The three of them--Trace, Hethir, and the Archbishop--were in a tiny room lit by a single torch. On a bare table before them rested the strange sword. They had run hard, hoping to get the sword out of influence of anyone else. The Archbishop had pulled them aside into a hidden passage, and finally into the cell they now occupied. Buried beneath at least ten feet of stone in each direction, Hethir figured it should block the sword from controlling anyone--at least that's what he hoped.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Additional Posts Pending
I'm making another go at Nanowrimo, historically it has been a good time for me to get some actual progress made on something, so I'm dumping pretty much everything into it. Because of that I'm not sure if I'll be able to keep Hethir's story flowing steadily. I'm hoping to keep a post coming every week, but if I slide, that's why.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Bloodstains in the Temple
Hethir and the Archbishop sprinted right on the heels of Trace and a few other knights as they wound through the temple. "They're trying to break through to the vaults!" Shouted a knight ahead of them. He clutched at his sword arm, trying to staunch the blood that poured around his fingers. For a moment the Archbishop began to slow, reaching a hand out towards the man, but the knight gestured forward with his chin. "They need you more than me, I'll live! Go!"
Hethir wasn't sure he believed the knight--there was a good-sized pool of blood beneath him--but didn't feel like arguing, the man wouldn't be able to help them anyhow. Turning a corner, Hethir gets his first sight of the combatants. It was definitely not what he expected.
Hethir wasn't sure he believed the knight--there was a good-sized pool of blood beneath him--but didn't feel like arguing, the man wouldn't be able to help them anyhow. Turning a corner, Hethir gets his first sight of the combatants. It was definitely not what he expected.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Nightmare Reality
When you lie in bed at night, and your mind seems to run wild over uncharted fields of imagination, there inevitably arise those patches that shock, horrify, and terrify. Nightmares we call them, and mature individuals are told to shrug them off, they don't mean anything anyway.
But what if that advice is wrong?
But what if that advice is wrong?
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Circles in Circles
The Archbishop led Hethir to a small chamber, only the two of them were admitted in. Mary, Garius and Val were brought chairs--Hethir was honestly surprised to see that they were padded and looked rather comfortable; he had expected differently. Inside, the room was bare to a fault. The walls looked to be rough stone crudely scraped smooth, the floor only improved by thousands of footfalls having worn it smooth. There were no ornaments or furnishings; and the room's only other notable feature was a round stone table set in the exact center of the room.
That was merely the physical appearance of the chamber.
That was merely the physical appearance of the chamber.
Friday, October 25, 2013
Lack of Update This Week: Explanation
This week I've taken the time I would have spent writing another update or two, and started writing basic outlines for the next half dozen posts for the Dust serial. In previous posts I only had a vague idea of where I was going with the story--even within the post itself, I sometimes surprised myself with how it ended. While it's sometimes enjoyable, I think overall the quality was suffering for it. So I sat down and started to figure out exactly where I was going to take things and write it all down.
Patience grasshopper... regular posting will resume, once I start to figure out what I'm doing.
-Matthew
Patience grasshopper... regular posting will resume, once I start to figure out what I'm doing.
-Matthew
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Anger of the Archbishop
The Archbishop of Santure was not a physically imposing figure. He was not quite six feet tall; and skinny enough to border on emaciated. But if anyone was foolish enough to judge the man based on that, it wasn't Hethir. They had met before, and engaged in a mental duel that would have had bards fighting each other for the honor of composing a ballad--had anyone but them known it. Besides being among the most capable spellcasters in the world--power amplified even further by the temple--the Archbishop was a very powerful psychic. Their duel had ended in something of a draw the last time, and if he was honest with himself, Hethir would have to admit he wasn't certain of winning even if he fought dirty. Also that duel had been out in the city of Santure, not inside the temple. And the Archbishop had been delivering a speech to a gathered throng and at least somewhat distracted. Now he was in the seat of his power, entirely focused, and had no illusions to maintain. Hethir was still trying to get his mind functional, had no useful allies around, and had apparently lost his connection to Michael back on the ship.
This could go very badly for him.
This could go very badly for him.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Nanotech: Alpha Swarm
Attn: Dr. Strenz
The Alpha Swarm has surpassed our greatest hopes, however they still seem to be suffering from several distinct limitations.First, despite our best efforts, they remain incapable of learning new information. Our attempts to create a hive-mind memory have apparently failed, we must pursue this further.
Second, they seem to be able to recall a particular form only for as long as they carry the mass of it. It also seems that this limitation extends to a roughly 5 minute time span, with the time limit being shorter with more complex items. Thus, while the swarm can absorb an object, and then flawlessly recreate it, it cannot then replicate the object, even if it is attempted immediately.
Thirdly the nanites seem to eventually hit a critical mass in terms of numbers. It is unclear at exactly what point this occurs, but it also can be clearly witnessed. The swarm can rebuild itself from only a milligram of nanites back to its starting mass of 1 Kg, but it does not seem to be able to grow larger than 2Kg. We theorize that the nanites numbers overwhelm their ability to communicate, and that nanites that are still connected to the hive begin to register the disconnected nanites as hostile invaders, and reabsorb them.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Avatar Knight
It had been a long time since Hethir's mind had been this silent. Even when knocked out he was generally lucid in mind, even if his body couldn't really act.
This was different. A white void suffused his mind, leaving him little besides his identity. It was impossible to tell how long he had been like that, but slowly he became aware of a changing landscape. Shadows had begun to appear in the blank space he inhabited. The world began to filter back into consciousness, and
his eyes opened.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Holy Hellfire
Hethir's group managed to reach the temple without drawing too much unwanted attention. Trace was doing his best, but he was still unmistakably gawking at the temple as they drew closer. For a few minutes Hethir had given Trace the mental equivalent of a shoulder-jostle to snap him out of it, but he soon gave up. Trace's jerky attempts to act casual drew nearly as much attention, and he looked like he was hiding something, so he just sighed and let the knight gawk.
As they neared the front entrance, Hethir's heart began to beat faster. The last time he had been here... had not been a pleasant experience. He suppressed a grimace; hopefully this time would go better. They crossed the massive threshold and entered the cavernous front room, and Trace checked out of even attempting to restrain himself. His eyes fairly bugged out of his head and his mouth hung slack as he looked up towards the vaulted ceilings. Hethir had to admit that he couldn't entirely blame him. He imagined that even after seeing it a hundred times it was still a stunning sight. Every surface of the walls and ceilings was covered with elaborate and intricate carvings and murals all interwoven with each other. In one place carvings were made to support and frame images from history; while other places had carvings spewing forth from them. No two were alike, it must have been the work of thousands of artisans working for years to create them all. Of course these were not the Temple's most impressive feature. Weaving through the carved pillars that supported the distant ceiling was a massive flying serpent. Its scales glowed with the brilliance of a forge-fire, and its eyes were brighter still. It wove through the room in complex and seemingly random patterns, but watching its sinuous length sliding through the air was hypnotic. Hethir knew that it was an illusion, but that did little to reduce the awe that the sight inspired.
It was a constant reminder for those who visited the temple that Lumis would not abandon his followers.
As they neared the front entrance, Hethir's heart began to beat faster. The last time he had been here... had not been a pleasant experience. He suppressed a grimace; hopefully this time would go better. They crossed the massive threshold and entered the cavernous front room, and Trace checked out of even attempting to restrain himself. His eyes fairly bugged out of his head and his mouth hung slack as he looked up towards the vaulted ceilings. Hethir had to admit that he couldn't entirely blame him. He imagined that even after seeing it a hundred times it was still a stunning sight. Every surface of the walls and ceilings was covered with elaborate and intricate carvings and murals all interwoven with each other. In one place carvings were made to support and frame images from history; while other places had carvings spewing forth from them. No two were alike, it must have been the work of thousands of artisans working for years to create them all. Of course these were not the Temple's most impressive feature. Weaving through the carved pillars that supported the distant ceiling was a massive flying serpent. Its scales glowed with the brilliance of a forge-fire, and its eyes were brighter still. It wove through the room in complex and seemingly random patterns, but watching its sinuous length sliding through the air was hypnotic. Hethir knew that it was an illusion, but that did little to reduce the awe that the sight inspired.
