The Whispering Stars (Part 4)

On By kyndarisLeave a comment

I have returned (not that many of you who may read this blog would know since I schedule my posts in advance)! So, dear reader, it won’t be long until you will be bombarded with semi-daily blog posts with my adventure overseas. Or maybe I’ll just spread it out per my usual weekly schedule. Who knows.

It’s not as if I had anything interesting to write about each day. Why, you may ask? Well, because it was primarily a visit to see distant relatives in China.

That said, I did get to enjoy quite a few sights and sounds while overseas. So, be prepared for some insights of what it’s like to travel abroad.

Anyways, hope you’ve been enjoying my short story. Here is Part 4!

It started quiet.

Like the gurgling of a babbling brook or the susurrations of the wind. At first, I ignored it. There were other things on my mind, after all.

But it grew louder and louder with each passing day.

At first, I thought it might have been Hindu. Or Indian. Or whatever it was Mrs Singh spoke. There was something guttural and throat-heavy in the intonations. Then I thought it was a bastardised version of German based on the sounds of consonants I was able to make out.

Yet even that did not seem right. Even as the voices began to become all-consuming, taking hold of my every thought.

They were like a Gregorian choir, chanting away in the background. One I could not shake though I’d turned BBC Four to its maximum volume without it bursting my eardrums.

I would even catch myself muttering the words under my breath on the odd occasion though I did not know their meaning.

It was everywhere.

Echoing in the beat of my heart. Seeping into my very soul.

Until I was naught but the words.

And the words were me…

One night, I remembered slipping into bed. Exhausted and weary. Wandering if a fresh new disaster would befall those that still remained in Strommouth.

I closed my eyes for but a second. The next moment, I was standing in a dark dank cavern in my pink night gown, feet bare. Water dripped from above, splashing down into a puddle not far from me though I could see little in the gloom. As the thought crossed my mind, an old-fashioned hooded lantern appeared in my hand.

Somewhere up ahead, I could see a flicker of something and the low murmur of voices.

Curiosity won over common sense and I hobbled towards the source of whatever light I could see in the distance. Drawn, if you will, like a moth to a flame.

The stone was damp and slimy underfoot. Perhaps if I envisaged myself in some proper shoes, they would appear?

But the dream refused to comply.

With a grimace, I continued on, keeping one hand against the walls of the cavern. Both as a support and as a guide.

As with most things in dreams, the tunnel ahead seemed to go on forever. No matter how quickly I moved, I could not seem to find the source.

On and on and on and on it went. With no end in sight.

When next I blinked, I was staring up at the ceiling of my room. My body, exhausted despite a night of what should have been restful sleep. When I finally managed to roll out of bed, there was a puddle of salt water where my slippers should have been.

It should have disturbed me.

Dreams bleeding into reality.

Yet I was not afraid. The whispering voices pounding in my ears took on a consolatory tone. As if to say there was nothing to fear. That this, too, would pass. They placated me. And I took comfort in their calm guidance, instinctively trusting their infinite wisdom.

What did it matter, after all? Strommouth was falling into ruin around me.

With each passing day, townsfolk were disappearing. Shops were shuttering. And vandals were graffitiing what was left. Or breaking in and looting what little we had.

It was easier – so much easier – to live within the dreams than it was to face the madness of the world around me.

All that I knew narrowed down into the home Greg and I had built over the long decades. For, I knew, if I were to venture beyond my door, certain death would follow.

The dreams continued.

For however long, I could not say. They were always the same. I would walk the same dank cavern, looking for the source of the light I could see and the voices I could hear.

But no matter how hard I tried, it felt like I was walking in circles. Trapped in a tortuous maze with no exit in sight and almost slipping on whatever was underfoot without my cane for support.

There were a number of times I wondered what the point of it was. Or what might happen if I should fall.

Would the voices take pity on me? Or would I disrupt whatever it was the dreams were telling me?

It should have been demoralising. Yet, each night, I pressed on.

Something was calling me to continue.

The Whispering Stars (Part 3)

On By kyndarisLeave a comment

Rejoice, friends! For I have finished my short story (at time of writing up this post. By the time this is scheduled, it’ll have been a month and a bit). I may have sat my butt down during a day I had off, but it is finished! And I can enjoy my overseas trip without worry (or, at least, narrative worry. There is still my novel length fantasy story I want to finish but I know that would be impossible to wrap up in one and a half days).

Meanwhile, I’ve also finished reading Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus. A choice made by the book club I was unceremoniously recruited into and then was simply informed it would be the book we would be reading without given much choice (or the option to vote).

But I do feel compelled to say, growing up, I’ve always felt strongly about being able to do whatever the heck I wanted without social and cultural norms of what is typically ‘feminine’ and ‘masculine’ getting in the way. In that sense, I do feel a strong attachment to Elizabeth Zott and how she goes about proving to the rest of the world she isn’t a ‘woman chemist’ but just ‘chemist.’

Even the current discourse within more open-minded circles seem to rigidly enforce a binary nature to activities or dress or jobs. And I, for one, am sick of it.

Just because I like to wear collared plaid shirts and jeans doesn’t make me ‘masc’ presenting. Nor the fact my hobbies include story-driven narrative video games and collecting a shit ton of Disney Lorcana cards. But I also like horses and musicals.

Am I femme then?

Also, no.

So, does this make me non-binary? Well, if it’s a label you want to place on me then go ahead. But for years, I’ve had to battle the prejudice of having a ‘boy’s name’ growing up. Or for simply liking real-time strategy games like Starcraft.

I am simply a human, born into a woman’s body (which I’ve come to terms with), and I contain multitudes. I can cook, clean, smash shuttlecocks on the badminton court, and write fantastical stories. Isn’t that enough?

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have important hospital administration tasks to busy myself with. Two Point Hospital has truly become all-encompassing, scratching a part of my brain that I didn’t know existed.

Children, set the table. Your mother needs a moment to herself.

Months passed.

Though time continued its inexorable march, Strommouth seemed forever trapped in a bubble of drizzling gloom.

Autumn gave way to winter and then to spring. Nothing changed.

What used to be a festive time saw most people slinking back into their homes before the sun had even set. There were no colourful lights. No countdowns to a new year.

Instead, bonfires burned through the night. Effigies, too, were sacrificed to the nameless gods. All in a desperate bid for them to be saved.

It was the start of spring. I’d heard a knock at my front door. Initially, I thought it was Stevenson. He had only just left. And, as always, he had left behind both his bottle of gin, of which he’d poured a generous amount into the tea I’d offered, and his lucky hat.

Apparently, it had been a gift from his father and had been with him through thick and thin. It had, supposedly, survived many a storm. Or so Stevenson claimed. And he’d been wearing it when he landed a monster of a pike during his younger years. There had been a photo, or so Greg and I were led to believe. But while I was doubtful of his boasts, Greg had never thought to question his friend. Rather, he had shared his own wild tale of wrestling a creature from the depths in the open seas.

Men.

What can I say?

The person at my door was not Stevenson.

Kieran, looking as officious as ever, made an attempt at smiling as he lowered his fist. No doubt he was trying to ease any concerns I may have had at his presence. Instead, he looked somewhat strained and perhaps a little constipated.

I told him that he needed to relax his face or else he’d never find anyone who wanted a stick in the mud like him. Man or woman.

His smile dropped. ‘Patrice,’ he said, tone serious. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, I have a few questions to ask you.’

‘If this is about the altercation with Mrs Singh over the weekend, I still profess my innocence. How was I supposed to know chai and tea were the same thing?’ I said. ‘This was just a silly miscommunication. I’m not racist, I assure you.’

‘Patrice, you also called her a curry breath scam artist,’ said Kieran with a suffering sigh.

‘It’s not slander if it’s true.’

Kieran gently massaged the bridge of his nose. ‘While I’m sure Mrs Singh would certainly love for me to throw the book at you in terms of a hate crime Patrice, I’m not here to clap you in irons. At least, not yet.’

‘You aren’t?’

‘No. I just have some questions. If you don’t mind.’

‘Fine,’ I said, leaving the door open and hobbled to the living room where I entertained all my guests.

There was nothing special about it. The wallpaper was a tasteful rose colour with a floral pattern that ran through the centre. A battered upholstered couch sat against the far wall with an armchair seated opposite. In between was a low table. On it sat my favourite silver tray along with a teapot and two of my finest Royal Albert cups that I had yet to tidy away. Stevenson’s bottle of gin was also out for display.

Along the walls were photos of me and Greg. Happy moments, captured frozen in time.

One was of our wedding. Another, a day out at a proper beach when we visited Australia sometime in the late 90s. Bronte, I think it was called. It was a short jaunt from the famous Bondi. Although why it was named after the Bronte sisters remained a mystery.

Kieran took it all in before he sat down in the armchair and pulled out a notepad. He flipped to a page midway through and then turned to look at me expectantly.

With an irritated huff, I hobbled over to the couch and sank down into it and tried to make myself comfortable. I’d never much liked the couch. Greg and I had purchased it during a garage sale decades ago. And though I’d wanted to throw it out at the turn of the millennium, he had been very ardent about keeping it.

