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The Protagonist Speaks

Interviews with the characters of your favourite books

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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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Lieutenant Jameson (of Through Jaded Eyes, by Ryan McClellan)

Dear readers, tonight we bring you the antagonist from a world where fear is the ultimate weapon, one man’s rebellion could change everything—or destroy it all.

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

Before the tragedy, I grew up in Manhattan. The streets were riddled with peasants, drifters, and the like. I always pitied them. I eventually signed up for a classified doctrine that would help me pay my rent. Little did I know, it was nothing short of a brainwashing experiment. I once  saw a movie, before The Great Degeneration, about a man named Jason Bourne, who underwent a similar story: I was told that I was to forget my own name, and it took a while before I realized that I needed to join the TRITE Movement, which indoctrinated me into combat. The rest, as they say, is history.

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

When The Great Degeneration occurred, and I cannot say I fully understand what happened, I was left on the streets. I recall a drifter handing me a vial of a compound known as LSD. This, unfortunately, was my only toy, and then all went blank. Three years later, I woke up in the midst of a world that had changed. Manhattan was now enclosed by a great wall, and TRITE ran the streets. Once again, my memory is foggy, but I do remember the fear I felt when I shot my mother and father. It was the day I swore off fear, and began to climb the ranks of the TRITE Movement, where I soon became a Lieutenant.

What do you do now?

Well, my friend, I am dead. Whether I like to believe it or not, after the death of Admiral Sathers in a car explosion, I rose to the ranks as the new leader of New Manhattan. There was a boy named Daniel, who I later found out had escaped the encompassment of the wall. For now, I will wallow in shadow, until the bombs drop once more, and I am rebirthed. From there, I shall continue to seek revenge on those who hazed me. I do not know when, but I know my body is preserved. I will find a way to live again…

What can you tell us about the escape of Daniel Sathers?

When word got out about the escapee, I had no choice but to hunt him down. Exiting into The Outskirts beyond the wall, I hunted that boy, Daniel, as he was a catalyst. He was the first to ever deny The Sickness, or what some call: “fear.” He found his way into a forbidden land, and he met a former TRITE Officer named Donnie, who seemed to be an accomplice. The chase ended in a bloody battle where the Twin Towers once stood, and Mile 9 was, unfortunately, where I decided to turn back and head to the city again. The only thing is, by the time I got there, rebellion had begun. I will forever remember the bullet that cost me my final breath. Thankfully, TRITE has ways of bringing the dead back. I will await it.

Continue reading “Lieutenant Jameson (of Through Jaded Eyes, by Ryan McClellan)” →
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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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Prof Benjamin Dinerstein (of The Ibbur’s Tale, by Lenny Abelson)

Dear readers, tonight we’re chatting with an English literature professor who encountered a most unusual ghost. Straight out of Eastern European Judaic mythology, it has led him on a journey of discovery and mysteries.

TPS: We were pleased to have the opportunity to speak with Professor Emeritus Benjamin Dinerstein about his experiences with an ibbur and the remarkable history the two of them uncovered. Professor, welcome!

BD: Thank you very much, and please call me Ben. It is a pleasure to meet you.

TPS: Likewise. Well, Ben, it is now more than twenty-two years since your encounter with the ibbur. Have you had any further contact either with her or Zephaniah, the mysterious old woman who played such a prominent role in the narrative?

BD: Sadly, I have not.

TPS: But you are quite certain that you actually encountered an ibbur, in this case, the ghost of your former student, Miriam?

BD: Excuse me. I hate to wax pedantic, but I must make a quick correction. An ibbur is not to be confused with a ghost. It is a very specific type of possessive spirit. Miriam came to me seeking my assistance. She had one last mitzvah, a good deed, to perform, and that was to finish her uncle’s quest. In fairness, she would surely have completed the task herself had she not been killed in the automobile accident. That said, I am absolutely certain that the entity I encountered was indeed Miriam.

TPS: I understand. In fact, I found the story quite convincing myself. Why, there’s so much history — not only her family’s saga, but European history, from before World War One through World War Two…

BD: … and, as you probably realized as quickly as I did, it all “fits.” As implausible as it might seem, these events took place almost exactly as Susanna, whom Miriam had planned to contact, described them.

TPS: I found Susanna absolutely fascinating. What remarkable strength she must have had!

BD: I got to know her quite well over the years, and she was a wonderful woman. She died just a few months ago, though not before she had seen five great-grandchildren.

