This is already combining the worst parts of a setting-first and story-first structure. Granted, I'm personally biased towards story-first and think setting-first is incredibly hard to do right, so that might shine through in my description.
Story-First: Setting has lots of contrivances that make authorial sense if you realize they're there to enable the story, can be forgiven if said story and characters are good.
Setting-First: Lots of infodumps and jumping perspectives, setting is explored. Big-picture and can interrupt the flow, can be forgiven if the setting is interesting.
This: Lots of infodumps and jumping perspectives, used to describe and "explore" a setting that seems like it wants to hit every cliche and is full of contrivances to enable the story, which in turn is comprised of infodumps and jumping perspectives....
As for the literary deterioration theory, I can believe it. Long books/series by themselves tend to strain and reveal the weaknesses of even legitimately good and humble writers, of which Beale is neither. That combined with what has to be an increasing belief in his own importance as the Preserver And Champion of True Male Culture and the almost Ingsoc-level "consistency" of the "Pulp Revolution ethos" he spearheads makes any decline in quality very predictable.
By now that hypothetical casual reader of ours is baffled. If they've read the proceeding tales, they at least have some guideposts, but they are still watching this tale suddenly go in bizarre directions that don't seem to have any logical connection to what appears to be the main story, and they are also increasingly uncertain that that main story isn't an illusion Beale could yank away from them at any moment. If that reader is just taking up the series--remember, this is supposed to be book 1--they're almost certainly completely confused. In some respects, this chapter is a reed they can clutch to. In others, it's too little, too late.
So, we're at the fantasy Papal Conclave which is just starting up. Some of the Crystal Dragon Cardinals (they are NOW the celestines in text, because Beale just can't choose a word and stick to it with them) are in black, others are in their most fancy garments. They're going to be meeting three times a day, until they unanimously elect a new Pope. We learn that once a conclave carried on for a year and a half, ending only when one of the two rival candidates died--the victorious candidate apparently passed on a few months later, and... honestly, that's pretty dull, by medieval papacy standards. Where are the cadaver synods, the popes who sell the papacy, the ones who gamble and die in bed with their married mistresses?
The cerulengus is apparently running the show, next to an empty white chair that symbolizes the... Sedes Ossus. What did Latin ever do to Beale, I ask you? He is apparently verboten as a papal selection, and Beale apparently thinks that only cardinals can become pope, which to be fair, is a common misconception. The cerulengus says a few words of thanks in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost Sacred Fire. We are introduced to the two-leading papabiles. Gnaus Attilius Bulbus is a well-connected aristocrat, with significant support from the cardinals. Carvilius Noctua... oy... is a "plebian" reformer, and author of a popular text on virtue.
Valens shows up and supports Bulbus. The cerulengus thinks he's a bright lad who's going places. He muses some more.
One might be tempted to despair at the sight of the princes of the Church all but pawing the ground and bellowing bullish challenges, even if they did so in a refined and discreet manner, but was this not Man as God had created him?
Yep. Everything's going according to the divine plans. Nothing to worry about here. The cerulengus muses some more in this fashion, and that's it. End scene.
And now we're on Severa again. She's planning to sneak out that evening for some shenanigans with her gladiator crush. She chooses a dark blue dress that will help her hide in the darkness, and also make her breasts seem bigger.
...
Yeah. Yeah.
Anyway, her personal slave Verapora is helping her with bribing the guards of the manse, and apparently has a bit of a history. We learn that Clusius' big match was a tie, and that he only go a scratch during it, so that attempt at a cliffhanger was like a season 3 Mission: Impossible commercial break. Oh, and more about Verapora's history--the guards aren't surprised to see her roaming about at night. And heading out--remember way back when Amorr at night was a hellish dystopia where you could get snuffed by a random encounter with a rogue? Well, Beale clearly doesn't, because now it's the exact opposite fantasy city cliche--a well-lit metropolis that more resembles a modern city at night than an ancient or medieval one with torches acting just like electric lamps. Including the lack of bothersome smoke. Severa is preparing for a good deal of rumpy-pumpy time with the again hawt and super-foine Clusius, when her father shows up with some guards. Oh, and we learn that da is Aulus Severus Patronus. That sounds important.
Severus is chilly and tells Severa that she's going back inside, after which she's going to get sent elsewhere. And Verapora is going to be flogged, and then sold to a brothel, with the profits donated to one "Saint Stridonius" and the care of orphans.
Severa is horrified, but her da tells her that she's lucky he loves her, or she'd be joining Verapora on the block. And that's it.
I get the distinct impression we're not supposed to like Severus.
I think this must be some of the worst worldbuilding I've ever witnessed. "Grab bits and pieces of history, change the names a bit, and mash them together no matter how badly they fit" is a telltale sign of the hack writer.
I think this must be some of the worst worldbuilding I've ever witnessed. "Grab bits and pieces of history, change the names a bit, and mash them together no matter how badly they fit" is a telltale sign of the hack writer.
Worst part is that is CAN be done better. It's already been pointed out that Forgotten Realms is similarly a grab-bag with Babylon, Pharaonic Egypt, Classical Greece, the Aztecs, The Khanate-era Mongols, The Ming Dynasty Chinese, the Shogunate style Japanese Empire, the Heian Era Japanese Empire, and Arabian Nights-but-polytheist all sharing a world with the remains of magitech human, elven, dwarven, draconic, and lizardman empires, all now being paved over by a human culture edging into the renaissance era, complete with guns and cannon becoming a thing. But 2e FR is so detailed, and has so much work put into it, that I could look at any of the major cities and give you a canonical answer on where my character would stay, what and where he'd eat and drink, what it would cost, possibly the recipe, and what the decor of the inn would be along with which alley's he'd possibly get mugged in.
A Throne of Bones: Fjotra. Back to adding plotlines!
So, after two painfully short chapters that at least seemed to suggest that the plot was returning to the main thread, you know what it's time for? ANOTHER PLOTLINE JUMP! Oh, and this is a painful one.
So, Fjotra is our POV. She's... standing in a city, amazed, with her brother. The city is Lutece--we're back in Savondir. Fjotra is apparently one of the cod Vikings, and she doesn't understand what windows are. Really.
Yet the dwellings bore inexplicable holes in the sides that rendered them entirely useless for defense.
