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Sabine Sacton (of The Serpent’s Chains, by Sylvia Conley)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a young woman sold as a slave to a war dragon and heir to the throne. But instead of cruelty, she found that behind the brutal exterior lies a man at odds with the future forced upon him and a dragon with plans of his own. She is here to tell us about the dangerous magic which stirs in the east and the building royal pressure, while she and the prince are drawn together in a bond neither expected.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was your life like growing up in servitude?

I couldn’t tell you the name of the village I grew up in or even point it out on a map of Estroria. My first nine years were spent in the loving care of my mother who taught me magic and about the beauty of the world. She didn’t have time to educate me on the world’s horrors, but I learned when the self-proclaimed “law enforcement” of the village beat down our door one night and took her life for refusing to cast spells for them. Their leader was in possession of an ancient magical artifact he bound around my neck, a collar that restricted my magic and made me his property. Only to use the powerful flow in my veins when he allowed me brief, and highly monitored, access to my magic.

Once I was taken as a slave, my childhood ended and I lived in a slave house with a violent foreman carrying a whip and broken down men, women, and children beholden to a careless master. What I experienced of the village was limited to glimpses as I was escorted from the slave house to my master’s workshop where he had me perform spells and act as his bodyguard against other overly-ambitious, power hungry thugs living outside the reach of the crown by their own laws.

Your ownership was recently transferred to the powerful War Dragon, what do you do in his service?

If by ‘transferred’ you mean Prince Cole’s dragon, Talon, claimed me as a prize in the middle of an auction during a festival in the capital, then yes, my ownership was ‘transferred.’

As for what I do in the prince’s service, the palace has more maids, servants, and staff than the royal family needs, and formally trained royal mages who are far more educated and talented than a slave. I learned magic based on my former master’s needs and those spells don’t carry over into palace life. There is little I have to offer a prince, let alone the fiercest warrior in Telasia. But he seems keen to keep me around, at the request of Talon, and finds menial tasks for me to assist him around the palace.

What was it like facing off with a dragon?

When my former master decided to sell me at auction, I was prepared to enter the service of another ruthless slave owner, perhaps a noble who wanted a personal spell caster. Instead, when I was presented to the court, Talon, the dragon bonded to Prince Cole, and the fiercest creature in the known world, chose to claim me. His mouth was large enough to swallow me in one gulp, and even though he’s burned entire armies with a single breath, and expanded Telasia’s borders through conquest, I wasn’t afraid of him. In fact, I welcomed death in his gullet rather than facing another brutal master and further meaningless existence.

But Talon had other plans for me, and I went from being an unwanted nobody to the prize of a powerful dragon and the property of the crowned prince. Though, I’m not sure if I can live up to the palace’s expectations.

Continue reading “Sabine Sacton (of The Serpent’s Chains, by Sylvia Conley)” →
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Tarra and Skar (of The Last Ritual, by Dragos Gaszpar)

Dear readers, tonight we listen in on an in-story episode, that still didn’t make it to the final publication. It is a form of interrogation, from a novel about sacrifice, ruin, and philosophy made manifest.

Woman: What. How. Ow… my head. Are those hooves I hear? Daisy? Bolt, girl! Gallop to Kroll, Mel, Voss! Get ‘em to—

Voice: Can you understand my words, human?

Woman: You don’t sound like Daisy… godcrap!

Voice: The blindfold remains. I will ask you things. You will answer. Who—

Woman: May as well start boiling water and gathering potatoes! My lips are sealed, Leath!

Voice: Potatoes? Another cursed weapon? My kind are no strangers to pain, receiving or inflicting. Your healing works against you; even the strong-willed have limits. There is no need for this. What is your name?

Woman: Tarra. Or maybe I’m lying; I’m not betraying my friends—so start smashing!

Voice: Your friends have stopped searching. Resumed their raids. Their third has left… little. As for lying, do not mistake questions for ignorance. I am Skar.

