FALCON Games
book series - The Renegade Lord- part 2
of 4. Its plot is based on the
theme of time traveling. Not realizing the danger it
may pose to the adventurer, an organization called
TIME was created for time travelers and their travel
period. Its agents patrol to ensure that no traveler
changes the course of History. The
player aims to track down a renegade agent who intends
to deploy instruments on different timelines to cause
dire consequences for humanity, and prevent all this
from happening. To do this, the player uses the
"Falcon’s Wing", a Cybernetic Artificially Intelligent
Nexus (CAIN) controlled spacecraft that performs
different functions, such as providing information
about residents and artifacts to be found in a given
time zone and detecting problems that have occurred. The player may choose to
leave the spaceship when it reaches its destination.
In addition, he is armed with a laser gun and a
jetpack, but he can only carry one artifact at a time.
When collected, the item should be returned to its
coherent chronological period.
FALCON Games
book series - The Renegade Lord- part 1
of 4. Inspired by Jamie Thomson
and Mark “Min” Smith's gamebook franchise, Falcon: the
Renegade Lord was the only book in the Falcon
franchise that received a 1987 arcade adaptation for
the Commodore 64 and ZX Spectrum. Released by Virgin Games
Ltd (and later by Dro Soft, in Spain), its gameplay
was rather limited and the graphics were not good.
Thus, the complexity of the gamebook was reduced to a
Shoot'em Up game that takes place in H-scrolling-style
maps (game mode where you move from screen to screen
when you cross it horizontally).
Speaking briefly about the nostalgia of science fiction
games and the old consoles,
Márcio has separated some game covers already reviewed
here in this blog
or that will still get their own article.
The high definition images Márcio got are amazing!
A big hug to another Peter Andrew Jones art enthusiast
Provided by Pedro Panhoca,
our Brazilian game development partner >
Speaking briefly about the nostalgia of science fiction
games and the old consoles,
Márcio has separated some game covers already reviewed
here in this blog
or that will still get their own article.
The high definition images Márcio got are amazing!
Provided by Pedro Panhoca,
our Brazilian game development partner >
Speaking briefly about the nostalgia of science fiction
games and the old consoles, Márcio has separated some
game covers already reviewed here in this blog or that
will still get their own article. The high definition
images Márcio got are amazing!
Provided by Pedro Panhoca,
our Brazilian game development partner >
It is in celebration of the 500th anniversary of his
death this year that we honour the talent of
Leonardo Da Vinci by experimenting with the artistic
techniques he used and examining how it, perhaps,
influenced a contemporary artist, Peter Andrew Jones.
THE PRIMITIVE - part 4
of 4. Peter Andrew Jones,
responsible for the cover art of this book, focuses on
Vardis in his new reality, at the beginning of his
"adventure." Lying, unable, distant, the maximum that
he can act in this situation is to curse the peasants
on the small spaceship. Has the worst ever happened to
him? The pink atmosphere beneath the main nave
symbolizes the love of her mother that he will never
know again, while daylight and the blue of the sky,
above all, give the (last) hope to Vardis - symbolized
by the landscape of oasis in which the protagonist
finds himself - who forcibly enters a new phase of
life and will need to stand alone in this situation. Drama and hope combined
into a futuristic scene with mastery. This time the
mark of our artist that combines explosions and
impending combat was magically replaced by an internal
conflict whose solution is not guaranteed in a happy
ending. Only PAJ could be able to provide so much
emotion in just one scene.
THE PRIMITIVE - part 3
of 4. One of his works - "The
Primitive" - tells the life of Leon Vardis, a being
corrupted by violence. Educated on the edge of a small
village by his solitary mother who was not wholly
welcome in the community, the peasants burn her like a
witch on the primitive planet of Rhome. Banned for the
metropolitan planet of Joslen, he learns to be a
peasant, then a space mercenary, and finally a stellar
merchant. He finally sees an opportunity to act when
he becomes aware of the hypnotic jewels of far
Shergol, a fundamental part of his vengeful plan.
Vardis becomes more relentless as the novel
progresses. In the book, the focus is on how people
treat themselves from Leon's point of view, rather
than the aspects of science fiction per se. Vadis is a
rebel but needs to adapt himself to the new situation.
The sudden changes in the plot and the characters
indicate that the book looks like a series of stories
superimposed one by one, which gives a dark tone to
the plot. Its pace is full of action.
THE PRIMITIVE - part 2
of 4. An avid sci-fi reader and
fantasy pulp in his youth in 1938, Tubb made contact
with other British fans and made his first attempts to
write in the genre. "My first attempts were written
for my own pleasure," he later told New Worlds
magazine, "and now are perfect examples of what not to
do." Tubb discovered that he had a special talent as a
storyteller in that genre when his short story "No
Short Cuts" was published in New Worlds magazine in
1951. Previously a print machine vendor, he opted for
a full-time career as a writer and soon became known
for the speed and diversity of his production. Tubb has contributed to
many of the science fiction magazines of the 1950s,
including Futuristic Science Stories, Science Fantasy,
Nebula, Galaxy Science Fiction and most notably
Authentic Science Fiction. He rarely found good
writers to contribute to the magazine, so he often
wrote most of the stories himself. He was also one of
the co-founders of the British Science Fiction
Association. Award-winning author, he won five times
the Nebula Literary Prize Science Fiction Magazine
(1953-1958) and the 1955 Cytricon Literary Award for
Best British Writer of Science Fiction. Your story
"Lucifer!" won the European Prize in 1972. In 2010,
his novel The Possessed (2005, a revised version of
Touch of Evil [1959]) won the Italia Award for Best
International Romance.
THE PRIMITIVE- part 1
of 4. Edwin Charles Tubb was
born in London on October 15, 1919 and died on
September 10, 2010 in the same city. British author of
hundreds of texts from science fiction, fantasy and
novels, was also known as E. C. Tubb. His most famous
work is The Dumarest Saga. Praised by the legendary
Michael Moorcock, Tubb also used 57 other pseudonyms
such as Charles Gray, Gregory Kern, Carl Maddox, Alan
Guthrie, Eric Storm and George Holt. And even
pseudonyms that others author have also used,
such as Volsted Gridban, Gill Hunt, King Lang, Roy
Sheldon, and Brian Shaw.
Now the hard work starts.
(Well, it was hard work putting it together, but . . . .
.
now the _really_ hard work starts -
keeping to a show schedule each quarter year.
DUNGEONQUEST
- part 4 of 4. Peter Andrew Jones gave
prominence to the great concern of the game: the
dragon awakened. Standing and furious, its flames will
soon take up the entire room in which a suicide
warrior is found defying it - he probably already
knows he has nothing to lose in this situation, after
all, an archway behind the monster seems to be the
only escape to the lonely hero. Here, Jones shows to
the admirer his two forms in art: sometimes he is the
dragon, sometimes he is the hero. Perhaps this is the
best work that sums him up: the most imposing
creature, who upon awakening his artistic creation
annuls everything around him, and the most audacious
creator, who has defied the parameters of Fantasy Art
for decades.
DUNGEONQUEST
- part 3 of 4. Two expansions were
released for the English version of the game,
originally released as Drakborgen II. The first,
Heroes for Dungeonquest (1987), adds twelve new heroes
and many additional cards and tokens. The new heroes
present new mechanics and special abilities. The
second expansion, Dungeonquest Catacombs (1988), added
another 20 pieces, as well as other cards for
monsters, encounters and objects. In all, it contained
28 additional cards for the game. This expansion also
added to the ability of players to explore the main
board, even without any catacombs. Games Workshop
versions used Citadel Miniatures for characters. The game is simple and
can be good fun for the family, but has peculiarities
and not be monotonous, and can generate many stories.
