F.M-P on The Weaponized Trash Panda Collection

Enlightenment and Our Lament

Mon, 18 May 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Excerpt from Volume 3 of F.M-P’s folklore anthologies. The editor’s notes have been included.

Learning the creation mythology of the Elves was a rather involved task. Unlike the halflings and the Dwarves, the Elves as a whole are rather reluctant to speak of the age before recorded history. That does not mean that I was unable to hear this tale; rather, I had to piece it together from numerous laments before I managed to convince one of them to tell it in full. […]¹ Nevertheless, with the help of that favor and a friend, I am able to bring you this:

Said the Carp to the Sailors

Tue, 01 Apr 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Excerpt from Volume 5 of F.M-P’s folklore anthologies. The author’s notes have been preserved.

To describe the town of Ryncebud with a handful of words, I would use “strange but warm”. I was fascinated from our arrival by the architecture: there were stone pillars everywhere, pillars holding up arches framing windows so large, they had to make space for another layer of the building to keep them together. Each wall of these buildings was made from anywhere from two to twelve materials, which provided color within color that I saw nowhere else, and the structural play between symmetry and asymmetry allowed for a giddiness of structure that I adored. The weather was quite warm, as if it were the middle of summer, which was a great relief for us¹ (although I worry how it would feel for them five months later during the actual summertime). They welcomed our unexpected arrival with open arms, giving us somewhere to stay for the low price of making ourselves useful.

The Storyteller

Thu, 27 Feb 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Found in Volume 6 of F.M-P’s folklore anthologies. The author’s footnotes have been preserved.

I learned this story from a dwarven tavern keeper I met by chance on my travels, whilst seeking shelter on one of those nights where wild, wind-swept rain blinds all who dare to travel. He was pale and lanky from age, his eyes faintly defined. I asked about strange events he’d seen (so I could add to my chronicles), and he obliged. Of the week I spent in his company, being regaled with tales he’d heard in his youth and treated like the guest of honor¹, I am obligated to state that this was one of the last ones he told me.