Release Date: Late 2017


The Judgment of Quintus

Disaster approaches the Roman Empire. The primitive Britannic tribes—which are much like their modern counterparts, but with better teeth—are about to launch a revolt of unimaginable proportions. Realizing they possess neither the martial nor culinary prowess to conquer Rome, the Britons have concocted a dastardly plan: to build an army of Anglo Squirrels. When released on Rome, the nefarious rodentia will consume the city's grain reserves, causing famine—or, should Romans switch to meat products, high blood pressure—across the nation.

Rome herself is no stranger to Botanical Warfare, having weathered the Great Squirrel Crises of 27, 29, and 34–40 AD. To solve such problems in the past, the Romans prayed to Vesta, Goddess of the Hearth and Squirrel Smitery. Unfortunately, an unknown force has weakened the gods as of late, and Olympus is being swallowed by the Something. With the heavens in shambles, more and more Romans are converting to Calpurnipalianism—a mysterious religion which, founded by and devoted to the empress Calpurnia, has recently attracted a slew of celebrity adherents, including the famed gladiator Necantio.

After a fateful prophecy, Quintus, assistant publicist to Necantio, finds himself on a journey to save Rome from the brink of disaster. Can he uncover the Calpurnipalian Church's deadly secret, restore power to Olympus, and save Rome from the forces—squirrel and otherwise—that imperil it? He'd certainly better, for Rome depends on The Judgment of Quintus.

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I'm a notoriously lazy researcher. Accordingly, my writing strategy is pick something that I already know a lot about and then fill in the blanks by lying. I've studied Latin (and, by extension, Roman culture) since middle school, so Rome seemed well-suited for this approach.

An amazing, hardcore team of artists and I have been working on Quintus since 2006. When it's finally released to the world (say, late 2017), I see two possible outcomes: (i) the world will change forever and irreversibly, or (ii) the world will wonder what took us so damn long.

When an old woman’s leg falls off, she sings "Barbie Girl" (an apt commentary on the fungible natures of our dreams/limbs), followed by "Forever Young" (a lament about how she may not, in fact, be all that young as she is holding an item that was previously her appendage). ~ The Three Perils of Argentina: The Arts