Zornhau

MMORG article

2008-05-14T10:50:07Z

Via I_Clausvitz, in case anybody missed this:

http://www.danwei.org/electronic_games/gambling_your_life_away_in_zt.php

Walking to nursery with Sun Tzu Junior

2008-05-07T12:40:44Z

A German sorcerer has cast Kurtzhau’s Romans back to the Jurassic, where they’ve been abducted by a flying saucer. The aliens didn’t expect Marcellanus to be a magician, otherwise they wouldn’t have stored the weapons so close to the lockup…

Me: So Marcellanus the Scholar worked his spell and the doors slid open to reveal the control room. The aliens were odd – triangular heads and three arms, but Tertius didn’t care. He drew his gladius--

Kurtzhau (aged 4): What about their pilums, Daddy?

Me: They used them to take out the allasaurs, remember?

Kurtzhau (aged 4): (Nods.)

Me: So Tertius shouted “Charge!” The entire century piled into the control room. Some of the aliens drew weapons and fired. Some of the Romans died. But within a few seconds there was nothing left of the aliens but bits of chopped up green stuff.

Then Marcellanus swore and pointed to the window. Outside was a good view of the Moon – a very big Moon. He turned around and checked the other window. A big round blue and white disk that could only be the Earth.

Kurtzhau (aged 4): Daddy, what was wrong, Daddy?

Me: That’s what Centurion Tertius asked. Marcellanus replied that they stuck between the Earth and the Moon on a ship they didn’t know how to steer,

“That’s bad,” said Tertius.

Kurtzhau (aged 4): They should have captured the aliens, Daddy, not killed them all. Then Marcellanus and Tertius would have had somebody to steer the flying saucer!

Drilling Zornhau!

2008-05-05T21:41:52Z

Zornhau - a diagonal cut to the head or neck. To do it, stand 30 degrees on to target, rest sword on back shoulder. Inhale. Exhale and throw the sword forward, steering with the back hand so that it cuts in a 45 degree plain. When the sword tells you to... wait for it... wait for it... STEP. Blade and foot land together...

...except the other fellow just threw a Zornhau into your blade...

Yes, we finally found the right balance between study and drill by alternating the weeks. That way, people who only attend on one of the two days don't get lost, and both study and drill blocks have continuity.

And, everything aches...

NYT on Charles Stross "Economic SF"

2008-05-05T15:02:07Z

...Charles Stross’s Merchant Princes novels... are economic science fiction worth reading.
http://krugman.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/05/04/economic-science-fiction/

They are a damn good read, all the more so because the economics is done well and fun. But, is that a tag any writer wants to follow them around?

Alan Campbell's book launch - home is better than the kebab shop

2008-05-03T12:20:06Z

You know when you've got your living arrangements right when your own kitchen is more attractive than the kebab shop, even when you're a tad legless thanks to attending the rather boozy launch of a friend's second book.

Alan is very much his own writer. However, if you like Gormenghast, but wish it had a faster paced plot, or like Clark Ashton Smith's vision, but wish he'd had a better writing style, then Alan's Deepgate Codex is probably the series you've been waiting for, even if it has got a typo, the which Alan discovered only as he read out the passage (see right.)

And, if you also like book launches with free European lager, rather than the usual vinegary white wine, then you really had to be there last night at Waterstones - and the Traverse Theatre bar afterwards.

I interrogated a pro writer about the market, had a fantastically pointless conversation with an agent - the fault of a flamboyantly inebriated editor - set the world to rights with my writers group colleagues, talked at length with escapees from the games industry (there's a bullet I'm glad I dodged), and reminisced about Thailand with a couple who'd been off round the world.

As I strolled back to our rather central flat, the pangs of hunger finally pierced the alcoholic fuzz. Not the kebab shop for me - the fridge contained flour tortillas, bacon, soured cream and cheese. Allspice was to hand on the spice rack; those of you who like Tex Mex can see the synergies.

