The fighting-man is the quintessential pulp hero. He has graced pages and screens since the dawn of the pulp age, driving stories through relentless action and raw vitality. He is an enduring archetype,

“He named himself after the witch ward tree also known as mountain ash or rowan tree.” They were the words of a familiar voice. It sounded like the man who took him in as a child. Another deep wisened

His senses were dulled to a squint, open only enough to catch the sign to act. Not any moment would do. The sorceress believed him to be under her spell. Rhainyr knew how to defend his mind from even the

The grand oaken double doors of the sanctum were splayed in welcome. The bard had been just as welcoming. Rhainyr sensed some recognition and mirth in the man’s eyes when Eloise presented her case for

“Some time ago in a place very far from here, there was a man who could change into beasts. Never saw him switch forms but I eventually sensed that the man in the woods was also the animals we had seen.

“Straight as an arrow” Rhainyr recalled her words. He chose a pace and an arcing path to bypass her. After a light jog he spotted a lamp’s light swaying in the wind and the silhouettes of roofs beyond

Rhainyr lay awake watching the stars as wisps of fog made them blink in and out of sight. Sleep rarely came easy for him and when it did it was broken as simple as the breeze. His senses drank in the piping

(Update at bottom) Earlier tonight, on my first working use of SteemPress, I discovered that the plugin developers @howo and @fredrikaa hardcoded themselves a 10% cut of the rewards from my post. Each

If you're reading this, you are no doubt aware of this little phenomenon called PulpRev. Perhaps you have been to our excellent site before, or perhaps you know of our existence through some other nook

“The stars never lie, O king,” I said, “there will be an attempt on your life before Luna finishes her next transformation.” “What else do the stars say Melchior? Do they say who it will be? Or how?” asked

Click clack whirr The figure shuddered gently as the creator tweaked a screw here, tightened a bolt there. Click clack whirr Its gentle shudderings began to slow as, bit by bit, the gears and cogs within

Joseph awoke in a bed that was unfamiliar to him. The clouds outside shielded the stars and moon, casting the room into darkness. Silver lay sleeping at the foot of the bed, with only his outline still

The man was suffering, he knew. The man was suffering, and he had nobody to blame but himself. The man’s name was Daniel. Daniel Rustenford. A prodigy in technology and programming. At seven years old,

Michael Von Ekaterinburg noticed the strange craft as soon as he stepped out of his rental flyer. Parked on a little greensward to the left of the Montevideo Grand Hotel, it looked exactly like a stereotypical

Due to circumstances beyond his control, Ianno Starling sold his remaining possessions, purchased the finest boots, rations, and camping gear he could buy, and set off west; a train to the Western March,

Artemis Cromwell sat in the bar, and tried to ignore the tightening in his jaw and fingers. This was supposed to be his night off, damn it. An ancient pact with the gods was an ancient pact with the gods,

Dusque and Dove, these magical nature spirits came to me in a cold evergreen forest. Dove, in nigh white, pale azure feathered coverings was blonde and lovely. I couldn't tell if she had wings or if it

His most recent public career began under the alias, Dusque. Everywhere this name appeared it was accompanied by the tagline, "Holotropic ink born from thaumaturgic infinite abyssal idioplasma."