ÿþ<HEAD> <title>Eric's Archive</title> <META NAME="description" CONTENT="Eric's Journal, the irregularly updated journal of Eric Lis"> <META NAME="keywords" CONTENT="eric, lis, emperor, aerica, aerican, journal, eric's head"> </HEAD> <left><font face="Times New Roman"> <font face="Monotype Corsiva,Bernhard Modern Roman,Unicorn,BellGothic,News Gothic MT"> <center> <big><big><big><big> Eric's Archive<br> Entries 911-920<P> </big></big></big></big></font> <I> Those who forget the past<Br> Are doomed to reread it.<p></i> </center> <a href="http://www.aericanempire.com/eric/index.html">More recent</a><BR> <a href="http://www.aericanempire.com/eric/901-1000/921-930.html">Entries 921-930</a><BR> <a href="#920">Entry 920</a> December 28 2011<br> <a href="#919">Entry 919</a> December 25 2011<br> <a href="#918">Entry 918</a> December 22 2011<br> <a href="#917">Entry 917</a> December 19 2011<br> <a href="#916">Entry 916</a> December 16 2011<br> <a href="#915">Entry 915</a> December 13 2011<br> <a href="#914">Entry 914</a> December 10 2011<br> <a href="#913">Entry 913</a> December 7 2011<br> <a href="#912">Entry 912</a> December 4 2011<br> <a href="#911">Entry 911</a> December 1 2011<br> <a href="http://www.aericanempire.com/eric/901-1000/901-910.html">Entries 901-910</a><BR> <a href="http://www.aericanempire.com/eric/archive.html">Archive</a><BR> </blockquote> <hr> <a name="920"></a> <U><B>How I Spent 2011</b></u><p> 2011 was a respectable year for books. My goal for the year, of course, was to read 27 books -- one every two weeks, on average -- and I exceeded this goal by a safe margin. I probably would have read more, but for a long period I kept myself strictly to reading one particular psychiatry textbook; though very useful, this book was so immense and dense that after weeks I had barely reached halfway through it, and eventually I set it aside with the promise to take another crack at it in 2012. Out of the 31 books on the list that follows, therefore, I finished 29 including one that I started and carried one over from 2010 and one that I'd been very slowly reading since 2009, put one on hold, and am actively reading another (logically, that book will probably be the first one on my list in 2012). I never do as much reading as I'd like to, and I rarely read as many totally stunning novels as I'd wish to, but I read a number of fun stories and relatively few terrible ones, and that's just about the best that any literature enthusiast can ask for.<p> 1) Towing Jehova<BR> I started this book on December 28th, 2010, and finished it just over a week later. The book was a nifty read. In essence, god dies, and his mile-long corpse drops into the ocean. A dysfunctional and disgraced sea captain is chosen to tow the body to the frozen pole to keep it from rotting. The book was an amusing journey into the pros and cons of religiosity in general, and suffered only from a wholly inexplicable and narratively-incompatible romatic relationship between the male and female lead, which was painfully inserted into the book about midway through. It was impossible to justify based on the characters and the story, and it almost ruined the book for me... but overall I liked the book anyway.<P> 2) The Plague Lord<BR> This book tells the story of Marco Polo in medieval China, as he sets off to stop a demon from the Chinese hells from spreading the Black Plague across the world. I picked it up for a dollar at a used book fair in the hospital, simply because I thought it might give me some clever ideas on how to play the character of Gun'Mora in my D&D game. I overpaid by about a dollar, but it still wasn't the worst book I read all year. <P> 3) The Three Musketeers<BR> I started reading Dumas' classic, downloaded from Project Gutenberg, in November 2009. I kept a copy of it as a text file in my email, and whenever I couldn't conveniently carry a novel with me around the hospital, or where I had to make it look like I was sitting at a computer and working/studying, I read this. I finished it in January 2011. I disliked large portinos of the book because pretty much every single character annoyed me (especially the extremely personality disordered D'Artagnan), but it was a fun read overall. My favourite line, of course, was simply, "But not until two o'clock." This is possibly one of the finest moments in literary history.<p> 4) A Night In The Lonesome October<BR> ANITLO is a book that defies short description. Suffice it to say that the book follows the heroic efforts of Jack the Ripper and his faithful dog (the narrarator) as they strive to prevent a number of horror's more memorable ne'er-do-wells from summoning the whole of the Lovecraft mythos. All you need to know about this book is that it was, I think, my fifth time reading it, and I enjoyed it as much as ever.<P> 5) The Verdant Passage<BR> 6) The Crimson Legion<BR> 7) The Amber Enchatress<BR> 8) The Obsidian Oracle<BR> 9) The Cerulean Storm<BR> From the 28th of January 28th to April 3rd, I had the very mixed pleasure of reading this series of five novels set in the D&D <I>Dark Sun</i> universe. The overall narrative of the books is exciting, gripping, and epic, which makes it all the more tragic that each individual book is poorly-paced, badly-written, populated with uninteresting characters, and generally an experience in frustration and disapointment. On the other hand, a number of people that I know liked them. The books are required reading for the true D&D fanatic, but an exercise in painfully wasted time for anybody else.<P> 10) The Stepsister Scheme<BR> 11) The Mermaid's Madness<BR> 19) Red Hood's Revenge<BR> 20) The Snow Queen's Shadow<BR> I discovered Jim C. Hines some years ago when I stumbled across his Jig the Goblin series, an extremely well-executed humour-fantasy series. Based on that, I picked up the first two books in the author's second series, which depicts various Disney princesses as Charlie's Angels-esque spies in the service of a heroic queen. Then, I liked the first two enough that I bought the next two. The last book was a bit of a letdown, but a suitable ending to the series. Every series should be so well begun and so appropriately ended. And no, the characters don't come across as Disney damsels in distress. <P> 12) Triumff: Her Majesty's Hero<BR> As anyone who follows this annual list knows, I'm a moderately big fan of Dan Abnett, both for his Warhammer novels (which I read) and for his comic books (which I enjoy). This novel is a stand-alone novel which has blessedly nothing whatsoever to do with Warhammer. Following a rogue-ish hero through an alternate-history England where technology never replaced magic as the dominant paradigm, the book is full of Swiss-army swords, witty one-liners, and high adventure worthy of William Goldman or, for that matter, Alexandre Dumas. This might be the best book I read all year, and if it isn't then it was unquestionably the funniest.<P> 13) Dead Streets<BR> Last year I read a novel called <I>Nekropolis</i> which followed a zombie private investigator through a Hell-like city filled with the undead. At the time, I commented that the book's biggest weakness was that the author was so enamoured of the world he had created, he spent far too much time playing tourist-guide, and thereby frequently disrupted the story and weakened the overall experience. I had hoped that his second book in the series would be a stronger story less distracted by the author's childlike look-what-I-made attitude. It wasn't. Once again, though, some very reliable people enjoyed this book more than I did.<p> 14) Death Troopers<BR> A Star Wars novel with zombies. Although not a great book, I'll credit this novel with having one of the single scariest moments in any horror story I've ever read; it involves a cute little baby wookie and I swear to the gods that I was almost afraid to go to sleep after reading that page.<P> 15) Changes<Br> The most recent book of the <I>Dresden Files</i> to come out in Softcover, and quite possibly the best in the series. Given that this is the twelfth book and I've enjoyed all of them, that's saying something.<P> 16) Fever Dream<BR> And, in contrast to number 15, number 16 is the tenth book in the series of Pendergast novels by Preston and Child. It's not the weakest in the series, but it's close.<P> 17) The Mammoth Book of Monsters<BR> 23) The Soft Whisper of the Dead<BR> The Mamoth Book of Monsters is a book of short stories about... well, monsters. Although it had some rather dull entries, it also contained a couple of real gems that were a pleasure to read. One such story was a style parody of the work of Charles L. Grant, a horror author I had never heard of before. I liked the style of the short story enough that I bought one of the original Grant novels, which, though not fantastic, was good fun and a remarkable example of how you can build a solid horror story with atmosphere instead of action. <P> 18) Why Zebras Don't Get Ulcers<BR> One of three non-fiction books I read this year, I've had cause to reccomend this book to a number of people. It's an in-depth look at stress, anxiety, endocrinology, and psychology, and how they all shape each other. Most shockingly, it's both readable and at times entertaining. The book itself would be a bit dry, but the footnotes are usually interesting and often hilarious.