U3: The Final Enemy

The heroes finally made it to the third adventure in the trilogy, and one of the tougher modules in first edition DnD. In the last installment the characters assaulted the lair of the lizardmen whom they had discovered were purchasing arms from local smugglers near the town of Saltmarsh in Keoland. After a moderate amount of green gore and treasure grasping they discovered that the lizardmen were trying to form an alliance with other underwater humanoids to tackle a tribe of Sahaugin who had invaded their home on the border of Keoland and The Hold of the Sea Princes.

The module opens with the characters once more before the Saltmarsh council, discussing a reconnaissance mission along with a unit of lizardmen warriors and human marines. For a substantial fee the seven agree to enter the Sahaugin base and scope out the number of enemies, defences, leadership and so forth. Without further ado, the seven sail towards their mission....

To recap, we have Elangos (half-drow assassin), Crue (elven mage), Vicdak (half-orc fighter-cleric, and general hard-ass), Emelia (half-elf mage-thief), Loren (half-elf paladin of Pelor), Loki (human ranger) and Gideon (NPC cleric of Pelor). They also have the Sea Elf, Oceanus, with them.

They notice on arrival, during the daylight, that the sea level has risen up the side of the island that houses the lair. Instructing the ship to keep a fair distance, as the Sahaugin 'sea devils' may come patrolling, the characters, lizardmen, and marines land onto the causeway and enter the lair. Straight off they battle some Sahaugin guards, with some others through a lowered gate taking pot shots. Crue and Emelia dispatch their pseudo-dragon familiars through the bars and into the second chamber to activate the mechanism controlling the gate.

As the gate raises, the characters scrabble under and tackle the second room of guards whilst the lizardmen fight the first room full. The battle is swift and bloody, and moving from here the group explore the upper level. They find little beyond the alterations and building work that the Sahaugin and their slaves have done, taking notes on the layout and rooms. With luck they find a near-dead adventurer who tells them, in his dying breath, of the equipment of his deceased colleagues. With a bit of searching they find the hidden room, and the hoard of magic items that generate a rather long debate about who should get the Wand of Polymorph. Ultimately, Emelia grabs the wand and Elangos the cloak of the manta ray, and Vicdak the Ring of Free Action. With a few water breathing potions also discovered, they begin to wonder about what these items indicate.

It becomes apparent in the next room, after defeating the Sahaugin guards and freeing some slaves, as the stairs down to level two slosh with sea water. Emelia smartly uses the wand to polymorph Loren, Loki, Vicdak and herself into Sea Elves, with the potions shared between Crue and Gideon. And then they descend into the depths, slowed by the non-polymorphed members.

Moving through the murky depths the heroes headed south, discovering some rooms normally occupied by Sahaugin who are downstairs at the arena. They do find one chieftain who they kill quickly, and then a huge chamber full of women which they wisely avoid. Heading back north they stumble upon the vestry and quarters of the priestesses, who they discover in the temple about to engage in Sahaugin eugenics. A huge scrap kicks off with the characters focusing on the clerics, whilst the lizard men tackle the shark (by cunningly trying to get eaten and choke it...). Taking a few lumps, the players slay the priestesses, and bag the loot.

So with some quick healing, they swim further onwards and into a huge pillared chamber and then creeping to the portal into the throne room wherein are the toughest Sahaugin, including Baron, his elite guards, and the high priestess. Oh, and a shark.

A drama is unfolding: two Sahaugin are showing an unearthed stature to the Baron, and in its stony clutches is a glittering trident. As the players watch a robed figure materialises. He wears a mask, like  a Venetian mask with a joker-style leer. With a flourish he pulls loose the trident, is heard to say (through the water) "Ah, Wave, at last." And disappears.

The Baron looks about furiously as to where his newly discovered artefact had gone. And he sees the characters looking equally stunned. An epic scrap follows, with both the four-armed Baron and the pesky priestess proving tough to kill. But, with a few wounds, and a few dead lizardmen, they win! The Barons loot is discovered, and his vile missus is killed on discovery.

After this climax the adventurers head down and discover a barracks, and rather worryingly several score of Sahaugin pissed about their dead boss. The chase is on, and the characters barely escape the lair with the remaining lizard men, and the marines who had secured level 1. The boat comes to fetch them and they outrun the Sahaugin, returning to Saltmarsh with what info they've gathered and the news that the Sahaugin command are dead.

With the reward, treasure, and XP for killing some tough baddies, the characters all increase in level - and with a house in Saltmarsh as a gift, they gain somewhere to rest and recover....

The six characters are doing really well. Charlie's three are tough: Vicdak is a combat monster, now gaining double specialisation (from Unearthed Arcana); Crue is fourth level MU, with a big range of spells that I think Charlie plays a little too cautious, but who'll be rock-hard when he gets to 5th (fireball time); Elangos, although not as tough, now has a Ring of Invisibility, which is a big boost to an assassin.

Evelyn's trio are developing personality-wise. Emelia's thief abilities are a real bonus to the party, and she seems to do well in combat. I can see her being fun for some solo adventures. Loki has also gained a double specialisation level, with his skill being in the longsword. Loren, as a paladin 4 gains some great abilities, and his persona is evolving well. He's got a great AC as befits a righteous Crusader of Pelor. I think the ToEE will test them when they hit the second level and below.