The things I did for my Greg…

I was pulled from my reminiscence as Kieran cleared his throat in what I could only describe as an aggressively rude manner. As if he had asked me a question multiple times and I had not answered.

Plastering a sickly-sweet smile to my lips, I cocked my heads towards him. ‘Sorry, what was that again?’

‘Bjorn,’ he said curtly. ‘When was the last time you saw him?’

‘Sunday last,’ I replied. ‘At the markets. Though I didn’t much want to linger.’

‘Did you speak to him?’

‘Not really.’

Kieran arched an eyebrow, waiting for me to elaborate. I hated how well he used silence against me.

 ‘He was recruiting for the Sons of Deimos,’ I said finally. ‘Even after everything they’d done to me and mine, he joined up with the enemy. I understand times are hard in Strommouth but this was like a slap to my face. So, no. We aren’t exactly on speaking terms.’

‘When you said “After everything they’d done to me and mine,” did you mean what happened to Greg?’ asked Kieran.

I stared Kieran in the eye without replying. Two could play this game, I thought viciously. Besides, it had been his colleague who had held me as I broke down with the picture of my dead husband clutched in my hands.

Kieran was the first to break. He fidgeted uncomfortably, glancing back down at his notebook and flipped to the next page. ‘Was there anything else that passed between the two of you?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘Are you certain, Patrice? We have testimony—’

‘Do I need to call my lawyer?’ I said, interrupting Kieran. ‘What’s going on? Why am I being interrogated as if I’ve done something terrible?’

‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say,’ answered Kieran. He closed his notepad and rose to his feet. ‘Thank you for being so accommodating, Patrice. I apologise for coming at such a late hour. Another officer of the precinct may visit you in the coming days for a few follow-up questions.’

He headed towards the door.

‘Hang on a second,’ I said as I also tried to jump to my feet. I failed. The couch was like a vacuum, desperate to keep me seated, but I was undaunted. Fury lent me strength. I succeeded on my third try and grabbed my walking stick that was resting nearby, bringing it swinging down to prevent Kieran from escaping. ‘You don’t get to come barging into my home and start making aspersions against my good name, Kieran. Don’t forget, I remember when you were still a little shit running around town and causing havoc. I still have the receipts, young man. So, out with it. What’s going on?’

Kieran looked askance. He scratched at the peach fuzz on his chin. It seemed like he was trying to grow a proper beard though he hadn’t had much luck.

After a beat, he finally said, ‘We’re looking to establish a timeline. Bjorn’s gone missing, Patrice. Since the day before yesterday.’

‘And you think—’ I left the rest unsaid, one hand coming up to rest against my throat.

Bjorn was not the first to disappear. Nor would he be the last.

But unlike the others – a few tourists and those who lived on the fringes of society – his was noticeable. The two of us may not have gotten along once he joined up with the Sons of Deimos, yet even I could not deny what he had done for Strommouth.

For the community.

Days passed. Weeks. Still there was no word.

And then someone else went missing. Constance.

Daughter of the pastor, she was a local schoolteacher. A woman of few words, she kept mostly to herself. Only venturing as far as Main Street to do her shopping. Especially after the scandal several years back when she had been fraternising with another woman. Her father almost had an aneurysm when he found out.

Months later, Constance settled down with the woman. A pastry chef by the name of Lenore. They lived in a little cottage on the edge of town. Caring not for the opinions of the closeminded.

Then it was Abernathy.

Gail.

Eunice.

Sean.

By then, proper panic had seized those in Strommouth. Many debated on whether they ought to leave and start anew in some other part of the country even though they could ill afford it. I, too, flirted with the idea. Despite what I had told Nicholas all those months ago.

But I also knew I had nowhere to go. Who, in their right mind, would take in an elderly crippled woman of my tender years?

I had no other family besides those who had come before.

The life I lived; everything I’d ever known – all of it had been in Strommouth.

In the end, after much debate and weighing up what money I had, I chose to remain and face the possibility of the end with my head held high.

That was, until, Bjorn’s bodiless head washed up on the shore of a nearby pebble beach.

Stevenson stumbled upon it in the early hours of the morning. After one too many bottles of hard liquor. He described it as looking like a deflated football, once I’d managed to parse through his drunken ramblings. The skin, he said, was wan and pale. Bjorn’s eyes wide and glassy.

Besides these observations, there had also been chunks of flesh still dangling on the neck though some had been nibbled up by fish or crustaceans.

According to him, it looked like Bjorn’s head had been roughly ripped off. By what, he could not say. He had been too busy retching. Something I wholeheartedly believed from the dry stain adorning his ratty shirt.

‘We need to leave, Patrice,’ Stevenson had said. ‘Strommouth? It’s finished. There’s nothing for us here.’

‘And go where? With what money? I can’t sell the house. No one in their right mind would buy it.’

‘Listen. I have a sister in Perth. She could take us in for a couple of weeks. Until we find our feet.’

I mulled over his words, letting my imagination run wild for a few precious moments. Then, I let out a heavy sigh. ‘You say it like it’s easy. Didn’t you hear about what happened to the Blairs?’

Stevenson began to shake his head before he stopped. His eyes were wide, the whites visible. ‘It won’t be like that,’ he promised.

‘How do you know?’

He was silent for a moment, teeth worrying his bottom lip. ‘I’ll think of something.’

The next day, Stevenson was found dead. Hanged from the old oak tree overlooking the town. Officer Kieran ruled it a suicide when he came to visit me. I tried to contest it.

After all, why would a man intent on escaping Strommouth kill himself the day after making plans? I said as much to Kieran. But the constable merely shrugged his shoulders.

‘I don’t know what goes on in people’s heads, Patrice. Maybe finding Bjorn’s head spooked him. God knows Strommouth isn’t what it used to be. But we’re trying.’

He bid me goodbye and I bid him good luck.

We both knew nothing could save our town.

The attacks were random. Unpredictable. No one knew who was going to be next.

And then it all came to a head when Nicholas disappeared.

The Whispering Stars (Part 2)

On By kyndarisLeave a comment

As before, I’m not very good at keeping things under wraps. But I also like to think I’m just excited for what I think might make for a killer short story. Hubris, of course, comes before the fall.

That said, at time of scheduling this post, I’ve still yet to finish it up. So, there’s no telling if I’ll stick the landing of the story.

Of course, I do have a rough image of how I want it to proceed. Here’s hoping I manage to finish it before my big trip overseas! How exciting! And, if not, I still have some leeway to have it done afterwards. The magic of scheduling my blog posts.

Then, of course, there’s been the new fantasy novel I’ve been working on. Will it ever get properly published? Only the gods can say.

On a completely unrelated side note, I started playing Two Point Hospital. Who knew I’d find management simulator video games so addicting? It doesn’t exactly have a story to pull me through and yet I can’t bring myself to stop.

Though, now that I think on it, I probably should have seen the signs. Look no further to the minigames in the Like a Dragon franchise, and the hours I spent, for an equivalent.

Now, if only I could shake this addiction to cardboard crack. Although, given how I only ever really limit myself to only ONE booster box for each set of Disney Lorcana, can it truly be called an addiction?

Still bothers me I can’t get a full set though.

But I do have a few Enchanted cards. Including Ursula and Mufasa.

The first sign people took note of were the thousands upon thousands of dead fish that washed up on our shores at the height of the season. At first, we assumed it was climate change or some new chemicals entering the waterways. Humans were always finding new ways to fuck the world over.

But Stevenson, taking the biscuit I offered as we sat down for tea, claimed to have seen the fish leap out of the water.  

As if they were trying to escape from something down in the deep. Preferring instead to suffocate on air.

I dismissed it, of course.

Who could believe such outlandish stories? Especially from Stevenson? The man who had never once been sober. Even when he was out on the job.

He may have been Greg’s best friend, but he had a penchant for embellishing things for the sake of a good story. And I had been burned one too many times believing his lies.

That was, until, the body showed up.

Bjorn described it as a bloated mishmash of human and fish physiology. It had webbed fingers and toes, big bulbous eyes, long oversized arms with fins jutting out at the elbows, and a simian looking face. To my ears, it sounded like a hideous monstrous thing. Like a creation from a gothic science fiction novel.

From whence it came, none could say.

Several of the townsfolk thought it was a terrible prank gone wrong. The youth of today, in particular, were obsessed with all things American, they said. Including the celebration of Halloween.

According to them, it was naught but a costumed suit somebody had bought from the big cities. Bored university students, they claimed, who wanted to spice up the tranquil nature of a seaside town like Strommouth.

But then a second and a third body started showing up.

A pattern was starting to emerge though none could explain it. Even the local coroner was at wit’s end to provide a satisfying conclusive statement.  

In a bid of desperation, specialists were called in from all over the country.

News spread.

For three whole weeks, as summer gave way to autumn, Strommouth became the centre of the world. Reporters came pouring in. Their cameras pointed at the pebbled beaches, the dilapidated fishing ships and, on the rare occasion, main street.

Watching them flock in, like gulls on hot chips, had filled many of the townsfolk with disgust. Me, included.

Nicholas, when I paid him a visit at Leanne’s old place – one which she bequeathed to him in the latest iteration of her will – had seemed ill at ease with all the attention. We had gotten closer though we were far from being friends of any description.