<P> 21) Psychiatric Interviewing: the Art of Understanding<BR> This is the book that I started and finally put on hold. The book is a fascinating insight into how psychiatrists interview patients, and how they *ought* to interview patients. In addition to having a very detailed section on how to spot lying, it walks the clinician through simulated interviews with patients suffering from every major psychiatric disorder. The book isn't boring, but it's somehow extremely *dense* and is a much harder read than its size would suggest. I plan to get back to it one day, because it really changed the way I interview patients (and reinforced a lot of the stuff I was already doing), but if I'd tried to fight my way through the second half I wouldn't have met my quota of books.<P> 22) Long-term Psychodynamic Psychotherapy: A Basic Text<BR> An introduction to psychoanalytic psychotherapy. Readable. Useful if you're into that sort of thing or have to perform and accumulate a mandatory number of hours of therapy in the technique. Not something anybody outside of my profession would have much cause to ever pick up.<P> 24) Innocence Proves Nothing <BR> I already wrote a rather lengthy rant about this book, and its predecessor, back in October. I haven't got anything to add about it now. It wasn't as good as the author's other series featuring Ciaphas Cain, and I have an odd feeling that I'm going to forget this book, too.<P> 25) I Shall Wear Midnight<BR> My unending love of Terry Pratchett is, of course, a matter of public record. I'm anxiously awaiting <I>Snuff</i>, the next book in the main Discworld series, and this one, the most recent book in the tangentially-related Tiffany Aching series, helped tide me over. It's not as good as regular Discworld, but I enjoyed it a lot. It does drag on a bit towards the end, but the payoff is worth it.<P> 26) The Red Green Book<BR> I picked this book up at the McGill unsed book fair because my father is a fan of Steve Smith's character, Red Green, and I wasn't sure if he had this one. Turns out, he did. It was okay. Mostly I read it because it was very short and I wanted to pad this year's list.<P> 27) Octopussy and The Living Daylights<BR> A book of James Bond short stories, this book was typical of everything else written by Ian Fleming: disapointing, and entirely unrelated to any films that might have the same name. The book's high point is a recipe for scrambled eggs, given near the end, which I haven't been motivated to try making.<P> 28) Everything I Need to Know I Learned from Dungeons & Dragons<BR> Last year, I read <I>COnfessions of a Part Time Sorceress</i>, which I'm noticing now seems to have been left off of my 2010 book list. That tome chronicles how a valley-girl falls in love with playing D&D. This book, the sequel, is essentially a self-help book based on D&D-inspired lessons. It didn't change my life, but it gave me the occasional chuckle. <P> 29) The End of the Line<BR> THis book of short stories is made up of horror novels related, one way or another, to subways and metros. It was, without question, the worst book I read this year, although only by a very narrow margin. <P> 30) Crooked Little Vein<BR> Unquestionably the weirdest book I read this year, this is one of the few ventures into novel-writing ever attempted by Warren Ellis, one of my favourite comic book writers. While <I>Crooked Little Vein</i> is no <i>Authority</i> or <I>Global Frequency</i>, it's a very clever pastiche of modern American culture (as perceived by a rather opinionated Brit). I liked it enough that I'd recommend it to anyone who isn't too easily offended.<P> 31) Emperor's Mercy<BR> And lastly, started on December 18th and unlikely to be finished before midnight on the 31st, this is only the second Warhammer novel I've cracked open this year. It *would* have been the worst novel I read all year, except that I haven't finished it, so I can't fairly render that judgment. Yet. It'll be a strong contender for worst book of 2012. <HR> <a name="919"></a> <U><B>Have A Nice Daycycle</b></u><p> Number 642 on the list of inconvenient gaps in my knowledge: I have no idea how to actually buy a computer.<P> I've been thinking of buying a new computer for some time. I bought my current computer about five years ago, shortly before I moved out on my own. This was the first time that I was buying my own machine, and I did it in what seemed to me to be a perfectly sensible way to do it: I went to a store that I knew offered decent prices and decent repair services, and told them, "I want a computer that will be able to play StarCraft 2 when it comes out." The sales person pointed out an obvious problem with this request, being that neither he nor anybody in the world at that time was able to say what sort of system requirements Starcraft 2 would actually have, but it seemes to have been a sensible thing to say because that's what I ended up getting. StarCraft 2 was released about a year and a half ago, and my computer played it perfectly well. Unfortunately, that was pretty much the last game it proved able to play; everything newer that I've played since has run slowly and/or unreliably, and as in the notable case of the currently popular <I>Skyrim</i>, many of the newest games simply don't run. I've been saying that I planned to buy a new machine for just over a year now -- because I couldn't properly run Civilization V -- and my goal had been to put it off until the start of 2012. Now, that time has fortuitously come, and just in time for me to discover that several of the games I've most recently gotten my hands on won't run on my older computer. And this was when I hit a stumbling block, because short of going into the same computer store and telling them that I want a computer that'll be capable of running StarCraft 2, I don't know how to buy a new one.<P> Not that my old computer is entirely dead, of course. I'm writing this on my older computer while listening to music and in between watching episodes of <I>Castle</i>, so it obviously still functions as a word-processor, an internet-accessor, and a media center. On the other hand, this is a computer which has died on me twice (allegedly due to defective hardware, which is the peril of buying at a store widely-alleged to get much of its merchandise "fallen off the back of a truck"). This evening I updated the drivers for my graphics card, and the NVidia website politely informed me of the many useful features which my hardware is incapable of supporting. It certainly doesn't run as fast as it used to despite adequate disk-cleaning and defragmenting. It may not be nearing the end of its lifespan -- although it very well could be, for all I know -- but it's nearing the point where it'll no longer be adequate as my primary system. Like a prized animal, when this computer is retired, it'll be moved over to near my TV where it'll become the bain of my home media system, to be used five or six times per year and never for anything more intensive than playing a DVD. That being said, I'd quite like to have a computer that I can turn off without feeling a little twinge of fear that it won't turn back on.<P> Here's the problem, though. For a geek of my caliber and intellect, my computer knowledge is woefully inadequate. I understand the basics of what I want in a computer, such as what a processor does and how much hard drive space I should realistically expect to use up. Beyond that, computers are sort of mysterious to me. I have only the vaguest conception of what a multi-core processor is, and I only understand that because my brother was smart enough to explain it to me in biological terms. I get that a graphics card an operate more efficiently if it has its own built-in, dedicated memory, but I couldn't recite off the top of my head which brands have that feature. I can logically deduce that an I7 chip is probably better than an I5, but if a particular model had been shown to be sub-par, I wouldn't have heard about it. If I go into a computer store and ask them to reccomend a system set-up for me, I sort of have to take them at their word that they're giving me good advice; I can go home and read reviews to confirm what they told me, but I don't necessarily have the sort of time or background to use that information to make an informed decision anymore than most of my friends could explain, say, why they'd reccomend citalopram over bupropion as the antidepressant of choice in someone suffering from comorbid anxiety. <P> I practically live at my computer, but as far as I understand how it works, it may as well be magic. I'm trying to decide whether Arthur C. Clarke or Socrates would get a bigger laugh out of that.