Jesus Humperdinck Christ, that caterpillar took ages. Little fucker had a moped. And he didn’t even taste that great!
Now, where were we?
Political movements come and go, governments change hands, and churches worship different gods throughout the years. But when it comes to shaping cultural identity, there’s nothing as powerful as shitty weather. So, the Elvish diaspora settled in the hottest and coldest parts of Aries — Nekelmu and Rosencrace — they were doomed to be interesting forever.
Nekelmu was the home of the Desert Elves. It was a mighty empire on the southwestern coast of Dunngate, hugging the border of the Ashentrough desert. In their heyday, Nekelmu as always at Dunngate’s throat and vice-versa. Territorial disputes along their borders led to Dwarven pharaohs and Nekelman emperors declaring full-blown race wars on one another every given Tuesday.
The territory controlled by Desert Elves was once so expansive that it was once comparable to modern-day Aries in surface area, and they conquered Dunngate multiple times. Their conquests continued until the last king of Nekelmu, Asargirru, made what historians refer to as a liddle fucky-wucky: the Tragedy of Asargirru.
(TL;DR: He discovered magic, then used it to accidentally hit the “delete all the Desert Elves” button.)
Nekelman society and ancient Dwarven society were very similar. They both worshipped the sun-god Rafeth, held drinking and brawling in high spiritual regard, and both smelled just as bad after a long day of desert labor. If anything, the only real differences between them were over theological loopholes, height, ear shape, and whether or not beards were sinful. The Desert Elves’ invention of magic certainly shook things up, but that only lasted a few decades before it led to their disappearance.
Now, you’d think that this would create some kind of lasting racial enmity between modern-day Elves and Dwarves. But the Dunngatians’ enemies were the Desert Elves, not they didn’t even think Rosencrace existed until A.L. 12, when Dwarf-King Fraugrim II asked if anyone was going to tell him there was another Elf country, or if he was supposed to learn this from his jester trying find a rhyme for “Swollen Face.”
And granted, a lot of Dunngatians fell in line with standard Ariesian anti-Elvish prejudice — but none of it was about the Nekelmans. In fact, a great deal of money has been invested in Dunngatian museums and universities to find a latter-day rationale to be angry at the Desert Elves post-extinction. Stubborn bitterness is a Dwarven virtue, after all.
Post on Rosencrace forthcoming this week. (And fear not, I’ve made sure to stick with store-bought caterpillars.)
Hey, kiddos. Ned here. As promised, here are a few updates about one of the race issues that takes front & center in the Neverstone saga.
The meaning of “Elf” varies from universe to universe. In Lord of the Rings, they’re immortal twinks with who like wistfully staring into the distance. In Christmas specials, they’re a two-foot-high race of gremlins who daren’t leave the confines of their master’s slaving-grounds. In Berserk, they’re these Tinkerbell-ish dealies. In the Elder Scrolls, they’re a good reason to get in an argument with strangers in Skyrim Facebook groups.
(Spoiler: Skyrim actually belongs to the giants. Poor fellas just want to chill with their mammoths.)
But in Luminar, the world of the Neverstone saga, Elves are humans. Pointy-eared, tan-skinned humans. They have human lifespans, human abilities, and human everything-else.
So, what makes them so different from the rest of humanity? And why are they so commonly persecuted? To answer these questions, we’ll have to start from the very distant past…
50,000 years before the Mad Elf, there was a country on the opposite side of the world from Aries: an massive island state called Ofucha. They weren’t a particularly advanced civilization – I mean, I guess they could skin a walrus a bit quicker than you could, but you’re not very good at it to begin with.
Life wasn’t great in Ofucha. Stone temples, human sacrifices, tyranny, slave labor… you know, the usual trimmings and trappings of ancient peoples with no access to magic. (Magic wasn’t discovered in Luminar until later – more on that in a minute.) If anything, the nicest aspect of Ofuchan life was the lush and beautiful jungle and its constant abundance. (Then again, it was filled with the Goragna-Gorag Hateworm, which likes to breed in the colons of swimmers.)
