The Wave of Tomorrow

Everybody who's anybody is writing directions in numpad notation. Get with the times, gramps. Whether you live in Germany, Uganda, New Zealand, Virginia, or 4 Virginia, catch the wave today.

Q&A Corner

Q. Why is there so much medieval fantasy?
A. Because anything with a king in it gets called medieval.

What Cannot Be Escaped

The stomping and scraping of the site workers that preceded the sun's setting by a little did not divert the Chief Reclaimer's attention, and he only raised a hand in response to the evening farewells. "Goodnight, Chief. Don't stay up too long, Chief." They knew the inevitability of his staying up too long, but wanted to say something. There were worse bosses in their field.
He worked long after the sun set with a single lantern in its place, dusting every speck of dirt and debris off the ancient relics that made the Old Pile worth excavating by the state while night and silence surrounded him.
"Your eyesight won't thank you for these late nights." The silence ended, and the Chief Reclaimer stood and turned around.
"Oh, ah, who . . . may I help you?" He saw a man, or so he supposed, but what he perceived was the edge of a blade, shining scarlet in the dark. "That's . . ."
"It is. You may help me by not moving. I was paid to do this." Halfway through those words, the Chief Reclaimer ran and the other followed. Both stumbled, the latter from unfamiliarity and the latter from stiffness and terror of that blade which belonged to the sword which cleaved might from main, forged by goblins in ages past. He knew of it as any scholar would and feared it.
He stumbled more and longer between the two, unequal to the chase. At last he collapsed and twisted, holding up an arm despite knowing nothing could stop the Sword of Exhaustion. It swung, and that was the end.
The Chief Reclaimer awoke the next day in his bed in town, late for work and feeling better than he had in years. He might have felt better yet had he been given a chance to examine that strange man's relic, but nothing could be done about that.
Finis

Expand Your Dreams

You: King Arthur, but gritty
Them: King Arthur, but there's a million of them

Stellar Elaboration

If your tough priest story involves spaceships, does that mean an entire spaceship has to wear an animal mascot costume? Yes.

Important Reminder

You should probably have your tough priest dress up as an animal mascot at some point. This is an essential aspect of storytelling.

On Technological Progress in Fantasy

A common complaint is uttered, and we must heed it. "Fantasy worlds don't advance enough over the years," people say. What I wonder is what are these worlds, and how would we know?
Few series span enough time to see much change. Few settings are exploited by multiple series. Midkemia sees a few generations, but that's uncommon. Should we expect rapid technological progress over the year or two most stories span? I don't think we should.
Our knowledge of the past in most settings comes from its own history and legends. Now imagine somebody during the Thirty Years' War reading a history of the Year of the Four Emperors, a millennium and a half earlier. What would tell him the technology of his own year was different? The lack of windmills? Why would the author mention windmills? This guy raised an army and fought that guy. What technological advancement would our hypothetical reader see in that? Just the same way, the ancient legend about the hero defeating the demon god wouldn't say a thing about irrigation techniques or dye fixing.
Some suppose an unrealistic lack of technological advancement to be common in fantasy, but I disagree. The real problem with fantasy is not enough tough priests and clumsy maids.

Reasonable Occupations

I'm not saying your tough priest has to oversee an orphanage. I'm merely suggesting it.

The Sundial

"I was told, little brother, that this sundial was special indeed," said Plous, shrugging. "How could a sundial be special? I trust the judgment of my buyers, however."
"Good, but don't trust their honesty. Everyone says you're too rich to notice some missing money here and there, and I hate it when everyone is right." Clous set down his cup and stood. "Shall we take a look?"
The brothers ambled into the garden where a pair of laborers even then were setting a pedestal in place and crowning it with Plous's latest acquisition. The workers finished and backed away, hats off, while the brothers looked.
"Big brother, I have noticed something special."
"As have I. I hoped it was an illusion, though."
"The shadow is on the wrong side."
"It is, yes."
"And moving too quickly."
"Far too quickly."
Plous and Clous considered the sundial as the shadow altered itself with no respect for the sun's position.
"Little brother, have you heard talk about the unseen sun? And the coming of the new gods, the End of the Facade, and so forth?"
"Yes, that madman Droumas makes sure of that with his tireless tongue."
"This sundial is . . ."
"Let's bury it."
"Excellent idea."
Plous called for the workers and told them what he wanted done. They did not understand, but they finished the work that very day.
Finis

Addendum

No one will ever ask if their tough priest can have huge muscles, because c'mon. I mean, really. Let's be serious here.