 Early in creative development, Cwej series editor Hunter O’Connell formulated a plan for Cwej: Seasons, being an anthology with the theme of passing time illustrated by the seasons of the year. Now, in 2026, Arcbeatle Press is proud to begin a quarterly release of Seasons, beginning with Springs Eternal. Edited by Hunter O’Connell and Gerard Power, best known for the Cwej stories The Lost Fictionaut and The Ursine Brood, Cwej: Seasons will be releasing each subsequent part seasonally throughout 2026. Each quarterly release will comprise five stories and one short vignette, with all four compiled in the collected Cwej: Seasons anthology releasing 2027. “With each passing day I grow more grateful for the opportunities our readers have allowed us,” says Hunter O’Connell. “With the incredible drive of our talented creatives here at Arcbeatle, we’ve managed to make Seasons the best it can possibly be. It’s a true love letter to Chris and Roz as characters, and I know readers are excited to see Roz Forrester again after all this time! As to how she’s back, well, you’ll have to see…” “Cwej: Seasons is a new, self-contained series that tells a complete story, with a very particular vision,” says Gerard Power. “Springs Eternal kicks off this saga with some shocking new developments for Chris Cwej and Roz Forrester, with consequences to ripple throughout these four volumes.” The cover blurb for Cwej: Springs Eternal reads, “Cosmic soldier Christopher Cwej has spent his lives enforcing galactic justice. Now his long-lost friend, Roz Forrester, has returned from the dead—but she’s no longer herself: no longer even human. Whose hands wrought this dark resurrection, and for what cosmic purpose? Can Cwej save the Universe again—this time from someone he loves? With stories by BSFA Award winner Adam Roberts (The Thing Itself, Jack Glass), Sean Dillon (The Tower Through the Trees) and more.” Cwej: Springs Eternal, the first part of Cwej: Seasons, will release May 21st, 2026 in ebook and paperback formats. A bold new cycle of sci-fi adventures begins. Inquiries can be sent to [email protected] Pre-Orders for the ebook edition are available now:
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Cwej-Springs-Eternal-Part-Seasons-ebook/dp/B0H1LWQYF7 Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H1LWQYF7 Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/cwej-gerard-power/1150158453
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There are many tales told around the House of Lungbarrow. Some whispered by its hearths. Here is one. You can learn about the new novel Lungbarrow by Loomlight by clicking HERE. 
A Time-Eyed Tale: |
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| an_artist_in_the_house_of_lungbarrow.pdf |
An Artist in the House of Lungbarrow
by Aristide twain
“Ah, Lungbarrow!” cried the artist. “What a name… Lungbarrow, Lungbarrow, Lungbarrow! Such an exquisite sound!”
He repeated the word thrice more before Quences struck the checkerboard floor with his cane, and snapped:
“Silence, painter, and be at it! We do not pay you forty-five hundred coronets to chatter.”
The artist shrank. There was a hardness to the deep-set blue eyes and the gaunt, angled face; even the neatly-trimmed moustache, which might have looked avuncular in isolation, contributed a terse, military edge. The artist stared at that moustache, enticed by the thought of growing one just like it, until the old man arched an eyebrow; then he ducked behind the work-in-progress.
He was working, of course, in three dimensions—an intricate mechanism of spinning crystals surrounded the frame, generating space. But his would be no Ancestral Portrait, imbued with biodata; merely a vanity pursuit.
All forty-five Cousins—a family portrait. Such things were rarely attempted. Oldbloods’ disinterest in artwork was one reason; but another, the artist now realised, was the difficulty involved in making two scores of Superiors stand together at close quarters without triggering a brawl. He had, of course, begun the work in his own Chapterhouse, filling the cellar with dummies dressed in borrowed fineries, but even so, reaching a consensus on the composition had been the work of years; every time he thought he had it, some loomling’s ego ached once more, and they would demand to be moved, or to be given grander clothing. One Lungbarrovian in grey-green robes had managed to gain a whole new body while he worked—thinner, in a wholly different style.
Still, he relished this chance. Even on his eleventh body, he was a boy, with little glory to his name; only a few personal portraits here and there, some of people in this room. So he worked, silently, with renewed fervour—until at last, every Cousin, from Glospin to Vyrdlequith, had been perfectly captured in droplets of hovering paint, every angle a masterpiece of design.
He announced his achievement, and, with sudden violence, they broke from their poses, swarming around him, rushing to preen and criticise.
“—not bad—”
“—Cantobel, one can hardly see me—”
“—hardly my fault, Arkhew—”
“—captured my chin—”
Finally Quences parted the crowd, an old woman behind him. Kithriarch and Housekeeper exchanged glances, then pivoted mechanically to face the anxious artist. Satthralope nodded, once, stiff as clockwork.
“It will do,” she declared.
There was a moment of silence; then the artist remembered to breathe, and reached down to unclasp the ornate wooden frame from the mechanism, locking the image into shape as the surface hardened into glass. With swelling pride, he handed it to the crone, who accepted it in the manner of a sacrament, and shuffled away to find a place to hang it. One by one, the Cousins followed in her wake, until only Quences was left.
The artist tugged at the lapels of his crimson vestment.
“…Well!” he blurted out at last, “I’m honoured to have been of service, Ordinal-General.”
“Mmh… Serviceable, yes,” Quences grunted absently; he was staring at his distorted reflection on the hull of the crystal machine, with an air of melancholy.
“If I might be so bold,” the younger man tried again, “your family are captivating subjects for an artist like myself. I should be—ahem—greatly honoured to expand your collections further, if you saw any need.”
“…I see none,” Quences muttered, then rubbed at one eye with two fingers. “I agreed to this frivolity for one reason only—because a son of Lungbarrow calls you his friend.” The old man’s gaze grew distant again. “Poor, peculiar boy. Such brilliance. But those rituals of his, those theories… I should have…” His wandering gaze landed on the artist again, and sharpened. “In any case, our collections are exhaustive. All forefathers accounted for. Besides this… family tableau, what else could you give us?”
At this, the young man’s eyes glinted; he steepled his fingers together. “My Lord, there is one ancestor of your illustrious line whose likeness is not represented.”
“Impossible—”
“There is,” he interrupted, pressing his advantage. “Your House’s oldest ancestor, the Grandfather of you all. The Forgotten Founder… the Alterity… the other.”
Quences froze.
“Naturally,” said the artist, still smiling, as he began to amble through the Hall, “it would have to be an artist’s vision—inspiration, not history—why, I might make them look like you, or your heir presumptive…”
Suddenly Quences was upon him, gripping his collar, pulling him close with incredible strength and speed.
“How do you know this!?” he hissed.
“I do read—”
“No one knows this. Do not speak this!”
“Oh, come, Lord Quences—” he chuckled fearfully. “—we’re all family here…”
“What?” He dropped his captive in outrage, then pointed at him with the cane. “You’re no Childe of Lungbarrow’s Loom, you Cliffside brat!”
“But the other has touched many Looms,” the artist protested. “Every cycle, there are more of us who carry their blessings, as you do, as all your House does. Sequence their chronogenetics if you doubt me! Why else should the City now crawl with Interventionists? Take dear old Ferain, as he now calls himself—old powers are returning, Kithriarch. At your will, when they rise, they shall bear Lungbarrow’s crest. Be ready!”
“This—this is nonsense!” the old man roared, and he ran for the stairs, stopping on a landing. “Witch-talk and nonsense—blasphemy upon the Founders! Out--out! Drudges, to me! A madman—I—I—”
Then Quences collapsed with a final cry, clutching at his chest. Within moments, wooden hands had seized the painter, and thrown him across the threshold. He lay in the dirt a moment, then made to limp home, the tools of his trade forsaken.
* * *
The attack had not killed the Kithriarch. But he lay there for some hours; it was Innocet who found him in the night, and sounded the alarm. When he woke, much weakened, he would not speak of what had occurred, not to any living soul.
And neither would Glospin, who’d lingered in the other room.
He repeated the word thrice more before Quences struck the checkerboard floor with his cane, and snapped:
“Silence, painter, and be at it! We do not pay you forty-five hundred coronets to chatter.”
The artist shrank. There was a hardness to the deep-set blue eyes and the gaunt, angled face; even the neatly-trimmed moustache, which might have looked avuncular in isolation, contributed a terse, military edge. The artist stared at that moustache, enticed by the thought of growing one just like it, until the old man arched an eyebrow; then he ducked behind the work-in-progress.
He was working, of course, in three dimensions—an intricate mechanism of spinning crystals surrounded the frame, generating space. But his would be no Ancestral Portrait, imbued with biodata; merely a vanity pursuit.
All forty-five Cousins—a family portrait. Such things were rarely attempted. Oldbloods’ disinterest in artwork was one reason; but another, the artist now realised, was the difficulty involved in making two scores of Superiors stand together at close quarters without triggering a brawl. He had, of course, begun the work in his own Chapterhouse, filling the cellar with dummies dressed in borrowed fineries, but even so, reaching a consensus on the composition had been the work of years; every time he thought he had it, some loomling’s ego ached once more, and they would demand to be moved, or to be given grander clothing. One Lungbarrovian in grey-green robes had managed to gain a whole new body while he worked—thinner, in a wholly different style.
Still, he relished this chance. Even on his eleventh body, he was a boy, with little glory to his name; only a few personal portraits here and there, some of people in this room. So he worked, silently, with renewed fervour—until at last, every Cousin, from Glospin to Vyrdlequith, had been perfectly captured in droplets of hovering paint, every angle a masterpiece of design.
He announced his achievement, and, with sudden violence, they broke from their poses, swarming around him, rushing to preen and criticise.
“—not bad—”
“—Cantobel, one can hardly see me—”
“—hardly my fault, Arkhew—”
“—captured my chin—”
Finally Quences parted the crowd, an old woman behind him. Kithriarch and Housekeeper exchanged glances, then pivoted mechanically to face the anxious artist. Satthralope nodded, once, stiff as clockwork.
“It will do,” she declared.
There was a moment of silence; then the artist remembered to breathe, and reached down to unclasp the ornate wooden frame from the mechanism, locking the image into shape as the surface hardened into glass. With swelling pride, he handed it to the crone, who accepted it in the manner of a sacrament, and shuffled away to find a place to hang it. One by one, the Cousins followed in her wake, until only Quences was left.
The artist tugged at the lapels of his crimson vestment.
“…Well!” he blurted out at last, “I’m honoured to have been of service, Ordinal-General.”
“Mmh… Serviceable, yes,” Quences grunted absently; he was staring at his distorted reflection on the hull of the crystal machine, with an air of melancholy.
“If I might be so bold,” the younger man tried again, “your family are captivating subjects for an artist like myself. I should be—ahem—greatly honoured to expand your collections further, if you saw any need.”
“…I see none,” Quences muttered, then rubbed at one eye with two fingers. “I agreed to this frivolity for one reason only—because a son of Lungbarrow calls you his friend.” The old man’s gaze grew distant again. “Poor, peculiar boy. Such brilliance. But those rituals of his, those theories… I should have…” His wandering gaze landed on the artist again, and sharpened. “In any case, our collections are exhaustive. All forefathers accounted for. Besides this… family tableau, what else could you give us?”
At this, the young man’s eyes glinted; he steepled his fingers together. “My Lord, there is one ancestor of your illustrious line whose likeness is not represented.”
“Impossible—”
“There is,” he interrupted, pressing his advantage. “Your House’s oldest ancestor, the Grandfather of you all. The Forgotten Founder… the Alterity… the other.”
Quences froze.
“Naturally,” said the artist, still smiling, as he began to amble through the Hall, “it would have to be an artist’s vision—inspiration, not history—why, I might make them look like you, or your heir presumptive…”
Suddenly Quences was upon him, gripping his collar, pulling him close with incredible strength and speed.
“How do you know this!?” he hissed.
“I do read—”
“No one knows this. Do not speak this!”
“Oh, come, Lord Quences—” he chuckled fearfully. “—we’re all family here…”
“What?” He dropped his captive in outrage, then pointed at him with the cane. “You’re no Childe of Lungbarrow’s Loom, you Cliffside brat!”
“But the other has touched many Looms,” the artist protested. “Every cycle, there are more of us who carry their blessings, as you do, as all your House does. Sequence their chronogenetics if you doubt me! Why else should the City now crawl with Interventionists? Take dear old Ferain, as he now calls himself—old powers are returning, Kithriarch. At your will, when they rise, they shall bear Lungbarrow’s crest. Be ready!”
