#Hyperpulp

[runeswordproductions]

For his crimes against her people, the Goblin Matriarch of Clan Tyyagilg has ordered the death of Pope Solegard, Master of the High Church of Aman.

Bhelg, the Earthshard's most ferocious warrior, just wants to kill him for his cool hat.

[jesterbells]

Tumblr literary theory concepts

• The two layers of worldbuilding theory • Bitism • Numbers • story Givens • Hyperpulp • inventing place names • Very Gentle Writing • impractical worldbuilding • Cow Tools • the Planet of Two Hats • Concretes

[runeswordproductions]

Unjust, And Also Stupid

“But what of you?" Brodcrum asks. "What does your heart tell you about yourself?”

            Naewoon gives him a measuring look, trying to figure if Brodcrum’s coming onto him. But the Barbarian’s tone is more comforting than pressing, and Naewoon figures he’d helped Brodcrum by listening to him, and now Brodcrum feels honor-bound to return the favor. Naewoon finds himself saying, “My heart tells me I don’t know what I want.”

            “Those sound like the words of a woman who is looking on the desires of others, thinking they are her own.”

            “Maybe,” Naewoon says, and after a long silence, “I’m here because I didn’t want to get married. It’s the ideal, supposedly, for an Aeyilwurtian scholar to never marry, to give their whole life to their work. That’s what I was doing for a few years after I came of age, and I was happy. Then one day my mother visited, saying, ‘Good news, Naewoon! I’ve arranged the perfect match for you!’ It was all I could do to sputter, ‘What, like a marriage?’ And before I knew it, she was introducing me to my fiancee, and she was… perfect, or so everyone said. Gorgeous, intelligent, a renowned scholar from a very old family of renowned scholars. But there was something… not right.”

            “You needed a man,” Brodcrum guesses. “Not a match, but a counterpart to your womanly loveliness.”

            “That was my mother’s reaction too, when I called it off,” Naewoon says, followed by a mental, Minus your strange ideas about my gender. “She said my fiancee’s parents would let me marry their son if I preferred, so long as I still had children with their daughter.”

            “Sordid.”

            Naewoon nods. “Even if it hadn’t been so… icky, I wouldn’t have had any interest in that either. It’s not that I was… what’s traditionally called a ‘perfect scholar’ or, more precisely, an asexual--”

            “Attracted to ace swordsmen?” Brodcrum asks hopefully.

            “Without sexual interest.” Naewoon’s not sure if Brodcrum had been joking or honestly confused. “No, there was a part of me that thrilled at the sight of my fiancee, and her brother too, because he was as handsome as she was beautiful. But another part of me, part I still don’t understand, said, ‘NO. Absolutely not.’ I just knew I had to get out of that marriage any way I could.”

            Brodcrum strokes his chin. “The woman I loved, in a time that is now lost, I knew for years before we fell into each other’s arms. The year before our first lovemaking we had been through much that tied us together as if with chains. She told me, after some time to reflect, that she had felt not a solitary spark of desire for me or anyone else until shortly before that first night. I told her, ‘But of course! I was a boy when we first met, and now--behold--by my deeds I have become a demigod! You are demigodsexual!’ She told me I was stupid, and that it was not my deeds, but our bond that made her want me. Perhaps you are a… loversexual? Like her. You needed a bond that you did not have, because you did not know her before your mother told you to marry her.”

            “I don’t think it’s that. I’ve met total strangers that make my heart beat fast and my knees go weak--” Naewoon blushes when he realizes he’s just described Brodcrum, but that’s ridiculous. That had been the result of peril, and even if it hadn’t been, he can’t go getting hot under the collar and hard in the pants for this Barbarian, not when the plan is to return to Aeyilwurt in triumph, to reclaim his reputation and perhaps seek a wife or husband on his own terms. “There was just… something about that situation, how transactional it was, maybe, that made me willing to burn down my whole career to get out of it.”

            “I do not understand.” Brodcrum leans forward attentively. “Aeyilwurt is like the Inn at the Edge of the World but for scholars instead of swordsmen, yes? If I rejected a woman who everyone praised as perfect, men would mock me behind my back, but I would still be Brodcrum the Bloody. There is nothing about not desiring this beautiful yet repulsive woman that--”

            “Don’t call her that. She was perfectly nice the whole time, even when I called things off, which is more than I can say for most people. I hope she ends up with someone who can cherish her properly.”