The highlight goes to the quality of its components,
of high standard.
DUNGEONQUEST
- part 2 of 4. Each player starts on a
different edge of the board, each one's passages will
also be different from each other. Players may
encounter doors (blocking the way ahead), drawbridges
(blocking the path left behind), debris (blocking the
way), traps (which kill players), darkness (players
continue their way in a random direction) and corridor
segments (which "accelerate" the path traveled). If a
player gets stuck in a certain part, he can spend a
turn looking for a secret door that will allow him to
walk past a previously impassable wall. Each character begins
with a magic ring, which allows player to clear a
trap, heal himself (or other players) or blind the
monsters. Players can also find magic potions that
virtually kill them if swallowed. Strings are easy to
find in chests, not armor or weapons.
There are four basic characters with values
distributed in strength, agility, armor, luck and life
points. Only one of the characters has a special
feature, besides having a beast. All adventurers are
male.
DUNGEONQUEST
- part 1 of 4. Dungeonquest (sometimes
known as Dungeon Quest) is an adventure boardgame set
in a fantasy setting that resembles classic RPGs like
Dungeons & Dragons and Warhammer Fantasy. Two
Games Workshop employees discovered this game in
Sweden and liked it so much that they "begged" for
their license to produce it in the UK.
In this game, players must explore the ruins of
Dragonfire Castle and collect the treasure before
their time runs out, or collect as much treasure as
possible before escaping from that place. When the
time is ended, the dragon in the room wakes up, and
all who are in the chamber are burned and lose all
their treasure as they run screaming. Like a map to be
explored, the gameboard is revealed only as it
progresses. The game contains, in all, 115 spaces for
players and monsters to walk to find the treasure
room. Players may witness collapses or encounters with
monsters during their mission, which hampers their
progress. In such encounters, players may attack, wait
or flee by screaming. The monster buys a card from the
stack of monster cards and reveals how the monster
reacts to its movement. If a battle occurs, combat is
decided on stone-paper-scissors.
BEYOND
THE BARRIER - part 4 of 4. His
works are kept in the Special Collections of the
University of Oregon and the University Archives. In one of his books,
“Beyond the Barrier”, originally known as "The Tree of
Time," published in The Magazine of Fantasy and Sience
Fiction in two parts (December 1963 and January 1964),
Gordon Naismith is a university professor in Los
Angeles of the future (1980), space travel future,
"visiphones" and a machine that can duplicate people
so they can attend several places at the same time
(the professor, for example, uses it to teach the same
class to several rooms at the same time). Naismith is
a victim of amnesia and has only memories of the last
four years, and yet they are not very reliable
memories. Thanks to strange
interactions with mysterious characters (such as the
Uglies - hybrids of green frogs and humans) and
dreams, Naismith realizes that he is not native to the
time and place he lives, especially when a student
asks him "what is a zug?" He belongs to a zero gravity
environment 20,000 years into the future, where he was
both a dancer and a soldier in a war against aliens,
who was sent to Los Angeles in the 20th century on
some sort of mission he does not remember, and other
travelers from the time of his environment want to
manipulate and blackmail him to the point of being
told that he has committed murder, which he, of
course, cannot remember. Naismith, in time, discovers
that he is not a human, but a Shefth - a class of
warriors immune to poison - and who must stop that
“zug”, a violent alien race, from going back to the
future, from whence it came.
In a distorted and
complicated plot, the reader is never sure of the veracity
of Naismith's ideas. Knight's style is weak and there is
little characterization, but there are fun sci-fi gadgets
such as robots, weapons and vehicles and so on. This novel
more like a wild and crazy ride, with several totally
unexpected moments. Peter
Andrew Jones created the cover art for Damon Knight’s
book. The spheres of the field and the sky seem to be the
boundaries of the plot, one linked to Earth (1980) and
another to the universe (the future distant to 20,000
years), although the scenario does not look anything like
L.A. The foreground mushrooms represent the strong
presence of the hallucinogenic and humorous element of the
plot, while the starship in the second plan would
represent the other side of the narrative: the sober tone
of the war. Humans in the third plan are the allegory of
suspense, as they run to an unknown destination (the same
situation as the lost Naismith) and, in the fourth plan,
the enigmatic space-time barrier. The hands of the human
characters almost touch each other, which suggests the
idea of the difficulty in establishing coherence in the
search for the "truth" in the book. Like the book, it is
difficult to know which element has greater relevance in
this painting, and such confusion well illustrates the
challenge of reading a writer like Knight, sometimes
unfairly downgraded by criticism. Was PAJ the very "zug"
in our own time, an envoy from another cosmic plane to
(supposedly) provide us with contemporary artworks? All I
know is that he was the one to capture the essence of this
novel in colors and shapes. Or maybe not? Sorry, I was
confused right now, same as Naismith ...
BEYOND
THE BARRIER - part 3 of 4. The
stories that Knight published in the 1940s did not
draw much interest from readers. In the following
decade, Knight succeeded with his darkly humorous
urban tales such as the famous “To Serve Man” (1950),
“Four in One” (1953), “Babel II” (1953), “The Country
of the Kind” (1956) and “Stranger Station” (1956). In
the late 1950s, he chose to publish some of his best
works in smaller periodicals. In the 60's, his
production is not so prominent. Knight was the founder of
Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA),
co-founder of the National Fantasy Fan Federation,
co-founder of Workshop Writer's Milford, and
co-founder of Clarion Writers Workshop. SFWA officials
and former presidents named Knight his 13th Grand
Master in 1994. After his death in 2002, the Associate
Award was renamed to the Damon Knight Memorial Grand
Master Award in his honor. The Science Fiction Hall of
Fame introduced it in 2003.
BEYOND
THE BARRIER - part 2 of 4. In
1943 he became assistant editor of Popular
Publications, a series of Pulp magazines. He later
worked for a literary agency, then returned to Popular
Publications as assistant editor of Super Science
Stories. In 1950 and 1951 he was editor of Worlds
Beyond, but the magazine published only three
editions; later edited IF for three editions in 1958
and 1959. Knight was long known to
be a book reviewer, and one of his greatest
achievements was to have been the first major science
fiction outstanding critic. His most famous review was
a review for Larry Shaw's fanzine Destiny's Child in
1945 about A. E. van Vogt's “The World of A”. From
there he reviewed and reviewed for amateur and
professional magazines like Infinity and The Magazine
of Fantasy and Science Fiction, always insisting on
the relevance of literary standards to science
fiction. His first revisions were compiled in In
Search of Wonder: Essays on Modern Science Fiction, of
1956, expanded and revised the following year and one
more time in 1996. Still in 1956 it conquered an Hugo
Award besides "better reviewer" in the same year and,
in 1975, the Pilgrim Award from the Science Fiction
Research Association and a 50-year Retro-Hugo in 2001
with the best tale of 1950.
BEYOND
THE BARRIER - part 1 of 4. Damon
Knight was born in Baker, Oregon, in 1922, and grew up
in Hood River, in the same State. He was an USA author
and editor. Like many science fiction writers, Knight
became involved in SF Fandom. In 1941 he was a member
of the Futurians (a group of science fiction fans many
of whom became editors and writers also, which lasted
from 1937 to 1945) in New York, where he shared an
apartment with Robert A.W. Lowndes and met James
Blish, C.M. Kornbluth, Frederik Pohl, among others. His first professional
sale was a cartoon for Amazing Stories magazine. His
first published article (for which he received no
payment) was named “Resilience” for the Stirring
Science Stories in February 1941. His first story,
“The Itching Hour”, appeared in the Futurist Fantasy
issue in 1940.
