Tuesday, December 31, 2013

D.S. BROWN - Book Review - Woman Of The Woods By Milton Davis


I have been following the evolution of author Milton J. Davis for a number of years now and it pleases me to say that with Woman Of The Woods Davis is climbing to the pinnacle of his considerable storytelling powers.  He is truly the dawning heart of Sword and Soul, building on the powerful legacy created by master Charles Saunders. 

Davis creates a world complete, conjuring images of Africa full of magic and mysticism, courage and adventure, warriors and monsters.  Uhuru is a world apart, but as with other masters of the Sword and Sorcery genre we see our world in what Davis has crafted.  The continent of Uhuru comes alive, we walk the lands of Adamusola.  In his skilled hands the imagery leaps from the page, and we walk the grasslands, feel the breeze, hear the hyenas hackle, and the shumbas roar!  We hear, see, and feel the people of Adamusola live, as well as die.

Sadatina is a woman who is loved beyond measure, but forbidden her very existence.  It is love that allows her to live, the love of a mother.  It is the love of family that allows her to thrive.  It is the love for one other that allows her to realize her considerable gifts, and the strength she alone possesses.  It is the love for her people that makes her a leader among elite warriors, and in the last it is love for all the people of this fabled land that lends her the strength to stand against the cycle of violence, and the evil that drives it.   

I was so taken by Sadatina and her struggle that I lost myself in Davis’s words, lost in his world, realizing in my mind the full scope of the majesty that is Uhuru, the people of Adamusola, the gods that guide humankind, and the seemingly insurmountable evil against which they  must stand.   Woman Of The Woods is Davis at his finest, and Davis at his finest is Sword and Sorcery at its best, which is why it is so very much Sword and Soul.

The Aspiring Critical Thinker,
D.S. Brown

Thursday, September 5, 2013


It was eleven-thirty at night.  His parents were asleep.  He could feel them away in their room, sensing them through walls.  They had fallen into a deep slumber, once again leaving the television on.  Their room was on the other side of the house, far enough away for him to normally not hear the sounds of the ABC Late Night News.  However, things had changed, things were now far from normal, about as far from normal as they could possibly get.  He concentrated just a little.  The more he willed it, the more he could hear … or even see.  He stopped.  He would never violate his parents’ privacy.  

He paused, stood still and looked at himself in the mirror.  He very much liked what he saw.  On his feet were black Timberland boots.  He wore baggy black Girbaud jeans, but not too baggy.  He didn’t like the style, and if his mother ever saw him wearing his pants off of his backside, she would personally give him a wedgy.  He completed the outfit with a form-fitting black sweater. 

He had really given the outfit some thought.  He had cobbled together three outfits so far that he thought conveyed the way he felt, modern superhero.  They all used the same boots and pants, but he had a white sweater, a black sweater, and a blue sweater.  He had the same colors in a form-fitting t-shirt, for when the weather changed.  However, it didn’t really matter, since the weather didn’t bother him anymore, unless he let it.

He had thought about trying to sew a uniform, like Spiderman did in the movie, but that proved to be a very difficult proposition, despite all his power.  He could not sew.  And his ideas for outfits were heavily influenced by the dreams he had had, when Ean showed him a possible future in the Sfresonal.  Those outfits looked like Superman and Spiderman outfits.  He also remembered himself looking bigger.  No, what he was wearing now would definitely do and he didn’t care to try and figure out something comic-bookish … at least not yet. What he had suited him.  There would be time enough for spandex, or whatever his dream outfit was made of.  Time enough for DragonCon later.  

He flexed his biceps, admiring the way he looked.  He was just a tad bit bigger, a bit of extra lean muscle over what he had before.  He had no idea how strong he was.  His frame now housed a tremendous amount of power.  He didn’t know how much.  He didn’t like thinking about what his limitations may, or may not be.  It scared him. 

“Okay, let’s do this.”

He walked over to the window, opened it, and paused.  He had been doing this for weeks, and the humor of it still hadn’t worn off.  He didn’t jump towards the window and fly out.  That seemed corny, and risky, too TV like.  He didn’t stand on the windowsill, and launch himself into the sky.  He had tried that.  It worked just fine, accept for the fact that when he had returned, he realized he had left his window open all night.  That morning his mother awoke to a brisk chill in the hall.  She checked his room and found him in the bed asleep, but his room was freezing.  She was about to have the house inspected for leaks in the insulation, until he told her he had left the window open.  This of course, warranted a good round of chastisement. 