            “But there is nothing about your unmarriagefulness that makes you a less able book-witch, that is what I mean to say.”

            “Aeyilwurt is… weird.” Naewoon searches for words. “Ankyria has had its eyes on us for more than a century now, and everyone says they leave us alone because rich Ankyrians send their sons to us to be educated, but the reality is that it’s Quat’s intercession alone that keeps us free. And what Quat wants is knowledge. He wants great scholars who offer up their original research the way other gods receive meat and mead. That means Aeyilwurt doesn’t just need great scholars, it needs to keep having great scholars. Supposedly we’re civilized. Supposedly everyone is free to love or not love whomever they choose, but all that really matters, if you’re an elite scholar from a family of elite scholars, is that you have children. That you contribute to the population of scholars who will continue to ensure Aeyilwurt’s so-called freedom. You show that you aren’t willing to do that…” Naewoon snaps his fingers. “And your career can evaporate before your eyes.”             “That is unjust, and also stupid,” Brodcrum rumbles, his eyes full of a distant wrath that makes Naewoon think he’d probably kill Magister Onkilput if he were to suddenly appear at their fireside. Naewoon is uncomfortable with how grateful he is for that homicidal level of support. 💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀 BEHOLD! Chapter 4: Unjust, And Also Stupid is up on https://www.runeswordproductions.com/ Direct link to the beginning for those new to the adventure: https://www.runeswordproductions.com/beholdcover The whole book's going up for free, chapter by chapter every other week, but by signing up for the Patreon you can get access to chapters released a month early, as well as bonus stories including BLOOD AND STARLIGHT, a prequel tale for Brodcrum, our illustrious bi-barian. https://www.patreon.com/RuneswordProductions Wishing you all the solace that comes of trauma dumping to an enormous professional killer with a heart of gold, - Rune

[runeswordproductions]

Nemeses

Shortly thereafter they’re all outside, on a flat and pebbly stretch of dirt, which has another of those cheerful little signs marking it, Designated Dueling Ground. Brodcrum and Bhelg kneel opposite each other, each trying to drown the other out as they bellow their intention to sacrifice each other to the Grim Lord of Death. Bhelg accentuates this by raising her axes crossed over her head. Brodcrum punches himself in the face after each pronouncement. This goes on for a surprisingly long time, so Naewoon sidles over to Lunria and whispers, “We’re not really going to let them do this, are we?”

            Naewoon flinches as Lunria’s gaze locks on him. The spider witch would’ve been on the tall side even if she were a man. “Would you love Brodcrum as much if his passions were restrained like some civilized man?”

            Naewoon turns red. “He and I--we’re not--” 

            “I’m sorry, I forgot you Barbarians like to pretend you don’t do that with each other,” Lunria says. Naewoon can’t tell if her smile is kind or mocking. 

            By this point the pre-duel ritual has devolved into Brodcrum and Bhelg roaring at each other. They really seem a matched set. Naewoon can imagine their lovemaking leveling buildings, and he turns even redder as he wonders why he imagined such a thing. Finally the duel begins, the combatants’ feet shuffling back and forth as they test each other, Brodcrum’s sword held cautiously in front of him, one of Bhelg’s axes held low and the other high.

            “My poor Bhelg.” Lunria’s eyes sparkle as she covers her mouth with a hand that has at least three spiders on it. “She’s not ready for this nemesis relationship to end.”

            “Yeah, I’ve never seen Brodcrum not go straight through someone before,” Naewoon says, wondering, Does she actually not know about the two of them? She has to be able to tell they're exes just looking at them!

            But when Naewoon looks at Lunria again he finds her eyes aren’t on the shuffling sorta-fight. Her face has snapped round to gaze west, over the Crags of Calamity. Naewoon wonders what she’s looking at before he hears it too: a distant rumbling, growing steadily louder. 💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀

BEHOLD! Chapter 6: Nemeses is up on the Runesword Productions website.

For those who haven't read the first five chapters, here's a link to the very beginning of this queer fantasy adventure serial. Wishing you all the contentment that comes of knowing if *your* partner got into a duel with her ex, you'd be happy to watch because you know she's probably gonna kill that guy, - Rune

[runeswordproductions]

The Night of Bones

“You do not know the first thing about the Dark Lord, do you?” Brodcrum asks just as another wretchkin lunges out of the darkness. Brodcrum sidesteps the swipe of its claws and beheads it with a deft cut. “Osseon always spares the children.”

