Biscuits are an important part of any dish, and can really tie a meal together! Whether you put a sweet spread on them, dip them, or smother them, no one can doubt their versatility. This recipe comes from my grandmother, who told me that she got it from hers!     When I was a little girl, I spent many Summer nights helping my grandmother cook supper, often making biscuits, and she'd tell me about so many things. For all the times I saw her, I never saw my grandfather. I remember asking about him once, and all I was told was that he was very faraway, but "he would always be in the blood". I thought that it was a weird way to say it, but she was raised in Europe after the war, so I thought that explained it.     It's been a long time since I have thought about my grandmother. She loved the color red, and most of her clothes were a striking red. I remember one dress she had, a deep crimson one that had stars on it. It always struck me as a church dress, a...

      Just as much as they love the arts, Naxians love competition and feats of physical ability. For over a thousand years, the Naxian Games are held to wreathe the best practitioners of their chosen sports.     The most famous sport, however, is Naxian Wrestling, which focuses heavily on grappling and pain, rather than on permanent damage. That said, Naxian wrestlers, called palaistis, also often train in traditional unarmed combat; over a hundred different schools produce these talented fighters to compete in games, or even to act as more traditional bodyguards and mercenaries.     Aside from martial arts, all manner of sports are played and practiced across the islands, with running and swimming being particular favorites. Some regions will conduct triathlons where athletes must race on foot, in water, then climbing a tall cliff or small mountain. Winners of such things are local celebrities, venerated by their communities as symbols of local pride...

      Naxos has a long history, rich in many traditions carried on since even before Poleon. Both physical and performance arts are highly valued in Naxos, with a particular love of theater and sculpting.     Naxian theater is a timeless art, famous globally. Comedies that leave audiences unable to breathe, and tragedies that bring even the most stoic zilotis to tears, and legendary dramas that enthrall any who see. The undisputed masters of this are the ithopoiou; performers that train from a young age to master the stage, along with song and several instruments. A trained ithopoiou can find work anywhere in the world.     Just as much, Naxians adore physical art; statues, and murals commemorating ancient triumphs, elaborate fountains, and intricate facades across even the common buildings in cities. Painting has also taken off in the last few centuries-- centuries ago, an elven artist named La'Vin came to Naxos and fell in love with the city, and cr...

Hey everyone, I hope that the kickoff to the holiday season has gone as well as could be expected this year. I'll be level; I meant to get so much more done this month than I have. My initial goal was to resume with the entries on Naxos after the mini series last month, but then the election hit, and my will to live be productive with my pieces went straight into the toilet.   I'll start again with the Naxos entries next week, and I am trying to scrounge up enough energy to write a new piece for December, but I also might simply focus on next April's stuff. Anyway, cheers, and I hope that everyone has a wonderful rest of the holiday season. Thank You & Very Respectfully, Zachariah O

    Raquel's old sedan shuddered and shook in protest as she put it in reverse, and slid from her assigned spot at the apartment complex in which she lived. Her car was just as vocal in its seemed displeasure as she put it into drive, and set off. Raquel was on her way to Port Astor State University, to participate in a paid study. She had come up several-hundred dollars short on rent, and had felt saved when she saw the ad in the paper for the study. It was at one of the post-grad schools at the university-- something about philosophy? Religion? She couldn't recall, although it didn't really matter what was what. If she had to sit through several hours of students taking themselves entirely too seriously, and ask her overly vague questions, so be it.     And perhaps, she needed to talk to some of those types. Recently, she had had some problems enter her life, and she had no idea how to address them. Specifically, vivid dreams of church, of all things, and aversion ...

      Hello Dr. Zann,     I hope that this missive reaches you in good health in these trying times. It has come to my attention that you still fully intend to commit to your planned procedure regarding certain properties of physical translocationality, despite our spirited conversation held previously in happier times.      I implore to once again: reconsider .     As was covered in that conversation, and repeated again here for emphasis, what you plan to do will react poorly with at least several other goings-on, which will in turn affect certain aspects of material resonance of our vaunted Stone Hall. As such, we cannot know or even pretend to know what would come of your sundering of the local environs, no matter how "mitigated " or " contained ".  To put in even more stark terms; should you do this, we would have no idea where you would even go, and there would be no rescue. Just as well, this is to say nothing of the suspect...

      Port Astor State University is the premier higher education facility in the State of Jefferson, and every year, tens of thousands flock to the City of Secrets to "begin their futures". Most prestigious of all is the post-graduate program, the Doctorate of Applied Metaphysics & Philosophy, which is by invitation only. While many openly desire to enter the program, few could even begin to explain what the exact criteria of admittance are, let alone what is actually taught within.     The program itself traces its lineage back to the university founders, who ran a small college out of the original university building, The Old Stone Hall. It began as an almost chapel-like structure of rustic cobble, but over its life grew into a bizarre and sprawling web of eclectic neo-gothic stonework, contemporary wood and cement, and other, harder to describe styles not seen before by any of its students.     This was the heart of Port Astor Academia, until t...

 Hello there! We are once again at the most wonderful time of year, and so we return to Port Astor during one of its most troubling and tumultuous times times, The Plague of '30 ! This year, we explore some irregularities around Port Astor State University, and the staff... Like last year, starting next Saturday there will be a new piece of the story released until the finale on 10/26. Below is the schedule! • Part 1: The First Port Astor State University / Releases 10/12 • Part 2: An Unsent Letter found in PASU Archives / Releases 10/19 • Part 3: Sending Scouts / Releases 10/26 In addition to this, I will be at the Lovecraft Film Festival in Portland, OR this weekend (yes, right now), as well as at the Oddities & Curiosities Expo!  And, last but not least, my first collection of short stories hits digital shelves Monday (10/7). If you've been keeping up here, many of the stories will be familiar to you, but there is a piece in collection that will never be released any...