Yup, so Fjotra is just standing amazed at these BIG BUILDINGS! And FOUNTAINS! And PAVED STREETS! She and her brother Brynjolf... oy... are looking for the... Comtesse de Domdidier, who is doubtless walking down the street, looking good, looking fine. Our two cod vikings stumble about, asking for directions, while talking like Tarzan. The cod Vikings are called Dalarns, by the way, a name Beale's thrown around in the past. Brynjolf has a bit of a temper, which nearly leads to trouble, but they've got a letter that helps them get directions. The pair spend their times acting like rubes to the amusement of minor characters. Once at the comtesse's palace, Fjorta is amazed by the concept of GARDENING and SCULPTED GROUNDS!
At this point, it seems that when the Dalarns aren't cod vikinging, they're acting like the popular notion of cavemen. Fjotra continues to be amazed by windows, and gold inlay, and thinks about how grim her home of Raknarborg is. The comtesse shows up. She's a beautiful redhead, with bare bosoms up to here, and... she looks younger than her 26 years. So, Christmas cake time, because of course. There are rumors she's either the King's mistress, or the Red Prince's. But she's not some dull-eyed whore, the text assures us! No, she's clever, it asserts as Beale's issues with women continue to pop up in the oddest places.
The pair's letter is from some Viscomte, because in Savondir, they are a medieval in their titles, and just ignore the Roman Republic next door. The comtesse and the cod vikings introduce each other, and we learn that Brynjolf and Fjotra's da is one Skuli, who is the present king of the Fifteen Clans of the Dalarns, though it appears that bad things are happening, because that's less impressive than it sounds. The comtesse continues to patronize them, while plying them with lemonade. We learn that our cod vikings mystery patron is the Viscomte de Saint-Aglie, which is doubtless a matter of no importance or significance, wink-wink. And then they get to the point--Selenoth's native werewolf population has been wiping out the cod vikings, something that has to be restated several times, because the "clever" comtesse doesn't quite get the point initially. She promises to assist them in getting an audience with the king, starting by introducing them to him at a ball, and assures them that she'll get people to see the... opportunities here.
So, after two painfully short chapters that at least seemed to suggest that the plot was returning to the main thread, you know what it's time for? ANOTHER PLOTLINE JUMP! Oh, and this is a painful one.
So, Fjotra is our POV. She's... standing in a city, amazed, with her brother. The city is Lutece--we're back in Savondir. Fjotra is apparently one of the cod Vikings, and she doesn't understand what windows are. Really.
Yup, so Fjotra is just standing amazed at these BIG BUILDINGS! And FOUNTAINS! And PAVED STREETS! She and her brother Brynjolf... oy... are looking for the... Comtesse de Domdidier, who is doubtless walking down the street, looking good, looking fine. Our two cod vikings stumble about, asking for directions, while talking like Tarzan. The cod Vikings are called Dalarns, by the way, a name Beale's thrown around in the past. Brynjolf has a bit of a temper, which nearly leads to trouble, but they've got a letter that helps them get directions. The pair spend their times acting like rubes to the amusement of minor characters. Once at the comtesse's palace, Fjorta is amazed by the concept of GARDENING and SCULPTED GROUNDS!
At this point, it seems that when the Dalarns aren't cod vikinging, they're acting like the popular notion of cavemen. Fjotra continues to be amazed by windows, and gold inlay, and thinks about how grim her home of Raknarborg is. The comtesse shows up. She's a beautiful redhead, with bare bosoms up to here, and... she looks younger than her 26 years. So, Christmas cake time, because of course. There are rumors she's either the King's mistress, or the Red Prince's. But she's not some dull-eyed whore, the text assures us! No, she's clever, it asserts as Beale's issues with women continue to pop up in the oddest places.
The pair's letter is from some Viscomte, because in Savondir, they are a medieval in their titles, and just ignore the Roman Republic next door. The comtesse and the cod vikings introduce each other, and we learn that Brynjolf and Fjotra's da is one Skuli, who is the present king of the Fifteen Clans of the Dalarns, though it appears that bad things are happening, because that's less impressive than it sounds. The comtesse continues to patronize them, while plying them with lemonade. We learn that our cod vikings mystery patron is the Viscomte de Saint-Aglie, which is doubtless a matter of no importance or significance, wink-wink. And then they get to the point--Selenoth's native werewolf population has been wiping out the cod vikings, something that has to be restated several times, because the "clever" comtesse doesn't quite get the point initially. She promises to assist them in getting an audience with the king, starting by introducing them to him at a ball, and assures them that she'll get people to see the... opportunities here.
And now I want to introduce Beale to the local Viking reenactors so that they can explain exactly how stupid that was while the combat trained ladies in the group beat his ass.
I think this must be some of the worst worldbuilding I've ever witnessed. "Grab bits and pieces of history, change the names a bit, and mash them together no matter how badly they fit" is a telltale sign of the hack writer.
Worst part is that is CAN be done better. It's already been pointed out that Forgotten Realms is similarly a grab-bag with Babylon, Pharaonic Egypt, Classical Greece, the Aztecs, The Khanate-era Mongols, The Ming Dynasty Chinese, the Shogunate style Japanese Empire, the Heian Era Japanese Empire, and Arabian Nights-but-polytheist all sharing a world with the remains of magitech human, elven, dwarven, draconic, and lizardman empires, all now being paved over by a human culture edging into the renaissance era, complete with guns and cannon becoming a thing. But 2e FR is so detailed, and has so much work put into it, that I could look at any of the major cities and give you a canonical answer on where my character would stay, what and where he'd eat and drink, what it would cost, possibly the recipe, and what the decor of the inn would be along with which alley's he'd possibly get mugged in.
This compares badly to Robert E. Howard's Conan stories, which had two warring tribes of cod Vikings, ancient Egypt with evil wizards, and the Picts as Native American stand-ins.
Because Howard could write, and more importantly, sell you on the tale while you were reading it.
This compares badly to Robert E. Howard's Conan stories, which had two warring tribes of cod Vikings, ancient Egypt with evil wizards, and the Picts as Native American stand-ins.
Because Howard could write, and more importantly, sell you on the tale while you were reading it.
