Changes inc. For reals this time.

Matchitisiw fiction 02

Haven't actually put part 1 up yet, but they're not connected to each other directly, anyway.

    Matchitisiw waited until Adanna and most of the others were asleep before excusing himself for "a bit of air." He had no desire to be questioned, at present, especially since he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing. He leaned back against the wall on the far side of the main room, sliding down to the ground slowly. His glaive was strapped to his back and stuck awkwardly between his shoulder blades and the wall. He found it strangely comforting as he regarded the bequeathed glaive, which he rested lightly across his knees. Intricate runes were carved into each of the segments that made up the shaft, and some of them flickered and glowed as he observed them.

    "You son of a bitch." He sighed the words, running a hand over his face. His other hand brushed some of the runes, and they seemed to flow under his fingers. "Why me?" he asked, with just a hint of bitterness behind genuine puzzlement. "You saw me. You touched my mind. You saw... you know that I failed at being a 'hero.' You know why I serve her. Why I l-..." The runes glowed brighter for a moment. "I'm worse than the others, you know. I'm not here for power, or because I'm afraid of her. She's helped me. She didn't have to." The runes flickered. "I know it wasn't out of mercy; I don't think I could bear mercy. But I serve her by choice. So why me, Galvanoth? Why in all the hells that ever were did you leave this to me?" The runes dimmed, almost apologetically. Match picked the glaive off of his lap and got to his feet slowly, sighing again. He thought of what the Raven Queen had told him. The choices he would have to make. He smiled a slow, joyless smile.

    "So that's it, then. I couldn't save this world if I were a hero. Maybe I can do it as a villain." Galvanoth's glaive warmed briefly in his hand, and the runes flared brightly. "I will do this my way. If that's enough for you, so be it." He started to make his way back to the others, softly humming an old army cadence to himself.

Bastardizing the Great American Novel

Somewhere, Melville's rolling in his grave.


a rivalry begins by =aseariel on deviantART

Okay, I actually really liked this book. But my mind, being what it is, comes up with the above comic. So much for the depth of insight that could come from a book that is, by turns or points of view, about the descent into madness, the unrelenting pursuit of evil, the futility of fighting against fate/God/the world, the impersonal horror of industry, and the sparse moments of real human contact in a dark world, and the extent to which they must be treasured or else lost into eternity.

Someone will get a doctorate out of this. I get a vaguely amusing doodle on the back of my notes for a speech on whaling.

Then again, considering my temperament, this might be a fair trade.