And so onto the next classic... the Temple of Elemental Evil, and more revelations about the mysterious masked sorcerer (and his ultimate link to White Plume Mountain).

U2: Danger at Dunwater

And the adventure continues with the kids' party of six:

Loren: half-elf Paladin of Pelor (a Crusader) from Celene
Loki: human ranger from Duchy of Geoff
Emelia: half-elf thief-magic user from County of Ulek
Vicdak: half-Orc fighter-cleric of We Jas. His mother was Suel, hailing from the Wild Coast
Crue: elf Magic-user, from County of Ulek
Elangos: half-elf drow assassin (Flan origins on human side, from Duchy of Tenh, then onto Greyhawk city)

Having trained now to second level (and in some cases, third) the refreshed characters and their mentor, Gideon, are sent by the Council of Saltmarsh to investigate the Lizardmen threat gathering at the swampy mouth of the Dunwater River. The smugglers in U1 (Secret of Saltmarsh) were found to be running quality arms to these Lizardmen, and naturally the Council are scared about attack. It seems swifter to send the characters than lobby the King for aid, especially given that Saltmarsh is on the fringes of Keoland, and very close to the border of the Hold of the Sea Princes.

Taking a small boat, the players sail along the coast and land in the swamp. They have gained some very useful assistance in the form of Pseudo-dragon familiars, and this allows several of their number (most usefully Emelia the theif-mage) to become camouflaged. The gang enter the Lizardmen lair via the main entrance, immediately scrapping with the guards. They beat them fairly convincingly, then tackled the second wave from the adjacent room.

With a swift bit of healing they continued into the lair--moving first into a Banqueting Hall, where they encountered some of the Lizard females. Crue sent them off to sleep with a spell, and the party tied them up with rope and gags. Exiting the Hall, they then came into the Throne Room where two kids were playing. Deciding that they (a) would loose a ton of XP for bumping off the kids, and (b) didn't want the kids stalking them, they grabbed them, tied them up and bunged them in the Hall with the mums.

Back into the corridors, Emelia scouted ahead and found more lizard women cooking in the kitchens. The bloodthirsty adventurers were tiring of these non-combatants! Back into the corridors, the party move around to the east and come into the barracks, wherein they find nine warriors and a shaman. An almighty scrap ensues, driven by the shaman's fervent hatred of humans/ elves as heretics and infidels. Emelia disables one of the warriors with a sleep, and when the battle ends, they question him. At this point they learn that the Lizardmen are actually living in exile from their prior home, and that there is argument between clergy and the Minister about humans and whether they are enemies or not.

It's at this point the adventurers realise that the Lizardmen aren't the big enemy. Given the trail of green blood and orphans they've just left behind, it is with some trepidation they go to make peace with the Chieftain. A big discussion ensues, and ultimately the party accept that to recompense the Lizardmen (a weregild) they must perform a task: to slay a Giant Crocodile that the Lizardmen can't tackle due to religious reasons.

So, out into the swamps and what begins as a battle against a huge crocodile is soon joined by an Oriental Dragon. It's a close battle (see Hidden Dragon ), but the characters prevail and return to Saltmarch with cash, a few choice items ( a periapt of proof against poison, a magic sword, and some potions). And the conclusion to the adventure awaits, in The Final Enemy.

Hidden Dragon (DnD tales)

Thought it would be fun for the kids to see their epic finale from module U2 in story form. So here goes...

 

***

 

The hesitant dawn tainted the mists a rusty colour. Despite the early hour the marshland had a stifling closeness, the air seeming dense and obstructive. Progress from the Lizardmen’s lair had proven sluggish, and the stinking water had soaked through Emelia’s boots at least an hour ago.

She glanced at her companions as they fanned out nervously at the edge of the large pool. Long sharp grasses mixed with twisted reeds around the fringes of the murky water, thickening into a copse of slimy trees at the far side. The creature was surely in the water, yet Emelia had an uneasy sense something terrible was watching them from the dark of the wood.

 

 

“Stay vigilant,” Loki said. The ranger crouched low, checking the mud around the pool for signs of their quarry.

“Can’t be too hard for you to track a crocodile the size of a house,” Crue, the elven mage chuckled. Loki frowned but did not reply.

“I do declare, it might have been safer to just give the Lizardmen their gold back,” Gideon said. The cleric of Pelor was clasping his holy symbol nervously.

“My spell books don’t pay for themselves,” Crue said. “And besides, we took that gold in good faith before we realised the Lizards’ true intent.”

“We have much to compensate for,” Loren, the Paladin, said. “At least this way we slay the…”

The brackish water erupted as a huge crocodile burst forth. Its speed belied its vast bulk, as its huge mouth roared in fury. Slime glistened on its thick green hide, tendrils of weed hanging from its underbelly.

 

 

Emelia’s heart was in her mouth as she sprinted to the side, mind desperately trying to recall a spell that would be of use against such a monster. To her left se could see the huge half-orc, Vicdac, take a more traditional approach and charge in with his sword.

