Saturday, March 9, 2024

The EverQuest RPG is a Pile of Baffling Design Choices Masquerading as a Generic d20 Cash-Grab

In the past I've touched on the early-to-mid 2000s phenomenon of everyone and their auntie adapting their property to d20 rules under the OGL. D&D 3E wasn't as market-stagnatingly powerful as 5E has become, but it was the game's first true brush up against mainstream popularity, whereas in the 20th century it had only enjoyed mainstream awareness (and occasional mockery) from other media.

This 3E Gold Rush for lack of a better term happened for pretty understandable reasons; nothing quite like the Open Game License existed previously and there were many early adopters of this novel concept, pushing out a single d20 book wasn't too risky for the average publisher considering the likely return on investment, and it was a pretty reliable way to introduce your IP to a wider audience.

Or at least that's how things started.

By the mid-2000s the market had hit 3rd party product saturation, and it was increasingly difficult to distinguish oneself amid the sea of similar d20 adaptations. There was also growing consumer cynicism toward the seemingly huge number of poorly-made books shoved out in order to ride the wave of market success that was already flattening by that point. It was a little bit like when self-published e-books became really big on Amazon and other platforms a few years later: an amazing opportunity for creative freedom and art also created a sucking mire of garbage and vacuous opportunism as a byproduct.

I'd insert a joke about capitalism here, but I haven't had my coffee yet, and in the spirit of our subject today I will not be going back to make edits.

That isn't to say there weren't some good adaptations out there that made the system work for their particular worlds and fictions; there absolutely are, you just have to know what you're doing when you're bending and bashing a semi-generic, semi-simulationist thing like d20 into different shapes that it wasn't originally intended for.

I honestly don't know which camp today's topic falls into. The creators obviously cared about transferring the original experience to tabletop, as opposed to just mapping existing names to existing features and calling it a day. But their care was a hacksaw that they used to Frankenstein together a bewildering pile of design choices that borders on endearing to me, because I have a weird habit of dragging out and trashing things that I end up feeling mildly positive toward.

I should probably examine that urge soon.

Anyway, we're talking about the EverQuest TTRPG!

AKA Keith Parkinson's Greatest Hits

Beginning in 2002 and topping out at a respectable 17 publications total, the EQRPG was Sony Online Entertainment's answer to the d20 craze by way of Sword & Sorcery publishing. It was not marketed using the d20 System logo and branding however, because of the plethora of small but cumulative changes made to the game in order to better replicate the systems and gameplay loops of the 1999 MMORPG. These include significant differences in character creation, progression, and the specifics of magic and combat.

There's plenty to cover, so let's get right into it.

Character Creation

To start off, randomized ability score generation is thrown out in favor of a modified 27 point-buy system. This isn't unusual by itself, since 3E was when point-buy became essentially coequal with (and often preferred over) 4d6-drop-lowest. What's odd is that this point-buy exists alongside a conversion system that allows you to transfer your character from the MMO to tabletop. So if you and your EQ guildies decided to sit down and play pen-and-paper instead of the video game version because, I dunno, maybe your dialup is particularly bad one summer weekend since it's 2002, then you would have a relatively easy time recreating your toons if you really wanted to.

As I understand it, the stat cap was 255 back in the day, but climbed steadily with each expansion since then. So I don't think you could convert a high-level character so easily these days. Then again at that level of play you'd be swimming in number soup, so maybe that's not a real issue.

Next you pick your race, which has far more weight in this game than in others. This is because EQ, like other D&D derivatives of the '90s, uses hard racial limits on character class- the first of several "AD&Disms" we'll see. Although I will say that in this case it is even stricter than what is found in AD&D, because in those editions there was at least an assumption of ultimate DM fiat with permitting certain character options. Not so with EQ; the list of available race/class combinations is all you get, because that's all you got in the video game (at the time of publication, at least; limits have mostly been removed in recent decades).

Note the saddening lack of playable frogloks, berserkers, etc.
No content after The Shadows of Luclin got ported to tabletop.

Besides being major gatekeepers to character class, species also comes with the bonuses and penalties you'd expect of 3E. Modifiers tend to be bigger and more swingy in EQ, despite usually cancelling one another out to total ±0. For example, the magical and slightly cone-headed Erudite humans get a whopping +6 to Int and +2 to Wis, but also -2 to Dex and Cha, and a -4 to Str. Similarly the woad-covered Barbarians of Norse-Gael inspiration get +4 to Str and +2 to Con, but also receive what I like to call the "orc treatment", -2 to all mental stats. This makes each species fairly specialized to a role, which feels redundant with the class lists that already point them in that same general direction.

For 4 out of the 14 playable species, another AD&Dism becomes an important factor: percentile XP penalty. Barbarians, trolls, ogres, and the reptilian iksar all suffer varying degrees of reduced XP award in exchange for their stronger innate traits, ranging from -5% to -20%. These numbers are ported directly from the early years of the MMO, with the somewhat surprising exception of halflings' +5% bonus, which was dropped for the book. Note that these are in addition to any penalties earned from multiclassing.

I'm not fond of XP modifiers in tabletop to begin with, but these mods really make me yearn for Level Adjustment. At least that can (usually) be bought off at a later point when racial abilities cease to make a significant impact on character strength. But in EQ, these numbers are forever. And with the standard level progression going all the way to 30 instead of 20, there's a lot of room for a gap to form that limited regeneration or Large size just won't close.

This gap is even more pronounced than in the MMO, I'd argue. In EQ online every XP penalty or loss from death is ultimately a measurement of extra time that needs to be invested by you, the individual. You can keep your troll shadowknight on par with your friend's human rogue by logging in during off hours and grinding a bunch of mobs to compensate, because even though it's a very social game, it's set in a living world and you aren't limited to a single circle of friends from start to finish. But D&D is a fundamentally party- and session-based game, which creates a lot of headache for the GM and anyone wanting to solo on the side in order to keep up with their friends.

On paper it's all quite similar to the bonuses and penalties that everyone gets in the MMO however, and it seems like that's what they were aiming for in the end. Good or bad, the writers often try to reify as much material from the virtual game for the textual one as they can. At least they didn't also include the class-based XP penalties that combine with others multiplicatively? Otherwise that troll shadowknight would be taking a combined -68% hit to every single reward.

Once you've selected your species, it's time to pick a class, spend your skill ranks, and select a starting feat like usual. Unlike usual, you also receive 5 "Training Points" to spend on more skill ranks or energy resistances, or to save up for your next feat or your first ability score increase. Training Points are awarded every level, and either supplement or entirely replace the standard skill, feat, and ability increase tracks of 3E. They are meant to simulate the Alternate Advancement system introduced in the Shadows of Luclin expansion, except instead of having to wait until level 51 to start dumping experience into it instead of new levels, you get a trickle of both from the very start.

There are limits in place so you can't dump all your points in one area, but overall it's a pretty unguided and freeform system for deciding how you want to improve your character outside of class abilities. Another way of describing it could be "time-consuming newbie trap", because of the extra bookkeeping required, and the increased chances of spending yourself into a corner if you haven't plotted stuff out in advance. The things up for purchase also don't really share multiples with the amount of points you get every level, which feels odd and awkward to me? It's like when they rig the prices in F2P MMOS so that you always have slightly too much or too little in-game shop currency to buy a thing you want, except they're not even trying to sell you anything here- it's just busywork.

Once you're done with all the essentials, the rest of character creation is mostly identical to your average 3E game. Name, gender, age, etc. You're also encouraged to choose a deity, with the welcome addition of an agnostic (read: fantastical apatheism) option for certain non-priest characters.

Alignment is present, which feels kind of weird. There are planes and loosely aligned factions of "good" and "evil" in the cosmology and lore of EQ, but moral alignment remains just shy of being an objective, bracketed thing in the MMO. Not so here, where the classic 9-point alignment system exists, with the words "lawful" and "chaotic" replaced by "orderly" and "discordant" because the latter terms have slightly more currency in the lore of Norrath.

Skills

Fortunately you're not limited to spending training points to get skill ranks; those are bonus ranks you can buy in addition to your usual class amount + Int every level. And refreshingly, no class in EQRPG is saddled with 2+Int skill points per level; most have 4+Int or more, and the lowest is 3+Int. This means that your average character is more likely to engage with some of the changes that EQRPG makes to the skill list.

For the record, EQ online has skills, but they don't work anything like 3E skills. They're closer to the skills of a d100 system or maybe Elder Scrolls games, where they encompass most character actions like types of attacks or spellcasting, and improve with use. I remember back when I made my fourth or fifth burner email in a row to play free trials of EverQuest as a kid (my parents don't believe in credit cards so I could never subscribe), I found a big group of people sitting around in the Mines of Gloomingdeep spamming each other with long text macros. I learned that this was to mutually improve their language skills; however much text your character 'heard' other people say in other languages slowly trained them in that language until the language cypher was removed entirely from their interface.

Luckily you don't have to do that here, nor will you run into a scenario where you get a neat new weapon but your skill in its type is a 1, forcing you to spend hours grinding it up to par. But it does create a case in the self-imposed constraints of trying to make EQ work in d20 where the writers just didn't (probably couldn't) port things over. Instead, they worked with the existing skill system and made a few more modest changes.

For starters, unlike most other d20 systems (and all of the memes about massaging orcs or seducing dragons), EQ actually does use the automatic failure and success rules for rolling 1 and 20 on skill checks, respectively. This doesn't include Take 20 checks, of course. And I'm slightly disappointed that they don't lean into it more by including skill crits or fumbles.

The skill list itself looks somewhat different, too. Since it was based on 3.0E rules you see the usual Sense Heading/Wilderness Lore divide and things like that. But we also see some additions to the list lifted straight from EQ online, like Alcohol Tolerance, Channeling, Meditation, and Taunt.