            “The Hell King of the Dragonspine Promontory has mercy now?” Kneewound demands.

            “No, but he prefers to kill the kids ten to twenty years after the fact, after they have grown up and devoted their lives to revenge. It is what I would do if I was a deathless sorcerer. Gotta do something to keep eternity interesting.” Brodcrum frees up his hands by shifting Kneewound from his shoulder to his back, so she has to hang onto his neck. “Now hold on tight. I am going to do what you might call a ‘professional adventurer move.’”

            “Please don’t,” Kneewound says as Brodcrum scans the starry sky. They’ve reached the edge of an open square with a cheerful wooden sign reading, Designated Dueling Ground. Brodcrum has tangled with the hordes of Osseon before, and he knows their tactics. He knows the gates of the compound will be swarming with wretchkin, and he knows those wretchkin are just the shepherd’s goad. Typical horde attack: send in hundreds of easily-rebuilt wretchkin to flush your prey into open spaces where they’re easy pickings for the horde’s air force. Knowing it’s exactly what his enemy expects, Brodcrum runs out onto the open dueling ground. 

            He doesn’t see the deathwing, but he feels it swooping toward him, eight hundred pounds of leather-winged, necromantically-constructed killing machine detectable only as a garbage-smelling wind and a prickling on the back of the neck. Carefully compensating for Kneewound’s weight, Brodcrum leaps aside at the last second, not letting the deathwing’s talons snag him but getting his huge hand around its ankle. The panicking deathwing pulls out of its dive, lifting Brodcrum and a screaming Kneewound into the air, first ten feet, then twenty as it tries to shake them off. Then they’re above the wall, and Brodcrum’s sword flashes upward, the tip of his blade tearing through the fused-together human hides of one delicate wing. The monster shrieks, losing altitude as its one undamaged wing struggles to keep it in the air. Its desperate flapping is just effective enough that Brodcrum doesn’t break his legs when he lands, releasing his grip on the deathwing’s ankle just as it’s about to crash to the ground. The soft sandy ground helps, though Kneewound is getting perilously close to throttling him as the deathwing hits the ground a few yards away in a meaty cacophony of snapping bones.

            “Quit your hysterics!” Brodcrum shrugs Kneewound off and places her on the ground. “You act as if I had never done that before!”

“I didn’t know that!” Kneewound squawks. “And even if I had--”

A high, coldly amused voice slithers out of the darkness. “Oh, but we knew he’d done that before. You’re growing predictable in your old age, Brodcrum.” 💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀

BEHOLD! Chapter 3: The Night of Bones is up on https://www.runeswordproductions.com/ Direct link to the beginning for those new to the adventure: https://www.runeswordproductions.com/beholdcover

The whole book's going up for free, chapter by chapter every other week, but by signing up for the Patreon you can get access to chapters released a month early, as well as bonus stories including BONED, the events of this chapter from the perspective of some skeletons who put the devastating in devastatingly sexy. https://www.patreon.com/RuneswordProductions

Wishing you all a very, "embrace the civilization-destroying barbarism inside of you," - Rune

[runeswordproductions]

The Crags of Calamity

At least these silk shoes are good for sneaking, Naewoon reflects as he steps into the shadows of the crags. All around them is silence, and Naewoon keeps his gaze down, wary of small rocks that might make noise if kicked. Brodcrum slips and clambers between the rocks with silent confidence, seeming to know the way like the back of his hand. This is no small source of amazement to Naewoon, who loses his sense of direction immediately in this maze of rough stone. He has to be careful to keep the skirts of his anru from scraping noisily against close-pressing boulders. He’s not always successful. Some of the holes and crevices they creep through are so narrow he’s amazed Brodcrum can fit, and Naewoon can’t keep folds of silk from rasping against rock. But this isn’t enough sound to draw attention, or so Naewoon reasons from the way Brodcrum doesn’t turn to glare at him. Making good time, it’s not long before they encounter a clickbeetle.

            It’s a horrible thing to look at. Bigger than Brodcrum, it’s too massive to have much in the way of chitin, so it’s a surprisingly fleshy creature, with six pallid legs that look almost like human arms elongated with a bunch of extra joints. It has a bulbous and obscene looking abdomen shrouded by two vestigial, translucent little wings, and a razor-mandibled head that drips with slime.