Federation
of
Free Traders part 6 of 6. Peter
Andrew Jones was responsible for the cover art and
other variants of it, and they are also disclosed in
the game rules manual. The spacecraft "faces" the
player in front, symbolizing the onslaught that is
about to happen. Unlike the other more realistic
starships, here the artist prized for the basic
geometric forms as circles (both the main nave and the
one inside the letter "O" of the acronym), triangles
(formed by symmetrical projectiles), stars (formed in
red by the projectile explosions) and straight lines
(as they look straight at the starship, their wings
form two lines parallel to each other, much like those
of the Star Wars tie fighters). Even so, art is far
from simple and highlights the golden color with its
"halo", which represents both the "sanctity" of free
traders and the pursuit of gold (profit), the color of
that precious metal. The starship shows itself the
wind rose with its black circles at each of its
extremities, and the black of the absence of light
from outer space gives all deserved prominence to the
space vessel. Such
imposition only hastens us to make a decision: going
against or in favor of this shocking masterpiece?
Captain PAJ has already shown that he did not come to
play…
Federation
of
Free Traders part 5 of 6. The
game has received mixed reviews in ACE magazines:
Advanced Computer Entertainment, Antic's, Amiga
Format, Amiga Magazine, Amiga Plus, Amiga Computing,
AUI, CU-Amiga 64, Computer + Video Games,
Datormagazin, The Games Machine, The One for 16- bit
Games, ST Amiga Format, Zzap.
Federation
of
Free Traders part 4 of 6. After
the fall of the Space Police, space became the home of
roving bands of pirates. Surviving in this chaos
depended on having a fast ship and powerful weapons.
The surviving police pilots became known as "free
traders." Soon, the best pilots began to enlist as
ship-scouts owned by rich merchants who sought to
profit from this anarchy. To counter this threat, the
pirates gathered and attacked them with violence. Many
pilots died trying to fight against huge pirate
forces, so they teamed up and in a big battle killed
most of the pirates, so that today piracy is just a
small problem. This group of pilots became known as
Federation of Free Traders.
Federation
of
Free Traders part 3 of 6. After the fall of the
Space Police, space became the home of roving bands of
pirates. Surviving in this chaos depended on having a
fast ship and powerful weapons. The surviving police
pilots became known as "free traders." Soon, the best
pilots began to enlist as ship-scouts owned by rich
merchants who sought to profit from this anarchy. To
counter this threat, the pirates gathered and attacked
them with violence. Many pilots died trying to fight
against huge pirate forces, so they teamed up and in a
big battle killed most of the pirates, so that today
piracy is just a small problem. This group of pilots
became known as Federation of Free Traders.
Federation
of
Free Traders part 2 of 6. Its
purpose is similar to the famous game Elite, involving
spatial simulation and business exploration. The
player has the task of exploring and discovering the
billions of galaxies and planets generated by the
process.
Federation
of
Free Traders part 1 of 6. Federation of Free
Traders, better known by its acronym (F.O.R.T.), is a
computer game for released in 1987 developed and
published by Gremlin Interactive for computer formats
Amiga and Atari ST.
THE DRAWING CENTER
is located in the historic neighborhood of SoHo, in New
York.
The Drawing Center is the only fine arts institution in
the U.S. to focus solely on the exhibition of drawings,
both historical and contemporary.
It was established in 1977 to provide opportunities for
emerging and under-recognized artists; to demonstrate
the significance and diversity of drawings throughout
history; and to stimulate public dialogue on issues of
art and culture.
THE DRAWING CENTER
is located in the historic neighborhood of SoHo, in New
York.
Their galleries provide "an intimate and human scale
viewing experience" and has been called "one of the
city's most highly respected small art museums" by The
New York Times.
Colin
Kapp's "The Wizard of Anharitte" part 3
of 3.
Peter Andrew Jones preferred to maintain the coherence
of the narrative made by the antagonist and portrays it
in the cover art: Two humanoid beings in a curious
mini-ship seem to face the reader in a challenging way.
In their eyes there are the mysterious black, the color
of darkness, along with unexpected muscles sprouting
from the middle of the male's forearm, which seems to be
the leader of the pair. The Rogetian couple does not
seem to be intimidated by the reader – the same feeling
they would demonstrate to the "wizard" - and even the
clarity of the scene in this inhospitable place cannot
takes away the suspense of this encounter about to turn
into a conflict. And only the star (in the depths of the
sky) and the reading will solve this mystery created by
our master of the arts.
Colin
Kapp's "The Wizard of Anharitte" part 2
of 3.
Kapp's third novel was “The Wizard of Anharitte” (1973),
which is science fiction despite the title reminiscent
of fantasy. Its story happens in Roget, a feudal planet,
but also an important point of transfer to interstellar
commerce. When one of the local nobles - the "mage" -
begins to educate his slaves and take measures to reform
local society, the free-trade organization of the
outside world discovers that he is a Terran and decides
to oppose him, both by political and economic reasons,
as for murder, if necessary. From then to the rest of
the book is basically a duel between the two opposing
forces, with some quite intelligent parts highlighted.
This book was an improvement on the rather "mechanical"
style used by Kapp in his first two novels, much like
the books of A.E. van Vogt without his occasional
inventiveness. The wizard is too perfect to be trusted;
he anticipates every move of his opponents and always
has a card up his sleeve. The most interesting aspect is
that Kapp tells the whole story from the point of view
of one of the "villains", although he shifts sideways at
the end.
Colin
Kapp's "The Wizard of Anharitte" part 1
of 3.
Derek Ivor Colin Kapp, best known only as Colin Kapp,
was born in 1928, in Southwark, South London, son of
John LF Kapp and Annie M.A. He was a British science
fiction writer whose work encompasses dozens of
published short stories and a dozen of novels, dying in
2007. He is best known for his stories about unorthodox
engineers.
Author and electronic engineer, he began his career at
the Mullard Radio Valve Company, and later became a
freelance electroplating consultant, professional
specialization who was instrumental in the history of
"Hunger Over Sweet Waters" (New Writings, 1965). He made
his science fiction debut with "Life Plan" for "New
Worlds" magazine in November 1958, and much of his best
texts soon appeared, including "Lambda I" (December
1962) and "Transfinite Man" (November 1963 to January
1964, as "The Dark Mind").
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Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
The weather had turned
clement, summer spring like and perfect for open topped
drives in the countryside.
I always searched the car before setting off to check
for the presence of unwanted passengers.
This particular day had dawned sunny and breezy, just
right for a swell canter or gallop.
I saddled my horse, and hit the trail, feeling on top of
world.
As I cantered across the open fields, I saw the Elves,
the Imps and the Pixies.
These ill mannered beings were racing each other upon
their Elf-size motorbikes.
They rode at top speed with nary a care, impeding the
passage of those on horseback or headed t’wards the
hills.
Above them soared a Red Kite, a Buzzard and a Condor
seeking an easy prey.
The birds circled and swooped, dived on the air
currants, waiting for an inattentive morsel,
Their 20/20 vision alighted upon the Elves and their
various cohorts One could tell that they were assessing
the situation.
With power and grace, they dived as one and each scooped
an Elf from the seat of his motorcycle.
T’was those creatures good fortune that their clothes
were inedible and they wriggled too much to permit for
safe passage.
The birds dropped their prey, departing elsewhere and
the Elves, Imps and Pixies headed home to the garden....
Go here to subscribe >
http://peterandrewjones.net/lists.htm
Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
I had, perforce, to go away
for some days to see my agent and various business
associates.
The house was left, I knew, in the capable hands of the
Housekeeper, the Cook and Head Gardener.
The time passed quickly, so busy was I, that two weeks
seemed but a minute.
I arrived back at the house in time for dinner, an after
dinner brandy and a smoke in the coolly dark garden.
The Owl hooted from deep in the wood and the night
creatures went about their pre-programmed business.