It was a constant reminder for those who visited the temple that Lumis would not abandon his followers.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Dustworld: Radia
Radia is very different from either Astoria or Dredge. A very strict theocracy, the country is ruled by a council of five clerics known as the Tetrarchs that are elected by their peers from each of the five districts of the nation. Their religion is carefully cultivated, and while many of the low-ranking clerics are true servants of the gods they serve, most of those in the upper echelons of the church have been seduced and influenced by the power they hold. The religion of the Tetrarchs is officially known as The Radiant Pantheon, most simply call their followers Radiants. The Radiant Pantheon consists of five deities, each of which holds sway over specific areas of life, and who are believed to be equals. In reality the deities are in near-constant states of minor conflict with each other, each vying with the others to attract more worshipers and thus gain further power.
Even though most radiants are unaware of the conflict among their deities, it spills over into their lives in the form of intense competitiveness and constant minor strife in their society. Unlike Dredge--where skill at arms makes a master--the competition within Radia can be found in nearly any form. From boxing to baking, every radiant seeks to be better than their peers, and in turn gain further distinction from their gods. It is a natural outflow of this competitive nature that Radia's borders are nearly always encroaching on Astoria's.
The clerics of the Radiant Pantheon are not exempt from this competition, in fact they have it somewhat worse. Nearly all radiant clerics are trained for battle, and all are more than willing to subdue an audience for their sermons by brute force, declaring all the while that it proves the truth of their gods' power.
While many outside of Radia find the radiants to be odd and more than a little terrifying, there are followers of the Radiant Pantheon to be found outside its borders. Because of their constant strife, the gods of the Pantheon tend to be a bit more attached to their followers than most deities, and they are quick to bestow blessing on their most devoted followers.
Radia itself is largely agricultural; with only one major city, and dozens of smaller towns. Even these towns are frequently little more than a market and houses for farmhands. Despite this lack of urban centers, Radia has a massive population. Bearing healthy children and having a large household are simply two more things to compete on for the radiants. The massive amount of agriculture in Radia is mostly out of necessity; there are a lot of mouths to feed.
The massive population of Radia means constant trouble to its neighbor Astoria. Despite the skill and mastery of its legions, Astoria's military can field but a fraction of Radia's power. When the Tetrarchs call for a march to war, most of the country picks up whatever weapons they have and march. While casualties in battle are often heavy, the clerics are usually able to save most from death's clutches. There is little in the way of tactics for Radia's military; most battle orders begin and end with a bellowed, "Charge!" from the clerics in the front line.
Even though most radiants are unaware of the conflict among their deities, it spills over into their lives in the form of intense competitiveness and constant minor strife in their society. Unlike Dredge--where skill at arms makes a master--the competition within Radia can be found in nearly any form. From boxing to baking, every radiant seeks to be better than their peers, and in turn gain further distinction from their gods. It is a natural outflow of this competitive nature that Radia's borders are nearly always encroaching on Astoria's.
The clerics of the Radiant Pantheon are not exempt from this competition, in fact they have it somewhat worse. Nearly all radiant clerics are trained for battle, and all are more than willing to subdue an audience for their sermons by brute force, declaring all the while that it proves the truth of their gods' power.
While many outside of Radia find the radiants to be odd and more than a little terrifying, there are followers of the Radiant Pantheon to be found outside its borders. Because of their constant strife, the gods of the Pantheon tend to be a bit more attached to their followers than most deities, and they are quick to bestow blessing on their most devoted followers.
Radia itself is largely agricultural; with only one major city, and dozens of smaller towns. Even these towns are frequently little more than a market and houses for farmhands. Despite this lack of urban centers, Radia has a massive population. Bearing healthy children and having a large household are simply two more things to compete on for the radiants. The massive amount of agriculture in Radia is mostly out of necessity; there are a lot of mouths to feed.
The massive population of Radia means constant trouble to its neighbor Astoria. Despite the skill and mastery of its legions, Astoria's military can field but a fraction of Radia's power. When the Tetrarchs call for a march to war, most of the country picks up whatever weapons they have and march. While casualties in battle are often heavy, the clerics are usually able to save most from death's clutches. There is little in the way of tactics for Radia's military; most battle orders begin and end with a bellowed, "Charge!" from the clerics in the front line.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Discomforting Dillemma
The Storm Hawk made port in Santure a few days after the prisoners' failed attempt to escape. The knight had gotten himself into a righteous fury over Hethir's treatment of the prisoner, until Hethir informed him that if he was so worried about it, he should either heal the man or give him a mercy-killing, because anything else was just hot breath. Trace did not respond after that, but had spent the past few days in silence and looking troubled.
Hethir preferred it that way.
Hethir preferred it that way.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Dustworld: Astoria
Astoria controls the southern half of Verdence. Astoria and Radia vary frequently from shaky allies, to skirmishing at their borders, to open combat, to mutual invasion, and then back to allies. The reasons for such engagements are rarely the same, but the roots of them frequently are. The Royal family of Astoria is proud and haughty, and looks down upon the religious sentiment of the Tetrarchs. Astoria is a bed of many small religions, some will grow and wither in under a year, while some have persisted through recorded history. Astoria is strictly ruled, but its people generally look favorably upon the royal family. Although their haughty nature cannot be denied, the royalty may look for husbands and brides wherever they will, and not an inconsiderable number of pretty peasant damsels have been turned into Princesses. Between this intermarriage and the ancient pride the Royalty have in their nation, as a rule they see it as their utmost duty to ensure their people thrive in safety.
The armies of Astoria are the best-trained in the world. However it is also the smallest standing army. The royal army consists of three legions of elite troops. Even in peacetime they are never given a chance to get bored. At least one legion is always on active duty, and if the other two are not needed for duty as well, they are set to wargames against each other. Masters of tactics, the legionnaires of Astoria train in everything from single combat and skirmishing, to small unit tactics, up to mass formations with the entire legion. While the heavy infantry of Astoria can match up against any other army in the world, they are invariably at their strongest when working together. Those that meet the Astorian legions in battle are often amazed and disheartened by the uncanny precision and unity with which their formations move. In this, they are aided by more than simple training.
It is a secret well-guarded by the royal family that part of the final initiation rites to the legions involves an ancient relic of Astoria. Called the world-mind, only the royal family and those who hold firmest loyalty to them can use it. It allows for telepathic communication between those attuned to it anywhere on Dustworld. This communication allows for commanders in the field to near-perfectly coordinate their troops, and have no need for messengers or missives that might be tracked or interrupted. Any messages that are delivered by voice or letter are either as a formality, or misdirection to hide the true communication. Radian leaders have sought for years to uncover Astoria's secret, but so far to no avail.
The armies of Astoria are the best-trained in the world. However it is also the smallest standing army. The royal army consists of three legions of elite troops. Even in peacetime they are never given a chance to get bored. At least one legion is always on active duty, and if the other two are not needed for duty as well, they are set to wargames against each other. Masters of tactics, the legionnaires of Astoria train in everything from single combat and skirmishing, to small unit tactics, up to mass formations with the entire legion. While the heavy infantry of Astoria can match up against any other army in the world, they are invariably at their strongest when working together. Those that meet the Astorian legions in battle are often amazed and disheartened by the uncanny precision and unity with which their formations move. In this, they are aided by more than simple training.
