically engineered he is near sighted and has a heart defect, so he has to steal someone else's identity.

            This movie is interesting, there is a murder, it has a lot of commentary on society and how it likes to tamper with people... But it has a fundamental flaw with the premise.  The main character should not be an astronaut, he has a heart defect, that would DQ people from terrestrial jobs, let alone going into space where everyone depends on the person next to them to keep them safe.  He is putting others in danger for the sake of his pride.

            There is also a super-Orwell premise in this universe.  Much like Googling an employee to make sure they haven't been in the news for burglary, this movie makes DNA sequencing look like an ultra routine procedure that is required just to enter the building of the space program.  They also over emphasize certain things, like all of the people who are not engineered are relegated to janitors because of discrimination, but that only makes sense to a point.  I can understand not letting the heart defect guy going into space, but he is still a genius with laser like mental focus, he could work as an astrophysicist on Earth.  So the idea of him working as a janitor is silly.  You have the technology to scan a person's DNA every time they enter the building like they were swiping a key card, but you don't have Rhombus?  The point of advancing technology like this is to make people do less work, not to strata people... There is also not a lot of minorities in the movie, which I guess is supposed to be a subtle thing... Maybe?  It is worth watching because it has some positive messages about putting unfair expectations on children, discrimination, and... the positive aspects of identity theft.

 

Bad poster, with three more faces.  Here is some fan art for comparison.

"The Skeleton Key" (2005)

7/10

            Southern Gothic Horror.  A hospice worker goes to help take care of an elderly stroke victim and gets caught up in a Hoodoo plot to... Something.  The plot twists and twists, and the ultimate end of them story is a rather nice change of pace from my typical fair.  It is not incredibly scary, but there is a cat and mouse game, and tiny little revelations of information that add up (in my opinion they added up, I was not giving this the full dissection treatment as I was playing "Age of Empires" while watching, maybe I missed a glaring plot hole).

            I could definitely see some "spell it out" writing at certain times.  A character does something that is a twist, the protagonist says what she thinks is happening, that way the audience has a temporary, "Oh, that's what's happening".  Having the audience just watch what is happening and thinking about it would be too complicated, got to make sure the popcorn munching masses can follow along.  Though I was legitimately surprised by the end... So I would recommend it.

 

Slightly better poster, but with that annoying floating head looking gormless.
And you of course need an eye, can't be a horror movie without eye imagery.

"Monsters" (2010)

6/10

            Mexico is infested with Old Ones.  Monstrous Spider-Squid-Fungus that have wrecked all kinds of shit.  The US has built a wall (the largest structure ever built by man) to keep the monsters out, but has left Mexico a war zone as the military tries to keep the damn things from spreading.  That is the backdrop, the main characters are a photographer (war correspondent) tasked with retrieving and getting home with his boss' daughter.  The two of them are damaged and taking a tour of the Monster infested Mexican countryside.

            This is the movie that got its director his job making the 2014 "Godzilla".  I liked "Monsters" a lot more.  The issues with this one have more to do with budget than characters.  The two protagonists are fine, they emote well, have depth, they have a goal.  They are in a situation that is perilous.  The movie does not have the money to show a lot of monster action.

            I hated the cutaways from action in "Godzilla" because that was what I was there to see, instead the movie was cluttered with boring and meaningless humans who accomplished nothing.  This movie is about characters with the backdrop of monsters.  The monsters are not really what I am there for.  you could replace monsters with a flood, a tsunami, or a war and you would get the same story... The difference would be that the metaphor would not be a metaphor, it would just be a movie about the thing.

            The monsters in this movie (I think) are a metaphor for the drug war.  Mexico is torn apart, America builds a wall, but American intervention and conflict stirs up the monsters even more.  In that context this story (while preachy) is on point.  "Godzilla" had no such coherent undercurrent, and thus sucked more, though it had the money to do more.

            Monsters will probably bore most people to tears because (like I said) the budget is small, so there are some bad actors, there are seems showing on some special effects, a lot of the money shots are off screen.  If they had the money to show more stuff and better actors it would have been an 8.  If it had done that and not been as preachy it would have been a 10.  It might still be worth watching if you like slow burn stuff, like the original "Nightmare on Elm Street" for instance.

 

More dynamic poster.  Kind of "District 9" -ish, but somewhat humanized by the leads.

