tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78765668276550816452024-02-19T04:10:15.837-08:00Shouty Men in Shiny ArmourHigh Pulp Fantasy prose, poetry and art by Jennifer Williams, Kate Sherrod and rampaging hordes of their friends.Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7876566827655081645.post-35120764318348437802012-06-26T21:59:00.000-07:002012-06-26T22:20:00.545-07:00Shouty Dwarves in Klingon ArmourSO! I am currently hosting this awesome Middle-Earth group read (<a href="http://booksnobbery.wordpress.com/puttin-the-blog-in-balrog/" target="_blank">we started <i>The Hobbit</i> on Saturday</a>, it's not too late to join in if you're interested), and since I'm reading about Bilbo's new dwarf friends, I became curious how they were going to be depicted in Mr Jackson's upcoming film adaptation.<br />
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Short note: I hate the LotR movies. Like, if you want to see me get as ranty as humanly possible, force me to watch/discuss them. You'll be stuck for hours, and likely won't want to be my friend any longer once I'm done. Don't get me wrong, I think they're super pretty and everything, but the story WAS ALL WRONG. See, I'm getting shouty already and this note is no longer so short. Oops.<br />
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ANYWAY.<br />
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In case you haven't seen it, here's a picture of the final costumes for Thorin's band of...well, whatever. I'm too tired right now to come up with something clever. <br />
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I mean...I <i>guess</i> this is okay. You know, unless you've actually READ THE BOOK or something, and you know that absolutely no one looks anything at all like they're described.<br />
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I could pick every single one of these choices apart, but I'm going to try to keep this on the manageable reading length size, so I'll just focus on a few of the MOST egregious choices, 'kay?<br />
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Fili and Kili</h4>
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WTS is going on here, seriously? I mean, I GET that they're the youngest members of the group and whatnot, but that's no effing excuse for them to be all Dwarf Boy Band. Ugh. (BTW, Kate and I have decided that this boy band is going to be called Dwarves 'N Da Hood. You know it works.)</div>
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Dwalin</h4>
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Um...not gonna lie, I was really hoping for his blue beard here. :(</div>
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Nori</h4>
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AKA - Triceratops Head. Dude, I can't even...</div>
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And finally - </div>
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Thorin</h4>
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<a href="http://content.screencast.com/users/sj42/folders/Jing/media/92561daf-f2c8-4270-8b1f-d77b3b5196c2/thorin.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://content.screencast.com/users/sj42/folders/Jing/media/92561daf-f2c8-4270-8b1f-d77b3b5196c2/thorin.png" width="262" /></a></div>
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This is the one that bothers me the most. Why the hell does he look like a Klingon? I AM THE MOST SERIOUS! What you don't believe me? Fine. Look what I did for you because I'm the most awesome and stuff.</div>
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THORIN LOOKS JUST LIKE CHANCELLOR GOWRON, WTS?! Not only that, but I'm pretty sure he stole General Martok's armour. </div>
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Ugh. Seriously. Why can't Peter Jackson just stop messing around with my Middle-Earth? What a jerk he is. </div>
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<br /></div>essjayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08117046454917324592noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7876566827655081645.post-41445933541250102932012-04-15T01:42:00.000-07:002012-04-15T01:42:21.028-07:00Game of Thrones Season Two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As of this writing, two episodes of the new season of HBO's series adaptation of George R.R. Martin's <i>A Song of Ice and Fire</i> have aired, and a third will air tonight. The Iron Isles are a welcome addition to the map and are even more perilous-looking than this blogger (Kate) was imagining; Carice van Houten (who I'm sure is a lovely person in real life, really) has made it possible to hate Melisandre even more; Maisie Williams is still amazingly fierce and self-reliant as Arya Stark; TV viewers are getting their first look at Davos Seaworth (but with nary a mention of onions so far? Perhaps I need to rewind a bit, surely?); Peter Dinklage is the boss of everybody in the Red Keep and Ned is still dead.<br />
