The Man from Hjelmdall stares out at you from the cover, his face fixed in grim resolve.

The Man from Hjelmdall stares out at you from the cover, his face fixed in grim resolve.

Look at the back cover.

The back blurb reads: "His latest adventure serves as the perfect introduction to the savage Hjelmdall Saga! Meet Man from Hjelmdall, his faithful blood-brother Tyrbald, the noble Lord Wrôthgär, and some of their most fearsome foes yet. For the Northlands! For HJELMDALL!"

Below, in smaller font, you see the parenthetical: "(Adapted from: 'Man from Hjelmdall and the Necromancer's Treasure,' 'Man from Hjelmdall: Lord of Wrôthgär,' and 'Man from Hjelmdall: The Curse of Nachtherrer.')"

A brazen attempt to bilk fans for more money by splicing together old stories under a new title.

The publishers must have a dim view of their readership.

Their main concern is the continuation of the franchise, not making literary history.

Where there's a demand, there's always the supply. Nothing wrong with that.

People find comfort in familiarity, remembering old experiences, looking at old photos, reading old stories.

What better place to escape than past?

Read the first couple of pages.

You know the story by heart at this point. Nothing new or remarkable catches your eye.

The story opens in media res. The Man from Hjelmdall and his band of northern reavers are in the bowels of an ancient temple, surrounded by an army of gibbering wights led by the deathless necromancer. One by one the brave northmen fall to the relentless crush of undead, only to join their number as reanimated corpses...

By nightfall only the Man from Hjelmdall and his blood-brother, noble Tyrbald are left standing against the dead horde. "It is an honour to die by your side, brother!" Tyrbald cries as his battle-axe beheads one of their reanimated comrades.

Wow... they're in trouble now.

"Nein, Tyrbald!" the Man from Hjelmdall bellows over the army of flesh and bone. "Have courage! For the Northlands... for HJELMDALL!!!" He leaps to the mezzanine to face the black-eyed figure and like a mad ice bear whirling twin zweihänders -- Sturm and Drang -- he ploughs through the ranks of the deathless, surrounding the necromancer...

The writer has never held a sword in their life, let alone two two-handed swords at the same time.

It is physically impossible for a human being to effectively dual-wield zweihänder swords in any kind of real-life combat situation.

... and with deadly finesse his twin blades scissor the necromancer's head from its body. The undead legions collapse like rag dolls as the dark magic leaves them and the two northmen stand alone in the accursed temple, where the bodies of their lost brothers litter the floors.

Skip ahead.

A few chapters later the Man from Hjelmdall and Tyrbald are in a completely different setting, high above an arid desert, riding a pair of gryffins that always seem to appear at narratively convenient moments...

This book makes a mockery of the very idea of good plotting, though something tells you coherence was never the point.

The northmen find themselves in the court of a powerful southern king -- Lord Wrôthgär. The old king beseeches the Man from Hjelmdall to rid his kingdom of the Nachtherrer, a subterranean clan of blind wizards who traded their souls for demonic powers.

The Man from Hjelmdall extracts a high price from the desperate king. He asks land for the homeless desert-pygmies living exiled in the kingdom's borderlands. Wrôthgär offers the hand of his eldest daughter instead, but the son of winter does not budge...

All aboard for slaughter and glory. (Keep reading.)

You skip past a section detailing an elaborate banquet with many toasts, as well as the long and perilous journey from Wrôthgär's keep to the ancient forest of Yezzdor, where our heroes infiltrate the Nachtherrer's dire-hall...

In the centre of the great hall stands a blood altar on which a pair of Nachtherrer are disembowelling a shrieking peasant -- an unholy rite that empowers the Nachtherrer forbidden magic...

As the vile ceremony ends, the sound of steel unsheathing draws the Nachtherrers' attention to a pair of cloaked figures standing in the doorway...

That is what you came for, isn't it? A climactic bloodletting, where men are reduced to muscle and fury?

No, beautiful naked people fucking in the bushes is what you came for. Sweat, cocks and and titties please!

Swiftly the visitors toss off their cloaks and unsheathe glimmering northern steel -- it's the Man from Hjelmdall and his valiant blood-brother Tyrbald!

Well, yeah, who else would it be?

In an instant the Nachtherrer summon a horde of gibbering orkenoids who rush our heroes. The hall fills with the clang of blades and the screams of the dying as the floor goes slick with steaming orkenoid viscera...

Oh, for fuck's sake...

When the din of battle settles, only the Man from Hjelmdall and Tyrbald remain standing. Exhausted and dripping with the entrails of their foes, the two northmen confront the foul Nachtherrer. The Man from Hjelmdall's sodalite-blue eyes fill with indescribable fury. "For the Northlands!" he cries, rushing headlong into a desperate mêlée...

You gotta be kidding me...

What?

This is almost exactly the same as the first scene! Even the word gibbering is used twice.

In the first scene the Man from Hjelmdall fought a powerful necromancer and his army of the dead. Now he's confronting a pair of Nachtherrer and their horde of orkenoid thralls. The two couldn't be further apart.

Nah, that's just too silly for my taste. (Close the book.)

The Man from Hjelmdall stares at you on the cover, his face fixed in grim resolve.

Okay, fine. What happens next?

An excellent question. One easily answered by purchasing the next thrilling chapter in the Hjelmdallerman saga: 'Hjelmdallermann at the Gates of Tomorrow.' The last page of this one merely reads: 'To be continued...'

Considering the sheer amount of different Hjelmdallermann books out there it's very unlikely you're ever gonna find the sequel.

Considering the sheer amount of different Hjelmdallermann books out there it's very unlikely you're ever gonna find the sequel.

Cut 'em up, Hjelmdallermann!

He probably is, but you can't be sure, cause this one ends in a cliffhanger and a footnote, saying: To be continued in 'Hjelmdallermann at the Gates of Tomorrow'. Coming soon to your local bookstore.

Considering the sheer amount of different Hjelmdallermann books out there it's very unlikely you're ever gonna find the sequel.

Considering the sheer amount of different Hjelmdallermann books out there it's very unlikely you're ever gonna find the sequel.

Whoa. I did not see that coming!

Hold on, why is the Man from Hjelmdall doing any of this?

What do you mean?

Nevermind. (Keep reading.)

Why is he doing all of this?

Because the flame of justice burns bright within his chest. Because above all he's driven to bring honour to the name of his beloved Hjelmdall. Because his noble Katlan blood lusts for glory and conquest. It cannot be denied.

Fair enough. Let's get back in there.

Is that all?

What do you mean 'is that all'?

Is there anything else to his character?

He is the Man from Hjelmdall! Forged in the fury of battle, death was his sire and blood his dam. He had but fourteen winters when he left his frigid homelands in Katla to seek glory and honour. That is his character.