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 Odeon is quiet, a rime of frost clinging to the parts of the courtyard that the sun hasn't yet touched. You find Matty already in her office, and she fixes you with a steely gaze.


"You took your time," she says. "Late night?"


"I want a new play," Matty says. "Ideally one that won't get you thrown out of town this time. And don't bother tailoring the leading role for Joran. He's cleaned out his dressing room, and when I sent a boy round to see if he was sulking, he's cleared out his lodgings as well. Pity, he wasn't terrible." She holds up a hand to dismiss any further discussion of the question. "Never you mind. Actors are all idiots, and if it's not one kind of trouble with them, it's another. What about the play?"


"I have some ideas," you begin. At least, you hope you have some ideas. They seemed clearer before such a late night.


"What we need is something to grab the public's attention," Matty says. "Something to make them sit up and take notice. Something to make them remember that the theater exists when there's too much drama already in the city."


Somehow you're certain that Matty has already heard the story of last night's festivities, probably in three or four different versions.


"You told me once you were working up a script about the fall of Atlantis?" she prompts.


You were, at some point. You suspect that whatever pages from that juvenile effort you can unearth in your trunks should not see the light of day. Still, it's a tantalizing prospect. It could have star-crossed romance and doomed heroics, or heroics in the face of doom, or some of both. And a volcano. And a tidal wave. Did the volcano erupt before the tidal wave? Or the other way around? It's a legend. It can happen in whatever order seems most exciting.


"It's going to need the budget to do it justice," you say reflexively, because you can't imagine trying to stage Atlantis sinking beneath the waves if you can't have waves, or at least a volcano rumbling threateningly in the distance.


"If you hand me a good script, I'll see what I can do," Matty says. It's as close to a blank check as she's ever likely to give you.


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