Since then, he had changed his approach.  He simply stepped out, floated, and closed the window behind him.  He did this now, hovering next to the side of the house.  The usual feeling of exhilaration came over him.  He floated away, around the tree outside his window, over to the backyard.  He sensed something, or rather someone … someone he definitely recognized.  He smiled and gently floated to the ground.  Suddenly, the presence he felt appeared.  Where there was nothing, now stood the Sfresonal, Ean.

“Greetings, Champion.”
“Hello, Ean.  Been a while.”
“As I’ve told you—”
“I know.  Then the question becomes, why are you here?  Is something about to happen?”
Ean paused, examining Champion.  “You seem calm.  My presence in no way alarms you.  You’ve grown accustomed to … the situation.”
Champion smiled.  “I guess you could say that.  The things I’ve been doing the past few weeks … well, I’m not sure if anything will ever surprise me again.”
Ean laughed.  “Don’t talk too soon young Champion.  Just this planet Earth alone is incredibly fascinating.  There are things in this world, on it, off it, and in the next, that will most assuredly astound you.”
“I can fly.”
“Yes, and a lot more.”
“I don’t know how strong I am.”
“Potentially, your strength is without limit.  However, as with all things there are limits.”
“That doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
“Well sure it does.  It does to me.  It should to you, if not now, then in time.  I do recall a Champion with limitless strength.  He had an indomitable will, and this fueled his strength.”
“Another Champion?  You’ve said that before, that I’m just the latest in a line, that you possessed this power before me.”
“I did, and so did countless others before me.  Imagine if you will, a line of your mothers and fathers, progenitors extending back to the very beginning of this Universe, and a great many others.”
“I can’t quite get my head around what you’ve just said.  That’s an awful lot for a man to swallow.”
Ean smiled.  “Colloquialisms, how quaint.  I’ve found myself falling into your human idiosyncrasies.  I’m going to become one of you whether I like it or not.”
“Are we that bad?”
“Just look around you.”
Josh paused, considering it.  “Well, I was chosen, and I’m human.”
“Point taken.  And besides, your world isn’t the only one that needs you.”
“You keep saying things like that.  Why can’t you just talk to me straight?”
“And what would be the fun in that?”
Champion frowned.  “You appear whenever, you say whatever.  Is this how it’s going to always be?”
“Maybe, maybe not.  And oh, on that matter of you being a man?  Not quite, not yet.”
And with that, Ean slowly began to fade.
“I fail to see the point,” Champion whispered to himself.  “What good is he?”
He felt there was no reason to dwell on the Sfresonal’s words.  He had important work to do.  Thinking of self-assigned duty made him smile.  He was feeling more and more like a hero.  This was his city and he was tasked by fate with the job of protecting it.  He looked up into the night sky, looked at the stars, and reached for them. With only the slightest sound of wind, he shot into the sky.

Thursday, August 29, 2013


William Bennett held his staff close.  The Violators had been joined by accomplices.  They were five in all.  The odds were not at all in his favor.  In such a situation, and given the heinous nature of their enterprise, he would have been fully justified in the use of deadly force.  He would have been justified in pulling the blade free from its scabbard.  But he was only an Andrun, an acolyte initiate. 

The puzzle on his short staff was locked.  He could not pull the sword it contained free no matter the circumstance.  It was made such that he would require industrial equipment to break it open, and break is the operative word.  He would never be able to open it without the right, as the challenge was meant to be.  No matter how hard he tried he could not use the fullness of the weapon until he was considered worthy, until through honorable word and deed he attained the rank of Knight. 

He had what was in his hand, pulled from his inner coat pocket the moment he realized his mistake. 

In truth, he should not even be in this position.  He was still in training. He was supposed to observe, not act.  However, his master was taking care of the other matter.  They had divided their force, one for each target.  His master was going to observe as well, and then shut down his quarry.  The two men William had originally been tracking were thought to be headed to the location of their hideout.  Gaining this knowledge would put them on the cusp of settling the matter, and shutting down their outfit.  Unfortunately, the Order was clearly lacking some information.  This apartment building was no hideout, and the men that were about to engage him were hardened warriors.  This was clearly a killing squad.  William was honor-bound.  He had no choice but to face them.

The man in front, a hard faced brownish Nordic looking man with short cropped blonde hair smiled, as he slowly pulled his gun.  “You clearly have a lot to learn. We’ve known you were there from the moment we left the airport.”

“Then why did you wait?”  Asked William, stalling for time.  “Doesn’t make sense for you to lead me here.”

