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In the rough days when life was carved out of chaos, the Golden Maiden, with her sister, came to the vast walls of her divine cousins and knocked with the gilded pommel of her broadsword.
No gate opened, but a voice called, ‘What need have we of you?’
‘I wish to join my cousins, in luxury and in expertise,’ declaimed the Golden Maiden. ‘I am mistress of the blade.’
‘This we can say that we have.’
‘And of saga-telling.’
‘This we can say that we have.’
‘And of metalcraft.’
‘This we can say that we have.’
On and on she listed, from archery to tactics to music, and the voice replied the same.
‘But can you say,’ asked the Golden Maiden, ‘That you have any who so strives in all these things?’
And at last the voice said ‘No.’
‘Then you shall let me in, and my sister for good measure.’
And they did, for she was a mistress of argument as well.
From the Litany of Gold.
~*~
Rota’s golden paladin armor shown in the spell-light, and the demons swarmed her. Scaly fingers pried between the panels and pierced skin, but she continued driving the creatures backwards with her shield, keeping the focus on her. One scaly neck was pierced in turn by Hedren’s dagger, as the operative from the Guild of Entrymen made every second count. Further back, Tannemyr, the representative from the Collegium Arcanum, was felling more of the creatures with bolts of sorcery. Behind even the sorcerer, Arin, her drab dress the opposite of her temple partner’s regalia, knelt quietly off to one side, prepared bandages, and prayed.
When the battle was done, Hedren and Tannemyr were finished collecting demon-heads before Arin was finished dressing all the wounds that had been made under Rota’s armor.
“How in the name of every hell known or theorized,” Hedren asked, “are we going to get anywhere if you take this long with every nick and cut? And that stuff smells awful.” Hedren gestured to Arin’s vials of salve as she applied it to Rota’s shoulder.
The conversation, such as it was, had become extremely common during the joint operation between the Guild, the Collegium, and the Temple. As usual, Arin stayed focused on her work. She interpreted Hedren’s question, at this point, to be as rhetorical as his previous ones, such as ‘How much money did the temple waste on gilded armor?’ and ‘Comfortable hiding back there?’ and ‘Do the Brass Maiden’s priestesses even take vows of chastity, or do they rely on those outfits?’ Arin was too busy for rhetorical questions.
The half-armored woman, however, glared at the guild operative. “If she says it’s necessary, it’s necessary,” Rota said.
“We’re not getting anywhere,” Tannemyr said. “We’ve barely killed a dozen of the demons. And not because they’re all that scary. They’ve gone down to my spells just fine.”
“The traps and wards aren’t that complex, either,” Hedren said.
Arin shook her head, not looking up from Rota’s wounds. “Demons. You don’t ever know what kind of enchantments they have. The salve is blessed by the Lady of Evercleansing Brass. It will prevent any festering. Even infernal.”
“What kind of second-rate priestess of a third-rate goddess needs salves and prayer?” Hedren said.
“And if the stuff is so great, why is she getting almost all of it?” Tannemyr said. “Is this a temple thing, or a girl thing, that you always focus on her?”
“She has all the demon-wounds.”
“But she’s killed what, one...maybe two?”
“Not my job,” Rota said.
“Not even our job,” Arin said. “We’re supposed to deal with the source.”
“Which is much easier if all the individuals are dead,” Tannemyr said. “You know, as long as they don’t have all day to prepare for us. This entire operation feels like it’s dragging a giant heavy anchor.”
“With a short, scrawny anchor attached to it,” Hedren added. “So much for the vaunted demonsbaney paladins of the Temple of Gold.”
“And Brass,” Rota said.
“Right. Temple of Gold and Brass. Trust me, some adherents of your religion downplay the runt of the litter,” Hedren said.
Rota tensed before Arin put a hand on her less-wounded shoulder. “My Lady’s been called worse, and she’s proud of her golden sister. Let me help you back into your armor.” Rota settled back as Arin set to putting the shoulder piece and arm guards back in place.
“You do that. Then maybe you can catch up,” Tannemyr said, starting down the passage. “More of them this way. Let’s go, Hedren. No more time for deadweight.”
Arin did look at them this time. “That’s suicide.”
Hedren shook his head. “We haven’t had any real trouble so far. As you said yourself, only the golden girl has taken any real demon-wounds, wading into them while you duck. Talk to her about personal safety consciousness. We’ll manage.”