It is a secret well-guarded by the royal family that part of the final initiation rites to the legions involves an ancient relic of Astoria. Called the world-mind, only the royal family and those who hold firmest loyalty to them can use it. It allows for telepathic communication between those attuned to it anywhere on Dustworld. This communication allows for commanders in the field to near-perfectly coordinate their troops, and have no need for messengers or missives that might be tracked or interrupted. Any messages that are delivered by voice or letter are either as a formality, or misdirection to hide the true communication. Radian leaders have sought for years to uncover Astoria's secret, but so far to no avail.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Bloody Wake
Adrift in dreams, Hethir's mind wandered. He had always been lucid during his dreams, for as long as he could remember at least, but tonight at least he wasn't bothering to exert much control.
He and Val had finally collapsed--satisfied and exhausted--some hours after their tryst had begun. After ensuring that she was not actually hiding daggers in her underskirts, Hethir had joined her in sleep gratefully.
Now he was simply allowing his dreams to play through the events of the last few days. He watched idly for the most part. Occasionally nudging something a different way just to watch; but even that was more idle curiosity than anything else. He frequently used his dreams to plan and train, it had saved his life a number of times. He practiced odd patterns of thought that would confuse anyone else with powers like his; and even more frequently ran through combat scenarios. The dreamscape turned into a great wargame, and it made him far faster in tactical situations than most opponents were prepared for.
He was mulling over the thought of doing just such a thing when something in the waking world began to disrupt his thoughts. A voice. Screams actually, words maybe?
"Brig! Brig! All hands to arms!"
He and Val had finally collapsed--satisfied and exhausted--some hours after their tryst had begun. After ensuring that she was not actually hiding daggers in her underskirts, Hethir had joined her in sleep gratefully.
Now he was simply allowing his dreams to play through the events of the last few days. He watched idly for the most part. Occasionally nudging something a different way just to watch; but even that was more idle curiosity than anything else. He frequently used his dreams to plan and train, it had saved his life a number of times. He practiced odd patterns of thought that would confuse anyone else with powers like his; and even more frequently ran through combat scenarios. The dreamscape turned into a great wargame, and it made him far faster in tactical situations than most opponents were prepared for.
He was mulling over the thought of doing just such a thing when something in the waking world began to disrupt his thoughts. A voice. Screams actually, words maybe?
"Brig! Brig! All hands to arms!"
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Doubled Deception
The sun continued its inexorable march forward, and the ship continued its journey. Hethir spent most of the day near the helm. Occasionally he corrected course, but mostly he just didn’t want to look at the knight, Trace. The mercenaries had been given run of the ship, all except the rest of the quarters and the poop deck. The man Garius had made brief attempts to convince the crew to gamble with the cards he had, but Hethir had made clear to his crew that the mercs were to be ignored as much as possible, and they followed orders well.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
A Conversation over Steel
Hethir got below deck as an argument seemed to be boiling over in the quarters the mercs had been given.
"Just for once Trace, would you relax, everything isn't about your holy crusade!"
"For me, it is! I don't know how many times I've explained this to you Garius, I cannot simply lay down my mantle when it is inconvenient for me, or for you! My 'holy crusade' as you so put it is what I am!"
A woman's voice broke in, "Gentlemen, please, you are giving me a headache. Garius, stop antagonizing Sir Trace, you know you will never convince him of anything, you aren't clever enough for it."
"Why you little..."
"Enough Garius! I know you do not share my faith, nor understand why I hold it, but I will not betray my god for the sake of your pocketbook and that is final."
"Yeah? And what about our lives? Huh? Does that matter to you! If we really did get drug in with pirates then you're either going to have to play along or end up in a quick trip to the bottom in all that fancy knight's armor you're so proud of."
"Garius, we don't know that they are pirates, in fact you have no proof of that at all, and Trace, please just promise me that you will not do anything rash before all three of us are willing to act? I for one do not wish to repeat what happened in Trahern."
The second voice--the knight--sighed with resignation, "very well Mary, I will wait for your lead, though my heart is troubled about this situation."
"As well you have reason to," Hethir muttered to himself. Michael must have spoken to only a few of the mercs, he would never have hired a knight knowingly. Well, the damage was now done, he would just have to do his best to contain it.
Without bothering to knock, Hethir toggled the clasp and thrust the door open. The three mercs jumped to their feet at his entrance. The one in patched leather and chain armor he guessed was Garius, and he held a notched but lethal-looking axe in his hand, already in position for a quick strike. The knight was almost painfully obvious--no, Michael definitely didn't see him. His hair was brown, and tied back behind his head in an intricate braid, and his plate armor gleamed even in the dim ship lights. He had been sitting with his back to the door, and had only managed a half turn, but he had dropped into a defensive stance, clearly ready to use his better armor to defend himself and his two companions. The woman, Mary, had reacted the least. She had only straightened in her chair rather than standing, but one hand had dropped to a pouch at her belt, and the other had been lifted in the first of a series of gestures. An arcanist, well that made things a little better, provided they could keep the knight from wanting to kill him.
The tense moment released after only a moment as Hethir spoke. "Excellent reactions, Michael seems to have chosen well--as usual."
Garius responded first, "You the cap' then?"
"I am Captain Hethir, Michael is my first mate."
The knight Trace had finished turning to look at Hethir, and Hethir swore he could feel the man's holy heckles rising.
"Sir Trace was it? Before you go and declare me an unholy beast that should be slain let me inform you that I am not in fact a demon; neither have I ever had dealings with them. Believe me, I've seen that look in your eyes more often than I care to recount, and we can do without the next step."
The knight blinked once in response, but that was the only answer he gave.
Hethir sighed, "I didn't hire you for piracy, or to muscle someone, I hired you because I'm going to need help protecting my ship and my own skin."
"Protect you from what?" Mary spoke up, "You seem to have a substantial crew, and unless I greatly miss my guess your first mate is no slouch."
"I honestly don't know yet." Hethir admitted, "I have been contacted by an underground criminal organization, they want me to fetch something for them. Frequently this is how I make my money, but this time it's different."
Hethir looked straight at the Knight, "they want a set of chalices from the church, specifically the Archbishop of Santure."
Trace looked like he was about to make an outburst of some kind, but Hethir cut him off, "I have no idea why they want these chalices, or what they are capable of that would make the church want to lock them away, but quite frankly I don't care."
"You would ask me to defend you from my own brethren while you make off with holy relics?! You dare..."
"No, holy man, I do not, and I am not. Whatever these relics are, I've no doubt they're better off locked in the church's vaults than in the hands of criminals, especially ones with access to magic of the sort we have seen them display."
Trace closed his mouth, but still eyed Hethir venomously. "No, I need your help because I have no intention whatsoever of following these criminals' demands, and that will not sit well with them."
Hethir paused for a moment and met their eyes, "What I need the three of you for, is to keep me alive long enough for me to figure out why 'D' wants these chalices. Because if they are as powerful as I'm beginning to suspect, I think the church--and everyone else--would want to know what he is up to."
Garius shrugged, "told you we weren't dealing with pirates." Trace sighed and relaxed back into his chair, "you were the one who suggested it in the first place, Garius, stop being tiresome."
Mary just shook her head.
"I can see that the three of you have been around each other a while," Hethir remarked with a smirk. Mary looked at him and shrugged, "sometimes we all wonder how that is."
"Captain."
The Knight stood and turned to face him. Hethir was surprised to find himself looking up at the man--it wasn't common to find someone taller than him.
"Yes, Sir Trace?"
"What are you? You say you are not a demon, but you carry their stench. Explain yourself."
"Most call us tieflings. Our heritage is certainly of the lower planes, but it is long removed. The fiendish powers leave enough of a mark on humans to reoccur many generations later. I was born this way. For a while I was cared for by the church. A priest in a tiny hamlet decided that I was not evil and worth caring for. A Knight came by when I was 12 and decided otherwise, killed the priest for association with me and then came for me next. I left and never looked back."
