FuckyeahMalazans

A blog about the Malazan empire. Imass, Tiste, gredfallan ale, claws, warrens, demons and many other things may appear randomly. A fortified place concerning Steven Erikson's genius. (Background photo by Luktarig, Avatar photo by Space-manSpiff)

[preludioefuga-blog]

Submission without a word of thanks made plain the surrender, and that could only sting.

Forge of Darkness (via preludioefuga)

[torpublishinggroup]

Read an excerpt from Steven Erikson’s next Malazan novel, Fall of Light.

It’s a conflicted time in Kurald Galain, the realm of Darkness, where Mother Dark reigns. But this ancient land was once home to many a power… and even death is not quite eternal. The commoners’ great hero, Vatha Urusander, is being promoted by his followers to take Mother Dark’s hand in marriage, but her Consort, Lord Draconus, stands in the way of such ambitions. The impending clash sends fissures throughout the realm. As rumors of civil war burn through the masses, an ancient power emerges from the long dead seas. Caught in the middle of it all are the First Sons of Darkness, Anomander, Andarist, and Silchas Ruin of the Purake Hold…

Steven Erikson returns to the Malazan world with Fall of Light, the second book in a dark and revelatory new epic fantasy trilogy, one that takes place a millennium before the events in the Malazan Book of the Fallen series. Available April 26th from Tor Books, Fall of Light continues to tell the tragic story of the downfall of an ancient realm, a story begun in the critically acclaimed Forge of Darkness.

[fuckyeahmalazans]

What she says: I'm fine

What she means: The Malazan Book of the Fallen is the single best piece of epic fantasy ever written (better than Tolkien) and it's just so incredibly underrated due to its complexity and people not being able to keep up with the initial jumps between storylines. People don't give it the chance it requires. The series is so well planned out and is structured the only way it feasibly can be. With so many characters it wouldn't make sense for each book to deal with all three story arcs on three different continents simultaneously. Book 1 & 3 take place on Genabackis, book 2 & 4 take place on Seven Cities and book 5 takes place on Lether, before the three story arcs converge for the second half of the series. There's so much to learn but once you get the hang of things, by the end of book 2, you will be so immersed in the series that you'll become as obsessed as everyone else in the fandom. The series is tragic but funny, epic yet light, and it will make you feel so God damned much if you just give it a real chance to astound you!

[fic-dreamin]

Dancer’s Lament: Path to Ascendancy Book 1: Ian C. Esslemont: 9780765379443: Amazon.com: Books

5.0 out of 5 stars Epic fantasy of the highest order.

5.0 out of 5 stars Great prequel Because I was not a big fan of esslemonts previous books, I was not sure whether I should buy this one. However, having read it, I can recommend this book to everyone who has read the “Malazan tales of the fallen” books. Go to Amazon

5.0 out of 5 stars Best ICE novel to date Best ICE novel to date. Great pace, great action. Interesting to see the background behind some familiar characters. Looking forward to the rest of the series. Go to Amazon

[elan-morin-tedronai]

FoD Reread: ch. 2

Wherein Hunn Raal is a one man PR machine, Osserc doesn’t share his father’s badass, I grow inordinately attached to Urusander Vatha, Kadaspala is a one man snark machine, Cryl Durav isn’t quite as awesome as his brother, everybody is wrong about Hish Tulla, Silchas has a dirty sense of humour, Andarist is getting married, Anomander has a temper and Caladan Brood is made of awesome.

Chapter Two

Keep reading

[gijexx]

[respiteandnepenthe]

‘They will forge alliances,’ she said. 'They will all war against us.’ Anomandaris shrugged. 'I have nothing better to do today.’

Malazan Book of the Fallen: Reaper’s Gale

This is like the most Anomander Rake thing Anomander Rake ever said.

(via respiteandnepenthe)

[respiteandnepenthe]

‘You two,’ Hood said, turning away, 'are worse than advocates. And you don’t want to know what I do with the souls of advocates.’ A heartbeat later and the Lord of Death was gone. Menandore frowned. 'Shadowthrone, what are advocates?’ 'A profession devoted to the subversion of laws for profit,’ he replied, his cane inexplicably tapping as he shuffled back into the woods. 'When I was Emperor, I considered butchering them all.’ 'So why didn’t you?’ she asked as he began to fade into a miasma of gloom beneath the trees. Faintly came the reply, 'The Royal Advocate said it’d be a terrible mistake.’