Also it’s dead. Curled up on its back in the middle of a crag.

            This clearly confuses Brodcrum, who stops to examine the dead monster. Joining him in it, skin crawling at the thought of being chased by one of these things, Naewoon realizes there’s not a mark on the creature. No obvious wounds or trauma. It looks like it just… keeled over for no reason. Wondering what could have done this, Naewoon wonders if the Ankyrians have come, and are already ahead of them. He’d seen a motion picture once, imported at great expense from Ankyria and, in that, victims of magic wands fell down and died without a blemish on their bodies. Though now that he thinks about it, Naewoon expects that was just censorship on the Ankyrians’ part. Wands fire blasts of thaumatons--particles of pure magical potency--and there’s no way that much barely controlled energy doesn’t make a mess.

            If Brodcrum has any idea what killed the clickbeetle, he stays silent as he presses through the narrow gap between the corpse and the rock wall. Naewoon is slender enough to get through without touching it, but Brodcrum has to brush his bare chest against the dead and pallid flesh. Naewoon shudders at the thought and follows Brodcrum for just a few moments before they find another dead clickbeetle.

            What the hell? Naewoon mouths at Brodcrum, who shakes his head, brow furrowed with thought. It’s only then that Naewoon realizes they have a problem. This crevice is much narrower than the first, and the clickbeetle’s body blocks it completely. Brodcrum hesitates only a moment before climbing the body, wincing as it makes a squelching sound underfoot. He listens silently, perched atop it and, when he fails to detect approaching danger, turns to offer Naewoon a hand up. Naewoon takes it, letting himself be hoisted even as he cringes to feel the dead monster squishing under his feet. Brodcrum hops silently down, and Naewoon makes to follow him--

            Only for the skirts of his anru to catch on one of the clickbeetle’s claws. He loses his balance and tumbles forward. His anru tears, and he hits the ground with a loud thump.

            He just barely tamps down a cry of dismay as he tries to roll over and stand up, but Brodcrum pins him down with a hand over his mouth. The Barbarian crouches over him, eyes wary and sword poised in his hand, and then Naewoon hears it.

            A rhythmic click-click-clicking, loud and terribly close.

💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀

BEHOLD! Chapter 5: The Crags of Calamity is up on the Runesword Productions website.

For those who haven't read the first four chapters, here's a link to the very beginning of this barbarous disaster bi adventure.

The whole book's going up for free, chapter by chapter every other week, but by signing up for the Patreon you can get access to chapters released a month early, as well as bonus stories including our novella SURVIVORS, a hilarious and brutal tale of feelings vs social expectations, sapphics vs a gaytriarchal horde of undead abominations. Up next after that, the novella BHELG THE BIFURCATOR AND THE QUEST FOR THE WEDDING HAT, an adventure tale of goblins, acespec romance, and killing the pope to take his hat. Hoping your day doesn't include any giant killer bugs--unless, y'know, you're into that sort of thing. - Rune

[runeswordproductions]

“Those sound like the words of a woman who is looking on the desires of others, thinking they are her own.” Chapter 4 of heartwarmingly bloodsplattered fantasy adventure-comedy-romance, BEHOLD! coming Tuesday. A link to the beginning, for those new the wastes at the edge of the world, https://www.runeswordproductions.com/beholdchapter-1

[runeswordproductions]

I just wanted to write a silly little story about goblins. Why is it 80 pages long and why am I crying?

[runeswordproductions]

“For fuck’s sake girl, get it together! That’s not the first time you’ve gotten heartsblood in your hair!”

Hyra blinks. She must’ve been in shock, because she hadn’t realized she’d been dragged back into the inn. The talons in her hair had belonged not to some monster, but to Aunt Sal, who’s now barring the door. They’re in the inn’s front lobby, dim lit with candles but way too smoky, enough to tell Hyra that other parts of the inn must be on fire.

“He gave the best head though,” Hyra says numbly.

“Then he shall be remembered in song,” Aunt Sal replies sarcastically–she’s never approved of Hyra’s side gig–as something lobs a severed head through the nearest window. The gnarled but strong old woman sticks something out the shattered window–Hyra thinks it’s her broom until the drum-shaped part in the middle sparks violet-white, there’s a thunderous, room-shaking blam! and the world outside the window goes from dark to bright to dark again. The magic wand looks like an antique, and faulty too by the way it’s caught Aunt Sal’s hair on fire. Swatting it out, she asks, “You do remember his name, right?”

