The Frewyn Herald: Home of the Haanta Series

The crew of the Myrellenos has many assorted flavours: there are some saline scalawags, some silty scoundrels, but there are also sweet and sanguine nuts, including the agreeable but not always upstanding Feiza: Enjoy the series? Join the campaign here! T he swirl of snowdust soon settled, and when Feiza had raised his nowl, he saw a parade of children just mounting the adjacent downs, hastening toward them with beaming faces and eager steps. “Look, it’s a bear and a pirate!” one of the children cried. “Aw! I love bears!” “I’m wanna ride it!” “I’m gonna hunt it!” “I’m wanna ride the bear and hunt the pirate!” And before Moppit could disclaim and assure them that neither he nor Feiza were really bears, though Feiza was once a pirate and with prim determination still thought himself as one, the children assailed them, besieging them with triumphant cries, approaching Feiza with cocked hands and ferocious growls, and waving wooden swords at Moppit. “’Mon, bear...

One of the greatest antagonists of my life had always told me never to sing in his presence. I have a tolerable singing voice upon the whole, and I have sung at places like Carnegie Hall and Lincoln Centre, but had I a voice like Rannig, I should sing everywhere, merely to torture the one who so maligned my efforts. Enjoy:   T he crew of the Myrellenos watched from the main deck, remarking the tender scene with sobering aspects, each of them as willing to revere as to commend such veneration, for whatever their Gods or values, they lauded the fervour with which Frewyns greeted their holiday, and were, despite the frost and snow, earnestly wishing to join them, Rannig and Brogan the most eager of them to join in the chorus. Being the only two Frewyns on the ship, they had the best right to celebrate the holiday, but Brogan did not wait for his captain’s permission to go ashore to begin his Ailineighdaeth commemoration. He sang the benediction along with the village, his voic...

We know what an atrocious week it has been. Here is a story to hopefully brighten the week coming. Anything that involves children and disparages Bartleby always puts a smile on my face. I hope it does the same for you .                 T here was a bustle as they entered the village, the anticipation of a sea captain and a giant walking through the gate that excited everyone’s interest: those who were in the secret of Rannig’s situation wished to know if there was any news of his parents, those who had just emerged from their homes and farms to join the holiday revelry in the square exchanged whispers and stares over the appearance of the Lucentian captain and his giant, and a flurry of children swarmed their legs, each child hallooing questions and begging to be picked up and tossed about. Mrs Muilligain came to drive them off and make excuses over their not being troublesome to the captain with countless...

It is an unjust and cruel world that takes the sovereign and the prince of darkness from their subjects in one week. I have been raving about all the incongruities of this horrid sufferance for the last two hours. My heart is broken, and I am unfit for anything. I have resigned myself to the business of being miserable. All of the great artists I have grown up with are dying, and I feel as though there is no happiness left in the world. This will change presently, I hope, but for now, I cannot see joy for all the dejection crowding in front of it. The agonies of life know no abatement. It is a disgusting trick of existence to have us surmount sorrow only to plunge us back into it. I have no words to express on the death of such a titan beyond those of selfish indignation. And it is selfish, to wish him still here with us when he had been harbouring such a vile and virulent illness, but there appears little sense in life; there is only the consternation and constant agitation of won...

Hail the Goblin King! The very first time I ever saw David Bowie was when I saw the Labyrinth.  Circumstances were that there was a birthday party, and an atrocious one at that, but I was permitted to ease my horrors of being compelled to attend this event by watching Jareth command his minions, singing and dancing, governing them and presiding over his kingdom by the power of his exquisite dress and magnificent hair. The appreciation for his make-up and finely tailored breeches did not come until much later: I was only eight years old when I saw the film for the first time. As I watched Jareth weave his melodious loom, something in my untempered consciousness roused, and I was instantly a servant of the great Goblin King. This, for some time, was how I knew David Bowie, but soon, sometime during the dregs of adolescence, I came to know his music and succumb to a veneration of a different nature.    David Bowie is rather like Shakespeare: one gets acquainted with hi...

We finally received mail today for the first time in three weeks. Perhaps Rautu had something to do with it : To receive the full novella of this story, join our Patreon B rigdan came to the end of the hall and turned the corner, and there, where the end of the servants’ quarter met the courtyard, was Vyrdin, standing with his arms folded, looking all the satisfaction he felt as he watched the Den Asaan prowl along the shrubs leading to the herald’s office. “He’s in there,” said Vrydin quietly, as Brigdan approached. “The herald just entered his office not a minute ago.” “He has no idea, does he?” said Brigdan, in a hush. “Not at all.” They stood in silence, screened by the shadow from the archway, as they watched the giant stalk through the shrubs and mount the lattice leading to the large upstairs window. The giant pried it open with his hunting knife, and without a whisper, he slipped into the herald’s storeroom, quietly closing the window behind him. “It alwa...