God of War: First Impressions

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I played six hours of God of War with two of my closest friends, and I can’t stop thinking about it.

It’s rare that I’ll find a game lingering on my mind after I’ve put it down. Such games more often are those “just one more turn/game” strategy experiences, which can suck your life away while you’re grinning happily at your perceived intellectual genius, caused by thrashing a bunch of AI opponents. There’s a reason I no longer play StarCraft 2 on ladder!

But I digress. God of War, what an epic experience! First of all, this game’s encounters are Hard! We three amigos played on the third difficulty, i.e. what would be called in yon olden days “Hard mode,” and it frustrated me a few times if I am honest. If I were alone, I would’ve played the game on Normal. I’m not ashamed to admit it, I often pick Normal on most games, because,

A) I’m not that good, and;

B) I have a library of games I want to finish, and no matter how many I finish, it seems to always expand. I haven’t finished the Witcher 3 DLCs for Tolkien’s sake!

A few fights were an outright nightmare, I tell you. I reckon a few battles forced our collective blood pressure to go way, way up due to the sheer amount of time spent trying to beat them. The first battle with the heavy shield draugr(might’ve misspelt that, I’ll freely admit) was…not fun.

That said, passing through those moments eventually, after all that effort, it’s a high. I am definitely beginning to see the appeal of games like Dark Souls (my friend, whose place we invaded to rob him of his time with God of War made loads of Dark Souls meets Kratos jokes, some of which were quite good).

Enemies can take a lot of punishment on Hard. I don’t want to think what it’s like to play on God of War difficulty. It’s doubtlessly insane. But then again, the rush I felt at beating a few of those encounters which so flummoxed us — that’s almost enough to make me consider.

Might I not be able to spare the time? It might just be worth it if it’ll make me feel like a… God of War.

Cringe. I know, that last line was abhorrent. What about the story and the four boss fights I witnessed and/or participated in?

I liked BOY.

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Boy is the boy of Kratos, who is patiently taking care of him, bonding with him over hunting magical deer and boars, and also over his mum’s death. They’re taking a road-trip to the peak of the nearby mountain and I can’t help feel that it’s a lot more difficult than it should be, what with the army of undead giants and non-dead giants, and angry gods without any clothes on.

The story is one-fourth road trip, one forth greek tragedy, and many more forths of cheese axe-throwing, all to defeat incomparable odds and yell some more at this little godling. Or demi-godling. Probably all-part godling though, if you ask me.

It’s great. Angry dad Kratos 2018 is even more entertaining than I hoped, and those few times during which you see Kratos fighting to keep as calm as possible or having a tender moment with Atreus Boy are nothing short of emotional.

Oh, and fighting the naked Stranger (who may or may not be a very weird interpretation of Baldr, though I’m beginning to see it)  was epic beyond all rhyme and reason!

In short, I’m excited to experience more of this god-son road-trippy goodness.

P.S. I love how the side-quests are done! Because of Kratos and BOY’s continuous conversations, none of the ones we played through felt like they were moving away from the actual main plot; it was all an extended lesson for the Boy. The levelling up-upgrade system is also something I have a lot of appreciation for, though I need to further familiarize myself with it before I can really discuss it.

The Intentionally Unhelpful Villain #02: Acts of Villainy

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Journal Entry The Third

My brother, the big-time villain. Who does he think he is, smacking me around, placing chains of iron around MY person, threatening and cajoling me!

I’ll find his daughter, I will. The question is…where do I begin?

I’ve been in a perpetual dream prison for years. The answer is obvious — I begin in a restaurant.

The former village of Woodstick is now known as ‘The Capital.’ I have no doubt as to who renamed it so, and much as I’d like to badmouth this city, I cannot. He has done well in creating a city of lights, sinister as they may be…or advisers have, despite my wily brother. What well his direct underlings tap into in order to survive that child-like whimsical nature, I fear imagining.

The restaurant I picked was a fine place. Colourful, filled with military types in shining white. Their faces turned pale as soon as they saw my face–but they weren’t really seeing mine, were they? I sat down, unperturbed by this misguided attention.

I ordered a steak and waited for the fun to begin.

