How about animated branches and a man-eating diet? We’ll stay away from trees that bad-touch you, though. I think Evil Dead has said all that needs to be said on that particular subject.

So, without further ado, I give you: the Man-Eating Tepe Tree of Madagascar!

In 1881, the South Australian Register reported that a German explorer by the name of Carl Liche had discovered a species of man-eating tree. He was said to have seen the tree being used in a sacrificial rite by the Mkodo people of Madagascar, in which a young woman of their tribe was forced to climb the tree and attempt to drink from the hollow, fluid-filled depression between it's branches. With a trunk like an 8-foot-tall pineapple and a crown of long hairy green tendrils and several pale, translucent palpae which waved in the air and writhed like agitated snakes, the tree was anything but inviting. Still, the girl was made to climb and drink the liquid which pooled in the hollow between the branches. As soon as she did, the tendrils became even more agitated, then quickly curled in on the hapless young woman, pulling her up and winding around and around her body with the strength of several anacondas, crushing her. Even more disturbing is the mention of her wild screams and even more hideous laughter as she was rapidly crushed to death. The laughter, to me, seems to suggest that either the girl was either driven mad with fear or perhaps even drugged or poisoned by the liquid at the tree’s crown. Creepy, creepy stuff.

Except, as you may have guessed, it was a load of crap. Fascinating crap, sure. Exciting, morbid, thrilling crap. But crap. Further research has revealed that the entire story was a complete fabrication, meant either as a joke for the more discerning readers, or a deception to thrill the more gullible. Or maybe a little of both. Even better, the entire Mkoda tribe was an invention of the writer, and better yet, the writer wasn’t even German explorer Carl Liche. Probably because it turns out that there wasn’t any German explorer by that name at that time. So the tree was fake. And the people were fake, and even the guy allegedly telling the story was fake.

Amusingly, this didn’t stop Chase Osborn, the former Governor of Michigan from re-telling the tale in his almost fifty years later, in his book Madagascar, Land of the Man-eating Tree.

Oops. There’s a joke here about lying politicians, but my allergy haze just isn’t allowing me to assemble it. Feel free to insert your own at this point. Try a few variations, if you like. Riff a little.

Now, if you’re feeling a little ripped off that the story was a total hoax, do bear in mind that while thrashing, python-like branches are sadly missing in all our lives, there are still many trees and plants out there in real life that can totally kill you. There’s a tree that can be found in Florida and as far south as South America called the Manchineel, which has sap so toxic that if it drips on you (and it drips a lot at certain times) it can actually blister your flesh. And if you try to get rid of it by burning it, even the smoke is toxic, and can blind and choke you. And of course eating any part of it will kill you in a spectacularly agonizing fashion.

So at least we have that for some comfort.

Finally, I leave you with another MacRaffen challenge: Give me an example of a killer plant, real, mythological, or even from the movies, and I’ll give you a point. Come on. That’s an easy one. I bet you can get at least a couple. But no copying other readers’ suggestions!

Until next week, wish me luck with breathing, thinking and remaining upright. It’s harder than it looks.

 

In medieval France, a terrible beast known as La Velue (“The Shaggy Beast”) or the Peluda, was said to have terrorized the countryside bordering the Huisine River. The creature was described as a huge beast with a snake-like head protruding from a bulky body, a long tail, and four enormous tortoise-like feet. The monster gained its name from its most unusual feature: a thick covering of what appeared to be long, green straggly fur. This “fur” was reported to be quite dangerous, however. The strands behaved more like tentacles than actual hair, each tendril tipped with a vicious stinger with which it would attack its prey. As if that weren’t enough, it was also said to be capable of unleashing blasts of searing breath to burn crops, and enjoyed devouring livestock and humans alike.

Locals who spoke of La Velue theorized that it was some ancient beast which had somehow escaped the biblical flood, but this did not help them discover a way to stop its destructive rampages, as the beast appeared to be invulnerable. Eventually, while engaging in another bout of wanton destruction, the stories say that La Velue devoured a young woman who was about to be married. Her fiance was so outraged at her death that he sought out the seemingly unstoppable beast, chasing after it and attacking its tail with his sword. With a mighty blow, the tail was split in two, revealing that the tail was the creature’s one weak spot. The beast quickly expired from its wound, the people of the region rejoiced, and the bride-to-be was avenged.

 

I found the description of La Velue interesting and distinctive with its tortoise feet, stinging tentacles, and other odd touches. It’s a bit dragon-like, but also reminds me of some other creatures from various myths and legends. And while some of the descriptive elements made me think of dinosaurs (scaly beasts from before the flood), dragons (burning breath) and even jellyfish (stinging tendrils), as a whole it’s a bit of a surprising mix.

So what I’ll ask you this week, (offering a couple of MacRaffen Points for your thoughts, of course), is this: What do you think was the story behind this story? Do you think that this was an exaggerated or misidentified animal? Or do you think that it was entirely imaginary; not based on any actual creature? If it was imaginary, then it was quite probably told as a symbolic representation of some idea or concept, so what do you suppose it means? Is the Shaggy Beast greed or corruption of some kind? Or could it be the very first story of a “Bridezilla”? Or maybe you have an explanation for why you believe that an actual tortoise-dinosaur-dragon-jellyfish was eating fiancées in medieval France. (It’s an alien conspiracy, right? I’m totally right. I know it.)

Whatever your thoughts, silly or profound, I would be very interested to hear them.

Still, as much as I love the actual animal, I can’t help but have a soft spot for the legendary monsters it inspired. Werewolves are just too exciting to ignore, and there are all manner of other monstrous variations on the wolf all throughout the world’s mythologies and modern pop culture.

In fact, this week’s wolfish topic was inspired by the Shadow Wolf: Elmoryn’s very own lupine monster. Subscribers can get a look at the brand new illustration of this oh-so-creepy beast in the Beastiary. Here’s a sneak peek for the curious:

In the real world, there are almost too many variations of the Monster Wolf to count. Those familiar with Norse mythology will know of Fenris, the colossal cosmic destroyer-wolf which threatens to devour the father of the gods at the end of the world. Even young children versed only in nursery rhymes and fairy tales know about the Big Bad Wolf.

In the interest of expanding our knowledge of obscure or strange monsters, let’s take a very quick look at two little-known monster wolves from Inuit mythology and medieval heraldry.

The Akhlut is a legendary menace in the mythology of the Inuit people of the Bering Sea coast in Alaska. Their stories tell of a huge, man-eating killer whale which is not satisfied to simply wait for people to come to the water to be devoured. Instead, this ravenous monster has the terrifying power to shape-shift into a huge, fearsome wolf, allowing it to climb up out of the ice floes to hunt for human flesh. Anyone who finds large wolf tracks ending at the edge of the sea ice knows to retreat, for it is a sure sign that they have entered the territory of the hungry Akhlut. If the tracks are found entering the water, there is reason to suspect that the beast may emerge there again at any time, ready to consume the first humans it comes across.

In medieval Europe, the Calopus was a monster wolf of a different kind. Like ordinary wolves, this beast was an entirely land-based hunter. However, unlike regular wolves, this creature was ferocious enough to hunt humans, and possessed a terrifying set of serrated horns upon its head, as well as wickedly sharp spines growing from its body. The beast’s fierce temperament and extra armament made it a truly formidable foe, but if it could be lured into thick scrubland, its spines and horns caused it to become entangled, allowing its prey to escape. At one time, this creature was said to dwell along the banks of the Euphrates River in Iran and was greatly feared. Later, its image was adopted into European heraldry, adding some pointy ferociousness to shields and coats of arms.

Unlike the Akhlut and the werewolf, real wolves are not shape-shifters in the traditional sense, but they still have achieved an impressive feat of transformation which we still benefit from today. Through millennia of adaptation and selective breeding, certain wild wolves have transformed from feared predator to beloved family member, integrating with human society and metamorphosing into more than a hundred and fifty different breeds of domestic dog. The next time you find yourself looking at a dog, whether it’s a three-hundred-pound mastiff or a squirrel-sized Chihuahua, try to remember that they all came from domesticated wolves. That’s some serious real-life shape-shifting!