The crocodile sloshed out of the pool, its massive tail swinging through a splintering hail of reeds. Vicdac’s massive sword carved a vicious furrow along its side and dark emerald blood mixed with the slime and marshwater. To the creature’s far side the spear of Oceanus, the Sea Elf, plunged into the crocodile’s flank.

Words of sorcery spilled from Emelia’s lips and she felt the surge of power as a crimson bolt crackled forth. It struck the beast under its jaw in a cascade of sparks. The crocodile focused its attention on Emelia and she felt a surge of terror.

“Try this for size,” Crue yelled from behind a nearby tree. The marshland glowed with the nimbus of sorcery around the elf, and a magical arrow hurtled across the waters and into the monster’s flank. There was a glare of light and then a horrid hiss as acid devoured a chunk of flesh.

I need to find the creature’s vulnerable area, Emelia thought as she darted around the fringe of the pool. Charging in from the front is hardly my style. I’m on this mission to crack locks and dodge traps.

The hide of the crocodile was as tough as iron, and despite its wounds it had slowed little. With a mighty lunge its huge jaws clamped around Gideon as his swing with a mace skittered off its head. The cleric screeched as the dagger long teeth ripped through his armour. Emelia watched in horror as blood spattered across the companions—Gideon’s blood.

“Get him loose,” Loki yelled, jabbing at the crocodile’s throat. “We can still save him.”

Oceanus charged with his spear, and straight into the crippling impact of the crocodile’s tail. The blow sent him hurtling across the water and into a tree with such impact the trunk splintered.

“No!” Emelia screamed, and dashed around the pool. The mud clutched greedily at her boots. To late she saw the trees part and a far more terrible creature emerge.

The water of the pool erupted into flames, and Emelia threw herself back. Her uncanny reflexes had saved her vicious burns from the mystical flames.

A creature of legend emerged, its vast snake like coils propelling it towards the companions. A wicked set of teeth leered as burning orange eyes narrowed in hatred. Crimson membranes glowed with power between gnarled spines jutting from its draconian head and back.

A dragon. A coiled dragon. Emelia knew of such creatures only from the dusty tomes of Ulek’s famed library.

Oceanus had stumbled to his feet, wincing in pain and lowering his spear. Glancing back, Emelia saw that Elangos, the dark skinned warrior, and Vicdak, had also seen the dragon emerge.

The persistent jabbing of weapons had prompted the crocodile to drop Gideon’s limp body. In a deft motion, Loren caught his mentor, whilst stabbing ineffectively at the roaring crocodile.

The heat from the flames was unbearable, and Emelia knew she would be better in the cover of the reeds than stood with wavering sword before a dragon. She scuttled through the reeds almost colliding with Crue, who was skulking like a thief in cover.

“A pan lung. A coiled dragon,” Crue rambled. “We’re stuffed.”

“My magic is spent,” Emelia said. “Are you…?”

“I’ve got some left, but the acid arrow almost burned me out. If I’d have known…”

“Easier to scowl at the past than smile at the future,” Emelia said. “This battle is more suited to bruisers like Loki and Vicdak.”

Circling above the pair, their familiars came into focus. The two pseudo-dragons had wisely being hiding in the reeds. The elves smiled grimly, and then allowed their own flesh and clothing to magically adopt the colour of the surroundings.

Even from three feet away, Emelia could hardly see Crue.

“Good luck, my friend,” Emelia said, and then scrambled through the reeds.

The crocodile was trying to bite Loren, but the paladin’s ornate plate mail deflected the attempts. Loki had moved around towards the dragon, with Elangos and Vicdak, but the flames were hard to breach.

Through the reeds, Emelia crept, trying to anticipate the swing of the huge tail. Her hands were so sweaty with fear that she feared she’d drop her sword. The flicker of flames from the nearby water danced across the flawless elven metal.

With a clatter the huge tail slammed into Loren. The magical plate armour dulled the blow, yet it sent the paladin staggering. The crocodile reared to attack, and Emelia knew she had one chance.

Hurtling from the reeds, she plunged her sword into the soft belly of the crocodile and threw all her strength behind the blow. A gout of viscous blood and entrails spilled from the wound, and she kept on moving, dragging her keen blade along the length of the abdomen.

The monster thrashed and gurgled and then crashed to the mud. The impact sent Emelia spinning across the marsh and into Loren. The pair splashed into the swampy ground and then lay laughing in relief.

“Some help…?” Vicdak’s guttural voice echoed across the marsh.

The dragon hissed in pain as a magical bolt arced from the reeds and into its neck. Loki was injured, but still fighting through the flames at the dragon. With horror, Emelia saw the injured Oceanus, staggering in the flaming pool, trying to thrust his spear at the monster.

There is so much I could learn from him, she thought. Erevan help us, throw your fickle dice our way for once.

The dragon snapped down at Elangos, ripping a chunk of flesh from his shoulder. The dour warrior splashed back through the water, as Vicdak hacked furiously against the dragon’s impervious hide. The battle was taking its toll on the companions, and the dragon showed little sign of fatigue.

 

Elangos had retreated to the water’s edge and was aiming his crossbow. There was something about the dark-skinned half-elf that Emelia couldn’t fathom. Yet she had met few warriors from the northern fringes of Tenh, and those she had were soured by the constant battles in the region with barbarians and orcs from the lands of dreaded Iuz.