Howard is actually a very good writer. And Stygia was as much meant to be Decadent Rome and Leftover Atlantean Wizard-Kings as it was Egypt. It's a hodgepodge even internally. Just a better written one.
A Throne of Bones: Marcus. His post-battle funtimes, part one.
After the desperate jumping around with no evidence of a direction, or indeed, any thing approximating a plan, it's almost a relief to return to Marcus for this chapter. Almost, because... it's Marcus. This is a longish one, and as it splits neatly into two parts, that's what I'm going to do.
So, Marcus is riding back from the battle. It's increasingly clear that Beale is giving the infantry and the cavalry a sort of interdivisional rivalry like the US Army and Navy, or the US Marines and everyone who is not a Marine. The fact he's actually giving them an intradivisional rivalry seems to escape him. Which I guess is my way of saying that Legio XVII should be bitching about those nonces in Legio XVIII, or those stuck up bastards in Legio IX.
But Marcus--is doing some patented Marcus musing, where he thinks about how awesome the victory was, and how Fortex had it down pat. The Second Knights, we learn, went crazy on them at just the right time--after slaughtering the wolfriders, they pinned the goblin infantry and whaled on it. More than twelve thousand goblins are reported slain, to minimal casualties to the Amorrans, and why not, they were fighting the relentlessly shit goblin army of fail. Fortex's duel is already becoming something of a legion legend. He heads into the camp and notes that Legio... XIV, it is now Legio XIV, has never been more than ten days march from a town or fort, so no camp followers.
Right.
Yep, a few foolish traders tried to follow but got their goods burnt and themselves flogged, because Corvus is an utter shit commander who doesn't give a fuck about morale, or the perception of he and his men back home.
Marcus bumps into Julianus and gets his first hint that the Fortex's Wild Ride may not have been so incredibly a good move as he imagines, what with, you know, the order not to. Julianus also notes that Marcus gave the order to charge, so he might just be in trouble here. And... it's Legio XVII again. Your clothes are now red! Marcus sees one... Quince de Sorrengis being treated who is apparently from "the Valerian lands" and is a "Valerian liege man". So, we've got the Roman Republic, only with some variation of bastard feudalism. Oh, this will be marvelous for Amorr's stability. Julianus informs Marcus they're going to see Corvus, which leads to the following sentence...
They arrived at the regal, crimson-dyed leather tent that belonged to the legion's general, Sextus Valerius Corvus, Propraetor, Count of Vallyria, and Senate-appointed Stagister Militium and Dux Ducis Bello for the Senate and People of Amorr's campaign against the Chalonu, Vakhuyu, and Insobru tribes.
Well, that was a mouthful, AND it seems the talk I've been mulling over about titles has to come now. "Count" sprang out of the late Roman Empire title "Comes"--it referred to a companion of the Emperor. And here it is, already in existence, and held by patricians in the shambling wreck of All Things Roman at Once that is the Amorran Republic. Dux was a Republican title, but more of a general term for a military commander that seems to have been favored for non-Romans at this time.
But hey, whatever lets Corvus look all important. That decision includes the furnishing of his tent, which includes a big chair to intimidate guests, with crows carved into the back and eagle talons for the legs. Oh, yes--we heard about those two other Valerian legions earlier, and they rank a mention now. Apparently they are leagues away, because clearly you want to go facing a goblin horde with only a fraction of your strength.
Corvus is salty as hell, bitching about how his nephew and son countermanded his order to Julianus as if Marcus wasn't in the room. Saturnius then plays Good Cop Legate, stating that well, the Knights really were well trained, so give the lads a double wine ration tonight. And then Corvus attempts to be fatherly, which results in Marcus unleashing the salt. They really are father and son. Oh, and Marcus figures he killed eight or nine goblins and is so proud of that, because of course he is. Saturnius mentions that his first battle took place against dwarfs and didn't go so well.
Saturnius continues to play Good Cop Legate, assuring Marcus that no, no, he's just fine, no flogging needed, tribunes are tribunes. Indeed, Saturnius notes that really, he can't even argue with Marcus' order, what with the situation that Fortex put him in. Marcus starts worrying that they're going to start questioning him, but they don't, and clueless Marcus doesn't realize that this means that the fix is already in.
Corvus and Saturnius engage in some drinking and the mutual self-admiration and gladhandling that doubtless makes their partnership... work. The pair grumble about how the people don't even care about the war with the goblins, and of course they don't, the goblins are an underwhelming foe who apparently could have been beaten by waving one's fist and shouting boo. I'm honestly baffled at what the hell the goblins hoped to get out this war, and for that matter what the hell the Amorrans hoped to do. Corvus tells Marcus to go wash up and rest. Marcus heads off to his tent, and decides that rather than washing or napping, he's going to write down his impression of the battle, because remember, Marcus is a WRITER!
And we reach the half-way point.
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A Throne of Bones: Marcus. His post-battle funtimes, part two.
Marcus wakes up in his chair thanks to some horns blowing, having fallen asleep writing his thoughts about the battle. This is one paragraph of notes on goblins that essentially runs "goblins are shit". Marcus even has written "LittleNo tactical imagination." and while I won't argue with that, it does seem a bit unseemly to be ragging on people for the whom the author has so clearly tipped the scales against, to the point that their most significant strengths were played as weaknesses. Marcus wants to do more writing about the race that he has fought one--ONE--battle against, but he realizes that the horns are a general call for the legion to assemble. Heading out, he joins his fellow tribunes and learns that Fortex hasn't been seen for awhile.
Real observant, this lot.
Saturnius addresses the troops and does the old "hardbitten old commander showing his love for his boys by calling them shit" routine. He notes that he barely considers that a battle, and that makes two of us. It must be said for Saturnius that when he isn't fluffing Corvus' fragile ego, he at least inhabits his cliche of "hard as nails commander". It's completely unoriginal, and we've seen it done better a thousand times elsewhere--but it's something. Marcus seems to hold Saturnius in low regard, mentally referring to him as "a vulgar little man" but he sees that Saturnius holds an incredible sway over the crowd, who laugh at their commander's jokes, even though they aren't funny.
Yeah, odd that.
