“Don’t forget the scalps.” We hear initially Atlas au Raa was a patron of the Grand Library of Ptolemy, and comments upon the underappreciated nature of a famous Violet thespian when not the sudden presence leading an assassination unit overseeing boobytrapped impalements in the deserts of Mercury. Atlas was friend to a great man, beloved by many, killed in a fake accident. Atlas is more heinous a villain than a modern contemporary, such as a Roose Bolton, despite committ

Memories are not screeds Texts and starry photographs Blurred and subject to change But more As one seeing horizons fast Knows the eye holds more than Still machine-images An ever flowing current Like warm blood, tears of rain Can be born from water One is running back and forth In place and time within one beholder As what we see And what we recalled perceiving Is done through deep reflective reason Sparks of subconscious startled Bearing relevance By dint of recall, s

It’s impressive adding a character to the fourth instalment of a franchise, giving them a criminal plotline, thick with chemical dependency and deceit and trying to make the story engaging. Adding an understandable reasoning for adding a fall from grace, causing a master thief and criminal to descend into increasing bitterness and vile behaviour, allowing the audience in the following Dark Age to see how Ephraim’s talents suddenly become valuable for outside context problem

Our bone is little different to blood and cement merely how it sets crystalline focused through its empty space so the time thus the body then the mind of we born to endure breaking rise and choose to set it or snap what ails us. By J.W.H. Hobbs.

Many factions, aesthetics, motifs and points of view litter the Warhammer 40K franchise. And over time, the undergrowth and first fresh soil of the 80s has been accompanies by Descent of Angels at the start of the Horus Heresy, and a series of newer ideas and literary inventions following the story foundation of Gav Thorpe’s novels. Amusingly, despite the highly testosteronous atmosphere and high-octane nature of the setting, within the lore as every faction and many charac

Called positive Made a trait By smiling Beating Relentlessly Any drum at any pace Makes one face Amidst much mockery Incredulity and scorn One time When your own hope Lies forgotten What is said of you The blind will Dumb reflex And our term faith Do not aid Stem no tears, frowns Or shouts But cold days And black-rain nights Will fade The true callouses Provide clear Better moves Given hours Trust the best of A person past And the haul Of what might be. By J.W

As a new planet following the vast adventure of the Taris cityscape, Dantooine is both a garden planet, still and timeless in the routine of its citizens, and has a notably flat and earthy feeling. There are no notably tall, but domed buildings, and this atmosphere demonstrates somewhere quite original in both the Star Was setting but also science fiction. Autumnal colours and the subdued soundtrack encapsulate the Jedi I think better than the typical green vista or some ki

Beauty is soulful And resonant Beauty breaks. But how it becomes so. In time and its sacrifice Will always pull hearts Mend muscle And rend mountains Where legs dare And wings bare Their tread. By J.W.H. Hobbs.

Unlike the romance of a great deal of 1920s gangster dramas, the last remaining Rossetti soldier in The Artemis Club has a pistol pointed to little Tommy Darmody’s head. Richard Harrow, a war veteran turned enforcer has come to rescue the boy, the tin mask covering half a face devastated by injuries sustained in World War 1. Crouching down, holding the rifle carefully while the man bellows to put it down, in the guttural murmur Richard always speaks due to his condition, Ha

I think Were we meant to conjure As we repeat Record, replay With exactitude When nature’s calls and cries However similar, are not alike Yet we do the same in memory And curiously To ‘repeat’ can still, or distort Our selves As one calls To times, feelings Even faded people’s part While Time pulls its tides forth. By J.W.H. Hobbs.

Tell her you love her. You, the player knows what ‘you’ want to say. You expect selecting this option will have you tell Jenny. In this mob shooter turned eldritch horror story, the TV on the cardboard box and sitting together has placed the character in a romantic setting. Jackie Estacado has been shot at, possessed by some vile demon feasting on whatever stands in his way, and the grubby concrete of New York City is the setting of The Darkness. And Jenny’s Apartment is pr

Chase your loves Ear your feasts Wrestle and grapple The devils and demons Feasting upon your heart. But when you make Your great Art Break Your steely-eyed Rivals Make sure It Is Yours Not theirs. By J.W.H. Hobbs.

Jolee Bindo has the most naturally flowing range, and perhaps the best monastic voice of any Jedi, in all of the Star Wars franchise. It is one thing to speak of destiny, or threat. But to speak of failure, to embrace the natural environment- such things are not simply alluded to. For an individual who speaks of grey, Jolee’s genuine contemplation, not political nature represents the best ideals of the Jedi. Humour and irascibility also go a long way, and this is considerin

Years removed As though I never paused The words of a firm friend And blood uncorrupted by time Remains What better to be loyal To hold a bone-deep faith And remember the true names Echoing them into the Eternal Time. By J.W.H. Hobbs.

This is a very, very different book going in dry, to the point a good couple of chapters give a slice-of-life, luxury retail feeling. The transition of exotic location to character, then to the sleeping giant of The Night Manger’s plot can be abrupt, even making out the story is akin to flotsam on a river, part of the intended world of tradecraft. The Night Manager portions you a lot of titbits of information, and gives after that initial portrait of its characters’ eccentr

Great men died unmembered Great women, discarded Their lives distorted and disfigured Yet the flame burns on Hot blood and humanity within your Their lost looks, their unspoken dreams So long as one breath carries their will It is not forgotten. Nor how their ghosts stumble into the future Upon a revenant’s shoulders. J.W.H Hobbs.

My second collaborative work is coming to a close. It’s nice being a bit farsighted, with the benefit of experience. Even better is realising something I said to reassure the person I was working with and myself. The first one is the hardest when it comes to the process. The first one takes the longest. Now, there’s the most irritating hurdles at the 90% mark. I don’t know about you, but when it comes to dotting the i’s when it comes to ensuring business contracts are all

Hiss through chipped teeth Scream silent over smug stares Can’t always win But no option to give up Wish though you might Your heart fails (And I do too) Beat, not bare your breast Scorn the end, distain the death Of dreams and lack of home Pissing rain and rank worlds deny Nothing of your will, or the potential of the world. J.W.H. Hobbs.

Prospero Burns is a rather esoteric book, and I liked the interpretation of wolves near the very end. Adding to the motif of animal shamanism and transhumanism, the wolf in such a far future is not merely man acting like a beast, but a literal mutation of the population. To make Fenrisians and Legion not merely acting, looking or being lycanthropes, but the flesh itself being man making the transition is a fascinating reversal. For the monster or animal to be a warping of hum

We are the myths we tell ourselves Or clasp us, shoulder to shoulder Sights of real lives Or unwinnable battles, ought to be fought Pens and promises, oaths into time That drive the living. By J.W.H. Hobbs.