Tarra: There were rumours some could speak, but I didn’t… Where’s Kaatesh?

Skar: Kaatesh? Ah, a name. You were… the only one taken. Tell me of your tribe. How many of you remain? Your command structure makes no sense.

Tarra: Tribe? Oh, the others. Hordes! Zounds! We’re legion! If you’re so curious, untie me and I’ll go get them!

Skar: Indeed? Quite the number to fit into a few settlements and a single stronghold. I offer you a bargain, human: answers for freedom. Consider your position. Before my patience ends.

Tarra: My eyes may be brown and yet to see two centuries, but I’m not stupid! Ironwall won’t fall because of me!

Skar: This exchange displeases me as well, in spite of its necessity. We are the least of your worries. If you truly wish to protect your own, cooperation is your best path forward. Most of your secrets may remain yours.

Tarra: Least of my worries? How’s that?

Skar: All in due time. Ironwall. Is that the name of that abomination?

Tarra: You stinking goat! Take that back! If my hands were free, I’d slap you! Ironwall’s home. It’s where I was born and earned my name after a century’s basic, and I’ll not have your savage tongue tarnish a single rusted merlon!

Continue reading “Tarra and Skar (of The Last Ritual, by Dragos Gaszpar)” →
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Beth Shoner (of The Abandoned Theater, by Dana Robertson)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a thirteen -year-old girl, here to speak of an abandoned theater and the people who disappeared there.

Welcome and thank you for joining us. Let’s begin with a little about yourself.

Thank you. My name is Beth Shoner. I’m almost thirteen years old and I go to Abigail Public School. I start grade eight in the fall.

Tell us a little about where you live.

I live with my aunt in an old Victorian home with a wraparound porch in the small town of Springvale. Our house is in one of the original neighborhoods, with big oak trees and colorful flower gardens. The smell of lavender is in the air this time of year.

My school is downtown, just before Main Street. Main Street divides the old part of town from the new end. Everything is brighter in the new end. The streetlights are always on.   

Have you always lived in Springvale?

No. I lived in Koyo City with my parents until I was about four years old; until the car accident. My parents didn’t survive it, which is why I live with my Aunt Debra now. She said it was a miracle I survived.

Then, not long after that, our house caught fire. Debra said the cause was faulty wiring. We lost all of our family photos in the fire, including every picture of my parents, except one.

After that, she decided we needed a fresh start, and we moved to Springvale. She described it as a perfect place, idyllic and peaceful. Personally, I find it more ominous, like some secret is lurking below all the quiet.

Do you have memories of your parents?

No, none, which I actually find strange. My aunt says it’s because the accident was so traumatic. I thought if she talked about them, shared her memories, it might help with mine, but she says it’s too painful. And she doesn’t want to risk me having any traumatic memories of the accident.

This locket I wear around my neck is the only thing I have from my parents. It has a tiger engraved on the front and a symbol on the back. I don’t know what the symbol means, though.

Continue reading “Beth Shoner (of The Abandoned Theater, by Dana Robertson)” →
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Lucifer (of The Fall, by Izabela Raittila)

Dear readers, tonight we have a special guest with us. Introducing the Light-bringer, the former King of Hell, the morally grey Archangel Lucifer. He’s here to tell us about his past and how it feels to be in Heaven after several centuries of ruling Hell.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

I’m one of Almighty Father’s (‘God’s’) first creations. I emerged as a fully grown adult angel so I never really had a childhood. I was one of the eight “First Born”, the original seraphs, the Archangels. Three females and four males. Almighty Father created me and my brother Michael at the same time. Our home was Heaven, a massive golden palace in the sky. We all had our own chambers in the first sphere, the closest to our maker’s throne-room. He called us “his children” and gave us thrones so we could sit by his side. I felt special to be there. We witnessed the creation of various classes of angels and the universe.

Did you have any cherished memories?