Urging her aching muscles to action, Emelia hastened over to the unconscious cleric, Gideon. They had been good friends since meeting years ago in their homeland of Ulek. Although Gideon and Loren worshipped Pelor, God of Light and Healing, and Emelia considered her patron gods, Erevan Ilesere, Elven deity of mischief, and Boccob, human god of magic. Yet Pelor’s disciples were ever tolerant of other faiths, especially when working for the common good (which naturally Emelia did… most of the time).

Blood ran from Gideon’s mouth and nose, and his chest excursion was uneven. Swiftly Emelia tugged loose a vial of potion and carefully poured the contents into the cleric’s mouth. He gagged and spluttered, and was then surrounded by a shimmering light. His eyes flickered open.

“Gideon, are you…?”

“I declare, the dawn has nothing to compare to your fair visage, mah dear.”

“You’re fine,” Emelia said, and dropped Gideon’s head back into the mud with a splash. She stood,  winced, and retrieved her sword. Her friends would need her help, magic or no.

With Loren at her side, she rushed forwards. The dragon was wounded, the water bubbling ferociously around it as the heroes splashed across the muddy banks. Loki was retreating, multiple cuts dirty with swamp water. Oceanus had slumped on the bank, and the flames licked greedily at his burned legs.

A shrill sound sprang from Elangos, an ancient Flan war-cry that sent shivers down Emelia’s spine. Some dormant memory arose within the dragon, and it turned its sinister gaze towards the dark figure on the edge of the pool.

The flames illuminated Vicdak’s mighty blade as he lunged forth. His huge muscles propelled the sword deep into the dragon’s throat, and he roared a prayer to Wee Jas as a fan of emerald blood coated his pale Suel features.

In a flicker the magical flames were gone, and the companions stumbled wearily before slumping into the marsh. Checking the coast was clear, Crue emerged from the reeds and retrieved the dagger he had thrown moments before. His camouflage faded, and he smiled spritely at his exhausted companions.

“Alright, maybe Gideon was right. Paying back the gold would have been an easier option.”

Emelia closed her eyes and smiled.

 ***

 

Details of the adventure to follow soon.

I am rather an expert on that....

Much in the way I never now watch any film rated more than 12 at the
cinema, and indeed actively seek out Pixar productions to watch (‘Up’
and ‘Finding Nemo’ are incredible films), my TV watching home has
regressed markedly over the last few years.

Now part of that is due to the fact that I enjoy reading, writing and
squinting at tiny Warhammer models whilst controlling my tremor with
gin. Another part is my wife’s predilection for soaps and housing
programmes (Property Porn as it is often referred to). And a
significant other part is that I got gloomed out by what was on offer.
After the Wire finished, Game of Thrones killed all the characters
off, and BSG re-runs disappeared I found that all me and the wife were
watching was gloom-vision. Specifically it was variants on forensic
murder programmes (CSI: Llandudno an so on) and now a range of
psychological thriller stuff (Hannibal, Criminal Minds, and now I hear
there’s a Psycho re-boot) that makes me want to go suck exhaust
through a hose-pipe. We escaped into fluff-cop shows like NCIS: LA and
Hawaii 5-0 with their pretty people and feel good banter, but now even
they’ve finished (both with a dollop of drama=torture=misery). So
what’s left to enjoy?

Well, kids TV as it turns out. As child #3 enjoys the new found
freedom of bed vs. cot (read open prison vs. maximum security) and our
new puppy Cockerpoo whimpers the house down from 0500h each morning, I
find myself OD-ing on Nick Jr’s Peppa Pig. Now I’ve been a PP fan for
a long while, in fact since it first aired on Terrestial TV on Ch5’s
Milkshake when Charlie was a toddler. But only in the last year can I
say that I’ve watched almost every episode to the degree that I have
my favourite scenes and can talk about character development.

 It’s so bloody good. Not only is the animation perfect—a combination
of simple childish line-style, with tiny intelligent touches—but the
characters and stories are a mirror of family life with kids. Rather,
family life with kids how it should be. Someone called it the
Simpson’s for under-5s, but I think that does it a disservice as the
acidic cynicism that pervades the Simpsons (and I do like that show)
is absent, and the patriarch of the Pig family, Daddy Pig, is no idle
selfish Homer. No, my friends, Daddy Pig is the model of fatherhood...
patient, yet not perfect, family-friendly, yet flawed.

He’s marvellous! They revolve entire episodes around mocking his big
round belly, which he takes almost graciously. He considers himself
‘rather an expert’ at many things, yet in practice his DIY is crap,
and he can’t speak fluent French. He strives at School sports day’s
Dad’s events, but his only great achievement is jumping in muddy
puddles which he approaches with a Taoist demeanour. He always loses
his glasses (as do I), enjoys a hearty meal, would give his last bit
of cake to the ducks, and runs very fast when chased by wasps... all
for charity. And he plays the drums and the accordion.