Alcohol Tolerance (Con) is a weird skill, both in its purpose and how it's used. You don't ever make Alcohol Tolerance skill checks by themselves; instead, you make a check, consult a table to find your check result, and then gain a corresponding bonus to your character's Fortitude save vs. inebriation when consuming large amounts of alcohol.

The reason you would ever invest in this skill is because alcohol is double-edged buff food in the EverQuest universe. Succeeding at your saves allows you to benefit from the positive effects of a specific drink, such as "metabolic" bonuses to Strength or Charisma-based checks, while only suffering the minimum penalties for getting sauced; usually a stacking -1 to Dex, Int, and Wis. Credit where credit is due, the writers did not pick the low-hanging fruit of giving dwarves a racial bonus to Alcohol Tolerance.

Channeling (Con) is a rebranding of Concentration, plain and simple, but Meditation (Int, Wis, or Cha depending on class) is an equally vital new skill for all casters. It controls spellcasters' ability to regenerate mana, and to prepare spells quickly. As with EQ online, casters have a mana pool and are limited to 8 prepared spells at any time (unless you spend feats to expand that number up to a max of 16).

But you can sit and meditate to regenerate spent mana per hour based on your ranks in this skill, and you can swap one spell out for another by taking a number of full-round actions equal to the spell's level minus your ranks in Meditation, minimum 1. You don't even need to leave slots empty like a wizard in 3E. The end result is that Meditation is the skill for casters, and it enormously improves their versatility and sustainability throughout a long and varied day of adventuring.

Taunt (Cha) is... such an aggravating missed opportunity. The language of aggro, taunts, and tanking may originate with early MMOs like EverQuest, but the thematic concept of heavily armored adventurers covering for and protecting their squishier counterparts has existed since basically the beginning of modern fantasy as a medium. D&D has sorely needed something like a taunt ability to reflect this element of the fiction for years, and even today in 5E it's only beginning to approach the concept with some success here and there. Obligatory shout-out to Barbarians of the Ancestral Guardian path.

So what is EQRPG's version of Taunt? A move action opposed by your target's Sense Motive to force them to target you with their attacks for 1 round. Said Sense Motive check can get pretty high bonuses if the target is already attacking someone else, can't understand the taunter, etc. So if a wolf got the drop on your party and is munching on the wizard (AKA the exact moment you'd want a reliable taunt ability), your 1st-level warrior could be looking at a DC of up to 30, plus whatever the actual Sense Motive check result is. The skill was a valiant attempt, but a failure.

There's also a whole host of custom Trade Skill, uh, skills which are new but don't do anything especially weird, so I won't go into them in depth. Baking, brewing, and shaman-exclusive alchemy all make different buff consumables. Pottery makes everything from humble jars to magical grenades. Tinkering, exclusive to gnomes, creates all manner of technological inventions, though thankfully they avoided going the way of guns, combat automatons, and power armor. The d20 rules for crafting and using things like that always tend toward jankiness in my experience.

Feats

Obviously feats didn't exist in EverQuest in 1999, nor when they were making these books, so their role here is to give 3E players something familiar, as well as pad out the class feature lists. Returning feats are mostly identical to their 3E counterparts, some with altered math to match the new rules here and there, like metamagic feats increasing mana cost by a percentage instead of higher spell slots, etc.

This section originally went into whiney detail about how they made the baffling decision to make Weapon Finesse worse by rewriting it to be selected per weapon type, but then I looked up the 3.0E version of the feat and realized that's exactly how it used to be.

I need to stop taking the QoL updates of 3.5E for granted, as weird as that is to say.

There are a few additions that give martial characters something resembling goodies, though. In EQ online anyone with a shield can perform Bash attacks, and members of the larger species—Barbarians, ogres, and trolls—can deliver Slam attacks in addition to their normal auto-swings. Bashes deal very little damage, but they're good for interrupting spellcasting and even stunning enemies briefly. Slams do much the same, but don't require a shield. There's also a Kick used by monks, rangers, and warriors of any size that functions similarly, but for some reason that was dropped for EQRPG.

The remaining Bash and Slam feats give you a special off-hand attack and a natural weapon, respectively. It's odd calling Slam a "feat" though, because it's only available to Large species and Barbarians, and they all get it automatically at 1st level. If you're using a magic shield or have a magic piece of armor on your shoulder, knee, or other slam-appropriate location on your body (a sequence of words I never want to type ever again), they count as magic attacks for the purposes of bypassing damage reduction, but any enhancement bonuses don't actually transfer to better attack or damage rolls. 

The feat gestures vaguely toward Bash's use as a spellcasting interrupt in the MMO, but it only increases the Channeling DC vs damage taken by 2 when you use it that way. Considering a shield's low damage (1d3 to 1d6 depending on size) you may as well save your Attack of Opportunity for your normal weapon; assuming the enemy spellcaster isn't just casting defensively, which feels like an oversight made when porting the attacks over. Using both at once on top of a full-attack option is a cheap way to throw a lot of attacks at the enemy though, and it's way more efficient in terms of BAB and feat cost than going down the finnicky Two-Weapon Fighting and Dual Wield feat lines.

Classes

The classes themselves are actually pretty uncontroversial when seen through the lens I'm using here. They resemble a mix of the EQ online classes and their D&D counterparts where there are overlaps like paladin and ranger, and they are slightly more true to the EQ class where there isn't anything comparable in base D&D, like shaman or shadowknight. They rely on a lot of bonus feats (and "bonus" feats that merely unlock a feat you still need to pay training points for) to flesh out class ability rosters, but each also receives at least one list of selectable powers, stances, or other abilities unique to their class identity.

Unsurprisingly for a 3E-inspired game, pure martial classes get a really raw deal compared to casters or even hybrids (which also get full BAB and high-level stance abilities just like martials do). This is doubly unsurprising, because EQ online also tended to treat a lot of its nonmagical classes like trash. The life of a warrior is pain. It's obviously a bad design choice, but by the standards of the time it's not an odd one.

More peculiar to me is how classes and equipment proficiencies interact.

Equipment

Armor typing is essentially unchanged from 3E, but weapon proficiencies have been tweaked. Only simple and martial categories exist, but these have been subdivided into many more types like one-handed slashing, hand-to-hand (blunt), or archery (piercing). For the most part these map to the weapons each class can wield in the MMO without creating too much work deciding where weapons from other d20 books should fit, but it also creates some weird edge cases within its own core content.

One example is how rogues are proficient in piercing weapons. Since there is no one-handed vs two-handed distinction within piercing weapons, this means your average rogue knows how to wield a heavy pick or a halberd as well as a dagger. Alternatively, a shaman normally limited to "tribal" weapons can fight just as effectively with a rapier or even a spiked chain, that infamous old mainstay of 3E trip builds which somehow made it into the list.

Weapons have also been given a new "delay" parameter that is meant to emulate the different speeds that weapons swing at when you are auto-attacking in EQ online. Daggers attack more times in a minute than a mace, a mace more than a big two-handed axe, etc. The way they try to do this in EQRPG is by giving each weapon a delay number that tells you which of 6 tables to look at when you're calculating your character's BAB and iterative attacks per round. It's like if AD&D's weapon speed factor was designed to impact raw DPS instead of initiative, but it's just as annoying to track.

You also have to familiarize yourself with at least 2 or 3 of these tables, because haste and slow effects alter these delay numbers. This is in addition to adding or subtracting whole additional attacks depending on the power of the particular effect, a la 3.5E Haste.

Let's finish up the subject of weapons by talking about procs.

Procs, or programmed random occurrences, are effects placed on a piece of equipment or given by an ability that occur with a set frequency in response to X criteria being met. When you swing your sword and sometimes it blasts the target for extra fire damage, that's a proc. It's pretty clearly inspired by D&D weapon enchantments that only take effect on a certain die roll, like vorpal swords. In EQ online there is a huge number of proc weapons that each have their own formula being computed behind the scenes to determine how often they trigger their effects, usually expressed as PPM (Procs Per Minute).

In EQRPG the writers opted not to go for calculations like that, mercifully. But they still wanted to include proc weapons somehow, because they include some of the most iconic weapons in Norrath. Instead they went for a much simpler system where if a weapon has a proc effect, then every time you roll to attack you also roll against its proc DC. Rolling for a proc is a Dexterity check that scales with the relative power of the proc's effect, starting at 20 for the lowest. Proc effects exist in addition to more normal 'static' effects placed on a weapon, so it's possible to find a flaming longsword that also has frost (proc).

I kind of like this decision, but I kind of don't. By decoupling certain effects from the 'on crit only' enchantments we see in 3E, you might see them used by more characters than falchion- or rapier-wielding crit-fishers. It's tied to an ability score that people probably won't bump super high since Dexterity didn't become a true god stat until Pathfinder 1E, but EQRPG throws enough stat bonuses around that they might be semi-consistent; I haven't done the math there. But the big thing for me is that you have to roll every time you attack to see if you proc. The book recommends you pick a differently colored d20 specifically for that, and just huck both dice at once with every attack. So past a certain wealth level you may as well hand 2d20 to everyone who isn't a dedicated spellcaster.

Speaking of dedicated spellcasters, we may as well move on to that whole mess.

Magic

As I alluded to earlier with my brief gloss over classes and the Meditation skill, dedicated spellcasters are strong in EQRPG. They also require a whole lot of extra bookkeeping, because both mana pools and spell costs can rise into the dozens and eventually hundreds of points. The caps for those pools can also fluctuate throughout the day from spells, gear bonuses, or ability damage. A good comparison for what you're dealing with is the 3E psion's power point pool.

Spells go up to 15th level in EQRPG, even though it would have made sense to just throw out that legacy system alongside all of the other changes being made. Spell lists cleave very close to their EQ counterparts, usually mimicking damage, healing, CC, and buff spells as well as the two games' very different math systems will allow.

