“Report, Mr. Sykers.”

“There be no question, cap’n,” Sykers said, removing his hat. “The logbook in city hall say there be no less than two thousand souls afoot in Scurvy Cove. Me raiding party found a hundred bodies, give ‘r’ take. There be but scant sign o’ the rest.”

“And their booty? What of their booty, Mr. Sykers?”

The bo’sun shifted his weight nervously. “There be some signs ‘o lootin’ about the place, cap’n, but on the slice o’ things looks like most every bit o’ plunder be where twas left. There be signs o’ battle aplenty though.”

“Curious.” Black Bill scratched at his long, carefully coiffed locks. “Most curious. Mr. McGinty?”

The Rotten Borough‘s quartermaster thoughtfully toyed with an unloaded flintlock. “I say arm the rest of the crew for raidin’, send ’em ashore, and plunder what there’s to take. Keep an eye out for whoever hit the place first, or townsfolk a-returnin’ from hidin’. When the hold’s full, set sail and have no lookin’ back.”

“Very prudent course, Mr. McGinty. I agree.” Black Bill stood, his dark, fine, frock coat’s golden embellishments glinting in the candlelit cabin. “See to it, Mr. Sykers.”

Sykers nodded, replaced his chapeau, and left. Black Bill immediately turned to McGinty with a meaningful look.

“I know. The men’ll be scared out of what few wits are about ’em,” the quartermaster said. “And I’ll admit to more’n a twinge of the uneasy myself. Whatever hit this port afore us…they didn’t do it natrual-like. And if they come back to see our men with arms full of plunder…”

“Right. The skeleton crew aboard will keep the ship in trim for a quick departure. With or without the raiding party.”

  • Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

For the NaNo Excerpt Blog Chain.

“You should have gotten her number, dude,” Jim said. He was walking beside me across the quad, toward a destination that his text—and his physical form next to me—had refused to divulge. “Sounds like she’s into you. No accounting for taste, but how do you expect to take it anywhere without some digits?

“Look, Jim,” I said. “It’s not that simple. You know that I can’t read people. She could just be a nice person who’s taking pity on me. I’ve got to talk to her, work information out, look her up on Facebook to make sure she’s single or at the very least ‘it’s complicated.’ Then I’ll send a Facebook message or an IM and once that’s going I’ll ask for her number in a very mature and natural way.”

Jim laughed. “By that time someone else will have come in and sniped her from you eBay style,” he said. “The internet is a sex aid, not a sex crutch. You’ve got to be proactive, like me.”

I cocked my head. “I don’t think having the same long-distance girlfriend since high school counts as being proactive,” I said. “In fact, as an honorary single person, I think you might be the least qualified person to give romantic advice in the history of the universe.”

“Honorary single? Eric, you wound me,” Jim said, placing his hands over his breast. “I’ll have you know I’m very proactive, as you’ll see when we get where we’re going. And don’t forget that single people have a lot of fun. Hugh Hefner is ostensibly single a lot fo the time, after all.”

We were approaching Delerue Hall, one of the many mixed-use buildings on campus. It had some of the School of Computer Science offices in it as well as some computer labs and server space, if I remembered correctly. “Speaking of which, why are you being so goddamn coy about why we’re here? If its important enough, why not just tell me?”

“Because secrecy is fun, people might genuinely be listening, and that crack about honorary singlehood cut me to the very quick,” said Jim. “Incidentally, Eric, I’ll have you know that Melinda and I have done plenty together through the wonderful medium of the internet.”

I shuddered. “Thanks, Jim. Now I’m going to have that mental image burned into my retinas forever. When I’m lying in a gutter with cotton balls where my eyeballs should be, you’ll feel the keen knife of guilt.”

Jim and I reached the Delerue Hall entrance, which was protected by a card swipe. “Don’t be such a drama queen, Eric,” he said as he swiped us in. “If anything, I’m the one who should be tearing his eyes out at the thought of you e-stalking a girl for six months before screwing up the courage to get her goddamn digits.”

  • Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

The chair gave a soft sighing sound as Cora sat down. The study had always been a warm, safe retreat from the world to her, but lately it had seemed less warm and less safe. The world was pushing in on Cora’s little haven and crushing it like an eggshell. Now, the atmosphere of calm and peace that had once pervaded the room existed only in the chair.

She sat there, curled up, as the last conversation she’d had replayed itself in her mind.

“I don’t know.” The words like thorns on her lips.

Jim, rearing as if he’d been backhanded. “You don’t know?” Roaring with anger.

“No,” Cora murmured. “Not a clue.”

“Great. Just great.” Jim throwing his hands up. “Well, you got us into this, and you’re gonna get us out whether you like it or not.”

  • Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

I had walked in on a conversation about my earlier and supposedly suave remarks.

Jamie struggled to contain her laughter.

“But,” Mikela spit out, tears streaming down her face, “but that’s not even the best part. Do…do you know what he said next?”

“What?”