Anyway, we are subjected to a great deal of Marcus musing on the subject, with Marcus explaining to us exactly how Saturnius' jokes work to cheer up the men--after dull repetition, stating the obvious is another Beale favorite--and how Saturnius is really good at getting soldiers to like him. High Charisma stat, see. Then Corvus has them bring his fancy chair onto the stage--because of course he does--and once Saturnius is done getting the troops eating out of the palm of his hands, he turns things over to Corvus. Corvus we are told doesn't bother with encouraging the men, or winning them over. Well, duh, he has the fancy chair. He just gives them a quick speech about how they've beaten the goblin tribes but good and will soon be sending messengers out to demand their submission. Just what said submission will consist of is left unstated--a regular supply of goblin slaves to strangle adulteresses who've gotten illegal abortions, perhaps?--but Beale clearly doesn't think it matters. Corvus was sent to Beat the Goblins. He Beat Them. Corvus is a Guy Who Gets Things Done. Also, the men are getting a double-measure of wine tonight, which Beale realizes is going to cause problems without any camp followers around.
Corvus then starts handing out the honors, and Marcus starts worrying about his cousin. Right on cue, Corvus signals the tribune laticlavius--ahh, that was who Beale was calling the laticlavius previously--to bring forth the prisoner, and there's Fortex. The good cheer evaporates. People begin to whisper and murmur.
It was as if a giant swarm of bees had risen from the ground.
Corvus explains that Fortex is charged with breaking ranks and disregarding a direct order from his superiors. Corvus then notes that having conferred with his staff, he is withdrawing these charges--tribunes are expected to exercise their judgement during the course of the battle, after all--indeed his timely action in this matter actually helped with the extra-goblin killing. And then, just when Fortex thinks he's going to be okay, Corvus notes that he still disobeyed a direct and personal order given to him avoid single combat. That's a different charge, and that one he's guilty of. The sentence is death by beheading.
Marcus thinks that's a bit much and starts hoping that Corvus will issue some sort of pardon and downgrade things to a flogging, but... no, no, he's set on this. Fortex (after declaring what we'll later learn is the Valerian motto, "Our House is Amorr" because of course it's something like that), tells his uncle to tell his da Magnus he died like a real Amorran officer, Corvus says 'Manage that and I will," the executioner comes forward, and Fortex loses his head.
Marcus bit his lip to stop the instinctive cry of horror inspired by the sight of his cousin's head rolling off the platform, leaving a gory trail of bloody slime behind it as if it was some sort of obscene giant snail. His cousin's headless corpse vomited forth blood like a giant armored leech with food poisoning just a few paces in front of him.
Saturnius stands up to win the crowd back, which he does by explaining that Fortex was a brave warrior, but he wasn't a soldier, lacking discipline and other manly Amorran things. Now, are they warriors or are they soldiers? HOOHA! Yes, it was a good thing that Corvus had Fortex decapitated, a GOOD THING! Indeed, it doesn't take much of that to get the entire army to forget about whashisname... oh, right, Fortex. Well, except for Marcus who does some patented Marcus musing on the matter. To be fair, aside from the usual lachrymose pseudo-philosophy, Marcus makes a valid point, much as a stopped clock will eventually point to the right time. Magnus, his uncle, he realizes might not appreciate Corvus having Fortex executed, and that could cause problems for the Valerians and for Amorr.
Well, that was a mouthful, AND it seems the talk I've been mulling over about titles has to come now. "Count" sprang out of the late Roman Empire title "Comes"--it referred to a companion of the Emperor. And here it is, already in existence, and held by patricians in the shambling wreck of All Things Roman at Once that is the Amorran Republic. Dux was a Republican title, but more of a general term for a military commander that seems to have been favored for non-Romans at this time.
To be fair, anachronistic titles are pretty low on the list of stuff wrong with this story or its setting. That and how the alternative wouldn't be any better. It'd almost certainly be some made-up pseudo-Latin word combined with a floruish incorporating all of Beale's "literary gracefulness".
To be fair, anachronistic titles are pretty low on the list of stuff wrong with this story or its setting. That and how the alternative wouldn't be any better. It'd almost certainly be some made-up pseudo-Latin word combined with a floruish incorporating all of Beale's "literary gracefulness".
And now, we're back in Savondir, to enjoy more deformed French and cod vikings in another longish chapter that is once again, handily divided into two parts, albeit less evenly than the previous one.
So--Fjorta is getting to wear pretty dresses. She likes it very much.
Wearing the dress felt as if she were almost naked, and yet the fabric caressed her skin with a feathery touch that was a joyfully sensual experience.
Right, right, so the Comtesse--her name we learn is Roheis--is playing a gender-swapped pseudo-French Henry Higgins to Fjotra. And also Brynjolf, but mostly Fjotra. She is AMAZED to discover that the comtesse DOESN'T WORRY ABOUT BEING ATTACKED BY HER NEIGHBORS, which is why her house isn't a fortress. The food is SO MUCH BETTER. And she is learning to speak... Savonaise, that is what it's called this chapter. There's a bit of bad poetry that they're going to recite to try and get sympathy. They would probably do better if they didn't recite it. Oh, and apparently Fjotra is a platinum blonde, because Beale imagines that people actually have that as a natural hair color.
We learn that Roheis' strategy here is to try and show that Dalarns can be "tamed" and even civilized. When Amelot, her chief maidservant, points out that this will still likely stumble on the fact that the Dalarns have been raiding the north of Savondir for centuries, the Comtesse notes that the King lives in the south. And she has a variety of reasons to think that most of the northern nobles objections won't add up to much, especially as the most theoretically powerful one is a baby, whose father was recently executed for a spot of rebellion.
The result of all this infodumping right in front of the person it is largely about as if she were a piece of furniture is to get Fjotra asking about this apparent internecine war of her hosts, but Roheis tells her not to worry her pretty little head. Just a little silly rebellion that is none of her concern. Just smile at the king, and he'll be sure to help her. And trust the comtesse, who has no sinister ulterior motive for this whatsoever.
It almost gets a person to suspect shenanigans.