I could really go on about the other great characters in the show—the
workaholic Ms Rabbit; the guitar hero nursery teacher; Polly the
parrot; Mr Bull and his love of fine china; Grandpa Rabbit, voiced by
Brian Blessed; the useless Dr Hamster and her tortoise. But that’d be
a little tragic for a 41 year old to harp on about all the things he
genuinely enjoys in a show for toddlers. Yet, it’s so well observed!
Peppa can be really gobby, cheeky, mean to George Pig, but lovely and
curious and happy like all children. The toddlers in PP shower
fountains of tears at the drop of a hat—the episode where the ‘older’
kids run the toddler party is pure brilliance—it brings to mind taking
Charlie and Evelyn to some of the parties Henry has been invited to.
There’s Mr Potato and his strange Spanish accent, with his fruit
awareness day, and a theme park. And the trip to the museum to see the
space exhibit, with its tacky gift shop and £5 per ‘fun-photo’ is so
accurate it’s scary.

Ultimately that’s the essence of good kids TV and film these days.
Suitably fun stories with enough ‘in jokes’ to keep Mum and Dad
chuckling—hence why ‘Despicable Me’ rocks big-style, and I’d rather
watch ‘Up’ than another Tarrantino variant.

Embrace your inner immaturity! I am ‘rather an expert’ on that.

Pantophobia

I flogged one of my books to a lad I know at work, who has limited interest in my soap opera style epic fantasy, but has a missus who loves the stuff. She's a big Dave Eddings fan, and as my book has some similarity to the linear fantasy of the Belgeriad, I hoped she'd enjoy it.

I bumped into him the other day and asked how she was getting along with it. He said she was really get into it, but had to stop reading it one evening as a scene was terrifying her. I was a little taken aback- after all I chanced my 10 yr old lad reading it, and he wasn't fussed about the occasionally visceral scene or two, and he certainly wasn't scared (well I couldn't hear him scream whilst I watched telly downstairs).

It would seem it was an early scene where a Dark-mage chases the heroine Emelia through dark cobbled streets, and corners her in an alley. So, yeah, creepy... but, enough to make you stop reading?? Admittedly it may have just been her excuse, and she thinks it is a bobbins book....

It got me thinking about the nature of fears. It's a topic that comes up a lot in our house; after all, fear is a salient aspect of childhood. There's a commonality to fear with my two older kids, and then a divergence which typifies their personalities. Both had the separation fear, and the fear of loss that all kids have. That's something that lurks inside all of us, I think, that terror of isolation, of loneliness. They had a common fear of me and the wife splitting up. That stemmed (logically) from an abrupt swathe of people we knew separating. So every time me and t'wife get the arse on with each other about pointless stuff (I didn't tidy up, usually) the kids were wailing like drunken banshees about us not loving one another etc etc. All rational thus far.

But it's the differences which fascinate me. Charlie, with his vivid imagination, his heart on his sleeve, has fantastical fears. His fears were of the mythical and supernatural. I can recall him being scared witless by a kids spooky story where a boy gets turned into a doll. And that Dr Who episode where the girl traps a boy in a drawing. He was really freaked by it (actually I get that fear... I was disturbed by it too!!!). His has always been the monsters and the vampires and the ghosts.

Evelyn, ever pragmatic, was first scared of dangerous beasts. Sharks in the sea in Devon; box jellyfish in the English Channel; snakes, lions, venomous spiders in Yorkshire... She's moved on now to disease, after an ill-advised trip to Thackray's medical museum in Leeds. Now I'm continually questioned on a range of dire pathologies by her, whether small-pox is coming back, and how worried she needs to be about anthrax. It's like having a mixture of House and Jack Bauer inside an eight year old.

I think back to my childhood, and my fears were no less rational. I had the standard (for my generation) Dr Who scared moments (the Ruton in Horror of Fang Rock; the robot ventriloquists dummy in Talons of Weing Chiang... in fact anything involving Robert Holmes and his love of Gothic horror on Saturday tea-times). The ghosts and ghouls less so, but I recall one episode of the sci-fi series Sapphire and Steel, wherein people from photographs came to life... and this soldier had no face. I was terrified for weeks after that...

The only fear that remains is one of loss, and I suppose by extension of that the fear of death. These are the common fears of most. As you grow old you become afraid for others-- afraid my kids will run into problems, get hurt, get knocked over, and this eases your own somewhat. But every now and then you get a wrench in your gut about something...

So with all that lingering in the rear of our minds, why do we seek fear for entertainment? Why do we like to be scared? There's a huge market for horror, and by that I don't mean paranormal sparkly vampires, I mean good old fill your pants and spill your drink TERROR. And every weekend people jump off perfectly safe bridges with elastic bands on their back, just to get the feeling of hurtling towards a river four hundred feet below and not dying. We invite fear back into our lives quite readily. Why?

I suppose fear shares the same physiological response as any adrenaline surge: extreme excitement, preparing for battle, fighting, running for your life. But the situations we create now are sanitised, they are safe fear, far more than our ancestors ever could. The invisible spirit on Paranormal Activity isn't going to come out of the TV and drag you across the floor. The bungie rope is going to hold. The parachute will open. The free fall rollercoaster style ride won't splat you all across the bored queue below. And with any buzz, repetition equals less thrill. You can see as a society we seek more and more thrill, more condensed controlled terror, to sate our needs. Everything now is 'extreme.'