“He said ‘thanks for telling me that,'” Mikela giggled. “Said that I was a ‘real pal’ for doing it!” Unable to contain herself, Mikela burst into frenzied laughter.

I reddened and backed out before either could see me.

A brave man can subdue fear. A cheerful man can confront sadness. Yet, out of all the negative emotions, one towers above the rest in power and scope: embarrassment. Exercising dominion over beggars and kings alike, embarrassment is one of the primary forces of the universe. Stronger than gravity or radiation, it’s a wonder natural science hasn’t found a useful application for it.

  • Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

The enemy starship’s forward battery fired.

Crewmen aboard the Casey Jones saw the flash and the inbound beams on their monitors, and their minds added the thunderous roar that the vacuum of space took away. The emissions found their mark and a portion of the Jones‘ hull dissolved into molten metal fragments and crystallized atmosphere.

“Tube two ready.” Jiang cried over the roar of alarms. The computerized command and control systems that normally directed return fire had been knocked out in the first volley.

Wu, fingers flying as he computed the last few lines of a solution, gave the order: “Fire!”

The torpedo shot out of its tube and into the vacuum. Its tiny drive engaged and sent it streaking toward its target. At the last moment, the target fired its thrusters—the crew had just seen what was heading toward them. With a few feet to spare, the torpedo sailed past the enemy ship.

  • Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

Brief History
Elvish oral histories speak of a time when all elves lived together in a distant land, in harmony with nature and themselves. Discord supposedly arose when the ancient elves began splitting into factions: one believed that elvenkind was inherently evil, and strove to contain this evil nature with laws and a structured society, while the other held that elves were inherently good and trusted them to act on their instincts without recourse to law and organization.

There may be a germ of truth in this, as it does explain the difference between the two major groups of elves, the light and the dark. The names arose because of minor differences in skin tone, though the genetic differences between the two groups are nil. Both existed in the oral histories of the other, despite immense geographical isolation: the first recorded meeting between light and dark elves took place only in recent times.

“Light” elves
As early as the third century of the recorded era, advanced elvish civilizations had begun to arise on the western seaboard of the major continent. Beginning as a series of petty kingdoms, over the course of centuries the various elvish principalities were united under a single king. While the dynasties in power changed relatively frequently, a light elvish king remained on the throne until the very recent era of revolutions.

However, increasing dogmatism and a rigid hierarchy eventually led this sophisticated civilization to stagnate. While the light elvish kingdom was the most technologically advanced in the world at one point, by the dawn of the modern era it was weak and suffered invasion and strife on an unprecedented scale. Only recently has progress been made in forging the light elves into a modern nation state.

“Dark” elves
While a number of powerful dark elven kingdoms rose and fell on the minor continent, they never approached the size or complexity of the light elves’. By and large, most of the dark elves lived in small groups, widely scattered, living as hunters, gatherers, or farmers.

This lack of centralized states left the dark elves vulnerable to conquest from abroad, and following the reestablishment of contact between the major and minor continents, they were largely subjugated by human and dwarvish conquerors. The elves were decimated in battle, and their numbers have remained low ever since, largely supplanted by settlers from the major continent.

Biological Sketch
Elves, like humans, range considerably in height, though they are generally of slender build. While strong, they lack the constitution of humans, dwarves, and orcs and must make up for their disadvantage in strength through their lithe nature and rigorous training. Skin tone ranges are similar to those of humans, with light elves tending toward lighter colors and dark elves toward a tanner complexion.

Elves have slow and difficult pregnancies; gestation lasts fourteen to eighteen months on average, and there is a refraction period of 2-4 years before another pregnancy is possible. Elvish children also mature very slowly, typically reaching adulthood at thirty to thirty-five years. Their slow metabolism gives elves significant resistance to poison and environmental toxins, however, and also greatly increases their lifespan, which is two hundred years on average. No upper limit is known; exceptionally hardy elves have been known to live over a thousand years, though documentation is difficult to come by.

Cultural Notes
Elvish cultures are often collectivist, focusing on the good of the group over that of the individual. Many dark elves lack personal names, substituting some earned deed or distinction instead. Both “light” and “dark” elvish cultures tend toward xenophobia and isolation, and while they have never been known to enslave or conquer other races (preferring suzerainty), many elvish cultures still hold them in low esteem.

  • Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

The Royal Opera House! A name that, all on its own, evoked visions of Second Empire furniture, dazzling chandeliers, the cream of a potpourri of baronetcies and earldoms.

And Annie was there in a t-shirt and shorts.

Even the man in the ticket booth was wearing the usher equivalent of top hat and tails, and he gave Annie an odd look as she paid.

“I didn’t have time to change,” she said, trying for a sheepish grin.

“The performance is beginning in fifteen minutes,” the usher said. “They’re no longer seating people in the main gallery. You’ll have to be seated in one of the side galleries and take your seat during the intermission.”

Annie blanched. “A-are you sure? There’s still fifteen minutes left!”

“Sorry, house rules,” the usher said with a shrug.