By then, he had taken to wearing black. Black shoes. Black trousers. Black shirt. Black coat.

‘Vultures,’ he said, looking out the window. ‘The lot of them.’ He had drawn the curtains before turning back to face me in the living room. ‘Tea, Patrice?’

‘I’m surprised you’ve chosen to stay.’

He had laughed before picking up the teapot and pouring me a cup. He passed it to me before pouring out his own. ‘Where else would I go? My parents are dead. My wife is dead. There’s nothing for me in this world anymore.’

‘You’re still young, Nicky boy. The world is your oyster. You could start over again.’

‘If that’s the case, Patrice, I choose Strommouth.’

An impolite snort burst past my lips. ‘I know you feel obliged, but Leanne didn’t leave you everything just for you to waste away in a backwater town like this,’ I said, not unkindly. I picked up the tea cup and took a sip before nearly gagging. The blasted man had served me peppermint. ‘Young strapping man like you ought to be heading to the cities and dreaming big.’

Silence greeted my words.

‘You really don’t think I have a future here in Strommouth?’ Nicholas finally asked.

‘Look around,’ I said, placing the cup back on its saucer. ‘This town of ours is dying. You don’t want to be trapped in a place too small to even fit on a map. Believe you me. Then, of course, there’s those devil worshippers going round. Scaring folks.’

‘Do you mean the Sons of Deimos?’

‘Who cares,’ I said with a huff. ‘Starts with a “D” don’t it? And they’ve been nothing but trouble. If you know what’s good for you, Nicky, you’ll stay away from them.’

Nicholas took up his own cup, pausing only a brief moment to take in the aroma, and drank a hearty mouthful. I watched as he grimaced before placing the cup back down.

Clearly the peppermint had been Leanne’s.

‘If Strommouth is as bad as you say, why don’t you or the others leave?’

My answer was immediate. ‘It’s my home, innit? Besides, I’m not getting any younger. Strommouth, despite its faults, is where I’ve lived for all my life. And I can’t go leaving my Greg all alone.’

He mulled over my words as I, unwisely, took another sip of the peppermint tea he had served. It had been steeped for far too long and I was tempted to ask if he had something more respectable. Like Earl Grey or Lancashire.

‘This might be odd of me to say, Patrice, but I feel similarly,’ said Nicholas, hands interlinked in front of him. ‘I’ve travelled to every continent. Seen almost everything the world has to show someone. It was one of my dreams, you see. But it all changed when Agnes and I paid a visit to the Nazca Lines in Peru.’

‘I’m sensing a story here.’

Nicholas looked up at me, his eyes seeming to flash with a sickly green light. ‘Lying there, under the stars, my wife in my arms, it was the first time I heard the stars whisper to me.’ He dipped his head back down. Gaze focused on some whorl on Leanne’s kitchen table. ‘It’s the same with Strommouth. There’s something about this place. It calls to me.’

‘Surely—’

‘Am I going crazy?’ he exclaimed, rising to his feet, eyes flashing.

The outburst came as a surprise. In his haste, he had knocked over his cup of tea and spilled the peppermint all over the table. There was a wild look in his eyes. One I could only describe as something akin to terror.

The sight pulled at my heartstrings. Nicholas was usually so composed.

I reached out a hand to calm him (he just looked so lost. Like the son I never knew) before thinking better of it. What could I offer him anyways?

Not comfort. At least in the way it would have mattered.

And certainly not warmth.

The two of us were worlds apart as the silence between grew heavier and thick.

Seconds crawled by, turning into minutes. I glanced over to the drawn curtains, looking for inspiration. ‘They’ll be gone soon,’ I said, nodding towards the windows beyond. ‘Strommouth is just a novelty to them. By next week, it’ll be back to the same old news cycle. Everything will go back to how it was.’

He seemed to take solace in those words as he took several deep breaths before sitting back down. ‘You’re probably right, Patrice.’

It was the last time we would speak so casually and so frankly.

Over the years, I have often wondered if perhaps there was more I could have done. Whether my choice of restraint had been a mistake. Common sense told me any hope Nicholas would have stopped of his own accord was a fallacy. The path he walked was predetermined. If I had laid a hand on him that day, my own life would have been drained away.

And yet, a voice remained in the back of my mind. ‘What if?’

Just as I predicted, the strange bodies were quickly buried the next week following sensational headlines of a serial killer stalking the halls of a London hospital. National attention shifted and Strommouth became, once more, the quaint seaside town it always had been.

More bodies, however, continued to wash up on our shores. Most were half-eaten. Some still looked human while others had fish-like features that defied scientific explanation.

But who they were and where they came from remained a mystery.

Terror began to seize the heart of the good people of Strommouth. Locals like Bjorn and Abernathy took to drink, whereas others like Gail, the pharmacist, and Kiernan, one of the constables, started viewing everyone with suspicion. Paranoia had permeated our closeknit society, turning neighbours into foes.

The Sons of Deimos only made it worse. They knocked on doors, passed out pamphlets and tried to proselytise their beliefs in the town centre. For too long, we had placed our faith in false idols, they said. To them, Christianity was a pretty lie. As were the other religions of the world.

If we truly wanted to be saved, we had to turn our mind to the stars above and the Gods hidden beyond the veil.

Just like Nicholas, they spoke of the whispers they had heard.

But whereas Nicholas had feared he was going mad, the Sons of Deimos only seemed to lean further into the welcoming abyss. To anyone who would give them a modicum of time, they spoke of a rapturous ascension to a new plane of existence. Of a prophecy that foretold the destruction of the world and the signs of its eminent arrival.

As if scientists hadn’t already put us about a minute away from midnight.

Yet, in Strommouth, with the Sons of Deimos right at our doors, some listened and took up the mantle. First it was Abernathy. Then Gail.

Even Bjorn, stalwart in the face of disaster, began to believe.

I watched it all unfurl from between the four walls of my house as the darkness crept in, taking the heart and soul of our town.

The Endless Now

On By kyndarisLeave a comment

I played the first Dragon’s Dogma when it initially released in 2012. My time with it was memorable. Both from a combat perspective, where I would climb over monsters to lop off their tails or various limbs, and from a narrative standpoint. Especially when the opening had my poor fisherman have his heart plucked out by the giant claw of a giant fire-breathing behemoth! But though I was tempted to pick up the revamped version known as Dark Arisen, I restrained myself. After all, I’d already enjoyed my fill.

Imagine my surprise, then, that twelve years later Dragon’s Dogma 2 would come marching on to the scene. Tempting me back into a world of dark fantasy where we, the players, must rise up and slay the dragon haranguing the good people of the two countries: Vermund and Battahl.

Was it any wonder I’d pre-order the game?

Unfortunately, as with many games that released in 2024, it sat in my backlog. Waiting.

When I finally booted the game up, however, a part of me was disappointed. Though Dragon’s Dogma 2 gave me much of the same tried and true formula that made the original shine, the latest entry seemed to have lost much of its lustre. Perhaps I had overhyped it in my head, but I felt the narrative beats were less than impactful. And despite the big draw on exploration, much of the world still felt empty. Much like The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom did.

It did not help the map was as large as it was – with two countries to traverse – and a paper-thin plot to provide impetus. Like Hogwarts Legacy before it, a lot of the strength in the storytelling of Dragon’s Dogma 2 came from its sidequests. Notably, the ones revolving around Wilhelmina and Ulrika. But beyond these it was hard to gauge why my character was bothering to tangle themselves in the political machinations of the Queen Regent and the false Sovran (other than he was a Sovran).

This lack of motivation even pursued me when exploring the world. Most of the caves and dungeons only had the occasional items to string me along that quickly became obsolete once I’d got to the next settlement. It did not help there were so many scattered in close proximity across the map. With weight and inventory management to keep in mind, I had to be more selective in what I retained in my pack and what I handed off to the pawns in my party.

But back to the narrative.

Dragon’s Dogma 2 begins with a cutscene of a crowning of the new Sovran of Vermund. It then cuts to your character emerging from a cell – supposedly a pawn among many – to work in a mine. It is here players are able to customise their Arisen to their heart’s content. As I’m not one to spend countless hours, my character was a tall beastren who I thought looked fairly attractive. I’m sure others on the internet have managed to create or recreate far more iconic looks. During my playthrough, I do remember seeing versions of Kratos from God of War and Geralt of Rivia from The Witcher (fun fact, my work book club chose The Last Wish a few months back and it got one of my colleagues enraptured with Andrzej Sapkowski’s world). Unfortunately, I don’t have the patience, or the skill, to customise my character to such a degree.

Nor my pawn for that matter.

But I like to think my short king Jhorin, with his red hair and moustache, was beloved by those who encountered him during their own travails.

Once I’d gotten through the daunting character customisation screen, Dragon’s Dogma 2 thrust me into its tutorial as the Arisen stumbled about hauling stone from the mine. However, before I could even think to rest, the mine is attacked by a gorgon.  After its fended off, a pawn takes the player character aside and encourages them to flee. The overseer and guards try to stop it but the Arisen leaps off from a cliff, landing atop a griffin and is flown up and away.

Cue the title of the game.