Roads of Bone, Chapter 5: The River

I am doing a little experiment.  I am going to write a series of chapters in a fantasy world of my creation and see if it goes anywhere.  Since I have not prewritten this story and have no outline, it will probably end up a convoluted mess.  I do not know how often I will be able to update this or if it will ever finish.  This is the link to CHAPTER 1.  (I have also found that I have to go back and clean up very broken sentences in previous chapters.  This is why I need an editor.  I understand what I am writing, but I need to make sure other people do too.)

Who wants a lesson on Imaginary geography?  The reason so many fantasy stories just have a map on the inside of the cover.

Chapter 5: The River

            "I am guessing we will take the river to Bone then?"  asked Pasgard.

            "It's the fastest way out of Orchard Town," said Malachite.  "Unless you want to wait another two days for the festival to end."

            "There will be another before too long," said Pasgard.

            "I think they have them every week," said Malachite.  "The weather here never really changes and they stagger crop plantings so that there is always some fresh crop reaching time for harvest.  Last week was pumpkins.  I think the last week was squash.  They were a little gourd heavy in my opinion."

            "So Green then Brown?" asked Pasgard.

            "Out of context that listing of colors sounds a bit unhealthy," said Malachite.  "Or that you have eaten too many berries.  Just tell them we are going to Bone.  I sure they will know how to get there."

            "I just imagine we might get cheaper travel if we take the trips in parts," said Pasgard.

            "That is wise," said Malachite.  "I'll shop around."

            The river, along which all populations sprung up in this area of the world. The Color Lines, one river that forked many times.  It was called the White in the Mountains because of falls and rapids, but as it went East it changed. Green Way was what it was called in Orchard Town, which was famed for breeding exceptionally large plums and having harvest festivals to the point of trivialization, the river did not turn green it was just used for irrigation purposes.  Then it gets its first split happens at the city of River's Fork, so named for.... Obvious reasons having to do with a lack of creativity.  That fork goes South.

            The Southern fork divides the great plains into the Painted Fields and the Bloody Fields.  The Bloody fields known for clutches of warriors and bandits who take refuge in the tiny forests that spot the map grow from seeds blown by winds centuries ago; forts with walls of mudbrick and logs hold up in the core of the little forests, no siege can get thru to them and the paths are often trapped or lined with old skulls or ribs dangling in the ivy and moss of trees.  The Maunder Empire has so far failed to project their power out into the Bloody Fields against these lawless peoples.

            The Painted Fields are named for the nomadic horse people who lived there peacefully.  Though they have had clashes with everyone at south point over the use of grazing land, horse theft, kidnapping and other crimes.  But since they prefer to hunt, forage, and trade rather than settle crimes are seen as actions as individuals rather than a people.

            The river's southern branch then reaches Hasenburg, known for cows, pepper, and a sort of frontier chivalry.  Hasenburg knows the River as the Clear Divide, referring to how it separates the grasslands.  Hasenburg is an ancient County having been under the control of various kingdoms through the ages and remaining somewhat independent during each.  They consider themselves a southern outpost of the Maunder Empire though barely interact with or solicit the larger government for assistance, preferring to work thru independent cities like Port Padre or Solace.  Hasenburg considers themselves deeply attached to the Nomads of the Painted Fields and have had numerous elders of those tribes retire to Hasenburg and many young people run off to travel with them.

            It then lakes a long turn East and gets very muddy, reaching the Town of Red Clay, so named for what they call the Red Clay River.  Ultimately this branch empties out at Port Padre, who never bothered to call it anything other than River, the only population that does not refer to it by some color.  Port Padre is the last free city of repute in the South before reaching the Confederated Kingdoms much further south.

            The main Northern fork continues East and serves as the north border of the Bloody Fields but has three forks going North: the Brown, the Black, and the Grey.  The Brown feeds up to the Maunder Sea and is the home to Bone, the Southern Capital of the Maunder Empire and the vastly populated Hinterlands that surround the city.  The Black runs into a morass called the Black Marsh (Shadow Marsh, Bone Marsh, and Maunder Marsh are also used); aside from swamp people the Marsh is populated only by animals, palmettos, and Mangroves on the coast.  The Grey goes up into Southern Maunder and marks the Eastern Boarder of the Black Marsh, it has an odd dusty look to the water and where the water of the Grey and the Marsh meet there is a clear distinction between the bodies as one has more mineral, while the other looks like tea from palmetto leaves.