A Throne of Bones: Fjotra. Cod Vikings on the dance floor, part two
So, party time. The carriage they take has the comtesse's coat of arms, and the cod Viking siblings don't realize that it's a lion and have to be told. By the comtesse, in their own tongue, because Roheis just ain't done humiliating them yet. She even repeats instructions to them like they're trained animals, and the poor dear idiots don't even realize it. The party goes to the royal castle for a fete. It is a standard fantasy/historical fancy ball. Fjotra once again is overwhelmed by the sheer awesomeness of it all, even before she arrives at the actual ball. She notices that there are six guards patrolling the wall around the courtyard with crossbows, a weapon that Fjotra is apparently ignorant of. She is once again astonished by these civilized folk and their ways. One starts wondering if anything will NOT astonish Fjotra. Let us find out.
The comtesse introduces to a friend of hers, a man who gets Fjotra's skin crawling. His date is she realizes, in yet another case of her apparently eternal astonishment, an elf. Yes, it's our boy Theuderic again, with his psycho arm candy in tow. Theuderic is his usual charming self, and chuckles at Roheis' impishness in portraying a pair of Dalarns as... ha ha ha... nobility. Roheis notes that their da Skuli Skullcrusher is what passes for a king up around the Wolf Isles. Brynjolf says that he's Skuli Skullbreaker, because that's the part of that he finds objectionable. I'll say this, something tells me Brynjolf is going to fit in just fine in Savondir, and in a generation or two, his descendants are going to be correcting people about what their family does to skulls while wearing fancy velvet shirts and pantaloons.
Having allowed the conversation to slip from him showing off, Theuderic rectifies this by IMMEDIATELY detecting a blade on Brynjolf and telling him to take it off, as the King has magical wards protecting him that would set Brynjolf on fire. Theuderic takes the dagger--this won't result on him being set on fire, because he's one of the King's Own. Fjotra continues to get the heebie-jeebies from him, and as he boasts that while he is obviously completely loyal to the king, if he were to turn, well, him having a dagger would be the least of His Majesty's problems. Theuderic is brought up to speed on the Dalarn resettlement program, and the werewolf attacks, and reiterates that... you know... the Savondir might not be too keen on their age-old foes settling down among them, and that carving a mass of land for them to do so will step on some toes, as Beale gets to repeat himself and state the obvious simultaneously. Lucky him. Unlucky us.
There's a fanfare, signalling that the Red Prince has arrived. Fjotra glances up at the wall surrounding the courtyard and notices that now... THERE ARE EIGHT GUARDS! She inquires if there's anyone who wants to kill the Red Prince in Tarzan-speak. Theuderic cracks a weak joke about it, only for Fjotra to point out the extra guards, who Theuderic confirms are in fact assassins through magic, as they're... carrying more metal than the other guards. Hrmm. Theuderic recruits Brynjolf to help take down the assassins--Fjotra thinks she could climb the wall in a pinch, but that might ruin her gown. Brynjolf quickly climbs up the wall, and gets into position--as soon as the assassins get ready to fire their crossbows, Theuderic sets them afire with a spell. This doesn't work QUITE as well as he might hope--one of them still gets a shot off somehow--but it does help. Brynjolf tosses one off, but the second gets alerted, and he and Brynjolf have a quick scuffle. Brynjolf takes a dagger to the chest, and his response to that is... to grab the guy's arm and break it.
Okay.
Theuderic is trying to get people to avoid firing their crossbows at the guys scuffling on the battlements, while Lithrial and Roheis share a wistful sigh over the cod Viking killing machine. Brynjolf manages to defeat his foe, and then slumps over--apparently getting stabbed is just catching up to him--and falls off the wall.
Cue cliffhanger.
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A Throne of Bones: Corvus. In which Corvus reads a letter, then writes some.
Hey, you know whose head we haven't been in for a while? That's right, our boy Corvus. Well, this chapter is going to rectify that. Oooh, is it ever.
So, Corvus is at camp, musing how things continue to be awesome for him--only a few guys have died, and just under thirty are facing disciplinary action as a result of making drunken asses of themselves during the "extra wine" reward. But not everything is well with Corvus. He can't help but get the idea that maybe--just maybe--he might have been wrong to have his nephew executed. Which is crazy--Amorran legionary law is pretty clear on this, but damn it, it still niggles at him. He's having Fortex cremated right now, and he plans on having it stopped just in time so that there are bones he can take back to his brother. Because that's the kind of guy Corvus is. Considerate and sensitive.
Two of the three goblin tribes have sent messages indicating that, they give, they give, now please, stop killing us. But Corvus finds that the whole "killing his own nephew" matter just... takes the enjoyment right out of celebrating his victory over a puny and insignificant foe. He's worried that his brother Magnus might be just a tad upset about it. Lacking a bit of the old stoical virtues when it comes to his boy, is brother Magnus. But Corvus is sure that eventually, Magnus will see that Corvus was just doing what he had to do. After all--Magnus has been a general. He knows the score. Yep, Fortex sure had it coming.
But if there had been the seeds of greatness in the boy, there were even more that hinted at disaster.
I know Beale doubtless imagines Corvus as some grizzled, yet noble-looking patriarch, but this is what I picture when I think about him now.
And now I want to watch Hail Caesar! again.
So, Corvus learns he has mail. From Magnus, he soon discovers. Corvus immediately panics that Magnus has somehow already learned of his son's death, even though he knows that's impossible. Such a pillar of stoicism, is our Corvus. He bluffs his way through a meeting with the slave who brought the message, nerves on edge the entire time, then has one of his soldiers make sure to keep said slave by himself, so that he doesn't learn about the whole Fortex-killing.
Corvus. An exemplar of Amorran virtue, and I really mean that.
Magnus' letter begins with a line pilfered from Cicero, and Beale uses bits and pieces of Marcus Tullius throughout to punch things up. Not that Beale mentions that. Magnus promises to bring Corvus up to speed on what's happening in Amorr. First up--Pope Nero Dumbledore has passed on. Still no new Pope. There've been five days and... Magnus says five votes, but by the formula we got in the Sacred College chapter, it should be FIFTEEN... ehh, nevermind. Important thing is--no Pope. There are two candidates, and while Magnus would prefer one slightly over the other, both are content to leave the Senate as the ones actually running the Republic that the Pope is the nominal chief executive of, so they're both kosher from where he stands. Corvus we learn, is more conventionally pious than his Machiavellian brother, and finds Nero Dumbledore's passing to be like hearing that Amorran Crystal Dragon Jesus had died. He considers what to do, and decides on a special mass. Because he is a devout Amorran Crystal Dragon Jesus man, see.