It isn’t long, however, that the griffin is shot down though by Ulrika atop a ballista in the town of Melve. After heading over to the settlement, we, as the Arisen, are tasked to head to Vernworth and take our place as the rightful Sovran. After, of course, we receive a flashback to our past where we were a soldier stationed at Melve and had our heart plucked out by the dragon.

How we ended up at the mines in Battahl is not properly answered. Nor is the amnesia. According to a reddit thread, the opening scenes point to a plot during the opening cutscene.

But if this was the case, why did so many not recognise us?

I think a part of me assumed the opening cutscene was simply a vision of the future or the crowning of the fake Sovran as a means to throw us. Though, of course, I could be wrong.

When we do, however arrive om Vernworth, news of another claimant reaches our ears. One installed by the Queen Regent Disa in a plot to maintain her hold on the throne. Much like the family of stewards in Gondor. Except, of course, Denethor is replaced by Disa and she only has one son (not two. So Sven will never have to deal with ever being second best. Faramir, I still love you!). With the help of Captain Brant, we are tasked with uncovering the truth.

Along the way, we find whispers of an item that can control pawns: the Godsway. As the Hero of the tale, the Arisen crosses the border into Battahl to investigate the rumours. Before too long, however, the Arisen is called back to Vermund to investigate a mysterious shrine. It is here they are given the Godsbane Blade from Rothais, former Arisen and founder of Vermund, who, much likes Lord Phaesus of Battahl (and is in cahoots with Disa) wishes to break the cycle they are trapped in.

Godsbane Blade in hand, the Arisen then goes after Lord Phaesus. When they reach Moonglint Tower, Phaesus summons a lesser dragon. The real dragon emerges before presenting the Arisen a choice of sacrificing their most precious person or a fight to their death.

But while guides and even the online synopsis said I would need to fight the Dragon first, I was able to use the Godsbane Blade during this earlier moment and plunge into the Unmoored World for the true ending and the breaking of the cycle.

And break the cycle I did. For who would wish to live a life that has already been scripted and played out countless times?

It was here the narrative truly took hold, reminding me of the choice at the end of Xenoblade Chronicles 3. Of allowing us to be caught in the fear of the unknown or simply breaking out and letting the world play out even with the threat of annihilation. And just like Noah and Mio, we, the players, choose to take a gamble on a new way.

Certainly, the ending felt hopeful as people looked to the start of a new day without having to deal with the threat of the Dragons and the chosen Arisen.

Did it land with any impact? Not really. As I said before, none of the characters truly stood out. Most felt like bit players in a grand play (harkening, I suppose, to the ending song) where the Arisen is the Hero to a dying world. Perhaps if my player spoke or had more choice in how they went about what ailed the world, I might have formed a more intrinsic connection.

As it is, I could only really focus on the superficial. The graphics and the soundtrack were both lovely to behold. As were the monsters I brought low.

Like its predecessor, combat takes centre stage in Dragon’s Dogma 2. But what stood out to me was how easy it was to change vocations for the Arisen and experiment with different playstyles. Though I primarily only played as a thief and assassin in the first, in Dragon’s Dogma 2, I played a wide variety of vocations. From Fighter to Warrior to Magick Archer and Mystic Spearhand. All brought something unique to the field – helping me ease my journey in the 60 hours or so it took me to finally bring the game to a close.

That said, I would have liked a dedicated block or dodge button for all vocations rather than have R1 be specialised depending on what you selected. During my first fight with the gorgon at the mine, I kept scratching my head at why I couldn’t dodge out of the way of the telegraphed attacks as a fighter. Instead, I was only able to jump or run around in circles.

The only vocation that COULD dodge was the thief. And while thieves are my preferred class when it comes to role-playing games, I’d wanted to try my hand at something different.

Still, having to learn the special abilities of each of the vocations and how they synergised together was an interesting aspect to the game. Certainly, I had a preferred pawn party set-up: someone to draw aggro, a mage to keep me healed and to enchant my weapons with specific elemental damage, and a DPS to deal additional damage.

With all that said, there is much to love about Dragon’s Dogma 2. And yet, a part of me still feels there was a lot of potential that was wasted. Perhaps if the developers had worked a little more on the scripting for the main narrative, I might have been more intrigued by the goings-on within the world I was presented. Yet despite the little moments, like getting a cyclops to trip and extend over as a bridge or riding a griffin across open water, playing through Dragon’s Dogma 2 still felt more chore than joy. Especially when it came to the innumerable small caves dotted around in the environment.

While there were teases of something a little meatier – at least in terms of beastren and pawn discrimination – if more focus was placed on a compelling narrative, I feel like Dragon’s Dogma 2 could have soared to much loftier heights. As it is though, it failed to truly capture my imagination and bring me to care for the world as well as its characters.

I mean, the world had so many FORMER Arisen.

There was so much potential ready to be unearthed!

On a side note, given I’d played the game a year late, I never had to deal with Dragonsplague. None of the pawns I hired had it and my own pawn never returned from beyond the Rift with red eyes or an overly aggressive attitude.

The Whispering Stars (Part 1)

On By kyndarisLeave a comment

You know the feeling when you finish writing a story and somehow want to write more? That’s what happened at the end of and a mind to its undoing. I can’t say why the Cthulhu mythos grabs my attention so but almost immediately, I had the first scene for a sequel story in my head, begging to be written.

And you know what?

I gave in.

At time of writing up this post, I haven’t quite yet finished the short story. But since I haven’t finished Dragon’s Dogma 2 and I’m struggling to think up new poignant philosophical musings, I’ve made the executive decision to upload my new cosmic horror/ occult horror/ Cthulhu mythos short story up in parts!

How’s that for decisive action and strategic thinking my corporate overlords! Bet you’re pissing yourselves now since you chose not to give me a promotion!

(I jest. Please don’t fire me. I need the money to feed my new Disney Lorcana addiction!)

Anywho, without further ado, here is the first part of: The Whispering Stars. I hope all you dear readers enjoy (though, by the time this post goes live, there’s a very high probability I’ll have finished the short story and have uploaded it to my FictionPress and Wattpad account. And no, I don’t care for art collaborations or comic commissions. Can people stop? If you want to do fanart, go for it. And if you want to loop me in, let me know. I’d greatly appreciate it.)

A shadow fell over Strommouth the day he had come stumbling through, buck naked as the day he was born. The man’s name was Nicholas. He had a faded red scar across his neck and half-healed stab wounds to his chest when he first arrived on that overcast day in the middle of summer.

There was something odd about him from the very start (his lack of clothing notwithstanding). Striking blue eyes and a mop of curly blond hair, he might have been considered a catch if I were but thirty years younger and he hadn’t been raving about his dead parents and a dark ritual in a secret cave.

When Bjorn, the local mechanic, had volunteered to help, Nicholas had appeared grateful beyond measure as he pointed towards the path leading down to the shoreline.

Big and strong, Bjorn rounded up two others and they had vanished in the direction Nicholas had indicated.

Yet upon their return, they reported finding nothing.

Nicholas had sat on Leanne’s porch, a portly woman who had lost her husband only a year ago, with only a silver emergency thermal blanket wrapped around him to conceal his modesty and to warm him, as he took the information in. Something within him seemed to die at the news, his eyes turning glassy.

Leanne, the bleeding heart that she was, invited him to stay with her. She kept one firm hand pressed tightly on Nicholas’s back as she led him into her house.

And though I questioned her motives (to my husband over a steamed pot roast, thank you very much. I’m not the town gossip most people think I am), there was naught for it. The poor man had clearly suffered something tragic and needed a place to stay. At least for a few nights as he got his bearings.

Yet what should have been three or four days turned into a week. Then two. Before we knew it, months had passed. And still he lingered.

Even after his purported wife washed up on the beach twenty miles from town three weeks after he had first arrived. Her bloated corpse smelled terrible. Her clothes were in tatters and fish had nibbled at both her fingers and toes.

When her body was found, her eyes had been closed. As if she had welcomed death. There was something almost peaceful about it, even though her general mien was a mess. Especially with the grey streaks in her flyaway hair.  

Her name was Agnes. At least, according to Nicholas, as he had held her body in his arms.

But there had been no tears as he rocked with her in the morgue.

Leanne had been the one to finally part them. And if there had been something a little too intimate in the way they acted around each other, who were the rest of Strommouth to judge?

Yet with each passing day, as summer turned to autumn, dark clouds began to gather. Unknown terrors stalked down the main street after nightfall. Ones even the local constabulary could not put a stop to. After all, it wasn’t anything tangible so much as a feeling in the air.

Not keen to linger, almost all the shopkeepers around town closed up hours before dark, eager to return to their homes. Those who lived within spitting distance of the town centre, though, could often be seen peeking through their blinds, waiting to see what might transpire.

People started to disappear. Mostly tourists.

There were whispered rumours, too, of strange creatures emerging from the sea. Or of a serial killer.

None could make up their minds.

A new cult began knocking door to door, handing out pamphlets. Though I usually dismissed such things, Greg, my husband, thought it would be worthwhile to attend one of their townhall meetings. Told me it was better to get on top of these things than to let them fester.

It was the last time I saw him. In his grey parka, faded yellow overalls and dark green wellies.