There are fewer spells with noncombat applications here than in 3E, which makes full casters slightly less godlike than say, conjuration wizards in D&D. EQRPG wizards can still do things like hop across the planes and dominate a combat scenario, but they do so by traveling to very specific landmarks from the game world and by dealing direct hit point damage, respectively. Monsters are limited in the same way, with the majority of NPC casters and spell-like ability repertoires geared toward combat. This flattens encounter design quite a bit, which is a big loss in my opinion. Although the worst part of player magic limitations to me is the truly lamentable loss of the prestidigitation cantrip.

I also wish the editors had gone through the spells a little more closely. Spells tend to be organized into spell lines with only the 1st rank explained in full, but the descriptions of spells are given alphabetically. This requires you to flip back to that first spell for reference when looking at differently-named spells over a dozen entries deep into a line. This gets especially annoying because most spells are just increasing amounts of direct damage or healing, and so much space and effort could be saved by consolidating all the different ranks in a line together on the same page.

Buff spells love to add odd-numbered ability scores, or more awkward percentile modifiers to the mix like -10% mana cost or +66% movement speed. One haste-adjacent spell I found even adds staggered bonus attacks depending on whether it's an odd or even-numbered combat round, a la AD&D fighter weapon specialization rules.

And sometimes, the writers' math just doesn't add up.

Beyond the Player's Handbook, which has been the focus of this post, there were many other EQRPG books. You get the usual GM's guide and monster manuals, some are region-specific gazetteers like Faydark or the moon Luclin, others are dungeons or adventures taken from the MMO, and a few provide new magic spells and items, or NPCs. All of it is pretty standard stuff you see coming out of any 3rd party d20 series that lasts long enough. They all follow in the footsteps of oddity set by the handbook rather than doubling down on anything, however. The weirdest thing I found in those supplements was a weirdly good, high-level spell named "Skin of the Cabbage".

4/23 Edit: Somehow I forgot to mention another bit that EQRPG does differently throughout its adventures and modules, and only remembered it while working on my post about the Diablo II games. You get experience points for completing quests in this game. This is the norm for video RPGs, but it was pretty rare in D&D prior to its experiments in alternate tracks of advancement starting in 4E.

At its core, this is extra mechanical incentivization to pursue a satisfying narrative conclusion over plain old murder and theft. Which you might think would be unnecessary in a game called EverQuest, but unfortunately it was the one to introduce the world to some of the worst MMORPG grinds ever. Quest rewards in tabletop therefore act as both a faithful mechanic and another means of avoiding what the original game is guilty of. End Edit.

As poorly as some of these systems conversions performed, and as strange or pointless as the concept of porting an MMO to tabletop can feel, I kind of applaud the writers behind the EQRPG? They could have phoned this series in so hard and made a very forgettably bad product, but they chose to try and do something with it instead. The art direction also helps; though most interior illustrations are not by Keith Parkinson, they all try to emulate the feeling of those old cover art spreads. The page borders and chapter heading plates even evoke the chunky old user manuals you used to get with every disc set. Even if it's certainly not the EverQuest, it tries hard to be an EverQuest game.

The same can't quite be said of its sequel.

EQ2RPG

After 2003 rolled around with 3.5E, there was a second surge of OGL games. Among this wave were a few "second editions" of games that had previously published under 3.0 rules that set out to update their games for the new rules. Sometimes the changes were meaningful and allowed a game a fresh start where they corrected their past mistakes and moved closer to their vision of what the game could be. Sometimes they were like the glorified textbook reprints that you have to shell out over $100 to use for a single semester in community college.

EverQuest II RPG is... kind of both?

EQ2 pushed the game's timeline forward a few hundred years and nudged it over an alternate universe or two. Set in a version of Norrath where the moon exploded and rained destruction across the planet, many familiar sights from the first game were destroyed or irrevocably altered. Entire continents were broken up into disconnected islands, prompting the early story to be focused on hopping on a boat and exploring what the world has become.

EQ2RPG (these acronyms are getting stupid, but just bear with me for a little longer) is also set in this different Norrath, but it still shares most of its 3E DNA with the previous game. It cleans up that 27-point character generation slightly, and makes Training Point prices cheaper across the board, as well as providing a few more options for it. The skills vs cross-class skills mechanic is removed, making it so that class skills are the only ones you can buy at 1st level, but everything after that is equally available. Even race/class limits are done away with.

Another big change in accordance with EQ2 online is Archetypes. The MMO genre was shifting toward a more rigid class role structure of tank, melee DPS, ranged DPS, and healer at this time, not just in the way characters performed in end-game content, but in the way they were conceived of to begin with. An example of this is the elimination of hybrid classes as their own unique category, and shoving everything else under the umbrellas of Fighter, Mage, Priest, and Scout in EQ2.

Everyone starts off as one of these 4 archetypes in the tabletop version as well, but can specialize into a class starting at around 5th to 7th level, and an advanced class specializing even further starting at around 10th. Some of these options were alignment-locked in the MMO at launch, but not so here. In fact, alignment was dropped entirely! 

In essence, classes and advanced classes are the prestige classes of 3E, but grafted onto generic starting classes as branches in a series of multi-path character trees. MMO class specs, if you will. Of course you the tabletop player aren't limited the same way your MMO character is; multiclassing is still an option in this ruleset, which creates kind of a best-of-both-worlds scenario.

Not that you'd necessarily want to stunt your progression with multiclassing; you're kind of on a tight schedule. After all, you're only just reaching your character's real class identity and fruition of the arc of mechanical growth at 10th to 12th level. That's the bottom of the valley where most campaigns die in typical 20-level D&D, let alone the 30 levels of EQRPG.

This strikes me as an odd and probably unintentional mistuning of progression, because in the source material most characters could finish with their archetype and start on their class as soon as they left the tutorial zone, the Isle of Refuge. Most GMs don't rocket you from 1 to 6 in a session or two, though; something that can be done in about an afternoon in the video game becomes something many days or weeks in the making in tabletop. In general that's fine, and to be expected; tabletop is just slower on average. But I don't think that's what the writers were intending here.

At least the starting archetypes aren't devoid of depth, thanks to Talents.

Talents are another very MMO'y term injected into the game that act as an answer to the problem of bloated, sometimes very lopsided class feature rosters. Every few levels—more frequent for Fighters and Scouts, less often for Mages and Priests—you receive a talent point that you can spend on your choice of class talent, which is a single discrete class feature. Many have minimum level requirements like feats, and also like feats a few are clearly traps that are best avoided. But otherwise you can pick the order and type of abilities you get. Classes and advanced classes also give talent points with their own pools of abilities to draw from, but you can always spend them on features from previous lists as well.

This system has no parallel with anything in EQ1 or EQ2 to my knowledge, but it's also just kind of good on its own. I liked it when Pathfinder did something similar with most of their classes, and this feels like a more drastic prototype of the same idea.

In other ways, EQ2RPG refused to advance, not even to match its online counterpart. Sometimes it even regressed slightly.

As an example, EQ2 removed all XP penalties; at launch, the only thing you'd suffer from was XP debt from dying. EQ2RPG did not remove the penalties put in place by its predecessor. In fact they added more for new species like the kerra and ratonga, and made them slightly worse for existing ones, by bumping trolls up 5% to match what they'd originally been saddled with in EQ1 online.

Spellcasting remains fundamentally unchanged from its predecessor, although they did tidy up the lists partially by condensing spell lines into the same spell with multiple ranks, like I was complaining about up above before I bothered to finish doing my research down here in the present. Where once there may have been project lightning, followed by thunder strike, thunderclap, thunderbolt, etc. you now just have 2 markedly different spells with 3 ranks each. It's a step in the right direction I think, but it's weird that they didn't go all the way with the fix.

They also decided to bring back the 3.0E rules about how weapon sizes affect what a weapon counts as in somebody's hands, instead of just going by size category alone? Not even the first EQRPG did that, and it's so weird to see it pop up now.

The sequel also feels like it had way less of a budget than its older counterparts. The vast majority of the art in this book is either a CG still lifted from the promotional campaign for the video game, or an in-game screen shot or loading screen asset. I recognized about a dozen different frames from the charmingly goofy series of new player introduction videos that SOE hosted for a while.

The usage of preexisting assets isn't bad in and of itself, or at least I don't think so; it's just that EQ2 wasn't a very good-looking game one year after launch, and its low-res and weirdly lit graphics don't do the book any favors. Especially not when the models and spell effects have been awkwardly cut out of an existing screen shot and then transparencied onto the page.

Don't even get me started on that mitten hand.

#UnpopularOpinion tract time, I always thought the extremely cartoonish kerra from the trailer for the cancelled EverQuest Next project still looked better than the soulless, plasticine meat puppets of EQ2. Stylization is like light rust resistance for your character designs. Even if they're not that good to begin with, they won't age quite as rapidly.

Another indicator of the lower effort put into the sequel by the publisher is that half the classes are missing from the Player's Guide. The Priest and Mage archetypes aren't even playable without consulting the Spell Guide that was published exclusively in PDF form in 2005, over a year after the first book went to print. Apparently Sword & Sorcery released a free PDF of some basic low-level spells on their website in the interim, but to my knowledge it's lost to link rot nowadays.

Even with the Player and Spell guide, EQ2RPG is kind of unplayable by itself. It still needs several books from the first RPG to give it the monsters, magic items, GM tools, etc. to make a working campaign with.

The creators supposedly said that going forward, all new books would support both EQ1 and EQ2. I say 'supposedly' because Wikipedia says so, but there's been a [citation needed] tag on that sentence since October of 2007. A list on the White Wolf Wiki references 3 cancelled books that were referenced in issues of White Wolf Quarterly or Sword & Sorcery Insider; these were to be EverQuest II Gazetteer: The Shattered LandsIslands of Mist, and Kunark: Past and Present, the title of which allows us to infer that the plan to support EQRPG 1 and 2 simultaneously was real, at least at one point.