            The last leg of the river which forms a rather straight line from Mountain to Sea is called the Blue Line and is the Southern boarder of South Maunder.  Dotted with villages it empties into the sea at Gold Port, whose actual name is Saulker's Rest.  Saulker's rest was named for the Captain who conquered, or accepted the surrenders of everyone along the river for the Maunder Empire.  Nobody calls Gold Port it's proper name, half because it reminds them of a Saulker's legacy of conquest on continent, the other half because nobody has conquered anything since Saulker and they feel a pang of shame that no one since then has been so great a military leader.  There is a lichen covered wall that once had Saulker's visage etched into it, but one of the marble tiles was knocked off by a runaway carriage and subsequent rains have caused others to detach.  Saulker is who named the last leg of the river the Blue Line, for the blue standard his army conquered under.

Roads of Bone, Chapter 4: Malachite

I am doing a little experiment.  I am going to write a series of chapters in a fantasy world of my creation and see if it goes anywhere.  Since I have not prewritten this story and have no outline, it will probably end up a convoluted mess.  I do not know how often I will be able to update this or if it will ever finish.  This is the link to CHAPTER 1.  (I have also found that I have to go back and clean up very broken sentences in previous chapters.  This is why I need an editor.  I understand what I am writing, but I need to make sure other people do too.)

Chapter 4: Malachite

            As a teen, Malachite had been part of trade caravans from his home city of Hasenburg, the oldest continuously held County in the region famed for pepper and steak; north across the Painted Plains, so named for the nomadic tribes that rode mottled horses and painted their faces and skin to match the pattern; and then winding thru the passes of the Bones of Giants, a mountain range filled with abandoned cliff side villages with choked out stepped planting areas the bones of a great mountain people now gone.  The ultimate destination was Solace, the free harbor.

            Solace was the only major trading city that was not under the control of the Maunder Empire, whose legions controlled the southern half of a continent hundreds of miles away, and most of the western part of this continent.  Solace was instead run by the Fingers, a syndicate of aristocrats who elected a council of five from the property owners of the city, but the rule of law was not so strong.

            The Fingers were rich, they made the city function to maintain their wealth, and they used the wealth to stay in power.  And they kept those who had the arms to change things fed and housed to a level that they felt the system worked.  Limited slavery, trade in drugs, and very few duties kept people coming into the city, kept money flowing thru the city (though the bribes one needed to utilize might have balanced that cost out).  Say what you will about the Maunder, the tax was the tax, and giving or accepting bribes meant the loss of literal fingers.  In Solace the Fingers were there to count bribes.

            But it made for a flexible market that could be worked by someone who had the mind to.  And Malachite's father wanted Malachite to have that mind.  The Dandy Knight was taken on trade mission after trade mission to hear the haggling, how to sell cows, how to buy horses, how to check purity of salt, what to smell for, what to listen for, and what people said with their eyes.  Malachite was known as a swordsman, because Malachite sold himself well as a swordsman.

            "How could I have survived as many battles as I have dressed like this if I were not amazing at what I do?"  "He told you I fought how many?  That is too many, I... Well, let me count, 1, 2, the man with the net...you know, now that I think about it, I might have been too humble."  "You need to provide more than that, I slept on a bed of straw for three nights and have eaten nothing but meal and bacon, the way I see it whether or not your battle goes forward luxuries have been denied to me and compensation is only fair."

            And he took these things in Solace, but his penchant for haggling and self promotion took a backseat to his greatest skill, cutting his friends in on the deal.

            Malachite was a networker, keeping lists of names in his head with his own system of nicknames to keep them all straight, little rhymes to remember if they owed him favors or if he owed them, and he always kept those debts very well, and managed to pay people back by setting them up with other people who he owed favors to, always working to make everyone's interests grow to a bigger interest.  He fought, but he was always batter at getting people to fight.  And now he was being given a bottomless purse to finance as many friends as he needed to get the job done, he was going to be owed a lot of favors after this.  And in the process he would have the legitimacy of working with Pasgard the Wizard.

            And so the two of them were off, to find Pasgard's secret... Whatever.

Roads of Bone, Chapter 3: Pasgard

I am doing a little experiment.  I am going to write a series of chapters in a fantasy world of my creation and see if it goes anywhere.  Since I have not prewritten this story and have no outline, it will probably end up a convoluted mess.  I do not know how often I will be able to update this or if it will ever finish.  This is the link to CHAPTER 1.  (I have also found that I have to go back and clean up very broken sentences in previous chapters.  This is why I need an editor.  I understand what I am writing, but I need to make sure other people do too.)