“I… I did earlier!” Hyra says in anguish.

“Too much of a good time?”

“Yeah,” says Hyra and the pounding of a mead hangover inside her skull. She cringes as she accidentally touches the blood in her hair. “Besides, it’s different when it’s two Barbarians dueling over you. That is high flattery.”

“So’s this,” says Aunt Sal, crouching and fiddling with her wand’s faulty power cell. “That’s Osseon’s entire horde arsefucking this place, I’d bet my remaining eye on it.”

^ Excerpt from Part 1 of my new novelette, SURVIVORS, available at https://www.patreon.com/RuneswordProductions It's a companion piece to the serialized fantasy novel BEHOLD! which is available for free at https://www.runeswordproductions.com/

[runeswordproductions]

You ever write a one-off character with all of two lines, imply their gruesome death, then forget all about them by the time you finish the draft, only to remember them while editing and become overwhelmed with regret over the whole off-page ripped apart by skeletons thing, then decide to correct the issue by writing a story about how they made it out alive? Anyway, that's how I know it's possible to accidentally write a 17,000 word novelette.

[runeswordproductions]

For a thousand years stories of world-saving hero Butterbar the Beautiful have inspired bravery, heroism, and mythic levels of hypermasculine dumbshittery. Now Butterbar’s tomb is opening and every would-be hero on the Earthshard is gathering to claim his power--and also Naewoon, a disgraced academic come to the edge of the world to study Butterbar’s worshipers. Beginning his journey by almost getting murdered by bandits, Naewoon is rescued by Brodcrum the Bloody, an enormous warrior and self-described “man-witch” who has mistaken the diminutive scholar for a damsel in distress. Each fascinated by the other, Brodcrum and Naewoon set off together--and are forced to cooperate with Brodcrum’s ex and her scary spider-covered wife when surprise attacks by two competing dark lords leave the tomb pilgrims scattered. Now, with undead hordes and high tech imperialists on their heels, the four adventurers seek the tomb--a quest that will reshape their world and themselves. BEHOLD! is an illustrated and serialized hyperpulp fantasy novel being made available for free at https://www.runeswordproductions.com/ Come for the bloody fights and dirty jokes, stay for the queer feels and loveable characters. CHAPTER 1: DAMSEL and CHAPTER 2: THE FREEST MEN IN THE WORLD are already up on the site. CHAPTER 3: THE NIGHT OF BONES, coming this week, and a little early. IRL schedule changes means we're doing this every other Tuesday instead of every other Thursday. And since it's the only stuff that gets me any attention on here, I think I should specify I know how to use a sword in real life. I'm a devoted practitioner of a variety of edged weapon martial arts, but especially Liechtenauer-style German longsword. Doesn't always translate into ultra-realistic swordfights on the page, as some of these, especially the monster fights, are some anime blood explosion bullshit, but I always aim, at the very least, to bring sharp detail and a tight and realistic tempo to my fight scenes. For my best HEMA-informed fights so far, check out my companion short story, BLOOD AND STARLIGHT (warning: horny) at https://www.patreon.com/RuneswordProductions That's also where we post BEHOLD! chapters a month early.

[runeswordproductions]

From BEHOLD! Chapter 8: The Quest...

“We will get through this.” Brodcrum’s grip is tight on Naewoon’s shoulder. “You think I have not faced impossible odds before? That is what being a hero is, and I am quite good at it!” 

            “And I’m just a failed academic,” Naewoon says.

            “You were a good book-witch who got kicked out of her book-witchery temple over unjust and stupid fuckarsery!” Brodcrum declares. “But also, perhaps… you were never meant to be a book-witch. Maybe you came here not to die, or to write your papers, but to become one of us.”

            “Brodcrum, I’ve never held a sword in my life. I’m not manly enough to be a Barbarian and I’m not enough of a woman to be an Amazon and--”

            “I would smite anyone else who said such turferous nonsense about you,” Brodcrum says balefully, his eyes black in the starlight. “So do not say it about yourself.”             “But I’m not even--” Naewoon sighs, letting it go. He doesn’t know how to explain to Brodcrum that he’s been a man the whole time, that he’s been letting Brodcrum think of him as a woman for… reasons? He still doesn’t understand why he likes it so much. Doesn’t mean he’s actually a woman. It’s not like he could’ve been a temple keeper, that’s been made plain enough. 