The night Faeries were dressed to the nines in Angora
wool cloaks, scarves and mittens and caps. Upon their
feet they sported, waterproof, tree bark booties.
I glimpsed a Witch, an unknown, in the tennis courts,
her cauldron bubbling nicely.
She turned about and her face knocked me out, line
drawn, unhealthy and wart covered.
Our resident Witch didn’t know her.
The Wizard knew her and refused to have anything to do
with her, for her bite was much worse than her bark.
Poisonous.
Rather than imperil the dogs by giving them the task of
getting rid of this personage, I asked the Wizard to
visit Sirius.
He was to encourage the Dog Star to shine so bright that
the intruder Witch was blinded.
He was to wait, however, till all the world and her kin
were tucked up in bed and asleep....
Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
Thor hurled a thunderbolt
‘cross the tempestuous heavens, throwing Space debris
everywhere.
He’d had words with his wife, the golden haired goddess,
Sif and was in a decidedly cantankerous mood.
The trees in the garden were bending, twisting, swaying,
creaking, and two or three of the young saplings snapped
in two.
Not a soul was about upon the saturated lawn, not
Unicorn, Witch, Frog, Toad or Water Rat.
I had slept very deeply the previous night and was
bitterly disappointed to find myself
prevented from going for a fast, open roof, drive cross
country.
The storm didn’t let up till t’was time for tea, of
which I partook in my attic studio/
workshop.
The garden residents remained all the day, indoors,
though the Elves did try to find a dry way to the house.
(Thankfully, they found themselves thwarted).
And the Finale?
The night creatures, a Witch, the Faeries of the Night,
the night Elves, Imps and Pixies et al, issued forth the
following, tempest-free night and took over the basement
and attic....
Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
I had reestablished contact
with the Shooting Range, having let practising that
skill languish for months on end.
I found that I had to return almost to stage one,
inclined as was my focus to wander distractedly.
The morning away from writing proved beneficial.
My interest, my concentration, my imagination improved.
I’d been practising some weeks, was still keen as
mustard, when I discovered, one morning, the Elves, Imps
and Pixies, riding their motorbikes hell for leather in
that very direction.
Arrived at the shooting range, they dismounted, rushed
t’wards the range and were waiting for me expectantly,
Elfin Ruger American rifles in hand.
I knew that they’d turn on their counterfeit charm,
inveigle the staff to allow them to shoot.
I was allotted a position and an instructor, but I knew
that the Elves, the Imps and Pixies were there to my
right.
They, too, had been allotted a fearsome instructor.
However, they did achieve their objective of creating
absolute mayhem.
Their instructor had finally to call in reinforcements
and the miscreants were shoved unceremoniously into
police vans.
Squirming and shouting, they fought real hard, but were,
eventually, locked in the police cells for days, weeks,
months....
Needless to say, their enforced incarceration changed
their behaviour, niente affatto....
Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
The Elf Art Tutor was
teaching a lesson in painting, and specifically, of the
painting of
Fine Art as rendered in the styles of the illustrious,
never to be forgotten, Old Masters.
The Flower Faeries were perched atop one easel, the
Goblin and Gremlin on stools at two others.
The Ogre was too large to participate and the Witch did
not appreciate that genre.
Her particular favourites were Dalí and Picasso,
Kandinsky and the genre of Fauvism.
The Weasel, Stoat and the Mole liked to cover the canvas
with foot smears, paw smears and to roll on it.
The Frog, Toad and Water Rat spilled the paint over a
canvas laid flat and hopped or dragged their feet all
over the sheet.
The Cook brought out snacks, the Housekeeper, drinks and
a whoopee doo time was had by everyone....
Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
“Come what may, I shall
never return to that plastic coated sea, under the blaze
of a
burning sky.”
Thus spake the Walrus to the Dolphin.
They had been told of a magickal mystery land beyond the
grasping hand of humankind, where the salt sea was warm,
clear and soothing and the air was gentle upon the soul.
They had summoned the Faerie of Salt Sea mammals and
asked her to cast a spell, a spell that allowed them to
fly out of their natural watery environ.
On the way to their intended destination they were
caught in a tempestuous storm; were forced to land and
land they did, inside our mysterious, deep veiled,
hidden Outland.
The garden residents did wonder how on earth these
mammals could possibly survive in our garden, but, the
Faerie of Salt Sea mammals had apparently travelled with
them, incognito, so all was well, all was well, good
night....
Peter Andrew Jones
illustrated cover art for dozens of these gamebooks.
In them, rarely the protagonist of the series, with
its green cover and its sword, appears, transposing
the focus to the antagonists of the plot. Tenebrous
monsters, fantastic dragons and heavily armed warriors
lend a less narcissistic tone to the plot. With this,
the reader-player thinks less about himself and
focuses more on what dangers he will find in this
plot. Sometimes the reader-player is distant from the
enemy (as in Flight from the Dark), sometimes nearer
(as in Fire on the Water), in others the danger has
colossal proportions (as in The Caverns of Kalte) or
it proves certain optimism for triumph (as in The
Chasm of Doom). So many possibilities, so many
readings ... the cover art, as well as the text of the
books, visually offer innumerable possibilities to the
hero.
During a Fehmarn feast
celebrated by the Sommlending on the first day of
their spring, when all the Kai Lords gathered in the
monastery, Silent Wolf is sent to chop wood from the
surrounding forest as a punishment for their lack of
attention during a lesson. When it departs, a surprise
attack comes from the Darklands to various places in
Sommerlund. The monastery is looted and the Kai Lords
are massacred. Returning from the forest, Silent Wolf
stumbles on a low branch of a tree and falls
violently, fainting. When he wakes up and returns to
the monastery, he realizes that he is the last of the
Kai. He renames himself as Solitary Wolf and leaves
his homeland for the capital to inform the king of the
loss of the Kai.
One can divide this "mega-campaign" into four
mini-series: Kai series (gamebooks from 1 to 5),
Magnakai series (gamebooks from 6 to 12), Great
Masters series (gamebooks from 13 to 20) and New Order
series (gamebooks from 21 to 32). In the Kai series, the
only one translated into Portuguese, the reader-player
seeks to reunite the armies of Sommerlund and his
ally, Durenor, for a raid against the invasion in
order to repel her, as well as to chase and capture
the traitor who provoked the invasion.
The whole story takes
place in Magnamund, a planet in the universe of Aon, a
fictional world that is disputed between forces of
good, represented by Kai (God of the Sun) and Ishir
(Goddess of the Moon), and of evil, Naar (God of
Darkness ). The protagonist is Silent Wolf, one
initiated in the Kai Monastery and inhabitant of the
kingdom of Sommerlund. Its people, the Sommlending,
are dedicated followers of Kai, among them are the Kai
Lords or simply "the Kai", monks-warriors holding
extraordinary abilities which have been enhanced and
trained since childhood in the Kai Monastery, greater
defense of his kingdom against the followers of Naar.
The reader-player represents the protagonist, the last
Lord Kai of his caste. On the other side are the
Darklords, inhabitants of the Darklands, west of
Sommerlund, powerful warriors (even weakened) in the
natural atmosphere of their world, who bribed armies
like Drakkarim (humans worshipers of Naar), Giaks
(creatures resembling goblins), Vordaks (undead with
psychic powers) and Helghasts (undead shapeshifters)
to fight in their favor.
Lone Wolf is a gamebook
series authored by Joe Dever (1956 - 2016) that aims
to be completed in his 32nd title with the partnership
between his son Ben and Vincent Lazzari, a longtime
fan of the series. According to the book Heroic
Worlds: A History and Guide to Role-Playing Game,
authored by Lawrence Schick, it is the second best
gamebooks series of all times, surpassing even the
Fighting Fantasy series, founder of the genre
“gamebook”.