I suppose that much is obvious about a lost tropical island full of ancient peoples, but the sad fact is, not much is known about the ancient Ofuchans. Because one, they never wrote their history down, and two, no archeologists have been allowed on it since Queen Aurelia Koschei bought the island.
(No one’s sure what she wants with Ofucha, but King Gregor drops her off there every three months or so for her “Special Ofucha Time.” And whenever he picks her back up, she’s naked, running a fever of 107, munching on a fistful of monkey fetuses, and proud to declare that “the pact has been satisfied.”)
“Elf” was the Ofuchan word for “human.” And since they never interacted with outsiders until after the Mt. Nidhogg incident, the Ofuchans weren’t aware of any other types of humans.
Over thousands of years, most of the Elvish lower-class population developed pointy ears. There wasn’t any magical reason for this. Truth be told a few Elves randomly developed that trait at birth, and when they grew older, they had UNGODLY amounts of sex and babies.
Now, the ruling class of Ofucha were round-eared, and not too keen on the new type of ear that was making the rounds among the peasants. And 20,000 years before The Mad Elf, the pointy-ears were banned to the edges of the island, while the rest sat comfortably at the capital… which was at the foot of an active volcano.
The volcano – Mt. Niddhog, by the way – did what volcanoes do best, and the round-eared elves went extinct. The surviving pointy-ears called this disaster much-welcomed divine retribution for about five minutes… until they realized that their once-abundant island was now the world’s biggest ashtray.
So, the Elves left their island in search of a new home. And while a few tribes ended up elsewhere, like Desert Elves of Asargirru (more on them in another post), the majority landed on the shores of Aries.
The Ariesian Elves all ended up settling in the northwestern province of Rosencrace. This was because the Kingdom of Aries had a very interesting public housing system going on at the time. This was known as the “everyone we don’t understand has to go freeze to death in Rosencrace” plan.
And much to the chagrin of the xenophobic Ariesians, the Elves adapted to the cold, forming a unique kingdom of their own throughout the ages. Elements of the Ofuchan folk traditions blended with the Church of Aries, and the Northwestern Orthodox Church of Galgalim was formed.
…I hate to end this here, but I just saw a caterpillar, and a duck’s gotta duck. Let’s continue this tomorrow.
Hello, humans and other pea-distributing races around my pond.
You may have noticed that my most recent post was when Book 4 of Neverstone was released, and the saga was concluded. This may have led you to believe that I, the world’s premier LitRPG waterfowl, had given up on the saga and left this blog to gather dust and/or for Uzbekistani weasel smugglers to yoink my password and turn nedcaratacus dot com into the silk road of exotic varmints.
This couldn’t be further from the truth. (Except for that last bit. …the scoundrels.) As such, I owe the lot of you an explanation.
You see, just after I had reiterated for the umpteenth time that “BOOK 4 IS UP” and hit the post button, I heard the most vile pitter-pattering noise from behind. No fewer than 16 pelicans had me surrounded, each one demanding the $952.38 I owe them in Royal Match microtransactions. But Ma Caratacus raised me right — and she taught me that once a duck has a debt, he never pays it, because anyone who would hound a duck for an outstanding fee is clearly sick in the head!
Alas, scarcely before I could reply to that end, I was staring through the semitransparent membrane of a pelican’s throat-flap. The next time I saw the sun, two weeks had passed, and I was in Novgorod. Apparently the big cheese of the pelican Bratva wanted to personally give me a pair of cement shoes for such an insult.
So, they did. Fortunately, they were just some knockoff Adidas gym shoes they carved out of cement and they didn’t even fit me, so we called it a wash.
Nevertheless, I was stranded in Russia, with four major factors working against my journey home: One, no money. Two, there’s that international boycott that’s been making the rounds since the whole Ukraine business, and I’d technically be a live animal export. Three, it’s too far to fly on my own. And four, I’m afraid of commercial air travel. There’s just something wrong about hopping in an airplane and letting a flightless creature at the controls do the flying for you.
(And before you ask, the language barrier wasn’t an issue. If you’re a human, it’s one thing, but all a duck needs to know is “кря-кря.”)
