Editorial: Thog the Mighty Vaguely Recalls MilPhilcon

Since the Crescent Blues staff couldn’t attend the 2001 World Science Fiction Convention (a.k.a. the Millennium Philcon — feel free to groan) and the staff of Paper Tiger found themselves detained in…in restraints — er, prevented from attending Dragoncon, we decided to pool resources and bail — er, help each other out. Multi-award winning editor and author Paul Barnett (who also writes under the name John Grant) graciously volunteered to provide Crescent Blues readers the Scottish perspective on a con widely considered the most important science fiction event of the year. In return, I agreed to let Paul edit out all the really good bits of my scintillating commentary on Dragoncon in this month’s Paper Snarl. I thought I got the better end of the deal until I learned that Paul subcontracted. Sigh. As an aid to the afflicted, we recommend liberal use of flea powder and the program provided.

I was in, or at least against, a bar the other day when a large gentleman, dressed in clothing I’d better just describe as unusual and wearing a horned helmet, one horn of which was broken, lurched against me and then sat down beside me.

“Lemme tell you a shtory…” he began, and at once, acting on good instinct, my mind began to leap fugitively coma-ward.

However, it didn’t quite get there, and I’m glad, because it proved that this stranger — who at some stage during his ramblings introduced himself with a belch as Thog the Mighty — wanted to talk about his experiences at this year’s World SF Convention, better known as MilPhil (being held in Philadelphia during the true millennium year). I set down here as much as I can remember of the tale he told.

“Got to Phila…Phila…Phila…this city, see? Drove around the city a lot. Found wayside inn where our travelling companion Nick the OzGreek was to stay. Dropped off Nick the OzGreek. Drove around the city a lot in search of wayside inn where Thogsdaughter was to stay. Dropped off Thogsdaughter. Drove around the city a very great lot, passing places already encountered several times before, in search of wayside inn where Thog and Thogsbabe were to stay. Found it. Told that cart must be parked in cartpark some distance from wayside inn. By this time Thogsbabe getting grumpy, Thog getting grumpier. Drove around the city a lot more, passing places already encountered several times before, in search of cartpark. Found cartpark. Walked around city a lot, passing places already encountered several times before, in search yet again of wayside inn where Thog and Thogsbabe were to stay. By this time Thog and Thogsbabe fit to punch dragon.

“Lay in wayside inn’s comfortably accoutred room for a while, gasping and counting up POWER TOKENS YOU HAVE ACQUIRED to see if enough in leather pouches of Thog and Thogsbabe to go to wayside tavern and get stupacious. No such luck. But enough to quaff a pint or two of landlord’s best mead apiece.

“Feeling a bit better for the mead, Thog and Thogsbabe staggered towards Castle called Convention Center. To great astonishment discovered Castle called Convention Center without difficulty. (Necromantic powers suspected, but by now mead making Thog and Thogsbabe too much in need of wayside shrubbery to have time to investigate this.)

“Castle called Convention Center absholutely blurry ‘normous. Inner atrium bigger than Great Hall at Valhalla, with vast ugly dragon in middle called either Modern Sculpture or Scaffolding, Thog not sure which. Had to sojourn across atrium and up Magic Staircase to reach even the Guards’ Redoubt, where Thog and Thogsbabe saluted by guards with hand gesture indicating they were Number One in guards’ humble opinion.

“Eventually discovered Picture Gallery (SCORE TEN POWER TOKENS) rattling around at far end of Castle called Convention Center in echoing hall even bigger than atrium just sojourned across. There encountered various old companions-in-arms, including Walotsky Emptypocket, Joisy Jael, Marianne the OzPlum and her paramour Bob the Egg, Conrad the Barbarian, Cox Lightninghand (“Get your lightninghand off me, Cox,” quoth Thogsbabe reflexively), a quartet of the Brit tribe — Gambino the Digit, Har Man (accompanied by the Dominictrix), Hawk’s Moore and the one trepidatiously known by the single name Burns — and two feral Franks. All agreed much quaffing, and as soon as possible, required.

“Quaffed in good company.

“Stumbled around the city a very great lot, passing places already encountered several times before, in search of wayside inn where Thog and Thogsbabe were staying. (AWARD OURSELVES AT LEAST A HUNDRED POWER TOKENS.)

“Next morning, stomachs queasy, Thog and Thogsbabe returned to Castle called Convention Center to meet with a trader, to whom they must deliver countless immeasurably heavy CARTONS OF TREASURE containing the valuable Grimoires of the Paper Tiger. The trader, hight Andy Coldtonnage, explained to Thog and Thogsbabe that the horde of militia known as the Teamsters forbade the use of wheeled vehicles by any save themselves, at vast expense, within the confines of the Castle called Convention Center. Thog and Thogsbabe thus had to carry the bleeding CARTONS OF TREASURE across much of the Castle called Convention Center to the booth of the merchant hight Andy Coldtonnage.

“By this time dragons wisely in hiding, rightly fearsome of getting punched by Thog or, worse, Thogsbabe.

“Task done, much quaffing called for. This time quaffing done in the good company of assorted daubers and scribblers.

“Much later, stumbled around the city a very great lot, passing places already encountered several times before, in search of wayside inn where Thog and Thogsbabe were staying. (AWARD OURSELVES AT LEAST A HUNDRED POWER TOKENS.)

“Next morning, stomachs queasy, Thog and Thogsbabe returned to Castle called Convention Center to meet with further daubers and scribblers, such as Ron the Miller and his perpetual companion Fred en’Durant — twin disciples of the great prophet Bonestell, whose testament they had but lately set down in words — Karen Silverbergsbabe, Anders the Bald, Barbarian Dannenfelser and her pageboy (or such she calls him) Randy. Much quaffing called for, especially that night with the feral Franks.

“Next morning, stomachs queasy, Thog and Thogsbabe returned to Castle called Convention Center. Er, and I think we did it one more morning as well, but some accursed wizard has ensorcelled mists of oblivion across the tormented, time-racked landscapes of my mind…”

The stranger stopped speaking. Ascertaining that he had not merely fallen asleep, like others around him, I asked him what he thought of MilPhil in general.

“Not bad as conventions go,” he muttered, grudgingly opening an eye although clearly unsure as to which one. “One day I’ll tell you ’bout my ‘ventures a year ago in the evil province whose name is spoken only with a voice a-tremble.”

He leaned towards me and whispered vomitously, “I speak, callow outlander, of that devilspawn known as Chicon!”

Appalled by the very name, I drew a deep breath.

Unwisely.

John Grant

John Grant/Paul Barnett is author of over 60 books, Consultant Editor to AAPPL and US Reviews Editor of Infinity Plus. His most recent novels are The Far-Enough Window, from BeWrite, and The Dragons of Manhattan, currently being serialized in Argosy. His collaboration with artist Bob Eggleton, Dragonhenge, nominated for a 2003 Hugo Award, was followed in 2005 by The Stardragons. His most recent major nonfiction is The Chesley Awards: A Retrospective, with Elizabeth Humphrey and Pamela D. Scoville. His story collection Take No Prisoners was released by Willowgate Press in August 2004. He has won the Hugo (twice), World Fantasy Award, Locus Award, Chesley Award, Mythopoeic Society Award, J. Lloyd Eaton Award, and a rare British Science Fiction Association Special Award. He is married to Pamela D. Scoville, Director of the Animation Art Guild; they live in New Jersey with four cats and not enough bookshelves.