The hills were, in fact,
teeming with life, predominantly small wild creatures
and ghosts.
In these times they tended to stick to those spots as
yet undiscovered by humankind, but, when the weather was
balmy, hillsides and summit were brimming.
The Goblin and the Gremlin wandered amongst them,
occasionally exchanging a greeting.
They listened-in to conversations, rebuked the
ill-mannered and inhaled the clear, crisp, air with
enormous pleasure.
The peak seemed such a very long way above them that the
duo began to wilt.
They sat themselves down upon a comfortable rock and
debated as to what to do next.
In silence and from nowhere or anywhere an albino
Asinara donkey emerged.
It belonged to a minuscule autochthonous breed, from
Sardinia, so why was it here?
The birds of Rhiannon flew high overhead, retaining a
perfect formation.
Who knew to where they were headed?
Nearer at hand, flew Red Kites, a Buzzard, a Kestrel,
Swallows and Swifts.
The pause refreshed them and so they pursued their
course upwards, reaching the summit sooner than they had
expected.
Their picnic had been prepared by the Witch and was,
delicious, heart and gut warming.
After a nap, they trotted down the hill and turned their
noses t’wards home....
"BYE BYE, OLD FRIEND" Shipped to a collector
today.
(Close
up / detail.)
Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
Freya, the indolent,
fainêaont Persian cat, was stalking a mouse through the
kitchen garden.
The mouse was wily, but the cat determined to catch it,
tease it, carry it home and leave it in that mansion’s
stately withdrawing room.
The mouse was beginning to suffer fatigue, his legs to
feel like lead.
Indeed, Freya was on the verge of catching her prey,
when the Witch appeared from around a corner.
She didn’t like mice, nor Persian cats but of the two,
she was inclined to prefer tiny mouses.
She uttered an oath and, cracking her knuckles, stared
at Freya with wide, venomous eyes.
Her gaze burned the face of that aristocratic Persian
cat, burned so hot that she shot back through the
garden, back down the road and into “her” fire lit
kitchen.
"BYE BYE, OLD FRIEND" Shipped to a collector
today.
(Close
up / detail.)
Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
The market town was
thronging with shoppers and browsers, the coffee houses
crammed to capacity.
I had brought my car in for its MOT and was awaiting a
taxi to take me home.
The stallholders were shouting their wares, children
thieving small toys, sweets or fruit.
Their mothers were trying to shop, keep an eye on their
offspring or have a chat with a friend or companion.
The men largely remained out of the picture, either
standing and smoking, or having a pint at the local,
market town Pub.
In the thick of this vibrant activity, erupted the
Elves, the Imps and the Pixies.
They were dressed in their “best” and intent upon making
a tidal wave of a splash.
The Flower Faeries were seated upon the stall selling
medicinal herbs, herbal teas and coffees.
They knew straightaway what the tricksters were up to
and decided forthwith to intervene.
Putting aside their goodies, they closed their eyes as
various ideas passed from one to t’other.
An agreement was reached without a word said and a spell
sent weaving and spinning.
It skimmed the heads of the shoppers, stopped and the
Elves, Imps and Pixies found their arms pinioned by
invisible, ten fingered Sasquatch....
"BYE BYE, OLD FRIEND" Shipped to a collector
today.
(Close
up).
Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
Porcupine Posy had arrived
in the Wizard’s chariot, hitch hiking hidden beneath a
pile of spell manuscripts.
She was out of way and the weather incommoded her, but
she knew not how to navigate by the stars, nor read a
map.
The journey was, initially, smooth and unexceptional,
Porcupine Posy curling up and sleeping.
Time wore on and she was woken by a growl from her
tummy.
Her hunger mounted, she cast aside the spell sheets and
a quill scratched the leg of the Wizard, who swore.
He glanced down and saw Porcupine Posy’s quills
beginning to quiver.
He sucked in his breath.
Somehow or another he was able to achieve a telepathic
communication with this irate creature.
She was lost, she was lonely, she was hungry and thirsty
so the thing to do was, he supposed, was to transport
her to Southern Europe or, possibly, Africa.
Barring that, he’d have to take her to the newly
discovered planet, Xamgua, creature friendly,
hospitable, free from any kind of strife.
Travelling onwards they reached Asia, where, the Wizard
slowed his magick carpet, directing it earthwards.
They coasted to a halt, the Wizard stepped off.
Porcupine Posy, slow wandered into a nearby forest to
dine, leaving a quill embedded in the Wizard’s right
calf....
"BYE BYE, OLD FRIEND" Shipped to a collector
today.
(Close
up / detail).
Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
I was making coffee in my
office/studio, one bright crisp January morning, when,
there was a light rat a tat tat upon the door.
I unlocked it and pushed it ajar, just enough to see who
was there.
The Flower Faeries were fluttering nervously outside and
appropriately enough, at the height of the newfangled
door handle.
They flew straight inside PDQ.
They settled themselves on my desk and wilted.
I waited a wee while and then asked , “Quel est le
problème?”
They began talking as one, rattling through the reasons
and causes for their dolor.
The Elves, who usually left the Flower Faeries alone,
had altered their modus operandi.
The Faeries’ routines had been thrown into a “no holds
barred,” chaos.
The Elves obstructed, impeded their every move, 24/7.
“Had they consulted the Witch?” I asked.
“No,” was the surprising reply.
“We were trying very hard not to distract her from her
more important chores.”
The Witch had two visitors, the Wizard and his friend
and betwixt and between them, they devised a plan.
T’was during the following night that they cast a spell
to imprison the Elves in ready mix concrete.
Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
The garden residents had
begun to settle down un petit peu, a little little, but
the Ogre had insisted in his obstinate way upon
reestablishing his rightful position under the venerable
Oak.
The Flower Faeries reestablished their most comfortable
situation for brushing and grooming
the Unicorn.
Goblin and Gremlin wandered freely, over, under, across
or erewhon.
The Unicorn remained a tadge tenta tentative and kept a
watchful eye on the scene.
The Witch’s buoyant spirits appeared crushed to a pulp,
because, she admitted, she’d reached the end of her
competencies.
It soon became blatantly clear that the Elves, Imps and
Pixies’ egos had expanded exponentially.
The Frog, Toad and Water Rat took a boat and went to sea
on the lake.
The Weasel, Stoat and Mole slept for two days.
The Cook and the Housekeeper took a break for a week,
replaced by a niece and the butler.
Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
The Witch called me over to
have a confab about life, the Universe, the Elves and
coping.
She’d been low spirited, despondent for quite some
while.
I was off to participate in a hell of a rally, driving a
Hursácan Permanente.
My mind was solely fixated upon that and I didn’t give
her my full attention.
The next day, having slept in, I was eating brunch, when
the Wizard entered through the glass of the French
window.
He was anxious, agitated, and, I thought, quite unlike
his usual self.
He sat down at the table, unfurled a napkin and
proceeded to eat slice after slice of toast, butter and
marmalade.
I left him to it until he sat back, belched and pored
himself a large mug of coffee.
He began to talk and to talk and to talk about the
Witch, her low spirits and his own worries.
This time, I did listen intently from the beginning of
his tirade to the end.
We remained silent as he coughed and then reached for
his mug of coffee.
While he sipped, I talked, made suggestions.
Later we both talked with the Witch and, thank goodness,
by the time we’d finished, she
was smiling.
A welcome addendum....
Thenceforth she has appeared cheerful and buoyant....
Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
The locks on the front door,
back door and side doors, the kitchen, the scullery, the
larder and wine cellar had been changed and the those to
the bedrooms were to be, too.
The Elves would, very quickly, learn to get round it,
but at least we’d be free of them, in-house, for a
while.