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So far, we are most pleased. How about you?Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7876566827655081645.post-56844948743500886112012-03-06T17:43:00.000-08:002012-03-06T17:43:58.884-08:00The Copper Promise: A Jekyll and Hyde Rabbit of a Series"<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Sometimes I feel like I’m a scientist in a 1950s B-movie, looking sadly from the broken cage that once contained a small, docile bunny rabbit, to the very large and ominous bunny-shaped hole in the wall."</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">"</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">The monstrous bunny flexed its terrible hairy muscles, booted open the door of the cage and sprinted off into the night, smelling faintly of mead and leather."</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">- SMISA's own Jennifer Williams, the new mad scientist of pulp fantasy, in a great guest post about her new novella series, <i>The Copper Promise</i>, <a href="http://www.alanbaxteronline.com/2012/03/07/guest-post-copper-promise-jennifer-williams.html">over on Alan Baxter's blog</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'times new roman', times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Go on over and have a read (and while you're there, check out Baxter's blog; he doesn't write <i>pulp </i>but <i>urban </i>fantasy, but it's quite good stuff indeed) and if you haven't yet snagged the first of Jennifer's novellas, hit the link to the right and go get you some!</span></span>Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7876566827655081645.post-86451469541504539842012-02-24T01:34:00.001-08:002012-02-24T01:35:49.307-08:00Gav Thorpe's CROWN OF THE BLOOD<object style="height: 450; width: 600;"><param name="movie" value="http://static.issuu.com/webembed/viewers/style1/v1/IssuuViewer.swf?mode=embed&documentId=100723110206-19e86e27e07d40eaa174118421160fa7&documentUsername=angryrobot&documentName=crownoftheblood-samplechapter&layout=http%3A%2F%2Fskin.issuu.com%2Fv%2Flight%2Flayout.xml&showFlipBtn=true" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed src="http://static.issuu.com/webembed/viewers/style1/v1/IssuuViewer.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowFullScreen="true" style="width:600;height:450" flashvars="mode=embed&documentId=100723110206-19e86e27e07d40eaa174118421160fa7&documentUsername=angryrobot&documentName=crownoftheblood-samplechapter&layout=http%3A%2F%2Fskin.issuu.com%2Fv%2Flight%2Flayout.xml&showFlipBtn=true" /></object><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><i>(click "Menu" in the lower right to embiggen and enjoy!)</i></div><br />
Today, Angry Robot Books, one of our go-to publishers for cool new genre fiction, has decided to offer a free sample of Gav Thorpe's <i>Crown of the Blood</i>, which SMISA contributer Kate Sherrod <a href="http://kateofmind.blogspot.com/2011/08/100-books-44-gave-thorpes-crown-of.html">reviewed happily </a>last year. This is ancient Rome for pulp fans, kids, and it's the first book of what looks promisingly to be a great series. It seriously has it all: legionnaires riding lions, barbarians riding dinosaurs, dynastic politics, blood and the problems of polygamy. Lots of fun and highly recommended!Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7876566827655081645.post-7844781772476044882012-02-17T00:36:00.000-08:002012-02-17T00:37:15.815-08:00Jason Mormoa as Conan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6zlHvgBEPFPrE7IfhOPGopp6QHNgrd6sdPeYQXr2AEZUb-d4GkQzgGiLIGqV613axs7GGEFD1GkrH2x6WOc3eP0LLVIxuDB94Jb9zagOLgAeA39VCNxjyYjQAK2NMCXXPhvcguGPSTzq_/s1600/conan3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6zlHvgBEPFPrE7IfhOPGopp6QHNgrd6sdPeYQXr2AEZUb-d4GkQzgGiLIGqV613axs7GGEFD1GkrH2x6WOc3eP0LLVIxuDB94Jb9zagOLgAeA39VCNxjyYjQAK2NMCXXPhvcguGPSTzq_/s320/conan3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The movies do not love depicting our favourite barbarian in the plate armour he occasionally wore in the original stories and novellas, but at least this time around we had him in a mail sleeve for a good chunk of the action. Love the film or hate it (we at SMISA loved it, despite its rejection of canon and its lame inventions), we think most of you will agree that, brown eyes aside, Jason Mormoa made a helluva good Conan. Shoutiness? Check. Nakedness? Check? Wenching, guzzling, drinking, slaying? Check. Growling? Check.<br />
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Will there be sequels? Dare we hope? By Crom, we do!Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7876566827655081645.post-15013062271918152332012-02-05T03:41:00.000-08:002012-02-05T03:47:37.011-08:00Obscure French Shouty Men in Shiny Armour<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/IdKuUw2zIBE" width="420"></iframe><br />