<P> And that's the point where I get kind of stuck. I've had enough good sense of get quotes from four different reliable-ish stores, and they've all made pretty similar reccomendations... with just enough subtle differences that I have a hard time guessing who I should really listen to. My brother the computer science major has been kind enough to sit down with me and alk me through it a bit, but his advice pretty much boils down to "reda a few reviews, and then it probably won't matter much which one you get." Call me a perfectionist -- and there are really very few situations in which one has reason to call me a perfectionist -- but before I plunk down close to a thousand dollars, I like to make as certain as possible that I'm getting the best price on the best merchandise that I possibly can. Doubly so, since I'd really like to be able to go at least another five years before I need my next computer. <P> In the end, I'll probably make my choice the scientific way. Heads or tails? <HR> <a name="918"></a> <U><B>The 'Things My Patients Teach Me' Holiday Special </b></u><p> As December comes to a close, there are two topics I've been broaching with every one of my patients. The first is what we mental health types call "termination," which is much less exciting than it sounds. I'm about to end my six-and-a-half assignment to the outpatient department at my current hospital and will soon move to work on an inpatient ward at another one, so I have to inform my patients -- the majority of whom are psychotherapy patients, so people I've gotten to know pretty well -- that I'm leaving, and they're either being discharged or transfered to another physician. For about half of my patients, this is a very big deal; many of them have histories rich in abandonment and grief, so losing their therapist is very emotional and meaningful for them. For the other half -- mostly ones who I've been seeing just for medication management and not really getting to know them as people -- it's a much less big deal, and they're taking it in stride. I'm not really sure which I prefer; on the one hand, a part of me wants to know that I've been such an incredible therapist that my patients will be heart broken to see me go, and on the other hand, I'm pretty uncomfortable being the center of someone's emotional attention in that way. So, this makes for a pretty big topic that has to get raised with most of my patients several times over the course of weeks.<P> The other thing I've had to discuss with everybody is Christmas. Not the holidays, but Christmas specifically, because I'm only following one Jew, and even my Muslim and atheist patients seem to be celebrating Christmas as a family event if not as a holy day. <P> Each time I have this conversation with someone, it reminds me that "humbug" is one of my favourite words in the English language. Not for anything to do with Christmas, you understand and not any more at this time of year than any other... it's just very salient in my mind at this time of year.<P> My patients can be roughly divided into three groups (fortunately, with no remainder left over). The first group are terribly excited about Christmas. They get caught up in the fun of it: the songs, the gifts, the dinner, and the festive spirit. The second group is composed of the ones who dislike the holiday, usually because they aren't very keen on their family and aren't thrilled at the prospect of having to spend so much time with them. The third group -- unsurprisingly, the largest -- is the people who are ambivalent about the holiday season. Pretty much all of them love their families but feel that modern Western Christmas is too commercial, or too stressful, or too artificial. Most of the ones in this group see the holiday as a reason to get together with their loved ones and feel that, if anything, the "Christmas Spirit" gets in the way more than anything else, even as they appreciate that it's a necessary excuse. Interestingly, this group includes the only patient who's thus far given me a gift, which probably makes it all the more meaningful.<P> Here's what I've learned... or at least, been reminded of... by people from each group.<P> My patients who get on well with their families have reminded me that as annoying as the holiday season can be for those of us who find Christmas intrusive at best, it really is a time when a lot of people are closer to their loved ones than at any other time of the year. You can debate whether this is good, because they get to be with their families, or bad, because they ought not to need the excuse. Either way, they turn this season into something positive.<P> My patients who don't get on well with their families have reminded me that the season is a trying time for people for a multitude of reasons. Most people I know get annoyed because of the cultural pressure to be happy and celebrate no matter how bone-rattled you feel, but for a lot of people, the real stress comes from who they feel obligated to spend time with. Sometimes, it's partly their fault that the family dynamics suck, and sometimes they're entirely blameless. Either way, it's unfortunate.<p> And then there's my one patient who essentially has nobody. This is a person who would like to spend the holidays with someone, but due to circumstances beyond their control, hasn't got anybody left. Literally, they do not have one single person to spend the holiday with, and I can only imagine how painful that is. This patient reminds me that I am really, phenomenally, extraordinarily lucky to lead the life that I do, even if some days I feel like my luck isn't quite what it once was. <P> From everyone here at the Aerican Embassy to Everything Else, if you're reading this, I wish you a happy Happy Things Day (December 23rd). For every other day, you're on your own. <HR> <a name="917"></a> <U><B>Jelly-Filled Doom</b></u><p> At the time that this gets posted, it'll be one day before the start of Hannukah this year. Over the course of the next eight days, it will briefly become socially acceptable for people to ritualistically light fires in their homes and reminisce about killing Seleucid soldiers (there may be a "we are the 1%" joke in there somewhere, but I can't be bothered to find it). As it happens, I'll be performing one of the main Hannukah rituals this year: eating doughnuts. Not plain old regular doughnuts, though. You see, tommorow morning, I'm going (by the time I post this, it'll actually be 'this morning, I went') to a holiday party for the mood disorders program where I've been working one day per week for the last six months. In the great wisdom of the coordinators, it was decided to make this a potluck, which has the dual advantages of 1) giving people a greater sense of involvement and 2) helping to cut down on the number of people who attend. Ordinarily, when I go to a potluck event, I make an effort to always bring something that I made myself. The dish I make may not be fancy, but it's always something interesting, and like my recipes for chaotic pie or Bosworth salad, there's usually a story attached. This weekend, a combination of limited inspiration, a busy schedule and profound laziness all came together and motivated me to just buy something, so despite the fact that the invitation I received quite clearly said that it's a Christmas party, I decided to bring something traditional for Hannukah. And as it happens, one of the traditional Hannukah foods is doughnuts, which is why this is the best holiday ever.<P> Clarification 1) Actually, I'm not sure I should say I made the decision "despite" it being a Christmas party. Deep down in the hidden depths in the threadbare plush weasel that is my soul, it might actually have been "because."<P> Clarification 2) In so far as Topin Wagglegammon is a niftyday, not a holiday. Obviously.<P> So, I went out today and I bought some doughnuts. Special doughnuts. Holy doughnuts. I left the warm, safe confines of my apartment and traveled to the corner of Victoria Avenue and Van Horne Avenue, which is quite possibly one of the single most Jewish streetcorners in the entire 4,259 square kilometers of Montreal. There, I went to one of the city's most kosher of kosher bakeries -- the sort of bakery where I got stared at because I was a male without a head-covering -- and I bought sufganiyot (you know it's culturally authentic because the name is in Hebrew). No mere ponchkes these, and certainly they qualify as mundane doughnuts only in the sense that peacocks can be classified as "ordinary birds." <P> So here's something I didn't know until I looked this up just now. Apparently the word sufganiyah is derived from the Hebrew word for "sponge" which is sfog. Now, this may be presumptuous of me, because I'm fluent in only two languages and at my peak spoke only four, but I'm quite convinced that this might be the single most satisfying onomatopoeia in the entire world.<P> The sufganiyot are spheres about an inch and a half across. They're almost perfectly spherical, which one could argue actually makes them a bit less traditional (classic sufganiyot were originally made by squishing two spheres into each other, making a sort of bilobar, one might say diplococcal, shape). They're dusted with little granules of sugar, because as my mighty Russian ancestors would have told you, "з éØÙç äÕß Òâä¼èâÒÜØ ØÙÙÒ ÐÙÖ àÙØ Ð·àÛâÜØÙ ÒâàÕÒ ÐÕÙã ÖÙÙ·ß ÐÙÙÒß." They're filled with a red filling which I assume, but have not yet verified, is strawberry jam. All together, it's about 100 grams of deep-fried joy wholly devoid of any pretense of nutrition. These... are god's doughnuts.