His body was found behind the local pub the following day. He had been stabbed multiple times and half his face looked like it had been melted off. At least, according to the bobby who knocked on my door.

She was a short stout woman. Hair tied up into a messy bun. There was a missing button on her uniform. One she had yet to notice if the state of her muddy boots were any indication.

Her face was wiped blank of any emotion as she dispassionately delivered the news. Perhaps she expected me to break down. And while I did love Greg with all my heart, a numbness had crept over me.

None of it seemed real.

It seemed impossible to me that he was gone. My big strong Greg with his stupid yellow overalls and goofy grin.

In our younger years, we had tried for children but none had taken fruit. Though we did consider adoption, in the end, it was not to be. Our lives were busy enough as it was. And the two of us managed to find joy in even the smallest of moments.

To think it had been ripped away from me in a sudden act of violence?

No.

I could not believe it.

I refused to believe it.

Until they showed me his photograph.

The funeral was a relatively small affair with only about six attendees. One of those being Nicholas. The other Leanne. But whereas Nicholas looked hale and hearty, his cheeks filling in nicely, Leanne was pale. Dark smudges underscored her eyes and her hair looked brittle.

We didn’t speak though they did offer me their condolences.

Greg was buried in the family lot in the cemetery, next to his parents.

Despite the solemn event, it was the first time Strommouth enjoyed a proper sunny day after weeks of drizzle. Maybe it was God shining down on my Greg. Or perhaps it was simply a cosmic joke to bless a day of grief with light.

It didn’t matter.

All I cared about was that my Greg had finally been put to rest.

The wake was held at our home. Food and drink were aplenty for the small gathering. I’d procured two kegs of beer and had requested three platters of canapes.

Nicholas and Leanne had not come. Something I did not notice until Stevenson, as I was packing up, pointed it out to me. He was one of Greg’s closest friends. A fellow fisherman and occasional drinking partner at the local pub; drinking and chatting to the early hours of the morn.

At first, I thought nothing of it. I had never been particularly close to Leanne. Even when Henrik had been alive. And Nicholas was a wild card. Despite his unfortunate circumstances, there was something about him that sat uneasy with me.

But as the weeks, and months, passed, perhaps I should have been more concerned.

Especially when it came to Leanne.

If I knew then what I know now, I wonder if I would have seen the signs if I had checked up on her more. Or if, maybe, her fate was preordained and nothing I did would have made a difference.

She died in the middle of winter.

I remember glancing into her open casket – courtesy of Nicholas – and saw her shrivelled up body and sunken cheeks. Not even the make-up had been able to bring out the life and colour of who she had been. And the clothes they had picked out for her seemed ill-fittingly large for her small petite frame.

He had come up behind him then. Footsteps as soft and quiet like those of a cat.

That should have been the second sign not all was quite right with Nicholas.

‘Thank you for coming, Patrice. I know these last few months have been hard on you.’

‘It’s the least I can do,’ I said, trying to be polite. ‘She came to farewell my Greg and I feel it would be best to return the favour. Strommouth is small as it is and we’ve known each other for quite a long time.’

‘Nevertheless, I’m sure she appreciates the effort,’ said Nicholas. He hesitated for a brief moment, worrying his lower lip with his teeth, before continuing, ‘You know, she spoke about you. A lot.’

‘Nothing good, I assume.’

Nicholas had cocked his head to the side. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Oh, where to begin.’ I looked back at her, seemingly asleep in the casket, then turned back to Nicholas. ‘Leanne and I, we grew up together. Same school. Same grade. Though we were never close. She had her group of friends and I had mine. Always circling each other, we were.’

‘Your peers still in Strommouth?’

I snorted. ‘Hardly. Unlike Leanne and I, they had the brains to move to the bigger cities. Aberdeen. Glasgow. Edinburgh. Only a few of us stayed. And out of those who did, not everyone got to reach the ripe age of 64.’

Like the polite boy he was, Nicholas made a show of gaping at me in disbelief. ’64? Surely not, Patrice. You look no older than 40.’ Though I kept my face solemn (given we were still at a funeral, and right in front of Leanne’s casket), I could not help but preen at his comment. It might be a lie, but it was the first time in a long while since I had someone compliment me so unabashedly. I could see why Leanne had been smitten with him.

 ‘Don’t you try to butter me up, Nicky boy,’ I said sternly. Nicholas looked away and nervously rubbed the back of his head. ‘Now, where was I? Oh, yes. My rocky relationship with Leanne. Well, it all started in ’86. Both of us had our eye on my Gregory. The two of us competed for his attention constantly. He was the most strapping man of Strommouth back then. I won out, of course, and she’s never been able to live it down.’

‘What happened then?’

 ‘We married in the summer, Greg and I. That was when Leanne met her husband. Son of the local bookkeeper. And the rest, they say, is history. We would meet on the odd occasion, maybe chat a little about the weather, but never anything too detailed. As I said, we were never quite friends. So, I’m surprised she would speak about me with any regard at all.’

‘Well, you’re not wrong there,’ said Nicholas. ‘But she did tell me how sorry she felt about all the miscarriages. And the rumours that had been flying about a few years back. People can be cruel.’

To say I was surprised was an understatement. I glanced back at the still body of Leanne, lying in her casket as if she had nary a care in her world. And most likely, she didn’t. Dead as she was.

At the time, I did not realise just how lucky she would be.

Though none of us knew it then, something otherworldly had lain its touch on our small seaside town. Disaster and ill omens would follow in its wake.

Perhaps it would have been better if I had done as both my dear Greg and poor Leanne did. God knew they were much smarter than me.

Instead, I remained behind and bore witness to the horrors that would soon be unleashed upon us.

Romantic Flight

On By kyndarisLeave a comment

Weddings. There’s always something special about them. Be it the corny vows or the speeches written mostly to detail embarrassing anecdotes of someone’s life. Being a veteran of quite a few (where my many friends find happiness with their special someone), I can say with confidence that they are days of joy and celebration where two halves of a whole are brought together and officially joined in matrimony. There is laughter; there are tears. But what matters most is the connection between like-minded souls.

Shelldrake’s union with her longtime beau: Carrick Snipes (don’t worry, these are all pseudonyms they use online. And no. They aren’t furries. At least, I don’t think they are) was held on a warm Sunday in the middle of winter (remember, dear reader, I live in the southern hemisphere. This means the wedding was held in July). The ceremony was scheduled to start at 2:30 PM. And while the groom fretted, the minutes slowly slipped away. It was only until 2:50 PM that the celebrant brought our attention back to the front with a declaration the event was underway.

Cue the entrance of the flower girl, our longtime friend from high school, Shien Akari (also not their real name), slaying in a dress and heels (and for those who don’t know, which is probably a vast number of readers who don’t actually know me personally, Shien is a cisgender man). Once he stood to the side, the bridesmaids waltzed down the aisle in style before taking their places.

Then, it was time for the bride. Shelldrake, escorted by her father, slowly made her way down – stopping briefly when the train of her veil caught on something near the entrance – before making her way down to stand before her husband to be.

Since neither of the two were religious (or were agnostic), there was little in pomp and ceremony. Shelldrake and Snipes exchanged their vows, with a few little asides to all those in attendance and quite a few happy joyous waterworks, before being announced as husband and wife.

Once the official side of things was over, group photos were taken and we were given some free time to while away before the official start of the reception. Not willing to sit around for nigh on two hours, me and a few of the other guests traipsed to the local shopping centre. Though I had intended to buy new shoes, I didn’t want to lose the group and so accompanied them down to the food court.

It wasn’t long before we had to return to the venue. That said, I did manage to buy myself a few booster packs for Disney Lorcana (like the collectible card crack whore I am).

By then, there was still approximately half an hour to the reception. So, of course, being a friend of the bride, I found her ensconced in the room the hotel had provided where she could rest and fix her makeup. We chatted for a few minutes. She told me the other bridesmaids were practicing for something during the reception. Then gestured to the two Pikachus sitting on the window sill along with two controllers. I showed off my cards and then tried to give her my hong bao (as is tradition) before being told they had a wishing well (which I later inserted the hong bao though I did forget to put my name on it).

With fifteen minutes to go, I headed back out and chatted with a few of the other guests (friends of Shelldrake and Snipes I’d met before and often played board games with).

It wasn’t long before we were allowed inside and offered a slew of canapes. Just before 7 PM, we were seated inside the Estate Room where the reception began. Entrees, mains and dessert were offered. Between it speeches were given, games were played (I did very poorly during the trivia) and people filled out the guest book.

And though I tried to catch both the Pusheen (thrown by the bride in lieu of her bouquet) and the D20 (thrown by the groom), I was unable to catch either. A disappointing state of affairs though not as bad as Snipes’s attempt to start a Pathfinder campaign. One where all the players have already created their characters and just need to arrange a date and time to commence.

The first dance was at 10 PM. To my surprise, Shelldrake and Snipes danced to Celestial by Ed Sheeran. Though, truth be told, perhaps I should not have been. Shelldrake has always liked her Pokemon. Rather, I’d thought they’d dance to something from How to Train Your Dragon. Still, at least we did get to hear strains of it as a piano arrangement when we were waiting for the ceremony to begin.