But planned or not, new books never happened. Troubled production ultimately led to the entire EQRPG line getting quietly shelved after its second edition sloughed out onto the scene. I have no evidence to back it up, but I can't imagine sales were great either. The 3rd-party d20 market had not grown less saturated during this period, after all.

The End, Finally

Like so many of my rambles, I'm not sure how to end this. I began wanting to lightly mock the existence of these books, and I suppose I did in the end. But I also grew strangely fond of this weird little experiment. It was at the periphery of a massive shift in the industry, and though I don't think its effects could be felt very far or for long, I like it for having existed. If only so that folks like me with nothing better to write about can do a bit of RPG archaeology and wonder at what came before.

One thing it did leave me with, was a question of how other people received this game in its day. EQ has always had lore and story if you look hard enough for it, but the 'role' has always taken a backseat to the 'play' in this game, whether it takes the form of exploring the relatively huge living world, earning DKP in raids, or just grouping with new and old friends.

But what stories have EQ role-players been able to tell, both on-and offline? What memories and experiences did this tabletop edition help create, rather than merely mimic? Is this game beloved to anyone out there?

And can someone please explain the Fippy Darkpaw meme to me? Weren't there like a dozen other gnolls? Why'd he get so popular?

Thursday, February 8, 2024

Let's Dig Into: A Semi-Random Assortment of Issues of The Warlock Returns (Advanced Fighting Fantasy 2E)

 I've gone on record as saying I like Fighting Fantasy, and I do. Its world is goofy in ways I wish Warhammer still was, and the system itself is pretty simple to get with. It kept me company as an anxious child, while its descendent helps make me money as an anxious adult. But I haven't really engaged with the 2nd edition of the game much since its release back in 2011. Sure, I fiddled with the character creation rules here once, but that just doesn't feel like enough.

So, I've resolved to satisfy that empty space with a semi-random and out-of-order assortment of magazine issues!

The Warlock Returns is the official zine for AFF2E, first published by Arion Games in 2020. It's a throwback to the tabletop gaming publications of old that combines fan content creations with letters and updates from the publisher, plus regular installments in a slightly cringe-worthy comic serial and the occasional charity drive. At the time of writing there are 11 issues, with the latest released this January.

I only know the zine exists because I was trawling the Fighting Fantasy wiki a few weeks ago. Naturally I was looking to see if shamans exist anywhere in any of the gamebooks' mechanics, and to my surprise I learned that there is a dedicated school of shamanist magic in issue #4. So I whinged and wibbled with myself for a bit before grabbing the PDF on sale.

#4 begins like most TWR issues with a "Denizens of the Pit" segment detailing some new monsters to throw at your players. Unlike others however, this one provides a whole generator for creating bizarre animals that have adapted and mutated in isolated island environments. We're talking stuff like psychic terror flamingos here.

TWR seems to have a slight predisposition toward tropical island exploration; nearly every issue has a rather on-the-nose "JUNGLE MANIA" section towards the front. It serves to flesh out a biome of the Fighting Fantasy world of Titan that is mostly neglected elsewhere. And although the name sounds a lot worse than it is, it is still a very pulpy collection of savage jungle tropes at heart, with all the societal baggage that carries.

Also one of the diseases you can contract is literally named Jungle Fever. I feel like the editors had to have noticed that during their pass, yeah?

Regardless, herein lies the shaman, so I made a beeline for it.

The first thing I feel I should say is that "shaman" doesn't feel like the right name for this option. This is not only because of the sometimes problematic practice of ascribing the label of shaman to widely disparate practices in real life (which I am crazy guilty of and currently trying to get better about); it's also because from the spell list to the ritual items to the artwork, this shaman is clearly modeled on practitioners of Hollywood Voodoo, and to a lesser extent other pastiches of Sub-Saharan African religions.

... Then again, including a literal witch doctor class in a segment titled JUNGLE MANIA would've been even worse, so maybe forget that whole quibble.

Shamanism is a school of spellcasting similar to minor magic, wizardry, or sorcery from the core book- it's very similar to sorcery in fact, because they both rely on casting from Stamina like in Troika! and because of their not-insignificant amount of spell list overlap. The shaman has automatic access to 24 spells, 7 of which are reprints of sorcerer spells from the core book. The remaining 17 spells include such classics as curing diseases or curses, stabbing dolls with needles to damage or debuff targets, raising zombies, and scaring away demons and spirits with a terrifying mask. There are also a few unexpected utility spells like improving the crop yield of a plot of farmland, or preventing forest fires.

It's a decent mix of effects, but 1/4th of the list being reprints feels underwhelming- especially since the spread of sorcery reference cards that comes with this issue doesn't include the new shaman spells.

Did I mention the reference cards? They remind me a lot of the little power cards they made to keep track of all our stuff in D&D 4E.

Perfect for helping Salticid become one with the earth

I wasn't keen on checking out the rest of the zine after satisfying my curiosity for the shaman, but I scrolled through anyway. There was a gnome inventor's shop which can also function as a dungeon if your party is full of jerks, a review of Troika! by somebody other than the AFF2E creator who's not all that interested in it (which I find kinda funny), some material for the sci-fi counterpart to AFF called Stellar Adventures, and of course the aforementioned cringey comic strip about the adventures of the goofy narcissist Gareus, who also writes the zine's Dear Abby-esque column, "Agony Aunt".

It has more eels and bare, hairy butt than you might expect.

Eventually I perused my way down to the section on new player races. I was curious because one of the new options offered isn't actually that new. Rhino-people have existed in Fighting Fantasy for a while, to the point that they were one of the two examples shown in the "how to build a new race" section of the AFF2E rules, right next to goblins. So I pulled the book out for comparison, and found that TWR rhinos are weaker than those in the core rules, perhaps because the balancing was a little screwy the first time around. They keep their natural armor and horn weapon, but get lower luck and a slew of restrictions like needing to eat twice as much food every day or being clumsy.

There's a species of amphibious frog people called the Slykk too and they're cool and all, but I hardly gave them a second glance before my eyes drifted up to the banner at the top of the page displaying the other species appearing in the zine's other issues.

Well shoot. I gotta check out the half-orcs, right?

Of course I do. So I scoured the issue list until I found that half-orcs appeared in #3, which I quickly backtracked to nab because it was still on sale.

Orcs in the Fighting Fantasy world of Titan are an odd mix. Sometimes they're the cartoonishly-proportioned football hooligans of Warhammer, but other times they're gangling and more humanly nasty thugs like your classic Shagrats and Gorbags. They've also taken the hat normally reserved for humans in fantasy and become the species that seems genetically compatible with just about everything else on the planet. Sometimes these half-orcs are relatively well-adjusted individuals who find friendship and community, such as the Svinn tribe from the Shamutanti Hills. Other times they're the patricidal children of sexual violence like the TWR half-orc.

Here, half-orcs have it rough. They're unwanted, both cultures despise and mock them, they're prone to being attacked or even enslaved, and the best work they can find for themselves tends to be violent. Some despise their own existence so much that they make it their life's mission to kill all orcs, starting with their orcish parent (who is invariably typed as the father). To account for this miserable societal condition, half-orcs suffer a whopping -3 to any Etiquette test, kneecapping their ability to be social and diplomatic.

A face that, canonically, not even a mother could love. Rough.

They aren't completely forsaken, though. Half-orcs get some of the versatility of humans in the form of several Advanced Skills and a free Talent choice. They get a few positives from their orcish side as well, like dark seeing and 1 higher starting Skill compared to humans, plus free ranks in Brawling and Strength. They also get a second stomach.

Oh, right. That probably bears explaining.

In this world, orcs have multiple stomachs. They rely on these to digest virtually anything that they can find in their nutrient-deficient caves and wastelands. Wood, dirt, bone, even some metals; it's all orc food if they're hungry enough. Half-orcs inherit this "orc tripe", allowing them to eat almost anything without getting sick as well as the option to eat 1 more health-recovering meal per day than normal, but without the requirement that rhino-people suffer.

To me the TWR half-orc is an interesting and fun option despite its emphasis on a horrid conception and childhood that many other properties (even AD&D back in the day) either keep vague or leave out entirely.

This is in contrast to another option that I like because of its grimdark background. That is the Black Elves visible in the out-of-order banner above, which are found in TWR issue #6. An issue which I didn't pick up while the sale was on late last year, so I sat on this post idea for a couple of months until I decided to start writing it so that I'd have a justifiable reason to buy the PDF for myself.

Thank you for enabling me, dear Burrowers!

Jokes aside, I was meaning to get #6. And I did! So let's get into it.

Fast forward to #6 and TWR is much the same as it's always been. Jungle Mania is still plugging away, new dungeons, rumors, and story beats for AFF and SA are at a steady flow, Gareus continues to be a hairy schmuck, etc. There's also been a drip feed of updates for project AFF Online, a proprietary website for playing AFF over the internet. It's still dragging its feet through the testing phase, but the team and community seem committed to providing a platform that's more integrated with their game than one of the larger and more general apps like Roll20.

And then there are the black elves. To really understand them, we have to have an elvish history lesson. Forgive me for what I'm about to put you through.

Way back in the history of Titan, there was a great battle between Good and Evil that ended with a status quo stalemate and the gods packing up and moving back into the heavens, leaving mortals to their own devices. Elves took the Third Age Elrondy kind of approach and took a backseat to the events of the world, cultivating knowledge and wisdom and advising the forces of Good without doing a whole lot themselves. Over time some elves took serious issue with this, because they believed their people could and should lead the forces of Good to a final triumph over Evil instead of just standing by while bad things happened in the world. But the elven council, a kind of federal monarchy in charge, said no to that; it was a real U.N. Moment in the eyes of the agitators.

