NonstopGarbage6

(novel library)

Your people roam the Great Steppe, chased and challenged by the fearsome Tribe of the Black Wolf. Their leader, the shaman Zhan-Ukhel, calls forth savage magic from Chernobog, the god who rules their tribe. Your tribe must have a leader who can call down protection from the gods. That leader is you, and this is your saga.

Rule your tribe as an iron-fisted chieftain or as a benevolent guardian. Will your allies support you on the field of battle? Will the gods come when you need them most? Do you even need the gods to smite your enemies, or will you seize divine power for yourself?

Horses in the Falcon

The child looks disappointed, as if hoping for a tip for showing you the way to an office you've occupied numerous times before. You ignore their hurt-puppy expression and make your way to Matty's door.


"So, you survived your tour," Matty says. Her expression thaws in a way that suggests that she might even be glad to see you. "And now you want to offer me the brilliant script of your next production because I've been so generous to you in the past, is that it?"


It's harder to respond when she's stolen your lines. "I'd like to write another play for the Odeon, yes," you say.


"Well." Matty considers you. "You've learned a lesson from what happened last time, I hope." She doesn't give you a chance to either confirm or deny that. "But I've got a play running already. You'll have to wait until it closes. After that, I'm willing to let you impress me."


You go home and sit in the late afternoon sun, your downstairs neighbor's flowers still blooming in the windowbox below your open shutters. You're fresh out of ideas.


Or rather, you have lots of ideas, and they're all dangerous. Lost princes. Kings who get away with murder. Curses that happen because of the misdeeds of a ruler. There are all the pieces of a history. Or a tragedy. If only you could control real life as easily as you can the events onstage!


But given the results of The King of Icemere, you know Matty will throw the script at your head if it even touches on something the Raven objects to. Dejectedly, you poke at the script for a romantic comedy about unlikely roommates sharing a city apartment and having amusing adventures, but it's not grabbing you. Working on it is like writing with treacle instead of ink.


Like Salar, you're waiting. You're just not sure what you're waiting for.


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