The Mason of New Orleans and The Angel of Ecbatana • TWO novels of historical mystery and action with a touch of horror and the supernatural Updates

Charles M. Ryan

CREATOR

13 days ago

Project Update: Chicken Carcass or Concrete Barrier?

Hi, all, and thanks for backing (or considering) The Mason of New Orleans and The Angel of Ecbatana!

I have a quick question for you, and it regards the intro text at the top of the campaign page. When I put that together (it's from the opening of the current draft of The Angel of Ecbatana), I thought it worked well to introduce a central conceit from the book. But then I thought maybe it's a bit redundant with Martin's little monolog that follows, and maybe it doesn't grab you as viscerally as it could. So I put together a few alternatives. And I asked folk about them on social media. The results were inconclusive, but the options that featured a lot of action, collectively, won out over the current text.

So: here's where you can help. Here are two action-oriented alternatives. Which of these grabs you by the gut and makes you really HAVE to read the book?

Have a read here, and then respond via this poll.

Thanks, and please keep helping spread the word—we’re so close to funding; with your help we can get over the line in the next couple of hours!

The crunching sound echoed against the sky as weapons and shields and hooves and armor met, startling in its rawness and volume like a car hitting a concrete barrier. Etien’s horse reared, swimming in a sea of men and weapons, and the footmen who weren’t trampled or beaten down were suddenly surging at him. His shield was fending and his sword hacking, up and down, but like a boat foundering in the surf his horse was stumbling, and he rode it down, descending into the crowd he had just before towered over. But he wasn’t alone. Behind him the second rider pushed himself forward, his own sword swinging and chopping. There was no crowd around him; no surge of men and weapons to drown his horse and overwhelm his sword, and as he cut through the few defenders the mass around Etien started to falter and break. Men who were on the verge of crushing the Count of Namur started to turn in panic, dropping weapons and stumbling into their comrades. Pushing the crowd back between the outbuildings. Away from Etien. And the knights didn’t hesitate. Swords were flashing. I saw an arm sail through the air, trailing a dark string of blood. Shit.I couldn’t get in there; the press of men blocked me. “Hold!” I yelled again, though there wasn’t a chance I could be heard. I wheeled Nameless sharply to the right and kicked his ribs with everything I had. He leapt forward and we bolted past the shed, kicking up clods of earth as we rounded the corner to circle to the far side. If I could hit the knights from the rear it would take the pressure off the masons. Maybe long enough to put an end to Etien.

Etien jumped to his feet, flipping the table as he went. Bread, wine, and gravy flew; half a chicken carcass rolled through the rushes toward my feet. “Petty feuds?” he bellowed. His face was purple; Madeleine’s was white. She’d edged up from her seat, taking a half-step back. I was fifteen feet away, and I’d taken two. Etien’s fists clenched, and for a second I was seeing a lot of blood in my future. But he made no move. His voice leveled, but it still trembled with rage. “I have been tolerant of you, Ma Dame, but no more. Barbarossa is dead, and I will have this manor. I give you one last chance: Will you give me your oath?” Lady Madeleine straightened. “I will not.” If anything, Etien seemed to relax a bit. He straightened too. “So be it.” I wasn’t entirely sure what happened next. Etien took a short step back, and suddenly there were swords everywhere. The guy that had given Madeleine his seat drew first, but Stephan was ready for him. He crossed the gap—no longer blocked by a table—in two big steps, and in the heartbeat it had taken for Etien’s man to pull his sword Stephan’s was already coming down. There was a grunt and a cry, and the guy’s sword went flying. His hand was still gripping it. The man staggered back, clutching what was left of his arm. The chamber was filled with shouts and motion, and suddenly I was being jostled from behind as folk streamed past me. A dozen guys, at least, every one with a pike or halberd in hand. Two more of Etien’s men, younger guys back with the monk, had their swords out, but now they hesitated. Etien hadn’t raised a hand, and didn’t at this point, either: Both Stephan and Cyril were poised to strike. The room was suddenly quiet. “You think me weak,” Madeleine said, breathing hard. She’d hardly moved an inch, but her heart had to be pounding at least as hard as mine. There was a spattering of blood across her jaw line. “Perhaps. But you were a fool to think me stupid. You’ve had your answer—now get off my manor.”

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