“This—this is nonsense!” the old man roared, and he ran for the stairs, stopping on a landing. “Witch-talk and nonsense—blasphemy upon the Founders! Out--out! Drudges, to me! A madman—I—I—”
Then Quences collapsed with a final cry, clutching at his chest. Within moments, wooden hands had seized the painter, and thrown him across the threshold. He lay in the dirt a moment, then made to limp home, the tools of his trade forsaken.
* * *
The attack had not killed the Kithriarch. But he lay there for some hours; it was Innocet who found him in the night, and sounded the alarm. When he woke, much weakened, he would not speak of what had occurred, not to any living soul.
And neither would Glospin, who’d lingered in the other room.
Return to the Road
Copyright © 2026 Arcbeatle Press, All Rights Reserved.
This story is a work of fiction, any resemblance between it and persons living or dead, or events past or present, is purely coincidental. Any resemblance between it and other narratives or stories is purely coincidental, or done firmly within the bounds of parody or satire. Names, characters, locations, and events featured in this publication are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without express written permission of Arcbeatle Press.
A publication of Arcbeatle Press, 2026.
Arcbeatle Press is located in beautiful Elkhart Indiana, and is owned and operated by James Wylder.
Chris Cwej and associated concepts © Andy Lane
House Cliffside © Jayce Black
Lungbarrow & related concepts © Marc Platt
Chronogenetics © Thien Valdram
Typesetter: James Wylder
Edited by James Hornby
Publisher: James Wylder
All rights reserved.
This story is a work of fiction, any resemblance between it and persons living or dead, or events past or present, is purely coincidental. Any resemblance between it and other narratives or stories is purely coincidental, or done firmly within the bounds of parody or satire. Names, characters, locations, and events featured in this publication are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without express written permission of Arcbeatle Press.
A publication of Arcbeatle Press, 2026.
Arcbeatle Press is located in beautiful Elkhart Indiana, and is owned and operated by James Wylder.
Chris Cwej and associated concepts © Andy Lane
House Cliffside © Jayce Black
Lungbarrow & related concepts © Marc Platt
Chronogenetics © Thien Valdram
Typesetter: James Wylder
Edited by James Hornby
Publisher: James Wylder
All rights reserved.
The House of Lungbarrow has many mysteries, inside and out. Here is a story from the edges of its world...
| cwej_a_bad_day_for_mushrooms_tomoko_m_banks.pdf |
A Bad Day for Mushrooms
by Tomoko M. Banks
In the blistering heat by the slopes of Mount Lung, Cousin Owis was looking for mushrooms. He swept his long greying hair from his eyes, and trudged on. His basket was empty.
The haytime air was thick and cloying. Things were always warmer this side of the fifth Temporal Age. It was rare for him to venture near the deserted ruins of his former home. He hated that haunted wreck, but it had been a particularly arid season. The makeshift fungatorium in the Family’s shed had failed to provide any crops. Soon he would need new produce for the market stall he operated with old Cousin Rynde. Scrambling over the dunes, he longed for the neon lights and cool air of the underground village where he lived with the other survivors of Lungbarrow.
But he had a Family to support. He’d never give up on them. There was his partner and children, old Cousins and little second Cousins. They’d all need supper. The outcasts of Lungbarrow had blossomed, the Family growing in the long years since their curse was lifted. And yet they had nothing—no House or voice in the world. They preferred it that way. Owis remembered the tortuous years he’d been trapped in the House, he’d grown up buried under the soil of Mount Lung, never knowing the open sky. By comparison, he loved his frugal life— migrating with the weather to the sheds, stables and mountain-caves. It was so much less stifling than the pomp and ceremonies that some of the older Cousins had grown nostalgic for in their centuries of isolation.
He knew he’d get a stern talking to should he let it slip he’d returned to the ruins, as Kinkeeper Innocet outright forbade it on the occasions she tagged along for a foraging trip. But he couldn’t deny the richest and most succulent mushrooms grew in the deep valley where the House had fallen from its perch.
There was a strange feeling in the air as he approached the dip where the ruins lay, the sort of thing Innocet would call ‘a bad omen’. Owis stopped, the dunes dropped off at a sheer point, plummeting down to the misty valleys from which the bole of Mount Lung rose. He tried to assemble his thoughts. In the sand he spotted track-prints, the silhouettes of heavy footfall. Someone was intruding on Lungbarrow’s grave. Owis wracked his brains, trying to remember if he’d seen anyone else heading this way. He’d departed his home in the shed at rush hour, avoiding the roving Hedge-guards and House-County commuters on his way through the dunes. A flash of movement rendered his musings redundant. Something tiny was inching its way down Mount Lung. Owis peered as close as he could, it looked ant-sized in the distance, but it was definitely a person. They were abseiling into the mist that acted as a shroud for Lungbarrow’s unsightly remains. Owis stared in disbelief, and tried to focus on the mad tomb-raider. He looked closer, and saw it. A shock of blond hair, a garish fruit-print shirt. He only needed a glance to recognise that strange and panicked man dangling into the abyss. He was Chris Cwej; that alien chap who’d been the squire to the Family’s runaway heir. He’d only met Cwej once, on the day the old House fell. He’d waited with the surviving Cousins during that warm night on the mountainside. Cwej had pointed out each emerging star to Owis, and held him as he wept at seeing the evening sky for the first time in his life. Owis shook the memory from his head, heaving himself down to an outcrop that faced the mountain’s foot. He called out to Chris.
“Oi, Cwej! Don’t go down there. Innocet says the ghosts’ll kill you!”
Chris didn’t seem to hear him. The suns were beating down on the dunes and mountains with a harsher intensity. Owis tried waving, but Chris had already gone.
The heat reached a crescendo, and then Owis felt the temperature drop by precisely one degree. He didn’t know how, but he felt it deep in the weft of his being. The world was a degree cooler, and there was no Cwej in sight.
A groan echoed from the gullet of the valley below; the ghosts of Lungbarrow weren’t happy at all.
A gust of wind kicked up thick plumes of dust, and Owis wheezed and choked. The gale stopped after a moment. Owis rubbed his eyes. Had he eaten a bad mushroom? He looked down to the valley, deep into the crater where the ruins once lay, and there was nothing. The ruins had gone… Vanished. He almost threw up his breakfast, his hearts beating in terror. But as he climbed up the crook of the dune, a newfound easiness came over him. A weight was lifting from his shoulders, as if some great burden had been relieved. Cousin Owis took a deep breath, and wandered home to the shack on Lungbarrow’s common. He’d go to Innocet and tell her about what he’d witnessed. She’d probably felt it too, and Owis wondered if she’d be sad. He thought of Cwej, and whispered a silent prayer for him. Innocet would want to discuss all this funny business, and knowing her, over a game of cards. As the suns set, Owis decided a day without mushrooms was a worthy price to pay for the exorcism of the Family’s old haunts.
The haytime air was thick and cloying. Things were always warmer this side of the fifth Temporal Age. It was rare for him to venture near the deserted ruins of his former home. He hated that haunted wreck, but it had been a particularly arid season. The makeshift fungatorium in the Family’s shed had failed to provide any crops. Soon he would need new produce for the market stall he operated with old Cousin Rynde. Scrambling over the dunes, he longed for the neon lights and cool air of the underground village where he lived with the other survivors of Lungbarrow.
But he had a Family to support. He’d never give up on them. There was his partner and children, old Cousins and little second Cousins. They’d all need supper. The outcasts of Lungbarrow had blossomed, the Family growing in the long years since their curse was lifted. And yet they had nothing—no House or voice in the world. They preferred it that way. Owis remembered the tortuous years he’d been trapped in the House, he’d grown up buried under the soil of Mount Lung, never knowing the open sky. By comparison, he loved his frugal life— migrating with the weather to the sheds, stables and mountain-caves. It was so much less stifling than the pomp and ceremonies that some of the older Cousins had grown nostalgic for in their centuries of isolation.
He knew he’d get a stern talking to should he let it slip he’d returned to the ruins, as Kinkeeper Innocet outright forbade it on the occasions she tagged along for a foraging trip. But he couldn’t deny the richest and most succulent mushrooms grew in the deep valley where the House had fallen from its perch.
There was a strange feeling in the air as he approached the dip where the ruins lay, the sort of thing Innocet would call ‘a bad omen’. Owis stopped, the dunes dropped off at a sheer point, plummeting down to the misty valleys from which the bole of Mount Lung rose. He tried to assemble his thoughts. In the sand he spotted track-prints, the silhouettes of heavy footfall. Someone was intruding on Lungbarrow’s grave. Owis wracked his brains, trying to remember if he’d seen anyone else heading this way. He’d departed his home in the shed at rush hour, avoiding the roving Hedge-guards and House-County commuters on his way through the dunes. A flash of movement rendered his musings redundant. Something tiny was inching its way down Mount Lung. Owis peered as close as he could, it looked ant-sized in the distance, but it was definitely a person. They were abseiling into the mist that acted as a shroud for Lungbarrow’s unsightly remains. Owis stared in disbelief, and tried to focus on the mad tomb-raider. He looked closer, and saw it. A shock of blond hair, a garish fruit-print shirt. He only needed a glance to recognise that strange and panicked man dangling into the abyss. He was Chris Cwej; that alien chap who’d been the squire to the Family’s runaway heir. He’d only met Cwej once, on the day the old House fell. He’d waited with the surviving Cousins during that warm night on the mountainside. Cwej had pointed out each emerging star to Owis, and held him as he wept at seeing the evening sky for the first time in his life. Owis shook the memory from his head, heaving himself down to an outcrop that faced the mountain’s foot. He called out to Chris.
“Oi, Cwej! Don’t go down there. Innocet says the ghosts’ll kill you!”
Chris didn’t seem to hear him. The suns were beating down on the dunes and mountains with a harsher intensity. Owis tried waving, but Chris had already gone.
The heat reached a crescendo, and then Owis felt the temperature drop by precisely one degree. He didn’t know how, but he felt it deep in the weft of his being. The world was a degree cooler, and there was no Cwej in sight.
A groan echoed from the gullet of the valley below; the ghosts of Lungbarrow weren’t happy at all.
A gust of wind kicked up thick plumes of dust, and Owis wheezed and choked. The gale stopped after a moment. Owis rubbed his eyes. Had he eaten a bad mushroom? He looked down to the valley, deep into the crater where the ruins once lay, and there was nothing. The ruins had gone… Vanished. He almost threw up his breakfast, his hearts beating in terror. But as he climbed up the crook of the dune, a newfound easiness came over him. A weight was lifting from his shoulders, as if some great burden had been relieved. Cousin Owis took a deep breath, and wandered home to the shack on Lungbarrow’s common. He’d go to Innocet and tell her about what he’d witnessed. She’d probably felt it too, and Owis wondered if she’d be sad. He thought of Cwej, and whispered a silent prayer for him. Innocet would want to discuss all this funny business, and knowing her, over a game of cards. As the suns set, Owis decided a day without mushrooms was a worthy price to pay for the exorcism of the Family’s old haunts.
Return to the Road
Copyright © 2026 Arcbeatle Press, All Rights Reserved.
This story is a work of fiction, any resemblance between it and persons living or dead, or events past or present, is purely coincidental. Any resemblance between it and other narratives or stories is purely coincidental, or done firmly within the bounds of parody or satire. Names, characters, locations, and events featured in this publication are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without express written permission of Arcbeatle Press.
A publication of Arcbeatle Press, 2026.
Arcbeatle Press is located in beautiful Elkhart Indiana, and is owned and operated by James Wylder.
Chris Cwej and associated concepts © Andy Lane
Lungbarrow and associated concepts © Marc Platt
Edited by Hunter O’ Connell and James Hornby
This story is a work of fiction, any resemblance between it and persons living or dead, or events past or present, is purely coincidental. Any resemblance between it and other narratives or stories is purely coincidental, or done firmly within the bounds of parody or satire. Names, characters, locations, and events featured in this publication are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without express written permission of Arcbeatle Press.
A publication of Arcbeatle Press, 2026.
Arcbeatle Press is located in beautiful Elkhart Indiana, and is owned and operated by James Wylder.