My Universe R Bookshelf

2008-04-30T10:34:30Z

Like Howard Andrew Jones, my monitor occasionally reflects a view of my study in a parallel world: Universe R. The bookshelf is interesting indeed. I managed to email my counterpart, Wodehawk, and he told me about his two favourite books:

Good King Richard’s Book of the Fight (1487-1492)

After winning the Battle of Bosworth by single-handedly striking down his rival (often termed “The Coolest Axe-Blow in History”), King Richard worried that gunpowder and the natural indolence created by peace would kill of the Martial Arts. For this reason he commissioned a book capturing the fighting styles of the knights and commoners of Merry England. It runs to seven volumes, and was Caxton’s bestseller. The table of contents is enough to make me weep.; “Of Sword and Shield… Of Great Falchion… Of the Great Sword… Of the Bill and Glaive… Of How a Knight Shall Fight Alongside his Lance… Of How a Knight Shall be Armed (including a discourse on which is better: Armet or Sallet?)… Of the Folly of Fighting with Two Swords… and Good King Richard’s Axe and Buckler Plays.”

Howard and Tolkien’s “Strider the Ranger Series”

One of the stranger quirks of literary history is the collaboration between the big morose Texan pulpster and the genteel Oxford don.

To blame is a mechanical fault that saved Howard’s life when he tried to commit suicide, propelling him into volunteering in the Spanish Civil War. The wounded Howard had been shipped to England by sympathisers. Though he was still distraught by the death of his buddy Hemmingway - as everybody knows, the two finally egged each other on into a heroic but fatal escapade within six months of the war’s end – he immediately hit it off with the academic.

Tolkien, on his part, saw in the Texan “…the very manifestation of the men of Middle Earth.” Abandoning attempts to create what would have been a very cumbersome work in the Romantic tradition, Tolkien set about cheering up his new friend.

What started out as a weekend’s literary game on the banks of Lake Windermere, blossomed into a collaboration that only ended with Tolkien's death in 1973. Who has not thrilled at Strider’s adventures in the mysterious Eastern Lands (the classic example being “Strider the Oliphant Rider”)? Or gawped at arguably the highpoint of the series where Strider carves his way into Mordor, hacks off the head of the Dark Lord, and casts it into the pit of a volcano?

An interesting literary footnote is Tolkien’s little-read solo effort “Lord of the Hyborian Age”. Howard, in mourning for his friend, revived this project and spent the years 1975 until 1990 knocking out well over a million words in the what became known as the Conan Saga. The child who grew up listening to the tales of old gunfighters, lived to see his vision translated to silver screen, TV, and ultimately - as a grand old man - computer games.

WTF? Animated poetry video for DWM!

2008-04-28T12:13:40Z

This was done using a new machinima tool. Not enough mayhem or tanks for my taste, but rather cool all the same:

MilSF resource!

2008-04-25T12:01:48Z

Just so I don't forget it, this site is a Baen writer-wannabe's dream resource.

Small wars are operations undertaken under executive authority, wherein military force is combined with diplomatic pressure in the internal or external affairs of another state whose government is unstable, inadequate, or unsatisfactory for the preservation of life and of such interests as are determined by the foreign policy of our Nation.

http://www.smallwarsjournal.com/

Kurtzhau! (Fighting within the system)

2008-04-21T22:01:16Z

"Your martial art is all very well, but it's useless against somebody not fighting within the system...(Oof!)"

I've heard it many a time on the reenactment circuit - albiet without the resounding exhalation of breath as 4 ft of steel buries itself in the speaker's chest. It is, of course, bollocks for German Longsword and its cousins.

Granted, some duelling-orientated sword fighting systems may also reflect complex social customs and niceties, but the Medieval martial arts traditions existed and evolved in a brawling free market of ideas. If North Bratislavian Slugfechten got you killed, people would stop learning it.

In fact the truth is quite the opposite of the opening quote: it's a lot easier to fight people who don't know your system.

Generally, when we DDS "Marxbruder" face off, we each know what the other will try to do. I'm thinking: "I'll Zornhau and Take Off," and he's thinking ""He'll Zornhau and Take Off." What you end up with is a lot of smart ass moves, aborted attacks, and techniques jammed at half-cock before they go off.

Until tonight, that is.

The_Hat and I started with edgy tricks and counter-tricks, and collided doing some of the obvious moves. Then something clicked. We clambered to the top of nearly 3-years of study and plunged into an atavistic bath of technique, which is to say that towards the end, we flowed. Nothing was predicable because, at last, there were simply too many choices.

The_Hat fought like a dream, and together we wallowed in ersatz murderous play for what felt like hours, but was mere minutes.