But while I’ll admit previous weddings had me feeling a tad bit morose and lonely, after my dating adventurers during the last two years I didn’t feel all that terrible I’m single. Would it be nice to have a life companion? Why, yes. I think I would.

Yet, if I were to get married?

A frightening prospect because I don’t know who I’d have to serve as my own bridesmaids. Bleachpanda might make a good candidate but I feel like she might refuse. Mostly because I don’t think she’d want to make any speeches. So, perhaps a friend from work? Or maybe I’d trot out Rinbeti and Shelldrake once again (though they’ve been bridesmaids to many a wedding).

Though, if I’m being honest, I feel like I’m more inclined to just elope.

Would make things simpler and easier without all the grandiose postering. That said, the soundtrack to my wedding would probably be filled with original soundtracks from video games and movies. And I would REALLY like to dance to Valse di Fantastica. But given the popularity of Kpop Demon Hunters, it may just be: This is what it sounds like. Or Golden.

Food for thought.

But first, I’d need to find someone who would actually look at me twice. Then maybe a third or fourth time.

For now, I’ll simply enjoy my life as it comes.

And that’s all I can really do. No point in rushing into a grand commitment I’m probably not ready for at this stage.

Unless, I suppose it’s Caitlyn and Vi. Or, I dunno, Garrus. He is one sexy turian.

Sorry. What were we talking about again?

Crowd Control

On By kyndarisLeave a comment

If there is one thing that has become abundantly clear after years of attending pop culture conventions, it’s that the number of those attending has become almost nigh untenable. Or, perhaps, organisers have simply become bad at controlling the high volume of people eager to spend money inside the hallowed halls of fandom. Whatever the case, I no longer share the same enthusiasm I did years ago (though if you were to ask bleachpanda, they’d probably say it was the almost forty minutes it took just to get in the ICC for the Sydney Manga and Anime Show (or, as it’s more commonly known, SMASH!)).

While I am usually the instigator behind taking the two of us to nerd conventions like Supanova (or those with a more Western pop culture bent), my friend bleachpanda is what many would describe as a weeb. SMASH!, being a celebration of manga and anime, has a lot more merchandise and art that cater to their tastes rather than mine. Be they omamori charms, playing cards with Demon Slayer or One Piece characters, as well as fan art featuring classic anime like Inuyasha, Sailor Moon or Ranma 1/2.

The day started early for the two of us. Bleachpanda and I met up at Town Hall before making our way down to Darling Harbour. As it almost always the case, i arrived early and had to wait for them to make an appearance. Thankfully, i was able to pick up a hot chocolate to keep me warm in the shadow of the Queen Victoria statue before relocating to outside the actual Sydney Town Hall. Why, I hear you ask, dear reader? To avoid someone who decided it was a good idea to hock up phlegm in public and then harass a tourist.

It wasn’t long before we managed to insert ourselves into the lengthy queue for SMASH! One that winded from the entrance of the ICC down to the harbour before doubling back around Tumbalong Park and across a pedestrian bridge. Unfortunately, as we got closer to the end, a couple cut the line. And though I did want to tap them on the shoulder and tell them where the end of the line was, I’d initially thought they’d accidentally stumbled into it as curious bystanders.

The rage I felt when I saw they had a ticket for SMASH!? Almost incandescent.

By then, however, it was too late. So, off we trotted to be sorted into a myriad of lines to have our tickets checked before being handed a lanyard so we could enter exhibition halls.

First on the list? The newly designated Level 4 with a limited number of exhibitors and the lion’s share of Artist Alley. Bleachpanda and I wandered the aisles, looking over the merchandise on display. While there were still plenty of prints, enamel pins and charms dominated the market. The two of us picked up a few that caught our eye before moving on.

Yet, unlike previous years, there did not seem to be any one anime that ruled them all. Unlike previous years, nothing truly dominated. No Attack on Titan. No Demon Slayer. No Spy x Family. Not even Genshin Impact could retain its hold on the very saturated market. Instead, what stood out to me were the callbacks to old favourites like Naruto, One Piece, Pokemon and Sailor Moon sprinkled in with some of what made a significant impact on the public conscious such as Kpop Demon Hunters, Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss and Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 (a game which I bought upon release but have yet to play because I am SO GODDAMN BEHIND! At time of writing, I’ve been trying to make my way through Dragon’s Dogma 2. Not to mention the hundreds of hours of other games I also have from 2024. Why were there so many open-world games? Why were so many of them role-playing? Why were they both? Readers, if there is one thing I’ll ask of you, it’s simply to pray for my sanity).

When we had finally taken a tour of the Artist Alley on Level 4, bleachpanda and I headed out of the ICC to find some sustenance to fuel the second half of our day.

Knowing the Food Hall in Darling Square would be packed with people, bleachpanda and I opted for a fairly safe option: that of a nearby Italian restaurant Uliveto. Despite the hour, we managed to secure a seat inside and made our order – though I did have to flag the waitress down a few times to confirm if the seasonal lava cake was available before it promptly appeared BEFORE the mains – of salmon and scallops risotto, and lamb ragu parpardelle.

Once we had refuelled, it was back into the heaving mass of humanity to start the second leg of our day. Perhaps because SMASH! was split between two floors, the exhibition hall on the first floor did not seem as tedious. We breezed through the lower Artist Alley and even caught up with an ex-colleague of mine who had attended the event with her partner.

I do fear I may have been a little distracted and dismissive. For that I do apologise (yes, I know you read this though it’s a 50/50 chance you’ll deep dive into THIS particular post).

Together we scoured the first few aisles of the first floor before my ex-colleague decided to call a break after being on her feet for most of the day. Bleachpanda and I finished off the rest of Artist Alley, rounding off the day when I stopped by an Australian artist who created her own brand of tarot cards based off Critical Role characters (and is a friend of a friend).

To bleachpanda‘s surprise, I also then spent a veritable fortune to purchase 15 Final Fantasy themed Magic the Gathering cards. In hindsight, perhaps I should have kept them all but there were two people I was to meet the next day at an extended bachelor party that I’d give five packs each (keeping the last five for myself).

As we scoured the last of the exhibitor stalls, we looked at all that was on display but steered clear from any other major purchases. By 4:30 PM, the two of us had called it a day and slowly trudged back to Town Hall for the train ride back home. But not without a stop by Kinokuniya so I could look through the variety of books on display.

Could we have stayed a little longer? Perhaps. There were a few things I wanted to buy but chose not to.

That said, it was announced there would be a chibi SMASH! in November at its old stomping ground at Rosehill Racecourse. Whether or not bleachpanda and I attend is still up in the air. But if we do, I know I’d be wanting to pick up a few more prints and maybe a few funky socks.

As I told bleachpanda, I’ve had FAR too many white socks over the course of my 13 years of primary and secondary education. While I’ve had a string of various different socks, I’m always on the lookout for more. Especially thick ones I can wear during winter where almost every extremity of mine is all but frozen.

I’m a cold person, bleachpanda. Deal with it!

However, I DO want to point out that the attempt to crowd control artist alley once again by blocking off entrance from one side of a huge aisle was a TERRIBLE idea because it prevents the more efficient way of actually looking at all the stalls. WORSE, it was ever ONE aisle. The rest of the aisles going up to Q on the alphabet were NOT managed. AT. ALL.

Please stop.

Especially since you’ve also SPLIT Artist Alley to TWO floors (and hence, splitting the amount of people who would be perusing Artist Alley anyways).

But I digress.

Now, of course, there’s only PAX remaining (unless of course bleachpanda and I choose to go to chibi SMASH!).

Slaying the Hydra that is Capitalism

On By kyndarisLeave a comment

I was not sure what to expect when it came to Dontnod’s Harmony: The Fall of Reverie. The game released in 2023 with little fanfare and almost no marketing. Yet, I still picked it up after a sale because of the developer’s pedigree. And while the premise seemed intriguing enough – travelling between two worlds and interacting with god-like entities – the execution left much to be desired hours after the credits rolled. It certainly didn’t feel quite as engaging as Life is Strange or even Lost Records: Bloom and Rage, though I did agree with the message it was trying to impart (even if it was a little on the nose and wasn’t helped by me reading Heavenly Tyrant by Xiran Jay Zhao at the same time).

You play as Polly, short for Polyhmnia, Beauclair. After several years away, she returns home to the island of Atina due to her mother’s sudden appearance. As she is exploring her old home, she hears something calling out her name. Stumbling upon a necklace, she is pulled into an entirely different world and is met by the first of the Aspirations: Bliss (voiced by none other than Jennifer English).

The narrative is split into five distinct arcs with two or three chapters contained within. While the first three help build the world the characters live in and provide backstory, culminating in the rescue of Ursula Beauclair in the depths of an Oxian temple, the next two arcs see our protagonists take back their home from the jaws of capitalism and of an oppressive regime.

There is also an intermission following the death of Laszlo, partner to Polly’s mother and grandfather to Nora. In my playthrough, this was right after a riot where the people were protesting against the megacorporation that has taken over the island: Mono Konzern.

If that’s starting to sound familiar, you are not alone. The parallels to current events in America were particularly stark.