Chris Cwej and associated concepts © Andy Lane
Lungbarrow and associated concepts © Marc Platt
Edited by Hunter O’ Connell and James Hornby
Today we're bringing you an educational piece on the history of Lungbarrow. If you enjoy it, or even if you don't, you can go enjoy the new novel "Lungbarrow by Loomlight" at the links below:
Amazon US: https://a.co/d/0hYDXXH0
Amazon UK: https://amzn.eu/d/0d5WbNTX
AP digital store: https://payhip.com/b/gHPBu
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/cwej-tomoko-banks/1149936663
Amazon US: https://a.co/d/0hYDXXH0
Amazon UK: https://amzn.eu/d/0d5WbNTX
AP digital store: https://payhip.com/b/gHPBu
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/cwej-tomoko-banks/1149936663
Lungbarrow History
A piece by Louis peacock
Time’s roses grow heavy with the scent of memory here at Arcbeatle Press, as we prepare for Chris Cwej to venture into the House of Lungbarrow, that fatal pile woven of ancient wood and even more ancient stories, for the first time in the almost thirty years since the intrepid Adjudicator first ventured into the House as a very different man, in a very different world. Much has happened in the interim, both in the world of Doctor Who and our own, and Lungbarrow has, over that time, accrued a status as something of an esoteric relic—a whispered ghost story of a novel, often invoked but rarely understood or, indeed, read.
This little primer exists to dispel the mists of rumor and controversy surrounding the novel, and to hopefully allow a deeper understanding of this fascinating, strange little book which has gripped the Doctor Who fandom for almost three decades before you dive into it, its sequel, or indeed both! If you haven’t the foggiest what a “Lungbarrow” is going in, don’t worry! This guide is written to familiarize you with just that, and will hopefully provide a little trivia for even the most hardened Doctor Who EU veteran in addition. With our purpose and context in mind, let us begin; so that when the time comes, we may be lost in the Loomlight with a little more of our own light to lead the way…
Though the book was published in 1997, at the height of the “Wilderness Years” that saw Doctor Who go off the air—with a brief interregnum following the release of a made for television movie starring Paul McGann’s Eighth Doctor in 1996—from 1989 to 2005, the story of the book really begins back when the original show, the so-called Classic Series, was still airing. By the time that Lungbarrow’s writer, Marc Platt, entered the scene, the show had already been running for over two decades, and had seen seven actors step into the titular role as the mysterious Time Lord known only as the Doctor. At the time, the current Doctor was the seventh, played by Scottish actor Sylvester McCoy, who had entered the role during a very fraught period in the show’s history. Though cancellation was only a few years away, the series was actually enjoying something of a creative renaissance under script editor Andrew Cartmel, who had set about infusing a new air of mystery and drama into the program. It was from within that context that Marc Platt began writing his original treatment for Lungbarrow.
Platt had actually been writing pitches for the show since the 70s, with his first pitch, Fires of the Starmind, providing an early indication that Platt had a particular interest in exploring the history and setting of the Doctor’s home planet of Gallifrey; this first idea was responded to favorably by Who luminary Robert Holmes, but ultimately dropped due to its conflict with the then yet to air serial The Deadly Assassin, the first episode of the show to feature Gallifrey as a main setting written by Holmes himself. Platt continued to submit proposals for years to come, many of which ended up being adapted or incorporated into later stories of his, but it was ultimately his pitch Cat’s Cradle that caught the eye of Andrew Cartmel, who asked for another proposal from Platt. After the favorably received but ultimately unproduced Shrine, Platt was set to the task of creating an episode in the same slot as Shrine for the show’s 26th season. Thus, Lungbarrow was born.
Thanks to a recovered scene breakdown of Platt’s original proposal, we actually know a good deal about this version of Lungbarrow. This was a story that was always to be about certain things—the Doctor’s past, his relationship to his family, and the House he was raised in, all bundled up in something of a series of revelations regarding himself and his home planet. All of these were quite bold subjects for 1980s Doctor Who, where the notion that the Doctor even had a family worth referencing was a matter of some dispute. Here in the original pitch, the story roughly resembles its novel form—the Doctor lands in the foreboding and gothic House Lungbarrow, which we learn has sunk due to some unfortunate event in its past, and is still occupied by remnants of his family, where he must undergo journeys into his past and face ghosts of old memories along with his companion—here the punk explosives expert Ace—before his journey amongst the stars can continue.
Most everything regarding Gallifrey is revealed to be rather odd in Platt’s telling, with Gallifreyans not being people with mothers and fathers but rather a set of so-called Cousins, all literally woven out of biological stuff in the life-creating machines known as looms, and raised in living, thinking dwellings known as Houses. This set up would be bold and provocative for any sci-fi series, and was all the more so for one with such a marked tendency towards the staid and the formulaic as Doctor Who at this stage in its lifespan. Already, therefore, we see how ambitious the story is, and indeed much of the structure that is set to recur in later iterations of the story; Lungbarrow is a knotted, iterative thing, but it is ultimately a very stable core story in all versions, all informed by a very maverick take on a particular sci-fi franchise, and even deeper in its core by being something of a gothic, haunted house tale.
This particular version, however, was not to be. Platt did still create a serial for the 26th season, writing the baroque and obscure Ghost Light as the last filmed episode of the classic show (though, confusingly enough, not the last to be aired; that honor went to the episode Survival). Though one can see some traces of Platt’s Gallifreyan Gothic in Ghost Light--an ancient and surreal house, high concept and fantastical elements, the general themes of the past catching up with the present, though this time mostly for Ace rather than the Doctor—the two are ultimately not very similar, and Lungbarrow remained on the shelf even as the show was ultimately cancelled in 1989.
Fast forward a few years, and Marc Platt has found himself writing for Doctor Who again. Beginning in 1991, the publisher Virgin Books acquired the rights to publish original Doctor Who novels, picking up right where the series had left off in 1989 with the Seventh Doctor and Ace. Billed as a more adult, more complex take on the teatime sci-fi series, it seemed just the perfect place for Platt’s fantastical and dark take on the show. And so it was that Marc Platt produced his first work for the line, 1992’s Cat’s Cradle: Time’s Crucible. As the title suggests, the novel was an adaptation of sorts of Platt’s old Cat’s Cradle proposal, sharing the adaptation of an abandoned TV script theme in common with its future successor. The book is complex and has a plot whose details are not terribly important to recount here, but it, importantly, allowed Platt to set his pen to writing his ideas into official Doctor Who material. Looms, Houses, and many new elements make appearances, and afterwards Platt departed the line for some years, having now put his stamp onto the franchise twice over, but with no version of Lungbarrow yet to be actually released.
Fast forward five years, and things are once again not looking good for Doctor Who. The attempted revival of the show in 1996 has failed, and Virgin Books is on the brink of losing its license to produce Doctor Who media to BBC Books. With that loss still somewhat on the horizon, the decision is made to produce a finale of sorts for the Seventh Doctor and the range, now firmly in the past due to his onscreen transformation into Paul McGann’s iteration of the character, so that new books could be made featuring the new Doctor, or the range ultimately retired after this one last triumphal note.
Enter Lungbarrow.
Now meant to serve as a Doctor’s final full story, with a new companion in novel-exclusive Chris Cwej and a drastically longer run time than a 90 minute television serial, the novel is a rather different beast to what pieces of the original television pitch we have, but is also quite similar. Ace is still here, albeit in a new role, all of the original Lungbarrow Cousins from the original TV treatment return—though the maid characters of Grim and Grimmer are absent, replaced by the giant wooden figures known as Drudges—and much of the plot is retained. Really what changes the most is the scope, with whole new sections outside the House dealing in even more lore for Gallifrey as a planet, and much more emphasis being placed on the Doctor’s relation to a mysterious figure of the planet’s past known only as the Other. This element in particular was an adaptation of sorts (to continue the theme) of concepts tossed around during the Cartmel era; indeed, Lungbarrow is meant as a culmination of a great many things from that era and the six year long run of the Virgin line—the end of multiple eras, in a very, very real sense.
Coming as it does at the very end of its range (only one more book featuring the Eighth Doctor would be published with the official full Doctor Who license under Virgin, as well as the earlier in continuity but much delayed So Vile A Sin) and at the end of an entire era for the series, much as its original TV version would have done in all likelihood, and bolstered by its many lore reveals, the book was already quickly becoming legend soon after it hit stands in 1997. This, however, was not the end for the iterative journey of Lungbarrow, nor of its transitional journey into more of a legend than a read book.
This transitional and iterative journey continued in part for a very practical reason—copies of the book were becoming damn expensive. For reasons a little too complex to list here, Lungbarrow received no second printing, and copies of it soon became rather rare. In addition, the lack of licensing agreements on Virgin’s part made a future second printing increasingly unlikely as well. With the book harder to read than ever, Platt ultimately released a second edition of the book as an ebook with BBCi in 2003, thus meaning that the book had now technically been released by both main publishers of Doctor Who fiction.
This second edition boasted a new cover, an introduction and extensive author’s notes from Platt, which give a glimpse into the process and background behind all iterations of the story (both of these being prime sources for this very article), a variety of mostly minor tweaks and changes to the novel itself, and a set of new illustrations from Daryl Joyce. Available as an ebook from BBCi on the official Doctor Who website for seven years, this edition eventually became unavailable in 2010.
With the lapse of the ebook, and the ever-dwindling availability of the original 1997 edition, Lungbarrow passed further into legend. It became the Lore Book, the Holy Grail, the awesome and perverse light at the end of the Doctor Who EU tunnel. It became, in effect, a myth, just as the subject of its title had. Nowadays, online copies of the book are relatively easy to come by, and information on the TARDIS Wiki, in existing editions of the second edition, and from the recovered scene treatments of the original TV pitch mean that it has never been easier to learn about all the various versions of Lungbarrow. Nonetheless, many still view the novel much as the characters within it view the titular House—forbidding, creepy, and perhaps even a little dangerous.
I hope this little primer has shown that is not the case. Lungbarrow is a legend, and justly so, but it is primarily a smashing good yarn, like all good legends are, with a real and definite history that we can track. I hope this piece has encouraged you to pick it up (or perhaps re-read it, who knows!) and that even if it hasn’t, it may encourage you to come along with us, very soon. For legends never stay buried forever, and the House of Lungbarrow is a legend indeed…
This little primer exists to dispel the mists of rumor and controversy surrounding the novel, and to hopefully allow a deeper understanding of this fascinating, strange little book which has gripped the Doctor Who fandom for almost three decades before you dive into it, its sequel, or indeed both! If you haven’t the foggiest what a “Lungbarrow” is going in, don’t worry! This guide is written to familiarize you with just that, and will hopefully provide a little trivia for even the most hardened Doctor Who EU veteran in addition. With our purpose and context in mind, let us begin; so that when the time comes, we may be lost in the Loomlight with a little more of our own light to lead the way…
Though the book was published in 1997, at the height of the “Wilderness Years” that saw Doctor Who go off the air—with a brief interregnum following the release of a made for television movie starring Paul McGann’s Eighth Doctor in 1996—from 1989 to 2005, the story of the book really begins back when the original show, the so-called Classic Series, was still airing. By the time that Lungbarrow’s writer, Marc Platt, entered the scene, the show had already been running for over two decades, and had seen seven actors step into the titular role as the mysterious Time Lord known only as the Doctor. At the time, the current Doctor was the seventh, played by Scottish actor Sylvester McCoy, who had entered the role during a very fraught period in the show’s history. Though cancellation was only a few years away, the series was actually enjoying something of a creative renaissance under script editor Andrew Cartmel, who had set about infusing a new air of mystery and drama into the program. It was from within that context that Marc Platt began writing his original treatment for Lungbarrow.
Platt had actually been writing pitches for the show since the 70s, with his first pitch, Fires of the Starmind, providing an early indication that Platt had a particular interest in exploring the history and setting of the Doctor’s home planet of Gallifrey; this first idea was responded to favorably by Who luminary Robert Holmes, but ultimately dropped due to its conflict with the then yet to air serial The Deadly Assassin, the first episode of the show to feature Gallifrey as a main setting written by Holmes himself. Platt continued to submit proposals for years to come, many of which ended up being adapted or incorporated into later stories of his, but it was ultimately his pitch Cat’s Cradle that caught the eye of Andrew Cartmel, who asked for another proposal from Platt. After the favorably received but ultimately unproduced Shrine, Platt was set to the task of creating an episode in the same slot as Shrine for the show’s 26th season. Thus, Lungbarrow was born.
