Genoivieve: Genoivieve, #1

By Martin Werner Zander

Plunge head first into an epic journey of courage and fortune with Genoivieve, a captivating high fantasy novel that places you inside a complex world filled with magic and intrigue.  In this charming tale, you live the extraordinary life of Genoivieve, a human Cleric of Aphrodite, as she navigates the immersive landscape of a once peaceful and prosperous realm suddenly subjugated by extreme evil.

 

Genoivieve is not only a powerful Cleric of Aphrodite.  She represents resilience and honor, demonstrating a unique goodness that inspires.  As she deals with her own inner demons and engages various overlapping forces of darkness, Genoivieve discovers that her destiny is intricately linked to the world.  While embracing traditional themes of love, trust and integrity, she defies societal expectations, eliminating barriers designed to confine women.

 

Encountering intense danger and great personal risk, Genoivieve's unwavering faith and determination empower dozens of interesting characters around her, qualifying the notion that leadership and strength are not a function of gender.  It happens in a setting where females are generally suppressed but blatant misogyny, racism and homophobia are not widespread prejudices.  Genoivieve therefore makes a strong case for an increased female readership in a genre that has historically been male-oriented.

 

With expertly-crafted world building and a compelling, first-person narrative, Genoivieve is a mesmerizing tale delightfully accented with hints of allegory and literary nuance.  No AI was employed in the written word or any hand-drawn maps.  The story provides a genuine mosaic of classical legend and lore, ideal for all fans of high fantasy, contemporary fantasy and sword & sorcery role-playing alike, and represents a fine read within the genre.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Martin Werner Zander
• Release date: Nov 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223420200

Martin Werner Zander

The inspiration for this writing journey began in sunny, southern British Columbia almost 45 years ago. As a classical, pencil-and-paper Dungeon Master forever in demand, my D&D game continues in Japan with new player characters eager to improvise and develop their own stories. New players are millennials who add a real freshness to D&D with their inclination towards modern society themes and the use of contemporary language. Together with our 1980s-era, old-school, Canadian players championing this effort, all kinds of amazing adventures playing out over the years have found their way into these books. I hope you'll have as much fun with Genoivieve and Ulmaetor as I have had, developing characters and writing about the world through their experiences. It happens in a setting where women are generally suppressed but blatant misogyny, racism and homophobia are not widespread prejudices. In particular, as I applaud women for generally reading more, Genoivieve makes a case for an increased female readership in a genre that has historically been male-oriented. The content of these contemporary high fantasies is influenced by JRR Tolkien, Gary Gygax, RA Salvatore, Robert E Howard and a tiny dollop of Charles Dickens, so if you're familiar with the celebrated masterpieces from any of these ground-breaking authors, we already have something in common. Eternal gratitude goes to all my veteran players for their suggestions and support, and to my darling soulmate Yoko, without whom the endless nights spent proofreading might have been overwhelming! Apart from writing and conducting my ongoing RPG, my day job is operating an English school in Japan.  I'm an avid vintage record collecter of various genres and play music every day, often quite loud!  Yoko and I love traveling to the Mediterranean region to inspect classical historical monuments.  A deeper insight into the ancient Hellenistic and Roman world has proven useful.  Other major hobby passions include visual astronomy, freediving and photography.  I can really get mired into anything involving optics. Although age and the Pandemic have naturally caused some skills to decline, the silver lining is that I did find more time to write!  Therefore stay tuned for more in the future! With My Very Best Wishes and Sincere Thanks, MARTIN WERNER ZANDER

Book preview

CHAPTER 1  :  AWAKENED

Born in Milan into an agnostic merchant family, I was early on christened Gen for short, and in an adolescent stage of maturity, I couldn't help but shake my head in wonder why the world had become so dysfunctional.  Mom and Dad believed that taking sides was the root of all conflict, but in the practice of steering my life on my own account, by and by, over some very few years, I have found something quite different.

I'm unsure what exasperated me so much, what eventually led me to decide on what I had for years been thinking about.  It must have been the widespread indifference the World seems to have had regarding the intentional misdirection of power.  Possessing the obvious good fortune to be born a beauty, and being blessed as such in the urban mayhem that is Milan on the sunniest of days, at such a vulnerable and impressionable age, making a promise to APHRODITE has no doubt proven useful.