TPS: But Naomi was her only child?

BD: Yes. It seems that irony ran rampant in that family. Michael Goldberg, Susanna’s husband, had had a bad case of mumps and was apparently unable to have children of his own. Similarly, Zephaniah told me that the man Yosef Müller believed was his father had also been rendered sterile by that disease. However, it seems as though everything fell into place nevertheless, didn’t it?

TPS: Indeed. Now, I must ask you something a little more personal. You have long described yourself as a skeptic, yet you seem so willing to accept an encounter with a purported ibbur without any reservations. Did you step out of character? Did you make an exception because of your feelings toward Miriam, your former student?

BD: Not at all! Like the ancient Greek skeptics, I tend to withhold assent, at least initially. Thereafter, I reserve judgment until I have gathered sufficient information. The image of Miriam convinced me that she was indeed my brilliant student, and the strange family saga that we unfolded was considerably more believable than the appearance of an ibbur. Everything made sense, except —

Continue reading “Prof Benjamin Dinerstein (of The Ibbur’s Tale, by Lenny Abelson)” →
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Philip Pirrup, aka Pip (of Twisted Expectations, by Brent A. Harris)

Dear readers, tonight with us is one of everyone’s favourite Dickens’ characters – talking about 19th century London, steam engines, time travel, and dinosaurs.

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

I grew up poor out on the Moors of Kent with my sister and her husband Joe Gargary, the local blacksmith and to whom I apprenticed under. I was raised by hand by my sister, and I do mean a mean one. Luckily, a generous benefactor intervened and sent me off to London to become a gentleman.

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

I played at knaves with Uncle Joe, and we’d often race to see who could eat our buttered bread first each morning, and the times we’d work together at his forge, but I gave all that up when I was offered a chance to become a gentleman in London, a choice that I sometimes think back upon in regret.

What do you do now?

I am a gentleman of the city, you see. My duties are to my wealth and to my name. I’m seeking a parliamentary seat, and for that, I’ve called upon the London’s own vigilante, The Orphan, for his assistance. I wish to ally myself with him.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

Well, I should have known, chaps, that involving myself with Mr. Twist would inevitably wrap me up in one of his mad schemes to save the city when creatures – extinct creatures, mind you – arrive without invitation or provocation.

Continue reading “Philip Pirrup, aka Pip (of Twisted Expectations, by Brent A. Harris)” →
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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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Quinn Iremonger (of Cycled: Rebirth, by Alekz Wokal)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a man who hunts unlawful holders of soul shards — the mysterious crystals that each grant their holder a unique supernatural ability.

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

I’m from Overta Layartha, the busiest port on the east coast. You may have heard tales that hooligans, beggars, and thieves run the streets, and it’s true. I was one of them. My parents tried, but I was a rowdy kid. I wanted to be free, I craved the rush of street life. From stealing fruit from the market, to escaping the law. Pocketing coins from unsuspecting travelers and pilfering ships. There were many great times, but I eventually learned that life wasn’t for me. I could never bring myself to do the more heinous acts my crew did. Once that was sorted, I grew sick of the city, and all I dreamed about was leaving. Even considered asking the pirates whenever they docked if I could join their crew, but something always held me back. Like I wasn’t quite ready to leave. Then, one day, while sitting on a pier watching the vessels, a lovely lady sat with me and struck up a conversation. That’s when I knew why I hadn’t left yet. But that’s a story for another time.

Tell us what it means to be a trapper. What is it like?

We hunt unlawful shard holders, or as we like to call them, ushers. People who find a soul shard, and, instead of turning it in, use its powers as they please. Let’s say there’s a shard out there with the power to make appendages explode. Some random person finds it and decides to start popping people’s toes. Well, that’s where we come in. We go through rigorous training and develop special skills that allow us to hunt them. It takes years to master, but believe it or not, we can feel when a shard is nearby. We’ve also learned how to crack a shard from a distance, and if we can crack an usher’s shard before they do, they won’t get the power. Then, we go in and rough them up a bit. As for what it’s like being a trapper… A bit of a tricky one. Of course, you could say dangerous. Stressful. Often lonely. But where’s the fun in that? It’s exciting! Rewarding. Look, we’re catching the bad guys. Imagine you were the one who captured Aeryn the Maimer. Would feel pretty good, right? And you’d probably get lucky a time or two at your local tavern. Not that I would know anything about that, of course.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

Not much, I’m afraid. Not sure who all will be reading this. But what I can say is that I met Ember and Coen, and when I decided to travel with them, things got wild. Through them I’ve witnessed things I didn’t think possible. I’ve reunited with someone I thought long gone. We’ve fought side-by-side in battles where I was certain we would lose. But most of all, I’ve learned things that shook me to the core of who I am. Cryptic, I know. Let me just say this: I used to be a devout thaed. Not so much anymore.