And, the blades didn't dance like in some crap fantasy where each of charactyr namys sports a Y" and the races have a'postrophes. Nor did we probe for openings, see one and go for it - whatever the hell that is supposed to mean.

Rather, the steel flowed and whirled, like nightmare leaves spiralling through a haunted ruin by the light of forgotten moons.

Oh, I scored a hit with a Kurtzhau. :)

For Parents: Free "Walking With Dinosaurs" Game

2008-04-20T18:02:27Z

Just to say that the BBC has a free "Walking With Dinosaurs" 3D game here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/sn/prehistoric_life/games/dinosaur_world/

Basically, you plod around a 3D world spotting dinosaurs. The dinos fight and eat each other, but not the player. The controls are simple enough for a 4-year old, as Kurtzhua discovered....

"Cab, innit.”: The funniest thing I've read in ages...

2008-04-13T10:35:36Z

For non Brits: You have to understand that in England's Deep South, "...innit" serves the same non-purpose as the US "...man":

A 19-year-old...[South]... London girl['s]... hunt for a cab to whisk her to Bristol airport ended less than satisfactorily.
...the unnamed teen rang directory enquiries... and initially requested a number for a "Joe Baxi" [slang] firm . The nonplussed operator told her she couldn't find anyone by that name, to which the lass replied: “It ain’t a person, it’s a cab, innit.”
The enlightened operator duly put her through to... [a] retail display supplier Displaysense, where she "spoke to an equally bemused saleswoman" before thundering: “Look love, how hard is it? All I want is your cheapest cab, innit. I need it for 10am. How much is it?”

The answer was £180, and with the deal done by credit card, Displaysense obliged by delivering a display cabinet to her door the next morning.

The Register

The thing about swords... (St George Armoury review)

2008-04-11T13:33:00Z

The thing about swords by Mark Vickers (St George Armoury) is that they feel real – and I should know, since I’ve handled originals. Better yet, they sing for at least a minute after combat.

For a Western Martial Arts hobbiest on a budget, a sword is an intensely personal thing. Something to be dithered over, saved up for, designed with loving care over many a pint in the pub, ordered, then eagerly awaited. Finally, after retrieving it from an inept courier service (such as Parcel Farce, Totally Nube Twits, Royal Fail), you unwrap it. The light glints off your new shiny and you whoop... then struggle for a name.

Hard to imagine our forefathers feeling the same way about a sword. Don Pero Nino used to finish battles with his swords looking liked notch-toothed saws. If William Marshal named his swords, we have no record of it.

But, for us moderns, a sword is a luxury item, a considerable chunk of the family budget, rather than a business expense. It’s the embodiment of our commitment to the Art, and the symbol of our other self… not the cubicle dwelling people person, seeking teamwork synergies going forward across the board, but the might-have-been Other Guy with honour in his heart, and somebody else’s blood splattered on his armour. Beyond that, a sword is a kind of kinaesthetic TARDIS. Pick it up, and you enter the same bio-mechanical world as men 600 years dead. Learn to use the thing, and dance in their shadows.

So, when I buy a sword, I want it to be blunt enough not to hurt my friends, but in all other ways real. I’ve not always succeeded.

My first longsword was a clone of the Battle Abbey Sword. Here's the original:

This was back before everybody was online, so I went with a local supplier. What I ended up with was nicely light and well balanced, but untempered and, thanks to budget, simply executed. It’s propensity for song was short lived, but the battered and burred blade survived a miraculous half decade of abuse– a tribute to the qualities of EN45 spring steel. I even took it on the re-enactment field (see right).

One day the pommel fell off.

It was a symbolic moment. I’d lent Big German Guy a light but crappy sword of dubious provenance so we could practice Zornhau into Zornhau without his monster blade mashing my new shiny - another clone of the Battle Abbey Sword, this time 36 inches of tempered steel, beautifully done.

German Big Guy threw a Zornhau and Zornhaued his blade (trans: he threw a diagonal strike at my shoulder, I returned the same strike, but into “his” blade). Clatter! The other blade hit the floor.

Big German Guy looked rather forlornly at the stub of his weapon. “OMG Zornhau! I broke your sword.”

I glanced at the clock. For family men like me, fencing time is almost more precious than steel. “Never mind, pick up my old Battle Abbey.”

So BGG swings the old sword at me, a weapon that had once been my pride and joy. The new version cracks into it and resonates like a tuning fork. The older sword contributes a single “thud”. The pommel now lies on the ground.