Yet,ironically, the fears we carry from our early days never really leave. The fear of loss, the fear of passing away perhaps before you have had time to do what you want or say what you need to. Is there a way of facing these fears, these anxieties, in a sanitised way? I'm not sure there's a way of making it cuddly, or disposable, or easy--but I think that by sharing fears with others, by accepting we all have those basic anxieties in common, we can learn to live with them a lot better.

Hang on... there's a scratching on the window....

(yeah, yeah, Salem's Lot joke... couldn't leave you on too much of a downer

 

Young and Restless

On Facebook I’m in a zillion and one groups, mainly because people practice stealth grouping wherein I seem to be added to groups without my noticing. I had a cull of late, where I went and removed myself from pointless ones, and kept the ones where I had at least a modicum of interest. Some are straight promo ones, whereas others are ‘book clubs’ (promo ones interspersed with occasional debate... and links...).

One group is a YA book group, which I think I joined by virtue of one of the admins being someone I knew. Initially I thought, well I don’t write YA but I have read some of what I consider YA, and have been made to sit through movies and TV series based on YA paranormal romance. So I stuck with it, and the other day read a really great thread on a YA writers work getting chopped off some award nominations because of sexual content.

 

It got me thinking about the genre, not least because since I joined the group I’ve written a book targeted at teens. It came about because the oldest two kids (Charlie, 10 and Evelyn, 8) wanted a book by me that they could read without falling asleep or reaching for a thesaurus. So I wrote one. And now I’m thinking, what ‘category’ should it fall into?

 

Literature is getting like music with its genres/styles, and like the cinema with its censorship/age classifications. In t’old days life was fairly simple, or so I thought. We had books for kids (Dr Who books, CS Lewis, Winnie the Pooh, Enid Blyton) and books for grown-ups (the rest). We also had ones written for kids that adults liked (what are now called cross-over books). The idea there was kids books for older kids that weren’t suitable for young ‘uns never really occurred to me. This was probably because by the time I was a teenager I was reading adult ones (mainly fantasy, sci-fi) and chuckling at any rude bits.

 

But there was a definite teen-literature market even then. Books such as Catcher in the Rye, with its teen protagonist, was a popular book amongst angst-saturated teens and the Outsiders, by SE Hinton, really got the ball rolling in the Sixties, not least because Susan Hinton was a teenager when she wrote it. I remember the film, with its plethora of brat-packers, and its depiction of gang fights, smoking and drinking, and swearing. Not surprisingly it was a perfect YA book, as it didn’t patronise its audience.

 

I think as a male geek-nerd of the first order I missed out on the YA evolution in the Eighties. I recall the Flowers in the Attic by VC Andrews being popular, but I was never clear whether that was a book for teens or one for adults that teens read. And herein is a curious dilemma. Is the whole idea of YA a little patronising?

 

YA is targeted at teens: the common age range is described as 12-18. The bottom end is often overlapped with another genre, middle-grade, which I think is kind of 10-12/13 ish. I find it fascinating when I think of the maturation of adolescents between 12 and 18 just how anyone could think there is a book whose themes/contents would be relevant or appropriate for the whole group. I suppose what I’m pondering is the content, and what is acceptable for MG, for YA and what is adult?

 

When we boil it down I think we’re looking at language, as in expletives, sexual content and violence/horror. Even the bottom (MG) end of the market is happy with violence. Take Harry Potter: we have plenty of scraps, some torture, bits of murder, death, snakes eating wizards. I read Conan as a 10 year old and loved splattering viscera. The reality is that kids won’t bat an eyelid at most violent content, within reason. Acceptable violence in YA? I think of a 15 film: a bit of splatter, spurting vessels, guns, swords, but not full anatomical gore and torture.

 

Expletives? That’s tricky too. Teenagers are the worse swearers on the planet, as they think it’s cool. What’s OK for expletives in the books they read? I suppose its volume, rather than precise usage, and also whether it’s appropriately put in versus put in to titillate. For my part, I don’t tend to put cussing in my books, even the adult ones!

 

And then finally we come to sexual content. As a father, this is the one I struggle most with as I’m probably in denial about the whole issue. Teenagers at my high school, even in the Eighties, were obsessed with sexual themes. By the time most were 14-15 porn had crept into lives, 18 rated sex scenes were passed around on video-tape, and a few were already practising them. And since then we have the internet, and kids with laptops and locks on their bedroom doors. The reality is that what we consider too rude for kids isn’t probably a scratch on the surface compared to what they’re reading or watching. Which isn’t to say we should condone or advocate it in our literature. I think its all down to context, isn’t it? Pointless, exploitative, overly detailed erotica hasn’t really got a place in YA books IMHO. Intimate scenes, sex scenes which are relevant to characters/relationships/plots, are surely OK in our YA books? Other aspects of sexuality, such as homosexuality should definitely have a place. Perhaps even sexual crime (incest, rape) may be acceptable if written in an appropriate fashion. We do our teens a disservice by shying away.

 

Now, having said all of that, just because we can doesn’t mean we have to. Books like Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials, Harry Potter, Philip Reeves’ Mortal Engines, The Hunger Games and Cirque du Freak are tame by the above standards yet read by adults. My book, with its group of teens being chased by killer androids, touches on some mature concepts of identity, self-worth and mental illness, but in a manner I think puts me in the MG category akin to Reeves, Pullman and Rowling. And I’m happy being there—with no cussing, shagging or decapitation.

