A Beast Fights
The tables for the feast had buckets crafted into them because bergfolk celebrations often devolved into dancing right where you ate; this way they could not be kicked aside. The buckets were filled to the brim with all sorts of strange refreshments: spiced green cleansing water, warm red oystie sauce, pure blue toil water, and a foaming drink called scrub-throat that kept its bubbles for days. The bergfolk swished them about in their mouths and noses, sometimes holding one nostril closed so they could blast a fountain of it out the other. Alast watched as a woman gladly opened her mouth to accept a jet of cleansing water fired from a neighboring nostril. It might’ve been rude not to join, but Alast couldn’t bring himself to do it; he let any liquid that came his way splash across his shirt instead. Continue reading
Cracking the Knuckles
Captain Rob moved through abandoned streets. The folk of Dhonshui had been evacuated from the part of town near the gates, a district called Quig, before the assault began. The closed mint was there and Rob made his move as soon as the last rows of soldiers came through. Luck was on his side, as Inguin had not done anything about the bronze disk Alast had hidden the piece of the Reflecting Path inside. The search Rob had endured for the supposedly swallowed piece was not his favorite thing, but it was far better than anything Yugo had planned. Continue reading
Second Stone Door was now out of their reach, according to the information they received at the next ekapad station. Yugo’s only stated goal was the tiles, and he did not seem happy about one slipping from his clutches. His forces moved faster than ever, off the established roads and into any territory they saw fit. There were not enough aker shortcuts to keep them ahead of bonepickers indefinitely, so a change of course was required. Continue reading
“Damr told you to what?” Roary hissed just as he hopped up and closed the door. The current and former cabin boys were in the school’s kitchen; Rob had ordered them to earn their keep by peeling and washing vegetables for Oobla’s cooks before they stepped in to prepare dinner. Alast stood behind the slate counter with an oddly-curved blade in his hand perfect for skinning squish-squashes. The pile of vegetables and their leafy tops was so towering that Alast and Roary had quickly turned to conversation to stave off boredom. Continue reading
It was the boy’s first city, and it could have easily been his last if he hadn’t overpowered his awe and remembered to breathe. The ground before their party was an ancient split: a crevice of stunning depth and length that ate up the horizon just as well as any ocean.
“In the time before the Age of Building, four tiles met here,” Rob proclaimed. “Nature has eaten them away, turned them to soil and dust, but their convergence remains, hollowed by rain and river. Feast your eyes upon Crosstahl: the city of crossroads.” Continue reading
The Greasy Skull
Tunka tuhunk tunka tuhunk tunka tuhunk. Alast was woken by the sound of a hundred footsteps on deck. He’d been enjoying a brief half-drop nap between his chores. He’d been onboard long enough to know those weren’t the sounds of hauling in fishnets or the dancing that sometimes accompanied Herc’s melodies. Continue reading
The Gross Truth
He spent his days with his nose to the deck, and he spent his nights with his nose to a desk. It was his job to scrub. To scrub the deck. To scrub the walls. Scrub the barrels. Scrub the water closets. Scrub the skulls of the gravefolk who didn’t have enough of a body left to do it themselves. It turned out there were nearly fifty of them aboard who were either missing some combination of limbs or everything below the jaw. Scrub the Captain’s laboratory equipment. Scrub the bottom of everyone’s boots. Get on that ladder and scrub the ceilings. Climb out on the beakhead and scrub the spots between the ropes. Don’t forget to scrub the backs of your scrubbing brushes so you don’t look a mess while you’re scrubbing. Continue reading
The Cardinal Tile
Each and every plant along the trail was new to Alast. Their leaves were long, thin, and flopped down like lengths of string. The tree bark was pale and divided into square scales instead of the familiar cracking of the bropato. When he touched the leaf of a bush it curled itself into a tight ball against the stem. He pressed his foot against the base of the plant and the entire thing shrank down and curled until it looked like a serving dish with a floral pattern. Continue reading
Born from ridiculous contrasts, high fantasy and lowbrow humor, one note jokes and epic book series, comes the four volumes of Captain Rob!
Rich with lore and odors, the world of Porce is much more than a gigantic public restroom to its many races and monsters. In the waters of Third Sink a maligned vessel is commanded by Captain Kilrobin Ordr, fierce pirate, slightly undead warrior, and gentleman scholar, well… man scholar.
The Captain and his crew face many challenges on their journeys, from graffiti worshiping Toil Papists who praise their god’s glory at Glory Hole to monsters engineered by the world to defeat them, along with bloodthirsty reflections, sewer-sea monsters, and tornado spewing hand dryers. Do you have the courage to peek behind the bathroom door and find out what’s making all those terrible sounds!? Then barge right in and partake in the plumbing of new depths!
Captain Rob Fights
Blaine Arcade (well kind of)
Blaine Arcade in a Men’s Room
Since you seem to be a reader I bet you think it’s safe to assume that I, Blaine Arcade, wrote this book. If you made that safe assumption you were wrong.
A couple of years ago I was in a United States airport. I won’t say where on the off chance that this book becomes popular and obsessed fans decide they want to visit and harass the employees. I was sitting with my laptop in front of me, much as I am right now, waiting to board my flight. The weather outside was pretty bad and it was getting worse by the minute. The rain was thick and depressing, like cold syrup drowning a pile of pancakes that never gets eaten. Oh that was a terrible analogy. I’m sorry; I’m really not much of a wordsmith. Lucky for you, as I said before, I didn’t write this book. Continue reading