But an energetic young elf-prince with a keen interest in humans named Viridel Kerithrion decided nuts to that, and gathered a large faction of elvish dissenters to lead a coup with. They would wrest power from the complacent and lead the world into a new golden age of goodness and freedom; with the elves and their interests conveniently located at the very top of this new world order, of course. Unfortunately for wannabe elf NATO, the wife of the high king happened to have the gift of foresight and realized something was up, so the most prominent royals of the council didn't even show up on the day of the coup, and Viridel and his coconspirators just killed a bunch of middling nobles before holing up in the council palace in a vain attempt to weather the severe counterattack that came.

Eventually the siege drove the rebels into underground escape tunnels, which they followed back to Viridel's homeland, where he tried to declare an independent state, only for them to get crushed a second time by the united elf army that they'd just finished evading. They retreated a second time into an ancient abandoned underground dwarf city and locked the door behind them, intending to make their final stand now that they'd pointlessly cornered themselves.

But instead of mopping up, the other elves decided to give up and went back home. From here, Viridel lead an exodus deep into the bowels of the earth in search of a new home and purpose. Why this supposedly great warrior made so many tactical blunders in a row is not known, and why his people continued to follow him after this point is a mystery to me. But it probably has something to do with this next part.

See, Viridel's interest in humans led to him becoming an acolyte of a human god in order to fully understand the mindset of those brash, short-lived youngsters. Unfortunately the god he picked was Slangg, god of malice, whom Viridel saw as the embodiment of the human spirit; malicious, petty, vengeful, and violent.

He's, uh... not completely wrong.

Slangg corrupted him into a sorcerous, Evil-aligned tyrant a la Malekith from Warhammer, and his followers soon after. They became the very Lolthite variety of subterranean dark elves, black-skinned as an old-timey and yikes shorthand for their inner evil, dabbling in demon worship, slavery, living sacrifice, and all manner of aristocratic decadence in their underground cities as they spread their influence from the shadows.

But those are the dark elves. The black elves were on board with Viridel's plan for direct action right up until they got their asses handed to them twice in a row and folks started getting sacrificed to names like Demon Prince Myurr. At that point, a handful of elf clans had an 'are we the baddies?' moment and realized that maybe they were getting a raw deal here. So they disavowed their brethren and booked it back up to the surface world. From there, they separated into wandering merchant caravans that now brave the desolate places of Titan, living a nomadic existence supplemented by trade between far-flung cities and protected by mounted archers.

Despite the name 'black', black elves are actually the most visually diverse elves on Titan. They range from grey to black in pigmentation, and they often decorate their bodies in elaborate programs of magical tattoos and "exotic" clothing and hairstyles. My guess as to why they got saddled with the name 'black' elves is because 'dark elves' was already claimed by a more popular and well-known fantasy archetype, meanwhile the near-synonymous Old Norse term Svartálfar was just kind of sitting right there collecting dust.

The black elves are hated by their dark elf former kin, and their relationship to surface elves and other species isn't much better. They are perpetual exiles who sometimes dip into tropes ascribed to the Romani people and other itinerants, but not too overtly? They actually remind me a bit of the dunmer Ashlanders from The Elder Scrolls, without the Mahdist prophesy. They are complex, downcast but resilient people who are oftentimes the mysterious Other. But as this player option attests, sometimes they're at the center of things.

As for the actual options, I suppose I've put those off too long. Black elves are mechanically almost identical to system standard wood elves, -2 Stamina. They replace forest lore with underground lore, plus one other environmental lore to reflect their ethnogenesis and more recent history. They get some of their 1 rank Advanced Skills decided for them by automatically gaining con, evaluation, and secret signs: tattoos to play up their sometimes roguish caravaneering. They also get the Survivor talent to represent their living off the land in between cities.

They also get immunity to the "all elves are conventionally beautiful" stereotype.

Way more mechanically interesting are the bird people who immediately follow the black elves in this issue. They possess a natural attack, rules for flight and having a cumbersome wingspan, and even a reverse vertigo effect that they suffer from. But I should leave something for you to check out on your own, if this overlong post has piqued your interest in The Warlock Returns. It's got a smattering of good bits.


Tangentially related, did you know Elden Ring was partly inspired by Fighting Fantasy creatures like Red Eyes and those crystal people with the goofy haircuts? I did not.

Sunday, January 28, 2024

10 More Unpublished Manuscripts for Your Failed Novelists

Another cluttered, dusty study calls out to you like a banshee heralding the death of your free time and good taste. Tucked away in the dark corners of the world on shelves and in hard drives, monsters of middling quality lie in wait. Won't you give them a read? Won't you let them sink their prose into your tender grey matter? Worse yet, might you dare to seek out the ailing mind that conjured them, or even take one home to finish for yourself?


(Content Notice: references to body horror (albeit a positive depiction), extremist ideologies, suicide, and some bad stuff happening to a "kid".)


1 Rigatoni, Rig My Tony

Biopunk greaser street racing in a neo-retro-rockabilly world.

"Somewhere just off the Jersey Turnpike" exists a barely secret world of illegal street racing, vintage American cultural revival, and irradiated pasta. It is a tight-knit community that hearkens back to the old days of American working class disillusionment and youthful anarchy, drenched in pomade and blasting early rock n' roll in the background. But it's not hotrods this group is driving.

These neo-greasers possess the secret to cooking nuclear material into their food in such a way that it produces spontaneous, superhuman, yet temporary mutations in the imbiber. This food often (though not exclusively) takes the form of a pasta dish from back home, hence any mutant meal gets colloquially glossed as 'rigatoni'. One who is a career rigatoni-eater is similarly known as a 'Tony'.

Rigatoni gives the eater the ability to rearrange their body's molecular structure, allowing them to rapidly shapeshift into new and oftentimes frightening-looking configurations of flesh, bone, and sinew on the fly. While transformed into these mutable musclebeasts, these racers voluntarily carry a rider on their back (or some other area of their new anatomy) who acts as a sort of coach and orienteer, keeping the Tony on track and reducing any risks of "cognition meltdown". In turn the Tony protects the rider from being reduced to so much human detritus by the speed and violence of an average street race, with disqualification resulting if either party suffers harm. Like a jockey and mount in equal partnership together, they race other duos down lonely stretches of highway, through obstacle courses, and even across densely populated suburban areas on occasion.

The newest Tony to join the community is Toni, a recent high school expellee. Disowned by her family and suffering severe dysphoria besides, it is her despondent wandering by some old train tracks that puts her face-to-face with a near-skeletal serpentine creature the length of a 16-wheeler and a vaguely simian flesh geyser competing in a 1,000 meter dash. When they both transform back into unassuming mechanics with unscathed riders each, Toni is immediately captivated.

Toni joins the racers, and in the process of clumsily finding community with them she undergoes the training and conditioning needed to handle rigatoni safely. It is a physically and psychologically demanding process, but she throws herself at it with enthusiasm, and soon makes progress under the tutelage of a junkyard worker and guru known as the Rat Lord. Her first mutation into a thing of 'smoke, oil, and ferro-nails' is an experience of utterly transcendental joy and oneness with her infinite new selves.

Toni proves to have an aptitude for racing and shifting shape on the fly, and soon rises up the informal score board to become a mid-tier racer. Ironically her biggest point of friction in the community is not racing, but finding the right rider; despite the professionality and strict platonism that most duos conduct themselves with, Toni's interactions with several riders over the course of the novel take on a flavor of almost comedically awkward high school dating.

The story relies upon several Italian-American stereotypes throughout its plot, but also takes time to depict with some nuance the community and solidarity between Italian, Black, Puerto Rican, and other ethnic minorities who all contributed to the Greaser subculture once upon a time in the real world. This common humanity exists in harmony rather than tension with the common superhumanity of the Tonies, and much of the back half of the novel explores this spectrum through the point of view of Toni.

In the final race of the story, things go climactically awry. An old, disused bridge over the chosen track collapses under the weight of a Tony's sloughing climb over it, trapping Toni and her newest rider under the rubble. Worse yet, the jarring experience knocks Toni back into her base form, weakening her greatly. When it seems like injuries or depleting oxygen might claim the pair first, the other racers come together to rescue them.

The writer displays an awareness of—as well as an utter contempt for—the cowardice of subtle writing by having Toni's new found family both figuratively and literally come through for her in ways that her old family never did. They dissolve their bodies into streams and particles thin enough to work their way through the rubble, so that they can reconstitute inside the collapse to protect and free them from within.

As she limps back home with the other racers, Toni's first thoughts are of immense gratitude, followed quickly by a desire to get back out on the track as soon as possible.


2 The Sweetest of Things

An ultraviolent splatterpunk action novel revolving around a very stupid conspiracy theory.

Our protagonist is one Edouard Gagné, an angry young man living in the suburbs of Laval, Quebec. The story begins with Edouard debating what to buy at a convenience store, and having much difficulty with it. The only thing he seems certain of is that he, for whatever reason, despises with every fiber of his being the "godless cads and slatterns" who work at McCain frozen foods. He's in the process of being yelled at by the manager for stomping a bag of mashed potato Smiles when the store comes under attack by a squad of armed and masked men who kill several bystanders and abduct the rest, Edouard included. One of the assailants injects him with something, and he falls unconscious.

When Edouard awakens, he finds himself in a vast industrial facility somewhere in the wilderness. He handily escapes the meat hook he's tied to and overcomes his captors using hand-to-hand techniques that he allegedly learned from former spec-ops. He leaves the other captives, still unconscious, to explore the facility. He quickly learns from conveniently placed infographic posters that he's in a maple syrup factory, as well as the dark secret behind it.