Continue reading “Quinn Iremonger (of Cycled: Rebirth, by Alekz Wokal)” →
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Max (of Unfixed, by Amy L Sauder)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a young man, fascinated by historical circus wagons at the edge of town. He’s here to speak about claimed of an enchanted circus, abandoned mansions, and the blurring lines between villains and sidekicks.

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

That seems a bit nosy. I grew up same as everyone else, I suppose. And I cherish each memory. Why do you ask? What are you fishing for?  

At any rate, I don’t like talking about the past. The now is what matters, that and the future. The rest is in, well, the past. Let’s leave it there.

What do you do now?

I’m a private investigator, looking into the disappearance of the Circus of Strange Marvels and the night of the fire while doing simple upkeep at the abandoned Trencher mansion. My unfortunate roommate Fancy is no help, and the witnesses are unreliable and few.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

I’m sure you heard of it. The supposed hauntings, the claims of magic. Other than that, what else is there to say? The walls can’t talk and the people won’t. But sooner or later, something has gotta come out. And when it does I’ll be there, ready to jot it down.

What did you first think when you read about the night of the fire?

There’s so mystical an air around it that the only guesses are practically a fairy tale. Even the newspapers bought into the hype…what sort of journalist does that? And of course there’s no proof. Everyone loves a good story, but there’s a reasonable explanation underneath all the vanishing people and fresh corpses. In time, I’ll find it and watch the magic crumble.

Continue reading “Max (of Unfixed, by Amy L Sauder)” →
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Anna of Cleves (of The Swan Maiden, by G. Lawrence)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a young noble woman, sent from her home in the Holy Roman Empire to be a wife to the English king. She’s here to speak about the women’s world at both courts, and what it’s like to be the fourth wife of a king who cast off his previous wives.

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

My homeland is known in England as Cleveland, but in truth it comprised two states of the Holy Roman Empire, Julich which were my mother’s lands and Cleves, which were my fathers. They were united by the marriage of my parents.  

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

Many cherished memories. I grew up in the Frauenzimmer, the court of women, which in Cleves was kept separate from that of men, for the protection of the women. My mother, the Duchess Maria, presided over our court, teaching us many skills good for a woman to know, such as needlework, the art of cookery and medical skills. Until her marriage into Saxony, my sister Sybylla lived with us and we were close, most of the time. She did once throw a set of shears at my head, leaving a scar in my eyebrow, but she was contrite afterwards. Our younger sister, Amalia, also grew up with us there, a rebellious soul who loved to secretly write poetry and dreamt of becoming as Joan of Arc once was.

Although I loved my family, the Frauenzimmer was a restricted place to grow up, many rules and not a great deal of freedom. We were not prisoners, mistake me not, and we joined the main court from time to time for feasts and hunting, but our day-to-day life was sometimes dull.

All the same, given where I am now heading, I would accept a life of dullness over my present state of trepidation and fear.

What do you do now?

I am to be a bride, sent to marry the mad King of England, Henry VIII. The thought was that either Amalia or I would become his next Queen, he has had three already, and I did not want my sister sent to this much-married man. The English think we do not know how he cast off his first wife, executed his second, (many say she was innocent) and allowed his third to die of neglect, but we know. My brother, now my guardian and master, knows what kind of man he sends me to. But Cleves needs allies against the Emperor, and so, for the good of my people, I am sent to secure this alliance with the King by marriage. He is twice my age and has killed women he swore he loved as well as friends.

I do not want to marry him.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

My most recent adventure is to leave the only life I have known, in the sheltered world of the Frauenzimmer and be taken through my homeland into Imperial territory, through the Low Countries and thence into France so I may be taken to Calais and then to England and this unwanted marriage. For much of my life I have been shut away, and now I am exposed to the wide world! Also, it is the start of winter, and we are not making good time. The wagons get stuck, the roads are slick with mud, and we are crawling to England, where I am to be made Queen. I think God hears my terrified prayers and delays my arrival.

Continue reading “Anna of Cleves (of The Swan Maiden, by G. Lawrence)” →
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