Chapter 3: Pasgard

            Wizards are crazy people.  No one should ever wish to be a wizard.  The life of a farmer is a far nobler profession, less fraught with catastrophe, and bound for an afterlife of frolicking with the goddess whose festivals involve horns of plenty, beer, and lots of breeding.  Wizards lives by contrast vary between the extremes of sitting in the dustiest and darkest rooms of any given keep trying to hash out what circle of hell they can put up with ultimately in order to have a modicum of success in the living world.

            In the desert region of Wind and Ghosts there is a Caliphate, a gathering of cities collectively called the Six Oasis, though that number would more accurately refer to the cities, the actual number of fertile areas never exactly cataloged.  They move.  The desert is magical, vast and featureless it is impossible to navigate without astrological equipment.  Caravans have set up camp in a tight circle, and the next morning every member awoke hundreds of feet apart from one another, the desert having moved them while they slept.  Men and women have  disappeared for days in the desert, only to wander back, emerging from the sand in nothing but rags, practically mummified, talking about how they had never seen night.

            Pasgard was a guide of the Land of Wind and Ghosts.  He had fought men with heads like those of Jackals, found the tops of stone towers buried in the waste, and had lived long enough to grow fat and rich.  He had served the Caliph himself for more than a decade, and been to lands East beyond the desert.  He had outlived all his friends.

            "Malachite," said Pasgard.  "The jewel I seek is beyond priceless to me, I am too old for the burden of being a wealthy man to keep me from securing what is truly important.  If it comes to it, I would have you captain an army of whatever sell swords you wish to secure what is mine."

            "Do you want to tell me what it is?" asked the flashy young man, more curious than greedy.  Also more wary than greedy.

            "Not unless I have to," said the wizard.  "I am hunted by those who wish to hurt me, to extinguish me."

            "Been there," said Malachite.  "But, if there is ever a time in which that information is critical, you'll tell me."

            "To save your life," said Pasgard.  "Or to secure the jewel.  I would not hesitate, I could not ask you to die for my secrets."

            "I would prefer you not to ask for me to die for common knowledge, the secrets of others, or really anything," said Malachite.  "But I understand what you want too.  I can get many talented mercenaries, I even know one wizard that might be willing to help."

            "Do all the youthful wizarding I can no longer manage?" asked Pasgard.

            "He's really not young enough for the comparison to matter, so no worries there."

            "And the others?"

            "My tailor," continued Malachite.

            "A man would admit to having dressed you like that?" asked Pasgard chuckling.

            "Well, the name he is called the Haberdasher," said Malachite.

            Pasgard's little book of words was in hand again, "Sorry, could you repeat that one?"

            "Haberdasher," said Malachite.  "It refers to someone who sells bits for clothing, like buttons or pins."

            "Do all of your friends use such long names for their titles?"

            "I doubt the Caliphate's translations of your nicknames would sound all that clear to me."

            "I thought you had been to the Caliphate?" asked Pasgard.

            "Yes," said Malachite.  "But I don't speak much of your language."

            "How many words do you know?"

            "Chorba," said Malachite.

            "Sorry," said Pasgard.  "What?"

            "Chorba," said Malachite again, now wondering if he had said it right. "I thought it was the word for soup."

            "It is," said Pasgard.  "But only in one of the six cities, it is seen as... a tribe word elsewhere.  Do you only know how to say soup."

            "I was there for a week," said Malachite.  "And everywhere had some soup going.  Also learned 'chay' and 'hookah'.  I slimmed considerable that week."

            "You only know 'soup', 'tea', and 'water pipe'?"

            "Language, aside from my own, has never been my strong suit," said Malachite.

            "I will remember that," said Pasgard.  "Anyone else?"

            "Oh, yes, that is what we were doing," said Malachite, getting back on track.  "Book Binder is what we call the wizard I mentioned.  And then there is the Trobairitz, who tends to be seen with the Haberdasher."

            " Trobairitz?" said Pasgard, book in hand once more.

            "If words are power, you consorting with me is going to make you the greatest wizard for several ages to come."

            "I'm sure."

            "It is a traveling musician."

            "And where are all these people?"

            "They are in Bone," said Malachite.  "The southern capital.  At least they were when last I saw them."

            "Then we are on the roads to Bone."