Worse, at time of writing, the controversial One Big Beautiful Bill was recently passed by Congress. When this post actually goes up, it’ll be another six weeks into some dystopian Hell for anyone who doesn’t particularly agree with the authoritarian politics going on in a country that once touted freedom for all.  

And while I enjoyed the narrative to a degree, I did feel the pacing near the end took away some of the wind in its sails. Especially when I chose to maintain a balance between the six Aspirations in Reverie: Bliss, Power, Bond, Chaos, Truth and Glory.

Despite the escalation of Mono Konzern to rout out dissenters in the district of Alma: by shutting down vital resources such as food and water, they decide to withdraw entirely from Atina. There is no real explanation for this. Whereas the other paths see the CEO stepping down or moral outrage erupt across the globe, when it came to Polly’s ascension as the new Aspiration: Balance, it is only the passage of time that frees the people of Atina.

This in spite of Mono Konzern tightening their hold on the island and even winning back support from the people by loosening the leash and offering affordable shelter and food.

My other issues with the game included the lack of payoff when it came to Oxion culture and the history of the island. Nor did they explain Polly’s lineage to this ancient race (though it is implied the residents of Atina – an island somewhere in Europe where they all have British accents – are probably descendants of the Oxions who first arrived on the island and had a pseudo-Greek culture as they paid worship to the Aspirations).

Then, of course, there’s the lake of egregore underneath the Naiads, along with Mono Konzern’s modified version of it that they were using to feed Glory to maintain their grip on Atina. Or even why Polly was selected to be the next Harmony.

While I don’t need everything to be spelt out, it seemed like more of these elements could have been explored. That said, perhaps they were touched upon in the options I did not choose.

From a gameplay standpoint, Harmony: The Fall of Reverie is essentially a glorified visual novel. But unlike many other games where choices matter, most of the consequences of are laid out before you in a mechanic called the ‘Augury.’ Given Polly/ Harmony’s ability to look into the future, it helps dictate the paths one can take to reach their desired goal.

But though I liked knowing how I was nudging the story, it didn’t feel quite as organic as I would have liked as many of the end outcomes were gated behind collecting enough egregore for a particular Aspiration. This meant, of course, taking certain actions or picking dialogue options I felt that did not pair well with how I viewed Polly.

The mechanic was also jarring during the intermission where Polly was struggling with her grief at the loss of Laszlo. Was it necessary to have the cutscenes be spaced out to individual nodes in the Augury when there was only one path forward?

It’s frightening for me to say this but I would have preferred the intermission to have the intermission be one long cutscene of dialogue as Polly and the rest of the family grieve. I don’t need to break down the steps one takes after the loss of a family member.

Hell, I’ve already gone through that. And, at time of writing, I fear I may have to go through it again.

Let me tell you: watching someone slide, by degrees, into something unrecognisable is not something I’d wish on anyone. It’s painful. It’s stressful. And you feel so powerless and out of your depth.

I know I made a post about the burden of care but in this strange in-between as I wait for my mother to come back, there have been moments when I have felt it’s all been too much. My grandmother deserves so much more than I am able to provide.

The company of friends. Being taken out to soak in the sun and interact with other humans. Playing a game of mahjong.

And while I’ve tried, there will always be a voice in my head saying it wasn’t enough.

But, of course, this blog post isn’t about my personal troubles. It’s about Harmony: The Fall of Reverie. Yet though I wanted to sing the praises for this game, I find myself hesitant to recommend it. Yes, there are a few good moments but as an overall experience, it’s lacking a certain…heart to it. One not even the Aspirations from the game are able to quite restore.

That said, when is the revolution my fellow proletariats? When are we, the people, to seize the means of production and overthrow the shackles of capitalism holding us back?

Revelio!

On By kyndarisLeave a comment

There’s a lot that can be said of J.K. Rowling’s views and the tweets she shares on social media. While I don’t condone them, it did not stop me from purchasing Hogwarts Legacy. That said, I did grapple a lot with my conscience before buying it during a sale on the PlayStation store. Some of it was because I wanted to show solidarity to a group of people who have bore the brunt of her attacks. In the end, though, I gave in.

I am human, after all, and the pull of nostalgia was strong. Especially when many of my friends had already bought and enjoyed their playthrough as a Hogwarts student. 

Does this make me an irredeemable monster? Maybe. 

But like many Millennials, Harry Potter was a pivotal influence on me growing up. Even at the age of 12, I waited for my letter to Hogwarts to be delivered in the mail even though Harry and the others attended at the tender age of 11. Of course, I rationalised the delay as simply the Wizarding school wanting us muggle-born children in Australia to wait until we were going to high school (or that it simply got lost). 

After reading the first four books about ten times each, I felt like Harry, Ron and Hermione were my best friends. Particularly Hermione.

As the years went by, I moved from books to fanfiction. And delighted in how others viewed these characters. 

Could I understand the obsession with Dramione? Not really. Was I a Harmony shipper, and disliked the canon relationship of Hermione and Ron? Yes. Did I eventually go down a terrible rabbit hole of Hermione Granger with Professor Snape, Fenrir Greyback and also Voldemort/ Tom Riddle? Yes, I did.

My AO3 is not something for the faint of heart.

So, I ask you, dear reader: is it any wonder I would get suckered in by all the promises Hogwarts Legacy made?

Released in 2023, Hogwarts Legacy sets the player as a new student to Hogwarts. Yet instead of being a starry-eyed and bushy-tailed first year, you play as a fifth year. However, despite the experience being a fifth year might entail, your character is entirely naive to the magic world and was only trained rudimentarily by Professor Fig – the teacher who came to fetch you to the school.

From the start, besides a basic cast, you know no spells.

Did the player character live life as a Squib to magical parents? If that were the case, why did they know nothing of magical beasts or the history of Hogwarts in general? Or were they muggleborn? So many questions, so few answers.

Whatever the case, you board a flying carriage with Professor Fig and a high-ranking official from the British Ministry of Magic, George Osric. During the ride to Hogwarts, the carriage is attacked by a dragon. Before you can react, an artefact in Osric’s possession portkeys both you and Professor Fig to some ruins along the coast that lead to a special vault in Gringotts. Inside, the player character makes out traces of an ancient magic that leads them to a pensieve before they’re confronted by a goblin named Ranrok. Both you and Professor Fig manage to escape through a portal leading to the outskirts of Hogwarts where you are later sorted into your Hogwarts House and the game officially begins.

From a narrative perspective, Hogwarts Legacy starts off strong. While the detour to a Gringotts vault had me scratching my head about where the game might lead, I was eager to attend Hogwarts and meet new friends while expanding my spell repertoire. As the do-gooder I am, I allowed myself to be sorted into Hufflepuff rather than my desired House of Ravenclaw.

But the shine of those early hours soon vanished as I went from main quest to main quest, picking up the necessary spells I needed to progress and go on my collectible splurge. Then, just as I was getting comfortable, Ranrok sends a troll to Hogsmeade to remind us of the core plot lurking in the wings. It is here where we also meet Victor Rookwood, ally to Ranrok’s ambitions of a goblin revolution, and a dark wizard.

My problem with the set-up? It’s never properly explained what Ranrok saw in the player character. Whether they were a threat or a tool to be used. While it is later revealed that Ranrok wanted to rise up against oppressive wizards and take back goblin creations, it was never properly tied back to the repository of ancient magic he had stumbled upon. For, if he was focused on an uprising, why not attack the organisations or institutions that were holding them back? But no, he ventures into one vault in Gringotts and leaves the other goblins working there alone instead of recruiting them to his cause. There are no blatant attacks either on the Ministry. Nor were there stories in the Daily Prophet of guerilla attacks.

Instead, it seemed like Ranrok was still in the process of gathering followers and power. As if he were still in the staging phase of his grand master plan.

In fact, the final battle at the repository buried underneath Hogwarts wasn’t even some mass weapon he was seeking to blow up to destroy the Wizarding school. Rather, it was just a source of power he could continue to stockpile for a future attack.

Very odd. Very strange.

Then, of course, there was the whole issue with the Keepers and the conflict between them and Isidora Morganach, a witch who also only attended Hogwarts as a fifth year. And while the game does state that Isidora’s actions were wrong, it doesn’t really show the affects of her using ancient magic to take away people’s pain (emotional). They simply state that light cannot exist with darkness and hope the player character accepts the heavy-handed but scant story crumbs.

But also, their whole solution is just to keep the pain magic taken by Isidora and just keep it stored somewhere? Why can’t they destroy it? Or simply release it into the world? What happens if it was released?

NONE of these questions were really answered in the main story before it was all glossed over by the player character undertaking the O.W.Ls at the end of the school year and being granted 100 points, thus securing them the House Cup.

Is it any wonder I felt the side stories with fellow students Natsai Onai, Poppy Sweeting and Sebastian Sallow the most compelling part of the game? Especially when it came to Sebastian and his narrative arc of trying to find a cure for his sister’s curse that causes debilitating physical pain.

And while I agree with the Keepers that taking away a person’s emotions is not the solution when they’re confronted by trauma (Life is Strange: True Colours showed just how important it is for characters to feel the full spectrum of emotions, even the negative ones), taking away chronic physical pain is a no-brainer. Why would you let Anne Sallow suffer through a delayed Cruciatus curse over and over?