I mean, aside from all the killing of goblins. And family. Which remember, he feels bad about.
Magnus moves onto his other news. Remember that revolt the Severans were talking about while watching the horrible gladiator match? Well, it turns out that the Amorrans lost a Consul in it--the Consul Aquilae in fact, because remember, they have three of them, instead of two, and all of them have fancy titles. The Senate has responded with some further war preparations, and named a Consul Suffectus--one Sextus Valerius Corvus. Yep. Our Corvus is Consul now. Consul of the Legions, because apparently each of the three Consuls has an area of specialty, because Beale really doesn't understand how the "two Consuls" matter worked. Corvus is naturally pleased as punch, but then remembers that this means that he's being taken off goblin duty. Because clearly that is so important to the good of Amorr.
The letter goes on to mention that Magnus and "Patronus"--hmmm, is it Severa's da?--did well in the vote for a replacement consul, but that the Senate decided that they were both too valuable to the good of the state to send abroad right now. And so Corvus is ordered to return home to receive his new commission. Magnus goes on to talk shop for a bit--remember, he was a general too--and adds that he thinks that their boys should probably stay fighting the goblins. For their own safety.
Awkward.
Next bit of news. Patronus is backing a new citizenship law through a tribune, and--yes, he's Severa's da--but Magnus assures Corvus that nobody in the Senate likes it. And that Magnus has, under the guise of "omitting all clauses that adversely effect the rights of the current citizenry", proposed gutting the law completely, so that all that it would do is give people in the provinces some legal protection. And taxes. Oh, and they'll have to pay extra for this "citizenship". Still, Magnus assures him that everyone in the Senate opposes this idea, and think that Patronus is up to something... nefarious.
Admit it. Reading that, your opinion of Patronus just rose a few levels.
With that done, Magnus tells him about Corvus' colleagues in the Consulship. Torquatus is the "Consul Civitas" an ally of Magnus, and an all-around good egg. Paetinas is the Provincial Consul, and is not good at his job. So looking at the consulships, I see three uneven, indistinct divisions of power that stand in complete contrast to the Roman Republic's "two heads of state to act as checks on each other". Amorr--the inevitable civil war will be a peach, won't it?
So back to Corvus, who we are once again told is so excited to be Consul! Of the Legions! Especially as Corvus has been something of a wash in Amorran politics. But he knows why they wanted him. For killing things. This gets him thinking on the whole matter of the Cynothii, who we are told specialize in mounted infantry. How--how could mounted infantry defeat a well-armored legion? I immediately think of numerous ways a more mobile force can defeat a more heavily armored force, especially fighting on their homeground. But you see, that's just my decadent weak mind that believes that wars can be remarkably uncertain things talking. True men know that if you Follow the True Path, you will Ever Be Victorious!
So Corvus writes some letters. He writes one to the Consul Civitas, asking for details about how Legio XIV was defeated, and how his predecessor died. He then asks, as new commander of the Amorran team, that spies be sent forth to make sure other provinces aren't thinking about joining this rebellion, and don't bother sending a reply, because he'll be in Amorr before it could reach him. And then we get some more news--there are thirteen Houses Martial in Amorr that led the rebellion that deposed its last king, and they are all wealthy and prestigious enough to raise their own armies.
Amorr. How the hell it's lasted this long, nobody can say.
Corvus then thinks about who to take with him to Amorr. See, normally, he'd have left Saturnius in charge of the goblin-killing, but with Fortex dead, he wants his bestie to tell his brother that Saturnius backed Corvus completely on the whole "killing Fortex" matter. And that means Legion XVII is coming with him, because switching out legates is such a hassle. He also decides to send the other two legions to Vallyrium, because after all, they've beaten the goblins but good--it's a bit of a waste to have them winter in goblin territory when they can restock in comfort at home and then join in the rebel killing come summer. Corvus realizes it's a bit of a risk sending his greenest legion against a bunch of legion-killing rebels, but then, they have more cavalry than most legions. That will match the mounted infantry. Just like they matched the wolfriders. That they shouldn't have.
Of course that leaves the problem of Magnus, who Corvus is freaking out might find out about the whole "Fortex killing" matter. And so... he sends him a letter. He casually notes that he's having Saturnius help him with the rebels, and... oh, yes, sadly, Fortex is dead. Died after the battle. Fought real brave. Died well. And fully confessed. Corvus is sad to tell him this, but--he's bringing the bones. And remember--he's not the first Valerian to die for Amorr. Valerians! Our House is Amorr! So, see you soon.
Yes, he leaves out the whole "Fortex died, because I ordered his death" part. Our Corvus. He is a parade.
Corvus tells himself he did the RIGHT thing, writing that letter, that way. And then he writes a letter to his wife, who the text assures us he really has it bad for. He informs her that Marcus did good in battle, and that yeah, she was right, all that church teaching didn't make a sissy out of him. Also, he's going to be Consul. Oh, and Fortex is dead. After the battle. Try to comfort Magnus, hmmm?
Because clearly he can't tell her the truth, as that might lead to Magnus finding out before Corvus can tell him.
Corvus makes one more quick letter to the new head of Operation: Goblin Smash, then sends them out. He muses on how incredibly weighty is to be a Consul, and muses some more. Then he prays, because he's pious and good, see? He prays to Amorran Crystal Dragon Jesus, for forgiveness on the whole nephew killing thing, and hopes that his nephew's soul goes to the good place, and that his son does all right, and, yeah, make sure he doesn't screw up being consul. And... hmmmm... looks like the Amorrans view themselves as God's Chosen people, which comes through, but I think we have a provisional answer to a long-standing question of mine.
It looks like the Crystal Dragon Romans are also the Crystal Dragon Jews, who in this case, all got Crystal Dragon Jesus.
And that is so wrong on so many levels that I can think of no better way to end this chapter on it.
I would add there is a world of difference (literally) between old Forgotten Realms and the reboot it got around the time Fourth Edition was released.
Basically, Old Forgotten Realms is more or less the classic FR that is what most people think about when they hear it. It's the setting of some of the most prominent modern RPGs that were trendsetters in their genre, namely Baldur's Gate. That said, it wasn't without its bloat: it had huge numbers of extraneous deities, information, and outright strange contributions that, I think much like Ted Beale's work, seems to stem from some rather blatant adaptations of personal fantasies into literature, namely the Elminster series.