“Us,” corrected the man.  “Your partner is going to … what?  Stop payment for services rendered?”

“Depends on whose there,” said William.  He moved further into the room.  There was no retreat.  The other men had drawn their guns.  There was no way around it.  He was going to catch a bullet.  He would have to rely on all his skill in order to not only win, but just survive. 

“Why don’t you just stand still,” said the killer. “What’s your name? I have some idea of what you are.  Be interested in knowing the name of the Tolomanian Knight I’ve killed.  You’ll be my first.”

“I’m not a knight,” said William. 

The man laughed.  “Could have fooled me.  Flowing black coat.  Gold buttons.  Pretty snazzy that coat you all wear.  Shirt, jacket, slacks, all very expensively made.  The gloves, the metal on your wrists.  That’s not a watch you know?”

“Oh, but it does tell time,” said William, he took two more steps to the left.

“Stand still!”  The killer yelled.  “And while you’re at it drop that damn staff.”

The others raised their weapons. 

“I’ll tell you my name,” said William.  “But first tell me why the Darasim are working for Benjamin Crassus?  Just my curiosity, you know?  After all, I’m going to be dead any minute, right?”

The killer laughed, “You people.  You think we’re working for that crotchety old fool?  You need better intelligence young man.”  He chuckled, shaking his head.  He sighed and leaned back just a bit … and blinked.

That was all the moment William needed, and for sure would be all the moment he would get.  The conversation was rapidly coming to an end.

These men had killed and killed and killed again.  They were leaving a bloody trail of unsolvable murders in pursuit of a prize of inestimable value, a prize that theoretically could save Benjamin Crassus’s life.  He had focused his considerable wealth, and the vast resources of the Crassus Corporation on this one enterprise.  It was a puzzle that was not meant to be solved.  It was the Order’s duty to ensure it remained that way.

In his right hand he held his staff still, slightly in front of him.  He moved it a bit to the right, a distraction, as he was trained.  The killers focused on it.  His left hand he moved slightly, giving the tiny balls in his hand a slight shove.  They silently floated across the room and landed at the feet of the blonde killer. 

One of the men yelled, “Watch out!”  But it was too late.

William’s heart was beating fast, despite his effort at control.  The seconds slowed down as his mind concentrated on his training.  He forced himself to consider this to be nothing more than intense exercise, another training session.  He tried to not grind his teeth, but the pressure was great.  He was not prepared to face such opposition.  Of course, if he was to become a knight, facing surprising and inhuman opposition was to become a way of life.

He didn’t look at the balls as they hit the ground, but he measured the count in his mind.  He had started to move forward slightly as they left his hand.  By the time they had landed on the floor he was in a full sprint.  Milliseconds passed, milliseconds that his mind counted.  Muscle memory and mental mastery was in total control of both mind and body as his Andrun training took hold. 

Didactic memory can be cultivated.  It is not a secret.  Rather what the knights do are things either forgotten or simply no longer pursued.  There is a manner in which to perfect strength within an individual. There is a manner in which to perfect speed and dexterity.  There is a manner in which to hone the inner self, harnessing the power of one’s soul in order to magnify both the mental and the physical.  These are old skills, learned at different times and in different places all over the world.

The Knights of Avros Tolomain are an order as old as civilization, so say the elders.  The skills of the Knights were well known when almost two thousand years ago Avros Tolomain took up the mantle of something that was fading , and forged the Order.  Today the Tolomain Knights are the line that holds order against the chaos at the fringes of civilization.  They live to protect humanity when and where they can from those things bent on denying humanity a destiny unhindered by the darkness, and those who serve it. 

William closed his eyes and concentrated shutting down his ability to discern light, forcing his brain to not acknowledge the input into his visual cortex through will power alone. He did the same for his auditory senses.  Since he didn’t have earlids like he had eyelids it would be difficult.  There would still be a great deal of pain, but he would force himself to fight through it. 

The little balls where called crucious, the order’s version of flash-bang grenades.  They were an order of magnitude more powerful and directed.  Their force exploded in the direction thrown, saving the person throwing them from the worst of the effects, but still they would suffer if they did not wear protection.  William had no protection.

“Sonofabitch!” The Nordic guy yelled.  “Kill that—” was all he managed to get out, before William’s staff collided with the bridge of his nose.  

He had memorized where each man was.  The bullets started flying, but the flasbangs had exploded.  They were blind and deaf.  Any normal human being would have been brought to their knees, blind, disoriented, deaf, and in incredible pain.