Evidently parents and neighbors were a deep-seated frustration in my early life.  They would simply never grasp the depth of the little girl's desires and capabilities.  Mother would typically start the day with something stupid to say, and I never once found a suitable response that would turn things around.  There was only hot air.

With a deal of gratitude, I humbly concede I am a beauty.  I'm reasonably tall, 5' 8", quite curvaceous, though not especially voluptuous.  I'm more in the stewardship of an athletic build I didn't have to work at to acquire.  My lusciously long, dark hair is an epicurean delight, my favorite feature, and I can look nice wearing anything, or mostly nothing as the need arises, though my parents didn't think so. They were always quick to cover me up.

But let me be clear.  Although I'm not attempting to imply celibacy, I do not constitute a free-for-all for public consumption, either.  This has been a widespread assumption wrongly made, and that influenced my naive parents who were unable or unwilling to stand by me, even in the face of blatantly false public opinion.  There were just too many things they would never be able to understand.  And anyway, it wasn't like there was any shortage of others around ready for that sort of thing.  Milan's existing market is fully stocked and it certainly didn't ever need me.  I would have raised the bar of expectation so high to ruin all chances for the less fortunate.

Milan is the second divine metropolis in our southwestern country Sodon Calamy.  It's nothing but a dirty and dangerous river port, favored by ill-tempered characters from all over.  The mob rules all in this overcrowded nightmare and no official control of civic obedience exists.  Law enforcement is relegated to private enterprises and armed vigilantes, so it shouldn't be surprising that profit is available to anyone with a sword, a healthy soul and the stomach to do the work.  Skills of Thieves and Assassins rank highly on successful resumes.

The only bridge spanning the mighty River Sodon to the Eastern Wild exists here, connecting Milan directly to the Druid Stronghold, and some amount of trouble can be attributed to this particular feature, but nobody cares enough to change it.  We just never know what sort of riff-raff with a chip on his shoulder will saunter into town next, and what manner of spontaneous overreaction will occur to deal with it.  That's always entertaining to watch.

When I use the term business-as-usual in Milan, I'm watching gangs robbing the streets in broad daylight, tolerate daily bar fights breaking out between rival Guilds, and hear of clandestine assassinations of prominent figures taking place, common amusements that prevent any chance for peace or complacency here.  Mom and Dad's quiet, obedient disposition is in this respect completely understandable, but ultimately unsustainable, and something needs to be done to improve life in this rat trap of a city.

So, at last in 694, at a barely ripe 17, possessing a level of physical health and wisdom well in excess of what might be considered usual, augmenting my previously described appearance and personality traits, against my parents' vehement objections, I took a strong position as the APHRODITE Matriarch of Milan.  This came with a temple in a not completely unnavigable precinct of central Milan, not far from St. Bodan, presiding over the opulent but friendly public establishment under the moniker of APOLLO.  He has been the only official force for Good reigning in this relentless human zoo, and single-handedly staved off the city's self-induced demise.

St. Bodan and I had pretty much grown up together and never strayed very far apart.  In earlier times, we were frequently called upon to do Disease Cures, Heal Injuries and remedy various other ailments normally associated with something regrettable.  I even somehow learned how to Raise people from the Dead, and it was this particular skill, this profound and uncalled for revelation that jostled something loose inside me. 

[Ap-I-2]

I found myself as Genoivieve, the Holy APHRODITE Matriarch of Milan, and it isn't so much that I had diligently looked for her, or that I was eventually fortunate enough to discover her, but that I magically acquiesced and became her, in the vision of my Fairest Deity APHRODITE.  I was then as I am now, in a way reborn, and a private appeasement into  ecclesiastical analogies allowed me to see my way clear.

These events have on occasion caused me to reflect on the hows and whys of this outcome.  How is the notion of the multiple-god mythology so different from any monotheistic theological realm?  How can it in either case be acceptable to adapt your beliefs to just one god?  To me, blasphemy only exists in the hearts and minds of individuals, and not in the teachings of any particular faith.  It is through a thorough analysis of my own personal experience that I humbly present this concise abridgment: mythologies provide a framework to think for ourselves while religions proselytize what we are expected to think.  And anyway, if we are that powerless to differentiate simple right from wrong, our moral standards might first be needing a comprehensive health check.