“You’re just going to leave?” Arin looked back to the sorcerer.
“This joint operation needs to be a little less joint and a lot more operating. If you decide you can keep up, maybe we’ll cut you in on part of the payday still.”
“It’s not about the payday. It’s about making sure the demonic infestation doesn’t settle in,” Arin said
“Keep telling yourself that. Or go back and tell your order that some real adventurers handled the demonic infestation for you and collected the bounty on demon skulls too. See how happy they are that the job is done, but the gratitude of towns doesn’t flow into the coffers. I know the guild wouldn’t like that, so I can’t imagine your people would.” Hedren followed the sorcerer down the passage, leaving Arin scrambling to re-secure Rota’s armor.
Mid-scramble, she paused, glancing down at the golden plate.
Rota looked at her in confusion. “What are you doing? We’ve got to hurry if we’re going to make them see reason.”
“They want to face the storm without knowing where the lightning rod is. They won’t see reason.”
“We’ve got to try. This mission is important.”
“Exactly. I can’t ask you to keep protecting them. You’re going to get yourself killed like that.”
“If need be. That’s part of the job,” Rota said.
“Yes. And the job might still be deadly, and it’s bigger than any two people. We can’t grow old banging at a wall that won’t open. If we don’t have allies, we have to change the plan.”
“You know I’ll stand with you. What’s the idea?”
“The two of them might still be useful.”
“So we do need to catch up with them?”
Arin shook her head. “We need to take a different approach. And...much as I hate to say it, we’re going to need to do it without your armor.”
Rota didn’t hesitate as she began to remove the next pieces while listening. “No more lightning rod?” she asked.
Arin moved to assist with the removal down to the padded underlayer. “Exactly. We need to move quietly.”
Rota raised a brow. “Move more quietly than a guild operative?”
“They’ll draw attention off of us. Guildsman or not, you heard him. Bounty on demon skulls.”
Rota nodded. “And confident in their ability to kill. While forgetting the first through third laws of demon slaying.” As they talked, she dirtied up her shield with mud and blood to hide the shine.
Arin smiled as she finished tucking the armor away, hidden under some of the bodies. She didn’t look forward to the cleaning when they came back—if they came back—but it would hopefully keep the eye-catching armor hidden. “Not everyone gets a proper temple education. Just because you learned early that demons always put the cannon fodder near the doors...”
“Then what do they teach them at those schools?”
“Backstabbing, of course,” Arin said. She started leading the way deeper into the cave. “Shoving a blade into something with its claws in gilded armor is probably in the introductory course, but abandoning colleagues you believe helpless—that’s prodigiously advanced study.”
Rota snorted. “You’d think sorcerers would learn better.”
“You’d think,” Arin said. “So...this passage over here looks like it’s had more demons come out than go in. Let’s go.”
After a while they found a nook in the rock, and Arin paused. “Does this seem safe?” she asked.
“I can make it as safe as anywhere’s going to be,” Rota replied, and she stood guard as Arin sat, took out a small brass mirror and began the divine augury.
Finally, Arin meticulously put the mirror away and rose. “Well,” she said. “We haven’t headed in the wrong direction yet.”
Rota frowned. “That’s good. It took you longer than usual, though.”
Arin nodded. “That’s part of the problem with going the right direction. It takes us closer to the source of the demonic infestation, and further away from my Lady’s influence.”
Rota nodded, offering Arin a hand up. “But we haven’t gone in the wrong direction yet. She’s still guiding us.”
Arin smiled and rose, clasping the paladin’s hand an additional moment. “That’s what she does.”
It was all too brief a time before the sounds of crackling lightning echoed through the halls. Inhuman screams followed. Rota pulled Arin into another nook to hide as a number of demons, legs longer, scales stonier, rushed past. “Hedren and Tannemyr would have killed quietly where they could. With just the two of them, their attacks are getting bigger and louder as the demons do. I’m hoping the increased numbers of patrols out here heading that way means we’re getting close.”
“We can hope,” Arin said. “And hope also that those two can keep all those patrols occupied a while longer.”
Arin hesitated at another scream, mixed with echoes of spellcasting, as she glanced down another hallway.
Rota nudged her. “They made their decision. So did we. We need to stop the incursion while they have the bulk of the attention. Which way?”
Arin led her a little further, with another pause as they ducked out of sight of a patrol.