Thanks to a recovered scene breakdown of Platt’s original proposal, we actually know a good deal about this version of Lungbarrow. This was a story that was always to be about certain things—the Doctor’s past, his relationship to his family, and the House he was raised in, all bundled up in something of a series of revelations regarding himself and his home planet. All of these were quite bold subjects for 1980s Doctor Who, where the notion that the Doctor even had a family worth referencing was a matter of some dispute. Here in the original pitch, the story roughly resembles its novel form—the Doctor lands in the foreboding and gothic House Lungbarrow, which we learn has sunk due to some unfortunate event in its past, and is still occupied by remnants of his family, where he must undergo journeys into his past and face ghosts of old memories along with his companion—here the punk explosives expert Ace—before his journey amongst the stars can continue.
Most everything regarding Gallifrey is revealed to be rather odd in Platt’s telling, with Gallifreyans not being people with mothers and fathers but rather a set of so-called Cousins, all literally woven out of biological stuff in the life-creating machines known as looms, and raised in living, thinking dwellings known as Houses. This set up would be bold and provocative for any sci-fi series, and was all the more so for one with such a marked tendency towards the staid and the formulaic as Doctor Who at this stage in its lifespan. Already, therefore, we see how ambitious the story is, and indeed much of the structure that is set to recur in later iterations of the story; Lungbarrow is a knotted, iterative thing, but it is ultimately a very stable core story in all versions, all informed by a very maverick take on a particular sci-fi franchise, and even deeper in its core by being something of a gothic, haunted house tale.
This particular version, however, was not to be. Platt did still create a serial for the 26th season, writing the baroque and obscure Ghost Light as the last filmed episode of the classic show (though, confusingly enough, not the last to be aired; that honor went to the episode Survival). Though one can see some traces of Platt’s Gallifreyan Gothic in Ghost Light--an ancient and surreal house, high concept and fantastical elements, the general themes of the past catching up with the present, though this time mostly for Ace rather than the Doctor—the two are ultimately not very similar, and Lungbarrow remained on the shelf even as the show was ultimately cancelled in 1989.
Fast forward a few years, and Marc Platt has found himself writing for Doctor Who again. Beginning in 1991, the publisher Virgin Books acquired the rights to publish original Doctor Who novels, picking up right where the series had left off in 1989 with the Seventh Doctor and Ace. Billed as a more adult, more complex take on the teatime sci-fi series, it seemed just the perfect place for Platt’s fantastical and dark take on the show. And so it was that Marc Platt produced his first work for the line, 1992’s Cat’s Cradle: Time’s Crucible. As the title suggests, the novel was an adaptation of sorts of Platt’s old Cat’s Cradle proposal, sharing the adaptation of an abandoned TV script theme in common with its future successor. The book is complex and has a plot whose details are not terribly important to recount here, but it, importantly, allowed Platt to set his pen to writing his ideas into official Doctor Who material. Looms, Houses, and many new elements make appearances, and afterwards Platt departed the line for some years, having now put his stamp onto the franchise twice over, but with no version of Lungbarrow yet to be actually released.
Fast forward five years, and things are once again not looking good for Doctor Who. The attempted revival of the show in 1996 has failed, and Virgin Books is on the brink of losing its license to produce Doctor Who media to BBC Books. With that loss still somewhat on the horizon, the decision is made to produce a finale of sorts for the Seventh Doctor and the range, now firmly in the past due to his onscreen transformation into Paul McGann’s iteration of the character, so that new books could be made featuring the new Doctor, or the range ultimately retired after this one last triumphal note.
Enter Lungbarrow.
Now meant to serve as a Doctor’s final full story, with a new companion in novel-exclusive Chris Cwej and a drastically longer run time than a 90 minute television serial, the novel is a rather different beast to what pieces of the original television pitch we have, but is also quite similar. Ace is still here, albeit in a new role, all of the original Lungbarrow Cousins from the original TV treatment return—though the maid characters of Grim and Grimmer are absent, replaced by the giant wooden figures known as Drudges—and much of the plot is retained. Really what changes the most is the scope, with whole new sections outside the House dealing in even more lore for Gallifrey as a planet, and much more emphasis being placed on the Doctor’s relation to a mysterious figure of the planet’s past known only as the Other. This element in particular was an adaptation of sorts (to continue the theme) of concepts tossed around during the Cartmel era; indeed, Lungbarrow is meant as a culmination of a great many things from that era and the six year long run of the Virgin line—the end of multiple eras, in a very, very real sense.
Coming as it does at the very end of its range (only one more book featuring the Eighth Doctor would be published with the official full Doctor Who license under Virgin, as well as the earlier in continuity but much delayed So Vile A Sin) and at the end of an entire era for the series, much as its original TV version would have done in all likelihood, and bolstered by its many lore reveals, the book was already quickly becoming legend soon after it hit stands in 1997. This, however, was not the end for the iterative journey of Lungbarrow, nor of its transitional journey into more of a legend than a read book.
This transitional and iterative journey continued in part for a very practical reason—copies of the book were becoming damn expensive. For reasons a little too complex to list here, Lungbarrow received no second printing, and copies of it soon became rather rare. In addition, the lack of licensing agreements on Virgin’s part made a future second printing increasingly unlikely as well. With the book harder to read than ever, Platt ultimately released a second edition of the book as an ebook with BBCi in 2003, thus meaning that the book had now technically been released by both main publishers of Doctor Who fiction.
This second edition boasted a new cover, an introduction and extensive author’s notes from Platt, which give a glimpse into the process and background behind all iterations of the story (both of these being prime sources for this very article), a variety of mostly minor tweaks and changes to the novel itself, and a set of new illustrations from Daryl Joyce. Available as an ebook from BBCi on the official Doctor Who website for seven years, this edition eventually became unavailable in 2010.
With the lapse of the ebook, and the ever-dwindling availability of the original 1997 edition, Lungbarrow passed further into legend. It became the Lore Book, the Holy Grail, the awesome and perverse light at the end of the Doctor Who EU tunnel. It became, in effect, a myth, just as the subject of its title had. Nowadays, online copies of the book are relatively easy to come by, and information on the TARDIS Wiki, in existing editions of the second edition, and from the recovered scene treatments of the original TV pitch mean that it has never been easier to learn about all the various versions of Lungbarrow. Nonetheless, many still view the novel much as the characters within it view the titular House—forbidding, creepy, and perhaps even a little dangerous.
I hope this little primer has shown that is not the case. Lungbarrow is a legend, and justly so, but it is primarily a smashing good yarn, like all good legends are, with a real and definite history that we can track. I hope this piece has encouraged you to pick it up (or perhaps re-read it, who knows!) and that even if it hasn’t, it may encourage you to come along with us, very soon. For legends never stay buried forever, and the House of Lungbarrow is a legend indeed…
In anticipation for the release of Cwej: Lungbarrow by Loomlight, Arcbeatle Press asked its visionary author, Tomoko M. Banks, for an interview. She graciously accepted, and below you will find her answers to often-asked questions. Enjoy!
Tell us a bit about yourself.
I’m Tomoko. I’m a Doctor Who fangirl and freelance writer. I'm of mixed heritage, British and Japanese. I’m disabled, and a full-time wheelchair user. Unfortunately chronic illness has occupied most of my time for the last half-a-decade, but working on Cwej has been a wonderful project to occupy my days with creativity. I adore the works of David Lynch, I’m also a bit of a sucker for prog rock. I live with a dear friend/ housemate (who often likes to suggest puns for my stories!), a flock of very cute cats, and a rather unruly and constantly expanding collection of Doctor Who memorabilia.
What was your first experience with Doctor Who?
My first exposure to Doctor Who was a few weeks before the 40th anniversary. I was given a copy of Starburst Magazine’s Doctor Who special. (I still own it, and treasure it.) My dad described the myth of Doctor Who—a time traveller who changes his face, a robot dog sidekick, evil slimy mutant blobs in roving dustbin armour, and showed me a bootleg copy of the Genesis of the Daleks Omnibus. From there, I was hooked. I hoovered up as much Doctor Who as I could get my hands on. But the first ‘brand new’ Doctor Who I witnessed first-hand was Scream of the Shalka. It was arduous having to wait and watch the spinning TARDIS buffering screen on dial-up. But I persevered, and I loved it. And when it came back properly in 2005, I was able to impress my school friends with my arcane knowledge!
When you read Lungbarrow for the first time, what were your initial impressions?
The Doctor Who website was my stomping ground in my youth, the photo-novels, the ebooks and webcasts, really captivated my imagination. This is where I first found Lungbarrow. At first, because of Daryl Joyce’s beautiful cover art of McCoy and Hartnell, I had assumed it was a traditional multi-Doctor affair, but as I read on, I was delighted to learn the secrets of the Doctor’s vast and tangled family. It was cerebral and was like falling into a dream. A feeling I much later got when watching Twin Peaks. The tragedy of the Doctor’s cursed people, the poetry of the Family-Looms and Houses, the themes of societal rejection, imposed expectations, and self actualisation. Some years after reading Lungbarrow for the first time, I was shipped off to boarding school, and it was like I was living the Doctor’s nightmare. Lungbarrow was a great comfort to me, and that first year as a boarder I managed to find a copy of the original novel for only £1! I luxuriated in Fred Gambino’s gorgeous cover painting, and revelled in the little differences between the printed text and the ebook I’d first discovered!
What does Lungbarrow mean to you today?
Lungbarrow is a story that I have grown up with; like all of the best art, it’s inspired me through the years, getting richer and deeper every time I read it. I feel quite protective over that novel in particular, it’s always had a very personal place to me in the pantheon of Doctor Who’s adventures. Characters like Innocet and Satthralope live in my head, the Doctor’s journey through that story, the old baggage she’d like a serpent sloughs its skin, the families found and fostered, it all means a lot to me. In retrospect, it can be read as a finale to the Doctor Who of Old, and a bridge towards the Shining New Future. It will always be, well, timeless. And there are so many narrative ancestors and descendants of Lungbarrows; the beautiful and claustrophobic nostalgia of Auld Mortality, the surreal and reflective domesticity of the original 1988 story, the epic and time shattering revelations of the Timeless Child, the stark and barren glimpses of Listen… I have so much to say, it could really fill another few novels!
How did you first get involved in Cwej: The Series?
It was at the start of 2020 when I first reached out to Hunter regarding Cwej. After chatting about writing opportunities for Cwej: The Series, I soon learnt they were looking to license characters and concepts from Marc Platt, and they weren’t sure how to reach him. I had Marc’s email, and helped put Hunter in touch with him. Originally ideas were bounced around about including the Other in ‘Rebel Rebel,’ but this didn’t come to be. Around early 2020, I pitched a couple of last minute ideas for Down the Middle, but the anthology was already full. Hunter suggested using one of the short story pitches as a novella for a prospective second Cwej anthology. I think I even suggested the title Hidden Truths for the project! After that, the story began its long path of evolution, growing from short story, to novella, to novel. In the interim I worked as an associate editor for Down the Middle. It was wonderful to experience the development of that anthology and witness the growth of so many brilliant stories from such talented pens. I was even able to pepper in a handful of worldbuilding and character details that I would later explore in my own Cwej stories.
What do you think draws people to Chris and Roz as characters? What separates them from other companions?
