(With humblest apologies to Jack Vance.) The Feast of Regrets — held annually, biannually, or at irregular intervals at Boumergarth, the four-towered castle of Ildefonse the Preceptor — was in full swing. The bloated red sun had limited its worrisome eructations to nothing more than a polite belch or two during the last month and… Continue reading A Dying Earth Feast
If Ken Lizzi has a quest it is to help infuse a pulp sensibility into 21st Century fiction