Pro: no one threw me bread, which any bird lover knows would fuck me right up. Con: everyone threw me semechki instead, which basically tastes like salt-flavored Flintstones vitamins.
Two months of this salty nightmare passed, and I was growing desperate. But opportunity came knocking: I got a callback to be on this local game show called НУХ-УХ. It’s kind of like Jeopardy, except instead of answering in the form of a question, you have to answer in the form of “How dare you. Who gave you the right to ask me something like that? Your nose isn’t exactly clean either. Don’t talk about things you don’t understand unless you’re willing to confront everything you’ve ever done, first.”
I stopped playing halfway through and left with a check for two million rubles, because apparently that’s the only way to actually win.
By stretching out my winnings as much as I can, I was able to purchase a medium-sized bag of popcorn and a tiny plastic motorcycle helmet replica. That last one’s important, because that’s actually how I was about to get home.
Step One: put on the helmet to ensure a safe landing. Step Two: find a guy with a chip on his shoulder. Step Three: face westward. Step Four: as him, “how come you guys always spell the letter R wrong?”
One punt later, I landed off the coast of Maine. And after taking a bus home and getting stuck in traffic for over a year… here I am, rock you like a hurricane.
(And my butt still hurts. Good Lord. Dude’s toes were like battering rams.)
Anyway, come this Monday, I’m going to give the lot of you an update on Elvish culture in the world of Neverstone, which was itself inspired by Romani, Italian, and — what a coinkydink! — Slavic culture.
I’m sorry if I seem a little out of sorts. I’ve been having a very rough time lately. Ever since I officially became the Almighty Star-Blazing Queen of Night, I thought that would be my little “never be scared ever again” pass.
Joke’s on me for trusting anyone, I guess.
Just as an example, let me tell you about the day I had yesterday….
7 AM: I was back in Castle Koschei. Mommy and Daddy were both there, and neither of them were traitors – ostensibly because a force of irresistible, pale-golden love had washed over them and retroactively undid every horrible thing they ever did to me. Daddy told a joke. Mommy ate a live snake. I laughed at both of these things, for they were very amusing.
7:30 AM: My handsome and immortal big bother showed up in the dream. He smiled at me warmly. He held a silver tray of gingerly buttered crumpets in his hands. I asked him, “Didn’t I see you die?”
He placed a strong palm on the top of my head, rubbing my scalp, and said, “Be still, my blameless goddess. I only pretended to die. It was a joke. It was all a joke. Look at little Liv, how happy she is.”
I looked down, and there was Liv the MURDERESS, kneeling and barking at me on her leash. She held a tennis ball in her mouth. She plopped it in my hand.
“Go fetch,” I said, throwing the tennis ball into a garbage disposal.
She shoved her face into the sink. Raspberry jam covered the whole kitchen in a geyser from her awful little face.
My family and I clapped our hands, giggling, singing little Crissmus songs. There was nothing left of her. The Era-skin rug under my feet twitched, moaning – for he was still alive. They were all still alive. Daddy hugged me. Mommy hugged me. Raphie hugged me. Raphie gave me a hundred little kisses on my forehead in the shapes of all the little constellations that I love so dearly.
A blanket of invisible eternal lovewarmth cocooned me, slowly melting my flesh from a cattergirl into a beautiful loverfly. I looked up into the endless night sky above me and the moon winked, smiling. Nothing was wrong anymore, and everything was correct forever.
8 AM: I WOKE UP IT WAS A DREAM DADDY’S STILL DEAD RAPHIE’S STILL DEAD MOMMY SHOULD BE DEAD EVERYTHING IS WRONG WHY IS MY LIFE LIKE THIS IT’S NOT FAIR IT’S NOT FAIR IT’S NOT VOGGING FAIR
8-10 AM: This distressed me so much, I spent two hours weeping and breaking things in my happy little room in Castle Elysium.