So it was decided that the setting needed something of a change to cut down on bloat and this more or less explains the reboot that FR got. To be fair, it wasn't a terrible choice, it came out around a time and an edition where Wizards of the Coast decided that DnD needed to be a more simple, straightforward game with fewer complex rules and less extraneous lore. FR received basically the same treatment. Inevitably this provoked a lot of complaint, but it was probably the best bad decision available.
I would add there is a world of difference (literally) between old Forgotten Realms and the reboot it got around the time Fourth Edition was released.
Basically, Old Forgotten Realms is more or less the classic FR that is what most people think about when they hear it. It's the setting of some of the most prominent modern RPGs that were trendsetters in their genre, namely Baldur's Gate. That said, it wasn't without its bloat: it had huge numbers of extraneous deities, information, and outright strange contributions that, I think much like Ted Beale's work, seems to stem from some rather blatant adaptations of personal fantasies into literature, namely the Elminster series.
So it was decided that the setting needed something of a change to cut down on bloat and this more or less explains the reboot that FR got. To be fair, it wasn't a terrible choice, it came out around a time and an edition where Wizards of the Coast decided that DnD needed to be a more simple, straightforward game with fewer complex rules and less extraneous lore. FR received basically the same treatment. Inevitably this provoked a lot of complaint, but it was probably the best bad decision available.
Do you know what real world polytheistic faiths have/had? Huge numbers of extraneous deities. That's a feature, not a bug. The changes to FR made it so I literally will never again purchase anything from Hasbro they were so bad. If they didn't want to use the setting as it was they could have just stopped support like they did Spelljammer or Ravenloft,
Extraneous lore is a Good thing. It's what separates Tolkien from generic fantasy writer number 36733783.
Do you know what real world polytheistic faiths have/had? Huge numbers of extraneous deities. That's a feature, not a bug. The changes to FR made it so I literally will never again purchase anything from Hasbro they were so bad. If they didn't want to use the setting as it was they could have just stopped support like they did Spelljammer or Ravenloft,
Extraneous lore is a Good thing. It's what separates Tolkien from generic fantasy writer number 36733783.
What you make is a fair point, and honestly on the whole I'd say I agree with you. But I do think there's a certain line to be drawn past a certain point. Tabletop RPG settings are a compromise between good worldbuilding and what helps people make their characters. You don't have to make a simple world. The popularity of A Song of Ice and Fire shows us that people actually can really like a complex, multifaceted setting. But the thing is, sometimes it's better to have just a few things and add complexity from there. After all, think of the amount of stories you can tell with just one family and build it out from there.
What you make is a fair point, and honestly on the whole I'd say I agree with you. But I do think there's a certain line to be drawn past a certain point. Tabletop RPG settings are a compromise between good worldbuilding and what helps people make their characters. You don't have to make a simple world. The popularity of A Song of Ice and Fire shows us that people actually can really like a complex, multifaceted setting. But the thing is, sometimes it's better to have just a few things and add complexity from there. After all, think of the amount of stories you can tell with just one family and build it out from there.
So you just leave it alone and the new stuff doesn't go in as deep rather than doing a giant "fuck you" to the fans. Hell, what if you had originally intended to just convert your long running campaign to the new system when it came out only to see that bullshit?
Magnus moves onto his other news. Remember that revolt the Severans were talking about while watching the horrible gladiator match? Well, it turns out that the Amorrans lost a Consul in it--the Consul Aquilae in fact, because remember, they have three of them, instead of two, and all of them have fancy titles. The Senate has responded with some further war preparations, and named a Consul Suffectus--one Sextus Valerius Corvus. Yep. Our Corvus is Consul now. Consul of the Legions, because apparently each of the three Consuls has an area of specialty, because Beale really doesn't understand how the "two Consuls" matter worked. Corvus is naturally pleased as punch, but then remembers that this means that he's being taken off goblin duty. Because clearly that is so important to the good of Amorr.
I'm imagining "Consul" being some form of chief in a modern wannabe-Roman tryhard army (In the MVSN/Blackshirts it was a colonel-equivalent rank ), and "Consul of the Legions" being some personnel department chief. Because in that paradigm, it looks like being pulled from a field command and plopped there would be a version of the classic "kicked upstairs".
I'm imagining "Consul" being some form of chief in a modern wannabe-Roman tryhard army (In the MVSN/Blackshirts it was a colonel-equivalent rank ), and "Consul of the Legions" being some personnel department chief. Because in that paradigm, it looks like being pulled from a field command and plopped there would be a version of the classic "kicked upstairs".
Our Corvus does give that impression doesn't he? But no, no, this is supposedly the chief military commander of the Amorran Republic.
Which makes one wonder why there are three Consuls and not ONE Consul at this point, one that no longer bothers with that bothersome election matter, but then the Amorran Republic clearly is flying on a wing and a prayer.
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A Throne of Bones: Letter. In which Marcus has written a letter, and we're all going to read it, because why not.
Beale apparently has letter-writing on the brain--this chapter is one long letter from Marcus to Caitlys--remember her? From Summa Elvetica (still on sale!)? The lady elf Marcus has a crush on?
Right, so Marcus tells her not to worry--he just was in a battle with three.. or maybe four goblin tribes, but they were put to flight easy. Marcus tells her that, yeah, the cavalry mostly stood around, but once they joined battle, it ended quick. Marcus is apparently writing a book on elves, but the more he learns about their history, the more he realizes that he's making stupid errors on it. He writes about acquiring a palimpsest, because Beale seems to think that's a thing you write on, instead of just a name for a parchment that's been scraped clean to write new things on it. He mentions the half-elf kingdom again, and assures that he gets the point of Caitlys sending him a story about the time his people genocided a whole... kingdom? City? League of city-states? Well, the important point is, there were a lot of half-elves once, and they're all dead now. Though the name of the place has changed. Anyway--Marcus gets the point. No human-on-elf sex.