Chris and Roz draw on and evolve from a set of character archetypes that Doctor Who has played with from the beginning. The pair of professionals and peers, thrown into the adventure—as seen in Ian and Barbara, Sarah and Harry to name a couple of the most iconic examples. I also think they have similarities to some of the most memorable guest characters from Doctor Who’s latter seasons—Ancellyn and Bambera for example, a tiny smidgen of Glitz and Dibber even, and there’s a non-negliable amount of Pex in dear old Cwej. Which helps to bed them firmly within the oeuvre of the McCoy era as a whole. But Andy Lane also utilises the rich and complex quasi-cyberpunk 30th century setting (complete with 2000AD stylings) to introduce Cwej and Forrester as living breathing characters, consciously grounded in the genre trappings of that era, and of cult and pop-culture in a broader sense. They’re a 1990s love letter to pulpy genre fiction, from the americana-tinted fantasy of wise-cracking cop dramas to cynically down-to-earth British comic books, with a heavy dose of cinematic space opera. So on just a surface level, they’re already good fun, and a clever subversion of crime fiction tropes. Authors like Ben Aaronovitch and Lance Parkin seem to really take great relish in shaping Roz in particular: suspicious, cruel, noble—how she navigates between her aristocrat’s perspective and the cut-throat world of the Adjudicators, the lies and betrayals she has to live with and hide, and her alienation from all those aspects of her life. And of course, everything Kate Orman writes is drenched in human pathos, but never fails to be fun and moving and thought provoking. An utter unsung genius. Chris and Roz probably wouldn’t be the nicest of people; but that makes them all the more fascinating as characters. Both struggle with issues of memory, identity, and ultimately morality. Themes that pervade the lives of all the NA companions, come to think about it. Chris and Roz are really put through the wringer towards the end. And they’ve also had a fair amount of room to evolve a rich non-linear afterlife, from Decalogs to Big Finish; with Yasmin Bannerman and Travis Oliver bringing them to life, and to a whole new audience. And in the world of prose, they’ve been through such a journey, one that is still ongoing. Chris is very much a character of two halves, a man down the middle as it were. There’s the happy-go-lucky boyishly confident and occasionally bashful and out-of-his-depth Chris of the Doctor Who New Adventures, but there’s also the tortured multi-temporal war-criminal of Dead Romance, and the Faction Paradox series. Cwej: The Series is very much grappling with this dichotomy, and what it means for Chris on both a personal and cosmic scale. Of course, readers might one day discover how poor Roz would react to the devastating consequences of Chris’ universal prominence, and how she—and her allegiances—have been changed by the shifting tides of time.
Tell us about the process of creating Lungbarrow by Loomlight. Any interesting behind-the-scenes details you’d like to share?
When writing Loomlight, I consciously decided to go back and revisit some non-Doctor Who novels that I loved, and wanted to use as inspiration. I already knew the basics of where Chris’ journey would take him, but there was a lot of world building that I was itching to explore through Chris’ eyes. I went back through The ‘Gormenghast’ Trilogy (Titus Alone is greatly underrated in my estimation,) Arthur C. Clarke’s ‘The City and the Stars’ (which very much influences my personal conception of how the Looms work, and the great secret of Reincarnation the Superiors would rather hide). I read Thomas M. Disch’s ‘On the Wings of Song,’ so vivid and cerebral. Some of the imagery from the end of the novel came to me after watching Jordan Peele’s “Nope.” Anno’s “Neon Genesis Evangelion” series also provided fertile ground for inspiration for the inner workings of the Neo-Technologists. “Twin Peaks” as always was in the back of my mind somewhere. I also drew on the literary, graphic, auditory, and televisual ‘canon’ of Doctor Who to inform the project. I revisited some of my favourite New Adventures, and listened to a vast array of music. The story has been like a garden, some bits grew wild, and had to be tidied and pruned as I refined each version of the manuscript. Certain strands were drawn from moments in my life. (The sea of memories is probably from the time I was swept out to sea, through the arches of Durdledoor, and had to be airlifted via helicopter to hospital! There are themes of identity, and institutionalisation that refer back to my school days and the months I spent in hospital, under the bureaucratic wings of an austerity-riddled NHS.)
Marc, and my editors, were very supportive when it came to redrafting, and through the collaborative process by which all stories are built, it has evolved into something that I really hope you’ll all enjoy. I’m very proud of it. (Fun fact, my housemate came up with a brilliant pun on lettuce: “He was the noblest Romaine Lettuce of them all…”, but I couldn’t make it work in context. My apologies to you all!) Much like Lungbarrow, there have been many Loomlights on its path to publication, even recently I was grappling with the story’s final line of dialogue. I even considered changing it! Readers may feel it is somewhat out of character for the speaker, but know that it is indeed a conscious teaser for future adventures that truly explore this person’s drastic change of heart!
What is your future involvement with Cwej looking like? Any other future creative endeavors outside of Doctor Who?
I have another story coming out very soon in “Seasons: Springs Eternal.” It’s called “The First Spring” and I’m very proud of it. It features another family reunion, dark secrets from an old enemy’s past, friends and foes clashing at the threshold of creation. Time and Relatives indeed. There’s another story I still need to finish that is due for a future Seasons anthology. As for other creative projects, I have ideas for a fair few novels, and short stories, even some anthologies. With some luck, I’ll get on with those once I’ve caught all the idea-fishes swimming around in my head, and assembled them into the right story.
If there’s one thing you want people to take away from Lungbarrow by Loomlight, what would it be?
I’d like readers to know that Loomlight is just one of the infinite aspects that make up the Myth of Doctor Who. It may speak to my view of the Whoniverse, but there are many other stories, and many more Ages of Time. The world of the Superiors, and the universe beyond is full of twists and turns, and stories building upon each other. It’s my love-letter to the various disparate pasts of my favourite fictional hero, and the world that wove them. It’s my salute to the corners of history that once seemed forgotten. And I hope it presents a twist on a time travel narrative that I’m surprised hasn’t been explored more often in Who, especially when pertaining to a central character. I loved my time growing Lungbarrow by Loomlight, but this wonderful Secondary World that we all love is made all the more exciting and textured by the many differing stories that came before, and will no doubt come after. The Canvas of Time is big enough for all the legends and adventures, and the Doctor and their Friends, the worlds they step into and the journeys they go on—those are the ties that bind it all. I hope Loomlight is an enjoyable Yarn, and provides possible threads to stitch parts of the tapestry together, whilst leaving room for the mysteries that can never be known. (I know that’s not quite one thing, but I have a lot of thoughts!)
Where can we find you on social media?
I’m afraid I don’t really use social media these days. Terrible for an author in the modern age, I know, but life’s oh-so-peaceful without it!
How would you like to leave this interview off? Any final thoughts?
I’d like to thank Marc, my friends and family, my colleagues, all the authors who’ve inspired me, all the future-readers to be. (And of course, Doctor Who for sparking my curiosity, and inspiring me, since the dying days of the Wilderness years.)
Thank you for your time!
Ebook preorders for Cwej: Lungbarrow by Loomlight are available Amazon and Barnes & Noble, with paperbacks being made available April 23rd.
Tell us a bit about yourself.
I’m Tomoko. I’m a Doctor Who fangirl and freelance writer. I'm of mixed heritage, British and Japanese. I’m disabled, and a full-time wheelchair user. Unfortunately chronic illness has occupied most of my time for the last half-a-decade, but working on Cwej has been a wonderful project to occupy my days with creativity. I adore the works of David Lynch, I’m also a bit of a sucker for prog rock. I live with a dear friend/ housemate (who often likes to suggest puns for my stories!), a flock of very cute cats, and a rather unruly and constantly expanding collection of Doctor Who memorabilia.
What was your first experience with Doctor Who?
My first exposure to Doctor Who was a few weeks before the 40th anniversary. I was given a copy of Starburst Magazine’s Doctor Who special. (I still own it, and treasure it.) My dad described the myth of Doctor Who—a time traveller who changes his face, a robot dog sidekick, evil slimy mutant blobs in roving dustbin armour, and showed me a bootleg copy of the Genesis of the Daleks Omnibus. From there, I was hooked. I hoovered up as much Doctor Who as I could get my hands on. But the first ‘brand new’ Doctor Who I witnessed first-hand was Scream of the Shalka. It was arduous having to wait and watch the spinning TARDIS buffering screen on dial-up. But I persevered, and I loved it. And when it came back properly in 2005, I was able to impress my school friends with my arcane knowledge!
When you read Lungbarrow for the first time, what were your initial impressions?
The Doctor Who website was my stomping ground in my youth, the photo-novels, the ebooks and webcasts, really captivated my imagination. This is where I first found Lungbarrow. At first, because of Daryl Joyce’s beautiful cover art of McCoy and Hartnell, I had assumed it was a traditional multi-Doctor affair, but as I read on, I was delighted to learn the secrets of the Doctor’s vast and tangled family. It was cerebral and was like falling into a dream. A feeling I much later got when watching Twin Peaks. The tragedy of the Doctor’s cursed people, the poetry of the Family-Looms and Houses, the themes of societal rejection, imposed expectations, and self actualisation. Some years after reading Lungbarrow for the first time, I was shipped off to boarding school, and it was like I was living the Doctor’s nightmare. Lungbarrow was a great comfort to me, and that first year as a boarder I managed to find a copy of the original novel for only £1! I luxuriated in Fred Gambino’s gorgeous cover painting, and revelled in the little differences between the printed text and the ebook I’d first discovered!
What does Lungbarrow mean to you today?
Lungbarrow is a story that I have grown up with; like all of the best art, it’s inspired me through the years, getting richer and deeper every time I read it. I feel quite protective over that novel in particular, it’s always had a very personal place to me in the pantheon of Doctor Who’s adventures. Characters like Innocet and Satthralope live in my head, the Doctor’s journey through that story, the old baggage she’d like a serpent sloughs its skin, the families found and fostered, it all means a lot to me. In retrospect, it can be read as a finale to the Doctor Who of Old, and a bridge towards the Shining New Future. It will always be, well, timeless. And there are so many narrative ancestors and descendants of Lungbarrows; the beautiful and claustrophobic nostalgia of Auld Mortality, the surreal and reflective domesticity of the original 1988 story, the epic and time shattering revelations of the Timeless Child, the stark and barren glimpses of Listen… I have so much to say, it could really fill another few novels!
How did you first get involved in Cwej: The Series?
It was at the start of 2020 when I first reached out to Hunter regarding Cwej. After chatting about writing opportunities for Cwej: The Series, I soon learnt they were looking to license characters and concepts from Marc Platt, and they weren’t sure how to reach him. I had Marc’s email, and helped put Hunter in touch with him. Originally ideas were bounced around about including the Other in ‘Rebel Rebel,’ but this didn’t come to be. Around early 2020, I pitched a couple of last minute ideas for Down the Middle, but the anthology was already full. Hunter suggested using one of the short story pitches as a novella for a prospective second Cwej anthology. I think I even suggested the title Hidden Truths for the project! After that, the story began its long path of evolution, growing from short story, to novella, to novel. In the interim I worked as an associate editor for Down the Middle. It was wonderful to experience the development of that anthology and witness the growth of so many brilliant stories from such talented pens. I was even able to pepper in a handful of worldbuilding and character details that I would later explore in my own Cwej stories.
What do you think draws people to Chris and Roz as characters? What separates them from other companions?
Chris and Roz draw on and evolve from a set of character archetypes that Doctor Who has played with from the beginning. The pair of professionals and peers, thrown into the adventure—as seen in Ian and Barbara, Sarah and Harry to name a couple of the most iconic examples. I also think they have similarities to some of the most memorable guest characters from Doctor Who’s latter seasons—Ancellyn and Bambera for example, a tiny smidgen of Glitz and Dibber even, and there’s a non-negliable amount of Pex in dear old Cwej. Which helps to bed them firmly within the oeuvre of the McCoy era as a whole. But Andy Lane also utilises the rich and complex quasi-cyberpunk 30th century setting (complete with 2000AD stylings) to introduce Cwej and Forrester as living breathing characters, consciously grounded in the genre trappings of that era, and of cult and pop-culture in a broader sense. They’re a 1990s love letter to pulpy genre fiction, from the americana-tinted fantasy of wise-cracking cop dramas to cynically down-to-earth British comic books, with a heavy dose of cinematic space opera. So on just a surface level, they’re already good fun, and a clever subversion of crime fiction tropes. Authors like Ben Aaronovitch and Lance Parkin seem to really take great relish in shaping Roz in particular: suspicious, cruel, noble—how she navigates between her aristocrat’s perspective and the cut-throat world of the Adjudicators, the lies and betrayals she has to live with and hide, and her alienation from all those aspects of her life. And of course, everything Kate Orman writes is drenched in human pathos, but never fails to be fun and moving and thought provoking. An utter unsung genius. Chris and Roz probably wouldn’t be the nicest of people; but that makes them all the more fascinating as characters. Both struggle with issues of memory, identity, and ultimately morality. Themes that pervade the lives of all the NA companions, come to think about it. Chris and Roz are really put through the wringer towards the end. And they’ve also had a fair amount of room to evolve a rich non-linear afterlife, from Decalogs to Big Finish; with Yasmin Bannerman and Travis Oliver bringing them to life, and to a whole new audience. And in the world of prose, they’ve been through such a journey, one that is still ongoing. Chris is very much a character of two halves, a man down the middle as it were. There’s the happy-go-lucky boyishly confident and occasionally bashful and out-of-his-depth Chris of the Doctor Who New Adventures, but there’s also the tortured multi-temporal war-criminal of Dead Romance, and the Faction Paradox series. Cwej: The Series is very much grappling with this dichotomy, and what it means for Chris on both a personal and cosmic scale. Of course, readers might one day discover how poor Roz would react to the devastating consequences of Chris’ universal prominence, and how she—and her allegiances—have been changed by the shifting tides of time.