10 AM: Once I finally got my two-hour morning weep out of the way, I had a breakfast consisting of 5 gallons of chamomile tea mixed with honey and strawberry cordial, ate my way through an Avogadro’s Constant worth of crumpets hyperspatially compressed into a single cubic centimeter, and… well, for dessert, I wasn’t really in the mood for food-based dessert, so I had my servants fetch me a captive princess from a nearby world-pillar so that I could do happy little things to her veins.
10:40 AM: Mid-deveining, the princess called me a very, very, very awful name that I will not repeat. Her ashes are now cold. She will never make me sad again.
(Before you say anything, it’s very important for my mental health that I don’t go at least an hour without defiling someone in ways they would never understand. Judging my self-care routine is not something you’d do if you deserve to live. Just saying!)
11 AM: My little friends on Earth sent me a very important note. Have you ever heard of the Queen’s Court? They’re such lovely creatures. I have done almost nothing for them and they have supported me unquestioningly. They sent me this video and I have never related to something so intimately in my entire life.
Oh! Speaking of my favorite Earthlings… Morrissey promised me he’d write a song about me. I love Morrissey. I want to lick his eyeballs, overwrite his mind, and make him my sad little canary-monkey in a happy little forever-enclosure next to my throne. Sing for me. SING FOR ME.
12 PM – 4 PM: Went over some of the other worlds in the multiverse I’m scouting for potential friend-slave populations. Here’s just a sample of my findings yesterday:
WORLD-PILLAR
FINDINGS
VERDICT
Ashgaraff-no-Zarakh
Dominant species appears to be pacifist anthropomorphic bunnies, all of whom are individually named Snepp. Differentiation between individual Snepps is based on how many radishes they’ve shoved in their ears. It ends up being an overly complicated caste system in which one individual Snepp comprises an entire caste. …they are very fluffy. Touching them makes me feel nice, even when it makes them scream.
Lobotomize all Snepps, stuff into a single weighted blanket, sit under it when I’m scared. Keep one Snepp to use as a soft little cushion for my throne.
Everything else: SAFETY RISK – KILL THEM ALL
Doong Doong Nevryekragagogagh Derehuyeeegh Nan Schniugarp
Clearly, they would not have made this name as hard to pronounce if they didn’t secretly intend to HURT ME!
SAFETY RISK – KILL THEM ALL
Hoom
Before I could do any serious research, their god told me I was making them uncomfortable.
SAFETY RISK – KILL THEM ALL
Tromphek-Naa
Terrified delegations of every country in Tromphek-Naa met me within the pillar, offering me all sorts of wonderful gifts to appease the terrifying God-Queen that had made herself known in their presence. Jewels. Toys. Books. Servants. Machines. Clothes. Food. Drinks. Weapons… These gifts were all wonderful. They really made my day. And to top it all off, their god personally offered to let me take his place as the god of Tromphek-Naa.
SAFETY RISK – KILL THEM ALL
…then, send a thank-you card for the lovely gifts.
Karnorm
A weird one. This world is technologically advanced for the most part, and they seem to have had at least some contact with other world-pillars. They even know who David Bowie is! Some of them even like David Bowie! This could be the breakthrough I needed…
Line up every individual of Karnorm’s dominant species single-file. Play “Starman” for them one-by-one. If they like it, they’re friend-slave material. If they don’t, BURY THEM ALIVE.
5 PM: Just after I used temporal manipulation magicks to take care of the Bowie-based audit of Karnorm in a fraction of the time, I manifested a computer and pretended to go shopping on Amazon for a while. I must admit, it’s pretty addicting! Especially since I installed this extra-special button on my browser under “buy now” that says “Í̷̠̐͂ ̶̝̻̉̾̚C̴͖̔͑Ȓ̶̙̗̝̔̕Ë̸̘̓̌Ạ̸̣̘̿̒̄T̷͔͕͉͋̐̐Ȇ̸̡̊̂ ̵̤͒̒A̸̧̛̾͊Ș̸̐̃͊ ̸͙͑̿̓Ì̷͖ ̴̗͐͐̎S̷̺͎͕̆̀̍P̶̖͖͖̂̆̕Ẻ̸̯̘A̷̠͌̾̒Ǩ̶̞͌͘” that generates whatever I’m looking at out of sheer willpower.