What my brother never understood, despite all his infuriating successes is this: True acts of villainy are small things. They pile up and up, a great stack of nasty deeds which push men to madness. This cook, for example. I have now returned his steak seventeen times. The last waiter to ask me to leave left a trail of digestive fluids all the way out onto the boulevards of the Capital.

The cook will snap. He’ll start off with acts of spite. Spitting in the soup. Putting sugar in the sugarless desserts (as if there is such a thing as sugarless desserts, bah!), putting too much salt in the stew. Then, it’ll be allergens. Peanut paste to those allergic to peanuts, if precognition is anything to go by.

It will end with poison. He’ll sprinkle some on a wedding cake. But he is no poisoner, and so a single drop will fall on his index finger. He’ll rub his nose, or eye, or put the finger in his mouth for all I care, and it’ll do him in. I only see parts of the future and the last bit I see is him falling all over the six-foot tall poisoned cake.

A pity, that. It is my brother’s wedding. But oh well. I have illustrated my point well enough.

So much spite drawn out of a mere cook’s heart, and all of it — because of a bad night filled with steaks. This is the essence of evil. My niece was quick in learning this lesson. The question is, just where has she been practising it?

There will be a pattern. All I need do is discover and follow it.

Book Review: Senlin Ascends by Josiah Bancroft

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I’ve had some trouble putting my thoughts in order where Senlin Ascends, the first book in Josiah Bancroft’s Books of Babel series of four, is concerned. This book is an excellent read, the kind whose characters live with you well after you’ve put it down for good. Perhaps Senlin Ascends is one of those rare novels which excel so completely at surprising and thrilling many of its readers that words all of a sudden elude you.

Then again, maybe it’s the sort of read you need a few days to process. And process I have. What did I come up with during those few days?

Senlin Ascends is an excellent novel that doesn’t fall into any one genre checkbox. We can spend all day discussing its Victorian influences and steampunk elements, but at its core, this is (the beginning of) a story of a husband doing everything in his power to find his wife.

Senlin is the headmaster of the only school in the small town of Isaugh, a man ‘at the edge of things,’ a man of reserved judgement who looks on his fellow residents as uneducated and treats them somewhat like children, to their mild disdain. He only recently married the beautiful, talented and lively Marya, described as:

Marya was a good match. She was good-tempered and well-read; thoughtful, though not brooding; and mannered without being aloof. She tolerated his long hours of study and his general quiet, which others often mistook for stoicism. He imagined she had married him because he was kind, even-tempered and securely employed. He made fifteen shekels a week, for an annual salary of thirteen minas; it wasn’t a fortune by any means, but it was sufficient for a comfortable life. She certainly hadn’t married him for his looks. While his features were separately handsome enough, taken altogether they seemed a little stretched and misplaced.

She played the piano beautifully but also brutally. She’d sing like a mad mermaid while banging out ballads and reels, leaving detuned pianos in her wake. And even still, her oddness inspired admiration in most. The townsfolk thought she was charming and her playing was often requested at the local public houses. Not even the bitter gray of Isaugh’s winters could temper her vivacity. Everyone was a little baffled by her marriage to the Sturgeon.

Not much time at all passes before Marya and Senlin lose track of one another, in the very foundation of the massive structure that is the Tower of Babbel, the setting — and, in a way, the prime antagonist — of this fantastic story. Senlin has had a deep fascination with the Tower for most of his life, having bought into all those books proclaiming the Tower of Babel the greatest accomplishment of humanity. Senlin’s trusted Everyman’s Guide to the Tower even describes it so:

The Tower of Babel is most famous for the silk fineries and marvelous airships it produces, but visitors will discover other intangible exports. Whimsy, adventure, and romance are the Tower’s real trade.
Ah, how wonderful it sounds, how exciting! If only reality were so…
Senlin’s obsession with the Tower will cost him, as its true guise is much different from what he’s imagined and read about throughout his life. His wife lost, Senlin is forced, after a period of dumbfounding shock, to begin his ascension of this great structure.
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Along the way, questions will pile up. Who built the Tower, and just what is its purpose? These lay on the wayside, however. More central are the myriad questions, which shove and prod Senlin at every corner, forcing the well-meaning but cowardly teacher to grow and change in order to survive and follow Marya’s trail. Despite the trials and tribulations in his path, what Senlin retains is a core of decency, compassion and the belief that the Tower’s destructive influence doesn’t necessarily erode everything good and decent in people. It’s this belief in men and women that forces them to do better, to meet him half-way.
Senlin’s growth, in fact, is one of the main reasons this novel pulled me in so thoroughly. It’s no small feat, making a likeable person look completely unprepared and incapable of dealing with a situation, to have all his positives turn into flaws to disastrous effect, only to see him realize all this and, step by step, rebel against it, becoming something of a charming rogue by the end. (Bit long-winded, that sentence.)
Mysteries abound in the form of indebted slaves called ‘hods,’ a terrifying gentleman monster playing at Dr Jeckyll/Mr. Hyde called Red Hand, four ringdoms, levels of the Tower, each under different authorities, built for different purposes, and so on.
Plenty of side-characters are to be found, all of them excellent. My favourites have to be Edith and Tarrou, the latter’s description:
A two-pointed black beard accentuated his iron gray mane of hair. He seemed hale and athletic for a man his age. Senlin was a little intimidated by the width of his chest and shoulders, though his smile seemed amiable enough. “And that is the dazed look of a man fresh from the monkey pen.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “The Parlor is an awful place.”
The prose is nothing short of exceptional. Bancroft’s sentences flow easily and present a clear view into another world, a world that is sometimes beautiful, sometimes unspeakably ugly and nearly always bizarre. It will set your imagination on fire, both with its adventurous streaks and with the darker undertones Senlin Ascends is rich in.
In short, Senlin Ascends is excellent and well worth your time and hard-earned cash. It’s even worth your tiny sum of pocket money, if you make no cash what-so-ever.
I can see why it has as much hype as it got; I’m almost sad to have found it only now that a big publisher has republished the first two books and will soon publish the third (in September). Now that I’ve started, I can’t wait for the last two books of the series to hit the shelves!
The simplest way to make the world mysterious and terrifying to a man is to chase him through it.
In this, Josiah Bancroft certainly succeeds…even if Senlin Ascends doesn’t always feel like a chase, it’s one hell of a ride. There I go, mixing my metaphors again.
Thank you for reading this review! I’ll be back with a review of the second book in the Tower of Babel series as soon as I finish reading it! Now I’m off to read it!
P.S. Action scenes! Excellent bloody action scenes!
P.P.S. Six seasons and a movie!

Book Recommendation: The Dark Tower, Book 2 — The Drawing of Three

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I’m very fond of Stephen King’s Dark Tower.

So fond, in fact, that I’m taking considerable time from an unfortunately busy schedule to reread and finish it (on my first read, I lost the thread at book 6, The Song of Susannah). I’ve already spoken about The Gunslinger, and the bell strikes for a recommendation of that second Dark Tower book, The Drawing of Three.

Three people. Two men and a woman. A druggie, a cripple and a serial killer. Three compelling stories crossing the borders between worlds and time, bonding three together, and changing the fate of a fourth.

The intersection of the three, the one that draws them is none other than the gunslinger Roland, maimed and severely weakened by fever due to an infection running rampant, poisoning his blood and clouding his mind.

On a beach, Roland finds a door. A door that, once opened, leads him into the mind of another — the drug addict Eddie, a young man ridden by a demon known as cocaine. Now he is ridden by Roland, also, and you better believe that a stinkin’ drug doesn’t stand a chance against the last gunslinger of Gilead.

The second door leads to a New York different from the one Eddie knows, the Big Apple of the sixties. Meet Odetta Walker, a black crippled woman with no legs, and the heiress of a fortune. Odetta is a proper, if slightly uptight young lady but there’s a catch — she’s a schizo. Not that she knows it! No, far from it. What could possibly go wrong?

As for the third…I think I’ll say no more about him than I have already. It’s a thrilling third act to this second chapter of Roland Deschain’s quest for the Dark Tower.