The next augury took longer still. Rota’s guarding proved necessary this time. Thankfully, she was able to silence the two sentries before their alarms rose above the general noises of chaos.
“Tannemyr’s pulling out the big spells now. How are we doing?”
“Her voice is faint, but we’re close.” Arin paused, frowning. “The direction also came with a final warning. We still have a fight ahead of us.”
“I would expect no less,” Rota said. “I know you don’t like fighting, but I’m here.”
“You’re without your armor. I’m sorry I couldn’t think of something better.”
Rota smiled. “I have your blessings, and my shield. Stay behind me, and if a fight breaks out, find us a doorway. I’ll be fine as long as I can keep them in front of me and keep it down to one or two who can reach me.”
Arin smiled. “And you can kill at least one or two of them?”
Rota laughed. “When I’ve only got one person to look out for, and she knows how to duck, cover, and keep me upright, yes. I can handle a little demon-slaying.”
“Good, because there’s more demons this way, if I understood my Lady right,” Arin said.
“Absolutely perfect. We’ll have to collect a few skull-bounties to make up for all those tithes the temple isn’t going to get.” Rota grinned.
They quieted again, moving through the caverns with regular pauses to duck out of sight. Each time they did so, Arin prayed while Rota checked for signs of patrols.
~*~
In the rough days, even divine children could succumb. But the Brass Maiden carried water to keep her younger sister scrubbed free of festering. The Brass Maiden stoked cleansing fires, and her younger sister listened to stories and studied the heat. The Brass Maiden labored, so that her younger sister could train.
“Everyone should have their role. Everyone should do their job,” she would tell the little one as they saw the walls from a distance. “But we are out here. And so, you cannot be only mighty, or only radiant, or only keen. You must be everything, for them to admit they need you, for them to let you in.”
And when the Golden Maiden was everything, when no wall and no test could keep her out, she brought her sister with her.
“What does she do?” the voices tried to protest.
“She got me here.”
From the Copybook of Gold and Brass
~*~
Rota peered around a corner, quickly ducking her head back again. “I think we’re there, sort of. Down that hallway I can see four sentries around a narrow opening in the wall. They all have some kind of insignias branded into them.”
Arin winced. “Have I mentioned that I find it disturbing that some demons indicate promotions with branding?”
“I find a lot of things disturbing about demons. That’s one of them.”
“Think you can take them?”
“Those four, yes. As long as there’s no more inside the chamber. I’ll handle the fight. Just make sure it’s clear, and get through the door as quick as you can.”
“And if there are more?”
“We improvise.” Rota said.
“And if they call for help?”
“They will, but the idiots are making plenty of noise. Here’s hoping they keep it up for a while longer, and help stays occupied.” She took a couple of deep breaths. “That’s a lot to hope for.”
Arin rested a hand on the big woman’s shoulder. “That’s why we have faith. We do our jobs, and the Divine Ladies will handle the rest.”
Rota nodded and held her sword and shield out. Arin began quietly casting a blessing over both items while Rota talked through the plan. “Time to invoke all you can for me. No use saving anything now. Finishing the mission comes before making it out.”
Arin nodded, starting by handing her the second-to-last bottle of water she’d brought from the sacred spring.
“We’re going to have to rush them and see if I can drop one, maybe two while we have surprise,” Rota said between sips. “Heal what you can, but unless you see more demons inside, get through the passage, and I’ll follow and hold the way. Eventually, the other fight will end, and more will show up. I’ll buy you time, but you need to figure out the source of the incursion and undo it.”
“Which will be trickier without the sorcerer’s help, and take a while,” Arin said.
“You’ll have the time you need. I promise you. Take note of what kind of symbols they’ve inscribed, and if we hit the worst-case scenario—”
Arin shook her head. “Before the worst-case scenario. We need to prepare for if we’re not going to make it. I’m going to Commune with the Mirror as soon as I’ve looked at everything. I’ll focus on the symbols—and on location and vague impressions of numbers—so that the next person who Communes might come in with better information.”
“Bring better help, anyway,” Rota said. “But yes. It would be a lot harder on anyone else, though. The infestation will have set in.” One more deep breath as she readied herself to charge around the corner. “So, it’s a good thing we’re not going to fail.”
“Right,” Arin said. “Final blessing?”