 

Until the sequel.

 

Something Different

My youngest turned two the other day and amongst his haul of presents (most of which revolve around tractor-themes) was a Mr Potatohead. This elicited screams of delight from the older two, who then ‘helped’ him make his Potatohead by taking it off him and doing it. They were unusually cooperative—they compromised on the choice of eyes, teeth, hat, arms and nose. The resultant Potatohead was anatomically correct (well for a potato-human hybrid) and they presented it back to Henry who chuckle and pulled all the bits out. Then Henry poked them all back into the various holes and created the sort of Potatohead you’d get from bathing in gamma rays and getting angry. Three arms, tongue jutting out of his arse, no eyes, that sort of thing. He finalised the whole thing by shoving the toy glasses on my face (better than shoving the tongue up my bottom, I suppose).

What made me chuckle was the fact Henry, being two, had very few conventions to follow. He put the limbs and eyes and hats where he fancied, and liked the general look of the creation. It’s like when he draws—he just gets crayons and scribbles like a Brass-Rubber on speed. It looks good to him so f%$£ it!

Creativity without boundaries is something many adult artists aspire to in their work. They try to emulate that period of your life where you can just splurge out something that looks/feels good to you and be damned with what others tell you. It doesn’t last long though. As soon as you hit school the restrictions start. Some are understandable—you have to write letters so others can read them... it’s called communication. Others try to channel you down conventional lines: stories have a start, middle and end. The kids are marked down if their short stories don’t follow that line. This was troublesome for my eldest son, Charlie, who has sensory processing disorder and dyspraxia, and tends to throw his ideas down like Jackson Pollock painted. Its taken years to adapt him into a conventional writing structure (and we only did it because he has an exam in two months where he has to write like that!).

But creativity isn’t just about form, it’s about content. One of the best things about being a Geek-dad is that my interests—reading, writing, comics, DnD, drawing, Dr Who, fantasy—have permeated into my kids in a positive way. Whether you’re a fantasy fan or not, or whether you think comics are a childish media or not, you can’t argue that they don’t fire the imagination. My two eldest have seen this geek-heritage, and seen my writing and publishing books, and been inspired. Charlie (10) is an avid reader, years ahead of his age, and is munching through fantasy and sci-fi series like there’s no tomorrow. He loves creating in his games, is mad-keen on DnD and creating stories around his characters, adores his Lego still, and scribbles comics all the time. Whereas his written work at school is constrained, the stuff at home is wonderfully imaginative.

Evelyn (8 ½) naturally enjoys all the things her elder brother does, with a slight chick-bent. When she plays DnD she likes the role-playing parts, and making the backstory, rather than the slaughter of kobolds. Her reading is definitely girly, although she is reading Harry Potter again (she read the first three at 7) and she’s discovered some wonderful series (Holly Webb’s Rose series, RJ Anderson’s Knife series). She read Jacqueline Wilson for a good while, but stopped recently as she felt they were a bit miserable in places. Although she does well at most things, Evelyn’s strength is writing. She’s written a whole bunch of stories, some only half-complete, others done and dusted. Some she illustrates, others not. She’s planning to be an author (as well as dancer, singer, actress—Charlie is planning to be in MI5...) and if the following story is anything to go by she may well manage it!

She wrote this after a shitty period of bullying at school, which I’ll tell you about another time. It was a way of trying to express her feelings and write a story about being believed by people. As convention goes, it has a start, middle and end, and you can see the influence that Disney Channel programmes and Jacqueline Wilson has had on her. But (proud dad that I am) this is her own work, with the help of Microsoft Word doing that red and green squiggles, Daddy. No-one else has touched it!

Here goes:

Something Different by Evelyn M Kitson

“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” I was in the playground on a Thursday; chatting with my friends Lol, C and Abi, when guess who wandered up? Robin, the school bully, even though she’s a girl. She always picks me as her first victim. It all started in kindergarten. She asked me if she could sit in the empty seat beside me, so I said yes because I was new. She peered at my writing and suddenly burst out laughing and I didn’t even know what was so funny.

So since then we’ve been deadly enemies.

“What’s new Fesilly?”  She said, waving her arms about. “Look! Look! I’m Fesilly.”

“The name’s Felicity, Robin. Why don’t you go flap your wings and let us talk in peace?” My friends snigger uncertainly looking at Robin with weary eyes.

“Flick! I know a place were we can talk in peace! Lets go!”

So we did.

When we got inside the school, Robin was waiting. When I sat down she fired a spitball at me and by the lockers she grabbed my overshirt and threw it in the bin!

***

“Hey sweetie! How was school?”  asked my Mom as I walked in the door.

“If you want to know how many good things happened today, zero is your answer.” I answered.

“Robin?”

“You got it.”

“I don’t believe you, Felicity.  I think you’re as bad as each other.”

Ignoring her retort I went to the kitchen cupboard and got some oreo biscuits and started dipping them in my milk.