If you’re familiar with any of Stephen King’s prose, you’ll know what to expect — clear, concise writing that absorbs you with ease. Putting the book down was downright impossible, at times. As far as the re-read goes, I was surprised to find so much material I’d originally overlooked. Now that I have a lot better idea of where the story is going, I found a lot of foundation building, not just the obvious kind but also that more intricate, subtle sort.

The Dark Tower grows closer. Don’t ignore it.

Book Review: The Blade Itself by Joe Abercrombie

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Once upon a time, I read Half a King by Joe Abercrombie and was quite fond of it.

Half a King was a wonderful entry into the unique brand of subversive storytelling Abercrombie is famed for. It was a thrill to go through but now that I’ve read four of the six First Law books (the First Law Trilogy and ‘Best Served Cold,’ which introduced me to one of my all-time favourite female protagonists)  I can safely say, the First Law is what  food is to the prisoners of a Siberian penal colony!

You’re impressed by my uncanny ability to make up weird and frighteningly specific similes, I know.

Just before I begin the review in earnest, allow me to say…I finally read it! I’ve had this trilogy for a shamefully long period of time, without ever touching it for reasons that elude me and defy reason! With this out of the way…

What’s the Blade Itself all about? Ask our old friend, Homer, and he’ll give you an excellent answer: ‘The blade itself incites to deeds of violence*.’ See? Even Homer read The First Law trilogy. It’s that good! It incites even the temporal laws of the universe to violate themselves!

The world of the First Law will, at first glance, seem no more or less alien than any other epic fantasy world you might’ve explored. A great and wise Magi is to be found, a bloodthirsty barbarian fights for his survival, a cruel Inquisitor tortures both the guilty and the innocent for his own advancement, and a young nobleman and soldier prepares for a test of skill, which can see him become champion of the Union.

Dig deeper, and you’ll discover few things are as they first appear — Inquisitor Sand dan Glokta is a man deliciously cynical but to whom there is more than is readily obvious; Logen Ninefingers, a blood-thirsty barbarian by reputation wants nothing more than to leave that reputation behind; our young, dashing officer Lothar is as cowardly as he is pleasant to look at–and oh, how handsome he is. Even our wizard hides within layer upon layer, every one stranger than the one before it. The only character who doesn’t seem to go against my first impression of her was Ferro, the fugitive slave from Gurkhul, the Union’s Southern neighbour and favourite country to go to war with due to reasons way too complex and spoiler-y to explain here; and I quite understand a former slave wanting nothing more than to murder her former slavers.

Dozens of other characters, both likeable ones and absolute bastards are to be found within the pages of The First Law.  None lack in character, none come off as anything less than real human beings with their own motivations and goals, and those come off starkly in conflict with what our protagonists are attempting to accomplish. The conflicts can be very clear-cut, with impressive battle and chase scenes; other times, they’re much more discrete, happening during spectacularly written pieces of dialogue which may leave goosebumps all over your body.

Abercrombie’s battles deserve mention, both for the excellent description and the cost they exact upon the characters who take part in them. War is not without cost, regardless whether you come out on top and the author makes a wonderful job of illustrating what a toil war bears.

Possible problems you might have with The Blade Itself:

  • The plot moves slowly. I never once had an issue with that, because it didn’t feel like pointless build-up to me; exciting and interesting events happened throughout, but we did spend a lot of time in a single city, setting things up; totally worth it in my opinion, but some people are less patient and might not find it as enjoyable as I did, or at all.
  • You might not like the characters. But then again, that’s the risk with every book ever, so why am I drawing this out?!

The Blade Itself is a book about a few different things, and those work really, really well. It’s a character-driven story, a tale about a monarchy besieged on all sides by enemies just as all those enemies move to attack it; it’s a book that sets up one of the most subversive and genre-flipping stories I’ve read in recent memories; and it’s a treat of excellent worldbuilding that never once threatened to overwhelm or bore me.

Perhaps I was wrong to review it only after reading the entire trilogy and appreciating, in retrospect, just how well a number of mind-blowing events are set-up. If that is so — that’s my cross to bear, innit?