I sat in the library, toasting my toes and reading a few
of the plethora of articles I’d been booked by my agent
to write.
The house was quiet as the proverbial mouse.
The fire crackled, the lights turned low and a hot cup
of coffee reposed on the side table.
Through the quiet stillness there permeated the faint
sounds of activity.
I glanced up to see the Mouse, the Spider and the Fly in
conference.
The Fly took off and buzzed here, there, everywhere,
seemingly bent upon expending pent up energy.
The Mouse scampered over the carpet, under the door and,
presumably, down the stairs to the kitchen.
The Spider disappeared into the wainscot, re-emerging to
climb a prestigiously heavy,
sash window curtain.
I continued reading.
Time passed.
When my buttocks began to feel uncomfortably square, I
stood, stretched and walked to the door.
From there, I climbed the stairs to don riding gear and
rode out at a notch below fast gallop...
Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
Cantaloupe melon and Parma
ham, a main course and a choice of dessert.
For those so inclined, brandy or port, with petits
fours, coffee and an After Eight chocolate.
This, the menu for my University reunion.
The Elves, Imps and Pixies had sent a representative,
responsible for, stealing as much food as he could cram
into heavy duty bags or old fashioned GPO mail sacks.
The guests proved erudite, well informed and
knowledgeable.
I was glad that I’d not decided to give it a miss.
Waiting in the car was the Elfin representative, almost
drowned in umpteen bags of stolen food.
A sigh of relief escaped me when I entered my bedroom,
‘cos the Elves, Imps and Pixies were nowhere in
sight....
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Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
The Ancient Elder Statesman
of the Elvin clans was seriously ill and in hospital.
His private bedroom resembled a cottage garden, his
sitting room was a treasure trove of gifts from
well-wishers.
The Elves had visited in ones, twos or threes, the
Goblin and Gremlin together.
The Flower Faeries were always delightful guests and the
Witch and the Wizard, too, when so inclined.
The Unicorn was not permitted to enter the building and
the neither were the Weasel, Stoat and Mole.
The Frog, Toad and Water Rat presented themselves at
Reception, but were told, politely, that the answer was
“No!”
The venerable Elder slept like a baby and was expected
to achieve a complete recovery.
The Imps and the Pixies sent a representative each, as a
gesture of courtesy only.
Truth to tell, they neither cared, nor were they, in the
least bit, interested.
The Ghosts and the Spectres would have frightened both
patients and Staff and the ghostly Wolves and Wolverines
didn’t enter the picture.
Elseways, the daily rituals and routines continued, with
the Cook finally resorting to throwing a pitcher of hot,
hot water over the Elves when they overreached
themselves....
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Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
Martini, Campari, Vermouth,
Lillet Blanc were the aperitifs on offer at this
particular cocktail party.
Searching the drawing room for a soft drink, or iced
water, I found nothing beyond an half empty bowl of ice.
The host hunched his shoulders, non-committal, so I went
out to the kitchen and found, to my consternation, that
the Elves, Imps and Pixies had come along to the party.
I swore under my breath and then, a flash of
inspiration!
Tell them to steal the soft drink I wanted.
I gave them instructions and awaited the outcome.
In the blink of an eyelid, I was surprised to find
myself holding a tall, slender glass of
freshly squeezed orange juice....
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Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
Writer’s block.
Blank.
My brain, overtaxed, went into a Curl de sac tailspin.
Leaving my attic studio/workshop, I descended the stairs
to the Library for a well earned and welcome, break.
The fire was lit, the lights turned down and Pink Floyd
was playing on the radio.
I stretched out on a sofa and closed my eyes, and dozed
peacefully - brièvement.
Sensing a slight weight on my abdomen, I opened my eyes
and perceived, a Mouse, a Spider and a Fly - begad!
Good gracious, etc etc.
The visitors were obviously very apprehensive, but,
after a while, we were chatting and joking and laughing
- sort of and having a jolly good time
We none of us heard the Library door opening and t’was
not till a lull in our repartee occurred, that we
realised that, the Elves, Imps and Pixies were stood
there, watching.
Slightly to one side, stood the Goblin and Gremlin and
perched upon the chandelier, were the Flower Faeries.
The Witch and the Wizard entered through the sash window
pane, it’s secondary glazing presenting no obstacle.
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Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
“That would be telling,”
said the Goblin to his twin, who had travelled from New
England, circa 1643.
Accustomed to a life of hardship and extreme
surveillance, he crept about the garden, his eyes ever
watchful.
The Gremlin went out of his way to be friendly.
The Flower Faeries could never be other so.
The Witch understood from the tips of her toes to the
crown of her head, just what abuse he had had to endure.
The Unicorn allowed the Goblin’s twin to stand close as
he munched the grass, silent messages of wise advice
passing from him to t’other.
The Wizard invited him to journey with him to a land
where he could live without fear of execution or
assassination or of crossing the bar prematurely.
Several months passed before he was ready to believe
that there really are, spots on the globe where he could
live forever, felicitously....
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Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
The Witch was uncomfortable,
ill at ease, ‘cos a recent Ghost incomer was a longtime
antagonist.
She spoke with the Wizard, she spoke with her coven, she
pondered at length through long days and nights.
The Ghost, in the throes of settling in, had not taken
on board quite who she was.
This person had been a landowner of considerable wealth,
whose estates stretched the length and breadth of the
kingdom.
He’d been a duelist and soldier, a favourite of the
king, a devil employer and a man of evil temper.
The Witch, in those times, had lived in a woodland
glade, adjoining the landowner’s garden.
On a warm, sunny day, with summer at its height, he had
stumbled across the Witch brewing sweet, aromatic
potions..
His reaction was terrifying, for he loathed magick and
witchcraft and the Witch had had to be rescued by the
Wizard, Merlin.
The incomer’s name was Richard Marsh-Vaughn, His grace,
Duke of Brent.
He rode and he drank, he ate and he drank and lorded it
over his petrified serfs and tenants.
But, those times were gone and the Witch had grown wise,
wise and artful and scheming.
A lady who possessed soft hands, but fists of iron.
The Duke Ghost did eventually notice her presence and
mistakenly began to comport himself in the most
monstrous style.
However, the Witch was able to assemble an her
“supporters” and together they beat the ghost Duke to a
pulp.
Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
Benedicta the Banshee was
howling and wailing, the trees bent almost to their
roots.
The saplings had been torn from the earth and the bushes
tattered and torn.
Benedicta was a Banshee that lived after her name,
rather than as a predictor of death.
T’was impossible to remain upright for these fantastical
beings of the night, but, of course, no problem
for the horizontal worm, millipede and minuscule ant.
Benedicta blew herself out in the early hours of the
morning and retired to rest over the waters in Ireland.
The night creatures crept out for a breath of fresh air
and the trees, bushes and plant life stood upright once
more.
The Witch and the Wizard toured the garden to ascertain
damage done and found nothing to worry unduly about.
Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
Pesticides and landfills, an
overload of plastic, an unsustainable, buy, wear, wash,
pollute fashion industry. What more can damage could we
perpetrate, I wondered.
I was feeling a tadge down, you understand.
I wandered upstairs to my studio/office and tried to
settle down and apply myself.
The warm room and the list of given articles to write
did have some little beneficial effect.
From below me, came the sound of an angry shout.
“Oh no, t’is once more unto the breach,” I thought.
I got up, unlocked the door and went downstairs, jumping
two steps at a time.
The front hallway was liberally coated with dirty water,
mud, weeds and general garden debris.
The Housekeeper was seated in a high backed chair,
weeping into s delicate, wee cotton kerchief.
Guess who?
The Elves, Imps and Pixies had taken umbrage at comments
she’d made and decided to get their own back.
