Home | Forum | RSS/XML

Blog Index

The Terminus. A shining beacon of light that beckons you to the end of your route. A passenger-free oasis where the weary driver can catch his breath, read his paper, stretch his legs, have a snack and piddle up against his back tyre. Terminus time is driver's time. Terminus time is sacred.

But don't be fooled. Terminus time is not always such a carnival of debauchery. Many termini are located in the deepest, darkest recesses of the most God forsaken ghettos in Western Europe. Real bandit country.

"Right! That's it! I'm going home to get my Dad and my two swords!" I once heard a ned shout to his foes during a running gang fight at a particularly nasty terminus. En guard!

You can read the rest of this blog post by picking up a copy of the Bloodbus book at Amazon.

I'm not being a money grabbing bastard, I just think it's not fair on people who bought the book to then find out it's free on the internet. Can't have that. So check it out now by clicking the book below: