'My name is Richard, pronounced nearly the same as “Dick.” I have had more names than any man has a right to. My mother used to call me her Special Little Trouper. It made me feel warm inside. My father often referred to me as Mistake. Honestly, I’m not really sure what that one meant. I have been called Richard the Great, Richard the Terrible, Richard the Cruel, Mein Fuhrer, Eater of Cats, and Bringer of Death. I have earned those names. I have been called many other things. Most of them, however, were slanderous lies. I have rescued a princess from being almost-raped by a Namble, decapitated kings, appropriated an empire, and learned magic without any formal training. You may have heard of me. ________ You have to understand, I grew up Enema Rahl. If you’re not familiar, the Enema Rahl are troupes that travel town to town preaching the virtues of objectivism to the simple backwater fools who lack the refinement of the morally enlightened. Charged by out patron, Lord Tori Greatfellow, we roamed the countryside, educating the ignorant. Giving them the knowledge necessary to choose how to live a proper way of life. Our way of life. My parents were both Enema Rahl. Because of this, the only schooling I had received, was those same teachings that was our mission to spread. All a man needs really. It was an average childhood, and I was an average boy. I did have other teachers. Those with proper moral clarity often traveled with the troupe, it being safer than on taking to the road alone. Strangely most of them seemed not to like me, and quickly left our company, opting instead to travel with ignorant savages spouting their heretical jibber-jabber. One summer we had aIf you want to see how the rest of this ends you must go HERE and you must click on Alice's link to Goodkind Parodies.
Boundary Wardenrogue wanderer named Chase travel with our troupe. To occupy idle hours he would teach me basic woodscraft. The first week of his stay was focused on foraging skills. We would walk through the forest nights after the troupe had set up camp, and he’d point out which plants were safe for consumption and which were not. After having poisoned my self near enough fifty times, we came to the conclusion that foraging just wasn’t my forte. The next week he began to teach me to set snares to catch rabbits instead. Encouraged that I had managed to poison myself only four times in that next week, we made this the primary focus of my study. He taught me other things out in the forests too. Chase was a gentle man, for the most part at least. But his hand were heavily calloused, which sometimes made his touch abrasive to my pale, tender skin.......
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Sandstorm Reviews is a blog I just discovered and found some very funny parodies of Terry Goodkind's Sword of Truth series. This particular parody merges Goodkind's story with Patrick Rothfuss' new book, The Name of the Wind for some searing satire that should appeal to anyone who feels they've put in too much time on the never-ending saga of Goodkind's.