            “I heard it in your voice earlier,” Brodcrum says. “The bravery, the passion of one who would be a hero, if only she were not so small. You would take on Ankyria yourself, bring an end to their tyranny over this Earthshard, if only you had the power?”

            “I guess,” Naewoon says.

            “Then behold.” Naewoon hadn’t known Brodcrum could say that word quietly. “You already understand the allure of Butterbar. The Beautiful. Not his beauty. Not even his deeds, though they were mighty beyond mortal ken. His power. The power he used to rebuild our piece of the world after the God War. The power to change things for the better.”

            “But you Barbarians don’t do that, and neither do the Amazons. You all just…”

            “Go on violent adventures that are of grand significance to the adventurer but rarely anyone else? All while avoiding properly dangerous enemies like the hordes of Osseon or the armies of Ankyria?” Brodcrum seems to have tried to frame all this lightly, but he’s gone solemn by the end, reflective as he stares out at a night sky whose stars have been depleted by the glare of the Ankyrian encampment. After a long moment he says, in a voice so low it’s nearly a murmur, “I knew where to find this camping spot. I went ‘scouting’ because I needed time to think. About how, in my moment of triumph over Mazarath, I realized my father hadn’t been worth avenging. From there I found myself thinking about what you told me, back at the inn when I explained my quest. I had a vision, walking these rocks in thought. I saw myself amid burning ruins, a bloody crown upon my head, the descendants of the usurpers of Uhum dead at my feet. And I felt… empty. As empty and pointless as I had on the night Bhelg and I slew Mazarath.

“You were right. It is a stupid quest, but I did not think it so, because I knew my fellow Barbarians would praise me for it. That is another failure of ours. Another way we have lost sight of the true spirit of Butterbar. The Beautiful. The bigger the quest, the grander, the deadlier the better, with no thought for whether it has a purpose beside whatever riches or magic secrets we loot along the way. And I wonder… if this has all been done to us, if we’ve all been manipulated into thinking this way. It is mightily convenient for the lords of Ankyria, that all their hotheaded, glory-hungry young people, the ones too free-spirited to ever join their army, run off to the edge of the world to do pointless things, rather than staying, forming an army of their own, and fighting back against tyranny. Once I saw it I couldn’t unsee it. It’s like everything about Barbarian and Amazon culture, from the pointless quests to the self-destructive parts of our codes of honor, is designed to make us so caught up in fighting each other that we’re harmless to the powers of the world. Now that I know that… I would like to change it. Whatever we find in the Tomb, I want to use it to change this Earthshard for the better.” 💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀 BEHOLD! Chapter 8: The Quest has been posted. A link to the beginning, for those new to the adventure. This sword & sorcery adventure serial, by queer author/artist duo Rune J. Sword & Death McHandsome, is available for free and updates every other week, but contributors to our Subscribestar get early chapters and biweekly bonus stories. Wishing you all a very, "embrace the civilization-destroying barbarism inside of you,"

- Rune

[runeswordproductions]

From Prince Gorz and the Curse of the Horny Meat People...

“They are your key to the tomb?” Gorz whispers incredulously, eyeing the pair of young warriors struggling up the mountainside.

            “Scoff if you like, fool,” Iaxirai hisses. “These callow youths possess a power we chosen of the Most Glorious Bone Master could never dream of harnessing.”

            “True love?”

            Iaxirai retches as if that had been a serious suggestion. “No, you fool! Repression! Liathir the Lightdrinker designed his tomb’s doors so they would only open for a pair of impossible creatures: two humans aged eighteen to twenty-one, unrestrained by family, unbroken by dogma, whose greatest desire is to fuck each other but who nonetheless refrain! Behold the male, whose pathetic meat parts long to dominate a woman as mighty as he is, but whose insecurity demands she behave as his inferior! Behold too the female, who longs to submit to his meatly ministrations, but who is far too prideful to admit her companion a worthy dom! They are the perfect key to Liathir’s lock!” 💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔ Part 1 of our new bonus novelette, Prince Gorz and the Curse of the Horny Meat People is up on our Subscribestar. It's Bhelg and Brodcrum versus their feelings for each other and also a pair of evil cock-blocking skeletons. Also I just ran the numbers and apparently we are trying way too hard, because there's actually more bonus story on the Subscribestar than there is main BEHOLD! chapters up on the site. 32,555 words versus the site's 29,963, and that's not even counting the two main chapters we've got posted a month early. So if you like BEHOLD! and are hungry for more, just $5 will double how much you get.