<P> Clarification 3) Well, obviously they would have said it in Yiddish, so that's how I had to quote them. They certainly wouldn't have said it in English... what sort of ancestors do you think I had, anyway? And they wouldn't have said it in Russian. ... they might not have even spoken Russian. Honestly, try to keep up.<P> I've always wondered why sufganiyot are traditionally filled with strawberry jam. I made a heroic attempt to look this up (I checked Wikipedia, then got bored and gave up) but couldn't find an explanation. My theory is that it's to symbolize crushed Seleucid soldiers. Early Jews couldn't mix *actual* blood into the sufganiyot because that wouldn't be kosher, so they got two lumps of dough and put red jam in between. The alternative is that it's a tribute to Eleazar Avaran, which somehow seems even more disturbing.<P> Of course, the real joke tommorow morning will stem from the fact, due to curious circumstances, a significant proportion of the people working in the mood disorders program are of either Greek or Syrian origin, meaning, the two cultural groups who together made up the main population of the Seleucid Empire, against whom the Jews revolted in the story of Hannukah. Thus, I'll be quite cheerfully sharing my doughnuts with the exact people I'm theoretically commemorating going to war against. The only way to make the joke more satisfying would be to somehow find a way to incorporate Spanish and Portuguese enemies of the Jews into the narrative, but inconveniently, all the nasty stuff that they did to my people happened at entirely the wrong time of year. Sometimes you just have to be happy with the joke you've got and not try to hard to stretch it to its breaking point. <HR> <a name="916"></a> <U><B>Character Portrait: Saint Apustutako the Backstabber</b></u><p> <I>Author's note: Once again, I am greatly entertained by the way that a single throwaway line in one post can get lodged in my head and refuse to get out until it turns into a second.</i><P> Granuya Ez-Kutatzen was born in Hir Buruan, a city-state populous and powerful enough to dwarf some of the nearby kingdoms. Those who lived in the city would often say there was no better place to live in all the world than in Hir Buruan, if one had the money to live there. Granuya did not. Born in a hovel in one of the city's poorest and most crime-ridden districts, he outlived five siblings by hitting puberty and outlived a dozen children born that same year by being able to outrun them when the giant rats dragged themselves out of the sewers looking for meat. Granuya embraced a life of crime as the only means of earning his daily bread, and proved to be very good at it. At the age of ten, Granuya was a talented pick-pocket. At twelve, he was a brutal thug. At fifteen, he was a novice in the Hir Buruan guild of assassins.<P> In his nineteenth year, Granuya was recruited by a local gang leader to join a six-man raid on the local temple of Eliath. Granuya never actually learned what their reason was for breaking into the temple, because whatever their objective was, they never reached it. They entered the temple, killed several guards, breached the main sanctuary, and there encountered a lone defender praying beside the altar. The swarmed the praying man, who proceeded to knock the six killers senseless without ever breaking a sweat. Granuya would later tell that the monk was a blur of motion -- a golden blur, on account of the golden skin of his hands which burned the killers and left them slow and feeble each time he touched them. When the sun arose the next morning and the killers, bound and gagged, began to regain consciousness, Granuya was shocked to find that the city guards came to arrest his fellow rogues but, on the monk's word, he was set free without nothing more than a warning. <P> "Why?" Granuya asked the monk as he rubbed his wrists, trying to get some feeling back into his hands. "Why let me go? I came in to do the same things they did."<p> And the monk bowed his head forward a few degrees, and said, "because my touch did not slow you. There is yet hope for you, if Eliath wills it."<P> Granuya returned to his home, but could not rest. He pondered the monk's words but could make no sense of them. After three days, he returned to the temple of Eliath and asked to see the monk, but the golden-handed holy-man had left two days before, and no one could tell Granuya his name. Granuya turned to go, then stopped in the temple's doorway. From inside, he could hear the sound of singing, a sound not often heard in the slums where he had grown up. Unable to say exactly what made him do it, he turned back, walked inside, and sat through the service. He returned the next day, and the next.<P> In his twentieth year, Granuya became a guard at the temple of Eliath, and if any of the other guards recognized him from his first visit, they gave no indication.<P> The next few years passed quickly for Granuya. From the position of guard, he was inducted into a street patrol. From the patrol, he was promoted to a sergeantship. From sergeantship, he was selected for specialized training in the Eliathan forces, and when his first glimmer of magic developed, he was selected for training as a paladin. Granuya joined the Third Rank, a small order sworn to Eliath in His aspect as the Chain. The Third Rank were as stern and uncompromising as any other order of paladins, with the exception of a reputation for unconventional tactics in battle. Where most orders adopted the code of chivalry and noble combat, the Third Rank was composed of warriors who brought their own special skills to the field. Granuya was taught how to fight with honour and dignity, but also how to use his old skills in skullduggery and shiftiness to take down an enemy. Recalling his days of back-alley fighting, where any trick was allowed as long as nobody died, he dedicated himself to crafting a non-lethal fighting style centered around the weapons of thieves. When he left the Third Rank at the age of twenty five to adventure on his own, he took a new name: Apustutako, which in the language of Hir Buruan meant "sap," that most unpaladin-like weapon which, not coincidentally, he had learned to favour. <P> In the decades that followed, Apustutako earned a reputation for being a bringer of swift justice tempered by surprising restraint. It was said of him that after taking his new name, he never killed a foe again, and although evidence exists that this is an exaggeration, church records credit him with bringing an astonishing number of outlaws and criminals in alive... though often quite badly hurt. His legend further tells that he never fought an innocent man, and although this, too, is an exaggeration, Apustutako did earn a well-justified reputation as a keen investigator who could quite cleverly tell a true villain from a mistaken victim. His unusual fighting style earned him the ironic epithet of "the Backstabber," and while it is true that he employed many techniques which might be considered "dirty fighting," he also never struck an enemy who was unprepared or unable to defend himself. After many years of serving the cause of justice, Apustutako is believed to have retired to live out the rest of his days in a modest roadside Eliathan temple, where he set aside his weapons and took up the pen, adding his own unique thoughts to the voluminous body of commentary on <I>Eliath's Code</i> and its associated works such as <i>The Just Man</i>. He eventually passed away of natural causes and in the years after his death, the church granted him sainthood, naming him as the patron of those sworn never to take a life. <p> Even centuries after his death, some relics of Apustutako's life remain, the most famous of which is Apustutako's Blackjack. This is actually a misnomer, as the weapon is more rightly termed a sap, but such is the legend behind the weapon that even <I>identify</i> spells today give it this name. This short black rod ends in a flat, leather-wrapped head; an ingenious spring mechanism built into the rod's neck greatly enhances the force which the weapon can deliver. When the weapon is wielded by a non-evil creature, it increases the strength and accuracy of their strikes, and if the wielder has been trained in making sneak attacks, these strikes do damage as if they had trained exclusively as a rogue. A paladin wielding the Blackjack furthermore finds that their ability to Smite operates far more powerfully than normal, making the weapon a potent force for justice in the right hands. Apustutako's Blackjack has been handed down from paladin to paladin with a few short stints in the hands of clerics and, for a period of four years, a gentleman-thief who claimed to be one of Apustutako's direct descendents. The current whereabouts of the Blackjack are not precisely