Hethir matched the knight's steely glance with a molten one of his own, "while you may doubt me by appearance, knight, I doubt you on actions taken against innocents by your entire order, innocents whose only crime was proximity to one whom the knights disliked. Fortunately for you, I refuse to lower myself to their standards, I will judge you personally, not for your association."
Hethir's long-buried anger suddenly surfaced in a boiling flash, "but make no mistake, Knight, attempt to harm me or my crew..." The chair he had been sitting on suddenly smashed into the deck, and shattered to splinters,"...and I will be very happy to see your corpse grace my deck."
Trace glanced from the ruined chair back to Hethir, but he had already walked away, unwilling to spend any more time in the knight's presence.
"Well Trace, you managed to restrain yourself, but barely it seems."
"I checked him Mary, he didn't seem to be an evil man, but I still do not trust him."
"And you're sure giving him plenty of reasons to trust you, I thought you knights were supposed to be diplomatic." Garius shook his head and stuck his axe back through his belt. "If even half what the Cap' said is true, he has equal reason to hate you as you have him; maybe even more."
Trace scowled, "such obvious lies should sway no one, a knight would never harm an innocent! Nor a child."
Mary looked up from her seat and met his eyes, "Trace, not all knights are as dedicated as you, and not all of them are immune to the corruption of power." He glared back at her for a moment, then his face softened. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, "I know, Mary, but I don't want to believe it. I don't believe so much could be changed."
Garius let out a heavy sigh and looked at Trace with something that almost resembled pity, "you're in for a lot of hard lessons lad, and I don't envy you their swallowing."
"Just for once Trace, would you relax, everything isn't about your holy crusade!"
"For me, it is! I don't know how many times I've explained this to you Garius, I cannot simply lay down my mantle when it is inconvenient for me, or for you! My 'holy crusade' as you so put it is what I am!"
A woman's voice broke in, "Gentlemen, please, you are giving me a headache. Garius, stop antagonizing Sir Trace, you know you will never convince him of anything, you aren't clever enough for it."
"Why you little..."
"Enough Garius! I know you do not share my faith, nor understand why I hold it, but I will not betray my god for the sake of your pocketbook and that is final."
"Yeah? And what about our lives? Huh? Does that matter to you! If we really did get drug in with pirates then you're either going to have to play along or end up in a quick trip to the bottom in all that fancy knight's armor you're so proud of."
"Garius, we don't know that they are pirates, in fact you have no proof of that at all, and Trace, please just promise me that you will not do anything rash before all three of us are willing to act? I for one do not wish to repeat what happened in Trahern."
The second voice--the knight--sighed with resignation, "very well Mary, I will wait for your lead, though my heart is troubled about this situation."
"As well you have reason to," Hethir muttered to himself. Michael must have spoken to only a few of the mercs, he would never have hired a knight knowingly. Well, the damage was now done, he would just have to do his best to contain it.
Without bothering to knock, Hethir toggled the clasp and thrust the door open. The three mercs jumped to their feet at his entrance. The one in patched leather and chain armor he guessed was Garius, and he held a notched but lethal-looking axe in his hand, already in position for a quick strike. The knight was almost painfully obvious--no, Michael definitely didn't see him. His hair was brown, and tied back behind his head in an intricate braid, and his plate armor gleamed even in the dim ship lights. He had been sitting with his back to the door, and had only managed a half turn, but he had dropped into a defensive stance, clearly ready to use his better armor to defend himself and his two companions. The woman, Mary, had reacted the least. She had only straightened in her chair rather than standing, but one hand had dropped to a pouch at her belt, and the other had been lifted in the first of a series of gestures. An arcanist, well that made things a little better, provided they could keep the knight from wanting to kill him.
The tense moment released after only a moment as Hethir spoke. "Excellent reactions, Michael seems to have chosen well--as usual."
Garius responded first, "You the cap' then?"
"I am Captain Hethir, Michael is my first mate."
The knight Trace had finished turning to look at Hethir, and Hethir swore he could feel the man's holy heckles rising.
"Sir Trace was it? Before you go and declare me an unholy beast that should be slain let me inform you that I am not in fact a demon; neither have I ever had dealings with them. Believe me, I've seen that look in your eyes more often than I care to recount, and we can do without the next step."
The knight blinked once in response, but that was the only answer he gave.
Hethir sighed, "I didn't hire you for piracy, or to muscle someone, I hired you because I'm going to need help protecting my ship and my own skin."
"Protect you from what?" Mary spoke up, "You seem to have a substantial crew, and unless I greatly miss my guess your first mate is no slouch."
"I honestly don't know yet." Hethir admitted, "I have been contacted by an underground criminal organization, they want me to fetch something for them. Frequently this is how I make my money, but this time it's different."
Hethir looked straight at the Knight, "they want a set of chalices from the church, specifically the Archbishop of Santure."
Trace looked like he was about to make an outburst of some kind, but Hethir cut him off, "I have no idea why they want these chalices, or what they are capable of that would make the church want to lock them away, but quite frankly I don't care."
"You would ask me to defend you from my own brethren while you make off with holy relics?! You dare..."
"No, holy man, I do not, and I am not. Whatever these relics are, I've no doubt they're better off locked in the church's vaults than in the hands of criminals, especially ones with access to magic of the sort we have seen them display."
Trace closed his mouth, but still eyed Hethir venomously. "No, I need your help because I have no intention whatsoever of following these criminals' demands, and that will not sit well with them."
Hethir paused for a moment and met their eyes, "What I need the three of you for, is to keep me alive long enough for me to figure out why 'D' wants these chalices. Because if they are as powerful as I'm beginning to suspect, I think the church--and everyone else--would want to know what he is up to."
Garius shrugged, "told you we weren't dealing with pirates." Trace sighed and relaxed back into his chair, "you were the one who suggested it in the first place, Garius, stop being tiresome."
Mary just shook her head.
"I can see that the three of you have been around each other a while," Hethir remarked with a smirk. Mary looked at him and shrugged, "sometimes we all wonder how that is."
"Captain."
The Knight stood and turned to face him. Hethir was surprised to find himself looking up at the man--it wasn't common to find someone taller than him.
"Yes, Sir Trace?"
"What are you? You say you are not a demon, but you carry their stench. Explain yourself."
"Most call us tieflings. Our heritage is certainly of the lower planes, but it is long removed. The fiendish powers leave enough of a mark on humans to reoccur many generations later. I was born this way. For a while I was cared for by the church. A priest in a tiny hamlet decided that I was not evil and worth caring for. A Knight came by when I was 12 and decided otherwise, killed the priest for association with me and then came for me next. I left and never looked back."
Hethir matched the knight's steely glance with a molten one of his own, "while you may doubt me by appearance, knight, I doubt you on actions taken against innocents by your entire order, innocents whose only crime was proximity to one whom the knights disliked. Fortunately for you, I refuse to lower myself to their standards, I will judge you personally, not for your association."
Hethir's long-buried anger suddenly surfaced in a boiling flash, "but make no mistake, Knight, attempt to harm me or my crew..." The chair he had been sitting on suddenly smashed into the deck, and shattered to splinters,"...and I will be very happy to see your corpse grace my deck."
Trace glanced from the ruined chair back to Hethir, but he had already walked away, unwilling to spend any more time in the knight's presence.
"Well Trace, you managed to restrain yourself, but barely it seems."
"I checked him Mary, he didn't seem to be an evil man, but I still do not trust him."
"And you're sure giving him plenty of reasons to trust you, I thought you knights were supposed to be diplomatic." Garius shook his head and stuck his axe back through his belt. "If even half what the Cap' said is true, he has equal reason to hate you as you have him; maybe even more."