However, the Darasims’ training was extensive.  They were supposedly trained in such a manner as to directly oppose the skills of the Avros Knights.  Each warrior was trying to telegraph William, trying to shoot where he would be.  Luck, or blessings, they were too late.  He was among them now, eyes shut, of terrifying speed, and they knew it.  The firing stopped.  They could not shoot amongst themselves. 

All of them were warriors.  They all were silent, fighting the effects of the Tolomainian flash bangs.  The Violators tried to see.  They tried to listen, and they were brought low in the brief seconds of hoped for recovery.  William waded among them like a living typhoon.  His staff struck again, and again, and again, head and body, head and body, missing only one, who had moved.  He opened his eyes, adjusted, and brought his staff swiftly into the man’s temple.  The Violator crumpled to the floor in a heap as the blow sent a shockwave through his head. 

In the deafening silence, William stood alone.  The Violators were scattered at his feet.  He took several deep breaths as he concentrated on steadying himself.  The flashbangs were directed away from him, but they were potent, and it took considerable mental will power to overcome their affects and fight effectively.

His vision steadied.  It would still be awhile before his hearing returned fully.  He looked back at the door.  His master stood in the doorway.  Master of the Order, Knight Jefferson Evans had the look of someone sorely vexed.  He examined the men on the floor, then looked up at his young charge.

“Clearly, you have been paying attention,” said Jefferson.  “Your training serves you well.”

William managed a smile.  “I have an excellent teacher.”


“Did things go well with your quarry?”

“The same, a trap.  We’ve clearly been compromised.”

“But where?”

Jefferson waved away the question.  “In due time.” 

“Yes master.”

Jefferson walked into the room, continuing to stare at the men on the floor.  “Five men, warriors, in the midst of a crucious.” He arched an eyebrow in admiration.  “Impressive.”

“It was the training master.”

“Of course, now step away from them.”

The Violators were starting to stir.  “Shouldn’t we interrogate them?”  He pointed his staff at the blonde man.  “This one here is the leader.”

“Step away from them now!”

William recognized when his master was leaving no room for conjecture.  This was a direct order, and he was honor bound to obey without a word.  Jefferson stepped forward, producing a needle from his coat.  He threw the needle at the blonde man’s neck.  No sooner had the needle penetrated the man’s neck Jefferson was over him, stooping down to pick him.  He threw the large man over his shoulder, and quickly stepped away from the others.

“What do we know about the Darasim?”

“They are worshipers of what they believe to be the Demiurge.  They are also an ancient order not unlike our own.”

“They are nothing like us, Andrun.  Clarity!”

William corrected.  “They are said to trace their roots back to ancient times. Sumerian in origin, seeking the ultimate order from chaos through the elevation of chaos, a flawed premise on its basis but one they believe to be infallible.  They have an almost blind worship, pursuing action and intent for the sole purpose of domination in worship of their god and the divine purpose, which to us is indistinguishable from evil.

“Evil is a matter of perspective for some, a fact that no knight must dismiss when dealing with the Darasim.”

“Yes, master.” 

“And not blind worship, they have been and will always be focused in their worship, and they see very clearly.  They are as long as we are, perhaps longer given the way they perceive the world and its purpose.”

“Yes,” agreed William. “And in that purpose they value life differently, even their own.”

“Yes, and …?” 

William understood.  It was not a point he should have forgotten.  “They are primary assassins and procurers, the Violators, they carry within them the means to die and kill in failure.”

“Exactly,” said Jefferson.  “Now, let’s get out of here.”

As they walked out the door the Violators were waking. “For that which is supreme!”  They yelled in unison.

“Move!”  Jefferson yelled.

William glanced back for a brief second, and saw one of the Violators grab his left wrist with his right hand.  How stupid of me, he thought.  He was young, an acolyte, but the excitement of battle should not have dulled his senses to such a degree.  He ran behind his master as fast as he could.  

Suddenly, there was an explosion. 

They fled down the stairs.  His master moved with strength and precision, effortlessly carrying the weight of the man on his shoulders.  Above them there was smoke.  Flames would quickly follow.  They reached the bottom level and exited out the front door. 

“Keep moving,” said Jefferson.  “We’re leaving.  

William followed his master.  He took a moment to look back at the building.  A window on the third floor was blown out.  Smoke was billowing out, and up, polluting the sky.  Willowy wisps of green seemed to dance and tangle in the bitter black of the explosion.  The poison. 