known, but it is no doubt still being used to bash in the same heads Apustutako would have enthusiastically blindsided. <HR> <a name="915"></a> <U><B>Selected Excerpts From Eliath's (Expanded) Code (With Commentary)</b></u><p> <i>Eliath's Code</i> is widely regarded as being one of the most dry and unreadable holy texts in existence. Although at least fifty percent of the book consists of parables meant to be accessible to all worshippers, from the illiterate child to the venerable scholar, every parable is supplemented by and expanded upon by lengthy and often droning explanation, meditations, and nit-pickings. In response to this, over the centuries, many Eliathan scholars have composed their own books on the topics of law, justice, and morality. Most of these texts, written as they are by deep philosophical thinkers who have devoted themselves to the study of law in its minutest details, are just as unreadable, if not more so, than the <I>Code</i> itself. One of the seminal books which expands upon the <I>Code</i> is Gerech Tigkeit's <i>The Just Man</i>, a book which has found fame and accolades for its insightful observations as well as the fact that, unlike many philosophical texts, it can be read and understood by the average person. So widely known is this book, and so widely respected, that even Eliathan clerics often include its techings under the broad umbrella of <I>Eliath's Code</i>. The book has been criticized many times over the years; it has been called "inflexible" and "dogmatic," and it has been argued that the book's title somehow implies that men are somehow more just than women (the fact that Tigkeit herself would have laughed at this claim is often lost on critics). The following excerpts come from various parts of Tigkeit's book, and some brief notes are offered to explain their importance to Eliathan thought.<P> Chapter 2:<BR> It is a sad truth that those who worship Eliath must frequently go about the world bearing weapons, for the world is filled with injustice and the just must be ever ready to stand against it. The Just Man wields force of arms with careful restrait and ready enthusiasm. What weapon does the Just Man wield? The sword is holy to Eliath, for it cuts apart evil's lies and screens, but the true weapon of the Just Man is the mace, the club, or the staff. Does not the sword, like the law, cut both ways? Can a sword, left unsheathed, not harm the innocent (and especially the most innocent of all)? The mace is holy to Eliath, for it is like Justice itself. It is blunt, and its word cannot be questioned. It is direct, and its intentions cannot be mistaken. It is harmless when left in its place, but fierce when wielded in the hand of the righteous. The mace dispatches its enemies with the utmost of force at the cost of the minimum of pain. It breaks down barricades, crushes armor, shatters blades, and flattens crowns. The Just Man wears his mace in open view, where it is a symbol of his ways. His weapon is not concealed, nor hidden. The weapon which is concealed is not the weapon of Justice, for the Just Man, by his very presence, is a warning to the unjust that they are watched and they will be judged. The hidden weapon, the unseen blade, is never the way of the Just Man.<P> <I>This portion, though rich in metaphor, is aptly blunt and concrete. Although the Sword is indeed one of the most powerful branches of the church of Eliath, Tigkeit's influence has been such that few clerics in other branches actually wield blades, even though it is wholly allowable. Tigkeit's condemnation of concealed weapons has drawn some rebuke, primarily from military leaders and strategists who point out that victory over evil often depends on surprise and cleverness far more than brute force, and the paladin Apustutako, who famously armed himself only with blackjacks, stilletos, and other weapons taken off of thieves he had brought to justice, went so far as to call this portion "some of the worst advice you could possibly give to a young warrior who hopes to become an old warrior." In any event, the mace remains the preferred weapon of Eliathan soldiers to this day.</i><P> Chapter 3:<BR> The Just Man stands as a bulwark against all the forces of darkness. All enemies of Justice are, by necessity and by design, the enemies of the Just Man. Of all his enemies, the greatest is the devil, the demon, the one who rises from the lands where evil is a tangible thing. These vile things, beings built of injustice shaped like flesh, are the antithesis of Eliath and must be eradicated where they are found. The Just Man acts with temperance and mercy against all foes save only the hell-born, the abyss-spawn. Against the dark powers, the Just Man can and must use any means and methods which are required to ensure that Justice prevails. The demon is the only foe against whom the Just Man will apply disproportionate force. That which a devil knows may be extracted by any means, for what is torture to creatures who feel no pain? Oh, the hell-born and the abyss-spawn may cry and plead and beg, but this is merely an imitation and a mockery of true emotion, of which they have none. How can a create that is evil made flesh feel pain? The Just Man will never compromise with such things.<P> <I>This excerpt from Chapter 3 illustrates perhaps the single most controversial argument in the book, but scholars disagree as to why it is controversial. Moderate Eliathans point out that Tigkeit is clearly using exageration for rhetorical purposes and that a true follower of Eliath would never condone torture and merciless violence, even against the most unnamable of foes. Hardliners among the Eliathans, in contrast, often cite this passage as justification for harsher means of delivering justice, as any tool which can be justly wielded against a soulless monster can reasonably be used against equally soulless-acting humans. Many clerics and paladins of Eliath are taught that devils and demons feel no pain, an assertion which does not occur anywhere else in </i>Eliath's Code<i>, and it is assumed that this is the source where that belief originated. To date, no scholar has come up with an effective means of proving or disproving the statement.</i><P> Chapter 8:<BR> The Just Man never wagers. He can gamble, for it is no sin, but why would he? When Justice fills a man's heart, there is only certainty. Of what use, then, is uncertainty? By a just life the Just Man guarantees his true reward, and how could the call of chance compare with that? The Just Man knows that to gamble is to risk loss, and to risk that one's own loss will line the pockets of others who gamble, and are not these others, more than not, the unjust? The Just Man may certainly play, and take joy in chance and competition, but when the Just Man has coin to spare, he is better gifting that coin to the needy than losing it to fickle fate and confidence men.<P> <i>This brief excerpt, part of a larger portion that comdemns gambling (and further on, vice in general) is one of the few portions of the book which presents its arguments as more of a suggestion than a divine command. It is known, from historical records, that Tigkeit was a vocal opponent of a casino that operated in her home city and was instrumental in seeing it shut down (whereupon it was found to be the headquarters of an assassins' guild; we will never truly know whether Tigkeit knew that beforehand or not). Although gambling is not technically a sin before Eliath, the official stance of the church is that those who directly represent Eliath -- clerics, primarily -- can and should abstain from any and all gambling on games of chance, for fear that love of the game or resultant financial burdens could "impair or bias one's wise judgment." The majority of clerics are presumed to adhere to this policy, though Tigkeit's role in this is unknown.</i> <HR> <a name="914"></a> <U><B>The Skills Of A Psychiatrist</b></u><p> This past week was an interesting one for me, above and beyond the excitement of selling a story and some other stuff that I've been up to since then. Instead of my usual schedule this past week, I canceled most of my patients so that I could attend a special three-day intensive course in safety training, taught at one of Montreal's many psychiatric hospitals. The course was a curious mix of material. Most of it related to conflict resolution and talking-down agitated people before they turn violent, but at the same time, each half-day was punctuated with short lessons in practical self-defense and practicing breaking loose from simple grapples... making this course perhaps the finest definition of the word "pragmatic" that I've ever come across. The course didn't present anything earth-shattering or shocking, but it was a valuable experience and I'm glad that I did it. A few months back I remarked on how important it is for me to always remember that I'm in a profession which comes with some inherent dangers, and as Napoleon famously said, it's pardonable to be defeated by your enemy, but never to be surprised.