One position I've long held regarding one's personal biases and beliefs is that you can go through your whole, entire life hating something and bitching about it to anyone who'll listen and it won't make any difference whatsoever.  That monkey is all yours to keep.  Power lies in realizing it early and doing something about it.  Don't waste your time asking around.

APHRODITE opened the door to an opportunity that let me decide my life on my own account, and all of it was quietly accomplished within the obvious confines of my daily life.  The barricade of defiance I built against my overly simplistic parents was completely unavoidable.

Disclosing details of these beginnings isn't easy for me.  As you know, my early life at home was arduous and generally boring beyond description, and with no mentor in sight, the majority of foundations prescribed for this profession had to be established by Yours Truly.

Years of diligent study, unflinching loyalty and a particularly sinister self-indulgence did however permit the acquisition of a few more interesting capabilities.  In 697, I began mixing in a frightfully boyish, tinker hobby that led to Grumpy, the four meter tall Iron Golem that has since looked after a more intimidating and beautiful public landmark.  Here in Milan, and especially on my street, the public bestows upon you the advantage of not ever having to maintain your belongings, as anything not firmly bolted down is removed at all hours.

Grumpy has policed the neighborhood well and is resourceful at banging heads together when the need arises, but he just doesn't catch everyone.  He remains a puritan soul, and had I been a little more mature when I created him, might have bestowed upon him the curiosity of a third lower appendage, proportionate to his overall stature, but hadn't thought of it until long afterwards. This is Milan after all, and that would have been a statement.

I eventually became comfortable enough to Walk Like Wind in a gaseous state and conjure vast Banquets of Heroes for adventurers seeking morale through nourishment.  I even summoned Devil lords and slapped them around for their impudence, a risky activity that never went completely unpaid for in the long run, but one that certainly accelerates a deal of respect.  Besides that, it's amusing to take some risks with these things because, as I frequently note as time goes on, I have a competitive advantage when my adversary doesn't see me coming.

It was around this interval that I was swept up as an Associate within the Great Council of Victory, the GCV, and blessed again when uninvited followers with extraordinary qualities started showing up.  Cool Cal and handsome HAL have faithfully stood on my step, genuinely concerned for my safety, and I am deeply touched by these proceedings, all totally uncalled for and at first thought myself quite undeserved of.

HAL and Cal, both in their late teens, grew up as mercenaries in Milan.  HAL is a fair bit bigger though Cal seems to benefit from a gymnastics inspired dexterity.  Both have clearly held their own and learned about the details of their chosen profession in very different ways.  Such contrasts and complements allowed for an untold number of strategic advantages, elements of surprise that would plow their field for uncelebrated successes.  That happened without ever succumbing to complacency and they wisely remained alert, humble and thankful.

At long last another event enlightened me towards an even greater understanding.  Ninmeşaora first appeared at my door step on a particularly auspicious day in early 698.  Despite her obvious youth and petite physical stature, there was the faintest hint of an aura about her, something I had long fiendishly imagined only concerning myself, but indeed another level of grandeur in this regard did exist and fully laid itself bare when I first acknowledged her.  I had no choice but to give in and resign to this tender realization.  What a beautiful and utterly extraordinary little creature I considered her at this very first account, and I knew right then exactly how my influence could be implemented to its best advantage, to shape, chisel and mould the World as I want it.

Ninmeşaora reluctantly but gracefully tip-toed in, undertaking a modest behavior designed to neither startle nor disturb.  Apparently she had had little difficulty with any of HAL, Cal and Grumpy outside.  With her very long, dark hair, quite like mine, still sumptuously settling from the activity of getting here alone in the perils of urban darkness, a velvety, dimensional voice from what must have been a girl of no more than 12, gradually penetrated the sanctity of my silent interior.

Have I come at a bad time?  Shall I come on another day? she started off.

Startled I was, inadvertently dropping my quill on the floor and completely forgetting what I had all afternoon been occupied with.  My Fairest Beloved must be having her way with me.  It was like a Feeble Mind spell blasting out of nowhere, aimed straight at me, affording no window of opportunity to react.  I just spilled ink all over my work.

Not at all. Come in. What can I do for you? I answered, rarely so modestly and politely in all my years.

I feel something I can't explain.  My only inclination now is to talk to you, and there is no one else I can trust.  Earlier I spoke with a young boy called Burk, whom I have known for some time, and he pointed here, she confided.