Rota nodded, and Arin rose on her tiptoes. “Rota Brandrsdottir,” she began the intonation, reaching to touch her fingertips to the paladin’s temples. “You are keen.” Arin shifted to grab her shoulders. “You are mighty.” Her arms then slid for a hug, sincere as well as sacred. “You are radiant.”
She stepped back to look her in the eye for the last part of the blessing. “No one should have to be everything...”
Rota, looking intense, then joined her in unison for the sealing-line of the blessing. “...But right now, we’d better try.”
They each took a breath. “Very good,” Arin said, steeling herself, drawing her own knife and sacred mirror, ready to follow after with more prayers on her lips already.
Rota charged around the corner at full speed. She led with her shield, smashing the nearest of the four guards in the face, sending it staggering into another. She caught a second still off-balance and cut cleanly into its neck with the broadsword. Pale light flashed as the blessing interacted with the demonic flesh, and the body fell. She recovered from the shield smash in time to deflect the first counterattack away, as Arin ducked in behind her.
A glance into the room revealed two very surprised-looking humans—though humans should never have such festering welts across their faces. “Cultists,” Arin said, loud enough for Rota to hear, making the word sound like the curse it was. Readying her dagger, she rushed into the room.
Rota backed into the gap in the wall, trusting Arin to handle the cultists while the demons closed in around her. She caught an attack on the shield and counterattacked. This slash wasn’t as deadly as her first, but still left a deep gash in the demon’s side. The light from the blessing wasn’t as strong this time, but it still left the wound smoking even after the blade had passed.
The training of Arin’s order was heavy on healing and herbalism, light on combat. The Temple of Gold and Brass did, after all, teach of each to their duty. Still, the folk of the Northlands knew that not every rough day was in the past. And thus, every man, woman, and child of the Temple and its environs trained in basic blade work.
Arin had the cultists by surprise, and neither man showed a lot of combat reflexes, staring at her in shock. She took the opportunity to run at them, stabbing the one nearest to her as he was starting to chant. His words cut off as she gave him a cleaner death than the festering would have provided. The other was still casting, however.
Rota blocked an attack from another demon with her shield and knocked the weapon aside. A counter-strike with her broadsword left a deep gash in the creature’s leg. As it stumbled, another attack came in low, and this time Rota couldn’t get the shield into the way in time. The dark steel bit into her thigh, the metal feeling like it was heating up as it plunged into flesh and bone. The demon’s idiotic grin disappeared when she managed to smash it in the face with the pommel of her sword. The blessing seemed to consider any part of the sword fair game, and the brassy light flared again, leaving the demon staggering away, dropping its weapon to claw at its eyes.
A spell fired from the other cultist’s fingers, lances of green light lashing out at Arin. She pulled the dying cultist in close, hoping all of her practice using Rota as a living shield would pay off. The body twitched and shook as the lights struck skin, and the smell of burning flesh filled the room. One of the tendrils of magic grazed Arin’s shoulder, drawing a muffled scream before she pushed forward, trying to keep the man’s body in front of her a few more moments. She shoved the body into the living cultist, sending him toppling with the body on top of him. The dagger found his throat before he could struggle free, and she rushed to Rota’s side.
By the time she got there, Rota had managed to inflict a couple more wounds, but three demons still stood, though one was blind, and all were wounded, one badly. The demons got smarter, one feinting, getting her to lift the shield to defend against the attack, as a second drove a short spear into her side. Rota managed to shift enough to keep the wound from being fatal, but it still left a wicked, bleeding gash in her side.
Arin chanted a rapid healing spell to mitigate the wounds and bleeding, then lifted her brass mirror, chanting another quick word. The spell to call for divine light was a thankfully simple one, but it had the desired effect.
The demons shielded their eyes against the sudden flare. Rota took a head off immediately in the moment of surprise. Her wounded leg held up as she drove her shield into the gut of the non-blind one, silencing it before she followed with a disemboweling cut.
Their luck ran out when the demon who’d been blinded by the pommel smash got some sense of its situation and called out an alarm in some twisted, infernal tongue. Rota silenced it as well a moment later, but the damage was done. “Your wounds—” Arin said.
“Will hold up. Your blessings are at work. There’ll be more soon. You need to get to work. I’ll hold the door for you. No matter what.”
Arin smiled. “I have faith you will.” She pronounced a couple of brief words of blessing before returning to inspecting the room, the cultists, and their makeshift altar. Rota quickly bound her leg while she had the chance, then stepped into the passageway to stand guard and buy time once again, waiting for the inevitable.