One last mention — the city of Adua, where a large portion of this book takes place, makes for a really awesome set piece. It’s majestic and beautiful, but deeply corrupt–three things I want in any city worth visiting! #visitAduanow

PS Yes, the cover above is from the audiobook version. I haven’t listened to it, so I can’t speak to the level of narration; the image was the most high-quality one I could find on the Interwebz.  Feel free to check the audiobook out, if that’s your thing, or if you spend three hours a day in a car, public transport or by train. Go trains!

Thank you for reading! I’ll be back soon with reviews of Before They Were Hanged and The Last Argument of Kings. If you enjoyed this review, please click that ‘Like’ button, and don’t be afraid to Follow me! Have you read the Blade Itself? Let me know what you thought about it in the comments below!  Go grimdark fantasy! Whooo!

 


*Quote in the Odyssey is from the beginning of book XIX , and is, depending on the translation, either For iron by itself can draw a man to use it’ or ‘Iron has powers to draw a man to ruin,’ both of which aren’t too far off from the quote presented above andat the beginning of The Blade Itself. It’s likely that Abercrombie mixed and blended the two translations, adding a bit of his own magic, which I’m all for.

 

 

 

The Intentionally Unhelpful Villain #01: Help?

Journal Entry The First

Let it be writ:

Today, an oaf of a man, a woodcutter through and through, passed by my cabin.

“Where go you, axeman?” I said.

“A good day to you, villain!” he said, scratching his beard. “I am on my way to cut a little girl and her granny out of the tummy of a wolf. Bad business for the timber business, wolves eating one of my biggest clients and whatnot.” He sighed. “‘Tis the third time this has happened over the past season. Say, care you join me?”

“I’m good,” I said. I wasn’t, but I was going go be. Snicker.

He nodded, and turned around, tugging at his axe, skipping two steps at a time. Little did he know, a single step was worn out and slippery. It was this step, in fact, which his foot gave way under.

He flew into the air for a few glorious moments. Then, he fell to the ground, the head of the axe burying itself in his chest under the monumental weight. I got up, cackled at the sight, then sat back in my rocking chair.

Sometimes, it’s good to be partially precognisant.

Journal Entry The Second

The axeman pulled the axe out of his chest this morning. He seemed displeased with me. Nothing new under the sun.

“Listen here–” he said. The air shimmered behind him, and a shape enclosed in black iron grasped and threw the oafish man far away into the air. The axeman was silent, be it surprise or shock.

His form was gaunt, the face that appeared behind the iron helm an unnatural shade of white. Save for the difference in colour, it was familiar insofar as my own.

“Villain,” he said.

“Villain,” I nodded. “Have you come to free me from this prison, brother?”

He shrugged. “Something like that.” His fist went flying towards my face.

Partial precognition sucks.

Top Ten Things I would do if I were a Mercenary Commander! (Fantasy)

  1. Work on my reputation. Mercenaries are, by far and large, despised for their tendency to, er, switch sides at the slightest bit of trouble. But there’s good money to be earned when you’re known for loyalty, ‘specially when you’ve got the employer to appreciate it.
  2. Never leave a job unfinished and a commision incomplete. Staunchness is best paid when you’re on the side on top, and the best way to win is to do your part and beyond.
  3. Strike hard, dirty and with finality. Because why wouldn’t brutality be the best possible course?
  4. Give my men freedom but not enough that they forget who they’re serving under. Mercenaries can be a nasty bunch, you have got to show them the stick every once in a while.
  5. Try not to get stabbed in the back by my lieutenants and/or employers. Should be pretty simple, right?
  6. Survive getting repeatedly stabbed in the back by traitorous employers and lieutenants. Even simpler!
  7. Avenge myself by going through with a lengthy, convoluted and extremely bloody plot that sees all my former lieutenants dead, my employers deposed of their influence, wealth and, preferably, their heads, and my position restored. 
  8. Discipline the troop and teach them that whole loyalty lesson they seem to have skipped on. A few might hang, a few might regret ever being born, but obviously, they need the lesson.
  9. Maybe stop working for hire and start working with myself, now that I’m known as the guy with the private army and the grudge-holding. Decapitating former employers doesn’t sit well with potential ones — who’d’ve thought it so?
  10. Use my head to make up for the one I cut off. The land is descending into chaos, I might as well make the best of it…right?