Ninmeşaora seemed quite bewildered with herself, but had a pleasant sparkle that did her complete justice.

I'm happy to know it.  Please relax your anxieties and accept this drink from the Fountain of my Deity.  It should help with -, I stammered.  I doubted my ability to control myself.  This special Water should help us get comfortable and ease into the conversation.

This is nice.  It makes me feel like I should be studying.  I have already read a lot, and Burk has been a real friend, helping to point me in the right direction.  Burk is to be St. Bodan's Acolyte, you know, Ninmeşaora volunteered.

I did not feign to look amazed, though not by the details of what she had just supplied, those facts not being especially surprising, but by her, by this very special girl.

You are a most thoughtful and magnanimous young lady.  Your tenderness and compassion will carry you to places never before seen, I envisaged.

I found myself thinking about how the countless number of decisions big and small we make in our lives directly impact our future.  What if Grumpy had been appointed that miraculous third appendage I joked about earlier, and what if this sweet miracle of a girl had run away in disgust because of it?  Would I ever have had a story to tell at all?

APHRODITE may not be the most revered, the most feared, or the most worshipped of the Good Pantheons, but she is without reservation the most charismatic.  Herein lies the secret, that permanent little shining light burning deep inside.  It is a little something special, a miracle that motivates us to act just when others are concerning themselves elsewhere and, as I have previously alluded to, remain oblivious to our growing sphere of influence.

I've resolved to become important in the World.  I have Meşa, complete with that illustrious little Turkish-sounding diminutive we all have for her now, for our own convenience.  I also have HAL and Cal, the two together attending the famous academy in Milan, being well honed and ready for whatever when they wound up banging at my door.  HAL is unusual in his unique employment of blades in melee, while Cal has shown benchmark skills in the classes of missile weaponry, and as I said, both had for some time engaged in unsanctioned city law enforcement activities.  They have accumulated a deal of experience that will be of use.

Neither of them are long on words, a point which doesn't bother me in the least.  Cal is probably a little wittier while HAL is the stalwart pragmatist, easily able to influence, organize and command groups in a military sense.

How nice it is to be surrounded by such loyalty, diligence, skill and beauty.  I feel like a proud Mom, though I don't honestly foresee that for myself in the biological sense, rather more in the construction of an empire.  Anyway, I'm too young and delicate for all that domestic stuff.

These days, wandering around Milan on any given afternoon inundates the senses.  Busy streets are full of disorganized activity, lawful and otherwise, and crowded, narrow souks establish a dusty, smoky grid spanning much of central Milan.  Shops operate in a density that consumes every hiding place for the many feral cats.  Glass windows are at best a luxury feature found at addresses with nothing in particular to steal or sell.  Randomly looking down at any chosen location is not generally recommended as the condition of the road surface is questionable, but more importantly we acknowledge how the general lack of cleanliness has been a public health issue.  That helps to explain why Meşa loathes it here and rarely leaves my sanctuary when she does come.

Hired guards stand around at store fronts trying to keep their employers safe from thieves and vandals, and skirmishes are regular.  St. Bodan and I get fairly regular requests from everyone hoping for help, and our influence thus grew rapidly throughout the latter 690s and into 700.

St. Bodan and I are bound to do something.  The consistent pressure to act has been increasing, in process even before the turning point, that moment when Ulmaetor returns to sack busy Fered Soudron, not too far down river north of here, and Fered Calamy, a half day's ride upriver south, events that cause pure chaos and mass destruction all over and send waves of refugees into our arms.

When something happens, we tend to lament over the immediate situation, that now is the worst time for anything bad, and it is never more true than today.  No time is a perfect time for anything bad.  Milan is not in any position to absorb some twenty thousand destitute refugees from its neighboring cities, but it is done.  This is when plans need to be made, goals set and dreams put into reality.  Devastation now pervades the vulnerable World, and has happened during a generally beautiful and peaceful time.  This is an age that has fully experienced the utter hatred instigated by this chaotic evil lich-wizard Ulmaetor and his insane undead entourage.  An appropriate countermeasure needs to be devised, and I'm sure we'll play a big part.