Trace scowled, "such obvious lies should sway no one, a knight would never harm an innocent! Nor a child."
Mary looked up from her seat and met his eyes, "Trace, not all knights are as dedicated as you, and not all of them are immune to the corruption of power." He glared back at her for a moment, then his face softened. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, "I know, Mary, but I don't want to believe it. I don't believe so much could be changed."
Garius let out a heavy sigh and looked at Trace with something that almost resembled pity, "you're in for a lot of hard lessons lad, and I don't envy you their swallowing."
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Dustworld: The country of Dredge
Dustworld is a contradictory world, as much of its surface is covered with water, but as a whole it has a very arid and dry climate. Much of the world is unexplored. Only two main continents are well-populated--Durim and Verdence--with many islands and small atolls between them.
Three nations rule in Dustworld: Dredge, Radia, and Astora.
Dredge rules the smaller continent of Durim. A martial society, the first rule in Dredge is that the strong rule. Now that is not to say that Dredge is a lawless society. Indiscriminate murder is punished perhaps even more harshly in Dredge than anywhere else--and theft is almost not to be countenanced. The reason for this however is very specific. The strongest in the land is known as the Warlord--or sometimes Warlady--and by ancient law, basically everything in Dredge belongs directly to them. Most Warlords don’t exercise this power too often--recognizing that it is in their best interest to keep their subjects pleased with them. For every year at the height of the new moon, at the darkest time of year, a challenge is held. The reigning Warlord enters a ring, and for the space of one hour, challenges all comers to single combat. The reason it is so important for the warlord to be well-liked, is that any subjects may bring him weapons, armor, spells, healing, or whatever other assistance they wish, provided they do not directly interfere with the duels. Challengers may choose to fight to the death, or they may accept offers of quarter levelled by the warlord. The Warlord has no such option, he fights against his death in every duel. Those challenging the warlord in the duels must overcome him with no assistance at all. Should they do so, they prove to all that they are more worthy of the mantle, and take it up. However, they must finish their time in the ring, the warlord must take all challengers for an hour.
Once the hour of challenge is over, the second challenge of the night comes for the warlord. To even be present at the Warlord’s challenge, one must be armed and ready to fight, and it is because of this second challenge. The warlord plants his banner upon a crag of rock worn smooth by countless feet over countless years. All who support him gather round him on the crag, while any who would challenge him plant their own banners in the field. After half an hour, a horn is blown, and the gathered forces clash. The challengers must topple the warlord’s standard in one hour, and the warlord must defend it. The challengers in this combat are not limited in their actions in any way, and neither are those that fight them directly. For all others in the trial however, the combat is more ritualistic. Very few deaths or even injuries tend to occur because of the trial, as it is seen as wasteful of the Warlord’s armies. However, the challengers are free to be fought blood for blood and steel for steel. Should a challenger be felled, any he rallied to his standard must depart the field in dishonor. Each challenger must strive to claim the banner for himself before the hour is up. At the end of the hour, if the warlord still stands with his banner, he has held his mantle. If a challenger has taken it, then they are the new Warlord.
The warlord may enact almost any law he wishes, or strike down any law that has been enacted before.
There is however a stone tablet of laws which may not be revoked or altered. These laws describe the purpose of the warlord, the trials, and the extent of his powers. The Laws of Stone, as they are called, dictate several things which the Warlord may not do, or else he dies.
This is no idle threat, as the tablet itself is an artifact of great power, and ever warlord swears in his own blood to uphold them. Failure to live up to that oath, in even the smallest respect, causes the tablet to burst out in angry fire and consume the erring warlord. If such a thing happens, the trial is held as normal, and the Warlord’s appointed second begins the hour trial. The second is under no restriction to fight to the death, and may surrender to the first challenger if he so wished, though it has never happened so easily.
Nearly the entire population of Dredge could be considered the Warlord’s army, which has caused the nations of Radia and Astora no small amount of worry. There are several reasons that Dredge rarely bothers its neighbors. The first is that Dredge has a very small number of vessels at its disposal, and not enough woodlands to make more. The second is that much of Dredge’s landmass is little better than desert. Most of the population scrapes by on living, and the Warlord frequently must go to great lengths to ensure all his people are simply fed and clothed, much less fit to march to war. And lastly, even though the warlord really does rule with an iron fist, there is a hard limit to how much he can exert that power before challengers arise and begin to usurp his dominance. Any who publicly announce their intention to challenge the warlord in the next Trial are protected from his interference by the stone law until the trial has been transgressed. And the more enemies a warlord makes, the harder it will be to hold onto his life for more than a year. For that reason alone, most warlords shy away from starting anything with their wealthier neighbors.
Dredge rules the smaller continent of Durim. A martial society, the first rule in Dredge is that the strong rule. Now that is not to say that Dredge is a lawless society. Indiscriminate murder is punished perhaps even more harshly in Dredge than anywhere else--and theft is almost not to be countenanced. The reason for this however is very specific. The strongest in the land is known as the Warlord--or sometimes Warlady--and by ancient law, basically everything in Dredge belongs directly to them. Most Warlords don’t exercise this power too often--recognizing that it is in their best interest to keep their subjects pleased with them. For every year at the height of the new moon, at the darkest time of year, a challenge is held. The reigning Warlord enters a ring, and for the space of one hour, challenges all comers to single combat. The reason it is so important for the warlord to be well-liked, is that any subjects may bring him weapons, armor, spells, healing, or whatever other assistance they wish, provided they do not directly interfere with the duels. Challengers may choose to fight to the death, or they may accept offers of quarter levelled by the warlord. The Warlord has no such option, he fights against his death in every duel. Those challenging the warlord in the duels must overcome him with no assistance at all. Should they do so, they prove to all that they are more worthy of the mantle, and take it up. However, they must finish their time in the ring, the warlord must take all challengers for an hour.
Once the hour of challenge is over, the second challenge of the night comes for the warlord. To even be present at the Warlord’s challenge, one must be armed and ready to fight, and it is because of this second challenge. The warlord plants his banner upon a crag of rock worn smooth by countless feet over countless years. All who support him gather round him on the crag, while any who would challenge him plant their own banners in the field. After half an hour, a horn is blown, and the gathered forces clash. The challengers must topple the warlord’s standard in one hour, and the warlord must defend it. The challengers in this combat are not limited in their actions in any way, and neither are those that fight them directly. For all others in the trial however, the combat is more ritualistic. Very few deaths or even injuries tend to occur because of the trial, as it is seen as wasteful of the Warlord’s armies. However, the challengers are free to be fought blood for blood and steel for steel. Should a challenger be felled, any he rallied to his standard must depart the field in dishonor. Each challenger must strive to claim the banner for himself before the hour is up. At the end of the hour, if the warlord still stands with his banner, he has held his mantle. If a challenger has taken it, then they are the new Warlord.
The warlord may enact almost any law he wishes, or strike down any law that has been enacted before.
There is however a stone tablet of laws which may not be revoked or altered. These laws describe the purpose of the warlord, the trials, and the extent of his powers. The Laws of Stone, as they are called, dictate several things which the Warlord may not do, or else he dies.
This is no idle threat, as the tablet itself is an artifact of great power, and ever warlord swears in his own blood to uphold them. Failure to live up to that oath, in even the smallest respect, causes the tablet to burst out in angry fire and consume the erring warlord. If such a thing happens, the trial is held as normal, and the Warlord’s appointed second begins the hour trial. The second is under no restriction to fight to the death, and may surrender to the first challenger if he so wished, though it has never happened so easily.