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In 1978, French auteur Eric Rohmer, best known for his 1960s morality plays like <em>Pauline at the Beach</em>, released one of the oddest and most hypnotically fascinating films I have ever seen. It was inspired by perhaps one of the granddaddies of all epic fantasy literature, Chrétien de Troyes' 12th century Arthurian romance <em>Perceval, the Story of the Grail</em>, which alone makes it a must-include for this blog. But this is not some big loud crashy bombastic free-for-all like, say, Excalibur. No: this film is straight out of Jesse L. Weston, restoring the ritual character to Arthurian legend and the theater. Lines are chanted as much as delivered; movements, too, are often stylized (but not, as you see, in the fight scenes). <br />
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The result is a film as puzzling and intriguing as the Grail legend itself. If you haven't seen it, get your hands on a copy of the DVD right away!<br />
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<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=kaofmi-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=B00004U0FN&ref=qf_sp_asin_til&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7876566827655081645.post-41929151504005667302012-01-20T10:02:00.000-08:002012-01-20T10:02:47.532-08:00Speaking of Conan...A commenter on another blog (cough) has started perhaps an interesting discussion, prompted by my reaction to the exquisitely entertaining experience of reading the early Conan short stories and novellas presented in the Del Rey compilation <i>The Coming of Conan the Cimmerian</i>. Why not <a href="http://kateofmind.blogspot.com/2012/01/100-books-5-robert-e-howard-coming-of.html">check it out and join the fun</a>?Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7876566827655081645.post-74276531796640882782012-01-13T10:37:00.000-08:002012-01-13T10:38:22.989-08:00Conan the Progenitor<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwCQFpXhwLAufcXqTRXbOPn_Z5tHPkmmjtaPR0qKeiVLKEQIH73dtX7_TC2fKOb98jtuxtyEnSa3N5kWFZykEq9XYeXPZNAnqYc60KqNly2bFdLxZTxpvReUGNuDoQbtbgLQcgv63eAHsY/s1600/conankps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwCQFpXhwLAufcXqTRXbOPn_Z5tHPkmmjtaPR0qKeiVLKEQIH73dtX7_TC2fKOb98jtuxtyEnSa3N5kWFZykEq9XYeXPZNAnqYc60KqNly2bFdLxZTxpvReUGNuDoQbtbgLQcgv63eAHsY/s320/conankps.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Robert E. Howard's most famous character, Conan the Cimmerian, is arguably the granddaddy of all Shouty Men in Shiny Armour -- or at least of pulp fantasy heroes. But this fantastic Tomás Giorello art (the cover to Dark Horse Comics' first King Conan issue, adapting the classic original Conan story, "The Phoenix on the Sword") is a rarity in that it shows Conan in shiny armour. Most people (this blogger's mother included; it was an argument with her over whether Conan counts as a SMISA that prompted this post) always and only picture him as the naked muscle man. It's true he seems to fight best in just a breechclout, but I found a few good examples of our favorite barbarian in armor in some of Howard's earlier stories.<br />
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Sometimes his armour doesn't match too well, in true barbarian fashion:<br />
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His horned helmet was such as was worn by the golden-haired AEsir of Nordheim; his hauberk and greaves were of the finest worksmanship of Koth; the fine ring-mail which sheathed his arms and legs was of Nemedia; the blade at his girdle was a great Aquilonian broadsword; and his gorgeous scarlet cloak could have been spun nowhere but in Ophir.</blockquote>- from "Queen of the Black Coast"<br />
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At other times, he sports a more "put-together" look:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">At her command they brought harness to replace Conan's chain-mail -- gorget, sollerets, cuirass, pauldrons, jambes, cuisses and sallet. When Yasmela again drew the curtains, a Conan in burnished steel stood before his audience. Clad in the platearmor, visor lifted and dark face shadowed by the black plumes that nodded above his helmet, there was a grim presence about him that even Thespides grudgingly noted. A jest died suddenly on Amalric's lips. "By Mitra," he said slowly, "I never expected to see you cased in coat-amor, but you do not put it to shame. By my fingerbones, Conan, I have seen kings who wore their harness less regally than you!"</blockquote><blockquote class="tr_bq">Conan was silent. A vague shadow crossed his mind like a prophecy. In years to come, he was to remember Amalric's words, when the dream became reality. </blockquote>- from "The Black Colossus" <br />
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But be advised, Shouty Men in Shiny Armour isn't just about those; that's just a cool title for a pulp fantasy lovers' blog. We couldn't help being pleased, though, to see that one of our favourite heroes actually deigns to embody the name so splendidly!Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7876566827655081645.post-79778733543648845302012-01-05T17:03:00.000-08:002012-01-05T17:03:29.032-08:00New Year, New Reading ListsKate Sherrod here, one of the co-founders of SMISA, with a confession to make.<br />