Malazan Book of the Fallen: Reaper’s Gale

so apparently lawyers are assholes no matter which world you’re in

(via respiteandnepenthe)

[figmentsoutoffundamentals]

Forged by the gods, the chains shattered like ice, links exploding, flinging shards in a vicious hail. Soldiers cried out, flinched away. The Crippled God remained lying on the ground, motionless. He had carried that weight for so long, he felt unable to move. Yet his chest filled with air, the unyielding constriction now gone. The sudden release from pain left him hollow inside. Trembling took his body, and he turned his head. The mortals were screaming, though he could not hear them. They looked upon him with desperate need, but he no longer understood what they desired of him. And then, blinking, he stared up, not at the hovering, dying dragon, but beyond it. My worshippers. My children. I hear them. I hear their calls. The Crippled God slowly sat up, staring down at his mangled hands, the uneven fingers, the nubs where nails should have been. He studied his scarred, seamed skin, the slack muscles beneath it. Is this mine? Is this how I am? Rising to his feet, his attention was caught by the hundreds of dragons now massing to the south. They had drawn back from the Otataral Dragon, and now had begun writhing, swarming against each other, forming spiralling pillars of scale, wings and dragon flesh, twisting above a more solid mass. The shape towered into the sky, impossibly huge, and from the flattened, elongated ends of those pillars, high above them all, eyes suddenly flared awake. A word whispered into the Crippled God’s mind – faint, yet still voiced in a howl of terror. T'iam. Manifesting. Awakening to slay the Otataral Dragon. The Crippled God saw a man fighting his way closer to where he stood, as if against a whirlwind. Iron in his beard, a familiar face he vaguely recalled, and with that recollection vague emotions rising into his thoughts. There have been sacrifices this day. Made for me, by these strangers. Yet… asking for nothing. Not for themselves. Still, what do they now want from me? I am free. I can hear my children. And yet they are trapped in the heavens. If I call them down, all will be destroyed here. There were others, once – they fell as I did, and so much was damaged, so much was lost. I see them still, trapped in jade, shaped to make a message to these mortal creatures – but that message was never understood, and the voices stayed for ever trapped within. If I call my children down, this world will end in fire. Craning, he stared beseechingly into the heavens, and reached up, as if he might fly into them. The uneven fingers strained on the ends of his misshapen hands, pathetic as broken wings. The bearded man reached him, and now at last the Crippled God could hear his words, could understand them. “You must chain her! Lord! She will accept your chains! You must – T'iam is manifesting! She will destroy everything!” The Crippled God felt his face twisting. “Chain her? I, who have known an eternity in chains? You cannot ask this of me!” “Chain her or she dies!” “Then death shall be her release!” “Lord – if she dies, then we all die! I beg you, chain her!” He studied this mortal. “She accepts this?” “Yes! And quickly – D'rek is dying beneath us.” “But my power is alien – I have no means of binding it to this world, mortal.” “Find a way! You have to!” He was freed. He could walk from this place. He could leave these mortals – not even the deadly power of the Otataral Dragon could harm him. Otataral, after all, is nothing more than the scab this world makes to answer the infection. And what is that infection? Why, it is me. The Crippled God looked down upon this mortal. He kneels, as all broken mortals kneel. Against the cruelty of this and every world, a mortal can do nothing but kneel. Even before a foreign god. And what of the love I possess? Perhaps there is nothing – but no, there is no such thing as foreign love. He closed his eyes, released his mind to this world. And found them waiting for him.

Kaminsod & Fiddler – The Crippled God (via figmentsoutoffundamentals)

[preludioefuga-blog]

Forge of Darkness è un libro sul trauma collettivo di una società in decadenza. Una società priva di una visione comune sul passato e di un ideale condiviso di futuro. Una tragedia in potenza che, seppur ritardata da alcune guerre ai confini, esplode in tutta la sua impetuosità con una escalation di incidenti (solo apparentemente casuali) che innescano una spirale con un’unica via d’uscita: la guerra civile, l’annichilimento (per una futura rinascita? I protagonisti sono ben lontani dal pensarci).

Sembra la quarta di copertina di un libro sull’islamofobia e le guerre degli Stati Uniti in Medio Oriente… e invece no.

E’ un libro fantasy. (Nessun dubbio in materia: magia? Ce sta. Draghi? Arrivano. Divinità? Sì, ma no, diciamo che per spiegarlo ci vorrebbe un po’. Ce sta tutto dai, lasciateve servì)

Anzi, c’è di più: Forge of Darkness è il primo libro di una trilogia che fa da prequel alla serie “The Malazan Book of the Fallen”, una saga fantasy in dieci libri, ancora non del tutto tradotta in italiano, che nel mio pantheon personale siede affianco al Signore degli Anelli senza alcun imbarazzo. 