<P> I assume Napoleon actually said it in French, but I can't be bothered to look up the actual original wording right now. I'm paraphrasing him anyway.<P> If the course could be said to have one major teaching point above all else, it's that psychiatrists have an unfortunate tendency to use excessive means to restrain agitated patients. In the hospital where I work, for example, it's quite often for patients in the psychiatry emergency room to make a bit of a scene, either because they're justifiably upset about something, or because they're violent and unpredictable, or because they're manipulative, or because they're frankly psychotic and not operating under the constraints of what most people would consider logic. In these cases, it's quite typical for the team, usually the nurse, to call what we call a "code white," which is super-secret hospital code for "violent patient, please send large men." The majority of code whites (codes white?) end without any physical intervention on the part of the hospital staff; most patients back down when surrounded by a half dozen stern-looking bruisers and accept a little bit of oral medication to help them calm down. A significant minority of codes do require physical intervention by the code white team, which might mean anything from a patient being "persuaded" to reluctantly accept an injected medication, or in very rare circumstances, a patient actually being fought down, tied to a bed, and forcibly medicated. In my experience, codes which degenerate to violence are quite rare, but interestingly, to hear my colleagues talk about it during this training session, it would sound as though other residents see this sort of thing weekly. Personally, when a nurse tells me that a patient is screaming or causing trouble, I try to go speak to the patient and find out what's wrong, and if I'm too busy, I always advise the nurse to offer an oral medication before an injected one. It would seem, based on anecdotal reports, that I might be in the minority, and I can sort of imagine why; it can take anything from three minutes to thirty to verbally calm down a patient, especially if they're psychotic and paranoid, whereas it only takes a few seconds to inject a cocktail of benadryl, haloperidol, and lorazepam (which not only calms the patient down, but helps to ensure that they'll sleep through the night and thereby be less work for everybody).<P> When it comes to this sort of thing, I've developed a simple protocol that I try to follow, and as with so many other things in life, it's best explained using Dungeons & Dragons as an illustration (in fact, I call this the "Neyrr system" of dealing with patients). When faced with an agitated patient, I start with a diplomacy check: find out what's wrong, reassure the patient that I can see they're angry/sad/anxious, and give them a chance to vent. If simple venting doesn't seem to be relieving the situation, I try to negotiate; a lot of agitated patients calm down quite nicely if they can just get a cigarette or something. When negotiation fails, I make an intimidate check, backing up my mediocre charisma with the situational modifier that is a team of goons who, by now, have generally arrived. If this, too, fails, then it's time to roll for initiative; my first action is inevitably to tumble out of the way as quickly as my tiny little legs will carry me, and leave the attack rolls to the people who are better equipped for that sort of thing. In my admittedly limited experience, I've found that I rarely have to move beyond the negotiation step, and most of the nurses that I work with -- the good ones, at least, which understandably isn't all of them -- follow a similar protocol. I'm not sure why my colleagues have had such different experiences than I have; this may be another case which is best explained by the words "lucky lucky bastard" or it may say something else entirely.<P> One thing may shed some light on that question. The safety course was taught primarily by a nurse and a psychoeducator, except the third day, when the psychoeducator was replaced by a second nurse. At the end of the three days, they congratulated me and my colleagues for being one of the best groups they've ever taught. Apparently, this particular safety course is taught primarily to nurses, orderlies, and other "non-doctor" mental health care workers, and this is the first year ever that the course was actually mandatory for all the second-year residents. In addition to being quick studies and savvy thinkers, the nurse told us that most of the people he teaches have a much harder time picking up the "diplomacy" part of the process and have a very hard time stopping to ask patients what's wrong in a calm, caring manner. He hypothesized that nurses are trained to act as the patient's caregivers, a role which sets up an "I'm taking care of you so do what I say" sort of power dynamic which patients may or may not appreciate and comply with. Psychiatrists, in contrast, may be better trained in interviewing, making their first instinct, not to medicate, but to ask someone why they're upset. I think part of it may also be that doctors are trained to think of themselves as being the person in charge, so they may feel they have less to prove to patients and less need to assert their authority.<P> Tommorow I get to work one of my lovely fourteen-hour shifts in the emergency room. Odds are good that there will be at least one code white during that time. It'll be interesting to see if my approach to it has been changed when it happens, and whether the patient can be talked down or whether the attempt will be a waste of time. I'd best bring my most reliable d20 either way. <HR> <a name="913"></a> <U><B>Third Time's The Toadstone</b></u><p> The last couple of months -- three months and six days, to be precise -- have been sort of rough for me, as anybody who knows me has already picked up. I've been putting up with a number of life stressors, the biggest and most obvious of which was quite suddenly finding myself single again, but there's been no shortage of other annoyances, including several exams of varying levels of importance (from the meaningless psychiatry STACERS to the inconveniently important general medicine LMCC II) and a rather unexpected increase in my normal chronic pain (this is most probably a physiologic response to all the other stresses I've been under, and I'm not sure if it being an annoyance caused by annoyance actually annoys me less or more as a result). Through it all, I've been coping with my usual aplomb (now there's a word whose etymology I wish I knew more about) as well sarcasm and humour, which are unquestionably my primary defenses against the Universe, and although I've had some sleepless nights, I've generally kept my functioning up to the point that nobody really noticed a difference. I take some pride in this; it's both easy and understandable to fall apart just a bit when life unexpectedly replaces its usual Nerf darts with rocks, and despite my having some measure of what we psychiatrists politely refer to as "cluster B traits" I've held it together and, in general fulfilled all of my usual obligations. The one rough thing has been that, from September through most of October, and for a fair chunk right in the middle of November, I really wasn't feeling quite like myself, and the most distressing part was, quite simply: I wasn't enjoying being me as much as I usually do. This had been steadily improving from mid November onwards and thus far December, just under one week in, was looking to be a pretty good time to be me (despite one moderately humiliating failed attempt to redress the "being single" problem). I still hadn't quite recaptured the simple oy of living which I'd managed to cultivate in the early days of Eric 5.0, however, until this morning. This morning had all the makings of being a rather annoying day, as I had to get out of bed almost two hours earlier than usual so that I could shlep off to one of my least favourite hospitals for the first of three days of intensive training in how to deal with agressive and violent patients, I was wasn't feeling good about this for a number of reasons. Imagine my surprise -- and I don't often admit to being surprised -- to open up my email this morning and discover a letter from On Spec Magazine informing me that they had decided to buy my most recent short story.<P> Even single, anxiety-ridden, in pain, and coping with anger management problems, it's fun to be me. Perhaps marginally less fun than it was to be me one year ago today, but still more than than it seems to be to be most other people.