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I've never read any of the original or later pastiche Conan books or stories. Until now.<br />
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For one of my first reading efforts in this blighted new year is to read ALL OF IT. All of Robert E. Howard's original short stories. All of Harry Turtledove's Conan novels. All of L. Sprague deCamp's pasticherpieces. Every shred. In publication order, if possible.<br />
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And then (another embarrassing announcement), I'm going to move on and read all of Fritz Lieber's Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser stories.<br />
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That should adequately fill the time while I wait for the next installment in fellow SMISA founder Jennifer Williams' Copper Promise series. Which is somewhat delayed, as she's been down with the crud, poor lamb.<br />
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I mean, come on, Jennifer! Shouty Man up! Strap on that plate! Bust those bugs into another dimension.<br />
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Yeah, that's better.<br />
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Anyway, what Shouty Men in Shiny Armour fiction are you most looking forward to this year?Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7876566827655081645.post-67555768159510105042012-01-04T13:10:00.001-08:002012-01-04T13:12:06.684-08:00Heimdall<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTziBQJPPinOR6SoRRfZNL4aLCRrQjqnqHMbYIvL8c_do6XYtAO2eKzNpo8ibQDLsWH2oeuCB5jbECgW0qqTpTbaQb1XBdAq4ZX5urcfkvmqe7xwGCCBFR81Ef3c2aazw9MxsPujCnMIE/s1600/Idris+Thor.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTziBQJPPinOR6SoRRfZNL4aLCRrQjqnqHMbYIvL8c_do6XYtAO2eKzNpo8ibQDLsWH2oeuCB5jbECgW0qqTpTbaQb1XBdAq4ZX5urcfkvmqe7xwGCCBFR81Ef3c2aazw9MxsPujCnMIE/s400/Idris+Thor.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693887294118228546" /></a><br /><br />Alright, so Idris Elba doesn't do a lot of shouting in Thor - he mainly does a good line in glowering and growling - but, damn, his armour is shiny. He's also rocking those contact lenses.senny dreadfulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01060196615482952688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7876566827655081645.post-21853110208840234922012-01-03T15:57:00.000-08:002012-01-03T15:57:02.125-08:00Shouty Women in Shiny Armour<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/fQfbMN2PDtM" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
Just by way of demonstrating that we at SMISA are not sexist -- far from it -- we gladly share with you the epic battle between Red Sonja (Brigitte Nielsen) and Queen Gedren (Sandahl Bergman) in 1985's <i>Red Sonja</i>. This classic bit of fantastic schlock features LOTS of Shouty Women in Shiny Armour and as a bonus, a Shouty Child in Shiny Armour. Score!<br />
<br />
Sorry for the Russian overdubbing, though if you ask us, that kind of makes it even more awesome.Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7876566827655081645.post-78146912017906325882012-01-02T06:17:00.000-08:002012-01-02T06:17:32.606-08:00Shouty Men in Shiny Armour - not always all that serious<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/64Aiyec2czY" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
Who doesn't love Danny Kaye in <i>The Court Jester</i>? A 1955 classic based on Sylvia Fine's <i>The Maladjusted Jester</i>, it took the piss out of the Robin Hood schtick decades before Mel Brooks put men in tights, and took on the romance of knighthood to boot. We won't spoil for you why Kaye's character is being rushed through this ceremony; just enjoy for now, and then hurry off and see the whole film if you haven't.<br />
<br />
Yea, verily, yea.Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7876566827655081645.post-2767562700354109032012-01-01T14:15:00.001-08:002012-01-01T14:16:20.106-08:00Nordic Shiny<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpTZlzXNYcIq7D0rbKeUxNpC6uj4Y0PLOLh1szzRcjg4hq90WPeGytnbl5APf-r_NZR9t96C4werxUFQNB5l-EFhAzymhANXpZCumJ9IvRvcsKEhDGE9zalRzNFHNEDb_FyMm1XIhfzdE/s1600/thor1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 264px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpTZlzXNYcIq7D0rbKeUxNpC6uj4Y0PLOLh1szzRcjg4hq90WPeGytnbl5APf-r_NZR9t96C4werxUFQNB5l-EFhAzymhANXpZCumJ9IvRvcsKEhDGE9zalRzNFHNEDb_FyMm1XIhfzdE/s400/thor1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692790766177298290" /></a><br /><br />Nuff said.senny dreadfulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01060196615482952688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7876566827655081645.post-90460040434538880642012-01-01T12:02:00.000-08:002012-01-01T12:02:05.724-08:00Brian Blessed in BLACKADDER<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/q7LRCY8yypA" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
Was there ever a shoutier man in shinier armour than Brian Blessed's classic turn as the highly fictional King Richard IV in Blackadder?<br />
<br />
Honest question. Was there?<br />
<br />
