Grimdark Magazine Issue #8 ePUB Read online

  Another surprising member of this makeshift rebellion is a serial killer of Nazis who begs B.J. to understand why she does what she does. The resistance does numerous terrorist acts like suicide-bombings, blowing up bridges full of civilians, and even nuclear strikes to hurt the Nazi regime. They're the lesser evil, but the actions they commit out of mad desperation and insane righteous fury aren't shown in a flattering light.

  The characterization for the game is also exceptional. Each of the individuals you meet has a fully developed personality. The Nazis in the game aren't portrayed sympathetically but, instead, as realistic grotesque—perhaps the most realistic they've ever been portrayed in a game—who have been allowed to enjoy their every depraved whim and who have had their most monstrous impulses normalized by the state. All of the game’s backstory comes from actual real-life policies of the Nazis, which makes it all the more disquieting.

  Part of why I love the game is how much it takes the piss out of Nazi ideology while simultaneously showing it in all of its nasty anti-glory. One of the big revelations we have in the game is the Nazi ‘super-science, which allowed them to conquer the world, originated from a Jewish utopian religious sect that had been working on it to benefit the world before it was stolen by Deathshead. The Nazis weren't superior, they just stole from actual real-life geniuses—same as in the real world.

  My favourite character in the game is undoubtedly Anya, B.J.'s love interest. Together they are perhaps the most singularly well-developed romance in a video game. This is because, ironically, the game doesn't try to make it a romance. Anya and B.J. fall in love in the game, they have sex, and they continue on with their lives as events transpire around them.

  There's no attempt to make her ‘sexy’ like a real-life woman, and their connection doesn't dominate the story. Sex is just something that happens, and love is a thing that occurs between two friends attracted to one another. Their mutual opposition to the Nazis is more important to both than ‘love—another nice bit of realism.

  Wolfenstein: The New Order is a dark, dark game. It is grim, gritty, and thoroughly depressing. Some gamers might be put off by a mission that takes place in a concentration camp, and there's some who will think, no matter how well intentioned, the Nazis shouldn't be subjects of cheap entertainment. Despite these legitimate criticisms, I think Wolfenstein: The New Order is an extremely good grimdark game. It’s a fun action game, beautiful to look upon, and has an immense amount of detail put into it. I also love the characterization of the leads.

  Even if victory is impossible. Continue to fight.

  A lesson many grimdark anti-heroes have learned.[GdM]

  An Interview with Jesse Bullington (Alex Marshall)

  Adrian Collins

  Hi Jesse, thank you for taking the time to speak with us. Having just finished A Blade of Black Steel, the sequel to A Crown for Cold Silver, we're all keen to get to know the author behind the gritty brilliance of the Alex Marshall pseudonym.

  [AC] What drove and inspired you to write a gritty fantasy novel, breaking away from the more gothic styles of The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart?

  [JB] To be honest, I don’t consider the Alex Marshall series to be terribly different from the novels I published under my own name, stylistically speaking. The real difference was that I wanted to write something second world, with epic conflicts versus the relatively smaller scale struggles and historical settings of my earlier books. It’s hard for me to pinpoint a singular motivation for any given project, but I will say that my long-standing love for epic fantasies inspired me to build my own. Plus, a friend and fellow lover of dark fantasy put me up to it.

  [AC] What were the risk factors considered when deciding to use the Alex Marshall pseudonym? Did you consider publishing under your own name?

  [JB] I did initially plan on releasing it under my own name, but ended up going the pseudonym route at my editor’s suggestion. The only real risk was that fans of my earlier books wouldn’t realize I had a new project out, and that concern was what made me want to announce the pen name sooner rather than later.

  [AC] A Crown for Cold Silver and A Blade of Black Steel have all the elements of grimdark as our magazine likes to define it: a grim story set in a dark world told by morally grey protagonists. Do you see Alex Marshall as a grimdark author and did you set out to write a grimdark story?

  [JB] I do like that definition, and it accurately describes not only the Crimson Empire trilogy but also my earlier novels. Life isn’t black and white, and what’s the point of writing if we don’t attempt to capture the fundamentals of existence? Ultimately, though, whether this book or that one gets classified as grimdark or epic or gothic or what have you is something that only the readers can decide. To me each project is the product of many influences, but is ideally very much its own thing.

  [AC] Drugs play a big part in the everyday lives of the characters your books, playing down the vindictive illegality of their use in modern society while not eschewing the addictions, effects and dangers. What made you want to include them in your book to cause the reader to bat no more of an eyelid than over a skin of spirits or wine? Where did the idea to use bugs as the source of them come from?

  [JB] Before retiring, my dad was a criminologist who spent much of his life researching various drugs, so the subject matter has always been of interest to me. When I was a teenager that interest took a very personal turn, and there were a few years there where they were part of my everyday life. I eventually got out of that scene, but not all of my friends were so fortunate. I took ‘Alex’ as my pen name in honour of a dear friend and fellow writer who died of an overdose. Including and normalizing drugs in my fiction is a natural consequence of my personal experiences. One of the constants across time and culture is our human desire to alter or escape reality using such substances, so why would fantasy worlds be any different?