Nearly the entire population of Dredge could be considered the Warlord’s army, which has caused the nations of Radia and Astora no small amount of worry. There are several reasons that Dredge rarely bothers its neighbors. The first is that Dredge has a very small number of vessels at its disposal, and not enough woodlands to make more. The second is that much of Dredge’s landmass is little better than desert. Most of the population scrapes by on living, and the Warlord frequently must go to great lengths to ensure all his people are simply fed and clothed, much less fit to march to war. And lastly, even though the warlord really does rule with an iron fist, there is a hard limit to how much he can exert that power before challengers arise and begin to usurp his dominance. Any who publicly announce their intention to challenge the warlord in the next Trial are protected from his interference by the stone law until the trial has been transgressed. And the more enemies a warlord makes, the harder it will be to hold onto his life for more than a year. For that reason alone, most warlords shy away from starting anything with their wealthier neighbors.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Dangerous Dance
Despite Valeras' implicit threat, Hethir managed to get both of them back to the Storm Hawk without anyone's skin being punctured. Their feet had hardly touched the deck before the sails were unfurled and the ship pulled away from the dock.
How do we fare Michael?
Captain, four men attempted to infiltrate the crew, one shortly after our arrival, the others after we had reached the inn.
And now?
Three are in the brig, two of them are still unconscious. Two came at the same time earlier, one of them tried to flee, I shot him down, his body will be thrown overboard later, one crewman died as well.
Unfortunate. Very well, I will attend to our unwanted guests shortly. Keep the helm, get us well out to sea, I want to be out of easy range to be tracked.
Aye sir.
Where have you situated the mercenaries?
In the rear quarters, I informed them to stay there until you came to speak with them.
Excellent, thank you Michael.
How do we fare Michael?
Captain, four men attempted to infiltrate the crew, one shortly after our arrival, the others after we had reached the inn.
And now?
Three are in the brig, two of them are still unconscious. Two came at the same time earlier, one of them tried to flee, I shot him down, his body will be thrown overboard later, one crewman died as well.
Unfortunate. Very well, I will attend to our unwanted guests shortly. Keep the helm, get us well out to sea, I want to be out of easy range to be tracked.
Aye sir.
Where have you situated the mercenaries?
In the rear quarters, I informed them to stay there until you came to speak with them.
Excellent, thank you Michael.
Friday, August 16, 2013
Revised Posting Schedule
In the interest of actually making myself post regularly I'm going to set myself out a posting schedule. New posts will go up Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, with occasional informative posts such as this one in between. Tuesday's posts will be story snippets or continuations on one of my ongoing tales. For now I'm going to do my best to stick with Hethir's tale, and take it as far as I can.
Thursday's post will be about a world, a character, religion, or a magic system, depending on the week. The two posts for next week I already know. Hethir's story will continue on Tuesday with further revelations of the relationship between him and the lovely Valeras, and figuring out precisely how much trouble they've gotten themselves into.
Thursday I will begin a series detailing the setting of Hethir's story, which I will hopefully be running a game through at some point as well.
I'm hoping to attract enough readers that a few of them might even go so far as to comment or ask questions, but we'll see how it goes.
Thursday's post will be about a world, a character, religion, or a magic system, depending on the week. The two posts for next week I already know. Hethir's story will continue on Tuesday with further revelations of the relationship between him and the lovely Valeras, and figuring out precisely how much trouble they've gotten themselves into.
Thursday I will begin a series detailing the setting of Hethir's story, which I will hopefully be running a game through at some point as well.
I'm hoping to attract enough readers that a few of them might even go so far as to comment or ask questions, but we'll see how it goes.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
In Lieu of Sanity...
Who needs to be sane anyway right? Sanity was such a dull experience, especially when compared to what I get to see now!
I mean, while I was sane I trudged to work every day, sat at the same desk, did the same boring repetitive tasks... It was misery! Now I've thrown all of that out the window, I do what I want! When I want! And I TAKE what I want! And no one wants to stop me, because you see, they're all still bound in the chains of sanity, and I'm free.
And that terrifies them...
You see, in lieu of sanity... I have power. Power to act how I would act, and no one can stop me; because if someone wanted to stop me, they would first have to free themselves of their chains of sanity. And once they did that... oh, well once they did that they wouldn't want to stop me anymore! Ohoh no... no they would join me, or perhaps try to outdo me! You see... insanity is... intoxicating.
Far better than any drug, more sensual than any lover... madness is consuming, and yet for all that it takes away, it gives back more!
Oh yes, I gave up my sanity long ago, but in return... I have become mighty indeed...
I mean, while I was sane I trudged to work every day, sat at the same desk, did the same boring repetitive tasks... It was misery! Now I've thrown all of that out the window, I do what I want! When I want! And I TAKE what I want! And no one wants to stop me, because you see, they're all still bound in the chains of sanity, and I'm free.
And that terrifies them...
You see, in lieu of sanity... I have power. Power to act how I would act, and no one can stop me; because if someone wanted to stop me, they would first have to free themselves of their chains of sanity. And once they did that... oh, well once they did that they wouldn't want to stop me anymore! Ohoh no... no they would join me, or perhaps try to outdo me! You see... insanity is... intoxicating.
Far better than any drug, more sensual than any lover... madness is consuming, and yet for all that it takes away, it gives back more!
Oh yes, I gave up my sanity long ago, but in return... I have become mighty indeed...
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
A Bloody Courtship
Tastrel was not the pirate-infested sump port one would usually expect from a city full of hired blades. It was clean and bright--white marble was the primary construction material used--and every citizen wore brilliant colors. Tastrel was a town of nobles. Nobles that threw around money like they pissed it, and who were constantly trying to get one-up on the other nobles around them. Mercenaries came here frequently both to relax, and potentially to be hired by the noble families. The nobles were forbidden from arming their own servants, but all of them avoided that royal decree by hiring scads of mercs. That is what brought Hethir here.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
A Deadly Proposal
As the sun set bloody against the distant horizon, Hethir sat on the topsail spar. One hand held a line loosely for balance, the other held a piece of parchment. His dark eyes stared unblinking away from the sun, into the deep shadow cast by his ship. Far below him the crew worked in somewhat eerie silence, setting the Storm Hawk at sea anchor. For a long while he didn't move, then he lifted his hand to look at the parchment again.
The delivery of it disturbed him greatly, for many reasons. Foremost among them was the messenger that had delivered it. The small obsidian statuette was unpleasantly cold in his pocket. An hour ago it had been a huge raven, bearing down on his ship with uncanny speed with the parchment clutched in one razor-sharp talon. It had flown straight to Hethir, and no sooner had his hand touched the scroll than the bird shrunk down and stopped moving, becoming a crude statuette on the deck. A magical messenger of that sort--especially one that could seek its target as well is this one--was no small investment, and implied a certain level of power, affluence, or both, that Hethir was never very comfortable dealing with.
Then there was the message itself...
The delivery of it disturbed him greatly, for many reasons. Foremost among them was the messenger that had delivered it. The small obsidian statuette was unpleasantly cold in his pocket. An hour ago it had been a huge raven, bearing down on his ship with uncanny speed with the parchment clutched in one razor-sharp talon. It had flown straight to Hethir, and no sooner had his hand touched the scroll than the bird shrunk down and stopped moving, becoming a crude statuette on the deck. A magical messenger of that sort--especially one that could seek its target as well is this one--was no small investment, and implied a certain level of power, affluence, or both, that Hethir was never very comfortable dealing with.
Then there was the message itself...
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Embracing Death
I don't really remember dying anymore, that memory faded away to a dull ache a long time ago. One of the living told me once that it sounded like I was describing a toothache. I don't remember what teeth even feel like.
It has been a long time, such a long time...
Oh but we haven't met before have we? I apologize for not introducing myself-I should... right?
My name is Domnas, I lived and breathed in a small village no far from here, but that was probably before your time. One day, a curse struck my village, everyone died. Everyone except me. Somehow I managed to survive when no one else did.