Yes. For example, some of my early duties as a watcher. I’ll never forget my first sunrise. It was marvellous. The day I learned to fly. Spreading my wings for the first time and flying into the night sky for a closer look at the moon and the stars. They were absolutely stunning. Then there’s the day I discovered my ability to shape-shift. I was keen to show off my new skills to Michael. I transformed myself into the animals that would annoy him the most just to see his reaction. I took the forms of noisy birds, buzzing insects, pesky little rodents, monkeys etc. Needless to say that Michael wasn’t impressed or amused. I still recall the look on his face… A mixture of shock, confusion and rage. So funny. (He smiles.) Sadly, Almighty Father didn’t find it amusing. He forced me to apologize.

You mentioned watcher duties. What does a watcher do exactly?

Well, as the name suggests, a watcher observes. Our duty is to keep an eye on the humans but we are forbidden from interfering with their lives. The mortals must make their own decisions. Almighty Father decides their fate when they die. The righteous souls are taken to Heaven by their cherubim guardians. The sinners are sentenced to Hell. The demons there open their portals for the new arrivals.

What can you tell us about how you ended up back in Heaven after centuries of ruling Hell?

What happened was that Almighty Father offered me forgiveness and invited me back to Heaven after the final battle of the Apocalypse. I had no choice but to accept. I ascended to the celestial realm. My descendants fought each other for the throne. There was a Purge and the realm was divided.

Almighty Father created a new Earth and populated it with humans. Now, two thousand years later, I’m still here. I can’t say it’s been easy but I’m relieved now that Hell is finally at peace.

Continue reading “Lucifer (of The Fall, by Izabela Raittila)” →
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Sheerie (of The Only Song Worth Singing, by Randee Dawn)

Dear reader, tonight with us is one of the Irish fae, inspiring poets and musicians for decades. She’s here to talk about unseen worlds and working with a touring rock band.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

I’m not human, you see, so I can’t exactly give you warm and fuzzy tales of my idyllic “childhood.” I’m actually a leanhaun sídhe, or as you might call me, a “fairy mistress.” Like many fae, I exist because I am believed in, and the more powerful the belief, the more powerful I become. I was created out of a string of folk and fairy tales from Ireland, and I believe my true father was none other than the poet W.B. Yeats, who first gave me form in his 1892 book Irish Fairy and Folk Tales. I visited him more than once, though once he left for France he was out of my reach. In those days I couldn’t travel across the waters … but today it is different.

What do you do now?

My duties involve inspiring your poets – or, in the case of The Only Song Worth Singing, your rock musicians, driving their inherent creativity to heights of near (or total) insanity. What do I ask in return? So very little. Just a bit of life, taken bit by bit. It’s a fair exchange. It’s also why your poets die so young….

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

Fae exist in a world “beyond the Veil,” sometimes considered “under the hills,” but in any case, a place separate from the human world. All fae can pass through … and a few humans, if they are particularly special. But when a human and a fae comingle and create a new … being, it can be distasteful to us. One such exists, and we’ve been keeping an eye on him his entire life. Then he – and his band – left to share their music in the New World, and the orders came down from the Seelie Court: Find him and decide if he’s allowed to live. What can I say, though? I got distracted and found his bandmate far more interesting.

Continue reading “Sheerie (of The Only Song Worth Singing, by Randee Dawn)” →
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Carloman (of Shadows & Sorcery, by Sean Hill)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a metaphysical adept – also known as a wizard. He’s here to speak about wandering his lands, about his adventures, betrayal, and the practicality of red robes.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

Oh. *laughs* That was so long ago, and so much has happened since, I can barely recall. You see, I am an itinerant, a nomad, I have no fixed abode but the earth itself, and it is my pleasure to call every person my friend. I am as happy on a bed of moss as I am in a tavern spare room or manor’s guest chambers, alone or amidst the roars of the beer house. But home for me will always, wherever my feet may tread, be Voerlund, in the small towns and villages and wilds as much as the ancient splendour of Lundermark. Background, though, background…well, I spent many years as the official court wizard of a Knight out east, that was a rare thing, and they are dear memories, now long ago.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