  As for the insect angle, that probably originated in my love of entomological documentaries like Microcosmos and Life in the Undergrowth—bugs are cool. I also read Naked Lunch at a young age and watched the movie not too long after, so between Burroughs and Cronenberg the egg was laid early on.

  [AC] A Crown for Cold Silver provides an incredibly refreshing view on sexuality—in that it just... well, is, in whatever form it's in (eg. Ji-hyeon's first and second fathers, or Zoisa being attracted to Lieb, and Bang). There's no fanfare, no feeling that you're up on your soapbox; it's just normal, and brilliant for it. What made you take that approach as opposed to other approaches where non-heterosexual relationships are used as a tool to show how messed up society has been and still can be to people?

  [JB] That was a decision I made at the beginning, and my motivation was pretty simple: I wanted to make the sort of world I would want to live in. I absolutely understand the need for narratives about non-heteronormative characters struggling in oppressive societies—two of my three previous historical novels deal with just that. However, for this project it just seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up. At fantasy’s best there’s obviously a great deal of engagement with real world issues, but like most people I also turn to fantasy as an escape from reality, and I wanted my fantasy to be one that anyone could escape to.

  [AC] You’ve got a double bachelor’s in literature and history. What organisation and period of history inspired the Burnished Chain and the treatment of War Nuns?

  [JB] Probably because I’m a life-long atheist I’ve always been fascinated by organized religion, and the Burnished Chain is an amalgamation of the worst of the worst. The Catholic Church during the Spanish Inquisition is the obvious touchstone. But, to the discredit of our race, it’s far from the only one. I’m not one of those people who is against religion entirely, though, and I’m friends with amazing individuals of all manners of faith. As a historian, though, I see organized religion being used to divide people far more often than it brings them together, and as a justification for all manner of horrors.

  [AC]
Maroto is a pretty trope-standard aged barbarian with a crappy and bloody past, a warped sense of morality and a want to do better while constantly dropping back into the ways of the past. What made you want to go with his character and how did you aim to define him from the norm?

  [JB] That archetype has been with us as long as we’ve had stories, hasn’t it? Gilgamesh, Odysseus, and Beowulf are just a few of the models, but their authors obviously didn’t consider them to be barbaric, or to have warped senses of morality—that all comes out through the lens of the modern age as we look back at those legends. I’d argue that the contemporary incarnation of that archetype—the conflicted barbarian trying to do better—is our own effort to rehabilitate the classic hero, a character who has resonated with us for millennia. So as a storyteller, historian, and lover of folklore I wanted to take part in that tradition, but as an artist I of course wanted to do my own thing, and that’s how Maroto sprung to life. In terms of how he differs from his predecessors, my ambition was to write a character that started off seeming archetypal and familiar, but over the course of the narrative defined his own unique personality, which in turn comes from his being the product of an environment a bit out of step with earlier epic fantasies.

  [AC] I love the way devils are represented and worked into your books. They live in the ethereal, seen only be a few, yet can be bound to flesh and blood creatures by those ballsy or crazy enough to try. They represent a possible deeper back-story and the anticipation of the possibility of what Zoisa's devil, Choplicker, could be was a huge hook (for me, anyway) to pick up A Blade of Black Steel. What was the inspiration behind them and can you tell us anything about where the story about the devils is going in book two?

  [JB] From the time I was very young I’ve been obsessed with the supernatural and the macabre. As I mentioned before, growing up in a non-religious household I developed a curiosity for the Abrahamic faiths. My devils are the creative product of a lifetime of reading about demons and spirits from all over the world, and of course the concept of familiars. With each successive book in the trilogy we’ll learn more about the devils and the First Dark, as our mortal protagonists find themselves with no choice but to traffic with forces beyond their understanding…

  [AC] With A Blade of Black Steel out there kicking arse, can you give us any teasers for the final instalment of the Crimson Empire Trilogy?

  [JB] I’m not big on teasers, as a rule, but I will say the third book is going to answer a lot of questions readers may have and resolve some of the trilogy’s biggest conflicts in very bloody fashion. The scale of it is also larger than the first two books combined, in terms of action set pieces, supernatural weirdness, and interpersonal drama and politics.

  [AC] Will there be more from Alex Marshall?

  [JB] Working as Alex Marshall has been very rewarding, and I’m sure I’ll do more work under that name and in this mode… but maybe not right away! The Crimson Empire trilogy has consumed years of my life at this point, and I need a little break before I start peering into any more Gates.

  [AC] Thank you for your time, Jesse. We’re all really looking forward to seeing your Crimson Empire short story in our Kickstarter, Evil is a Matter of Perspective: An Anthology of Antagonists![GdM]

  The Price of Honour

  Matthew Ward

  The Sabre's Edge was almost deserted. The last of the noonmeet drinkers had slipped away, the hubbub of their conversation replaced by the dull thrum of rain against the tavern's windows. Eribon sat alone at his usual table, a flagon of mead untouched before him. He wasn't much in the mood for drinking, but a few coins had dulled the servitors' accusing gazes.

  <> remarked Talgard.