Enjoy!Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7876566827655081645.post-12195845839275534722012-01-01T11:41:00.000-08:002012-01-01T11:41:52.811-08:00In Which Dissent Is Handled"Off with his head," the angry queen did shout.<br />
"Which one?" inquired her faithful headsman, "He<br />
Has several." "The one that's speaking out<br />
Against my reign!" "That narrows it to three."<br />
"Off with <i>his </i>head," the queen said, pointing at<br />
Her headsman. "I will give a shiny sword<br />
With rubies in its hilt to whom'er that<br />
Back-talking knave do slay." No one stepped for'ard --<br />
That is until a wizard slinked into<br />
The crowd. "Ah! Here he is, thank you, fair dame<br />
For finding him," quoth he. "This is for you."<br />
He tossed the queen a purse, then burst in flame<br />
And he and his eight-headed slave were gone.<br />
"Whate'er it takes to keep the peace. Move on."Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7876566827655081645.post-73471540966625617392012-01-01T07:43:00.000-08:002012-01-01T07:46:55.693-08:00Excalibur!<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/NOqlV4Le9Tk" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />My first post on this blog would have to be about Excalibur. It's a film that showcases everything we want to talk about; shiny armour, shouting, shiny swords, men with shiny armour and swords, shouting... In fact, I remember it as a film where everyone shouts all the time, particularly if they're in a forest (which is quite often) or someone is a bit narked about something (all the time). It's also memorable for Nicol Williamson's wildly crazy turn as Merlin, who appears to be acting in a different film entirely, probably one all about how great Merlin is.senny dreadfulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01060196615482952688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7876566827655081645.post-48974348765825613872011-12-31T18:47:00.000-08:002011-12-31T18:47:25.770-08:00The Amulet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdvmdxRpTv-9GXPcPC-WrkyHlqYgEj7Drevklkuguhyp9Pl3MrJHnwDGkEYlUWQoyNi6FLL19C69fSGe4vvrHkXEwFEFjpUUJ7sYwpU6LAgpT0CVMpYHSx84N1rX4gq9MsGNbnEaS66kG7/s1600/wizard_cartoon.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdvmdxRpTv-9GXPcPC-WrkyHlqYgEj7Drevklkuguhyp9Pl3MrJHnwDGkEYlUWQoyNi6FLL19C69fSGe4vvrHkXEwFEFjpUUJ7sYwpU6LAgpT0CVMpYHSx84N1rX4gq9MsGNbnEaS66kG7/s320/wizard_cartoon.png" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"></div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">by Kate Sherrod</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The death of a famulus is one of the most dangerous times in a sorceror's life.</span></div><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Gastor Windryyke stood at a distance and watched as his breathed her last. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, breathing deeply inward but not exhaling; this was not the respiration of an ordinary man but the marshalling of unseen forces by a centuries-old practitioner of the most powerful arts.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The small, trembling form – a raccoon this time for reasons Gastor had never fathomed – was still at last.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He was out of time – though he was prepared.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The assault began with a greater subtlety than he had planned for, however: with a smell. Gastor didn't notice it at first, not until it had completely filled the room, and even then what he noticed was its effects: a feeling of calm, of warm, sleepy well-being, and – lust?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">For the first time in over 300 years, Gastor Windryyke had an erection, comically parting the scorched robes he'd not bothered to change since rushing to the tower with his famulus.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He began to fantasize, and from the direction of the bench upon which he had laid the dying raccoon advanced a beautiful woman in semi-dishabile to match his own; her eyes dwelt worshipfully on his cock as she approached, moaning and licking her lips.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Gastor found himself reaching for her despite himself... then chuckled.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Nice try.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The wench disappeared. The intoxicating scent remained, however. Had Gastor conjured up the woman himself, under its influence, or was the apparition part of this first salvo in the battle?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A woman's frenzied moan sounded in his ears.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“No!” he roared, and the moaning stopped. The scent, though, the scent still remained, and his body's response continued unabated. It was becoming difficult to think clearly. He needed to open the shutters, air out his chamber, dissipate the potency of the supernatural pheromone that was turning his body against him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Instead, his hands drifted downward. Why not? Just for old time's sake – very old times? Just let go and...