“Oh, Lady of Ensuring the Lessons Are Done Before Supper,” Arin prayed as she looked at everything carved and painted on the walls and floors of the chamber. “Grant us all the wisdom to tell the infernal workings of the misguided dead from their simply very disturbing graffiti.”
She lifted the brass mirror but couldn’t Commune yet. She moved it slowly over the floor, asking for divine aid in determining any wards and traps. This was just the sort of thing they were hoping the guildsman would do while she and the sorcerer focused on the source, but plans had obviously changed. Two symbols shined brightly in their reflection in the mirror, and she worked to undo those first. Every time she wasn’t actively chanting Arin could almost swear she heard more noises outside in the hall. Glances verified that Rota wasn’t fighting yet and, indeed, was leaning against the side of the short passage, recovering as best she could, and using her own, much more limited blessings and training as a paladin to tend to her wounds.
As she finished the second symbol, Arin caught the sound that, ultimately, was much worse than imaginary footsteps: silence out in the hallways. No more spell strikes, no more screams. Whether the others had fled or fallen, there was no more distraction, and they were running out of time. A few moments later, a different sort of call echoed from elsewhere in the caverns, and this time she was sure the footsteps she was hearing, lots of them, were real. She got back to work with renewed vigor.
The warded marks seemed to spiral out from the altar. That was certainly the key. Once she reached it safely, she tried to determine what sort of ritual the cultists might have done to begin summoning the demons.
The first clash of metal on metal, followed quickly by a demonic scream that cut off with a strangled sound, came from behind her. She forced herself not to look back as she inspected the signs, remembering the lore studied by those who commemorated the rough days.
“You messed up, and badly,” she said to the cultists’ bodies, looking up from where rough runes fell in curves on the flat surface. “Flawed circle. Checking your work slows you down, but there’s no need to rush to death.”
Arin knelt, looking into the mirror. Whether anything else succeeded or failed, she couldn’t take the risk of leaving those who tried next to stumble in the dark. Especially since, if this botched rite went unchecked for long, those who tried next would need to be an army, not an adventuring party.
She thought of all that, thought of these madmen who’d tried something too big for them, and given something dire a foothold in this world, something for which all the creatures they’d faced so far were just loyal footmen and hunting hounds—something that would make its full entrance soon. She thought of everything she’d seen, everything to hope the next priestess to Commune would know. But it was hard to feel confident that the mirror could take it all in, could connect, when even the air felt sick.
“Faith,” she told herself in a quiet breath, before moving on to the objective.
Arin laid one hand on the altar—then hissed and drew it back, feeling the deviant magic radiating. Gritting her teeth, she laid her hand on it again and held up the brass mirror.
“Lady, I ask of you,” she prayed. “Look upon this place, upon this wound in the world. I ask your aid and your guidance and call upon the first lesson of the Copybook: that the truly strong acknowledge times of need...as the Golden Child needed succor...as the Gods of the Walls needed the Lady of All Things...as I need your help now.”
Another scream almost broke her concentration. This one wasn’t demonic. She felt the urge to rush back to the doorway, to respond to the need for healing. They’d done this dozens of times before, Rota Brandrsdottir, the ‘Great Wall of the North’, standing before her in that distractingly shiny armor designed to draw enemy attention to her, with the shield and sword, and the fierce grin. Always knowing Arin Jardarsdottir would be right there, closing her wounds, blessing her next strike, and guiding their mission. Arin couldn’t help thinking that Rota looked so much smaller without her armor. She even seemed to take up less of a doorway. Arin had taken that from her, to buy them time and get them here. The work came first.
And now Rota was buying her time, not for her next healing spell, but to save them both. To save everything. Now that it was necessary again, even without her shiny armor, Rota was fighting defensively, making the enemy focus on her, while Arin, in her drab dress, worked in the back.
Arin calmed herself and resumed praying as she got out the last bottle from the spring water. “Evercleansing Lady guide my hand...” After the long contact with the top of the altar, her fingers felt almost nerveless, but she managed to open the bottle and pour it out onto the altar. It seemed to bubble, then cleared as she forced her fingers to grip her knife again. “...as I draw out the poison.”
She began to scratch slowly into the surface of the stone. The ragged infernal circle had indeed poisoned the world. No force could stop the worst it would bring in. She had to mend the wound.