They were nowhere to be found when I searched the
garden, so I retired upstairs to inform the police and
write.
T’wards evening, the Elves, Imps and Pixies reappeared,
to be met by the Law, in the shape of two policemen and
a Black Maria.
They turned on their heels, prepared to bolt and found
themselves entangled in a large net.
Thus -
we suffered no further trouble for two months and a
day....
Meanwhile
. . .
back at our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
The garden was once again
experiencing an influx of notorious, olden time,
characters.
For better or worse, through thick and thin, the garden
residents rolled with the punches.
There was, more or less, a mere handful of ghosts with
whom they refused to interact, but, these characters did
not usually stay long, so who cared, who cares, who will
care?
Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
The Flower Faeries had flown
the Channel to France on the previous, stormy watered,
evening.
Their destination was the Bayeux Museum in Aure, situate
in Normandy, France.
T’was there that the Bayeaux Tapestry hung.
Their invitation had been extended by the Flower Faeries
of Aure, who had heard, from a reliable source, that
they had wanted, forever, to view it.
The Flower Faeries of Aure resided “in clover,” by which
I mean, a beautiful castle built in the sky, hidden by
piled high clouds.
There was no Ogre, no Goblin, no Gremlin or Elfin pests,
but there was, a Unicorn, a Witch, a Wizard and, a
miniature grey/purple, dragon.
The Witch was unfriendly, the Wizard remote and the
Unicorn was not washed, brushed, groomed and dressed by
the fun loving Flower Faeries of Aure.
The Flower Faeries inspected the Bayeux Tapestry with
minute attention.
In and out, back and front, betwixt and between the
stitching.
So fascinating was it, that they didn not observe the
transformation in the scene around and about them.
Slowly, the Tapestry melted away and in its stead, the
events leading up to the Norman Conquest depicted
therein unfolded and the Flower Faeries, found
themselves part of this historically important time in
our history....
Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
The groundworks were
proceeding in a higglety pigglety fashion, so
unpredictable was the weather.
The rains came, the snow fell, the wind blew great
gales.
Maintenant, pour un jour, t’was neutral.
With the garden a bog, the tennis courts a swimming
pool, the kitchen garden awash in a mix of mud and dead
vegetables, what were the garden residents to do?
The Unicorn had chosen to remain in upper Space,
absolutely, obstinately, refusing to budge.
The Goblin and the Gremlin had donned thigh boots and
were presently paddling downstream in a Goblin and
Gremlin-sized canoe.
The Ogre was under the Oak, seated upon two groundsheets
and four waterproof cushions, consuming a gargantuan
breakfast.
The Witch was waitress, the Wizard “clear the
groundsheet er” and the birds of Rhiannon singing “Non,
je ne regrette rien....”
Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
The workload my agent had
dumped on my desk was, quite literally, two metre stacks
high.
I looked, I froze, and my nerve endings shrieked, but,
at least,
the atmosphere in the house was heavenly bliss compared
to that which appertains when my sister is present.
The Elves, Imps and Pixies were as determined as ever to
disrupt the daily household routines, however, try as
they might, they rarely achieved their objective.
The Flower Faeries were designing, cutting out and
sewing,new and exciting dress, skirt, coat and blouse
wardrobes to wear in the late winter/spring.
The Goblin and the Gremlin, they told me, were planning
to spend this year in research and study.
The Witch and the Wizard had plans afoot to place magick
upon the back burner.
To experience learning what to do and how, when caught
between a rock and a hard place.
Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
In the gardens of the estate
lying between here and our market town, a well had been
sunk in the days before running water.
With this I was familiar, as were their friends and the
neighbours who visited the house.
Having never ventured in that direction or visited the
garden, the garden residents were not cognisant of this
fact.
However....
The Witch had recently knocked at the front door early,
early on a bleak winter’s morning, to report an accident
to the an Elfin ringleader and two supporters.
The Elves, Imps and Pixies, apparently, had become bored
with seeing the same old faces every day.
Undecided as to what to do, they began walking along the
road to the market town.
As they passed beside the fence surrounding the estate,
their mindset altered and. instead, they climbed through
its iron bars.
Once inside, they stopped and listened to determine
whether or not, patrolling guard dogs would immediately
ruin their newest adventure.
Silence.
They pushed through snow clad bushes, under dripping
trees, along muddy paths till, rounding a corner, they
came face to face with an immaculately maintained
garden, beyond which rose a Georgian country house and
stable yard.
The Elves and their friends ventured on through the
garden and ascended a stone staircase before pressing
their noses to the French window panes.
T’was dark, but in the gloom they did ascertain that the
Withdrawing room was elegantly furnished.
There was no practical method to obtain an unnoticeable
entrance, so they wandered through the stable yard to a
side door.
The door was, incredibilmente, unlocked, so they entered
and there, barring progress, stood a massive,
sharp-toothed Bullmastiff....
"THE
VIEW FROM THE STUDIO" Finally, winter is here!
I
never tire of observing the twisting, winding
forms of the surrounding flora.
Meanwhile
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden
others too, have to take great care in the show .
. . .
It was slippery underfoot
and the crows were cawing.
The birds of Rhiannon had disparus.
I walked with the dogs through the lanes full of
puddles, but these puddles were frozen.
One had to take care not to skid and fall flat, ending
up with wrenched limb or soaked to the marrow.
The Goblin and Gremlin met me at the gate, apparently
headed for a bus ride to town.
They were thickly insulated head to toe, with only their
twinkly eyes showing.
The Flower Faeries, the Witch, the Wizard and the
Unicorn huddled in a recently renovated, fire lit,
outhouse, kitted out especially for their very own use.
The Elves, Imps and Pixies were in our basement making
plans for whatever idiosyncratic
activities were likely, soon, soon to occur to them.
Christopher
Stasheff
was a north-American fantasy and science fiction author
- one of the pioneers of the "science fantasy", genre
that mix technology and magic - born on January 15th,
1944 and died on June 10th, 2018, due to related
complications with Parkinson's disease. He received his
doctorate in Theater and taught "radio and television"
at Eastern New Mexico University in Portales, New
Mexico. After retiring in 2009, he moved to Champaign,
Illinois. He was so loved as a teacher that, decades
after retiring, his former students raised money to name
the new video control room with his name.
His writing well resembles
that of authors like Terry Goodkind, Terry Brooks or
J.R.R. Tolkien. He published 44 novels, 29 tales and
edited 7 anthologies. As
a thespian, he wrote and directed several plays until
getting his PhD in theater, although he was best known
as an actor in community theater and as a director of
radio plays and school plays. He also continued trying
to pre-script his own life. He is commonly remembered by
those closest to him as a gentle, helpful man with witty
wit, always with terrible puns.
Two of his books had their
cover art in the service of Peter Andrew Jones. For
King Kobold, PAJ innovates by shifting space across the
high seas, putting a futuristic ship in a dangerous
situation (tsunami), demonstrating that even high
technology cannot overcome the force of nature, which
even predictable remains constant throughout the ages.
It makes his cover art consistent with the book’s plot.
The story of King Kobold is set in the 31st century on
Gramarye - a planet where people live in the medieval
British style, yet still chasing witches and sorcerers.
In The Warlock in Spite of Himself’s cover art the
reader behaves as a possible helper of the kneeling
victim and his/her impending confrontation with the
bloodthirsty ogre (considering the liquid overflowing
from his threatening mouth). The metaphor of the brute
giant that represents the danger here is not a cliché,
as it goes beyond that: Rod (the narrative’s
protagonist) must deal not only with fighting but also
escape, betrayal, politics and many other harmful and
fulminating surprises, which together may even be larger
than the green monster, centered on painting. Although
he is not standing, he grips the weapon with conviction
and sees as an obstacle as if his enemy had no advantage
over him. The shield behind his body seemed to be mere
precaution, but his left arm tries to catch it as the
giant approaches, demonstrating that, despite his
reliance on confrontation, all care is not enough for
such a hard match.