Of course, as you can see, it didn't last. The witch walked into the village then, smug and seemingly pleased with herself. I did what came naturally to me, I charged right at her. She seemed to be surprised when I hit her--she must have thought everyone dead already--but the surprise only lasted a moment, and... well, while I had plenty of aggression, I simply wasn't very good.
The flames burned me away slowly, she seemed to be savoring my suffering as I writhed. "Enjoy your miserable non-existence..." The darkness beckoned, calling to me... and I willing fell towards it, then it burned. The merciful darkness vanished, replaced by cold and pain.
The village was the same, but the bodies were lined up on the street. She was still there, looking over the corpses, and as I watched, she kicked the pile of ash that had been mine. I didn't occur to me to question what had happened, only that this fiend of a witch in front of me was going to die.
She was surprised again, only this time her eyes widened in fear too. I still don't really understand how it works, but I just picked her up and slammed her into the ground, then a wall, through a house. I must have leveled half the village by the time I was done with her.
I remember her final words too, "...looks like my curse worked too well..."
So there you have it, cursed to wander as a ghost, poor Domnas. It isn't all so bad though. You wouldn't believe some of the things I've seen over the years. Of course I don' really remember most of them, something about being a ghost, you don't retain much.
Anyway, now that I've introduced myself... suppose you tell me what you're doing here, before I smash you and your friend through this wall...
It has been a long time, such a long time...
Oh but we haven't met before have we? I apologize for not introducing myself-I should... right?
My name is Domnas, I lived and breathed in a small village no far from here, but that was probably before your time. One day, a curse struck my village, everyone died. Everyone except me. Somehow I managed to survive when no one else did.
Of course, as you can see, it didn't last. The witch walked into the village then, smug and seemingly pleased with herself. I did what came naturally to me, I charged right at her. She seemed to be surprised when I hit her--she must have thought everyone dead already--but the surprise only lasted a moment, and... well, while I had plenty of aggression, I simply wasn't very good.
The flames burned me away slowly, she seemed to be savoring my suffering as I writhed. "Enjoy your miserable non-existence..." The darkness beckoned, calling to me... and I willing fell towards it, then it burned. The merciful darkness vanished, replaced by cold and pain.
The village was the same, but the bodies were lined up on the street. She was still there, looking over the corpses, and as I watched, she kicked the pile of ash that had been mine. I didn't occur to me to question what had happened, only that this fiend of a witch in front of me was going to die.
She was surprised again, only this time her eyes widened in fear too. I still don't really understand how it works, but I just picked her up and slammed her into the ground, then a wall, through a house. I must have leveled half the village by the time I was done with her.
I remember her final words too, "...looks like my curse worked too well..."
So there you have it, cursed to wander as a ghost, poor Domnas. It isn't all so bad though. You wouldn't believe some of the things I've seen over the years. Of course I don' really remember most of them, something about being a ghost, you don't retain much.
Anyway, now that I've introduced myself... suppose you tell me what you're doing here, before I smash you and your friend through this wall...
Monday, July 15, 2013
Reflections on the Zimmerman Trial
...and all the dregs that have been kicked up because of it.
I don't normally like to write on politically charged issues, but this particular one just kicks up so much sand I need to clear it from my teeth.
First and foremost, death is a tragedy, nothing changes that fact, but when justice has been followed and a verdict has been reached, that should be the end of it. As a nation, we are nothing without Law, it has been followed, that should settle it.
For the record, I am very out of touch with news, I hadn't actually read a thing about this case until the verdict had been reached. The case itself has little import to me.
The reactions to it, on the other hand...
I don't normally like to write on politically charged issues, but this particular one just kicks up so much sand I need to clear it from my teeth.
First and foremost, death is a tragedy, nothing changes that fact, but when justice has been followed and a verdict has been reached, that should be the end of it. As a nation, we are nothing without Law, it has been followed, that should settle it.
For the record, I am very out of touch with news, I hadn't actually read a thing about this case until the verdict had been reached. The case itself has little import to me.
The reactions to it, on the other hand...
Monday, July 8, 2013
In the King's Name Pt 2
The inn stood much as it always had, except the front window was now broken, and a few broken pieces of furniture were scattered across the yard. The bodies of four liveried guards were scattered around the yard as well, and the trail of blood leading away indicated the direction that the rest had taken.
Sitting on the front step was a figure that could have been mistaken for a beggar were it not for his eyes. Solid orbs of a piercing blue the color of deep seas, they seemed to glow of their own internal light. The figure let out a heavy sigh and stood up.
Sitting on the front step was a figure that could have been mistaken for a beggar were it not for his eyes. Solid orbs of a piercing blue the color of deep seas, they seemed to glow of their own internal light. The figure let out a heavy sigh and stood up.
In the King's Name
Heavy footsteps pounded along the frozen road while the inhabitants of the inn slept; a mailed fist slammed on the front door. The innkeeper jolted awake and began groggily making his way through the kitchen. The innkeeper spit curses as he knocked over a stack of dirt pans and a cast-iron griddle landed on his foot. Finally reaching the front door, he hollered through it.
"What daft fool is making such a ruckus at this time of night?!"
"Open this door in the King's Name!"
The response was proud, almost haughty, the voice cultured and crisp; it was a noble's voice. The innkeeper began to sweat. Nobles pounding on ones door in the middle of the night never boded well. Numbly, he drew the bolts and pushed the door open. Eight heavily armed guards with torches stood outside in formation, and at their center was clearly the man who had spoken. A head taller than the guards with him, his hair gleamed in the torchlight like liquid fire flowing over his shoulders.
"What... is your wish m'lord?" The innkeeper managed to stutter out.
"What daft fool is making such a ruckus at this time of night?!"
"Open this door in the King's Name!"
The response was proud, almost haughty, the voice cultured and crisp; it was a noble's voice. The innkeeper began to sweat. Nobles pounding on ones door in the middle of the night never boded well. Numbly, he drew the bolts and pushed the door open. Eight heavily armed guards with torches stood outside in formation, and at their center was clearly the man who had spoken. A head taller than the guards with him, his hair gleamed in the torchlight like liquid fire flowing over his shoulders.
"What... is your wish m'lord?" The innkeeper managed to stutter out.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Footprints
I focus all my will on just placing one foot in front of the other. Some far corner of my mind refuses to cooperate, instead electing to notice how difficult this task really is. I want to scream at it, shout in my mind to shut up and help me, but I don't, it would take too much effort. One foot, the other, an endless line of footprints stretch out behind me like a snaking ribbon of pain and toil. One step. My entire body shivers, and I struggle to maintain my balance. I sway like a tree under the blows of the lumberman's axe, but I do not fall. Another step forward.
How long has it been? How many footprints stretch out behind me? How many more must I lay down before I reach my destination? Another step, another footprint in the soft earth. What is my destination? I cannot remember, my mind is tired, too tired to recall. Step, and another. Or maybe it isn't, maybe I never knew where I was going. Maybe there is no destination. My feet rise and fall. If there isn't a destination, why continue, why go to such effort. If there isn't a purpose behind this drudging journey, then why make it. It takes all my will to continue stepping forward, but at the same time, I cannot stop. Like a magnet pulling a lodestone, all effort is focused, but I cannot do otherwise. My will forces me on, but I cannot will my will to cease.
Another step, and another.
My limbs ache, and my eyes droop closed. I force them open again, clawing to remain awake. I have to stay awake. Another footfall. My will is unbending, my legs move slowly, unsteadily, but unrelentingly. I cannot stop, I cannot sleep, and yet I cannot continue, I cannot fight off sleep forever.
I am a walking contradiction, I cannot stop, but I cannot reach the end, I am a weary man in an eternal journey. An eternal moment of exquisite torment without relief.