<P> I won't say much about the newly-sold story because it's one of those stories where you're supposed to clue in to things as you go, and I'd hate to spoil the surprise for anyone who one day reads it. Suffice it to say that it follows the life of a French soldier from the trenches of World War I through to present day as he repeatedly encounters a seemingly immortal man who appears at various times in history which have been associated with the phrase, "they shall not pass." The story came to me quite some time ago, when some pseudorandom free-associating on Wikipedia brought me to discover the story of the Battle of Cable Street (if you've never heard of it, I encourage you to read about it; it's quite a story). It's not the finest piece of writing I ever did, but it's a good short story and it's distinctly my kind of story, as opposed to being a style parody of somebody else. Selling it wasn't easy, either; On Spec was the fifth magazine I sent the story to, though in my defense I started with some of the most exclusive magazines in the industry and slowly worked my way down to my own weight class. In any case, selling the story is incredibly exciting for me and it's fair to say that the moment that I read that email was the happiest moment I've had in... well, three months and six days, give or take a few hours.<p> What makes selling this particular story particularly exciting? When I sold my second story, <U>A Contract Without Loopholes</u>, I commented that I still needed to sell one more to prove that I was a good writer. At that time, I observed that probably any loser could sell one story if they had some very basic talent, a computer with spell-check, and enough persistence. A hopeless writer could probably sell two stories with a mix of both persistence and luck... especially if the first one was bought only because it was a tribute to H.P. Lovecraft and the second was bought by the same magazine and same editor (after all, just because somebody runs a magazine doesn't mean they necessarily have good judgment). Now I've sold three stories, and this one's been sold to a different editor than my last two. It turns out that I'm at the very least a talented writer, and at the very least there are two editors out there with questionable judgment. Actually, since On Spec apparently uses a group editorial process, it's probably closer to half a dozen editors and it's therefore increasingly improbable that they all have poor judgment.<P> I have proven myself to be objectively capable at something which matters to me. Some people go their whole lives trying to find that feeling.<P> By all rights, selling my fourth story -- and I *will* sell a fourth story, although I'd best actually get around to writing it before I start spending the paycheck -- should be a lot less exciting than selling this one, because I'll have already have proven that I'm a good writer. Somehow, I suspect I'll find some reason to find it just as exciting. I look forward to seeing that happen. <HR> <a name="912"></a> <U><B>Nothing Happened On December 4th, 1963</b></u><p> Most years, on or around the twenty-third of November, I write a revealing article on one of the many conspiracies which vie for control of our world. This year, I didn't do so. This was, of course, because of a vast conspiracy.<P> So here's the thing. Turns out, there's a group of people who've been slowly rising in power over the last few decades. Their group hasn't got a name (that's how you know they're really serious; nobody takes the Illuminati seriously anymore because everyone knows their name, which means they aren't secret) but it's composed of some of the wealthiest and most powerful people in the world. Well, actually it isn't really composed of the *most* powerful people... when you run the numbers, they're probably closer to being, I dunno, the hundred-thousanth or so most powerful people, who can move around and wield their power and generally act a lot more freely than the actual most powerful people, who are watched constantly by the media and, more importantly, each other. This conspiracy has been operating under the radar for decades, and have finally recently begun to make a move towards aquiring some real power. Trouble is, as we've established, although they can bring a lot of political and financial influence to bear, they aren't actually that well-placed, as far as vast conspiracies go, so they have to move carefully. Throughout 2011, they've been slowly moving their agents into key positions of moderate-and-generally-unassuming-but-still-respectable positions of power, and they've been getting ready to make a big push. The plan: in the year 2012, when pop culture is at its most saturated with apocalypse-related imagery, the conspiracy is going to manipulate market shares of any company whose major products are associated with words like comet, asteroid, and other nouns which the general public assumes will be related to the end of the world. This seemingly otiose plan is actually pretty clever when you think about it; while the conspiracy may not be shaping the hearts and minds of a generation, in the space of a few short weeks, they'll accumulate wealth which would be beyond the dreams of avarice if not for the fact that the sorts of people who come up with plans like these tend to have dreams of above-average avariciousness. The influx of funds will put the conspiracy in an advantageous position in the coming years, giving them the ability to make some of their subsequent schemes ever more impressive (albeit, less noticable). <P> What does that have to do with November 23rd, you don't ask? Simple! You see, when a weaker conspiracy wants to take an action that might get thwarted by a more powerful conspiracy, they have to do it all sneaky like. They have to be subtle and remain unnoticed (you would think "unnoticed" would be something conspiracies are good at, but a well-run conspiracy also becomes very good at spotting other well-run conspiracies, or else it rapidly ceases to be a conspiracy and instead becomes a quick and undesirable retirement plan). Unsurprisingly, the best way for a conspiracy to stay unseen is for nobody to be looking for it. Have you ever bumped into someone you know very well in a place where you didn't expect to see them, and not recognise them for a minute? Conspiracies are like that: they depend on people not expecting to see one when they go out to do their groceries or something. The trouble for conspiracies is that inevitably, right around November 23rd of every year, conspiracies become a huge topic. People talk about them, people think about them, and people look for them. The conspiracy's response to this problem was a concerted, worldwide effort to distract people from such problematic thinking. Now, it might seem like preventing a topic from appearing anywhere on the whole of the internet might be hard, but really, you don't have to distract that many people... all you have to do is distract the people who think of these things on their own. Billions of dollars went into a scrupulous and systematic search of all text spidered by Google in the prior year to identify the top few hundred thousand people who were most likely to write about or speak out against conspiracies in general. For my part, the call schedules of my hospital were arranged so that the weekend of November 26th would be the only date when I would be able to run my Dungeons & Psychiatrists D&D game. Not only was I too distracted on the 23rd to anything conspiracy-related, but I had to start putting my game material online and couldn't interrupt the series of posts for a conspiracy-themed topic. The day passed, and even if I and everyone else resume pointing out conspiracies now, it's too late to mobilize the whole population the way the 23rd might have.<P> On the other hand, without the conspiracy's help, I might never have found a weekend when I could get four residents together without any of us being on call, so I probably came out ahead. I suppose the really good conspiracy-theorizing will just have to wait until next year. <HR> <a name="911"></a> <U><B>Dungeons & Psychiatrists (Part 4 of 4): Neat Stuff</b></u><p> Legends tell of Esrutse, a wizard of considerable power who lived hundreds of years before the founding of New Wurfelstadt. Esrutse never achieved the fame of many of his (or possibly her) contemporaries, in large part because she (or possibly he) lived and died in a distant, primitive part of the world filled with dense jungles and inhospitable terrain. Although several mighty civilizations have risen and fallen in this humid and sweltering region, a lack of environmental pressures and a lack of other competing civilizations has meant that most such civilizations never had the need to advance much beyond stone tools. Although some of these civilizations had writing, few records have survived from those which have fallen. Whatever sort of nation Esrutse lived in clearly possessed advanced spellcasting, and so presumably literacy and writing, but it is possible that Esrutse's magic was of a sort entirely different from that which is known in the so-called "civilized" lands. In any case, the stories of Esrutse are vague even by the standards of legends, and essentially nothing is known of Esrutse's life beyond the fact that several powerful magic items bear the name. Esrutse must have been a powerful figure at one time, as the name is found in the Destination of Kings, a valley deep in the jungle filled with the tombs of kings and high priests of nations long swallowed up by nature. Esrutse's tomb sits among these others, and like those, it has been long-since empties by thieves and adventurers. From time to time, an <I>identify</i> spell cast on some trinket or magical tool reveals that it was crafted by Esrutse, and thus the name, if not the story, is known to some few scholars outside of the jungles. Five such items have, over the years, found their way to New Wurfelstadt: Esrutse's throne, and the four Gemstones of Esrutse.