In this universe, maple syrup is processed out of the remains of slaughtered Quebecois people on an industrial scale, with the fanciest Grade A syrup coming from people whose ancestry traces back to the earliest pure laine families of New France. As if to make the deeply uncomfortable parallels to the old myth of blood libel even more explicit, the syrup made from children is sweeter still. As the largest importer of Canadian maple products, the United States is revealed as the mastermind behind this silent and sticky genocide. Maple trees aren't even real; they were invented by the government in the 1950s. 

Edouard bears witness to the process of maple syrup making first-hand as the other captives are brought out on an automated disassembly line that ends in a massive, crimson-gold boiling vat. Edouard reasons that he must be partially resistant to the harvesters' anti-Quebecois sedative because he had a grandfather from Guelph, Ontario (which was always a point of personal shame for him).

Edouard proceeds to break out of the factory in a bloody rampage. Hounded by heavily armed frozen food trucks, he's eventually chased into the urban heart of Montreal. There, his discovery sparks a violent uprising among the populace that throws the province and much of the rest of eastern Canada into chaos. The people had been waiting for an opportunity to rebel, evidently, and this proves to be the perfect spark. Judging by a mushroom cloud that is briefly glimpsed toward the end, Toronto may even get nuked.

The book closes with a lengthy afterword about Quebec separatism, with a reading list and several organizations to donate to the cause through. This suggests that despite the over-the-top absurdity of the book and its plot, the author is being entirely, deathly serious about its underlying message.

Why it is written in American English rather than Canadian French is left unexplained.


3 Gondwanalandmansaga: The Saga of the Man From Gondwanaland

Sweaty, naked, Lost World-esque survival in a prehistoric jungle.

Somewhat inexplicably, this sequel to the as-of-yet unpublished The Lay of the Cantankerous Hrütlander is already well underway. It picks up immediately after the book last ends, with our eponymous sullen "hero" transported millions of years back in time by a Norse völva for his transgressions (and general awfulness).

From the moment he arrives in the past, the Hrütlander is forced to battle against the uniformly savage fauna (and occasionally flora) of the vaguely Jurassic Period land in which he finds himself. Though well-armed upon arrival, the Hrütlander quickly loses his armor and weapons from a combination of battle damage, and just plain being so badass that his possessions crumble around him without a hope of keeping up. Even his prized atgeir doesn't survive his trip through the digestive tract of an unusually large razanandrongobe.

Thus reduced to galivanting about the steaming jungles in nothing but a loincloth and a perpetual sheen of sweat, the Hrütlander goes 'native' as the book describes, despite the fact that there are no natives to emulate in the middle Mesozoic Era. The text makes a point of contrasting the Hrütlander's past glories with his present (even more past) low points, including juxtaposing the memories of an orgiastic mead hall feast with a truly hideous bout of dysentery.

The Hrütlander's luck turns around when he decides to raise an egg that he finds in an abandoned nest rather than eating it. The egg soon hatches into an easily domesticated Chilesaurus diegosuarezi, which somehow manages to serve as the Hrütlander's trusty steed for the remainder of the book. The Hrütlander names it Feytrdrekki, or "fat dragon", rendered in the author's typical style of barely grasping and then creatively misspelling Old Norse words. Chilesaurus was an herbivore, but the Hrütlander raises Feytrdrekki on the same exclusively-meat diet as himself. They form a bond, and the Hrütlander almost comes to regard his mount with something resembling respect and affection; an understated landslide of character development, all told.

The Hrütlander and Feytrdrekki carry on for some time, hunting and carving a path of destruction through the jungles until they happen upon something peculiar; a set of tracks belonging to no creature they've yet seen or eaten. Somehow the Hrütlander instantly deduces that they must belong to a biped of similar size and build to a human being. He further surmises that they must belong either to an intelligent species, or to another person shot backward through time. The novel ends as they follow the tracks into the heart of the jungle, where a misty chain of mountains rises ominously in the distance.

Again, the final line declares that the story shall continue in the next installment, The Cantankerous Hrütlander and the Fortress-City of the Reptilians. There is so far no inkling that this has been written or even plotted out yet. Hopefully it stays that way.


Po Beg's Säbig's Yurt Cart

A contemplative historical fiction drama about the last khatun of the Second Turkic Khaganate.

The novel follows Qutluğ Säbig Qatun as she leads the remnants of the royal Ashide clan into exile. The story is told from the perspective of her yurt cart, which groans under the weight of memory and empathetic anguish as it bears the khatun south into Tang dynasty China. The cart "feels" the thoughts and motivations of anyone in direct contact with it, creating a sort of wandering third person limited omniscient point of view through which the story is told.

Through the cart, we learn how Säbig lost her husband and two sons to the chaos of mid-8th century Turkic nomadic politics. She married her husband the Bilge Khagan while he was still a prince, but soon after found herself queen regent for her two sons after he was poisoned. The long-standing rivalry between the Khaganate and the Tang Dynasty had recently reached yet another boiling point with the Tang ascendant, and it is not hard for many at the khagan's court to believe he was poisoned by traitors in league with the emperor.

The resulting atmosphere of paranoia tears the aristocracy apart. The khaganate becomes effectively divided between its western and eastern governors, who pay only lip service to the little khagans, Yollıg and Tengri. Säbig, for her part, ruthlessly defends her children from would-be assassins and usurpers while also maneuvering to assassinate the governors and rake back centralized control of the empire. It ends in ruin, with one son and then other other murdered or dead under mysterious circumstances. One governor revolts, and his rebellion proves to be the match that lights the whole powder keg on fire. Säbig and her entourage barely escape the dissolution of the long-ailing empire into a free-for-all battle between Karluks, Basmyls, Uyghurs, and competing clans of Göktürks.

The exodus south is a long, grueling, downcast affair. For the first time in years, Säbig is forced to interact with the commoners and bondservants among her subjects who do much of the work migrating hundreds of people and thousands of herd animals across the bitter Inner Asian steppe. She makes overtures to win the people over, but much like her efforts to cut the rot out of the festering political situation back home, it proves to be too little too late.

At one point a resourceful herder stands before the cart briefly to receive Säbig's commendation, and in that moment the cart feels all of the anger and resentment, mixed with sorrow and distant pity, that the people feel for their rulers. Feelings that some praise and the occasional gift of a brocade deel can hardly dampen, Säbig knows. She releases a young handmaid from her service so that they may marry, and the brief moment of utter relief and elation to be free of that cart is something the likes of which never felt before or again by anyone in the narrative.

The yurt cart grows old and rickety meanwhile, breaking down several times and falling into disarray during the journey. Its internal narrative grows increasingly bitter, absorbing all the anger of its riders and attendants until the wood can almost be heard writhing and groaning while at rest. It is ambiguous whether or not Säbig realizes this.

But things barely hold together until, finally, Säbig's wagon train limps its way into the only refuge that will take them. Ironically, this is the palace of the Xuanzong Emperor, located in the capital of Chang'an.

The emperor plays the part of a magnanimous host, throwing a banquet for Säbig and welcoming her clan as honored guests. But his every kind deed twists the knife in the wound: he extends his protection after observing that they have no proper khagan to lead them; he offers them land at the margins of the empire, knowing full well that this will render them a buffer state; he even has the audacity to name Säbig princess and appoint her as the leader of her own people.

Säbig's rage nearly boils over at this, and the cart silently screams for her to act. It begs her to tear a spar out of its body and run the smugly smiling emperor through with it. It yearns for one last defiance in fire and blood, even if it would be reduced to kindling for it.

Säbig ultimately decides not to, and accepts the emperor's gifts even as her tongue and palms bleed from the force of her restraint. The emperor sends her and her people away with one last parting insult; a stipend of flour to last them until harvest season, for the nomads and horsemen are to be reduced to farmers. The yurt cart's suffering finally ends when it is hacked to pieces for spare lumber needed to build the former khatun's new residence.

It ends up being the house she dies in.

The manuscript itself was written using a physical typewriter, which while charming and old-fashioned, seems to have left the writer in a despondent state. Next to the book rests a copy of an academic journal on Asian languages, turned to a page that reveals that the traditional spelling of the khatun's name, Po Beg, is based on a very old transcription error made by some medieval scribe.

The writer has endeavored to hand-correct every single instance of the name in the entire book to Säbig in pen; a process that they seem to have gotten almost halfway through, before giving up.


Guañacguyon

A bird's-eye view alternate history that chronicles the exodus of a large proportion of the Guanche peoples from their homes in the Canary Islands sometime in the 1st millennium BCE.

The exact reasons are left vague, but some sort of disaster is alluded to regularly, as well as a few hints that events take place right around when maritime imperialism is ramping up for the first time in the Mediterranean Sea. These voyagers rename themselves the Guañacguyon, meaning "people of the boats" in the very rough reconstruction of the Guanche language that the author seemingly developed by themself.

The people of the boats briefly tarry in floating communities across the Atlantic coast of North Africa, where they interact with their distant Amazigh relations for the first time in centuries. But before long local conditions push the Guañacguyon out to sea again, and within a generation they colonize the majority of Macaronesia- with the notable exception of what would become the islands of Flores and Corvo in the Azores. There, the voyagers encounter heavenly phenomena that they interpret to mean that Achamán, the sky-god, has forbidden them to go any farther west. The islands and westward expansion in general become forbidden in Guañacguyon culture, and the taboo is observed from that point forward.

A nearby textbook on the diffusionist model of cultural development (savagely annotated) and a folder full of memes mocking Thord Heyerdahl might be an indication as to why the author chose to sidestep the possibility of the voyagers crossing the Atlantic.

With the west forbidden and the north and east too dangerous for them, the Guañacguyon and their descendants instead spread southward.