6 PM: And just when I’m in the middle of browsing… THIS shows up.
That’s right, the two worst people in the multiverse – Angel “Ý̴̞͍Ò̷̟̰̰̍̏U̴̪̅̃ ̸̼̰̌̆M̶̨̀Á̸̩͒̋ͅD̵̦͐̉Ë̸͚̚ ̸̍̽͜ͅM̸̧̪͒̉͜Ė̴͚͖̒ ̵̜̙̆T̶̤͝O̵̡̻͘ ̸̡̃͂T̵̲̝́̇O̸̘͇̊̉͜R̵͙̮̋͌̾T̸̯͇̖́Ů̴͔̜̈́R̷̢͈͌̽̽É̶͙ ̶̥̓M̷̝̯͊̕Ë̵̠͚́̔,̷̡̗͓̓̎̈́ ̸̡̣̔Y̴̟͈̮̊̉Ó̸̧͎͔͒̽U̸̯͑̉ ̸̲͒̈͆M̴͍̣̜̂͌O̸̡̪̼̒N̴͙̜̎̓͜S̶̪̓̏T̷̛̙̽E̴͇̯͌̕͜R̷̺̰̈ͅ” Sanchez and Era “Y̷̲͝Ọ̵͠U̸͎͗’̸̲͒R̴̥̚E̴͕̅ ̷̧͘M̶͈̉A̶̠͐K̷̗͋Í̶͔N̷̨̋G̵̞̋ ̵̳̄M̷͎̄E̵͍̐ ̵̍͜S̵̯̓Á̶̙D̴͖͐,̶͎͝ ̷̲̈́P̷̲̊L̴̳̇Ę̸̂Ã̸̜S̴̲̐Ë̷̻́ ̷͎̃D̴̮̾I̷̖͛E̷͇̎” Gualtieri.
…
6 PM – 11 PM: I needed a moment.
11 PM: At my servants’ suggestion, I finally calmed down by making a little snack out of the approximately 14 billion surviving inhabitants of Karnorm.
12: I finally go to sleep by forcing the remaining cuttlefish people from the pillar of Garxiag Prime to sing me my favorite song about helping scared little goddesses. As a final show of good faith, they even submerged themselves in hydrochloric acid when the song was over so that they’d never have any potential to crawl into my Goddess-bed and suck my brain out of my ears.
…
If you honestly think it’s this easy to be me… if you think I’m just being too sensitive… if you’re one of those “oH aStRiD wHy CaN’t YoU jUsT dElEtE wHaTeVeR’s ScArInG yOu” people or those “NOOOO WHY ARE YOU DESTROYING DESTROYING MY ASSASSINATION PLOT INNOCENT HOMEWORLD” people or those “well *maybe* if you stopped hurting people, they’d stop trying to hurt you” monsters…
…well, good for you.
Your day’s going good, so, I hope your day keeps going better.
I hope you NEVER have to understand how it feels to be me!
Your lives are completely in my control as a higher power! That, in itself, is a form of safety!
WHO’S LOOKING OUT FOR ME?!
…
…book 4 of the Neverstone Saga hits Amazon on July 18th.
Read it, you heartless little spiders. Because, one: it’s funny, and two…
Something tells me you’re about to need a distractionfrom the inevitable.
#siekommt, ⋆｡°✩Little Astrid Methuselina Koschei, Queen of Night✩°｡⋆
Well, folks, now that Book 4: The Voice Highmost is currently in the process of being given a thorough lookings-at by the editors, I’ve come to realize something: this shit’s fuckin’ weird.
Especially in this last installment of the saga, there’s going to be a lot of talk about “The Gallery” and “World-Pillars” and whatnot. Without a little extra help, you’d think you were walking into something the Kingdom Hearts universe would have come up with.
So, here’s the aforementioned extra help.
The way the multiverse is set up is for the following reasons:
So that the Pale Hawk can dip His fleshy little Demiurgic fingers into a bunch of other non-Neverstone stuff that’s in the works, in subtle but extant ways.