As always, I’ll offer a MacRaffen Point challenge: Name any variety of fictional/mythological monster wolf that I haven’t already mentioned here, and I’ll give you a point. But it’s first come, first served: repeating another reader’s suggestion doesn’t count.  Got any ideas?

One such lesser-known Cryptid species is the Mongolian Death Worm.

The Death Worm is known to the Mongolians of the Gobi Desert as olgoi-khorkhoi, which roughly translates as “intestine worm,” due to the fact that it resembles a two- to five-foot long section of bright red large intestine. The Death Worm is reported to have no legs or distinct head. Its tail is blunt-ended and does not taper. Combined with its lack of visible eyes or mouth, this makes it nearly impossible to tell which end of the creature is which. Personally, I think it’s a good idea to assume that whichever end is pointed at you is equally dangerous. Despite having no claws or visible teeth, the Death Worm is not inappropriately named.

Various accounts report that touching any part of the worm will result in either instant death or crippling pain. It is also said to be capable of spraying a powerful acid which is fatal on contact and will cause extreme yellowing and corrosion to most materials, even metal. If that isn’t enough to earn the name “Death Worm,” the creature has also been reported to generate a massive electrical discharge which can kill a man from a distance.

The Mongolian Death Worm is said to dwell solely in the most arid southern sections of the Gobi Desert, spending most of the year hibernating underground. In June and July, the worm is reported to become active, especially during the rare desert rains, when it surfaces and moves around on the wet ground. If it is actually a real animal, this remote habitat and hibernation might help explain how it remains elusive to science.

Of course, it is also entirely possible that the Death Worm is nothing more than a legend handed down over the generations, possibly based on exaggerated accounts of snakes or some species of long-bodied, burrowing reptile like an Amphisbaenid. Still, it’s possible that it actually is an unidentified breed of super-lethal desert worm. Honestly, I’m not sure which side I’m rooting for here. 

I mean, if it turns out to be a real thing, then first I’d have some huge excitement… 

“Wooo! Score one for cryptozoology! They were right! It actually is real!”

Followed quickly by grim realization…

“Oh crap. It actually is real? These things exist out there in the world?!? Gobi Desert or not, I’m never going outside again.”

 

Real species or mythic fiction? Tell me which side you’re rooting for, and I’ll give you a MacRaffen Point. Now I think I’ll go watch Tremors…

Let’s talk about another one of those Fearsome Critters, told of by lonely woodsmen and trappers in the deep forests of the American north.

One critter which was of particular concern to lumberjacks was the Axehandle Hound. The Axehandle hound preyed on the livelihood of the lumberjack, not by attacking him bodily, or by stealing his food, or even devouring the trees from which he made his living. Instead, the Axehandle Hound fed itself solely on axe-handles.

The Hound itself actually bore an uncanny resemblance to an axe. Physically, it was a little bit like a dachshund, with an elongated body and short, stumpy legs. But the body was so long and stiff, it actually resembled the long wooden handle of an axe. The Hound’s head was its most remarkable feature, as it was shaped almost exactly like an axe-blade: Long, tall, and very narrow, with a curved, sharp-edged snout. Were it not for the legs, tail, and small eyes, ears, nose and mouth, the Axehandle Hound could easily be mistaken for the actual tool.

Any lumberjack foolish enough to leave his trademark tool untended could expect to return later and find only the metal axe-head remaining, the wooden handle having been chewed away and devoured by a hungry Axehandle Hound.

 

The origins of a creature like the Axehandle Hound are obvious. Most likely is the idea that the beast was a simple excuse to explain carelessly misplaced tools, or to remind inexperienced woodsmen to take better care of their gear. Also possible is the tendency common among children (and imaginative adults) to look at inanimate objects and imagine them as living creatures. As a tiny kid, I remember my grandmother watching with delighted surprise as I transformed her broken and discarded watch into a mechanical brontosaurus with my imagination. It’s easy to find faces in knots of trees or patterns of windows on a house, or find the shapes of animals in clouds or shadows.

This brings us to this week’s MacRaffen Point challenge. Tell me about a particularly noteworthy example of finding a face or creature hidden in your surroundings (like a face on a tree or a cloud with a remarkable resemblance to a bunny rabbit, etc.). Alternatively, you could also tell me about a creature that was invented to explain a problem, or perhaps to warn or scare people out of certain behaviors. It could be something you experienced or invented yourself, or something someone else came up with that you particularly enjoyed. Either way, it’ll earn you 2 points.

So start looking for faces wherever you go, and have fun!

Let’s talk a little about something cute and fluffy to get our minds off of all of that nastiness, shall we?

How about unicorns?

Now, it would be easy to write a really silly post about how unicorns are just the cutest damned things and OMG they’re so magical and did you know they totally poop rainbows LOL?

But no. Everyone knows some unicorn basics. They’re not unusual, as mythological beasts go. Very familiar, even to those not overly versed in myths and legends. Not newsworthy.

But do we really know as much about them as we think? Are they as familiar and recognizable as we’re assuming?

No. Not at all.

First of all, unicorns are not magic horses. They’re almost always depicted that way, but it’s far from the original version. The unicorn as it originally appeared in mythology was not very horse-like at all. Its body and head were more like that of a goat or deer. Often, early depictions give it a coat of the familiar white fur, but also bold markings of black, red, gray, and even purple or blue. The horn itself was sometimes said to be white, but also red or black, and sometimes all three in spiraling stripes. The tail was more like that of a lion than a horse; long and skinny with a tuft of fluffy fur at the end. The unicorn’s hooves were said to be cloven like a deer or goat’s, and were extremely sharp-edged, serving as defensive weapons almost as dangerous as the horn itself. The length of the horn varied greatly from one depiction to the next. In some versions it was only a few inches long. In others, seven feet or more in length, making the beast rather like a small deer carrying a flagpole around on its head.

The horn was often attributed with magical, miraculous properties, curing diseases and detecting deadly poisons. However, in the earliest accounts,  it was primarily used by the unicorn as a brutally effective weapon. Early unicorn legends told of a small, fleet beast that launched itself at any percieved threat with astounding aggression and power. It was said to impale larger beasts on its horn, slash open opponents with its razor-sharp hooves, and in some cases, even attacked and rapidly killed massive elephants. In these early appearances, unicorns were scary, mean, dangerous beasts, and people told stories about them much as they would whisper rumors of vicious dragons waiting to devour travelers in the wilderness.

“Hey, you hear about Bob? Tom told me a dragon ate him. Burned him alive first. It totally sucked.”

“Really? I heard a unicorn got ‘im. First it kicked his guts out, then it skewered him. Like a shish kebab. Gruesome.”

“Oh man. A unicorn, huh? Nasty.”

So there’s the modern, “magic horned horse” version, prancing in majestic slow-motion and spreading sparkly enchantment everywhere it poops.

Then there’s the original mythological version: A weird, multi-colored goat-deer with a massive head-spear, kicking holes in people and impaling elephants. Not exactly My Little Pony. Definitely not just a magic horse with an ice cream cone stuck to its face.

So where did this whole unicorn idea come from, anyway?

Unicorn myths are one of those things that pop up all over the world in remote and varied cultures and legends. As with such things, one has to wonder if there was some basis in fact that could lead to such stories. A great many animals have been suggested as being the “original unicorn” upon which all later legends are based. Various species of rhinoceros are popular suggestions, as are misidentified members of two-horned species like antelopes, bovines and various deer which were missing one horn or antler due to injury or other various reasons. Even whales have been suggested, with good reason: the long, spiraling tooth of the arctic narwhal has often been presented as a “genuine” unicorn horn. Maybe somebody got a hold of a narwhal tooth and thought “What the hell kind of thing was this horn stuck to? I’m imagining a magic goat. Or a deer. Something like that.”