Once, it was said the warriors of the Darasim spat poison in failure, a gas cloud that would kill those around them who had precipitated their failure.  In modern times they were said to have added explosives to their lethal mix.  When a Darasim falls, his or her sworn duty is to take their enemy into the afterlife with them.  There is no other option. 

William could not fathom such a purpose, insanity made to look like rational thought, no better than a common, petty, run-of-the mill terrorist.  The Darasim sought unrivaled power in the dark byways and shadowy corners of the world just beneath the surface, the world where unnatural things held sway, and magic was not a marketing theme for Las Vegas. It was a world of stark and terrifying reality, a world in which he was sworn to wade in deep. 

He thought about the abandoned building.  It would probably burn to the ground before the fire department and police arrived.  They would be long gone from this place where he had waged mortal combat with Violators, those who would risk all for a singular goal, a goal antithetical to harmony in life.  He had fought them in the shadows and won.  He would fight them again, for however long it might take, for he was one who stood firm, held the line, and pushed back against the darkness.  He was honor bound by the old ways to uphold all that is best in humanity.  He was William Bennett, Andrun Acolyte of the Knights of Avros Tolomain, a sworn Knight of the Old Code. 

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

D.S. Brown - Movie Review - Elysium

I went to see a movie that featured a conflict between sacred sci-fi concepts, the dystopian future, and the technologically advanced utopian society.  I went expecting to see this conflict played out through the filter of human turmoil and struggle.  I was not disappointed.

There are many who did not like Elysium.  There are many out there who did not like the special effects.  There are those who did not like the melodrama.  There are many who said the acting was less than par.  There are many who could not suspend their disbelief and simply enjoy themselves.  Some of these people are national film critics.  Some of these people are regular moviegoers.  I firmly believe these people don’t like movies.

I must digress on this point from the subject matter in order to clarify my statement.  We go to the movies to be entertained, to enjoy ourselves.  We look for messages and meaning.  We often seek a greater understanding of ourselves.  However, though lofty ambition for high art and rationalization of existence can be sought and should sought in the entertainment we create we must not lose sight of the fact that most often we go to the movies to have fun, to engage in the fantastical.

With that basis I return to the subject matter and declare Elysium a tremendous success.  The clash of cultures, the maximization of the divide between haves and have-nots that is so dramatic in our own reality gives rise to the ultimate disunity in this movie.  The rich or so damn rich they’ve left the whole planet behind.  They rest of us live on Earth, in the trash.

Still, in this trash of a world there is beauty, there is love, and there is hope.  We persist against those that use the labor of the masses to preserve their control and perpetuate their existence.  Unfortunately, their avarice has not improved their morality and the base nature of our very existence defines a path to ruin for the stratified higher society. 

See Elysium and know that hope hungers and grows amongst the criminals and monsters who seek a better life, conflicted with a desire to be good even as they engage in criminality.

See Elysium and know that ambition flowers in the cold warrens of the elite, and that those with power wield it against the teeming masses, and themselves, giving rise to betrayal and eventual defeat. 

See Elysium and know that Matt Damon is the unfortunate hero, filled with desire, needing to be good, striving to live, destined to do a great thing as a matter of circumstance. 

These are lofty words for this sci-fi film, but I feel they are justified.  I thoroughly enjoyed Elysium from start to finish.  It was poignant, loving, loud, and messy. It satisfies the need for action and tugs at the heart strings for a hoped-for higher humanity.  It was an excellent ride.  If you like movies, if you like sci-fi, if you enjoy seeing the fantastical when it’s done well, you will enjoy this movie.  Go see Elysium.

The Aspiring Critical Thinker,
D.S. Brown

Friday, July 26, 2013


“3rd Supremor’s purview has been doubled,” Hiakalite smiled, thinking of the 1st Supremor.  “Numerlen has been keeping a secret.  Urendil, fleet production has increased exponentially.  I don’t know where the resource allocations have been coming from, and it’s my job to know these things, especially when they’re a secret.”

Hiakalite smiled in admiration.

“1st Supremor Numerlen has been operating in the black, executing even better than I might have.  There will be a new Third Fleet, a Tenth Fleet, and a Minus One Fleet, something he calls Negative Fleet.”

“Negative Fleet?”

“Assigned to the Intelligence Directorate.  Totally black.  Off the books.”

“But, the Intelligence Directorate already has a fleet.”

“Not a fleet of Capital Ships.  Not a fleet able to undertake a full scale military campaign.”

“Capital Ships?”