BGG pulled off his mask and swore – a rare occurrence amongst Opus Dei Black Ops guys, so I believe.

“Never mind,” I said. “Let’s go to the pub.”

“OK, I’m buying.”

In truth I really didn’t care. here's why:

The new version from the Armoury of St George made what was left of the old one look like a high school craft project. Built to my exact spec, balanced to a T, the moment I picked it up, it plugged into my body image and became an extension of myself.

So, when it was time to keep up with the Marxbruder and up-gun to a 42-inch greatsword, I went back to Mark. I pointed him to a Durer image I’ve always liked and asked for something in roughly the same style, all to a tight budget – which he delivered.

Unfortunately, a few weeks of use taught me that ’d cocked up my spec. I’d said “Tough enough to withstand beats to the blade”, which he’d taken to mean that I expected to parry with the flat, rather than what I intended – to survive counter-strikes such as a Zornhau into a Zornhau. So I ended up with something a trifle blade-heavier than intended; hard on the shoulders, and when struck it clanged, rather than hummed. Worse, I discovered that the S-shaped cross has a practical function as sword catcher (see right), but only if it’s the other way around!

In the mean time, the bi-weekly smite-fests exposed a problem with the glue on the grip, and the leather came loose.

I was… unhappy. This sword was my 40^th birthday present from my wife. Not exactly compensation for my advanced years, so much as proof that there’s still money and time for toys. And, of course, a sword is a personal thing. Feeling my pain, Calcinations kindly hand-delivered the sword to Mark at a market.

Mark fixed the grip and guard free, and picked up the postage. He also tweaked the balance for a mere £20. The sword came back to me so quickly, he must have stepped out of his van straight into his workshop.

The end result is a sword I love to wield. A sword that sings…

Moonlighting

2008-04-11T10:50:30Z

The thing Iike about my little business-on-the-side is that it takes me to odd nooks and crannies of the software industry. At the moment, I'm writing web copy for a model railway design package. It's one I've worked on before, but relaunched with a new name. Strange, strange world...

Musician tastes the wind and doesn't like the flavour...

2008-04-02T20:59:10Z

And while it can be fantastic publicity (and a bit of a giggle) to have a few fundies standing outside a gig protesting, the threat of serious legal bills will scare a lot of record companies into censoring their output (c.f. Janet Jackson’s ’superbowl nipple’).

20K to go...

2008-03-28T15:02:30Z

Just finished editing the hardcopy of the penultimate 20K.

The final 20K needs a few changes before I print it - battle needs tweaking in response to single_point's feedback on tech, and the finale needs some steroids as suggested by one of my crit circle.

Then...

There are about half a dozen items on my snagging list, mainly continuity stuff, e.g. the hero's Housecarls keep fluctuating in number.

Finally, I need to double check the feedback from my crit circle in case I've missed anything - I don't always take people's advice, but I do always consider it...

Then, at last, it's ready for beta reading and release into the wild.

So, now I'm 40...

2008-03-24T13:42:42Z

I am, it is true, at the happiest I've been since adolescence.

I have a long-standing and happy marriage, two children, one 4-year-old judo fanatic who can throw a good Zornhau (fellow martial artists will understand the significance of this), and 4-month year old who is just learning to sit (fellow parents understand the significance of this). I also have healthy nephews, a happily married sibling, and two live parents with whom to celebrate my birthday.

I have a job which is part-time, for which I do not have to leave the house, and that does not involve working in an interpersonally toxic environment with [EXPLETIVES DELETED].

I have a snow-flake of friends, rather than a circle, but that's the price of parenthood. And among those various branches and whorls of crystallised social life I can count some of the most articulate and well-read people I have ever known. In some ways, my life resembles an endless SF convention, but with a layer of children not so much as underfoot as acting as a Fountain of Youth... oh and with more cold steel.

The cold steel? Well like a good marriage, it grows more exquisite and satisfying as the years roll by. The German Longsword Study group seems to be mining its way back into the past. Twice a week I get a refreshing blast of Medieval air, laden with the scent of Germanic forests and the prospect of roasted boar.

Then there's the novel. It's so almost-done that, since I did not bring with me a printout for marking up, there was nothing I could do to it this weekend. I'm in the lead up to that moment when you open the box and find out whether it contains a putrid feline corpse, or an angry cat. Terrifying yes, but in a "you bought the ticket to this rollercoaster so you'd better enjoy it" way.