Lo dico senza vergogna: per ogni cerino che accendo in memoria di quel gran vecchio di Tolkien ne accendo uno per l’astro nascente di Steven Erikson. Nascente perché, come potete facilmente immaginare, non sono in tanti a leggersi un’opera che, complessivamente, sfora le 10mila pagine. Eppure quelle pagine meritano tutte, dalla prima all’ultima. Erikson si è meritato tutte i pomeriggi, i dopo cena, le notti che ho passato incollato ai quei dieci libri.

Mi ha rapito la trama, capace di stratificazioni impressionanti, proprie solo di un’opera pensata dall’inizio alla fine prima ancora di essere scritta, ricca di sorprese ad ogni angolo.

Mi ha rapito la maestria con cui Erikson riesce ad astrarre la nostra realtà dal suo contesto storico per poi trasporla nel suo universo di fantasia, scevra di tutti i dettagli e le contingenze, nuda nella sua essenza. Leggere le storie dei Tiste Andii, dell’impero di Malazan, delle sue provincie lontane, dei Jaghut, del Crippled God è come leggere della guerra in Iraq, della crisi ecologica planetaria, dell’Impero Romano o della crisi dei profughi. E’ tutto lì.

Che altro devo dirvi?

Se ve la sentite, comprate il primo libro della decalogia, “I Giardini della Luna” (”Gardens of the Moon”, se il vostro inglese è molto buono). E’ un libro molto involuto, ma per certe ricompense bisogna passare dalla porta stretta.

Altrimenti lasciatevi affascinare da “Forge of Darkness”. Non avendo letto la decalogia non sarete in grado di cogliere i visi amici, le asincronie tra l’immagine dei diversi personaggi prima e dopo lo skip temporale e tante altre sfumature… ma non importa. L’atmosfera di un libro di Erikson è lì e basta questo a consigliarlo. E’ una porta un po’ più larga, mettiamola così.

La palla a voi.

-L

[corporal-nobbs]

Tavore, T’amber and Kalam’s fight through Malaz city.

[bella-geek]

goodreads link

5/5 stars

Wow… this was fantastic. I can’t even believe I’m saying it. I have never raved about an ICE novel before. Most of his previous stuff I’d say was just mediocre, although I did like OST and BB. This one though, I loved. In fact, I’ll go as far to say that it’s better than some of Erikson’s books (like HoC and DoD). I loved seeing Kellanved, Dancer and Dassem when they were young - especially knowing what their future was. However, the BEST thing about this book? NO KRUPPE. He’s not even alive yet (probably). I guess I’ll leave it at that since I don’t want to be spoilery.

[dark5light]

- Toll the Hounds by Steven Erikson

[dark5light]

- Toll the Hounds by Steven Erikson

[elan-morin-tedronai]

FoD Reread: ch. 3

(Also readable on my ~serious blog~ here.)

In which we’re shown that neither the Jaghut nor the Jheleck really know what to do with the Tiste hostage system, or maybe the Jaghut in question does but doesn’t care; that Jaghut views on society are not much better than in the time of the BotF; that Sandalath’s family was always a mess; and that I lose any shred of dignity I may possess at the mention of the Hust Legion (we never saw you again, but the Eleint stopped coming, and dammit Steven, it has been FIVE YEARS and I’m still not over it).

Chapter Three

Keep reading

[dark5light]

- Barathol (Toll the Hounds by Steven Erikson)

[figmentsoutoffundamentals]

Soldiers who had fought in a just war – a war they could see as just, anyway – could hold on to a sense of pride, every sacrifice a worthy one. And so fortified, they could leave it behind, finding a new life, a different life. And no matter how grotesque the injustices of the world around them, the world of the present, that veteran could hold on to the sanctity of what he or she had lived through. But fighting an unjust war… that was different. If one had any conscience at all, there was no escaping the crimes committed, the blood on the hands, the sheer insanity of that time – when honour was a lie, duty a weapon that silenced, and courage itself was stained and foul. Suddenly, then, there was no defense against injustice, no sanctuary to be found in memories of a righteous time. And so anger seethed upward, filling every crack, building into rage. There was no way to give it a voice, no means of releasing it, and so the pressure built. When it finally overwhelmed, then suicide seemed the easiest option, the only true escape. Seerdomin could see the logic of that, but logic was not enough. Anyone could reason themselves into a corner, and so justify surrender. It was even easier when courage itself was vulnerable to abuse and sordid mockery. Because, after all, to persist, to live on, demanded courage, and that was only possible when the virtue remained worthy of respect.

Seerdomin – Toll the Hounds (via figmentsoutoffundamentals)