Which meant she had to keep standing even amidst the power of this abomination. “Lady of Labor,” she prayed, the old rituals coming to her as she continued to acknowledge the need. “Grant strength for the dependable.” All the times she had depended on Rota to hold off the enemy, she’d never been let down. And now, among so many unwitting others, Rota was depending on her. She had to save them all.
Half-rendered runes of control were lengthened into precise runes of cleansing. Scrawled symbols of blood were transformed, with focused grinding, into antidote symbols.
She drowned out more sounds of screams and battle, but when Rota spoke, she heard the words clearly. “The ones with minds are scared of something! Keep going. I’ll hold...I promise you, I’ll hold!”
Arin believed her. She had to believe her and go on.
Grey mist began to seep from the rune of power in the stone as, scrape by scrape, she softened it into the rune of healing. With her free hand, Arin pulled her scarf to cover her mouth and nose, and kept at it, scratching steadily. She couldn’t be sloppy. She had to do it right.
Which soon meant needing that free hand to grasp her own wrist to stop it from shaking.
Out in the cavern the noise level rose, demons howling and snarling. A brief glance revealed more of the marked demons coming to join the fray. One, heavily marked across blood-red scales, managed to push past Rota before she got her footing and drove him back into the hallway, leading with her shield. Two freshly harvested skulls on his belt, standing out amidst older but equally grisly trophies, told Arin just where—whom—they’d come from. And now the host was coming to collect two more.
“Do it!” Rota called, a mass of blood and cuts, still in stance, still holding the passage with shield and blade.
As soon as the last rune was changed, trembling fingers dropped the knife and went for her salve, with its blessing and its bane against poison. “Lady of the One Last Thing, see me now, hear me now, and bless this place, that it may know relief.”
Her vision was obscured as black smoke poured from the altar and into the room, then the cavern beyond. She dropped to the floor, struggling to breathe. As it began to dissipate, she heard mostly silence. No more roars, no more clash of steel. Only herself, scratching for hand and footholds to drag herself along the floor, her shoulder and hand aching, and raspy breathing at the doorway.
“The demons?” she asked, before her words faded into a healing chant, down to the last of her rituals, thankful her hand was still coated in some of her salve, hoping that wasn’t somehow tainted with contact with the altar.
Rota’s breathing eased. “Eighteenth rule, weak connection. Some demons who haven’t been here long will be banished if you sever the connection. Unfortunate.”
Arin checked the level of the smoke, and helped the paladin sit against the passage wall. She used the last of her salve and last of her healing blessings alike—but was feeling more certain Rota would make it. “How is that unfortunate?”
Rota Brandrsdottir grinned with bloodied teeth. “They dissipated. Look at all of these demon skull bounties we’re not going to collect on.”
Arin decided to take the dark humor as a good sign and set to binding the numerous wounds. “I suspect people will take you at your word when you tell them how many you killed.”
“Oh, that’s not the story I want to tell,” Rota said, wincing only a little as the worst of her remaining wounds were bound.
Arin gave her a quizzical look, tearing at a little more fabric to fashion bandages as she ran out of her own supply. “You made the Lady to Whom Champions Bow proud today. You should tell the story. You’re good at those, too.”
“And you made the Lady of Small Feasts proud. To be sure, I do have a story to tell when we get back.”
“As well you should. We did great things today.”
Rota’s playful, bloodied grin remained. “I killed, what, one or two demons, and held the door? No. You did the real work today, destroyed all those demons and stopped the incursion. I just got you here.”
~***~
Jeffrey Cook and Katherine Perkins are an Indie Author tag-team that turn weird inspirations into books, especially YA books. Between them, they have 13 novels currently in print, 1 non-fiction book, and numerous short stories in anthologies, with more always on the way. Their latest book together is the YA urban fantasy You’re Not a Real Goth Until You Sack Rome.
Jeffrey frequently feels like he lives wherever the current sci-fi/fantasy convention is being held. His most frequent stop is Maple Valley, WA, to visit his wife, housemate, and three large dogs. He is a founding member and head organizer of Writerpunk Press. When not working, he has a lifelong interest in role-playing games and watching football.
Katherine, who was born in Lafayette, Louisiana, and will defend its cuisine on any field of honor, currently lives in Ontario, Ohio, with her husband and cat.
Their work can be found at https://clockworkdragon.net/