However, it is possible that the term “unicorn” is not so much a species as it is a condition that can occur in multiple species of horned, hoofed animals. Dr. W. Franklin Dove, a professor from the University of Maine, conducted very simple surgical experiments on the developing horn-buds of a new-born bull, causing the animal to develop a single, forward-pointing horn like that of a unicorn. Others have conducted similar experiments on goats, producing what has often been termed “living unicorns.” These animals are of course still ordinary goats and bulls in most respects, but some have noted a difference in their behavior, tending to be more territorial and protective of their herd-mates. It has been suggested that since the necessary operation is very simple, perhaps early shepherds of antiquity performed the same operation on select animals in their herds, thus creating a kind of elite “unicorn” to assist in leading and protecting their flock. Maybe it was a passing stranger who saw one of these and first spread stories of the aggressive unicorn, spawning what would become a worldwide legend.

Then again, maybe some guy just really didn’t know what to make of a rhino. Or a person in bad need of corrective lenses saw an ordinary deer and got confused.

Of course, there’s always the idea that maybe there really were such things as unicorns, once upon a time…

Hard to explain scientifically, but certainly fun to think about.

 

What do you think? Weird deer? Rhino? Ancient surgically created elite animal? A narwhal that got very, very lost? Or was it really real? Chip in your two cents, and I’ll chip in two MacRaffen Points.

Seriously though, it would be wrong of me not to come back and do a second follow-up installment. Last week I talked about how weird spiders are. And yes, they’re very weird and creepy and impressive in many ways. But that was mostly general, standard, across-the-board spider stuff. This week I’m addressing something even weirder: Spiders that are bizarre or unusual even when compared to other spiders.

There are a lot of strange specialists and weird deviations in the spider world. Some build concealed trap-doors in the ground and pop out to ambush prey. Some actually throw their webs at their prey, almost like spiderman. Some have outrageous colors or shapes that allow them to camouflage themselves as parts of flowers or even masquerade as ants. Just imagine the stories the ants would tell each other around their tiny anty camp fires late at night (if such a thing were possible).

“And then Bobby and Sally and Tom went to sleep after a hard day of raiding picnics in the park. But what Sally and Tom didn’t realize, was that Bobby was actually a SPIDER!!!” (Terrified ant screams)

There are so many weird and amazing variations on the basic spider form and function that there’s no way I could ever cover them all in one post. Instead, I’ll pick just a few examples to give you some idea of the range.

My first example is a species that I tend to describe with the horrifying nickname “Neck Spiders.” No, wait, come back! They don’t do anything to your neck! They’re not even really called Neck Spiders. They’re actually called Assassin Spiders! Wait-why are you running again?

The reason I think of them that way is because they actually look like their head is lifted up on top of a long neck, which is extra weird when you realize that spiders don’t actually have necks; their head and chest is really a single, fused unit. Assassin spiders, however, have the front of this chest/head unit stretched up vertically in a neck-like extension. This weird arrangement gives them room for a pair of truly gigantic and super-long jaws which they can use kind of like a pair of tongs to hunt other spiders. It’s this habit of hunting other spiders which earned them the name “Assassin.” Don’t worry, though; they’re harmless to humans, in part because of their extremely small size. It’ll vary, depending on what kind of screen you’re reading this on, but in most cases, they could fit inside of this letter “O.”

The Portia Spider is another variety that hunts other spiders for food. The Portia is remarkable in that it appears to have a significant amount of intelligence for such a tiny creature. Despite the miniscule size of its little spider-brain, the Portia is able to use trial-and-error experimentation and innovation to develop extremely clever hunting tactics. Portias set up camp on the edges of other spiders’ webs and start studying their feeding habits. They build hunting blinds inside curled up dry leaves, from which they can observe their prey completely undetected. When a fly or other insect falls into the target spider’s web, it makes distinctive vibrations as it tries to escape. The spider who wove the web recognizes these patterns as signals to pounce and feed. 

Ping-ping-twang: a fly is on the menu. 

Ping-twang ka-ping: there’s a fresh cricket for dinner. 

The Portia spider observes all this from her hidden vantage point, taking note of the other spider’s reaction. Which direction does he come from? How fast is he? Where is he most vulnerable?

After she’s learned enough about her prey, the Portia makes her move. She gets into an advantageous position at a different side of the web, then starts plucking the trip-line, mimicking the sounds of her target’s favorite food. 

Ping-twang ka-ping! I’m just a tasty cricket; come and get me!

Her unsuspecting target comes rushing out, thinking that a delicious dinner has arrived, but finds nothing instead. Before it knows what’s happening, the Portia has leaped out onto its back and delivered a fatal bite. The hunter has become the hunted, and the Portia sates her appetite before moving on to her next victim’s web. If all that doesn’t sound impressive enough, consider this:

The Portia’s technique is so wildly effective that it is able to not only hunt other spiders for a living, but it typically brings down spiders that are somewhere between ten and two hundred percent the Portia’s size. This is like the Predator hunting Arnold Schwarzenegger, if the part of the Predator was played by Ellen Page.

On the one hand, I applaud a spider that helps control the population of other spiders. That’s one less spider who can suddenly dart out of a corner and freak me out. On the other hand, I’m not crazy about a spider sitting around just… thinking. The fact that the Portia’s technique is so sketchy just makes it that much worse. They’re like creepy little stalkers hanging out in the bushes next to their prey’s house, waiting to see when the poor saps order takeout so they can ring the bell themselves and then, BAM! Dinner time. Teensy-weensy little home-invading serial killers. Yeeeesh.

Okay. So those two examples are a bit unsettling. Well, take a breath, because the next guy is… a vegetarian? Seriously?

Yup. The recently discovered Bagheera kiplingi (yes, it’s named after the panther from The Jungle Book) lives in the branches of acacia trees. The trees have these odd little bud-like growths at the ends of their leaves, which are extremely rich in protein. A species of ant lives in the tree, and guards its crop of delicious buds with ferocious dedication. So, you can imagine that this little spider, the “panther” of the acacia tree, uses its stealth and agility to hunt the ants that eat the leaves, right?

No. Nope. It’s scared of the ants. The ants will chase and kill the spider. No kidding. So it uses its ninja-like skills to slip in all mission-impossible like, and steals the buds, right out from under the ants’ antennae. It’s not completely vegetarian. Sometimes it will grab up a stray ant larva if it gets the chance. But its real interest is in the leaf-buds. To give you an idea of just how bizarre this whole cats-chasing-dogs, tigers-eating-fruit arrangement is, think of it like this: There are roughly forty thousand known species of spider. Forty thousand. That’s a lot of different spider species. Know how many of those have a vegetarian diet?

One.

Just little ol’ Bagheera. That makes this species’ diet truly and literally unique among spiders.

I say we should applaud our new pal Bagheera. Let’s try to encourage the rest of the spider community to take up less creepy habits, right? Less of that “jumping out of dark corners” routine and more of that “let’s have a salad” attitude. Maybe we can get them to spin some nice silk sheets, or use all those creepy legs to do a little tap-dance instead of jumping and stalking. 

In fact, I’m making that this week’s MacRaffen Point challenge: Name something that you think could make a spider less creepy, and I’ll give you a point. It could be a physical change or a different activity for them to pursue, or anything along those lines, whether fanciful or realistic. It could even be an example of something that a real spider does that is particuarly pleasant, cute, or praise-worthy. And we already know that pest-control is a very important service provided by our creepy, creepy spider neighbors, so let’s see what else you’ve got!

Take note, spiders! There is another way!

Of course, new species are being discovered all the time. Maybe we really will find another friendly breed who does something cute or pleasant that doesn’t involve being frighteningly lethal. That would be nice. Then again, we may just find yet another way in which they can creep us out…

Wait a minute. My wife just informed me that they discovered a new species of tarantula with an eight-inch leg span.

 

Dammit, spiders!!!

 

So really quickly and very much informal like, here is a preview of some of the new game mechanics released for ... [insert drumroll here]:
Special Abilities

I believe only subscribers will be able to view all of that, but when I'm done with the new "front page" for all the game-related info on the site, then I will open up some of the new stuff to everyone for a little while so non-subscribers can enjoy some of the action too.

Have a good week,
-Haus

This week, let’s tackle some more real-world creatures.

Several people aren’t going to be happy about this.

 

Spiders.

 

If you’re someone who doesn’t get the screemin’ heebies at the sight of a big nasty spider in your bathroom, you have my congratulations for possessing such a steely resolve. Or perhaps my condolences for an unfortunate head injury. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.