[runeswordproductions]

wtf is hyperpulp

What is hyperpulp? It’s thoughtful, introspective fiction that utterly rejects the self-conscious trappings of litfic in favor of everything that’s bloody, sexy, irreverent, and generally un-respectable about genre fiction, weaving together the pulp and the literary so tightly that trying to remove one would destroy the other.

Real talk though, it’s a word I came up with to explain to my old writing prof why I stuck his name on the dedication page of a Conan the Barbarian parody. Let’s not take ourselves too seriously here.

But if we assume this is a real genre, what are some other examples? First thing that springs to mind is Tamsyn Muir’s Locked Tomb, as it’s the series that taught me that you can write a story that’s both deadly serious drama and an utter shitpost, like that’s… allowed. It’s never sexually explicit but I don’t think hyperpulp needs to tick off all its own boxes. It’s a doctrine of freedom, not lawyerly fuckarsery. So long as it’s got the spirit, it’s there. Another example might be Gretchen Felker-Martin’s Manhunt, though genre-wise splatterpunk seems to have that one covered. It’s just smart, thoughtful, really good splatterpunk.

And there it is. The question that makes me not entirely comfortable with applying my own genre label to other people’s work: is there anything to hyperpulp other than, “it’s pulp, but it’s good”?

I could waffle all day about how hyperpulp is made distinctive by the balance it strikes, about its emphasis on emotion amid extreme circumstances, and how it’s possible to do that badly in a way that’s distinct from bad pulp or bad litfic. But no amount of prevaricating can parry either of the two objections I anticipate to calling someone else’s work hyperpulp. The objection I don’t respect: “ew, keep your pulp out of my serious literature.” The objection I respect deeply: “fuck off, pulp was good enough without you pretending to elevate it.”

Yeah, legit. Reminds me of that anecdote Neil Gaiman tells about some litfic shitfuck telling him, “oh no, you don’t write comics, you write graphic novels.” Going by that logic I should retire the concept of hyperpulp as a bad idea, quietly scrub it off the site and the socials before I earn a reputation as a pretentious poser.

But also no. Fuck it, I’m keeping it.

The reason boils down to the same answer given to that common strawman of queer and neurodivergent copypastas, the asshole who demands, “why do you need to keep coming up with all these stupid labels? Aren’t labels… bad?”

Because it’s good to know you’re doing your own thing right, not doing someone else’s thing wrong.

Trying to promote my own work without a simple label like hyperpulp has been a thankless slog. If I try to lean into the pulp, people wonder why everyone’s talking about their feelings. If I lean into the feelings, people wonder why everyone’s horny and covered in blood at the same time. Trying to describe my work always felt like being an underground metal critic fumbling to stuff someone’s genre-agnostic music into a box labeled, “raw melodic second wave black metal/thrashing kawaii dungeon drone with elements of crust and ska.” Death came up with a label that I used for a little while: “hyper-violent social commentary comedy smut.” I felt like that captured the spirit of it, but it was a mouthful and also not entirely accurate. BEHOLD! is plenty horny, but it’s still less than 5% porn by volume. Also, nobody’s impressed by comedy or social commentary. Anyone can do it badly, and when it’s bad it’s terrible. That leaves just the violence, which certainly gives the wrong impression.

So yeah. Nah. Hyperpulp’s the right word. Hyperpulp fantasy, to be specific. So much of the traditional publishing scene is talented people sanding away their personality and originality to fit into an easily marketed package, a thing I’ve long resented, despised, and struggled against. Hyperpulp is not just a label. It’s a blade for carving out a place for myself in a fantasy fiction market that has never been more crowded. Only time will tell if that’s a battle I can win.

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From BEHOLD! Chapter 7: A Massive Capacity For Passion...

“You could say we were young and foolish," Brodcrum says. "So foolish that we disregarded the Barbarians’ and Amazons’ mutual second rule of non-suicidal quest selection: don’t mess with Ankyria!”

“Reasonable,” Kneewound says with a bitter laugh. “What’s the first rule?”

“Don’t mess with Osseon,” Brodcrum says grimly. “Another rule we’d eventually break, but… anyway, we set out for Vunderbort, the Ankyrian capital, as we’d heard tell of a great hoard of enchanted swords there, and figured Reductor might be in it.”

