Squadron Leader Jack Steel and the Starblade: Episode 3

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Yvette Dulac has been kidnapped by the beautiful, yet sooo evil, Helga von Schmidt! Can Jack arrive in time to save her from becoming just one more of Mordred’s zombie minions?

This is one of my favourite episodes :) Thwack!

Should you have a mind to, you can find out more about Jack, Yvette, and all their friends and foes at the official Squadron Leader Jack Steel and the Starblade Website! Now including behind the scenes interviews and out-takes.

You can also subscribe to Squadron Leader Jack Steel on iTunes. (it’s free!)

Squadron Leader Jack Steel and the Starblade: Episode Two

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When we last saw our hero, Squadron Leader Jack Steel, he was plummeting towards the ground in a powerless aeroplane, after a close encounter with a mysterious flying craft. Can he escape, or is he doomed to a most unpleasant and rather fiery end?

You can find out more about Jack, Charlie, and all their friends and foes at the official Squadron Leader Jack Steel and the Starblade Website! Now including behind the scenes interviews and out-takes.

You can now also subscribe to Squadron Leader Jack Steel on iTunes. (it’s free!)

Do you know Jack? Episode one of “Jack Steel and the Starblade” is released!

Bladelogow

Chocks away, chaps! Finally, the adventures of His Majesty’s finest band of good-doers are available for your entertainment. It’s a Trap Productions, and a few of their friends, have banded together to tell a tale of daring-do in the Britain of the 1930’s. I was fortunate enough to land the role of Jack, so I’m more than a little excited about the whole business!

You can learn more about Jack Steel and the Starblade over at the official site. There’ll be a fresh podcast episode every Monday. Well, until we run out and have to make some more!

If I have the embed code working correctly, you should be able to listen to episode one by fiddling with the buttons below. If you enjoy our weekly antics, don’t forget to let your friends know about them too!

A letter to Robert Walpole

I was recently asked to write an RP report on the recent happenings in Pirates of the Burning Sea. Unfortunately, it turned out they were looking for a straight journalistic report, rather than anything too fancy. But in the interests on never wasting anything, I may as well post my first unfinished draft (the only draft there shall ever be, now) of it here.

Sir Robert Walpole,

His Majesty’s Chancellor of the Exchequer of the Kingdom of Great Britain,
First Lord of the Treasury

Sir,

I pray that this epistle finds you in good health, and enjoying your new role, and that the recent business with the South Sea company has not caused you any personal hardship. Myself, I was fortunate enough to have already moved all my financial stocks into the West Indias, though that was happenstance rather than any foresight on my part. In time I am sure that the economy of our Nation shall be revivified, and once again be the marvel of the modern age! Certainly, we shall never again fall into the trap of speculative “bubbles”.

For our part, here in Port Royal, we have scarcely even noticed the passing of the South Seas Company, bar the heavy financial blow the Mississippi Company took from it. The East India Company goes from strength to strength, and I would council it as a sound investment, at least until my own company becomes listed at Change Alley!

The French have finished the reconstruction of their local capital, Pointe-à-Pitre, and I am told it is a majestic sight indeed! With the finest gothic architecture transplanted from Europe, it may well become one of the most popular destinations for travellers and sight-seers. This will not do at all, and so I am pressing the East India Company for more funds for the rebuilding of Port Royal to an equal or greater splendour. It is a shame that our hands are bound by treaty, else we might well look to acquiring Pointe-à-Pitre for the crown.

The Astronomer Royal, Sir Isaac Newton, said recently, so the dispatches tell me, “that he could not calculate the madness of people”. If such a man as he cannot, then what chance your humble correspondant? The recent decision by your Parliament to return all captured holdings in the West Indias to Spain and France, has made many here wonder if the House has been paying the slightest attention to our struggles, the sacrifices in bone and oak, through which those ports had been won. I, of course, do not number amongst such people, and continue to be your most obedient servant, but I most surely hope that you gained the greatest of concessions in return, for the loss of those lands has placed us in a perilous place indeed.

As I write, a report lies beside my inkpot. In hurried hand, it tells of a rogue fleet of that most insolent of knaves, the false King William Kidd, which is harrassing our northern territories with newfound impertinence. Spain and France too, once again eye us hungrily. Their perfidy is immeasurable, and I expect, nay dread, the arrival of dispatches with news of their latest act of infamy. I beseech you to send whatever forces may be spared, that our flag may continue to fly over these lands for the greater glory of our illustrious Nation, and his most exceptional Majesty, King George.

God Save the King!

Arkenor Oakshadow, Chairman of the British Council of the West Indias.

The Adventures of Mathias Brandt. Part 2.

For those who missed it, the insanity began here. If anyone else was subjected to the same sort of bizarre children’s stories I was (I’m looking at you, Enid Blyton!), they’ll know what I’m shooting for here.

Part 2. The plot thickens.

His wicked sitting ways were not restricted to chairs of course. He had wide-ranging tastes, and no snoozing small animal or childs toy left upon a couch was safe from being sat upon. He quickly became despised by the cats of Jollyton, who would hiss at him, from what they judged a safe distance, when he passed. Fortunately he was built for sitting, not speed.

The cooling of his social opportunities were not at all unexpected by the Professor. This was not the first, second, nor even twelvth town which he had visited, and he was sure he would have plenty more good sits in Jollyton before it’s exceptionaly forgiving denizens finally stopped letting him into their homes at all. But all was not well. He took great pride in his sitting, and was concerned that without regular practise of his skills he might become rusty, and so he resolved to visit the shop of Mr Knot the carpenter to buy some emergency chairs.
Continue reading The Adventures of Mathias Brandt. Part 2.

The Adventures of Mathias Brandt. Part 1.

Once upon a time, there was a gentleman by the name of Professor Butterburger. Professor Butterburger liked sitting on things. Hard. When he moved into the town of Jollyton, everybody had been extremely pleased to have such a learned man join their community, and he had received countless invitations to take tea. His visits would go something like this :

“Why, Professor Butterburger! How lovely to see you today. Have a seat while I make us a nice cup of tea, and maybe a spot of cake.”

“Why thankyou! Don’t mind if I do!”, he would say, targetting the nearest chair, and collapsing upon it with as much force as he could muster. KRUMPH!

“Oh my! Dear Professor, are you hurt? I am so terribly sorry.”

“My goodness. How on EARTH did that happen? It must have been broken already!”

“Yes, I suppose it must have been. Please, you must be quite shaken up. Do sit down.” KRUMPH!

“My chair!”

“My bottom! You must have woodworm! I cannot think of any other possible explanation. Let me test your other chairs.”

“No! I mean, I just remembered that I have a terribly important appointment that I really cannot be late for. I’m afraid we shall have to take tea another day.”

“Oh dear, that is a shame. Well, I bid you good day!”, and he would leave, feeling extremely pleased with himself. Upon reaching home, he would write the details of his sitting in his sitting journal, and mark himself for style, strength, and quantity.

After a time, it will not surprise you to hear that people stopped inviting him to visit.

In which Arkenor does some roofing, and sings a bit.

A little bit of something I wrote years ago, for a collaborative fantasy fiction site, long gone now. In this, Arkenor (and the other writers of the site) have been transported to a strangely deserted town on an unknown world, and no obvious way to leave. Ark decides to make the best of it, and has picked himself out a home.:

Continue reading In which Arkenor does some roofing, and sings a bit.