***

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! I woke up and hit my alarm clock. I got out of bed and pulled back my curtains. Aaahh!! Only two more weeks till the summer hols. 3 months of no school! It was a sunny day, which was what I needed, maybe, just maybe, it would lighten Robin’s rainy mood. I pulled on a white frill top and some denim shorts. Did I ever tell you I’m ten? Did I ever tell you I have 3 brothers and they tell on me at home? They also tell my head teacher that I’ve been naughty in the day so my head teacher sends a letter home to say I’ve had a ‘behaviour malfunction’.

I went and poured some granola and then my Mom walked in. My sly older brother Ben came in behind Mom and then Chazz, my 5 year old brother, and last but least my 8 year old brother, Harry.

" YOUNG LADY! Why on earth would you go skating outside late?” boomed Mom, “No skating for a week!”

I can’t believe it! Normally Mom would just give me a PS3 ban. Or maybe an XBOX ban or a PSP ban. Or sometimes a computer ban! No skating for a week?! .

***

 DDDDDDRRRRRIIIINNNGG! Went the school bell, ringing in my ears.

“Just stay away from Robin!”

“OK, Abi.” I responded, hoping Abi would come to my rescue if anything happened.

I went to tenth grade class and sat down. Robin sat down next to me and I ignored her just like Abi had told me to.

“Right! We are learning about when you wait longer for things to happen, they’re always better, ” said my teacher.

“Felicity couldn’t do that,” said Robin, “…and she can’t spell supercallafradjalisticexpialadousios, either.” A row of giggles shot through the class. I think my teacher had had enough already.

“PLAYTIME!” he bellowed. Normally, I would have jumped up and run out of the room without second thoughts and would be grabbed by Mr.Enliten (the teacher) and would be sent to the head. Today, however, I sat there, with my arms folded and just, well, waiting.

My teacher was surprised and said, “Felicity, you can go first.”

So I did. I did that day after day, as well as sitting quietly and instead of talking, paying attention. It had been 4 days since Robin had called me Fesilly, but she hadn’t stopped picking on me. She had been spreading rumours about me doing naughty things, but no one believed her. Because of that, Robin got narked and got her gooners and herself to push me into an alleyway near where I lived and beat me up. I was coming home with black eyes, bruises, scratches and sometimes even bloody noses and still Mom didn’t believe me.

It had been a week since Robin had ambushed me when I was talking in the playground. For some reason Mr. Enliten called me into the classroom to talk.

“Felicity, myself and some other teachers have been thinking, we have done a little look at your work, done a little bit of research, and we have, well, found out, that…you’ve…well…got… Dyslexia.” said Mr.Enliten, his eyes were full of kindness and warmth. I didn’t believe him at first, but then I saw he wanted to help me.

“OK.” I said, rather quietly.

“Felicity, you mustn’t worry. We will help you. You’re a bright girl. A lovely girl.”

I slipped out of the room. I’d heard of Dyslexia. It means that sometimes you might get your letters or your numbers the wrong way round. Mr.Enliten had already told my Mom. Still, I went outside and joined my friends. I could feel like someone, or somebody was watching me. I turned. 

“Felicity, we like you now ‘cos your not getting told off anymore,” said all of girls at the equipment area.

Robin’s followers and Robin were still worrying me. That night I hurried home and literally ran past the usual beating up alleyway. Then the next week all the boys said they liked me and thought I was a very nice girl! Then that was the best week ever. Still of course trying to run away from Robin would so not work. Robin grabbed me by the arm just as I was walking up the driveway.

“Hey, strangely different girl.” she said. I don’t now why, but my eyes suddenly welled with tears. “…and look! She’s crying!”

Suddenly all Robin’s followers came out from behind trees and cars. Robin threw me to the ground and kicked me hard.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” I yelled desperately. My chest (where Robin had kicked me) was throbbing. It hurt so much. The pain was like losing friends. Friends that weren’t worth losing. I suddenly realised that everyone from school was there watching. Them? Why on earth would they do that! I looked further into the crowd of people… and… there… I could see… three sad faces. Lol… C…and…Abi. After a while people started to speak, not droop.

“Robin why… don’t… you, well… like… leave her alone?”

“Yeah, can’t you see she doesn’t like it?”

Suddenly three familiar voices started talking. “Yeah, Robin. All these years you’ve made us scared. From… well…you.”

“Abi’s right Robin. Leave her alone,” said C.

“Uh-huh. Leave her alone. Leave us all alone.”

“B-u-u-t…” Robin started but trailed of. “I mean, like… look, she’s crying!”

“Well of course she is, Robin! You made her!”

“Robin, you’re… well we’ve never brought ourselves to say this… Robin… well… you’re……mean.”

“Oi! You there!” Came a familiar voice… Mom! “Leave my daughter alone!” Mom ran out and pulled me from Robin’s grip. Robin stammered and ran away, faster and faster until she was nothing but a dot miles and miles away. Her gooners did likewise.

***

 “I’m so proud of you!” said my mom, as we walked in the door. “…about the boys and Robin, I believe you now, and after the school holidays, I will step straight into that school. I can’t believe it! It’s horrible! It’s mean! Why it’s more than mean! It’s disgraceful! I’m going to go to your head soon. What’s his name? Oh, yes Mr. Flint, I’m going to tell Mr. Flint what they’ve done to you!”  

“Thanks,” I said, baffled.

Now every body trusts me and likes me because I did the right thing. And when you wait longer for things, they’re always better.

THE END