            “That must have been quite a journey,” Kneewound says. “Isn’t Vunderbort like a thousand miles from Um?”

            “More than half the span of the Earthshard,” Brodcrum confirms, and is pleased to realize he has at least one thing he can brag about: “To traverse it at speed we needed to conquer the terror of the bus.”

            “The terror of the… bus?” Kneewound sounds as confused as she is unimpressed.

            Brodcrum glowers. “I hear skepticism in your voice! Skepticism of a woman who has not encountered one of these horrid beasts of metal and spellsteam! Large as three hovels stuck together, very loud and very stinky, and prone to running over the unwary rather than get any farther behind on their unpredictable timetables! Still worse, Bhelg and I could not ride in their bellies for this would require us to wear clothes, and also give up our weapons, either of which alone would have been a dealbreaker. We had to learn the art of sneaking up on buses at night, mounting them, and riding on their backs from town to town unperceived by guards and driver alike! An exhilarating feat, especially when the wretched beasts careen at speed along the cliffside roads that traverse the Gorptbur Mountains!”

            That gets an appreciative eyebrow raise from Kneewound. “I imagine you had to move by night a lot. The Ankyrian police don’t take kindly to Barbarians and Amazons traveling in their territory.”

            Brodcrum makes a weighing motion. “Neither of us were either yet. We had heard of the Beautiful One, and admired him, but we would not take him into our hearts for some time. Still, we looked the part and that was enough. We had to steal from food hoards to eat.”

            “What, like grocery stores?”

            “Food hoards,” Brodcrum stresses. “The other name is lieful, for it implies any may come there to take food for a fair price--but we saw those prices! We took one look at them and, after filling our packs with food for ourselves, each took as much bread as we could carry, and before fleeing town scattered it on the doorsteps of the most wretched-looking hovels.”

            “Hey, there’s something to boast about!” Kneewound says with a smile that makes Brodcrum’s heart do a little dance. “Lots of honor in stealing when it’s to feed the poor, right? Maybe it’s not dangerous enough to impress your average Barbarian, but it’s a good thing.”

            “Bah, it wasn’t even my idea!” Brodcrum admits, though now he can’t help smiling. 💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀⚔💀 BEHOLD! Chapter 7: A Massive Capacity For Passion is up on the Runesword Productions website.

A link to the beginning, for those new to the adventure.

This sword & sorcery adventure serial, by queer author/artist duo Rune J. Sword & Death McHandsome, is available for free and updates every other week, but contributors to our Subscribestar get early chapters and biweekly bonus stories.

Wishing you all a very, "embrace the civilization-destroying barbarism inside of you," - Rune

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One moment the lithe swordsman is ten feet away. The next the distance between them has disappeared, Steelgleam’s sword snapping out to split Brodcrum’s skull. Brodcrum answers with his own furious hew, cleaving straight into Steelgleam’s blow. Both weapons clang to a halt, Brodcrum’s one arm a match for Steelgleam’s double-handed attack. Their blades press against each other, angling for position for a single second before Brodcrum takes his pommel in his off hand and shoves Steelgleam’s sword out of the way. Brodcrum’s thrust pricks Steelgleam’s cheek but meanwhile Steelgleam has used Brodcrum’s overwhelming pressure to power his own counter-attack, an overhead horizontal spin of his blade that draws a shallow line of blood along Brodcrum’s hairline as he tries to duck. The two men break away from each other, first blood drawn near enough to simultaneously that only the most sharp-eyed of seconds would have been able to tell who got the other first.

Brodcrum finds himself laughing, grinning at his opponent as he says, “You are good with that blade! Good enough to make up for your paltry strength!”

Steelgleam’s laughing too, though his gaze is sharp. “And you are very strong! Strong enough to make up for your abysmal technique!”

“Quit your flirting and come at me!” Brodcrum says, and feels his heart drop into his stomach. It had been a stock line for when he was sparring with his queen, and somehow it had slipped out now.

Steelgleam assumes a defensive stance, hilt low and point toward Brodcrum’s face. “You started it.”

“I did not!” Brodcrum bellows, and lunges at him. ^ Excerpt from my new short story, BLOOD AND STARLIGHT, available on https://www.patreon.com/RuneswordProductions It's a companion piece to the serialized fantasy novel BEHOLD! which is available for free at https://www.runeswordproductions.com/