A fierce warrior canters his stallion before the men and women of his clan on the field of battle. His hair blows in the wind as a divine discarnate crescendo builds.
A clansmen counters, “PulpRev is a titan, at least 7 feet tall.”
“Aye, I’ve heard. PulpRev topples corporate leviathans like chaffs of wheat with a single arc of his mighty blade. I’ve heard that modern fantasy fans are driven raving mad with passion from locking sight with the blazing rays that emanate from the eyes of PulpRev. Modern science fiction fans are wracked with screams of glory at the mere sound of his approaching footsteps. Yet I assure you I AM PulpRev. And while the tales of my exploits may be exaggerated, those exaggerations shall stand as prophecy. Will you join me and become PulpRev? Will you forswear the tyranny of legacy publishers? Will you fight their vice grip on the publishing industry, which authorizes only a miserly, feeble sputtering trickle of FUN to pass through its gates?
“But how? What is it to be PulpRev?” asked another young member of the gathered crowd.