The Frewyn Herald: Home of the Haanta Series

I absolutely abominate diets. Martje has more tolerance for Bilar's meticulations than I would ever do. T he king and his party were thanked for their visit and asked to please come again whenever their time allowed, and after one last look at the seller’s row along the river, the party were all returned to the keep and arrived in time to hear part of a conversation caroming out from the infirmary as they entered from the hall. They turned the corner and saw Martje standing on the infirmary threshold, having just ended her monthly examinations, the results of which Bilar was beginning to discussing with her. Neither the cleric nor the cook sounded particularly severe or scolding, but the hand on Martje’s hip, the slow insidious contraction of her brow, and the jutting of her lower lip prophesied some intimation of what was coming.                 “Your blood pressure is good,” Bilar began, perusing he...

W henever I am wont to have a difficult evening, I have something like this in the morning, to remind myself that there are some things suffering existence for. Writing, art, books, cats, chocolate, games-- these are the little joys that push me forward when I consider less appealing alternatives. When I was in my early twenties, I considered and even attempted suicide several times. I was working three jobs I absolutely hated just to pay for an education I desperately needed. I worked in the mornings, attended classes in the afternoons, returned to work in the evenings, and worked on weekends to shore up the attenuated cash flow. I came home at night to an empty one-room apartment, to charm my mattress and my broken laptop with stories of how horrid my day was, and scramble into writing another few lines of a chapter when I could. It was five long years of bitter lamentations and the paltry comfort of packaged ramen before I felt some reprieve, and during that time I consid...

I have discovered there is such a thing as decaffeinated black tea. I have never been so horrified in all my life. The Frewyn in me revolts every which way . T he party turned toward the adjoining lane, and coming toward the terrace, in all his stately splendour, was the Lucentian beauty merchant, looking as shining as ever, his leiotrichous mane, lacustrine and radiant, spilling over his shoulders a wave of black silk, his limbs lentic and elegant under his undulating robes, his smiles labouring under an immaculate expression. Alasdair came to greet him, and the merchant bowed to the king and paid his formal addresses to the party, telling them how pleased he was to see them, and to see His Majesty keeping with his skin treatments.                 “Oh, can you tell?” said Alasdair, somewhat embarrassed.                 “I can...

Marridon is known for its many inventions and technological innovations, and while strike matches, baking soda, and the printing press have all been accepted on the southern continent, decaffeinated Lucentian coffee will probably never find its audience in Frewyn. H e was gone in a moment, and in another moment, he returned with a small coffee pot, a glass, and a paper filter. He went to the tea trey and set work, putting the paper filter atop the glass, and pouring freshly ground coffee and hot water from the pot. His hand swiveled slightly, consciously pouring the coffee through the paper and keeping the steaming grains from sliding into the glass.                 “There,” said he, peeling the paper aside. “If you will be so kind as to try that, Commander, and tell me how you feel about it.”                 Boudicca gave the g...