Tell us about the process of creating Lungbarrow by Loomlight. Any interesting behind-the-scenes details you’d like to share?
When writing Loomlight, I consciously decided to go back and revisit some non-Doctor Who novels that I loved, and wanted to use as inspiration. I already knew the basics of where Chris’ journey would take him, but there was a lot of world building that I was itching to explore through Chris’ eyes. I went back through The ‘Gormenghast’ Trilogy (Titus Alone is greatly underrated in my estimation,) Arthur C. Clarke’s ‘The City and the Stars’ (which very much influences my personal conception of how the Looms work, and the great secret of Reincarnation the Superiors would rather hide). I read Thomas M. Disch’s ‘On the Wings of Song,’ so vivid and cerebral. Some of the imagery from the end of the novel came to me after watching Jordan Peele’s “Nope.” Anno’s “Neon Genesis Evangelion” series also provided fertile ground for inspiration for the inner workings of the Neo-Technologists. “Twin Peaks” as always was in the back of my mind somewhere. I also drew on the literary, graphic, auditory, and televisual ‘canon’ of Doctor Who to inform the project. I revisited some of my favourite New Adventures, and listened to a vast array of music. The story has been like a garden, some bits grew wild, and had to be tidied and pruned as I refined each version of the manuscript. Certain strands were drawn from moments in my life. (The sea of memories is probably from the time I was swept out to sea, through the arches of Durdledoor, and had to be airlifted via helicopter to hospital! There are themes of identity, and institutionalisation that refer back to my school days and the months I spent in hospital, under the bureaucratic wings of an austerity-riddled NHS.)
Marc, and my editors, were very supportive when it came to redrafting, and through the collaborative process by which all stories are built, it has evolved into something that I really hope you’ll all enjoy. I’m very proud of it. (Fun fact, my housemate came up with a brilliant pun on lettuce: “He was the noblest Romaine Lettuce of them all…”, but I couldn’t make it work in context. My apologies to you all!) Much like Lungbarrow, there have been many Loomlights on its path to publication, even recently I was grappling with the story’s final line of dialogue. I even considered changing it! Readers may feel it is somewhat out of character for the speaker, but know that it is indeed a conscious teaser for future adventures that truly explore this person’s drastic change of heart!
What is your future involvement with Cwej looking like? Any other future creative endeavors outside of Doctor Who?
I have another story coming out very soon in “Seasons: Springs Eternal.” It’s called “The First Spring” and I’m very proud of it. It features another family reunion, dark secrets from an old enemy’s past, friends and foes clashing at the threshold of creation. Time and Relatives indeed. There’s another story I still need to finish that is due for a future Seasons anthology. As for other creative projects, I have ideas for a fair few novels, and short stories, even some anthologies. With some luck, I’ll get on with those once I’ve caught all the idea-fishes swimming around in my head, and assembled them into the right story.
If there’s one thing you want people to take away from Lungbarrow by Loomlight, what would it be?
I’d like readers to know that Loomlight is just one of the infinite aspects that make up the Myth of Doctor Who. It may speak to my view of the Whoniverse, but there are many other stories, and many more Ages of Time. The world of the Superiors, and the universe beyond is full of twists and turns, and stories building upon each other. It’s my love-letter to the various disparate pasts of my favourite fictional hero, and the world that wove them. It’s my salute to the corners of history that once seemed forgotten. And I hope it presents a twist on a time travel narrative that I’m surprised hasn’t been explored more often in Who, especially when pertaining to a central character. I loved my time growing Lungbarrow by Loomlight, but this wonderful Secondary World that we all love is made all the more exciting and textured by the many differing stories that came before, and will no doubt come after. The Canvas of Time is big enough for all the legends and adventures, and the Doctor and their Friends, the worlds they step into and the journeys they go on—those are the ties that bind it all. I hope Loomlight is an enjoyable Yarn, and provides possible threads to stitch parts of the tapestry together, whilst leaving room for the mysteries that can never be known. (I know that’s not quite one thing, but I have a lot of thoughts!)
Where can we find you on social media?
I’m afraid I don’t really use social media these days. Terrible for an author in the modern age, I know, but life’s oh-so-peaceful without it!
How would you like to leave this interview off? Any final thoughts?
I’d like to thank Marc, my friends and family, my colleagues, all the authors who’ve inspired me, all the future-readers to be. (And of course, Doctor Who for sparking my curiosity, and inspiring me, since the dying days of the Wilderness years.)
Thank you for your time!
Ebook preorders for Cwej: Lungbarrow by Loomlight are available Amazon and Barnes & Noble, with paperbacks being made available April 23rd.
In 1997 readers joined Chris Cwej on one of the most legendary adventures in Doctor Who, Lungbarrow by Marc Platt. Now in 2026, Cwej returns to the house of Lungbarrow in a sequel novel by Tomoko M. Banks.
"Marc Platt's seminal novel Lungbarrow has captured the imaginations of countless readers, enchanting them for nearly three decades with its vivid setting and tragic players. It has been my greatest honour to help resurrect that manifold tapestry," says Banks. "But Time's Roses are scented with memory; over the last twenty nine years they've blossomed into a vast wilderness. That indescribable magic is returning to the world, and we'll soon find ourselves lost once more in the midst of a childless time."
The original Lungbarrow marked Chris Cwej’s final adventure with the Doctor, and set him on the path of solo adventures that led to Cwej: The Series. Lungbarrow by Loomlight sees Chris come full circle, and discover dark secrets at the heart of his Superiors’ history.
"This has truly been a dream come true," says Cwej editor Hunter O'Connell. "This story has gone through many drafts to make sure it's the best possible version of the book it can be, and I think we landed on it. An epic adventure awaits Chris Cwej as he goes through times long past, and we get a firsthand glimpse at what his Superiors are really hiding from him. The Totality, dear readers, will never be the same again..."
Marc Platt, author of Lungbarrow, gave his full approval for Arcbeatle Press to explore the concepts he created, and even gave Lungbarrow by Loomlight its title.
“We’ve treated this project with the utmost care. Lungbarrow is a legend, and like all the best legends, there’s more to the story,” said publisher James Wylder.
Lungbarrow by Loomlight will release in paperback and ebook formats on 23 April.
Two variant cover editions will be available: Cover A by Ryan Rigby, and Cover B by Fred Gambino. Cover B will be available from release, and Cover A will follow in the coming weeks.
Inquiries can be sent to [email protected]
"Marc Platt's seminal novel Lungbarrow has captured the imaginations of countless readers, enchanting them for nearly three decades with its vivid setting and tragic players. It has been my greatest honour to help resurrect that manifold tapestry," says Banks. "But Time's Roses are scented with memory; over the last twenty nine years they've blossomed into a vast wilderness. That indescribable magic is returning to the world, and we'll soon find ourselves lost once more in the midst of a childless time."
The original Lungbarrow marked Chris Cwej’s final adventure with the Doctor, and set him on the path of solo adventures that led to Cwej: The Series. Lungbarrow by Loomlight sees Chris come full circle, and discover dark secrets at the heart of his Superiors’ history.
"This has truly been a dream come true," says Cwej editor Hunter O'Connell. "This story has gone through many drafts to make sure it's the best possible version of the book it can be, and I think we landed on it. An epic adventure awaits Chris Cwej as he goes through times long past, and we get a firsthand glimpse at what his Superiors are really hiding from him. The Totality, dear readers, will never be the same again..."
Marc Platt, author of Lungbarrow, gave his full approval for Arcbeatle Press to explore the concepts he created, and even gave Lungbarrow by Loomlight its title.
“We’ve treated this project with the utmost care. Lungbarrow is a legend, and like all the best legends, there’s more to the story,” said publisher James Wylder.
Lungbarrow by Loomlight will release in paperback and ebook formats on 23 April.
Two variant cover editions will be available: Cover A by Ryan Rigby, and Cover B by Fred Gambino. Cover B will be available from release, and Cover A will follow in the coming weeks.
Inquiries can be sent to [email protected]
 |  |
| Cover A by Ryan Rigby | Cover B by Fred Gambino |
This April Fools Day is going to look a little different here at Arcbeatle Press. As many of you may be aware, Lungbarrow by Loomlight is on the horizon! So, instead of a anthology of humorous tales from our talented pool of writers, this year we're bringing you three vignettes, of varying hilarity, to tease this highly anticipated release.
In our final vignette, we return to the Base of Operations for revelations, and a story to remember...
If you didn't read our first two vignettes:, you can find them at the links below:
The Fall of Lungbarrow by James Hornby
Lungbarrow? Can You Use it in a Sentence by Hunter O'Connell
In our final vignette, we return to the Base of Operations for revelations, and a story to remember...
If you didn't read our first two vignettes:, you can find them at the links below:
The Fall of Lungbarrow by James Hornby
Lungbarrow? Can You Use it in a Sentence by Hunter O'Connell
| the_hands_of_lungbarrow_.pdf |
The Hands of Lungbarrow!
by James Wylder
In a shady room reserved just for this purpose, four figures sat around a round table. Two of them were dressed in robes, one of them was wearing a blue hoodie, her chin length black hair poking up from the collar, and one was blond in a comfortable and equally blue shirt, his eyes scanning the others carefully. “Your move,” Chris Cwej said. “Show me what you got.”
Filla'novon'avarna'us set her hand of cards down, and Sang Mi pushed them back and up into her fingers. “No Filla—no you don’t show them to everyone that’s not how you play.”
Filla’s eyes lit up. “Oh, they’re secrets! What fun.”
Sang Mi sighed and looked over at Chris.
“Don’t look at me, you’re the one who invited her,” he said.
He had a point. “Well, I wanted to play the Star Wars CCG, so nobody gets to complain.” She flicked through her hand and mumbled; “Pity they never made a follow up game with an original setting.”
Cwej got very quiet and found his hand of cards suddenly and incredibly fascinating. After a moment, he threw his hand down and stood up. “I’m… going to get something to drink.”
“Don’t do that blue stuff again, you started telling me weird stuff about cannibal bears.”
Chris winced, and gave her a thumbs up as he slid out the door.
Laying a single card down, the Intercessor tried to move back to playing the game. “The Engineer of spirals.”
Sang Mi shuffled through her hand. “Er… Urizen of… no. Oh!” She placed a card down. It showed a large whitewood house with vines stretched across the exterior and deep into the doors and windows. Even on the cardstock, it seemed like it was breathing. “Chapterhouse of oroboruses.”
The Intercessor sighed. “They had to illustrate it with Lungbarrow, didn’t they?”
Sang Mi frowned, looking down at the card again. “Chris mentioned that before. Lungbarrow. That’s one of those living Houses, right?”
Filla waved her hands to dispel the notion, once again revealing all of her cards. “No, well, yes, but they’re much more than that! It’s just a reductive way of thinking about them. Especially Lungbarrow, considering everything that went down with it before.”
Sang Mi looked between the two Superiors. “Okay. What happened?”
Filla shook her head. “It’s not a story Cwej would tell you. It all started when he started having a bunch of strange dreams.”
The Intercessor tilted her head. “I think it started earlier than that. And how do you know that anyway?”
Pouting, Filla set her cards down. “I do read, you know.”
“Yes, but what did you read that—”
“Anyway! What happened next?” Sang Mi said loudly.
“Sorry,” the two women said in unison.
Filla continued. “Basically, Chris travelling with the Great Defector—”
“Don’t call him great,” the Intercessor cut in.
“The normal not adjective-y Defector. They returned here, to the Base of Operations, our glorious and shining home, and went to the Defector’s home of Lungbarrow, where he had been Loomed all that time ago.”
Sang Mi nodded. “Chris told me about the Looms—you guys all got cursed by the Pythia and couldn’t have kids so you made people instead. I saw one of them!”