Spiders are one of those things that provoke a powerful, visceral fear-response in a large percentage of the population. And that reaction is both irrational and entirely logical.

Most of the time, spiders are absolutely no threat to you whatsoever. Even the really scary looking ones who jump out from under leaves and charge at our feet are often utterly powerless to harm us. Sure, they can bite us, and sure, it might hurt a little. Much in the way that it might hurt Godzilla a little if you jumped up on his toe and started biting it. A tiny pinprick of pain, followed by a swift smoosh, and the problem (be it a biting spider or a biting human) is quickly forgotten.

But sometimes it isn’t so quickly forgotten. The bites of certain spiders can pose a real problem for humans, and in some cases, that problem is deadly serious. It’s these spiders that lend a logic and validity to all the jumping and screaming. Eons of survival have programmed us to be afraid, because when you finally do encounter a truly dangerous spider, you could be a single bite away from a spectacularly messy end.

Some dangerous spider species inject a kind of neurotoxin, which can can be both fatal and extremely painful. Some venoms disrupt other aspects of human body chemistry, causing things like vicious cramps, or respiratory problems, or various other organs or systems to fail or shut down.

Then there are the necrotic venoms. This is where it gets really fun. Bites from these spiders can cause all kinds of issues, including renal failure. The really gross part, however, is that while some of these bites may be almost unnoticeable at first, they can get much worse with time. The venom causes a necrotic effect, killing otherwise healthy tissue in an ever-spreading area. Some cases only result in a small pock or scar, while others can eventually lead to huge areas of dead, necrotized tissue, as much as ten inches across. After gangrene sets in, the dead flesh sloughs off entirely, leaving horrific, disfiguring scars.

Considering these possibilities, it’s not surprising that most humans tend to react badly to the presence of spiders. But it’s not only the threat of venom. There’s something just… wrong about them. Alien. Aggressively unfamiliar.

Years ago, I decided that the real reason that I was afraid of spiders was because I didn’t understand them. I didn’t know what was inside those big creepy abdomens. I didn’t know how their weird mouthparts worked. I didn’t know how they digested their food or reproduced or did anything other than spin webs and bite things. I decided that through research and understanding, I would banish my ignorance of spiders, and thus banish my fear of them. After all that studying, I know a lot more about spiders now. I am much more impressed by them now. I now understand how efficient they are. How supremely adapted they are. How elegantly evolved they are. I discovered that, as different and scary as they may have seemed to be, they are in fact… even more different and scary than I thought. They’re impressive creatures, to be sure, but having learned as much as I could about them, I am now even more freaked out by them than I was to begin with. 

Because sometimes, knowledge is power. The power to scare the bejeezus out of yourself.

You know what’s inside those big creepy abdomens? Creepy stuff, that’s what. I’m not even going to traumatize you with all the gory details of Malpighian tubules, book lungs, hydraulic limbs and the creepy “not-blood” it’s all swimming in.

I thought maybe behind those big nasty fangs, there was some kind of more recognizable mouth. There isn’t. Remember Shelob from Lord of the Rings? When she’d roar at Sam and behind the fangs you could see a kind of creepy jaws with teeth? Yeah. It’s even less human than that.

This is in part because spiders do most of their digesting outside of their bodies. If Shelob had been a real spider, she would have poisoned Frodo with her fangs, not some tail-stinger. Then he would have started… sort of… melting inside. After which she would have drunk him like a juice box.

Also, you know those weird little legs near the mouth? They’re kind of like a pair of little arms. They’re called pedipalps. And if the word “pedipalp” isn’t bad enough, know this: In addition to working like little hands for manipulating prey during feeding, the male spider uses his pedipalps to mate. Yes, that’s right. Male spiders get it done with their hands. To be clear, the sperm doesn’t come from there. No. They just grab a handful and put it where they think it should go. Which incidentally is right between the book-lungs.

You’re welcome.

Friggin’ spiders.

As a final note, just to put you at ease, I’ll share one of the most happy and reassuring facts that I know about spiders:

 

There’s a spider in the room with you right now.

 

Don’t bother looking for it. You probably couldn’t find it after hours of searching. But it’s there. There’s a good chance that it has sensed your presence, and it may be taking pains to conceal itself from you. There’s also a very, very good chance that it’s not the only one.

“Oh, come on,” you might say, rolling your eyes at me. “You’re just trying to freak me out. You can’t possibly know that there’s a spider in my room right now.” And it seems silly, I’ll admit. But scientists who study spiders will agree with me. According to them, no matter where you are, there is always a spider within a few yards of you. There are even spiders who spin tiny diving bells out of webbing to carry breathable air underwater, and tiny baby spiders that sail high up into the atmosphere on kite-like strands of silk. They follow us everywhere, tagging along in tiny little dark corners and clinging to sticky silken strands. You could probably flee to the moon to try and escape them, only to find a tiny web in a corner of your lunar capsule weeks later. 

There’s a nice image. Trapped in a hostile, airless void. Locked inside a claustrophobic steel coffin. More alone than almost any other human in history. Except for your good friend the spider.

Again, you’re welcome.

I think I owe everyone a little slack after putting them through all this spidery horror. So, to that end, I will offer three MacRaffen points to anyone who posts a remotely relevant comment. “Remotely relevant” is pretty open to interpretation. Go ahead and share another creepy spider fact, or tell a funny story about scaring your friend with a rubber spider, or even just ask a spider-related question or talk about spiders you enjoyed in fiction. You can also skip spiders entirely and get onto the subject of other real-life “monsters” that interest you. Knock yourself out. 

Well, don’t really do that. 

Some spider might crawl down your throat while you’re unconscious on the floor.

I'll work with Chris on that and release it to subscribers next week.  In the meantime I'm going to go catch some 'Z's in an attempt to fight off this fever.  Hope all is well.  See ya next week.
-Haus

Sharks.

Sharks are old. They’re older than the human race kind of old. When flowers and grass were still just blueprints on evolution’s drawing board, sharks were already old. Older than the dinosaurs kind of old. If dinosaurs had built museums full of big skeletons of ancient fossils, there would have been fossil shark skeletons in there. Little dinosaur kids would have looked at the shark bones and been unable to believe how old those fossils were. When the first creature with a backbone was just figuring out how to grow gills and crawl out of the ocean, sharks were already there, snacking on his cousins.

Sharks are OLD.

And the crazy thing is, they really haven’t changed all that much. There have been a few improvements. There have been some increases in efficiency and design. A few new models have hit the showroom floor from time to time. But mostly, it’s a super-efficient hunting machine that hasn’t really needed any big flashy changes. What worked when dinosaurs walked the earth still works just as well now. 

Still, every now and then you get something really unusual. A really dramatic variation on the plan. Hammerheads are a good example, with their eyes sticking way out on the side: that was a pretty specialized design, and very odd-looking. And there are others around today that are pretty weird compared to the more “standard” shark. Whale sharks with their big, harmless, plankton-sifting mouths. Goblin sharks with their strange long noses. But if sharks have been around for so long, what other sharky-oddballs have cropped up in the fossil record?

The answer is lots. And some of them are truly bizarre.

Stethacanthus was a really puzzling one. It was relatively normal looking by shark standards, with one really mysterious exception. The male Stethacanthus had an extremely weirdly-shaped dorsal fin, which stuck up from its back like a flat-topped mushroom covered in teeth. These “teeth” on the top surface, which were also present in a large patch on the male’s forehead, are called dermal denticles, and smaller versions cover most sharks’ entire bodies, giving sharkskin its infamously rough texture. 

Anatomically, dermal denticles are a kind of scale, but they’re made out of dentine, with a root and enamel layer, just like the teeth in your mouth. And while they help create a smooth flow of water over the shark’s body, increasing its speed, they’re also sharp. Consider that for a moment. A shark is already basically a huge meat-eating mouth zooming through the water like a torpedo with an appetite. And it’s covered from nose to tail in sharp teeth. Come on, Nature, was that last part really necessary? I mean, you’re awesome, but you can be kinda ridiculous too.