  As ever, the spectre's voice lay just on the edge of Eribon's hearing. It wasn't really a voice at all, of course. Talgard's phylactery lay deep in Eribon's frontal lobe, entwining their thoughts. Talgard gave Eribon an edge in combat, finessing reactions with a deftness Eribon couldn't have hoped to achieve alone. It did, however, mean that Eribon's thoughts were never entirely his own—Talgard was always listening. Listening, and judging.

  ‘He'll be here.’

  Eribon was surprised at the steadiness of his own voice. An hour ago, he'd shaken like a freezing child. It was ridiculous, in its way. He'd faced death head-on not twenty-five hours ago, and without so much as a flicker of fear, but the walk between his apartment and the tavern had nearly defeated him. With each step, he replayed the events of the last three days, searching out some way things could have unfolded differently. He hadn't found one, not that it mattered. The past was the past and not for changing.

  <>

  ‘No. I'll wait. I owe him that much.’

  <>

  Eribon scowled, knuckles whitening on the tankard's handle. ‘I'm not a complete fool.’

  No one must know of this. That's what Corvor had said. If he broke his silence, she'd destroy what remained of Clan Merrix just as surely as if he'd refused her in the first place. He took a swig of mead, and quickly set the tankard down. Its contents tasted of ash.

  The tavern door creaked open, the sudden draught setting synthflames guttering. Three men and two women entered, rain spilling from travelling cloaks and high-collared jackets. To all appearances, they were five heralds out for an afternoon drink. Eribon knew better. He knew the leader's face well: the tousled black hair and clean-shaven jaw that had always matched the romantic ideal of a herald somewhat better than his own ample jowls. Three days ago they'd been brothers—or as close as was possible for two heralds from different clans. Today? Today everything was different.

  ‘Lord Eribon.’ Icarin's expression was as rigid and formal as his greeting.

  His companions said nothing, but then, they weren't there to speak. They were witnesses. Eribon recognised Riona Tarenis at once—for her, at least, an accusing gaze was nothing new. He didn't know the others. The other woman bore the violet rose of Clan Briganta; the two men wore the same hunter's green as Icarin.

  ‘We missed you at the wedding.’ Icarin's words were friendly. His tone was not.

  ‘I'm sorry, it was unavoidable.’

  ‘Duties to your clan?’

  Eribon hesitated, but there was no sense dragging things out. ‘Yes.’

  A shadow of pain flickered across Icarin's eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was raw with emotion. ‘You swore to me. You swore. Does our friendship mean so little?’

  The accusation ripped at Eribon's heart. ‘It means more than you know.’

  Icarin didn't seem to hear but forged on, his face contorting with barely contained anger. ‘Do you know what you've done? My cousin Araña was to handle the negotiations, but some serpent ambushed the Kerno delegation. One of your Balanos friends, I have no doubt. The Kerno don't believe that, of course. They returned Araña's head as a wedding gift. I'm told they fed the rest of her to Arix Kaerin's hounds. They say they will not rest until Clan Tarenis is destroyed.’

  Eribon bit his lower lip. More than ever, he was glad to have stayed clear of Castle Valda the previous night. He'd suspected the news would break during the wedding, but not in so cruel a fashion. As unpleasant as the next few minutes were sure to be, they were but a pale shadow of what would have happened had he been present when the Kerno 'gift' had been unveiled. As for Icarin, the destination he'd reached was not incorrect, even though he'd taken several wrong turnings to arrive there. Not that the details mattered. Not now.

  ‘I told no one about the delegation.’

  Icarin drew his pistol and laid it on the table. ‘My pistol calls you a liar, Eribon Merrix.’ Icarin closed his eyes, the anger in his face slipping away into sorrow. ‘Do you deny it?’

  ‘Please don't do this.’ Eribon shook his head slowly, sadly. ‘I don't want to fight you.’ But he'd have to if Icarin persisted. To refuse a challenge w
as to concede, and to concede was to admit the accusation was true. It was as binding as a decree from the Sened, and all the proof of treachery that the Tarenis would ever need.

  ‘Do you deny it?’ shouted Icarin.

  Eribon met his friend's furious gaze. For a moment, he was tempted to confess, and to the Five Hells with the consequences. There could be no forgiveness, but there was some small honour in the truth being known. However, that truth would doom what remained of Clan Merrix. The only way to protect them was to compound one dishonourable act with another. He had to make that truth a lie, and the only way to do that was to kill his friend.

  ‘You lie,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘And I will prove it.’

  * * *

  Two Days Earlier

  Midnight had come and gone by the time Eribon excused himself from the celebrations, and returned to his rented quarters—a small, high-rise apartment in one of Valda's better districts. Synthflames flickered into life around the walls, suffusing the room with a warm, orange glow. Stifling a yawn, Eribon tossed his jacket onto a nearby chair. He wouldn't need it for a while—his crimson and gold dress uniform was pressed and ready for the morrow's ceremony.

  ‘Good evening, Lord Eribon. Or should that be good morning?’

  Eribon's hand dropped to the brass grips of his holstered pistol. The woman stepped away from the wall, her tailored black robes lending the impression that she glided rather than walked. She pushed back her hood and smoothed her long white hair back from her aged, aquiline face.