Tag: The Pulp

The nights grow a little bit shorter now.  The winds blow a little less bitter.  The arctic air threatening to slowly freeze your guts with…

Shelter.  That’s all a body could want, this deep into the season.  Somewhere to hole up against the cold, when not clawing needful things from…

The skies are the color of dark steel, and equally cold and cutting. Scavengers emerge from their hovels only rarely, bundled in whatever rags they’ve…

  The full Season of Hoarding has come and gone since I last forced an article out of this battered old word-masheen.  Food has become…

The Season of the Fire King meets its second moon.  Buzzards wheel effortlessly in the burning sky, while the bipeds below do what scavenging they…