At any rate, being covered in teeny-tiny pointy teeth just didn’t seem to be enough for a male Stethacanthus. The denticles on top of its forehead and mushroom-fin were really large, almost like full-sized shark teeth. So what did it use them for? What possible purpose could there be for a weird patch of teeth on a raised platter on a shark’s back? What was the evolutionary function? Let’s ask science. Well, science tells us…

It doesn’t really have a clue.

There are lots of guesses. Some folks think that it might have been used in mating or courtship, since it’s only present on the males. Others are guessing that maybe the males used the fin to latch onto larger fish and hitch a free ride, like a remora. Still others think maybe it was all just for show. Something to scare away predators or impress the sharky ladies. (Cause who isn’t turned on by a guy with a big toothy radar-dish growing out of his back, right?) The bottom line though, is that we just don’t know. Stethacanthus was weird. Really weird. And we simply aren’t sure why.

It’s not like it’s the only time we’ve been stumped by prehistoric sharks, either. Well, technically this next guy is more of a close relative of sharks. More shark-like than actual shark. But that’s close enough for me. Helicoprion had scientists scratching their heads for more than a century. This weirdo creature was originally identified only by fossilized teeth, but that was confusing enough. The teeth were obviously those of a shark or shark-kin, but they were arranged in a crazy spiral that just didn’t make sense in terms of how it would fit into a normal set of jaws. Scientists argued and debated throughout the entire 20^th century about how exactly those teeth fit into Helicoprion’s head.

Part of the problem was that sharks (and their close kin) don’t have normal bones. Their teeth are hard, and fossilize normally, but the bulk of their skeleton is cartilage, not bone. It’s more rubbery than hard, and it just doesn’t fossilize well. Paleontologists have found fossilized shark teeth by the truckload, but it’s a real rare treasure to find the intact fossilized impression of a shark’s skeleton. People kept finding these odd spirals of teeth, but no skull to show how they fit.

Finally, just this year in fact, some lucky and clever guys have finally figured out how to use CT scanners to look inside a chunk of fossil-bearing rock and discover the shape of Helicoprion’s jaws. It seems that the critter kept the spiral of teeth curled up in its lower jaw, with no teeth at all in the upper jaw (it’s the big illustration at the bottom of the picture I linked above). They think that it fed on squid, jellyfish, and other soft, slippery prey, which it sliced to pieces with its weird circular-saw teeth, pushing the bits down its throat before they could slip free. Gross, but efficient. 

After all, doesn’t that sound like the shark diet plan in general? Gross but efficient indeed.

As a final note, in the spirit of general sharky-ness, I invite any readers to tell me something interesting about sharks. Anything at all. It could be a weird science fact, or a wild story, or even a bit of trivia about a killer-shark movie. Tell me something interesting and shark-related, and I’ll give you 2 MacRaffen Points.

In an attempt to keep things interesting today I've purposefully not "researched" my question at all.  Therefore there really isn't much of an answer so much as a discussion that can be had.  I'm also curious exactly how this discussion will proceed.  Maybe nowhere, maybe an explosion of comments, or maybe just some "tag, you're it" comments between Alan and I.  We shall see.

The question today, if you haven't done process of elimination and figured out for yourself what it is already, is:  Will there ever be pictures or artwork of the main characters?

Answer:  Punt -> Alan.

So this is where it either gets interesting or boring.  Alan is the official "Art Director" for the site and therefore this question is really for him.  So do we, as a community, rise up and demand more art;  whips and shackles in hand ready to enslave Alan over a multitude of blank paper requesting results that live up to the caliber of art we've seen from him already?  Do we capture his wife?  There is value there... 1) because she is also an artist, and 2) Alan will stereotypically want her back, giving us the upper hand.  Hmmm.

There is also the possibility that some diehard fans can cash in some MacRaffen points to buy portraits of Malwynn and Umaryn.  Or maybe we can gather en masse and simply peer pressure him into doing our bidding (come on bro, everyone is doing it, just one puff/snort?).  Whatever the case may be, we need to decide our strategy.

What do you guys think?  Art or no art?  The first book has now ended so this might be the appropriate time to depict characters.  I'm thinking Malywynn, Umaryn, and maybe even Dram.  Or do you vote nobody, and continue to leave it up to our individual imaginations?

Now is the hour of action!  Come on people, do I have to kidnap Molly or not?  I live pretty far away so you better be sure about this.  Let me know,
-Haus

P.S. -- I can confess that I've heard rumors of artwork for Ivar Brodull in the pipeline.  Which is exciting, to say the least.

The museum specializes in cryptozoology, which is the study of “unknown” or “hidden” animals; creatures which may actually exist but have not yet been scientifically proven. The subject covers a broad range of creatures, some of them truly outlandish and others quite modest. Big, showy legendary beasts like Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster are popular cryptozoological subjects, but there are many others which have “graduated” from a cryptozoological subject to an actual, proven animal. The giant squid is no longer a mystery to science—specimens have been photographed and studied, and so it has moved from legend to fact.

Every year, thousands of people report seeing strange and mysterious creatures. Some of the reports are hoaxes or lies. Many of them are cases of mistaken identity of more familiar animals. But are some of them genuine? Have some people seen something truly mysterious and utterly unknown to science? Will the strange creature that mystifies them today become a new entry in the biology books tomorrow, like the coelacanth, the okapi, the mountain gorilla and the giant squid?

During our visit to the museum, we were fortunate enough to grab a couple of the very limited seats for a special screening of a new documentary called Cryptotrip. The film addresses a question that is often lost in the excitement over potential new discoveries: How does such a sighting affect the person who saw it? What effect does such an experience have on their perceptions, their assumptions, or even their daily lives?

It was an interesting and illuminating show, and nicely displayed the broad range of effects that crypto-sightings have on people’s lives. Some were largely unaffected. Some were overwhelmed and transformed by the experience. Many fell somewhere in between.

If you saw something completely outlandish, something that flew in the face of common belief and yet something that you couldn’t deny, how would you react?

Let’s say that you looked in your backyard one morning and saw… something. Maybe Bigfoot or a winged humanoid, or some other kind of strange monster. Maybe something that you were sure was long extinct, like a living dinosaur nibbling on your vegetable garden.

What do you do next? Many people would say “snap a photo,” and that’s a fair and smart reaction. But what if your phone battery just died? Or the picture came out really blurry because your hand shook, even though you saw it really clearly with your own eyes? What then?

Would you tell anyone? Who would you tell? Do you really think they will believe you? If it were them telling you this story, would you believe it?

Would you be afraid? Would you never want to go outside alone again? Or would you gear up and go looking for the thing?

Would it change your beliefs? Would it validate them?

Would you be happy or upset?

Just imagine it. One glance, and the span of a few paltry seconds, and your entire worldview could be turned on its head. It’s almost like the old monsters that killed with a glance: Medusa, or a basilisk or cockatrice’s deadly gaze. One look, and everything changes. Of course, if you’re sure that it’s all a load of bull, then you know you’ve got nothing to worry about. But are you really sure? What if your eyes showed you something you thought was impossible?

Share your thoughts on this (just a sentence will do, but feel free to say more if you like), and I’ll give you three MacRaffen Points. But really think about it. Imagine it happening. How would you really react? What would you do if it really happened?

First, a little bit of news.  Chapter 17 of book one, The Wrath of the Orphans, is now live.  Read that.  I will refrain from talking about it here since it is the final chapter and I wouldn't want to spoil it for anyone.  Also, I've been working... umm, what's the opposite of diligently??  Let's just say I've devoted small bits of time over the past couple weeks adding a new section to the site that will add flavor and content to the game aspect of Elmoryn.  Subscribers who dig deep enough might stumble on parts of it already.  And those of you who are as excited as I am about the game can look forward to an unveiling in the next couple weeks.  Progress.  Slow progress, but it's movement in the right direction.

The topic of discussion tonight is this question:  What is the difference between an Apostle and a Necromancer other than Good v. Evil?  Do they channel The Way in a similar manner?

Answer:  Yes...