With generations of growing mastery of the sea combined with some luck, they sail the Atlantic Gyres deep into the South Atlantic. What would one day become Ascension Island, Saint Helena, and Tristan da Cunha are settled one by one in the intervening centuries, kept united by a web of religiopolitical relationships. The Guañacguyon become one of the southernmost populations of humans in the premodern era with their final wave of settlements in South Georgia and the South Sandwich Islands.

From here, the far-flung Guañacguyon communities grow isolated from one another and separate culturally as well as linguistically. The list of taboos they observe grows until it begins to hinder rather than protect the observers. The once precarious but dependable lines of trade and interconnectedness between islands break down, leading to... something?

At this point the text breaks down into several unfinished possibilities as to where this goes from here; a multiple-choice question of how to end the story. Societal collapse is guaranteed in all scenarios, but the exact speed and nature changes between each. In one, an increasingly stratified society leads to a theocratic priest caste in Saint Helena declaring war on all other humans. In another, a rogue faction splits off and sails east, where they unwittingly disturb something vaguely eldritch in the Kerguelen islands. In another, it's just good old-fashioned climate change that does the isolated and subpolar societies in. In every ending, no trace of the civilization is left by the time the colonial powers of the early modern period reach their deserted islands.

The writer has apparently consulted friends to beta-read the draft to help them get past this impasse. Much of the collected commentary is mildly positive and votes in one direction or the other, but one response underlined several times in red is somewhat more scathing.

The last reader questions why this work of alternate history exists to begin with. By ensuring that the story remains entirely self-contained and isolated from the rest of the march of history, it does nothing to encourage the reader to contemplate and reconsider the real history of the world, which they extol as one of the great strengths of the alternate history genre. They compare it to a bottle episode in a TV series, but with no characters or interpersonal plot to anchor it. In their biting final words the reader calls Guañacguyon unfortunately nihilistic; not in its tone, but in its ultimate meaninglessness and self-devaluation.


Lo-Fics

A collection of short stories about indie music creators stumbling through their art. Each story is written by a different author, and despite the near-completeness of the project it seems that the group has been trying and failing due to incompatible scheduling to coordinate one last meeting before pitching it to publishers.

"Nindalf". Bleak Conjurer is an aspiring dungeon synth creator who is struggling to overcome his preoccupation with style over substance. He spends the majority of his creative energy renaming his persona, searching for the perfect VST plugins, finding artists to commission for the covers of the albums he hasn't recorded yet, and borderline-stalking people on Bandcamp. Meanwhile his hand-me-down keyboard collects dust in the corner. Chief of all concerns is that he can't find a Tolkienian name to use for an album title that no one else in the scene has used yet, because that's what every good artist (and many absolutely trash ones) eventually does, right? His feelings of inertia make him irritable and combative, and his IRC channels devolve into squabbling with friends and peers on more than one occasion. Eventually he is snapped out of it by the somber realization that he is going to need to create some good and meaningful tracks if he wants to compensate for the title he's chosen. Because at last, he finds the one name from LotR that no one has ever tried using, for somewhat obvious reasons: Wetwang.

"inb4 Shuto Express". kat/anna and Yng_Bld are two members of the nascent lofi hip hop scene who rightly believe they are bearing witness to the unfolding of a new chapter in music history. They also believe they are being visited and guided by the ghost of Nujabes, which is somewhat problematic because it's 2004 and Seba Jun isn't actually dead; Modal Soul hasn't even been released yet. But a little ontology won't get in their way, and the duo sets about creating a... something. Despite their enthusiasm to do something for the genre, they aren't entirely sure what they want to create- and having to make rent for their tiny room above the falafel place every month keeps getting in the way. They know they want to combine the format of music radio with the community insights of a talk show, plus the increasingly unparalleled accessibility of the internet. Without ever knowing the name for it, they end up cobbling together a sort of cult following proto-podcast that helps spotlight some of the earliest up-and-coming chillhop artists. In time even the old falafel guy gets in on the project, debuting the career of MC Such-n-Such and his short-lived but highly experimental "Nilestep" genre.

"(S)CREED". This mix of civil courtroom drama and epistolary tale gives the reader a glimpse into a drawn-out civil court battle between two underground Oregon-based metal bands. Hate's Creed (blackened death metal) and Hate Screed (melodic black-death metal) each claim that they were founded first, and that the similarities between the bands' names, sound, and imagery have caused consumer confusion, loss of revenue, and even damage to reputation for which the other party is liable. The fact that the bands' logos are almost identically jagged and inscrutable doesn't help matters. As the bands go back and forth making their case before an increasingly disaffected judge, the personal lives and struggles of the individual band members begin to bleed through the collection of emails, texts, courtroom minutes, and occasional sticky notes.

"Hate Death". The second half to "(S)CREED" covering the conclusion and aftermath of the drama. Despite how bitter and borderline-violent the dispute becomes between parties, the case is eventually dropped when the majority of both bands' members realize that they are all in the same clandestine yet mostly inept fascist movement. The two members who had somehow remained entirely out of the loop—a keyboardist and a supporting vocalist—quit their respective bands in disgust, only to meetcute a few months later while in the hospital for foot injuries sustained from kicking their former bandmates in the face outside of Portland. They embark on a new, more positive musical project (as well as a tentative relationship) together, naming the group Death of Hate.

"Idoll". In the midst of profound grief at the death of her beloved grandmother, a woman falls into the warm embrace of nostalgia. She moves into her grandmother's old cottage, fixes it up, and begins to live a deliberately kitschy, Thomas Kinkade-esque existence as a way of keeping her spirit close, fixating often on her grandmother's prized porcelain and cloth doll collection. While browsing the web on her struggling old iMac one lonely holiday evening, the woman stumbles upon comfy synth and falls woefully in love with the genre. She takes her grandmother's name, Irma, as her screenname and quickly establishes herself in the scene with the release of a series of especially bittersweet singles. Irma becomes a divisive figure in the community when she and her fandom begin to critique the aesthetics and sound of other creators for not being the "right" kind of nostalgia that matches her own idealized memories of life spent with grandma. Things escalate, and soon Irma is actively policing the comfy synth scene, fracturing the already tiny microgenre and spinning off a toxic "trad cozy" offshoot. Ultimately Irma is violently shunted back into reality when in the middle of bullying someone with a mushroom person avatar, the iMac's ancient power supply explodes and ignites her grandmother's doll collection.

"A Bus to the Sea". The travelogue of a solo instrumental alt-rock artist named Susurrus. Susurrus is a skeletally thin, soft-spoken bassist with arachnodactyl fingers and a retrofitted VW bus who drives around the country (somewhere vaguely in North America) listening for samples to record for their ambient music. They are most interested in the sounds of industry, urban landscapes, and water, so they follow a winding route through the rainiest and densest cities on their way to their ultimate destination, the sea. Along the way they have many quirky encounters with other travelers and oddballs at gas stations, campgrounds, and parking lots at 3:00 AM. (Various permutations of 3-0-0 appear throughout the story; seemingly of personal significance to the author that is not elaborated upon.) Through these encounters and foulweather friendships, we get a peek into Susurrus' vanlife and their personal bent on the philosophy of minimalist living. At every opportunity, the heavily distorted deep drone of their bass guitar is contrasted with the softness and meekness of their speaking voice, which struggles to get a word in edgewise during their mostly one-sided conversations with larger-than-life personalities. Susurrus lives in the margins of their own story until they come to the realization before the crashing waves of a grey, stormy beach that in all their recording, they have been looking for their own voice.


Come Heck or No Water

This hefty graphic novel illustrates the endearingly pathetic trials and tribulations of the demon lord Heckadeath.

Heckadeath is a rotund, diminutive little creature, potbellied and goat-legged like the most stereotypical depictions of a demon one could find in a PG-rated movie. He has a large ambition, however; he wants to become Marquis of Hell.

In the backstory of the novel, the State of Deseret seceded from the United States to become a presidential theocracy in the mid-1800s. But after living in Utah for nearly a hundred years, the Mormons decided to find someplace nicer to settle. So they began invading Hell. By the time Heckadeath comes into the picture, Hell has been reduced to a rump state and every title higher than Marquis has been abolished or abdicated. No one has heard from Lucifer in decades, and he is presumed dead.

The process of being elevated to office is surprisingly meritocratic, with every 1 evil deed performed on Earth translating to 1 vote cast in one's name. Good deeds, however rare they are, erase 1 vote with no cap in either direction. The 'elections' are held once every 100 years and 1 day. Normally the top demons trade titles such as Marquis back and forth between themselves, but recent deaths among the frontrunners have thrown the process into chaos and given slim hope to such underdogs as Heckadeath.

The story picks up as Heckadeath narrowly escapes a squad of LDS commandos by opening up a portal to the languishing city of San Bernardino, California in the late 1980s. There, he sets about performing wicked acts and establishing a cult of fanatical worshipers. Or at least that's the plan. In reality his grand schemes are so incompetent or milquetoast that they end up being harmless or beneficial to their victims more often than not, and the only 'cultists' whom Heckadeath attracts are a group of Goths and Wiccans who adopt him after they realize 'Heckie' can't keep himself out of trouble.

Over the course of the novel Heckie and his handlers tangle with crust punks, carnies, US Marshals, NIMBYs, Mormon wetwork squads, and a multi-billion dollar scheme to privatize all drinking water on the West Coast. When the elections in Hell roll around, Heckie is devastated to learn that he received thousands of votes- in the negative. He becomes the laughingstock of Hell. But his incompetence also gets his name taken off of most assassination lists, while his unwitting good works get him written into the ballot for the coincidentally concurrent election for Mayor of San Bernardino. He wins handily, defeating both the incumbent and the main opposition by a landslide.

The story ends as Heckadeath bemusedly walks into his new office in an ill-fitting suit and tie, his witchy cabinet already hard at work setting up his new administration.