“That’s right,” his tone and posture seemed to say. “Unlike you Yanks, we Britons know how to run a proper opera house.”

A second usher, more opulently dressed than the first, led Annie through a side door onto a small balcony with a double bench seat. To her relief, there were several others already there—mostly matronly old ladies and middle-aged men. They were all dressed better than her high school prom king, save one.

  • Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

My friend Miller Corvus is a stern and unforgiving man at first sight, but this exterior conceals a warm and caring individual.

Early in life, Miller renounced his title as a noble and became a templar’s squire, but he maintained good relations with his family regardless. For many years, Miller traveled with the Most Noble Order of the Glorious Sunrise, championing the causes of good and order throughout the kingdoms. We became good friends, he and I, the templar and the magister, even though the Order would have preferred otherwise. Eventually, he retired and set out for Westhope, where I settled after leaving the Order.

Miller’s watched his niece Nyla’s career with barely concealed disapproval, but when she came to his door unexpectedly, she and her companion Jinx were welcomed with open arms, though Miller has insisted that the two eventually repay their noble ‘benefactors.’ Or, rather, the people they’d been fleecing to make a dishonest living after the money ran out. They even wound up with a bounty on their head; when the hunter tracked Nyla and Jinx down, Miller nobly intervened, disarming the assassin and convincing her of the wrongness of her cause. Not many people would even attempt that, much less succeed, but that’s the force of my friend’s personality.

Humbled, the assassin–Sigma–requested to stay the night in Miller’s cabin, which he had built a short distance from my home. The old templar responded by opening his home to her and taking her on as a squire. He may be old–in fact, being two years his senior, I’m fairly certain he is–but Miller maintains his martial training and combat skills. And, lest you worry about the impropriety of a male master and female squire, his vow of chastity.

  • Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

For the NaNo Excerpt Blog Chain.

“And what about you?” I finally had to say. “Reaming me out like this? If you feel so strongly, why aren’t you writing a column? If you think I’m such a cynic, why’d you even come? I think you and I both knew Bose wasn’t going to show up and that he never is.”

Karen’s eyes smoldered under her bangs. “I came because talking with you is one of the few times I have to organize a cogent defense of what I believe,” she said. “Even when you’re playing the cynic, as I said before, you make for a good verbal sparring partner. I tend to use ideology and politics as razors to determine who I associate with, and I’ve recently come to realize that demanding ideological purity of everyone means that I risk isolating myself in a liberal echo chamber where I only hear people that agree with me.”

“Isolating yourself in a university, in other words?”

“The very same. And I have a feeling that if you were ever honest about yourself, willing to stand up for whatever you believe in, we’d have a lot to argue about. A lot more to argue about. I’m coming to think that politics are nothing unless they’re held to the flame and tempered, which I don’t see happening a lot. Dr. Bose, Dr. Ross, the Nothing, the College Republicrats and Democricans…despite what they say, they see these kids as vessels to be filled with whatever they think should go in there, not what the kids truly come to believe themselves.”

“So you agree with me, then, about kids being spoiled.” It wasn’t much, but I had to try and spring the same sort of rhetorical trap on Karen that she’d just about sprung on me.

“I agree that everyone wants to raise a generation of parrots,” Karen said. “I think the Nothing is right about the inequity of society, of the exploitation of students for profit and the use of grad students like us as disposable rags. But if I just tell that to someone, what am I accomplishing other than to ask them to uncritically accept my views over uncritically accepting someone else’s?”

I nodded thoughtfully. “Could be. So that’s why you want to make me out to be like my friend Jim, a raging right-winger with more guns than teeth who never met a social program he didn’t want to string up and gut like a winter buck?”

This time Karen looked a little disconcerted. “I…no. Well, maybe. I don’t know. All I know is that even when you’re being evasive it makes me think in a way that my little echo chamber doesn’t. If you’d take positions and defend them instead of just lashing out at whatever annoys you…”

“So you could feel better about yourself by seeing how wrong I am?” The words were out before I’d had a chance to filter them.

“No, I…”

“Look, Karen. I hate politics. I hate everything about them, from how they drive apart people who should be friends to the way people act like they define you like some kind of standardized test. I cross to the other side of the street when I see people with signs and fliers even if they’re for something I agree with. I oppose all protests and counterprotests even if they’re for the Society for Distribution of Internet Cat Pictures.” Again the words had spun out before I even had a chance to think on them.

Karen sighed. “I’m sorry. Look, I tend to get excited about things and talk a lot without thinking.”

I wanted to say something reassuring, something that indicated that I felt exactly the same way. “It’s okay,” was all that came out, as stark a proof as ever there was one that my tongue has a sense of humor bordering on the perverse.

“I had that dream again, computer.”

“Are you referring to the recurring dream of which you have complained for some months now?”

“That’s right. Me, walking…surrounded by color and fragrance, flowers of every shape and variety. It’s…it’s impossible, but I think I may be starting to believe it may be real, computer.”

“Come now, sir. There is no such thing as flowers.”

  • Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!