<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“No!” he roared again, this time flinging himself bodily across the room. The shutters opened at a touch and a breeze from without stirred. Gastor breathed in its freshness gratefully for a moment before turning back to engage his foe.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Where the raccoon had lay, something hovered at the edge of even Gastor's heightened perception.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He drew in another mighty breath of the clearing air, smiled in a placating manner, and began to speak.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“You don't really want this, you know,” he said, his words vibrating with all of the sorcerous persuasion with which he could imbue them. Any ordinary person in the room would have been powerless to disagree, powerless to want this.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Free will is so exhausting,” he continued. “Didn't you find it exhausting? And the responsibility. So heavy. Almost too heavy to bear. And you've never been that strong. Not really.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The energy on the workbench seemed to withdraw a bit, to diminish.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“You're happier as you are,” he purred. “So faithful, so helpful, so obedient. It gives you such pleasure to obey, doesn't it? Yes. That's it. So much happier this way. You'd forgotten how much you love it, I think.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Almost, Gastor permitted himself to gloat prematurely over his success. Almost.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As if to prove his caution right, his foe suddenly awoke from the quiescence into which he had lulled it -- and engulfed him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Gastor was surrounded by a dazzling swirl of flickering hues, pulsing in time with the intimate rhythms of his deepest thoughts, the colors those a sleeper sees behind his eyes as he drifts away. No matter where he turned his gaze, his sight was flooded with captivating, intriguing patterns of color. His arms, then his jaw fell slack.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And the childish cast of his delighted face was becoming more than figurative; the years were melting away from him visibly as he slumped into a chair, still fixated on the beauty around him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“It... it wouldn't be so bad...” he managed to say.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And his human form began to blur.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then a last reserve of strength surged in him and he reached up with one faintly glowing hand and did something that had never happened in the long ages of this battle: he touched the being that had been his famulus. Touched it, and began to caress it.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The beguiling light show continued – everywhere but where he touched. And where he touched, the energy took on a steady (if fading) glow.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Gastor raised his other hand and with it mimicked the caresses of the first.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“There are no rules in this contest,” he said soothingly, but there was mockery in his voice, too. “No rules at all.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He continued to stroke, to sculpt. The bewildering chaos was gone, reduced – seduced – by Gastor's gentle, patient touch into the form of a softly glowing orb in his hands.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“We both do better when I am the sorceror,” he assured it. It was now small enough to fit in one hand as he continued to caress it.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“You came very close this time,” he told it. “You almost had me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The now palm-sized lozenge in his hand stirred, a hint of its hypnotic display pulsing across its surface.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Ah ah,” he chided. “I made up my mind at the beginning of this cycle that never again would I be famulus.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“And I prepared every day for this battle.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A last spark of energy in the now gemlike form followed the movements of his finger as he traced a slow, languid spiral from its edges to its center. When he stopped, the faint glow did, too.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Gastor arose with a cackle of triumph and took up the chain and empty pendant setting the raccoon had dutifully stolen for him on its final mission. The opalescent stone was a perfect fit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Kate Sherrodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08706419613939420574noreply@blogger.com0