To create a structure for the multiverse that’s just as chaotic, flawed, and fundamentally human as our own world. There are gods, but they’re less “I AM THE LORD THY GOD AND I WILL PURGE MY WORLD FREE OF NAUGHTY PICTURES OF GIRLS WITH CLEANSING FIRE” and more “Flustered civil servant who ultimately means well.”
That last point – if you’ll permit me to speak for a moment not as Ned Caratacus, but as Dave, the guy who invented him – is the only way God could exist that makes any ethical sense.
Now back to my Ned bullshit. Quack, quack, where’s my peas, et cetera.
So let’s dive in. BEHOLD, A MULTIVERSE!
…that requires a little explanation, doesn’t it?
The Gallery: The multiversal hub world. It was never created at any point, it simply is. The Gallery takes the form of wide, open plains, extending for eternity, interspersed with towering columns of black clay.
(Ever been to this area in Dark Souls 1? Same vibe.)
Perception Level: If the Gallery were a building, these would be different “floors.” It’s nigh-impossible to travel between floors.
They’re called “Perception Levels” because if we saw something from a different perception level, we wouldn’t be able to comprehend it in any way that makes sense – or we’d only be able to see it as fictional.
The Neverstone saga takes place entirely on perception level six. Usually, fictional characters are on lower perception levels — but Bighorn Studios’ accidental use of PrometheOS to make a reboot of For The Light! caused a world to appear on the same perception level as Earth.
(Q: “But Ned, does that mean all stories are real in lower perception levels?” A: Not all but lots.)
(Q: “Does that mean the Shrek universe is real?” A: I am legally obligated to neither confirm nor deny. [Meet me in the back alley at 1 AM. Bring an onion.])
(Q: “But me, reading this at home – hypothetically, what Perception Level am I on?” A: Level Seven.)
World-Pillars: The aforementioned black columns. They’re infinitely high and hollow inside. The walls within are lined with paintings. At the bottom of the pillar is the painting for the “root world” from which all versions of that world in questions were born. After that, the rest of the wall is taken up by an infinite amount of paintings, each labeled “Root + (number)” or “Root – (number)”. Each one represents a parallel universe caused by a different decision made by someone or something in the root world.
Pillar Master: The ruler of an individual World-Pillar and all the parallel worlds within. This is usually whoever embodies that world’s concept of godhead. Some Pillar Masters have arbiters of their will (basically angels or “sub-gods”) who help out in individual worlds.
Antegalleria: A space within an individual world-painting that connects to its World-Pillar – and by proxy, the rest of the Gallery. These spaces are often used by Pillar Masters to store their unused content for various worlds – or in some cases, their personal effects and things they borrowed from the Demiurge.
Antegallerian spaces are the Demiurge’s jurisdiction, and coming too close to them without a clear goal often results in a mortal subject’s mind being taken over by the Demiurge. (This, of course, is accidental on the Demiurge’s part.)
Demiurge: The lawful-neutral supernatural being who rules an entire perception level. They usually let individual Pillar Masters take care of their own worlds and only interfere whenever the safety of the Gallery is threatened.
A Demiurge is omnipotent and its authority is absolute. But in order for mortals to have free will, Demiurges take great lengths to limit their own power. (The nature of these limitations is a huge spoiler.)
An individual Demiurge answers only to Demiurges from higher perception levels. This collective of Demiurges is known as the Infinite Hierarchy, because by definition, there’s no one at the top of the pecking order – only higher and higher authority ad infinitum. That way, there’s always someone to hold someone else accountable.
It’s important to remember that the Demiurges didn’t create the Gallery. They are merely stewards of reality – cosmic janitors, if you will – trying to hold the Gallery together.
Zurvan: The inscrutable homeworld of all Demiurges. It’s the only world that exists outside the purview of the Gallery. Very little is known about it except for the following:
1. It’s older than the Gallery (which, as I’ve said, is already eternally old). 2. It’s mostly a dark ocean. 3. The wildlife is exclusively made of these weird little pterodactyl-things called Amphettes. They’re immortal, about the size of a pigeon, and mostly just scream. The Gallery’s full of them, too.