But.

Well, the thing about dancing with the Muse of History is that you tend to be well aware that everything and everybody has its start and end date. This is great for coping with mortality around you, but at the same time makes you well aware that the Grim Reaper waits in ambush at the foot of the hill, ready to pencil in your terminal date.

I look at our son playing with the Lego I played with at his age - did I say that we're at my folks? - and realise that he 1/10^th of my age, and that when he's 40, I shall be 80, and that generationally, I shall stand naked underneath an open sky.

And, well there's the writing. Suppose I sell "Ironclad", how many more novels have I got in me? Enough to fill a shelf, perhaps, but I'm already behind my heroes and role models.

The Hell Hound is on my tail in earnest now. Watch this space.

32 minutes to 40...

2008-03-23T23:29:01Z

I have 32 minutes left of being 39.

I'll let you know how it turns out.

Arthur C Clarke

2008-03-19T10:51:33Z

He wrote the first SF I ever read.

My folks bought me "Of Time and Stars" when I was about 10 - it was as I recall a collection of short stories deemed suitable for older children. From there it was the Arthur C Clarke books in the library. Most of them were in Gollanz yellow covers, so so when I ran out of Clarke, I moved onto other "less suitable" authors...so shaping my mind for all time.

Farewell old timer.

EDIT: Perhaps this is a reminder to look after the SF heroes still in our midst, and to look to our own mortality; http://www.matchitforpratchett.org/

Wisdom from the 14th century

2008-03-18T21:42:57Z

There is no hurt or disgrace to run away from four or six.
And when you turn and start to run away from him,
then throw your sword across and run as fast as you can.
Then as one who thinks that he has caught up with you and has closed with you,
then leap to the side of the road and if he is running quickly after you,
then he will be moving too fast to control himself
and you can strike him down as you wish.

Hanko Dobringer - 1389

Getting things done...

2008-03-17T17:38:57Z

During my non-family leisure time, at the moment, the hands only want to come off my ears ("Nah nah nah! I can't hear you! I'm too busy revising my novel") in order to wield a sword.

However, the crap does sometimes pile up to the piont where my in-tray becomes life threatening. I can't single-handedly create a new genre if I'm suffocated by bank statements, tax letters and insurance forms.

So, rather than craft the required love scene between two of the main characters, I've spent the last hour clearing the decks. My in-tray is down to an import tax invoice on some sturdy gloves, and a registration form for my new mobile phone, for which I've even sorted out the BlueTooth.

If I ever become a full-time fictioneer, I'm going to find a way to reduce this demand on my time. Can one have somebody come in once a quarter to handle admin?

From Curmudgeon68...

2008-03-16T11:40:54Z

I love this:

BTW the housing minister Yvette Cooper is married to Ed Balls so if you want to protest this government there is nothing stopping you marching with a placard saying Yvette Cooper Kisses Balls (it may not however accurately reflect the state of their marriage).

Another 20K words revised...

2008-03-15T22:23:44Z

...or at least marked up. What I have does seem like the final draft of a non-embarrasing novel. The proof, however, will be in the flogging.

Writer and eco-criminal

2008-03-11T22:45:14Z

I can't help it. I laugh at people who write longhand, or make a fetish of using an actual typewriter. But when it comes to editing, I have to print the damn thing.

Back at uni, a lifetime ago, I used to print essays on continuous fanfold paper and hook on end over a nail in the wall. Armed with highlighter pens, I would mount a ladder and fix the structure and the argument - I suppose that's why I like outlining my fiction, it gives me the same helicopter view of the work, without having to rent a cherry picker and borrow the side of a 4-storey tenement.

So now I'm laboriously printing out sections of "Ironclad" - a better title than "[HIGH CONCEPT HERE]", but less revealing. I read the text, marking typos, clumsy bits, and checking for continuity and consistency, e.g. a bullet bights a chunk out of Sir Ranulph's ear in chapter 4, so now I have to make sure it gives him grief for the rest of the novel. Then there are naming conventions, ranks, backstory, and geography. Argh!

I'm 40K words through, with 60K left. The first 20K were a nightmare, not least because the beggining both stands for and encapsulates the entire novel, especially in the eyes of the Holy Gatekeepers (agents and editors). The next 20K were surprisingly good - I think - probably because some of them were heavily workshopped, and others rewritten from scratch within the last few months.