<P> Esrutse's throne is, by any standard, a phenomenally powerful magical device, possibly bordering on artifact-level power. The existence of the throne is a testament both to Esrutse's magical prowess, for few mages would have the power to create such a throne, and to Esrutse's political power, for the throne is clearly designed to facilitate domination of servants and slaves. The fact that Esrutse's throne was buried along with its creator is a testament either to the respect with which Esrutse was seen, or the fear with which the throne was seen. The throne is, indeed, a most intimidating sight. It appears to have been carved from a single piece of stone, out of which a master sculptor fashioned a broad seat some three feet across and a back rising some eight feet high. The front of the throne's arm rests are carved to resemble giant-sized screaming skulls which appear almost to be coagulating out of the stone's surface. The chair's back is covered in arcane symbols, many of which clearly invoke the darkest of powers; the most prominent such symbol is an inverted pentagram about three feet across, the bottom-most point of which aims down towards and is partially obscured by whomever sits upon the seat. Hooks driven into the sides of the throne's back appear to be placed precisely high enough so that a prisoner, bound at the wrists, can hang from them with their feet just barely touching the ground. Although centuries of erosion and wear have left the throne's surface pitted and scarred, its power remains undiminished. <P> Broadly speaking, the throne has two basic purposes: to prolong the life of a ruler, and to facilitate rulership. The first power is the most simple, and yet the most impressive. So long as a living creature sits upon the throne, maintaining even the slightest direct physical contact, the individual's body is maintained in a state of perfect stasis. The body does not age, does not grow hungry, and does not tire. The single exception to this is the user's skin, which over time (the course of years) grows greyish and may even slough away, leaving pale muscle or a skull-like grin exposed. Even as the body does not age, so too does it not heal; open wounds do not worsen or fester, but also never close. They remain immune to all poison and disease, and new wounds close within moments (except for the skin, which may remain gaping and open). As long as the user remains sitting, they are otherwise free to move about however they wish. The throne's other powers are what make it truly fearsome. So as a creature sits upon the throne, they may freely dominate the minds of those within their sight, though most people lack the mental strength to dominate more than two or perhaps three people at one time. This dominance fades immediately once a figure is no longer within line of sight. Similarly, the throne may be used to kill almost indiscriminately; at will, the user of the throne may strike down anyone he has heard disagree with him within the past hour. The throne's method of slaying is extremely graphic and extremely intimidating; the victim's very brain begins to boil, first causing their eyes to burst forth from their sockets some seconds before their skin melts and their skull explodes in a shower of bone and meat. Since the throne kills in such a horrifying manner, and can kill only someone who disagrees with the user, it becomes a potent political tool, although persumably the user's enemies could approach with impunity so long as they verbally agree with whatever is said to them.<P> Obviously, the throne is a powerful tool which could potentially facilitate the domination of entire kingdoms. Some scholars have quite reasonably asked how it is that, possessing such a tool, Esrutse ever actually died, and no satisfactory answer to this question has ever been proposed.<P> Esrutse's other creations demonstrate that the wizard's fascination with life and death was a recurring theme. The four Gemstones of Esrutse invoke similar principles and powers and further demonstrate their creator's impressive power. The Heart of Esrutse is a pink-red diamond about the size of an adult human's first. Like the throne, it is engraved with magical symbols, although these do not clearly invoke either light or dark forces. The Heart's singular power is that, if it is placed within the chest of a humanoid alongside (or in place of) a regular heart, then like the throne, that creature becomes all but undying. The Heart's surface has a prominent rune of its surface, the rune for "life." Should this rune ever be changed to read "unlife," as could conceivably be done with a single careful scratch to its surface, the stone's power would immediately reverse, and it would kill whatever creature whose chest it entered (though it must be noted that most creatures will die if their chest is opened and a large rock is put inside regardless). A second stone, a small purple sphere known as the Wrath of Esrutse, is the opposite number of the Heart; if it enters the body of a living creature, is slays the creature instantly. Unlike the Heart, this stone is small, not much bigger than a fingertip; it could potentially have been created with the intention of firing it as ammunition from some sort of weapon. The Wrath's magic is tied directly into that of the Heart; should the Heart's power somehow be reversed, it is likely that the Wrath would in turn take on the Heart's life-giving properties. It can only be speculated what would happen if a single creature were exposed to both stones at once.<P> The remaining gemstones have less shocking powers, but are none-the-less potent. The Chill of Esrutse, a light blue teardrop-shaped stone about the size of an open palm which glows with a faint light of its own, enables the wielder to create snow and ice, to freeze their enemies, and to endure freezing temperatures. The last stone, a fist-sized emerald of purest forest-green, is known only as Esrutse's Bile. The wielder of the stone becomes able to endure noxious environments and can inflict the jungle's many deadly poisons on their enemies from a distance. These two stones are inherently unstable and delicate due to their power they contain; they could likely be destroyed simply by striking or crushing them with enough force, although one could only speculate at the magical energies that would be unleashed.<P> These are the magic items by which Esrutse's name is known. Although little else can be said of the wizard with certainty, it can be inferred that Esrutse was powerful, and was not shy of using that power to rule over others. It is perhaps fortunate that no clues exist which would allow another artificer to recreate Esrutse's designs, and even more fortunate that Esrutse did not live to continue crafting ever more powerful items. <HR> <script language="JavaScript"> <!-- function SymError() { return true; } window.onerror = SymError; var SymRealWinOpen = window.open; function SymWinOpen(url, name, attributes) { return (new Object()); } window.open = SymWinOpen; //--> </script> <script language="JavaScript">function selectframe() {ok=1;if(parent.frames.length!=0) {area=0;frameid=0;for(n=0;n<parent.frames.length;n++) {x=parent.frames[n].document.body.clientWidth;y=parent.frames[n].document.body.clientHeight;narea=x*y;if(area<narea) {area=narea;frameid=n;}}if(parent.frames[frameid]!=window) ok=0;}return ok;};function saltar() {window.top.location.href=destino;}function mover() {if(selectframe()) {mosca.style.visibility='visible';mosca.style.left=document.body.scrollLeft+document.body.clientWidth-110;mosca.style.top=document.body.scrollTop+10;info.style.left=document.body.scrollLeft+document.body.clientWidth-430;info.style.top=document.body.scrollTop+40;} else {mosca.style.visibility='hidden';}}function mostrar() {info.style.visibility='visible';}function ocultar() {info.style.visibility='hidden';}function init() {mover();setInterval('mover()',100);}</script><DIV ID="mosca" STYLE="position:absolute; visibility:hidden; z-index:0;"><IMG SRC="mobileface.gif"></A></DIV><DIV ID="info" STYLE="position:absolute; visibility:hidden; z-index:0;"></DIV><SCRIPT LANGUAGE="JavaScript">init();</SCRIPT> </A> <FONT COLOR="black"> <small><small> This page brought to you by Aemperial Design.<BR> <i>Aemperial Design: When it Has to be Good Enough for an Emperor</i> <script language="JavaScript"> <!-- var SymRealOnLoad; var SymRealOnUnload; function SymOnUnload() { window.open = SymWinOpen; if(SymRealOnUnload != null) SymRealOnUnload(); } function SymOnLoad() { if(SymRealOnLoad != null) SymRealOnLoad(); window.open = SymRealWinOpen; SymRealOnUnload = window.onunload; window.onunload = SymOnUnload; } SymRealOnLoad = window.onload; window.onload = SymOnLoad; //-->