Well, as I said, I spent quite some time as a court wizard for a Knight out in eastern Voerlund, in a small county called Zagrest, a fair ways in from the borderlands. The lord of the keep back then was a Sir Kobyla—that’s koh-bill-ah, make sure you write that down. He was a good-natured fellow with a stern but fair streak, and held to his duties, his responsibilities, and his obligations with absolute conviction. Was a real follower of the Lunderman honour code. Now, I ended up there as part of some retinue, I think I had come in with a caravan or something, and the Knight hired me, a budding sorcerer, to help him with a particular issue in the keep. It was badly haunted, you see, and the ghosts were terribly grotesque, owing to some grim, forgotten deed amidst the colourful history of our nation. It was, in due time, and with much difficulty, cleared out. But we made a fine team, and Sir Kobyla’s son Harrik took to me so well, that I was offered a place in the castle. Now, Kobyla was a practical man, and having a magician he could trust around helped cover every base. Under his roof I gained access to much magical literature, and I was no slouch before, believe you me. But with Kobyla’s resources, Castle Zagrest was probably the most secure keep in the entire nation—Lundermark aside, of course. His son was a student of mine for years, too, partly at Kobyla’s behest. Clearly I’m not there anymore, because like much of Voerlund, old rivalries bubble to the surface between old families, and Kobyla and his people, including myself, found themselves ousted by an overwhelming invading force of treacherous bastards, excuse my language. The Knight didn’t survive. Oh, if I could do then what I can do now… But I suppose it also means I wouldn’t have been able to help all the people I have these past few decades. I suppose part of me does this for Kobyla and Harrik.

What do you do now?

I have been a metaphysical adept—that’s what they call strange folks like myself in the Arragad College in Silverden, everywhere else I am a wizard—for my entire life, or close enough. I like to think of myself as a steward of the land and the people, if that’s not too presumptuous. *laughs* I wander where I may, or where the gods give me little nudges as needs be. I have variously been described as an enigmatic sorcerer, nonsensical mystic, noble magician, old sage, rascal, and strange old man—all of it true, of course.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?.

Oh, Serpent’s Breath—again, my language—where was I last…oh yes, yes, that bad business in the capital—in Lundermark. Glad to oblige the Lunderman lords when I can. Before that…I think it was Silverden, yes, that poor child. Only a little girl, she was. Now that was nasty work. Took no small effort to do what I could. And no meagre measure of anger, I don’t mind saying. I’m glad to report she made it through, but she very nearly didn’t. Not with what that bastard had done to her, and he’s a pile of rotting cinders now. Apologies for my language again. Before that, I think I was somewhere north of Baletor, east of Voerlund, on the coast where I’d encountered—ah, well, helping deal with some curious weather and sickness. All gone, too. Very little gets away from me!

Continue reading “Carloman (of Shadows & Sorcery, by Sean Hill)” →
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Oller (of New Rock New Realm, by Richard Sparks)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a sneakthief, part of a crew on a mission to follow a cryptic message that arrived on a ghost ship.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

I grew up on the streets of Brigstowe. I never knew my parents. I usually managed to find somewhere to doss down for the night. I’d have been lost without Old Fingers, who took me on as his ’prentice and taught me everything he knew about thieving. He said I was a natural. I joined the Thieves Guild as soon as I could, aged ten or so. I was soon one of their best operators. If it hadn’t been for an out-of-town lass who played me for a sucker I’d never have wound up drafted into My Lord’s army—and I’d never have met Daxx, and Grell, and Qrysta, and gone on all our adventures all over the world. Foreigners, they are, and with funny foreign ways—and Grell’s an Orc, from somewhere called Ozgaroo. But they’re my new family now. First family I ever had. Best family I could imagine.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

Toys? Me? Only toys I ever had were ones I nicked, and sold on as soon as I could. Cherished memories? Well, if it hadn’t been for Old Fingers spotting me nicking purses in the market, I’d probably have been caught by the guards and hauled up before the reeve. He was the saving of me, and like a father to me.