I talked to Chris about this one and we need to bust one myth before going any further.  Being good or evil has little to do with being considered an Apostle or a Necromancer.  Mal is pretty clearly a good guy.  And while Chris has made Dram out to be sketchy as all hell, he too has some "good" qualities.  So let's not jump to that particular conclusion even though typical stereotypes of good guys and bad guys dictate that particular conclusion could be the case.

Using The Way as a Necromancer could certainly be considered more sinister than the method in which an Apostle uses The Way... so this can theoretically lead to or stem from "evil" deeds, but what a person does with their magic has more to do with their personality and less to do with how they utilize The Way.  In fact, many Necromancers throughout Elmoryn practice, learn, and use The Way specifically to protect life by destroying the Undead that plague the world.  Malwynn again being a great example.

The page here on The Way describes in more detail the method in which different users in The Way gather their energy.  The differences in this case between a Necromancer and an Apostle are actually very slight.  Necromancers feed off the death and decay of all living things.  Often finding their energy and power from the trapped spirit inside a corpse husk.  But also by utilizing the energy of death to further fuel the rot and fester of their numerous spells.  Keep in mind that even though a Necromancer's art centers around the energy of death, they also have access to healing abilities.  They just likely come at an unusual physical or spiritual cost.

Not unlike Necromancers, Apostles also gain energy through death.  Apostles wish to release the spirit from the body upon death for two reasons.  One, so there isn't a rabid zombie running around causing havoc and potentially more zombies.  And, two, so the spirit can roam free amongst the lands of Elmoryn.  These invisible ghost-like spirits are what the Apostles will later call upon and channel energy from to fuel their magic.  So it can be argued that without death there wouldn't be lingering spirits, and without lingering spirits Apostles wouldn't have anyone to call upon for their powers.  Therefore they both essentially rely on death for their source of energy.  I mean, it's a stretch to say that they're the same.  But I can at least stand here and say that they channel their energies similarly.

As a tangent, I think Artificers are interesting also.  The spirits of Elmoryn are known to inhabit items that are crafted by man/woman.  Where Apostles are in touch with the spirits that roam the land, Artificers are in touch with the spirits that inhabit things like armor and weapons and other handiwork.

Furthering my tangent, there are Waymancers.  Which typically gather their energies through latent talents.  Which I find somewhat funny because that means there could be an extremely power Waymancer out there who's never really figured out exactly how/where he draws his magical energy from.  I picture his Necromantic buddies are all giggling, talking behind his back, poking fun at how he doesn't understand that his power derives from the slight popping noise made when a human's angry soul is ripped out of its body into the spiritual state.  Meanwhile the Apostle is clearly convinced his power derives from the Ancestor Spirits that are all around him.  "Dude, can't you hear them whispering to you?  And I thought I was the weird one..."

Looping back around to the question, being good vs. evil is actually NOT a difference between Necromancers and Apostles.  But, yes, they do channel their energy in a similar way.  I view it all boiling down to the spirits, for all users of The Way on Elmoryn.  I interpret the state that spirit is in when you draw your energy from it determining what kind of user you are.  Whether that spirit is wandering the plains, angrily trapped in a corpse, currently slipping into the restless afterlife, or presently residing in a weapon of war, that spirit can be tapped for energy.  Then what you do with that energy can define if you're good or evil.

What if a Necromancer was traveling Elmoryn healing folks from ailments at the personal sacrifice of his own physical health while destroying the undead that litter the world in an unsettling way making it an overall safer world to live in.  All while an Apostle was using the spirits to haunt people they detest and abusing the wisdom and foresight the Ancestors have to accumulate power and wealth on a path to world domination and the oppression of lesser mortals.  Now who's the "evil" one?

-Haus

The very mention of this horrifying monstrosity sends a thrill of terror up the spine of even the most…

Nope.

Nope. Can’t do it. They’re dumb. Very, very silly. The guys from Monty Python understood. No matter what way you try to do it, killer bunnies just aren’t scary. The closest I ever saw to a scary monster-rabbit was the one in the 80’s Twilight Zone movie, but it’s still pretty cartoonish (plus, I was about seven when I first saw pictures of that thing, so I’m not sure if that counts).

At any rate, despite the ridiculousness of it, monster rabbits seem to pop up again and again in mythology and folklore. But for crying out loud, why?

First, let’s look at a few examples.

There’s the Jackalope, which a great many people are already familiar with. If you read my entry about Fearsome Critters, this guy is a great example of one of those absurd beasties. A creature too silly to be taken seriously except by the very, very gullible. The Jackalope is a regular cottontail or jackrabbit which possesses a pair of deer-antlers (or perhaps the forked horns of a pronghorn antelope). Some versions also describe it as having a pheasant’s tail or hind legs, but that’s not overly common. This is an animal that was never intended to be scary. They knew from the start not to even try that one. Jackalope stories were told by early American settlers Wyoming and other central and western states. Countless odd details were added to their description to enhance their weirdness. Their meat tastes like lobster. They can mimic any sound, including speech, often using this ability to evade capture (shouting things like “He went thatta-way!” as they dart through the brush). Females sleep lying belly-up, and thus their milk can be harvested for its miraculous medicinal properties. They only mate during especially severe lightning or hail storms, thus accounting for their rarity.

The European Wolpertinger is a similar animal, which also possesses the wings of a bird. These creatures are often more aggressive, attacking with their sharp horns if threatened. Some accounts describe them with a pair of long, sharp fangs which reveal their carnivorous nature. They may attack other animals or even bite people, though their stories usually focus on their oddity, not their scariness.

The Al-mi'raj is a mythical creature described in Islamic poetry. It’s another horned rabbit-creature, but this one is less of a deer-rabbit and more of a unicorn-bunny: it has a single black spiraling horn, about two feet long, protruding from its forehead. So if you take a sweet little fluffy bunny and cross it with a beautiful sparkly unicorn of peace and love, you get the most magical, love-happy fluffball animal in the whole entire world, right?

No. Not at all. Because when solving the equation of fluff plus sparkle, the only solution is bloody death.

The Al-mi'raj was so deeply feared on the island of Jezîrat al-Tennyn that the locals there would hire a witch to kill the thing dead with powerful magic the moment they even heard a rumor of one in the area. The tiny fuzzy fiend was said to viciously ram other animals to death with its wickedly sharp horn. It would launch itself with such relentless force that it could destroy most other animals, even those much, much larger than itself, with just a few charging leaps. After it impaled its victims, its appetite was so ferocious that it would devour their whole body, even if they seemed impossibly large. It made no distinction between wild animals, livestock, pets, and humans, killing each and every creature it could with equal enthusiasm. Even relatively dim-witted creatures knew to flee the area when an Al-mi'raj entered their territory.

Just… inexplicable. I mean, if there really were such a thing as razor-horned fanged bunny rabbits, it would just prove that nature really doesn’t want to even give us a chance, right? Bunnies are one of those things that’s just food for everything anywhere that eats meat, right? It just wouldn’t be fair to the car give them fangs and horns. What’s next? Horned gophers?!?

Well, the truth is, we can explain a lot of Jackalope and other monster-bunny myths on Gaffs, which are those weird creative taxidermy creatures that combine multiple animal parts. I’ve seen a ton of taxidermied “Jackalopes,” both out west and even here on the east coast. It’s just too easy to slap a pair of small antlers on a little stuffed bunny. Boom. People instantly say “What the hell is that thing?!?” when they look at your trophy, instead of saying “Wow. You killed a whole rabbit, huh? Did it give you any interesting scars?” (snicker).

But that’s not the whole story.

Because there’s another truth to the monster-bunny story. The truth is that they’re real. They actually exist. Living, breathing, not stitched-together rabbits with strange horny antlers and fang-like growths protruding from their mouths like some kind of mutant sabertooth bunny. For real.