CHAPTER 2  :  FERED CALAMY

Our country Sodon Calamy and its northern neighbor Sodon Sovany have not had it good.  Being subjected to the trauma of Ulmaetor's onslaught, widespread suffering has been evident wherever the population didn't adequately defend itself.  However, minimal damage was sustained in places where a strong opposition to the enemy was presented.  This is a point of focus.

Without fear of reprisal, at least for the time being, I am happy to report that Ulmaetor wins the Miserable Pathetic Coward Award.  That blue ribbon doesn't really exist; I made it up just now.  No matter anyway, as it couldn't be of any particular benefit to him.  No living female of any race, much less any trendy gender minority, would dare have him, and that goes double for his hideous cohort, that monstrous idiot lich Ulrich.  At least Ulmaetor has some sense of style.  Still, neither of them see fit to include any charismatic features into their personalities, and opt instead for a competition between them to see which abomination could be crowned most revolting.  I would strongly advise Ulmaetor to maintain an awareness concerning the questionable loyalties around him.

St. Bodan and I were intent on helping the Great Council make provisions for the next invasion, but our capabilities in 700 were not sufficiently well developed, and that forced the need to get busy with whatever means were available, however modest.

Thinking about how to proceed, it wasn't hard to come up with something worthwhile for young Meşa and the boys to get started with.  There's nothing like the mechanism of a cleric flanked by two big fighters, especially when the mini-triumvirate is capable of high-context communication.  A single spoken word or a look is instinctively understood.  They urgently needed experience and the mess left behind here and there from Ulmaetor's recent visit was obviously a pressing concern.

One of the three small towns in Sodon Calamy was within my immediate sphere of influence.  Cunard and Sovan Cunard were early on anticipated to fall under the jurisdiction of TEAM DIONYSUS, led by The Vortex in Ersa Calamy and would therefore remain out of the hands of the Great Council.  There was one town I could exert influence upon, however, and it had plenty of potential to one day become a source of considerable satisfaction.

Fered Calamy, the nearest upriver port directly south of Milan, and the fifth municipality of our country Sodon Calamy, was more convenient and more urgent than any other option.  It remained encumbered in a very bad way, and being geographically situated right in our own neighborhood, it demanded prioritizing.  The people and economy of Fered Calamy had long been strongly connected to Milan so we agreed to focus resources there and hopefully turn things around.

The darkest chapter of this arduous course of events was in hindsight the moment Meşa, Cal and HAL first showed up at the gates of Fered Calamy.  I was there too sometimes, for additional background support and camaraderie, and I helped out here and there as needed, but it was really the superb cooperation and interplay between Meşa and the boys' equal and opposite arsenals that scribbled out a prescription for the town's successful recovery.

Idle boats still line up and down along the western bank of the River Sodon, conveniently crowding near the gigantic, towering city gates.  Despite sentry towers still prominently stationed on the city wall ramparts directly above, those gates are not as effective as they once were.  Ulmaetor had blasted them open, leaving them in splinters by the use of some kind of awesome force.  The poor things were utterly obliterated, and I would never want to be on the receiving end of whatever that was.  I might survive, but my delicious hair would atrophy.  Anyway, the entrance will be needing a complete rebuild at some point but as of right now by no means a priority.

Inside the front gate, we are met with what not long ago was a bustling market spanning several streets running north-south.  I know because I was here before, on occasion when I was little, when Mom and Dad had some pressing errand.  Turning left here guides you towards an internal wall with another giant door, five meters high and utterly impossible for one person to open.  This wall, visibly identical to the perimeter constructions, divides the inner confines of the city center into two distinct burroughs north and south.

Walking straight ahead from the gates takes you down a wide boulevard that opens up into a circular, tree-lined agora graced with hotels and the elegant homes of the former elite.  The Fered Calamy City Hall and adjacent buildings dominate the northwest part of the circle.  Everything would seem in order except for the one obvious thing: the town's active living population, at least by day, was nowhere to be seen.

This is going to be an undead ugly show for many more weeks, and we'll need to stick together throughout, taking care not to get separated, Cal said in earnest.

Entering the main gates not long ago unhinged, we often remark on the horrors we have to deal with.

I especially dislike ghasts, and those ignorant wights. They annoy me, like they must have been exactly the same when they were humans.  That's why Ulmaetor picked them for this job, lamented HAL in a kind of worn out spirit, but still forming a growing resolve.