What do you do now?

I find things. I’m good at finding. Ways, gold, hidden secrets and valuables. The others rely on me to find things. And use my knives when it comes to a scrap, of course.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

We only went and got on board this ghost ship like four blooming idiots—well, five if you count Little Guy, my dog, who adopted me when we was on the run from the authorities. Then we got into a mess, I can tell you—having to get tricky jobs done for this nasty piece of work while the whole realm was hunting us and wanting to kill us. First job was to fight a helldragon, and it only got worse from there.

Continue reading “Oller (of New Rock New Realm, by Richard Sparks)” →
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Ed the Dimetrodon (of The Heart of Pangaea, by Lindsey Kinsella)

Dear readers, tonight we interview an imaginary friend, a precocious twelve-year-old’s companion. He’s a dinosaur, living in a fantastical pre-historic world together with other creatures, pirates, and ancient magic.

Tell us a little about where you were born. What was it like there?

Well, as an imaginary friend, I suppose I was born in my best friend’s imagination. I can’t say I remember exactly how I came to be—when did I shift from abstract thought to something… more? Am I more than that at all? What I can say is Robyn’s mind is a wild place—believe me when I say it has created more than just me!

But conceptually I was born much longer ago. You see, Robyn is a real geek for everything prehistoric, so when she concocted a friend, she modelled me on a real-life ancient creature. A Dimetrodon hailing from the Permian period, some quarter of a billion years ago and long before the first dinosaur hatched. It was a time before the rise of reptiles, when animals more similar to mammals ruled the planet.

Did you have any favourite activities as a child? Any cherished memories?

One of the downsides of being a figment of someone’s imagination is that interacting with the “real” world is… difficult. I won’t say impossible—I did once headbutt someone into a puddle, but that’s a story for another time.

So, I have to be happy to spectate. And I know that sounds boring, but I get to spectate the most interesting girl on the planet. Okay, I might be biased. She’s an incredible artist, an impressive athlete, and… a terrible singer. So, you might say my favourite activity is just being with my best friend every single day. I don’t think many people get to do that.

Of course, I’m also her emotional support—and she’s needed me for that lately. You see, her mum isn’t well. We didn’t realise until recently just how unwell. But it’s okay—we can help her.

What do you do now?

Not so long ago, Robyn and I made a discovery. It all began with the aforementioned headbutt. Look, I’m not proud of myself, but… actually I am—it was awesome and they totally deserved it. From there we came to realise that the line between what’s imaginary and what’s real is kind of vague. Under the right conditions, I can interact with the real world. And if I can, does that mean anything Robyn imagines could? Could she create real, physical things with nothing more than imagination?

One thing led to another and woosh! We find ourselves in a different world. An imaginary world, but somehow real. I can’t say I understand it myself, but I feel at home there. I can touch things, speak with people other than Robyn, I can eat. That might all sound quite pedestrian to you, but I’ve never been able to do those things before.

So now we have a job to do—a quest, if you will. Because this world, Pangaea, has a magic to it. Something more than just a tired cliché about the power of imagination. Here, we might find a cure for Robyn’s mum. If it’s here, we will find it. We have to.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

Our time in Pangaea has been wild. We’ve met prehistoric creatures, dined with a king, and even been kidnapped by pirates—all in search for the Heart of Pangaea. We don’t know what it is yet, but we’ll find out soon—the king reckons it could save Robyn’s mum.

Continue reading “Ed the Dimetrodon (of The Heart of Pangaea, by Lindsey Kinsella)” →
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Glinda and Hastur (of Yellow King of Oz, by Casper Hedron)

Dear readers, tonight we reprint a school newsletter from the land of Oz, interviewing two of the main characters.