The catch though, is that it’s not actually real antlers, in the anatomical sense, nor is it anything like real teeth. These rabbits aren’t a nasty little trick from Mother Nature to kill us with cuteness. At least, the trick’s not on us, it’s on the bunnies. They’re the unfortunate victims of an unusual disease called the Shope papilloma virus, which only affects rabbits. Like a few other rare viruses, it actually causes a kind of tumor, which in this case takes the form of horny, keratinous growths which usually occur on the rabbit’s head and face. They can grow to quite a length, often resembling horns, teeth or tusks. Mostly the growths are just weird-looking but otherwise harmless. They only become a serious problem when they become so large that they make it difficult for the rabbit to obtain food, at which point it may end up starving. Which makes me sad, because… well, bunnies are fuzzy. But sometimes nature is rough. At least we can take some comfort in the fact that these little guys are not interested in impaling us to death or devouring our corpses. They just want to eat their greens and keep making more bunnies.

But the horned gophers are totally for real, they’re just extinct now.

P.S. Give me another example of a monster rabbit, and I’ll give you 2 MacRaffen Points.
Anyone?

What is it Chris?  I swear it's been said somewhere.  The inhabitants of Elmoryn are know as... Elmorynthians??
Inquiring minds want to know.

The interview with the Elmoryn authors is now over, so we go back to the original format of this blog for a while.  There are still a few questions readers had asked a long time ago during the contest that they are still dying for an answer to.  So we'll get to those over the next couple of weeks.  This week I'll hit this question:  Is the skill of learning to use The Way only genetic or can it be learned by anyone who seeks it?  From the Wrath of the Orphans, it appears to run in family lines, but can anyone learn?

Answer:  For the most part, anyone can use The Way.

Everyone on Elmoryn can use The Way, it's just a matter of how talented or skilled they are in its use.  Think of it in our world like playing a piano.  Some people are born with the natural talent to play and a natural talent for the sound of music.  Some people are not necessarily born with a high talent level in playing the piano, but after long hours of practice they can still play beautifully and with much skill.  Natural talent, potentially hereditary, definitely plays a role, but does not distinctly dictate who can use The Way and who can't.  On a piano, any ol' dumbshit can hit keys and make noise.  Similarly, anyone can use The Way.  Some people will have a hard time making the right noise, and their use in The Way will have little to no effect, while some people will play symphonies with their fingertips.  Suffice it to say that a person's capability to use The Way is not genetic, but how good they can potentially become at it is in their nature;  it could be luck, it could be innate talent, or it could be pure determination.

The Way, as a generalized term referencing all the magic use on Elmoryn, is essentially the manipulation of energy.  Some people are born in-tune with this energy.  In the case of Artificers this could be noticed at an early age in the ability to communicate with the spirits of crafted items.  People that are of above normal intelligence might not have grown up speaking to those same spirits like they were Drop Dead Fred, but they can use their smarts to tap into those energies and figure it out as they go along.  There are many different ways to harness energy and different people are going to handle those energies in different ways... most likely in the ways that feel most natural to them.  Therefore looping back to the innate nature of a person.  Whatever natural, unexplainable element determines what a person's intelligence and personality will be is basically the same element that will shape their ability in The Way.  It's conceptually impossible to quantify.

Some people don't realize they are a natural on the piano until they've already lived more than half their life.

If you never wrote anything with a pen/pencil in your entire life, you've never been fishing, never played golf, never used a computer mouse, and have always eaten with both hands at the same time, would you really know if you're left or right handed?

Are you left footed or right footed?  Some people don't know the answer.  Soccer players do.

Some left handed people write with their right hand simply because they were told to.  They were taught to do it that way, and even though it isn't natural, they've developed enough skill to do it and do it well.

No matter how much I love beating dead horses, I'll stop now.
-Haus

Oh come on. Everyone else thinks so. You can admit it.

What if I promise to refer to it as “scatalogical humor?” Nah, screw it, I’m not gonna do that. It’s poop, and it’s a fact of life. I once heard a septic truck operator sum the issue up quite efficiently: everybody shits.

So let’s accept the reality of waste elimination and try to have a mature and restrained conversation about a rampaging fart monster.

 

The Bonnacon was a bull or bison-like animal reported to live in Greece and Asia as early as the first century, AD. It was said to resemble a normal bull or bison, except that it possessed a mane like a horse’s, and its horns were oddly curled back on themselves, making them relatively useless for attack or defense.

Because it lacked the normal armament of most bovine creatures, it responded to threats and danger by turning its rear end toward the attacker and letting loose with a tremendous blast of blistering noxious gas. If the threat persisted, it would run away, spraying a huge trail of searing hot acidic waste behind it. This trail involved such a staggeringly large amount of feces that it would often reach up to 3 furlongs in length (which is roughly a third of a mile) covering a total area in excess of two acres. Reports claimed that the flying excrement was so caustic that it scorched trees, grass, dogs and hunters alike, burning their skin like fire on contact.

So basically, it’s a cow with a high powered compressor-tank for a stomach, living entirely on a diet of deep-fried beans, ghost peppers, and napalm.

The Bonnacon was usually said to live in areas of desert and barren wastes, but you kind of have to wonder if maybe it was pretty lush and overgrown there before the diarrhea-monster started hosing the place down…

Please take a moment to enjoy that mental imagery. I think the Bonnacon would really want you to, after all. According to many of the medieval illustrations of the beast, it really seems to be one of those guys who just lets loose with a real nasty one and then sits there grinning. Look at that expression—he may have been going for shame, but it’s really pride.

Bonnacon, you’re such a jerk.

 

As a last note, I’m going to give one MacRaffen Point to anyone who comments.

Think of it as a special reward for putting up with all this bullshit.

--

READER: How do you fight writer's block?
ALAN: Oh boy. That's a fun one. I'm being sarcastic, of course, because it's not just a fight, it's an epic battle. There's your Hero's Journey right there. It's hard. If it hasn't happened to you, that's awesome. I congratulate you on your good fortune. If it has, I really don't need to tell you how frustrating it is, do I? Recently, I've been going through a big long process using the book The Artist's Way, by Julia Cameron. It may seem like some kind of cheesy hippy-dippy self-help fluff, but let me tell you: it's awesome! I'm only part of the way through and I can't say enough good things about it. It's been so incredibly helpful and therapeutic, and my productivity is really showing a steady improvement. This is another thing that I could prattle on about for way too long, so I'll just say again that anyone who wants to talk about it in more depth should absolutely hit me up about it in the forums. Otherwise, I simply recommend that you buy it, read it, and do what the woman says; she knows her shit!
CHRIS: Masturbating.  Seriously, it helps.  But I also don't struggle with block much.  I do struggle with getting distracted though.  To fight either, I read.  It helps focus and inspire me.  I also take frequent breaks to get up and walk away.  Doing something that allows you think, or become inspired helps.  i get most of my best ideas either behind the wheel, or in the shower, so I frequently take long drives with someone I can bounce ideas off of to get the brain un-stuck.

READER: What advice would you pass on to aspiring writers?
CHRIS: Read.  Read and read some more.  The only way to write better is to read other people's writing, and then write more yourself.  I read obsessively, over 600 pages a month regularly, and I feel like I don't read anywhere near enough.
ALAN: Don't stop trying. Don't stop reading, and don't stop writing. I let myself get sidetracked too much, and it's just not helpful at all. I'm trying very hard to develop good habits of writing. It's extremely challenging to become a disciplined, dedicated writer, and not just do it "now and then" when the mood strikes me. But I'm getting better all the time. Always practice and never stop trying.

--

Well that wraps it up, folks.  I hope you enjoyed the interview as much as I did.  And if you have any more questions for Alan or Chris then go bug them... I'm sure they won't mind, much, as long as they're not too busy masturbating.  As for me, I'll be back next week with our regularly scheduled program.  I have a few more questions from the contest to answer, and then I'll be open to suggestions on what to write about next.

Thanks for reading!  Give it up to Chris and Alan in the comments, for being exceptionally entertaining authors (and artists!), or for whatever else you feel like giving them kudos for.  I'm pretty convinced they're great people, but I've been told I'm weird before.
-Haus

... what ever happened to Kudos® bars??  ... that shit was amazing when I was growing up...

Well, first it’s a weird word. It may also be spelled phooka, phouca, pwca, or even just puck. Now, if you know any Shakespeare, you may recognize Puck as one of the more tricky denizens of the fairy realms. That’s a good start. But a pooka is not just a fairy prankster from a Shakespeare play. There are a ton of different versions and interpretations of the pooka, some very similar to each other and some quite different.