 Hey everybody!      I hope that things are well for everyone as we roll out of the Summer season, and soon into the truly most wonderful time of the year—SPOOKY SEASON. Like last year, I have something special lined up for the month of October, as we make our pilgrimage to Port Astor during the Plague of ’30; a time of heightened desperation and fear in that already tenebrous city. This time, we will be exploring some strange happenings around Port Astor State University and the curious practices of the staff and graduates, and how one can misplace an entire campus. Look for that first piece on October 5th!      In other news, and as some of you might be aware, I am having my first collection of short stories published and sold at retailers! Contained within are several of what I think represents the best material I have made for Port Astor, including a unique piece that I will never share elsewhere! At the time of writing this, I have confirmed that...

                      A flash, a scream, and just the moldering steam that hung in the cold Winter morning air as the arcane flame died down upon the rapidly-charred remains of the regular soldier. Lieutenant Matthew Regin had stood atop his barricade all night, the day before, and now was looking at another sunset and rise. After the retreat of the Colchis, it all went to shit . It fell apart when royal orders came down for the regular and drafted forces to pursue the “fleeing” invaders, which were at best ignored, or at worst, the messenger was attacked and murdered in outrage. What remained of the regulars, and many draftees, then revolted, and the Royal Knights were sent in to “restore loyalty and order”. For their part, the Parliamentary forces, namely the Arcane and the Engineering & Grenadier Corps, fell back to defend parts of the city from the fighting factions. For this, the other camps labelled them as an e...

      All thunder and manic fervor, the scrawny, filthy man fell upon Cornet Laurent, the terrified boy. In the trench, hastily half-dug and now equally a river of muddy blood, the filthy man pressed his weight upon the broken spear, attempting to end Laurent with the jagged and splintered wooden end. Screaming and crying, the cornet with hands so already slickened, tried to press back against his enemy. And just as suddenly as this scene began, a shell blasted just above the two, and the scrawny filthy man from Colchis was now as much shredded ribbon as he had been a soldier.     But, truly, he was no soldier; no more than Cornet Laurent was. What had he been? A farmer? A serf? A brother? Lover? A teller of tales or jokes? Now only shot and roaring silence could be the answer; he was dead. And the "cornet"? A boy of 16, who, tragically, was literate and had been in school. Enough for King Alphonse IV to have him commissioned, as a cavalry officer no less. In th...

      The key instigator of the Reclamation, the Synodic Church has grown to reach every major city across the Duchy, and is the only officially recognized religion across the islands. It is led by the Kiryx, who oversees the organization out of the ornate temple-complex that is known as the Tomb of Poleon. Despite being officially a holding of the Basileus, the Church is allowed to house its bureaucracy and main shrine on its hallowed grounds.     The charter gives them the right to police their district within the City of Naxos, thereby making the Kiryx a baronet in all but name. In return, the Aspida, the militant wing of the church, must be incorporated into the Naxian Guard in times of emergency. For the most part, the Aspida are used to fight marauding pirates or rebel Ta Ktini, and with the aid of the secret police of the Church, the Mati, root out cells of Ansharian faithful.     In regular life, the Synodic Church is a ubiquitous part of the l...

    In the eastern part of the land once called the United Kingdom of Alleghany, a dry grassland stretches as far as the eye can see, and as everyone knows, anything you can see over but not the other side of may as well be infinite. These old rolling hills have seen the dawn of the Old Kingdoms, the wars of unification, with their knights and lords, as well as the recent modern conflicts with mechanized tanks and orderly regiments of an industrialized nation. Few people have ever called this land home, but for those who do, they know that their proximity to the borderlands lend to their generally precarious life.     It is here that lies the township of Munro Ford, upon the humble banks of an eponymous river, which permitted such a town existing in the first place. The folks here live a simple country life in their town and surrounding hills, where the sea of amber grass hits the mighty walls of ancient craggy brown stone that marks the edges of the old dominio...

     Merric tied down the last line, cinching the tarp tightly with his right hand. This had taken longer than it otherwise would have, but what could be done when working with only one arm? The winds had been furious the last few days he had been on the road, constantly disturbing and loosening the line securing his "stock", and frightening Holly, his ever-loyal donkey.     He had fled the Central Kingdoms, Whiteton specifically. He had ran a small arcane supply store, but after several bad seasons, his debts were called in, which he could not pay. So, he liquidated everything as fast as he could, loaded all he owned into a small two-wheeled rickshaw, and promptly left without a word.      Merric had set off to the east, where he heard a war was brewing, and war meant soldiers , and soldiers needed to buy things . His grand plan was to peddle enough items, at wildly inflated prices, to hopefully start again. Another shop, somewhere. He had zero ...

 "Hello caller, you're on the air..." "They are out there, you know. They've been here for years, longer than us to be sure." "Now, among the red towers of brick and neon, concrete and glass, they emerge from the deep-dark. Hundreds, thousands, maybe more, come forth as legion. They come, however disjointed, they remain unified in spirit." "What are their goals? Nightly, they move from neighborhood to neighborhood, victim to victim, engaging in ten-thousand guerilla actions. Clad in their domino masks and black gloves, none know whom specifically, but there is little doubt in general." "And what happens when you confront them? Dead eyes shine in the dark, reflecting only that light they steal from the world. No emotion, but equally no peace." "Today, the naïve are unaware of the danger that pervades this city, their families, their own lives. Do they not think that the ambitions of these thieves does not rise higher? Higher...