The Unintentionally Helpful Villain #17: Face-off! (Part 1 Finale!)

At last, I overcame my treacherous body-snatcher of an ex-wife!

I write this in mine own hand after mine magical quill refused to watch.

What madness had she concocted upon the land, upon my people, my great empire? Such questions did I ask myself as I sharpened poisonous, were-hare claws. Mine Legion of Librarians, once strong in number, now reduced to a mere few dozens all looked upon me, their faces taut with great joy.

Sven, my Prime Librarian went positively ashen in the face. Perhaps, seeing the young and loyal, and newly appointed, Head Librarian on mine majestic feminine heels made things clear to him, the disloyal cur!

But the thought of Sven, of anyone, vanished in an instant as I saw it. Mine glorious, majestic, magnificent body!

‘Wife!’ I screamed in her voice, quite prepared to defeat her with vocal might, alone.

She looked at me with what I perceived as fear, but now, upon great contemplation and use of mine great faculties, was relief. She ran towards me with this expression, the clatter of my beloved armor now a sound to fear. I half-crouched, ready to strike back at her.

Her/mine lips fell on mine/hers. (This whole business of body snatching confounds even mine great mind.)

Then, I was looking down on her, and I was back in the body that belonged to me, and once again I felt true power resting on mine fine, strangely lengthy fingers!

I studied her face, contemplating how best to dispose of her when she spoke.

‘Thank the gods you showed up! I didn’t think I would handle another day of this!’

‘…Wot?’

‘Look…’ she sighed. ‘I’m sorry I stole your body and tried to usurp your empire. I realize now, ruling is no easy feat. All these decrees, edicts, pronouncements, they are a bore!’

She circled me, shifting like a panther as she walked towards Sven. ‘Besides, I… I don’t know how to tell you this, Maus, but I’ve fallen in love.’ She took his hand in hers, smiling at me. Brr, I felt the cold outside of the armour cool by a score degrees. ‘Besides, I never meant for this to be permanent. I just needed to know if you had the little monster locked away somewhere. Now that I know you don’t…’ she shrugged.

I had summoned mine spiked helmet — a fashion statement if ever there was one — but removed it. ‘I have very many little monsters, woman. Which one eludes my glorious collection?’

‘You really should cut the grandiloquence a bit, Your Darkness,’ her voice was rich with mockery, but she tilted her head, confused. ‘You really don’t remember?’

‘You better begin making sense, woman, else I’ll–‘

‘Our little monster? Don’t the words mean nothing to you?’

A faint memory shifted somewhere behind a door forced shut.

‘Have you really forgotten our daughter, you egomaniacal despot?!’

Huh. Words rolled out from my mouth in a metallic voice. ‘Well, former wife, you have had your fun. With this in mind, I reckon us two have had a good enough reunion not to force this for another century or few. Enjoy the lad with my most heartfelt good wishes!’

But she didn’t seem in a mind to enjoy anything too much at all as much as to pull my spine out of my mouth, and so I snapped my fingers and sent both her and Sven far, far away. Somewhere tropical, with loads of sharks, preferably. She’ll manage, no doubt, the minx.

Huh.

I have a daughter. It’ll be mine. It’ll all be mine.

 

Well, that was a strange conclusion to a strange arc to a strange piece of really lazy fiction meant to mock fantasy tropes. I hope you’ve enjoyed it, and we’ll pick up with Part 2 soon!  -Ish.

Baaai!

Book Recommendation: Jhereg by Steven Brust

I took a big chunk of time of last October and November to re-read most of Steven Brust’s excellent Vlad Taltos novels. I loved the first few novels as a child when I had read them in Bulgarian. I must’ve been between nine-ten, maybe eleven when I first held Jhereg in my hands. It was a spellbinding experience, the kind that speaks to you on a very deep personal level.

But that was a long time ago.

I do a lot of writing — never as much as I want, and not always as much as I should. I’ve learned a lot about it from reading, naturally. The fact is, one of the major POV’s in my novel is in the first person. During ye olde case of writer’s block, I decided to revisit Jhereg, discover how my adult self would take to a book I loved as a child, and maybe even find out how it holds out.

