Look at the published stats for any “moral choice” game, and you’ll see that most everyone picks the “good-guy” path, rather than villain. We don’t want to be cruel and evil people, we don’t want to cause pain or suffering, we want to be the hero.

So here’s my question: why would anyone want to be the bad-guy?

Because people do want to be the bad-guy. Look at all the people who play Warhammer 40k as chaos-marines, tyranids, orks, necrons, and dark eldar. Count all the people who love playing Evil RPG campaigns, or relish in being the anti-hero. Consider how many people reach for red lightsabers and stormtrooper outfits, or vampire capes, or purport to identify with the Joker.

I say purport, because no one really identifies with the Joker. I mean, if anyone was really given the opportunity to join an oppressive dictatorial regime predicated on the suppression of the poor and downtrodden, no one would actually join up, right?

Some would. Some already have.

The Labradorite Villa of the Earlen of Flost is three miles outside Trisden, halfway up the Freebarg slopes. Due to ancient edict and custom, the usual city travel services are forbidden from traveling up the Freebarg, and so reaching the gates of the Labradorite Villa requires the service of the Flost Order of Stablemin.

An ancient order, the Stablemin of Flost were originally the Earlen’s hand-picked carriage drivers, chosen for their skill with the whip and handling of their carriage over the rocky paths and cobbled streets of Flost. The post is now largely honorary and traditional, with a larger-than-average portion of seasonal and visiting workers.

Easily recognizable with their uniforms of puffy trouser legs and ribboned sleeves, a Stablemin’s coach ride will cost you only 3 scrip in the afternoon, to 7 scrip in the mornings and evenings. This low price for such a distance is due to a quite expansive public trust set up by the Earlen before his dispensation.

Lamberly is a large province on the southern edge of Garm, and easily accessible by train. The nearest airport is the World Airport just outside of Roshkana, and transit from there to Lamberly province is cheap at 5N a head on the Silverail Train line. Most transit to and from Lamberly province stops in Lamberly city, where the Museum is located.

The Museum itself is located on Prosh street between the Valley and Dale roads, and all five major bus lines have a connecting stop. The Museum is well sign-posted, and the commuter-service agents are plentiful and helpful. If you think a bus looks too packed to get on, try to get on anyway, as Lamberly has a culture of packing in commuters; you probably won’t find a bus or train that’s any less packed.

I’m Gender-Neutral.

Or perhaps I’m Genderfluid. Agender fits too, and ultimately every time I try to nail down my gender identity to one of the currently accepted terms, I come away thinking “I mean…maybe? I guess?”

I’m autistic, and for me, gender is just confusing. There is a lot that goes into it, a lot that comes out of it, and I just don’t flippin’ know anymore. I don’t care anymore. I don’t have the time or energy to devote to this when I could be planning my next RPG session or struggling to finish this dang-blasted chapter!

But that doesn’t mean I don’t have thoughts. If you need evidence of that, look at my post on gender-neutral nobility. Give me enough time, and I’ll fix all the problems with the English language!

Eh, maybe not, but I certainly will share my opinions! Thank you for asking! So glad you’re curious! No, no, the doors are locked, don’t bother trying to flee, you’re mine now! For the next few minutes, anyway.

I must admit, to start, a bias towards the land of Garm.

When I first began my habitual jaunts, escaping from the cloistered confines of University and the drudgingly familiar, I first went to Garm. It is in this bright land of soft flowers and strong buildings that I was first introduced to our fantastical world, and all the marvels that lay hidden inside it.

I will never forget, at the age of twenty-four, sitting on the roof of the Hostil Rivore and watching the sun set over the Lamberly skyline. The smell of fresh evening bread filled the streets below, and the square across the way was filled with minstrels playing a Va de Runde. Laughter and singing and the soft clink of earthenware ale-mugs filled my head, until it seemed like the world was full of nothing but joy.

I swore then and there that I would see the whole world, and taste of all the beauty and joy within it.