In general, the pooka is a kind of fairy trickster from Irish folklore. In some stories, it is a helpful figure resembling a little old man, kind of like a brownie. It may willingly perform useful tasks, or in many stories it may do so after being tricked or coerced. Many versions have the pooka taking the form of animals. 

In quite a few stories, it is able to assume a bewildering variety of animal forms, choosing each one for maximum mischief-potential. It seems to enjoy making messes, disrupting peace and quiet, and causing all kinds of trouble for its human neighbors. Some stories say that it is merely playful, never going so far as to cause serious harm. Others say that its pranks are deadly. Some versions say that the pooka can be tricked into being helpful by bestowing clothing upon it, which somehow subdues it and renders it more cooperative and servile. Other stories, however, warn that gifts of clothing will end a pooka’s helpful habits, much like the classic brownie myths or J.K. Rowling’s Dobby the Elf. 

Some of my favorite stories of pooka paint them as rather scary, potentially deadly creatures, very similar to the Kelpie, or water horse (possibly even the same creature). In these stories they are usually seen in lonely areas near dangerous waters: deep lakes, treacherous marshes, fierce rivers, or seaside cliffs. Typically, these pooka appear in the form of a wild horse or shaggy colt. Often they are draped with frightening chains or creepy lake weed. When a lonely, weary traveler spots the creature, they rarely suspect that there is anything sinister about it, instead thinking hopefully that they have had the great fortune to find a ride to carry them on the rest of their journey. The hapless traveler climbs upon the back of the animal, thinking that its cooperation is a sign of how tame it is. In truth, the pooka is eager to allow a rider for entirely malicious reasons. 

Once the rider is comfortably seated, the beast charges off at a crazed, breakneck pace. The rider may try to cling tightly to avoid falling, or he may try to jump off of the mad animal to save himself. Such efforts are useless, however, as he invariably discovers that the animal’s back is powerfully adhesive. The poor mortal’s bottom is magically glued to the pooka’s back, and cannot be pried free no matter what he may do. As the rider realizes the helplessness of his situation, the pooka’s ultimate goal comes into view.

The malevolent creature races with grim determination toward a lake, river, swamp, or even a sheer cliff edge. The rider may scream, kick, and cry, but he will never summon help quickly enough, and he will never escape in time. He only finds himself freed from the pooka’s power when it has already rushed into the depths of the water or leapt from the cliff’s edge, at which point it releases the rider and vanishes or transforms into a tiny fish or bird, leaving the doomed human to fall to his death or drown in the depths before reaching the surface. The traveler dies alone and helpless, and the carefree pooka simply returns to its previous haunt, resuming its horse-shape and awaiting the next victim.

So there you have it.

A Pooka is a little old man. Unless it is a horse or a colt. Or a pony. Or maybe a cow. I suppose it could be a bunny. Or a cat? Or maybe a goat or a pig or… well, anything really. You’ll recognize it when you see it because it’s always different. Of course, being always different you’ll never recognize it. 

But when you do (or don’t) you should definitely give a pooka some clothing. That will solve all your problems. Unless it will just make things worse. In which case you should definitely not under any circumstances give a pooka clothing.

At any rate, they’re always playful, so hop on and you’re guaranteed to have some good fun and games, then it’ll help you get home safely. Unless it won’t, in which case it will probably kill you, so you should never, ever get on a pooka’s back. Unless you should.

Hopefully that clears things up.

What’s a pooka again?

 

P.S. Here’s an easy MacRaffen Point question, for 2 points: You get the ability to change into one kind of animal. You can assume this shape at will, changing back and forth from human to animal form whenever you wish, for as long as you want. Even your clothing and the stuff in your pockets changes with you. It’s pretty great. But… which animal do you choose, and why?

More interviewing this week, as expected.  I think we'll be wrapping up the interview questions next week.  So if you have any last minute questions to add, or follow-up questions that have arose, let me know and we'll squeak them in.

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READER: As a writer, how well do you take criticism?
CHRIS: Well.  I LOVE criticism, as long as it's not a personal attack on me.  If you have suggestions for the writing, I've no problem listening, but if you're a dick about it, I won't listen.  If I wanted to hear from an asshole, I'd fart, as the saying goes.
ALAN: I would love to say that I take criticism perfectly, with the kind of grace that would shame the very angels. It's a lie, but I'd love to be able to say that. The truth is, I get very self-conscious about my writing sometimes, and it can be really difficult and nerve-wracking to put your work out there and wait for it to get diced up and analyzed. Nevertheless, it's simply a fact that I am not a perfect being and never will be. My writing is also imperfect and will always be so. Also, if I really want to improve it (which I do), I need to buck up and take whatever criticism is offered. Generally I'm able to do that okay. I may get momentarily flustered, but I don't really hold any grudges if someone has an issue they feel like expressing honestly--ultimately I welcome it, because I know that sometimes it's the only way we can see our own flaws. The real trick is to learn to take the helpful criticisms while at the same time identifying the ones that really aren't helpful and allowing yourself to move past them. Sometimes you may find yourself hearing ten different pieces of advice that all contradict each other and leave you spinning in useless circles trying to follow all of it. You need to listen openly, consider it fairly, and then decide if it's something you can use. If it is, try to use it to improve your future work. If it's not, you have to make a real effort to just let it go and move on.

READER: And speaking of criticism (whether its constructive or not)- what is more important to you? Comments from a critic that is paid to do so.. or from the story fans themselves?
ALAN: I would put way, WAY more importance on what the fans have to say. I'm not writing for some guy who's been assigned to read my writing. I'm writing for people who want to read what I have to write, just for their own enjoyment. Their opinion is the one that really matters to me.
CHRIS: Fans.  Critics never matter.  If I had all the money I've spent on movies critics said sucked that I liked, I'd never have to pay for another movie.
HAUS: While I mostly agree with Alan and Chris here, I will also offer the opinion that the only real benefit that critics offer is consistency.  Anyone that is really considered a critic would, or should, have some sort of established reputation... else I am a critic, you are a critic, we are all critical of the pieces of fiction we like and dislike, so are we critics?  Not necessarily.  And that's my point, it's all a matter of perspective, but a consistent one.  Critics who are known to be critics because they're either paid to or consistently volunteer their time to critique the written works of others do it over and over again from a single perspective.  This can be useful information.

READER: In one word, how would you describe your writing?
CHRIS: Decent.
ALAN: Improving.
HAUS: Myth.

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So I started going on a bit of a long tangent about critics there, but I think it's important.  I also think this is my blog and therefore I'm entitled to produce large paragraphs about my thoughts and opinions and that'll be OK.  So, to continue that rant, I was trying to point out that even though a lot of people view critics as the devil's spawn, there is a lot light in that darkness in my opinion.  If a good friend of yours told you to watch a movie, they highly recommend it, would you?

Well that depends.  Does this friend of yours have good taste in movies to begin with?  This is a good friend of yours, so you should know if they prefer chic flicks over horror films, or vice versa?  Whether or not you listen to your friend's recommendation entirely depends on whether or not you agree with their typical movie likes and dislikes.  True?  If they think the Twilight series was the best piece of vampire fiction they've ever watched on the big screen, are you going to listen to their opinion on the next big zombie flick?

I'll leave that decision up to you, but my point is that critics can be useful as a baseline for comparison for your own likes and dislikes.  If a critic that I constantly agree with recommends something that they absolutely loved, I'm likely going to check it out.  I'd also be VERY interested in something that a critic I typically disagree with says absolutely sucked and was a waste of time.  For the same reasons, I'm likely to check out something that a like-minded friend happened to enjoy.  No matter how objective a critic claims to be I still feel it's a matter of how everybody is different.  Everybody is going to have an opinion and whether you agree or disagree is entirely just a baseline of how much stock you're going to put in their opinion.  I could go on, but I won't, and instead I'll end with one last tidbit.  The more I listen to critics the more I find value when I think they are totally wrong.

"Oh... well, if *they* liked it, then it's almost guaranteed that I won't."
-Haus