“Yes, Capital Ships, and one Neastar Class vessel.  I’ll get confirmation and instructions after the orders for Tenth and Third Fleets are announced.  

“Well, it would seem 3rd Supremor Hiakalite has been given permission to save The Great Majestic.  Assuming it’s really worth saving.”

Hiakalite dismissed the wizard’s sarcasm.  “How’s the weapon?"

Urendil closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.  “Very timely.  With one hundred percent certainty I’ll be able to release and load by the time we arrive at District 45.”

“Excellent.  The ship will be waiting.”  Haikalite pulled up a holoscreen and checked their flight information.  “We’ll be landing very soon.”

Urendil opened his eyes.  They glowed.  “Yes, very timely.”

Haikalite noted a bright red glow in the corner of the holoscreen, first one, then two, then a host of alerts appeared.  They were all priority messages.  One of the signals indicated his aide signaling him from the cockpit.  Haikalite lowered the privacy screen.

“Sir,’ said Aakate.  “Priority message for you from Alliance Command.  Several messages from Alliance Command.  Sir, I’m picking up increased comm traffic on all channels, military and civilian.  Something’s happened.”

“You’re right, Aakate.  I’m receiving alerts on my personal lines.  Let’s see what’s so urgent.”

The 3rd Supremor looked at the host of signals.  One of the messages was encoded and processed through the Neoshorite Hyper Cluster.

The Neoshorite Hyper Cluster was a state of the art communications ship that roved through hyperspace.  It was one of the Intelligence Directorates most important assets, and provided the only always-on communications conduit to their Fifth Column Allies in the Zradgen Empire. 

Haikalite accessed the message.  A thin, harried Zradgen appeared on the screen.  This was cause for concern.  Haikalite did not know this sentient, and he knew all the sentients who had access to the cluster. 

“For whoever receives this message, by now you should know what has occurred.  In the Empire, the Havarian are like dust in the wind.  Our cause has been discovered.  Klaksor Ahmbien is dead, along with almost all the Havarian. The mad Emperor has attempted complete genocide.  Thankfully, some survive.  We have managed to broadcast a wide area hypersignal into Alliance space.  We will contact you again when we can.”

The message ended.  Hiakalite looked at Urendil.  The Emir looked shocked.   

“Klaksor Ahmbien is dead?”

“It would appears so,” said Hiakalite.  “Along with almost all the Havarian.”

“Genocide?  Truly Kdifoc has lost his mind.”

“We’ve always known that.  Only a madman would try to create a god.”

Hiakalite accessed the wide area broadcast.  The cabin was filled with a holographic recording of the Daaneen system.  The images were prefaced by commentary.  The voice sounded like that of the anonymous Zradgen they had just heard.”

We have sent you, the sentients of the Majestic Alliance this log of the events that occurred in the Daaneen star system.  Many lives were lost in getting this account across the line. The Column has been devastated.  Yet we feel our deaths are worth the cost.  The galaxy must know about the horror.  The Emperor wishes to drag us into the darkest of days, and beyond.  He has done unspeakable things, and must be stopped.  He is the truest evil, an apostate who stands against life itself. What you are about to see is an abomination.

The false Emperor Kdifoc has transformed his brother into a terrible new space god.  This antigod destroyed the entire military force of the Daaneen system.  Over the course of the attack, Kdifoc ordered the genocide of the Harvarian species. 

After the initial attack, Krakoth went from planet to planet raining destruction on all that remained.   Those that survived were doomed.  Before he left the system, Kdifoc loosed Weapons of Planetary Destruction on the star Daaneen.  The Daaneen star system is no more.  Your own scientists, both military and civilian, will no doubt notice the new supernova.  This living abomination, this horror, this act against nature must be stopped. Kdifoc and his foul antigod brother, Krakoth, must be destroyed.

What followed was a visual account of the attack.  Hiakalite and Urendil watched in horror as Krakoth blazed a path of wonton destruction through the star system.  They watched him kill, and kill, and kill.  Then they watched Kdifoc order the destruction of the star, something that had not been done since the Great War with the Amengalish. 

“Unbelievable,” said Urendil.  “I guess we won’t have a problem getting anyone to believe us now.  The politicians will have to act.  The constituents will demand it.”

“Yes, they will.” said Hiakalite. 

As the holographic account ended, the voice spoke. 

We can do little.  It is up to you and time is of the essence.  Kdifoc has dispatched the abomination to the Young Princess.  The antigod is to destroy your Kha’ahmpionic fleet, and either capture, or destroy the Kha’ahmpion itself.