I am always amazed by the people I meet who sincerely see no value in traveling to foreign countries. Perhaps they are too mired in their ways or comfortable with their habits, so that the idea of experiencing a foreign land sounds exhausting. Perhaps they are frightened of looking foolish or clumsy to a foreigner’s eyes. They might even be one of those unfortunates who believes that their own culture is the pinnacle of society, making visiting other nations a natural downgrade. I call them unfortunates, because these are the people who need travel the most, and yet are the least likely to do so.

I believe traveling to foreign nations is vital for a comprehensive view of our world. You will see people very much like yourself behaving frighteningly different, as well as amazing similarities to people who are completely different. The rich variety of experiences in this world are things to be marveled at, not feared or shunned. Experiencing the cuisine of another people may open your eyes to flavors you never imagined. Your new favorite food might be no more than a train or balloon ride away!

It is in the nature of these books to begin with something of an autobiographical nature. Not being one to break with tradition, I find myself at something of a loss. The obvious beginning is to detail where I am from, yet in my case that question is very difficult to answer.

Perhaps you wish to know where I was born. Or, possibly, in which nation I grew up. Different again is the nation in which I have spent most of my life. Instead, you might wish to know all about where I currently live, or else where I perform my daily work. Different still is where my mothers call home, and different again is where they each are from.

Truly, “from” is not so simple a word as it may seem. Indeed, the venerable and ancient Farseers of Raiy do not have the word ‘from’ in their language. Instead, they have the word eres, which might be better translated as “grows out of” or “pulls from.” For them, the ’now’ is a hungry beast, feasting on countless experiences and influences such that there is no extant past ‘from’ which to come. The past has created the present like a child building with blocks.

I, however, am not a Farseer, nor have I lived in Raiy, nor do I speak the language. Instead, I am a widely traveled lover of life and the exotic, the curious and unfamiliar.

Long Ago and Far Away was an old PBS show hosted by James Earl Jones. With a brief introduction, the show was a vehicle for children’s stories, oftentimes from foreign countries or based on old folk-tales.

I had an old VHS with several of the shows recorded on it, and I watched it regularly. One of the introductions had James Earl Jones reading an atlas, looking at maps of far-off lands including “The Cheese Palace of Pushka, capital of Brotzt,” “the Kingdom of Zeep,” and the “Outer Minor Mutaan Islands.”

Being old enough to know a bit of geography, I knew these were made up places; but as Mr. Jones said, after wondering why he had never heard of these places before: “but that doesn’t mean I can’t imagine what it would like to visit.”

That idea has stuck with me for over thirty years, and so here is my own atlas, which I flatter myself to think that one day might inspire someone else with places they’ve never been.

There is a village on the edge of Madrain, called Ostra. Ostra was the smallest town on the island to have docks, kept mostly because of the dry season, when the nearby island of Galgasan passes close to Madrain. Trade was plentiful in the dry season, and merchants came from the nearby villages to share and barter their goods.

But this was the wet season, a time for the wise Madrainian to tend to their meager fields, or hunt the ordinarily ferocious wild boars that stalked the nearby jungles.

Kerrom was not wise. He knew this, and had known it from before he left the island to become a mercenary. He had known it before he arrived at Erosea and sold himself as a guard, and spent over five years of his life protecting his employer’s shipments. He had known wisdom was beyond him ever since that day, so many years ago, when he earned the name Sephehar.

And let this be a lesson to you, dearest beloved, for though it would have been wise for Kerrom to do as his king had commanded, he knew in his heart that he could not commit such cruelty as was his duty. So is Wisdom a virtue only when it accounts for the heart, and compassion.

Know this, beloved, for it is one of many truths this story will teach you. There is much allure in the act of ruling over another. While Teschemar’s heart beat strong at the thought of returning to Herathia with blood on his sword, on the other side of the Autumn Wall, Ceinneret’s heart beat faster still.

While Teschemar knew the battlefield, Ceinneret knew gossip. It is like a plague, spreading from person to person, through the air on wings of whispers. The Court of Cast was a plague pit for rumor. Hidden diseases from all across Cast found their way to the lords and ladies of her throne-room, until all were infected.

Even the strong can fall to this disease, but for many years it had avoided Ceinneret. Her place on the throne was a convenience for everyone, and to threaten it was to court chaos. Her father had ruled Cast as a beloved king, and even those who still ached for his rule would not be so quick to defile his bloodline.