Didacts on the Knowing of Hlaax, Vol. DCCCXIV

Framed as the newest volume in a long-running encyclopedia, this tome describes the fantastical lands and their occupants which have recently been conquered by the ascendant Hlaax Empire.

The Hlaax, like any empire, maintains its position through the monopolization of violence. But somewhat uniquely the Hlaax's monopoly is not martial or economic in nature; the empire is noted for having only a token military force. Rather, its violence is metaphysical and epistemological.

The Hlaax Empire possesses the power to manipulate the knowledge and perceptions of other peoples from afar. By some unknown means its ruling caste can weave enchantments that spread outward from the empire's capital city like a web or net. They can gradually ingratiate a group to the Hlaax, or make them forget their native language and customs. With the aid of an immense, hyper-detailed world map they can even draw borders that then have real, material impacts on that area and how the people there conceive of the land around them.

Once a region has been more-or-less bloodlessly conquered, the empire moves in to begin the process of Knowing.

"Knowing" is a bit of a misnomer. It is not an acquisition of knowledge of the conquered region, but rather an imposition of knowledge upon it. The empire fits the land, its peoples, places, even flora and fauna into a single overarching worldview of imperfect radial diffusion; that everything is a pale corruption of the perfect, Platonic ideals that can be found within the Hlaaxi imperial core. This degeneration of ideals worsens the farther out from the heartland one goes, creating a system in which every conquered region has an immediate superior, and is also incentivized to accelerate the conquest of their immediate inferior. Hlaax, naturally, is at the center of this hierarchy.

Place names are altered, old cultural traditions are eliminated or "corrected", and perceived mental illnesses like speaking a language other than the standardized Hlaaxi tongue are cured with severe medicine. And while the conquered never, ever achieve parity within the empire, many still fall into line and become another rung in the ladder. And then it is as if they had always been imperfect Hlaaxi, working toward the ultimate goal of Mirroring.

Almost nothing is written about Hlaaxi religion, because such a thing is considered blasphemous in a society where the written word can and regularly does warp reality. But what can be gleaned is the idea that through obedience and correct Knowing, the occupants of outer circles may be reborn farther within, as their soul progressively sheds more and more layers of degeneration. Eventually, it is promised, the soul enters into union with and Mirrors the ideal from which it fell so long ago.

Another way to describe this is that not even death will free you from the empire.

Not everything succumbs to this bending of reality, however. The process of Knowing is imperfect. Scribbled in invisible ink in the margins, spelled out in random bolding and obvious spelling errors, secret messages can be found throughout the text. The author of this volume is a member of a diffuse and disorganized mental resistance, or perhaps they hope that through the act of writing they can will such a thing into existence.

In a final act of rebellion the author reveals that their name, not the name forced into them but their name fought and wept over is Shai-qib, of a place once named Bamla.


Muscleman Curry

A rather saccharine children's novel about food, archaeology, and the ethics of tourism.

The exceptionally WASPy Preston Forthright and his seven year-old daughter Addison arrive in the city of Krung Thep, Thailand, which the story consciously favors over the more common English name of Bangkok. Preston is an archaeologist specialized in Southeast Asia, and he wishes to extol in his daughter a fondness for the field and an appreciation of its morals and values- simplified for a child, of course.

Preston organizes a busy schedule touring museums and archaeological sites across Krung Thep and the larger Chao Phraya River Delta. The schedule is packed to the point that them going to every location in just one week strains credulity somewhat, especially considering that Thailand is at the height of its tourism season. But before setting out on their first day, they stop to get a bite to eat at one of Taling Chan district's famous floating markets.

Here, Preston and Addison meet Nuu, the aging operator of a curry stall at the edge of the market. He is fluent in English—or more fluent than Preston is in Thai or Malay anyway—and the three become friends almost immediately. Nuu is delighted to no end when he serves them each a bowl of Massaman curry on the house, and Addison inexpertly renders it as "muscleman curry". Nuu soon decides to close up shop and accompany them as a combination of interpreter, guide, and occasional student.

What follows are 9 chapters themed around the 9 principles of ethics in American archaeology, from responsible stewardship and accountability to cultural outreach and safe workplace environments. More ink is spilled here on the significance of naga-headed ponds at ancient Hindu temples than possibly anywhere else in a children's book, though perhaps that was for good reason; the middle of the book begins to drag on.

The novel tries but struggles to discuss the issues of tourism and how to address them. For as much care and effort that Preston puts into raising Addison to be an ethical person, the actual lesson being taught eventually boils down to "do all the normal things a tourist does, but politely and while handing out giant tips". They go to all the same places, see all the same sites, even visit a famed tourist trap that causes them to meet Nuu to begin with, etc.

There is also something to be said of the way Preston teaches Nuu about the history of his own culture. Nuu is not a completely passive actor in this; he frequently interjects with bits and pieces of what he remembers from his own schooling as a child. But the fact that Preston knows more about Thailand on average and educates Nuu about it falls into more than one "White Savior" trope.

Shorter interlude segments pass the narrative torch over to Nuu, who introduces the Forthrights to more lived examples of Thai culture. He also invites them back to his home in Krung Thep, where an extensive cross-section of Thai family life is wrapped up with the revelation that 'Nuu' is his public-facing nickname rather than his given name. Addison is entertained to learn that nuu means mouse, and starts pestering Preston for her own nickname on-and-off for the remainder of their visit.

At the conclusion of their vacation, the Forthrights return to Nuu's food stall for one last meal before catching their flight home. There, they find that he has completely rebranded his stall in honor of his new friends. A painted façade of a circus strongman now stands above the counter, proudly holding aloft a steaming bowl of food while frozen mid-flex. "Muscleman Curry" is open for business.


10 Second Shots

A psychological thriller about a time traveler who wanted a fresh start.

The nameless first-person narrator introduces themself as your typical hopeless, self-loathing older millennial who wouldn't be missed and wouldn't want to be missed besides. They receive an anonymous text one night asking them if they want to reset their life, and they find themself deep enough in ennui and beer ramen to say "to hell with it" and agree.

After a trip to a seemingly abandoned warehouse with a surprisingly professional-looking lobby and medical facility inside of it, the narrator gets strapped into a pod-shaped device that will, allegedly, send them back in time to their early childhood with most of their memories intact. The idea is that with perfect hindsight, they can correct their many regrets and 'what if?'s throughout life. The pod fills with warm fluid, and the narrator falls asleep.

The narrator wakes up still submerged in fluid, but of a very different sort. Unable to move or breathe, they drift helplessly as something slowly pulls them through an increasingly, agonizingly narrow space that threatens to crush their skull and break their shoulders. It isn't until after a blinding flash of light and an agonizing breath that they realize they were just conscious for their own birth. Amazed and horrified, the narrator faints.

What follows is a rough few months as the narrator slowly gains motor function of their new infant body, feeling trapped like a near-vegetable all the while. Slowly, bit by bit, they ambitiously begin to wiggle, crawl, and eventually walk. To their parents, they are developing at an amazingly fast pace, but no one is tipped off to the truth of the matter.

A renaissance of sorts begins as the narrator indulges in joys, freedoms, and love that they hadn't known for decades, all while building up a reputation as a preternaturally excellent child. Now and then they feel the temptation to exploit their combination of knowledge and youth, mostly to get one over on obnoxious adults. But for the most part the narrator just bides their time, waiting for the opportunity to retake the biggest first steps of their life.

This changes at the age of 6, when the narrator tries to coax their family away from an ill-advised camping trip that got their childhood dog sick. Attempting to speak upon the matter causes the narrator severe disorientation and nausea, culminating in a seizure that lands them in the hospital overnight. Over the next few weeks they cautiously try to push the envelop with other decisions, all ending the same way. The narrator realizes in mounting horror that going against the 'canon' of their previous life is almost impossible to effect, as if this new timeline was somehow enforcing its will upon them.

Through trial and error (and deeply worried parents) they come to figure out how far they can change things. The broad arc of their childhood continues unchanged, but minor details can be tweaked and altered. Depression and hopelessness return as they realize they can do nothing to stop the tragedies of their own time from happening.

The bulk of the book sees the narrator in this state of tension, as early childhood gives way to adolescence and then the tween years. School is effortless, most of the time at least; elementary school math still kicks their ass, much to their chagrin. But they remain aloof from kids 'their age', unable to relate to them and unable to divulge the truth to anyone at all.

This internal agony culminates when an old crush of the narrator asks them to a dance, and in a moment of surprised delight, they agree. Soon after, the narrator begins to dwell in increasing revulsion upon the fact that while they are physically the same age, the narrator is mentally several decades older than their once-again crush. Realizing what this makes them—at least from a certain point of view—the narrator promptly jumps in front of a bus.

Once again they wake up confused and disoriented, this time in a clean medical room. For a moment they are relieved to find they must never have left the warehouse, only to look down at their tiny, broken body and realize that they did not wake up from a nightmare, that they are in fact still in the past, and they survived the collision.

A childhood psychologist visits the narrator in their hospital room to try and suss out the details of why they attempted suicide. The entire book is revealed to be the narrator's relaying of events up to this point to the psychologist, through gritted teeth and multiple seizures. The narrator even manages to get in a few words edgewise about events yet to occur before a coma hits. Finally, mercifully, the narrator dies.

An epilogue framed as personal notes by the psychologist expresses their feelings on the whole tragedy.

The psychologist hold their breath as disasters, inventions, and elections all pan out just as the narrator revealed. They reflect upon the feeling of helplessness to change what is still yet to come, combined with all of the other existential dread that the case of the unchild prompted. But they do not feel quite so helpless as the narrator did, and eventually resolve to track down and intercept an operation at a warehouse not terribly far from here.

If the time traveling project still exists in the divergent timeline created by the narrator's death, changes need to be made.