“Indeed, when you saved my daughter, but that’s a different story,” the Intercessor added. “Unfortunately, Quences had been murdered. He was an important person in Lungbarrow, and they had to investigate the murder.”
“But! It turned out that there had been a secret third founder of our homeworld. Not Urizen or the Engineer, but another one. A sort of… other. They called him: the other,” Filla said dramatically. “And it turned out the Defector was a sort of… Loomed reincarnation of the other, and had known this all along and had all of the other’s memories—“
The Intercessor interceded. “No, no that’s not right at all. He only had flashes of the other’s memories and this was all a revelation to him!”
Filla frowned. “That’s not how I remember it.”
Throwing her hands up, the Intercessor said some colorful curse words that didn’t seem to translate well. “How do you remember any of this?”
“Ladies, please,” Sang Mi said, after checking the top three cards of the deck and rearranging them. “So how did that all play out?”
Filla spoke louder than she needed to, a bit annoyed at the Intercessor correcting her on things. “Well, they solved the murder. And then the first baby was born on the Base in millenia, and the House of Lungbarrow slid down the mountain.” Filla mimed this with her hand, and full sound effects from her mouth. “And when the baby was born, the Pythia’s Curse was broken!”
“Okay, but who was the murderer? Who had the baby? What did the other have to do with it?”
Filla thought a moment, then shrugged. “Oh, I don’t remember that.”
Sang Mi groaned.
The Intercessor shook her head in heavy exasperation. “The Ordinal-General was killed by Cousin Glospin, I believe. And as for the other, well… I think that just happened parallel to—NO WAIT, it was Otherstide! That’s right. So that must have had something to do with it. I wasn’t there though.” She took a breath composing herself. “Then your friend Chris was given an offer by an old High President to work for us, joining the glorious work of the Superiors in righting and stabilizing the universe.”
Over the last few months, Sang Mi had learned almost too much about what that had cost him. She looked askance. And then as if on cue, the door to the room opened, and Chris Cwej himself entered, holding a tray of drinks.”
“I got something for everyone! Did I miss anything?”
“Oh you know, just girl talk about Looms,” the Intercessor said.
Chris nodded, clearly pretending he understood what that meant. “Well, I’m just glad we’re all here together.” He smiled at all three of them. “It’s hard enough to know what’s real on days like this, so it’s good to have people I can trust.”
Sang Mi smiled. “Right back at you.”
He held her gaze, smiling back. “You stacked the deck while I was gone, didn’t you?”
She very quickly reached over to shuffle the deck.
Filla'novon'avarna'us set her hand of cards down, and Sang Mi pushed them back and up into her fingers. “No Filla—no you don’t show them to everyone that’s not how you play.”
Filla’s eyes lit up. “Oh, they’re secrets! What fun.”
Sang Mi sighed and looked over at Chris.
“Don’t look at me, you’re the one who invited her,” he said.
He had a point. “Well, I wanted to play the Star Wars CCG, so nobody gets to complain.” She flicked through her hand and mumbled; “Pity they never made a follow up game with an original setting.”
Cwej got very quiet and found his hand of cards suddenly and incredibly fascinating. After a moment, he threw his hand down and stood up. “I’m… going to get something to drink.”
“Don’t do that blue stuff again, you started telling me weird stuff about cannibal bears.”
Chris winced, and gave her a thumbs up as he slid out the door.
Laying a single card down, the Intercessor tried to move back to playing the game. “The Engineer of spirals.”
Sang Mi shuffled through her hand. “Er… Urizen of… no. Oh!” She placed a card down. It showed a large whitewood house with vines stretched across the exterior and deep into the doors and windows. Even on the cardstock, it seemed like it was breathing. “Chapterhouse of oroboruses.”
The Intercessor sighed. “They had to illustrate it with Lungbarrow, didn’t they?”
Sang Mi frowned, looking down at the card again. “Chris mentioned that before. Lungbarrow. That’s one of those living Houses, right?”
Filla waved her hands to dispel the notion, once again revealing all of her cards. “No, well, yes, but they’re much more than that! It’s just a reductive way of thinking about them. Especially Lungbarrow, considering everything that went down with it before.”
Sang Mi looked between the two Superiors. “Okay. What happened?”
Filla shook her head. “It’s not a story Cwej would tell you. It all started when he started having a bunch of strange dreams.”
The Intercessor tilted her head. “I think it started earlier than that. And how do you know that anyway?”
Pouting, Filla set her cards down. “I do read, you know.”
“Yes, but what did you read that—”
“Anyway! What happened next?” Sang Mi said loudly.
“Sorry,” the two women said in unison.
Filla continued. “Basically, Chris travelling with the Great Defector—”
“Don’t call him great,” the Intercessor cut in.
“The normal not adjective-y Defector. They returned here, to the Base of Operations, our glorious and shining home, and went to the Defector’s home of Lungbarrow, where he had been Loomed all that time ago.”
Sang Mi nodded. “Chris told me about the Looms—you guys all got cursed by the Pythia and couldn’t have kids so you made people instead. I saw one of them!”
“Indeed, when you saved my daughter, but that’s a different story,” the Intercessor added. “Unfortunately, Quences had been murdered. He was an important person in Lungbarrow, and they had to investigate the murder.”
“But! It turned out that there had been a secret third founder of our homeworld. Not Urizen or the Engineer, but another one. A sort of… other. They called him: the other,” Filla said dramatically. “And it turned out the Defector was a sort of… Loomed reincarnation of the other, and had known this all along and had all of the other’s memories—“
The Intercessor interceded. “No, no that’s not right at all. He only had flashes of the other’s memories and this was all a revelation to him!”
Filla frowned. “That’s not how I remember it.”
Throwing her hands up, the Intercessor said some colorful curse words that didn’t seem to translate well. “How do you remember any of this?”
“Ladies, please,” Sang Mi said, after checking the top three cards of the deck and rearranging them. “So how did that all play out?”
Filla spoke louder than she needed to, a bit annoyed at the Intercessor correcting her on things. “Well, they solved the murder. And then the first baby was born on the Base in millenia, and the House of Lungbarrow slid down the mountain.” Filla mimed this with her hand, and full sound effects from her mouth. “And when the baby was born, the Pythia’s Curse was broken!”
“Okay, but who was the murderer? Who had the baby? What did the other have to do with it?”
Filla thought a moment, then shrugged. “Oh, I don’t remember that.”
Sang Mi groaned.
The Intercessor shook her head in heavy exasperation. “The Ordinal-General was killed by Cousin Glospin, I believe. And as for the other, well… I think that just happened parallel to—NO WAIT, it was Otherstide! That’s right. So that must have had something to do with it. I wasn’t there though.” She took a breath composing herself. “Then your friend Chris was given an offer by an old High President to work for us, joining the glorious work of the Superiors in righting and stabilizing the universe.”
Over the last few months, Sang Mi had learned almost too much about what that had cost him. She looked askance. And then as if on cue, the door to the room opened, and Chris Cwej himself entered, holding a tray of drinks.”
“I got something for everyone! Did I miss anything?”
“Oh you know, just girl talk about Looms,” the Intercessor said.
Chris nodded, clearly pretending he understood what that meant. “Well, I’m just glad we’re all here together.” He smiled at all three of them. “It’s hard enough to know what’s real on days like this, so it’s good to have people I can trust.”
Sang Mi smiled. “Right back at you.”
He held her gaze, smiling back. “You stacked the deck while I was gone, didn’t you?”
She very quickly reached over to shuffle the deck.
Coming Soon:
Lungbarrow by Loomlight
All is not well on the world of the Temporal Superiors. Chris Cwej is having someone else's nightmares. Reflections in grimy mirrors whisper dark secrets about a forgotten past. And Chris finds himself drawn into a plot of revenge, rooted in a murderous family conspiracy. At the root of it all, is a terrible place; the Ancient House of Lungbarrow lies waiting in ruins. Something immense is unfurling in those derelict towers. The dead House inextricably stirs from beyond the grave. Many centuries ago Chris Cwej and his forgotten mentor left that lonely House on the point of Domicide. Abandoned, disgraced, resentful; it has planned for this fateful reunion. To rewrite his fate, Chris must track down the hidden figure at the heart of it all, and traverse into Lungbarrow's storied past to kill an ancient other founder, lost in Loomlight.
Copyright © 2026 Arcbeatle Press, All Rights Reserved.
This story is a work of fiction, any resemblance between it and persons living or dead, or events past or present, is purely coincidental. Any resemblance between it and other narratives or stories is purely coincidental, or done firmly within the bounds of parody or satire. Names, characters, locations, and events featured in this publication are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without express written permission of Arcbeatle Press.
A publication of Arcbeatle Press, 2026.
Arcbeatle Press is located in beautiful Elkhart Indiana, and is owned and operated by James Wylder.
Chris Cwej and associated concepts © Andy Lane
Lungbarrow and associated concepts © Marc Platt
Academy 27 and associated concepts © Arcbeatle Press
WARSONG, WARS TCG, Gongen, Takumi, and associated concepts © Decipher, Inc
Jhe Sang Mi © James Wylder
This story is a work of fiction, any resemblance between it and persons living or dead, or events past or present, is purely coincidental. Any resemblance between it and other narratives or stories is purely coincidental, or done firmly within the bounds of parody or satire. Names, characters, locations, and events featured in this publication are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without express written permission of Arcbeatle Press.
A publication of Arcbeatle Press, 2026.
Arcbeatle Press is located in beautiful Elkhart Indiana, and is owned and operated by James Wylder.
Chris Cwej and associated concepts © Andy Lane
Lungbarrow and associated concepts © Marc Platt
Academy 27 and associated concepts © Arcbeatle Press
WARSONG, WARS TCG, Gongen, Takumi, and associated concepts © Decipher, Inc
Jhe Sang Mi © James Wylder
This April Fools Day is going to look a little different here at Arcbeatle Press. As many of you may be aware, Lungbarrow by Loomlight is on the horizon! So, instead of a anthology of humorous tales from our talented pool of writers, this year we're bringing you three vignettes, of varying hilarity, to tease this highly anticipated release.
Our second story takes us to La Kraw el Sol: Lungbarrow? Can You Use it in a Sentence? by Hunter O'Connell
Our second story takes us to La Kraw el Sol: Lungbarrow? Can You Use it in a Sentence? by Hunter O'Connell
| lungbarrow__can_you_use_it_in_a_sentence_.pdf |
Lungbarrow? Can you Use it in a Sentence?
by Hunter O'Connell
La Kraw el Sol, orbiting about 200 miles above Heaven, Sheol
It was with increasing frequency that Kwol would barge in on their designated partner Larles, during her so-called “Kwol-free” time in their ship’s library. This was why, today, Kwol made up their mind that they would knock before entering.
They forgot to do that, and would, for the hour after being made aware of it, profusely apologize to Larles, who didn’t actually care but pretended to in order that she could hold it as a dagger over Kwol’s head if she needed something.
Larles herself was reading an anthology edited by one Hunter O’Connell, who according to her intensive research did not exist anywhere in the Totality. How odd. “Hello Kwol,” she said, her nose still in the book. “Where did we end up getting this one?”
“Chris is in his room.” Kwol did not seem to register that Larles had asked a non-rhetorical question, which caused her to close her book with a sigh.
“Yes. He lives there. He tends to be in his place of residence. Our nomadic lifestyle of hopping from planet to planet is, I have been told, uncommon.”
“Yes, but he’s talking in his sleep-pod.”
“You talk in your sleep too. I imagine many people do.”
“Yeah, sure, but he’s talking like… he’s having a conversation with someone. I caught some of it. A mirror. A place called Lungbarrow. A canvas.”
“…Lungbarrow? Can you use it in a sentence?”
Kwol leaned their weight on a bookshelf, which Larles took to mean they were unenthused. “Look, I think he’s having a bad dream or something. And the last time he had a bad dream he had to have his memory cut out of his head by that Suala whatsername.”
“So you’re suggesting we watch him while he’s sleeping?”
“No, I’m suggesting we prepare to listen if he wants to get into the grimy details.”
She considered for a beat, then prodded, “Why did you come here just to tell me to listen to Cwej? I listen to him more often and with more intensity than you.”
“Nuh-uh!”
“Oh, so this will be a very easy follow-up question. What did he say yesterday? He said it directly to you. I only overheard it, and I can remember exactly what it was.”
Kwol stammered through at least three dozen “um”s before landing on the expected answer. “I dunno.”