Bessarias is apparently another penpal of Marcus, and Marcus praises his great wisdom. Thankfully, we don't see any of it directly, because we know what happens when Beale tries to actually show us examples of the elf who loves Amorran Crystal Dragon Jesus' profundity. Marcus tells Caitlys that the Pope decided that elves have souls, back in Summa Elvetica (still on sale!), something she should clearly know. He mentions goblins, and wonders if they have souls. He thinks it's possible but mentions that their unseemly habits mean that said souls are most assuredly damned many times over. Said habits are their diet--the whole eating people thing that Amorrans swear is a big deal--and something about "marital practices". Because Marcus isn't just a cod Roman, he's a cod Roman with the hypocritical morals of a Victorian explorer, and won't clarify what that means. Polygamy? Incest? Or is it simply the goblins having the gay buttsex that apparently Amorrans don't do in this universe?
Marcus tells her several possible places that his legion might travel too, because fuck military security. He tells he knows her warhawk could beat the legion there. And he tells this woman who is older than he is by decades not to practice sorcery. He closes on this...
Good-bye, my dear Lady Shadowsong, whom I seem to see before my eyes, and so find myself ensorcelled once more.
Marcus is on the march with Legio... XIV. It's XIV again. They're heading out to face the Cynothii. It's much more enjoyable than facing the goblins because there are handy-dandy standing camps for Legio... XVII to use. Yep, lap of luxury. Baths, inns and all that. Most of what Marcus is doing is dragging the men out of brothels and drinking holes when they get disorderly. Three of legionaries got arrested for killing two villagers a while back, the knights saw that they got released. And then beaten, but that's still better than being hanged.
We learn that Fortex's death is approved of by the legion, because That Was A Good Thing Corvus Did, A Good Thing! They're also so proud that he's Consul. At least that's what they say to his son. Marcus really seems to ignore that there might be a bit of bias in what he's learning. Yes, they think this reflects well on them and Marcus thinks...
What only that spring had been an unruly collection of six thousand raw recruits wearing bright red wool and black iron had been gradually transformed into something that grumbled, creaked, swore, drank, and in all other ways much more closely approximated the disciplined killing machine that was known as an Amorran legion.
Marcus says the legion's changed him as well--he's learned to get used to killing, and amazed he ever thought about joining the Church, with their holiness, scholarship, and... their multiple armed militias, one of which is made of ex-gladiators. He mentions that he visited a brothel once, but he found that thinking about Caitlys, so he wound spending the night drinking in a corner. A hardbitten one, our Marcus. He then spent the ride back listening to the man he went with go on about the big breasts of his ladyfriend. And this leads to the following passage...
How big were Caitlys's breasts? He couldn't recall. He suddenly wasn't sure that he had ever even noticed if she had them or not. Of course she did--she must! Elfesses did have breasts, didn't they?
Our continued look into Beale's Marcus' sexual dysfunction is interrupted by Tribune Trebonius, the one tribune junior to Marcus. That is his only character trait. Trebonius reveals that Saturnius is back, but that Corvus is staying back in Amorr to run for a full term as Consul--we seem to be skipping ahead of the timeline of the other chapters in this one, a problem that is only going to get worse in this book as matters progress.
Anyway--Corvus is running for Consul, so that the Amorrans can get a whole year of his quality leadership in addition to whatever he's provided over the last few months. He's facing some competition from a Falconian, and also from... an auctares, which is apparently the name for our man Severus Patronus' faction. Marcus isn't worried about his da' losing, especially when his major opponent is a filthy Severan puppet, backing their evil Severan intrigues! Marcus announces he needs a bath, and he and Trebonius head off. Trebonius also reveals that the papal election is going on--and the cardinals are called cardinals AGAIN, because Beale is a shit editor.
The local baths are better than Marcus would have expected this far from Amorr, because remember, the further you go from Amorr the more people degrade to comic primitives you may feel smugly superior to. We get a few pages on the bath to show that Beale read a book about Roman baths prior to writing this. Oh, and Marcus and Trebonius insult the local art, because of course they do. And then a local trader forces a conversation on them, in another sterling attempt at comic dialect by Beale, and drops a bombshell--he recently sold a lot of wine to an Amorran legion in Cynothicus. A legion Marcus is able to identify as Legio III, one of the two Severan legions. Controlled by Aulus Severus Patronus.
As this is a highly suspicious event--a legion in a rebellious province where everyone is under the impression there are no legions before, Marcus decides to notify Saturnius of this.
Cause, you know--it might be important. End scene.
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A Throne of Bones: Fjotra. Let's do the time warp again!
We open this chapter with Brynjolf finally hitting the ground.
Pardon me for a moment.
Yes, let's all marvel at the skill of the multiple-time Hugo Finalist for Best Editor (Long Form), Teddy Beale, and think about how he places JUST where he should when they do the final vote rankings.
Right, so... Theuderic beats Fjotra to Brynjolf, as well as a big burly man with a thick black mustache. Oh, and a commanding presence that I assume he keeps in a case by his side. Fjotra pushes past him, to the collective gasp of those present, and a scold from the comtesse, who is doubtless not letting her pet cod Vikings have any treats tonight. From this and some conversation with Theuderic as they treat Brynjolf, we figure this is the Red Prince, and... you know, judging by this description, I'm going to cast Matt Berry as him in my head. It will give me something to chuckle about, and damn it I will need it.
So, Theuderic, the comtesse, and the Red Prince swap lame witticisms, and we learn that the Red Prince's name is Charles-Phillippe. Brynjolf will live. So will the assassins, though one gets the impression not for long after some vigorous "questioning". Brynjolf gets sent off to get treated, and that means Fjotra will have to perform their song solo! Gasp! Roheis and Theuderic continue the grand tradition of talking about Fjotra as if she were a piece of furniture. The group manages to get Fjotra's song on the evening's entertainment by having Theuderic claim that Lithriel will perform an elf song. Lithriel is amused as always at what an asshole her boyfriend is. Fjotra reveals that she and her brother were chosen for this mission because they haven't been involved in any reaving. Brynjolf is very sensitive about that fact. The Red Prince and the comtesse share a dance, and it's clear that they have a Thing. Because French. We meet the king, who has gone somewhat to seed, and is... Louis-Charles XIV. His queen is Ingoberg. Fjotra thinks he's very fat.
There's some nervous fretting on Fjotra's part, Theuderic introduces her and she starts her song.