Hello dear readers, and welcome to another issue of Bullet Point, official newsletter for the Royal Military Academy of Oz! Today we have something very special lined up for you; an interview with Glinda the Good, and her former adversary, Hastur. Let՚s start with a round of introductions. I am Miss Cuttenclip, writer and publisher of Bullet Point.

Glinda: And I am Glinda, Good Witch of the South, Headmistress of the Royal Military Academy of Oz, and protagonist of Casper Hedron՚s Clockwise series. You may have also seen me in Frank Baum՚s Land of Oz series of books. He wrote fourteen of them. My name was even in the title of his last book. I՚d wager not many of you knew that.

Hastur: They՚re baby books. For babies. Don՚t read them.

Cuttenclip: Hastur, care to introduce yourself?

Hastur: Of course. I am Hastur, the King in Yellow, the Unspeakable, Magnum Innominandum, the Once and Future King of Oz. I՚m also the “antagonist” of the book Yellow King of Oz, and have appeared in adult horror novels by HP Lovecraft and RW Chambers. Not for babies.

Cuttenclip: Speaking of babies, why don՚t you both tell us a little about where you grew up?

Glinda: Certainly. I grew up in Quadling Country, the southern region of the Land of Oz. It was just me and my sister, two wandering orphans, but it wasn՚t bad by any means. Oz is a fairy land, full of magic and wonder, and the people who inhabit it are for the most part decent and kind. As children, we heard and read many stories about Zixi, the Witch Queen of Ix, and she became like an idol to us. So much so that we both resolved to become witches ourselves. At the time, Quadling Country was ruled by a beautiful sorceress named Princess Gayelette, and after several failed attempts we eventually convinced her to take us on as her apprentices.

Hastur: I grew up aeons ago, in the frozen wastes of Kadath. *sighs* I remember it fondly. My home was a simply magnificent onyx castle perched atop a mountain range, overlooking tens of thousands of subjects encased in ice, trapped in perpetual torment. You wouldn՚t think that people who were frozen solid could scream, but you՚d be wrong! I used to hang myself from one of the balconies and listen to that enchanting choir of anguish for hours every day. Good times.

Cuttenclip: Err … moving on. Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

Glinda: Lord Librasulus Tiddlywinks III. He was a stuffed white rabbit with a red waistcoat and a monocle, given to me by a fairy. I loved that rabbit. One day while we were travelling through Munchkin Country, I lost him to the man-eating plants that grow there. I was still just a child at the time, so I didn՚t know that you could pacify the plants by singing or whistling to them. So there I was, bawling my eyes out over having lost my rabbit, and what does my sister do? She lets herself get eaten by the same plant, then cuts her way out of it from the inside. Out she pops a minute later, completely caked in sticky plant goop, Lord Tiddlywinks in hand, and I hugged her so fiercely I knocked us both off our feet.

Cuttenclip: Aww, that՚s sweet. *clears throat* Hastur?

Hastur: When I was only a few thousand years old – still a toddler, basically – I destroyed a Yithian city and took one of their lightning guns as a souvenir. Afterwards I decided to pay a visit to my brother in R՚lyeh and show him my new toy. Perhaps you can see where this going?

Cuttenclip: Umm, no…?

Hastur: Oh, well, R՚lyeh is an underwater city. Water conducts electricity. *chuckles* So anyway, there I was, shooting everything in sight with my Yithian Lightning Cannon, everyone is screeching in pain and terror, and did you know that lightning can make music? I think humans call it a thoramin, or a zeusaphone, one of those Tesla Coil machines. *laughing* So all through the chaos and … and the screaming, my lightning gun is literally singing! Bweee-wooo! I … I like to think of it as my Melody of Mayhem. *wipes away imaginary tear* I guess you just had to be there.

Continue reading “Glinda and Hastur (of Yellow King of Oz, by Casper Hedron)” →
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