Larles exhaled something between a chuckle and a cough. “Right. Anyways, about this book, do you know who edited this?”
Kwol glanced at the cover. “Doesn’t ring a bell, no. But how important can they be? Not like they’re involved with you or me in any way, so why worry?”
It was with increasing frequency that Kwol would barge in on their designated partner Larles, during her so-called “Kwol-free” time in their ship’s library. This was why, today, Kwol made up their mind that they would knock before entering.
They forgot to do that, and would, for the hour after being made aware of it, profusely apologize to Larles, who didn’t actually care but pretended to in order that she could hold it as a dagger over Kwol’s head if she needed something.
Larles herself was reading an anthology edited by one Hunter O’Connell, who according to her intensive research did not exist anywhere in the Totality. How odd. “Hello Kwol,” she said, her nose still in the book. “Where did we end up getting this one?”
“Chris is in his room.” Kwol did not seem to register that Larles had asked a non-rhetorical question, which caused her to close her book with a sigh.
“Yes. He lives there. He tends to be in his place of residence. Our nomadic lifestyle of hopping from planet to planet is, I have been told, uncommon.”
“Yes, but he’s talking in his sleep-pod.”
“You talk in your sleep too. I imagine many people do.”
“Yeah, sure, but he’s talking like… he’s having a conversation with someone. I caught some of it. A mirror. A place called Lungbarrow. A canvas.”
“…Lungbarrow? Can you use it in a sentence?”
Kwol leaned their weight on a bookshelf, which Larles took to mean they were unenthused. “Look, I think he’s having a bad dream or something. And the last time he had a bad dream he had to have his memory cut out of his head by that Suala whatsername.”
“So you’re suggesting we watch him while he’s sleeping?”
“No, I’m suggesting we prepare to listen if he wants to get into the grimy details.”
She considered for a beat, then prodded, “Why did you come here just to tell me to listen to Cwej? I listen to him more often and with more intensity than you.”
“Nuh-uh!”
“Oh, so this will be a very easy follow-up question. What did he say yesterday? He said it directly to you. I only overheard it, and I can remember exactly what it was.”
Kwol stammered through at least three dozen “um”s before landing on the expected answer. “I dunno.”
Larles exhaled something between a chuckle and a cough. “Right. Anyways, about this book, do you know who edited this?”
Kwol glanced at the cover. “Doesn’t ring a bell, no. But how important can they be? Not like they’re involved with you or me in any way, so why worry?”
Coming Soon:
Lungbarrow by Loomlight
All is not well on the world of the Temporal Superiors. Chris Cwej is having someone else's nightmares. Reflections in grimy mirrors whisper dark secrets about a forgotten past. And Chris finds himself drawn into a plot of revenge, rooted in a murderous family conspiracy. At the root of it all, is a terrible place; the Ancient House of Lungbarrow lies waiting in ruins. Something immense is unfurling in those derelict towers. The dead House inextricably stirs from beyond the grave. Many centuries ago Chris Cwej and his forgotten mentor left that lonely House on the point of Domicide. Abandoned, disgraced, resentful; it has planned for this fateful reunion. To rewrite his fate, Chris must track down the hidden figure at the heart of it all, and traverse into Lungbarrow's storied past to kill an ancient other founder, lost in Loomlight.
Copyright © 2026 Arcbeatle Press, All Rights Reserved.
This story is a work of fiction, any resemblance between it and persons living or dead, or events past or present, is purely coincidental. Any resemblance between it and other narratives or stories is purely coincidental, or done firmly within the bounds of parody or satire. Names, characters, locations, and events featured in this publication are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without express written permission of Arcbeatle Press.
A publication of Arcbeatle Press, 2026. Arcbeatle Press is located in beautiful Elkhart Indiana, and is owned and operated by James Wylder.
Chris Cwej and associated concepts © Andy Lane
Lungbarrow © Marc Platt
Edited by James Hornby
Publisher: James Wylder
All rights reserved.
This story is a work of fiction, any resemblance between it and persons living or dead, or events past or present, is purely coincidental. Any resemblance between it and other narratives or stories is purely coincidental, or done firmly within the bounds of parody or satire. Names, characters, locations, and events featured in this publication are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without express written permission of Arcbeatle Press.
A publication of Arcbeatle Press, 2026. Arcbeatle Press is located in beautiful Elkhart Indiana, and is owned and operated by James Wylder.
Chris Cwej and associated concepts © Andy Lane
Lungbarrow © Marc Platt
Edited by James Hornby
Publisher: James Wylder
All rights reserved.
This April Fools Day is going to look a little different here at Arcbeatle Press. As many of you may be aware, Lungbarrow by Loomlight is on the horizon! So, instead of a anthology of humorous tales from our talented pool of writers, this year we're bringing you three vignettes, of varying hilarity, to tease this highly anticipated release.
First up is The Fall of Lungbarrow by James Hornby. Stay tuned for further releases throughout the day.
First up is The Fall of Lungbarrow by James Hornby. Stay tuned for further releases throughout the day.
| the_fall_of_lungbarrow.pdf |
The Fall of Lungbarrow
by James Hornby
A violent breeze whipped about the valley. Dionus pulled his long robes tight around him, wishing he’d have dressed a little more sensibly for the trek across the wilderness. As always, his people’s tradition carried more weight across the ages than common sense.
In the far distance, beyond the fields of emerald-petaled flowers, Mount Lung dominated the skyline, its three peaks beckoning him towards it like a taloned hand, despite his best intentions.
He’d always found the place ominous, an omen of darker times to come. Indeed, he recalled his own journey to its Plutarch peak, where the Kingmaker imparted her own cryptic prophecy to him on the night he was granted his timeship. The memory made him shiver, and he swore then he would never return.
And return he would not. He averted his gaze from the triune colossus, reminding himself of his reason for traversing this desolate place, and how long a journey he still had ahead of him.
Though as he tried to alter his path towards the Inland Sea, the mountain found another way of drawing him back.
The wind picked up, even harder now. The blast came so hard that the skin on his cheeks began to ripple. Curiosity got the better of him, and he turned his head back to the jagged blot of white on the horizon.
But it wasn’t all white. Something large and black was sliding down the mountainside, kicking up a trail of grey in its wake. Dionus could only stare in disbelief. The object plummeted at a rate of knots, before it crashed into the base of the mountain, leaving little more than a pile of rubble.
“Lungbarrow…” Dionus whispered, as the wind whipped the word from his lips, and carried back across the valley to the Time City. He felt his heart sink. The fall of a House was no small affair.
Whatever happened there was significant, and on this planet little that happened was significant. He was lucky to have seen it, as the events would no doubt be shrouded in mystery once the authorities arrived. He recalled the same happening to the House of Marnal after its Kirthriarch went missing, its Loomlings absorbed into higher House without a further word spoken.
“Change is definitely on its way,” Dionus said with a sigh.
"You’re just imagining it," said his mother, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. He nuzzled against it, soaking in her warmth as if for the first time in centuries. All the while, his eyes lay fixed upon Lungbarrow, shattered at the base of the mountain.
“Should we go and help them?” Dionus asked. He knew what his instincts were telling him, but the decision wasn’t his to make.
His mother shook her head. “I’m sure there are far more important players than ourselves involved in what’s happening there. Now come on, Casmus won’t be happy if we don’t return by Sunsbreak tomorrow. You remember what happened last time you disappointed him…”
Dionus winced at the memory, and spared a thought for Lungbarrow’s own Kithriarch, hoping they weren’t caught up in the House’s fall.
Reluctantly, Dionus followed his mother away from the fallen House. As they went, he uttered a silent prayer for Lungbarrow, hoping one day it would get its chance to rise from ruin.
In the far distance, beyond the fields of emerald-petaled flowers, Mount Lung dominated the skyline, its three peaks beckoning him towards it like a taloned hand, despite his best intentions.
He’d always found the place ominous, an omen of darker times to come. Indeed, he recalled his own journey to its Plutarch peak, where the Kingmaker imparted her own cryptic prophecy to him on the night he was granted his timeship. The memory made him shiver, and he swore then he would never return.
And return he would not. He averted his gaze from the triune colossus, reminding himself of his reason for traversing this desolate place, and how long a journey he still had ahead of him.
Though as he tried to alter his path towards the Inland Sea, the mountain found another way of drawing him back.
The wind picked up, even harder now. The blast came so hard that the skin on his cheeks began to ripple. Curiosity got the better of him, and he turned his head back to the jagged blot of white on the horizon.
But it wasn’t all white. Something large and black was sliding down the mountainside, kicking up a trail of grey in its wake. Dionus could only stare in disbelief. The object plummeted at a rate of knots, before it crashed into the base of the mountain, leaving little more than a pile of rubble.
“Lungbarrow…” Dionus whispered, as the wind whipped the word from his lips, and carried back across the valley to the Time City. He felt his heart sink. The fall of a House was no small affair.
Whatever happened there was significant, and on this planet little that happened was significant. He was lucky to have seen it, as the events would no doubt be shrouded in mystery once the authorities arrived. He recalled the same happening to the House of Marnal after its Kirthriarch went missing, its Loomlings absorbed into higher House without a further word spoken.
“Change is definitely on its way,” Dionus said with a sigh.
"You’re just imagining it," said his mother, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. He nuzzled against it, soaking in her warmth as if for the first time in centuries. All the while, his eyes lay fixed upon Lungbarrow, shattered at the base of the mountain.
“Should we go and help them?” Dionus asked. He knew what his instincts were telling him, but the decision wasn’t his to make.
His mother shook her head. “I’m sure there are far more important players than ourselves involved in what’s happening there. Now come on, Casmus won’t be happy if we don’t return by Sunsbreak tomorrow. You remember what happened last time you disappointed him…”
Dionus winced at the memory, and spared a thought for Lungbarrow’s own Kithriarch, hoping they weren’t caught up in the House’s fall.
Reluctantly, Dionus followed his mother away from the fallen House. As they went, he uttered a silent prayer for Lungbarrow, hoping one day it would get its chance to rise from ruin.
Coming Soon:
Lungbarrow by Loomlight
All is not well on the world of the Temporal Superiors. Chris Cwej is having someone else's nightmares. Reflections in grimy mirrors whisper dark secrets about a forgotten past. And Chris finds himself drawn into a plot of revenge, rooted in a murderous family conspiracy. At the root of it all, is a terrible place; the Ancient House of Lungbarrow lies waiting in ruins. Something immense is unfurling in those derelict towers. The dead House inextricably stirs from beyond the grave. Many centuries ago Chris Cwej and his forgotten mentor left that lonely House on the point of Domicide. Abandoned, disgraced, resentful; it has planned for this fateful reunion. To rewrite his fate, Chris must track down the hidden figure at the heart of it all, and traverse into Lungbarrow's storied past to kill an ancient other founder, lost in Loomlight.
Copyright © 2026 Arcbeatle Press, All Rights Reserved.
This story is a work of fiction, any resemblance between it and persons living or dead, or events past or present, is purely coincidental. Any resemblance between it and other narratives or stories is purely coincidental, or done firmly within the bounds of parody or satire. Names, characters, locations, and events featured in this publication are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without express written permission of Arcbeatle Press. A publication of Arcbeatle Press, 2026. Arcbeatle Press is located in beautiful Elkhart Indiana, and is owned and operated by James Wylder. Lungbarrow and associated concepts © Marc Platt
The Kingmaker, Plutarch & Casmus © Dan Freeman
Marnal © Lance Parkin
Dionus & associated concepts © James Hornby
Edited by James Wylder & Hunter O’Connell
Publisher: James Wylder
All rights reserved.
This story is a work of fiction, any resemblance between it and persons living or dead, or events past or present, is purely coincidental. Any resemblance between it and other narratives or stories is purely coincidental, or done firmly within the bounds of parody or satire. Names, characters, locations, and events featured in this publication are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without express written permission of Arcbeatle Press. A publication of Arcbeatle Press, 2026. Arcbeatle Press is located in beautiful Elkhart Indiana, and is owned and operated by James Wylder. Lungbarrow and associated concepts © Marc Platt
The Kingmaker, Plutarch & Casmus © Dan Freeman
Marnal © Lance Parkin
Dionus & associated concepts © James Hornby
Edited by James Wylder & Hunter O’Connell
Publisher: James Wylder
All rights reserved.
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