Lostin: The capital city of Perception Level Six. It exists between World-Pillars. The Pale Hawk Himself is the mayor. It’s the multiversal big apple, where wanderers from all over the Gallery gather to mingle and do business with other worlds.
Hoo, boy. As of March 1st, the last entry of the Neverstone Saga is currently with the editorial gods of Aethon Books for some good ol’ once-and-twice-oversmanship.
Here’s some sneek peekery, keeping things ambiguous (ofc).
The title is “The Voice Highmost.”
The majority of action takes place on Earth.
Era’s still the main character, but Angel Sanchez’s character arc will be the focus.
The gang’s gonna finally meet the mysterious “Pale Hawk” who rules over the multiverse – and whatever you’re expecting of this meeting, I can guarantee you that’s not how it’s gonna go.
Yes, Edgar the weasel is still grafted to Ross’s hand. No, he does not shit in Ross’s blood. He’s got a little colostomy bag.
Astrid’s simp army would like a word with you…
Speaking of the Queen of Night, she’s got a world-shattering secret that not even she knows about…
The individual books of the Neverstone quartet were built around themes of “What it means to be a _____.” Lemme fill in the blanks for you… Book 1, The Mad Elf: “What it means to be a hero.” Book 2, Hero Killer: “What it means to be a villain.” Book 3, Noah the Red: “What it means to be a king.” Book 4, The Voice Highmost: “What it means to be a god.”
I highly suggest having a stiff drink before you read Chapter 22.
And finally, here’s a collage of Neverstone Book 4 with zero context:
IT IS I, SCREAMING DANIEL. FAITHFUL SERVANT OF KING ASARGIRRU. GUARDIAN OF THE SEVENFOLD STAFF. I AM HERE TO SCREAM AND CHEW BUBBLEGUM*.
*(WHAT THE HELL IS BUBBLEGUM?!)
IT IS MY DUBIOUS HONOR TO TELL YOUR FACES THIS INFORMATION FOR YOU TO HAVE.
YOU MAY BE FAMILIAR WITH NEVERSTONE BOOK THREE: NOAH THE RED, A.K.A. THE ONE WHERE NOAH LOSES HIS SHIT AND HORRIBLE THINGS HAPPEN TO LITERALLY EVERYONE AND THERE’S AT LEAST ONE BANJO AND A GUY GETS A WEASEL FOR A FINGER AND MISCHA WEARS A CODPIECE TO COVER HIS PENIS.
YOUR MIND MAY HAVE USED ITS WONDERING MACHINES TO WONDER: WHERE THE HIGGITY WIGGITY DIGGITY FUCK I MEAN VOG IS THE AUDIO VERSION?! (I’M A FAN OF THE AUDIOBOOK VERSIONS ESPECIALLY ON THE GROUNDS THAT ONE: SCREAMING IS AN AUDIO THING, AND TWO: P.J. OCHLAN USES HIS NARRATING SKILLS TO MAKE THE FINEST NOISES EVER PUKED OUT OF A HUMAN THROAT [OTHER THAN SCREAMING]!)
I hate this phrase with all fiber of my being, but I can find no better way to explain the situation: OH, HAPPY DAY!
…threw up in my mouth a little.
Anyway, Noah the Red is on like Cranky Kong, my dudes. Snag you a copy and see the reason you’re hearing simultaneous laughter and shriek-sobbing from the flat next door. (It’s literally this and nothing else. Don’t call the police.)
Now, then… what can I tell you about Book 4 that isn’t going to invoke a massive spoiler-fest?
It’s called The Voice Highmost.
One of the bosses is called Bonk.
There are… things with an atomic mass.
Events… happen. Said events involve people/places/things/ideas.
There are emotions to be had, but I will not say which ones.
The following things do not appear in Neverstone Book 4:
Adam Driver.
A shiny Jigglypuff.
SCP-173.
Crow T. Robot.
That 50-page-long Liv x Screaming Daniel x Aurelia Koschei threesome scene you’ve all been begging me for
Ned Caratacus: Author, Scholar, Duck 