In terms of gameplay, I did enjoy the various combinations of spells I could toss out. Was it a little annoying you could only map four spells initially before unlocking additional quick menus? Yes. I also found it frustrating that Hogwarts Legacy also proved to be a relatively shallow open world with a lot of randomised gear of varying quality locked in caves and ‘dungeons’ across the map. More importantly, I hated how I couldn’t readily complete them all from the start and had to wait for certain spells I would not have access to until more than half way through the game (Alohomora, I’m looking at you).

That said, I did find most of the enemies pretty one note and there wasn’t as much variety as I would have liked. Thankfully, after the first two Keeper trials, the last two showed some originality. In particular, I liked the one set by the previous headmistress: Niamh Fitzgerald where the player character must journey through a black-and-white story world that re-enacts elements of the The Tale of the Three Brothers as told by Beedle the Bard.

I also enjoyed San Bakar’s trial of winning over the Lord of the Shore and riding him back to where Professor Fig was waiting for us. The score during this moment reminded me of How to Train Your Dragon and I could not help but have John Powell’s score for Test Flight flit through my mind as we raced along the southern portion of the Scottish Highlands. And I’m not the only one judging by the comments on a YouTube video.

While I did enjoy my time with Hogwarts Legacy, I felt it was, overall, a little undercooked. Ranrok was a one-note villain whose sole motivation for his goblin rebellion was because, one time, a wizard had beaten him half to death. Because of that, he killed his own brother just so he could hunt down more power. There was nothing truly menacing about him as a villain, nor did he garner much sympathy. Perhaps if the player character had a rival or they actually had Isidora plead her case, some of the themes explored could have been more compelling.

As it was, I was left wanting at the end of the game for something with a little bit more meat on its bone.

Of note, of course, is the fact maybe a future game set in the Wizarding world would have the player as an adult witch or wizard dealing with an existential threat to wizardkind. True, there is some nostalgia baked in with Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, in turn, but one can’t reasonably believe a fifth year was out duelling goblins and poachers, ‘rescuing’ magic creatures and just running around the Scottish Highlands willy-nilly all throughout the school year while keeping up with their classes. Not even Harry Potter could have done that.

It’s Thursday Night…Down Under

On By kyndarisLeave a comment

For regulars of my blog, I do believe I’ve made it unabashedly clear I’m somewhat of a nerd. I play video games, read a lot of fantasy books, am up to date with most popular culture television shows…and I am also tangentially fascinated by tabletop role-playing games (including groups who play and stream it online). So, it should, hopefully, not come to a surprise to many that when Critical Role (which is a group of nerdy-ass voice actors who sit around playing Dungeons and Dragons) had a live show in Sydney back in June, I would be in attendance.

While, at time of writing up this post, I have no clear idea if the episode has aired, I do feel compelled to write up my thoughts of the night (and perhaps throw in my thoughts of attending Supanova later in the week, surrounded by fellow fans). That said, the post will be light on actual spoilers of the D&D campaign story but shed a few things in terms of the events of the day. For example, Sam’s ad read and the opener for the live-play.

The date was Thursday, 19 June 2025. The day before, the Critical Role YouTube channel uploaded a prologue: Tag Team at the Teeth. This short video would serve to provide some additional context to the mixed party members of the Mighty Nein and Bells Hells as our erstwhile heroes sailed off into the Shattered Teeth in the realm of Exandria.

Of course, given Critical Role had announced two shows in Australia: one in Sydney and the other in Melbourne, it made sense to have the story be presented as a two-shot. It would also provide the perfect opportunity to break up the fairly large party of Nein Hells and provide some different party combinations for the entertainment of the audiences.

For Sydney, this meant we got Chetney Pock O’Pea, Laudna, Ashton Greymoore, Yasha Nydoorin, Jester Lavorre, Caleb Widogast and Veth Brenatto. A hefty line-up to be sure with many fun party interactions.

Supposedly the game in Melbourne will feature the other members: Fjord, Beauregard Lionett, Caduceus Clay (or Kingsley Tealeaf, though it seemed like Taliesin chose Caduceus to be on the ship. Maybe he’ll play both?), Imogen Temult, Braius Doomseed, Fearne Calloway and Orym.

As the date for the live show was a Thursday, I, your humble blogger, did indeed work prior to attending the event. When I finished, I hurried over to the International Convention Centre (ICC) at Darling Harbour, stopping by to grab a quick bite as the show was scheduled to start at 6 PM.

But with many things of such scale, the cast and crew of Critical Role were already getting ready at noon. A short, shared on both Instagram and YouTube showed them all venturing outside to greet eager fans already milling about. Alas, I was unable to be there – slaving away as one does on a typical Thursday during a work week.

Still, it was heartening to see so many of my fellow Critters out and about. That said, trying to navigate the food lines, and those for merchandise, was an exercise in patience.

It always boggles my mind to see so many people line up and keen for something you also enjoy. But I suppose what I liked the most were those who dressed up for the occasion. Cosplays abounded during my jaunt down to Darling Harbour and then later into the ICC. Some were dressed as Vox Machina but there were also a substantial number of Mighty Nein and Bells Hells cosplayers.

Yet while I was able to predict the presence of Critical Role at Supanova over the weekend, I was unable to accurately guess the guest opener for the adventure. You see, Anjali Bhimani was also in Sydney for Supanova. And she, as many Critters would know, has also appeared on Critical Role as a guest player.

So, of course, I had assumed she would make an appearance.

Instead, however, it was Tom Cardy: an Australian YouTuber and musician who took to the stage to welcome the cast. If it had not been for the YouTube algorithm, and maybe one of the many dates I’d gone on during my time trying to use dating apps, I might have been less familiar with his content.

As it was, I knew who he was and could appreciate his appearance out on the stage. Tom Cardy, being who he is, serenaded us with three of his songs. These were: Paint That Lady, Mixed Messages and Monster Truck (Don’t touch my). None of which I was familiar with, but did serve to be entertaining.

Then, of course, the live show began with fervour. All of the players, barring Tom (I suppose), dressed up as the characters they would be playing for the game in delightful outfits. Standouts, of course, being Laura Bailey, Travis Willingham and Sam Riegel.

But I suppose the most memorable moment of the night was Sam doing his best Crocodile Dundee impression as he did the ad read for Ravensburger. Especially when he was wrestling with an inflatable crocodile on stage in what many would have described as a very compromising position. Being the entertainer he was, though, the crocodile did get to crowdsurf for several minutes before being tossed back closer to the stage (and even made an appearance for the group photo after intermission).

Other parts of the night I enjoyed were the fact Matt included many Australian themed creatures for combat encounters. This included terrifying sandworms, dropbears and swooping magpies!

But more importantly, they also shouted out the sign language translator at the foot of the stage, and the difficulties they would have when it came to their colourful descriptions of what was happening on stage.

All in all, it was a good night. One that was cut short for me as I had work the next day and needed to leave after 4 and a half hours of entertainment (I was later told by a friend it had ended about 15 minutes after I’d left).

Yet, the Critical Role craze did not end solely on Thursday night. Supanova Sydney was held on June 21 and 22nd. Given the cast were also skilled voice actors and had appeared in a variety of video games, having them as guests at the event was a no-brainer. The only unfortunate thing was that their panel was right at the start of both days at 10:30 AM.

I, of course, attended on the Saturday.

And by the Gods, was it packed! Split across two halls, Supanova had even managed to wrangle a Nintendo exhibit and also had a dedicated corner for the Disney Store. The other hall had row upon rows for their Artist Alley. With my friend, bleachpanda, in tow, it took nigh upon two hours just to have a look at what was on display.

While I did buy a few things for my friends, I also secured for myself more delightful prints, an enamel pin of my favourite off-brand fictional detective: Herlock Sholmes, a Goro Majima charm, and Final Fantasy themed Magic the Gathering cards.

That said, I have to commend the sheer amount of variety of goods available at Artist Alley. For my own sanity, I was glad to see there were fewer Genshin Impact related merchandise and a wider spread of other options. It also felt like Demonslayer and Spy x Family had less influence in the items being sold. That said, there was a lot more love for Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss. Other merchandise included original artworks or other cute trinkets.

But I, for one, am grateful for the appreciation for lesser known works such as Xenoblade Chronicles, Like a Dragon and the Ace Attorney series.

There was, of course, plenty of Critical Role fanart as well on display. And one artist I know, and who I’ve also purchased from, had a gaggle of people seeking to purchase her themed tarot cards.

Despite my own personal demons and challenges during the week, getting to enjoy my love of all things nerdy at the end of it felt like the break I needed. Was it a bit of a struggle to balance all my responsibilities with some fun? Of course. But it is these small moments where life truly does shine.

And maybe, hopefully, I’ll learn to be kinder to myself and let myself just breathe when everything becomes overwhelming.

On a completely unrelated side note, I was secretly hoping Dael Kingsmill would make an appearance. I know she lives somewhere in Wollongong and she might have been in the crowd during the live show, but gosh…that would have been a nice surprise.

More love needs to be shown to Australian content creators! Whichever field they may be in!