And as I wade through my intended Neo Pulp debut novel, I begin to suffer from the sort of performance anxiety I believe paralyses many wannabes. I think what I have is a rational fear of a soldier negotiating a suspected minefield, rather than anything hand-wringing and angsty.

I've put about 5 years elapsed time into this novel (less "bum on seat" thanks to one job change, starting one business on the side, and having two new children during that period). In order to achieve this I've taken an axe to my social life, and put my PC on a game-free diet.

So, though much of this time was spent learning on the job, I really have a lot resting on this novel. And, I can't help thinking how much it would change my life to sell it.

The best way of coping with the fear is to put my head down and get on with it, which is exactly what the fear forces me to do anyway. So, I can't find the focus for other projects, can't settle to reading fiction, and haven't got much mojo left over for LJ.

Watch this space.

Old friends

2008-03-10T23:44:13Z

Today I had a caffeine-fuelled lunch with a Oddverse, who I have not seen in the flesh for nearly 15 years. Two near-40-somethings and we plunged into the conversations of our teens, but seasoned with experience.

I will admit that I have not been good at keeping the friends of my youth.

In part it’s because I was never interesting enough to have the friendships I wanted, and not always interested in the friends I had.

It’s also because many friends are really just colleagues – shared time and place substituting for any real bond. Take away the school, the university or the band, and you have individuals with eroding common ground despite the shared history, or too much history of the wrong sort , which leads me onto the confession...

Mainly it’s because, in the absence of a Statute of Limitations on youthful folly - and because assassination is illegal (and rogue Serbian Special Ops units don’t take PayPal) – I prefer not to be around those who will remind me of my chaotic maladjusted teens and early twenties.

(The one time I ever seriously threatened anybody was when an old mate turned up at a re-enactment event thought a good way to fit in around the fireside was to dredge up Zornhau anecdotes. Have you ever noticed how sudden out-of-context violence somehow gets in under the radar? I hauled him onto his back, held him down and told him that it was nice to see him but I was going to kill him if he didn’t shut up. I’m sure it was conscience that made him desist, rather than anything physically intimidating about this mild mannered Englishman.)

However. Some people went through similar experiences, or shared the road even when our quests were ultimately different. (And forgive me for talking only about fellow bloggers here - there are others equally longstanding and valued, who have no web presence.)

Where the geography of career has been kind, those friendships persisted on and off, with a little healthy flex.

Bassist and all-round muso Andy “I don’t believe in net anonymity” Gilmour is one of these. We’ve played everything from Rock and Roll to Warhammer. Now our kids kick a ball around the garden while we talk history and books.

Andy used to do the music for an amateur theatre group, which is how I met Curmudgeon a comic and straight man combined, who once helped us move flats. He’s both a gentle giant and tightly wound ball of talents, who may yet pick just one outlet and make his mark. Though our lives are usually at different places, we’ve always enjoyed comparing travelogues. And, it was Curmudgeon who told me to stop faffing and get the hell on with writing my novel, which, gentle reader, I did.

Others charged off elsewhere.

Mother at Large was twice my neighbour, the tall older girl good for a summer’s evening basket ball, and later, one who my friends pursued with more ardour than aptitude. She zoomed off to Oxbridge, thence to the metropolis to be a journalist. After an almost uninterrupted decade of hiatus, I bumped into her in the street, pushing one child along and planning another. In some ways we have more in common now than we did then, and those things we had in common have come to some sort of fruition.

And then there’s Oddverse, my next-door neighbour and fellow literary wannabe. It was Oddverse who introduced me to Andy and Curmudgeon, life long fixtures in my social world. And it was Oddverse with whom I had long technical conversations about writing, before he fell off the radar to reappear out in Dublin in more ways than one. And now he’s back, and we’re both in the same place – settled down, settled into careers, taking our writing seriously, and on the verge of having something sellable. The strangeness is not that we picked up from where we left off, but that - had you eavesdropped on our conversation – you would not believe that we had ever left off in the first place.

Welcome back, my friend.

Impending 40th birthday... guess what...

2008-02-18T00:23:10Z

I bought a greatsword with a 40-inch blade. Beats the heck out of buying a Harley Davidson and growing a 'tache...