What lesson do we draw from this? Tsunamis of
distraction or corpulent bureaucracies cannot stop our
beloved artist.
"A tamping machine or ballast tamper is a machine used
to pack the track ballast under railway tracks to make
the tracks more durable. Prior to the introduction of
mechanical tampers, this task was done by manual labour
with the help of beaters. (Wikipedia).
Meanwhile,
while help with framing efforts would
be welcome,
out in our Magick Studio Garden
our studio assistants had other ideas . . . .
The Flower Faeries were a
trifle under the weather because, apart from the winter
Flower Faeries, not busy enough to feel relaxed or
contented.
The Goblin and the Gremlin had been reading a new
publication titled, “What the future looks like.”
They had read the book between them and. now wanted to
discuss, its subject matter with someone else - soon.
They were presently promenading around the edge of the
garden, debating the possible decline and fall of the
mythical, magickal, world of Fantasy Land.
The Unicorn had set down, shaken out his wide spanning
wings and was settling quietly to munch grass and damp
hay.
He would, today, be washed, brushed and groomed, but,
demand that he be dressed to the nines.
The Witch was experiencing an up down mood and,
forsooth, the Elves, Imps and Pixies must take heed, I
thought.
The Ogre was snugly asleep on the grass of the warm, dry
floor of a woodland glade.
The Weasel, Stoat and Mole were headed for a swim in the
lake, after which, they’d catch the train to visit
friends to take tea on the lawns of a ducal estate near
the sea.
The Frog, Toad and Water Rat were tired, nay, exhausted,
having swum too fast round the garden pond, for too long
and at much too early an hour.
The Cook issued forth from her kitchen to empty a large
can of dirty water.
She did not notice that the Elfin knife grinder was
sharpening our household knives.
He was soaked to the skin and his knife sharpening
machine spluttered and ground to a halt.
The Wizard was, providentially, flying down from his
cloud home and the knife sharpening machine was repaired
- Pronto, quick....
Echelon is a flight
simulation game set in science fiction. It was released
in 1987 for Commodore 64 and in 1988 for Amstrad CPC,
Apple II, MS-DOS and ZX Spectrum. A version forAmiga was
announced, but never released.
The game is set on Isis, the tenth planet of the solar
system discovered in 1996. At the end of the 21st
century, a group of space pirates established a base on
this planet, obtaining an unknown position and a system
of concealment that makes it invisible to the sensors.
The player is a solitary pilot of a C-104 aircraft
Tomahawk that must patrol an area of this planet,
retrieve objects and information that will help him to
trace its base and discover any news about the pirates.
The player will realize that piloting this spaceship is
a complex task.
External landscapes are shown in the first person view
through vector graphics, while at the bottom the player
can see the aircraft’s control panel. He/she can select
three main modes of play: scientist (only territorial
exploration, without any confrontation), patrol
(exploration with occasional enemy presence) or military
(frequent combats with the enemy).
The game begins at high
altitude in the hangar of the player's orbital base,
where he/she can return for repairs and supplies. The
view can be moved to six different angles and various
zoom levels. The on-board computer provides options,
information and displays territory maps. Combat can
take place against land or enemy aircraft
installations, with three types of long range weapons
and the protection of an energy shield.
In order to observe closely the structures in the
ground it is possible to launch an RPV, a guided
exploratory vehicle that the player can control in a
similar way to the main spaceship, alternating as
he/she wants the control from one to the other. A
teleportation system allows retrieving the RPV or
objects found on the ground. If the player manages to
collect 240 lanes left by the pirates, he/she can
reconstruct the maps that allow him/her to complete
the game.
In addition to directional controls, dozens of buttons
are required for this game. The original edition of
the Commodore 64 includes a special device called
LipStik, which consists of audio headphones with an
integrated microphone that can be connected to a
joystick output, allowing the player to use a voice
command to record.
Echelon got good reviews in
magazines such as 64'er, Zzap !, Happy Computer, The
Games Machine (UK), Aktueller Software Markt (ASM),
Computer Gaming World (CGW), Games Machine, New Computer
Express , Crash, Your Sinclair, which describe it as a
well-designed, complex and challenging game. We can
imagine it as a more complex version of the Starglider
game.
This game also received previews in magazines such as
Computer & Video Games, Crash, Sinclair User,
MicroHobby and published advertisements on Crash,
Computer & Video Games, ACE, You Sinclair and Games
Machine magazines.
A problem highlighted in this game is the slow running
on 8-bit computers at that time, but it is possible to
turn off some graphics to slightly improve its
performance.
Peter Andrew Jones was
responsible for its cover art. The spacecraft, the
central figure of the artwork, has the metallic blue
that shines thanks to the propulsion generating light
and heat in the vertical take-off process, a technique
also used in the covers of Badlands, Cytron and Last
Duel, for example. This unique source of luminosity on
an inhospitable earth (possibly the planet Isis) reveals
the sharp plantation around it and small canyons in the
background, very PAJ’s characteristic traits that can be
seen in other artistic covers of computer games of that
time of his authorship, as Knights of Crystallion and
The Kristal, just to name a few.
The great highlight is the consistency created between
game and cover: just as Echelon has visionary character,
very advanced for his own time, Jones weaves rich
details to the spaceship anticipating to the players
that the task of piloting a C-104 Tomahawk will not be
an easy task - just as his art composition should not
have been, too!
Piloting a spacecraft, therefore, closely resembles the
creative process of the artist: not only fun, but
attention, patience and the use of correct strategy are
prerequisites for any great mission to be fulfilled,
whether to discover an enemy base or create a striking
art to the connoisseur. If he were a pilot, PAJ would
certainly create spaces in his military uniform to
further increase his artistic decorations’s collection.
As
advanced planning for the roll-out of new projects gets
underway . . .
Fresh paint must be made.
Supplies must be ordered-in.
Magic will ensue . . . . . . . distractions must be
avoided.
Indeed
. . .
out in our Magick Studio Garden . . . .
The ghost of Arztek, the God
of Lightning, was inspecting the troops or, to be
accurate, the residents of the fantastical, magickal
garden.
He had marshaled every Tom, Dick and Harry of them and
they, in unusual style, stood rigidly, immovably, to
attention.
His inspection of the troops was followed by a bellowed
order of, “I demand your undivided attention - all of
you or, you will suffer three rainy days in the stocks.”
He glowered.
His diatribe covered a multitude of subjects, from their
undisciplined life styles to their untidy appearance.
To some, what he said, was thought provoking, worth
noting.
Others looked at the grass and muttered sotto voce.
The Flower Faeries giggled, the Witch tapped her nose
and the Elves, Imps and Pixies reached for their
pocket-sized sling shots.
The Unicorn diverted his landing to the field, where he
encountered the Dragon, breathing hellfire and
brimstone.
So hot was his breath that, before very long, the lake
was ablaze and the fish were ajumping.
The Ogre rumbled angrily and enough being enough, he
chucked pebbles and stones and small tree branches at
the incomer.
The Elves, Imps and Pixies extracted their sling shots
and pronto! the garden residents were at war with this
irritating man.
However, the Owl, in his tree house, heard the commotion
and hooted loudly, authoritatively, restoring order in
the blink of one eye.
Arztek was permitted to continue his diatribe and, in
the end, the garden residents found themselves listening
punctiliously, thoughtfully....
Its plot is based on the
theme of time traveling. Not realizing the danger it
may pose to the adventurer, an organization called
TIME was created for time travelers and their travel
period. Its agents patrol to ensure that no traveler
changes the course of History. 