What we love as kids, adulthood sometimes takes away.

But boy, is Jhereg good!

Vlad Taltos is an Easterner (read: human) in a world of humans (read: elves, or Dragaerans). He is a baronet in the Imperial House of Jhereg, but don’t let that fool you — the title’s been paid for with coin and means next to nothing. The Jhereg is one of seventeen Great Houses of the Dragaeran Empire. The Great House which deals in just about every illegal thing you could think of — gambling, prostitution, assassination and so much more!

Vlad Taltos is an Easterner, and a Jhereg, and he’s a small-time boss of a small-time criminal organization, which owns several districts worth of criminal activities (read gambling dens, restaurants and whorehouses) in the capital city of Adrilanka. He’s pretty good at maintaining his business, for an Easterner, considering their life spans.

Vlad Taltos is the head of security to Morrolan E’Drien, a Dragon and close friend to the Empress, and the single Dragaeran to have a floating castle in the air. It’s called Castle Black, and the colour of magic is Black, and that says something for Morrolan, but I’m getting ahead of myself. Castle Black just so happens to be the safest place in the Empire, unless you’ve got the Imperial Orb looking out for you.

Vlad Taltos also happens to be a killer for hire, and that, most would argue, is where his real talents lie. He’s not a spectacular fighter — although he can hold his own — so much as he’s exceptionally crafty and very, refreshingly clever. The fencing and witchcraft he picked up from his grandfather don’t hurt one bit when handling the larger and stronger Dragaerans, used to a more brutal sort of fighting by far.

Vlad Taltos just so happens to get hired for the most complex job he’s ever had to perform. To kill a member of the Jhereg’s own Council, a member who’s done away with the House’s coffers. A man whose tenacity might very well surpass that of Vlad’s — for this man is a guest of Morrolan E’Drien and the Lord of Castle Black lets no one harm his guests.

The clock is ticking — and if Vlad doesn’t take care of the problem, two mighty Houses go to war. One is the House of some of Vlad’s closest friends, and the other is his own.

Tick-tock.

It’s a great book, worth every minute, every cent. A great starting point to a rich world filled with colourful characters and hours of action and tear-jerking comedy. This book reads like a detective story; the way Vlad works is very much like an investigator, and the books are all the better for it. Steven Brust’s use of language is beyond comparison.

But hey, I’m subjective. I love Vlad. Don’t take my word for it — check it out for yourself!

 

Thanks for reading! I’ll see you next time! Any books you’d like me to read and share my opinion on? Let me know in the comments! A like would also be appreciated! 

 

 

The Unintentionally Helpful Villain #16: Musings

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Catch up to what’s happening with the Unintentionally Helpful Villain by checking out The Unintentionally Helpful Villain #15!

Sven, mine Prime Librarian, is a self-made man! I know that to be true, for I saw him rise from the dirt and mud and turn most humanoid. How he hath accomplished such a task, I couldn’t possibly imagine.

My newly appointed Head Librarian is a kind young man, begging me to show mercy to Sven, to use instead this great wrath that so beats inside this unknowable female chest against mine ex-wife. He even tells me Sven was the one who sent him to aid me in my time of grave need.

Poppycock.

A Head Librarian need must be made of harder stuff, as Sven was.

Hmmmm. It would appear I need must do a rather unfortunate something when mine original body is returned me.

Diary Entry #222

Long has the Head Librarian ridden on mine were-rabbit back, and longer yet have I ran, but at last the stench of several dozens of moldy Librarians is felt within the air. At long last, I shall close mine mitts betwixt the throat of the vile body-snitching ex!

Strange how this entire journey has changed me. I have learned much — sometimes, turning the enemy to ash between your boot need not be seen as the only move left to a man of action.

Turns out, tearing throats when shifting into a rabbit is even better for that! ‘S all about that personal touch, you see.

Now, I sleep. Tomorrow, I face the wife, kill Sven, and destroy this wretched piss-hole of a country.

Or at least all the rabbit hunters in it.