Another step, and another...
How long has it been? How many footprints stretch out behind me? How many more must I lay down before I reach my destination? Another step, another footprint in the soft earth. What is my destination? I cannot remember, my mind is tired, too tired to recall. Step, and another. Or maybe it isn't, maybe I never knew where I was going. Maybe there is no destination. My feet rise and fall. If there isn't a destination, why continue, why go to such effort. If there isn't a purpose behind this drudging journey, then why make it. It takes all my will to continue stepping forward, but at the same time, I cannot stop. Like a magnet pulling a lodestone, all effort is focused, but I cannot do otherwise. My will forces me on, but I cannot will my will to cease.
Another step, and another.
My limbs ache, and my eyes droop closed. I force them open again, clawing to remain awake. I have to stay awake. Another footfall. My will is unbending, my legs move slowly, unsteadily, but unrelentingly. I cannot stop, I cannot sleep, and yet I cannot continue, I cannot fight off sleep forever.
I am a walking contradiction, I cannot stop, but I cannot reach the end, I am a weary man in an eternal journey. An eternal moment of exquisite torment without relief.
Another step, and another...
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Character Analysis
I'm currently going through the rather laborious process of making the characters for Immortal Lands actually work, and because something more than a name and physical description on a page. Some characters do this more easily than others for me. One character I made years ago I still occasionally write story snippets about, or mix into other settings (what exactly is it called when you write crossovers for your own characters?) While several characters I need for this story just refuse to come alive.
The three 'main' characters I have so far in the story are Dalia, Ilthia, and Marrick
The three 'main' characters I have so far in the story are Dalia, Ilthia, and Marrick
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Gaming, my fascination
I play computer games, tabletop games, some board games, you get the idea. I rarely ever play sports, the most I ever did was a few years of soccer, or playing ultimate frisbee in college. I enjoy being active, but I tend to get bored of it rather quickly, especially most sports. In fact, the driving motivation behind most of my activities is an effort to stave off boredom.
Thus, I game.
Because in a game I can experience things that I could never reasonably expect to do myself, and a goodly number of things that I would't actually want to do myself. (The thing about adventuring is that it has this unfortunate tendency to get one stabbed by pointy things repeatedly, which is not a very pleasant experience.) A game is an opportunity for a different life, in a different time, place, or world. I game for much the same reason I write really, because the stories in my head must come out.
There tends to be a lot of overlap between the two actually. I write things down which turn into game ideas, or I game and come up with ideas for tangential stories, or variations on that. Recently I've had two distinct fascinations, the first is the world of Besetting Shadows that I've mentioned before, and the other is what I'm calling Kung Fu University. I've recently gotten my hands on a copy of the excellent Legends of the Wulin system, and immediately started thinking about a game that I could run or play with it. After a week or so of minor puzzling on one of the back burners of my brain, I came up with this. In the middle of a modern metropolis, there is a very special school. To anyone not otherwise aware, it is a highly exclusive private college that is very particular about its applicants. But to the enlightened, it is the great refuge of true Kung Fu. The students develop their Chi and martial arts more than they study literature, but they still have to do that to keep up appearances. The great rule of the school is never to let an unenlightened individual see true martial arts. Within the walls of school grounds, high-powered martial arts duels fly, but outside, students must be careful who sees them doing what.
Whereas Besetting Shadows is a very distinctly dark fantasy setting, this setting will have a tendency towards a lighter tone. And while it certainly will have it's share of fantasy elements, the greater part of the setting--i.e. anywhere off campus--will be whatever modern day city the GM feels like setting the city in (I chose L.A. because it's easy to see one more college slipped in there.) So instead of having to invent everything that would be there, well, just pull up google maps and look at what is actually there.
So I'm going to start running this on Saturdays once I have enough players, and I'll probably post occasional updates about it as I go along. Also, I'll come up with a better name.
Thus, I game.
Because in a game I can experience things that I could never reasonably expect to do myself, and a goodly number of things that I would't actually want to do myself. (The thing about adventuring is that it has this unfortunate tendency to get one stabbed by pointy things repeatedly, which is not a very pleasant experience.) A game is an opportunity for a different life, in a different time, place, or world. I game for much the same reason I write really, because the stories in my head must come out.
There tends to be a lot of overlap between the two actually. I write things down which turn into game ideas, or I game and come up with ideas for tangential stories, or variations on that. Recently I've had two distinct fascinations, the first is the world of Besetting Shadows that I've mentioned before, and the other is what I'm calling Kung Fu University. I've recently gotten my hands on a copy of the excellent Legends of the Wulin system, and immediately started thinking about a game that I could run or play with it. After a week or so of minor puzzling on one of the back burners of my brain, I came up with this. In the middle of a modern metropolis, there is a very special school. To anyone not otherwise aware, it is a highly exclusive private college that is very particular about its applicants. But to the enlightened, it is the great refuge of true Kung Fu. The students develop their Chi and martial arts more than they study literature, but they still have to do that to keep up appearances. The great rule of the school is never to let an unenlightened individual see true martial arts. Within the walls of school grounds, high-powered martial arts duels fly, but outside, students must be careful who sees them doing what.
Whereas Besetting Shadows is a very distinctly dark fantasy setting, this setting will have a tendency towards a lighter tone. And while it certainly will have it's share of fantasy elements, the greater part of the setting--i.e. anywhere off campus--will be whatever modern day city the GM feels like setting the city in (I chose L.A. because it's easy to see one more college slipped in there.) So instead of having to invent everything that would be there, well, just pull up google maps and look at what is actually there.
So I'm going to start running this on Saturdays once I have enough players, and I'll probably post occasional updates about it as I go along. Also, I'll come up with a better name.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Yet Another One
It's ok though, this time I actually started on the right foot.
I come up with characters, worlds, magic systems-and sometimes even religious cults-all the time, but it isn't very often that I come up with a really good conflict. Conflict drives a plot forward after all, and if you can't get that cauldron of conflict really bubbling good, then the story will never be that interesting.
So yesterday I sat down, with no idea what I wanted to write about. So, I just started somewhere.
I come up with characters, worlds, magic systems-and sometimes even religious cults-all the time, but it isn't very often that I come up with a really good conflict. Conflict drives a plot forward after all, and if you can't get that cauldron of conflict really bubbling good, then the story will never be that interesting.
So yesterday I sat down, with no idea what I wanted to write about. So, I just started somewhere.
There is a girl, she's noble or rich, otherwise has led a sheltered and or pampered life.
Now she's carrying a bag up a mountain, she has an entourage with her.
They're headed for a mountain fortress, why...
Ah, the kingdom is under attack! What kingdom...
The elves, the elven homeland in fact. And oh yeah she's actually the Princess.
The young Princess, she isn't actually of age yet.
She reaches the fortress, and is followed shortly after by a message.
The kingdom has fallen to a suddenly powerful enemy, she is now the Queen, and has to save what little is left of her people.
Starting from there, I got five pages of rough draft yesterday, more notes scribbled down, and a whole lot more ideas bouncing in my head. It's infrequent that I get ideas for stories starting with conflict. Usually I have an interesting system or character that I want to be in a story, so I write one about it. The problem is that these stories tend to be uninteresting to anyone else, as I've basically written them for my own amusement. This one is a bit different though, in that I came up with a world conflict before I even knew what a single character would be, or really anything else about the world.
For now, I'm calling it Immortal Lands. The Immortal Lands are an actual place in the world, though what precisely is there, no one alive in the world will know. And to be entirely honest, I'm not sure myself, yet. I will sort that out in the course of writing the story, and it will feature very heavily in the plot, but I'm not going to push myself to sort it out now, as it doesn't really matter. If Immortal Lands became a series, no characters would actually set foot on them until at least book three, probably later.
I would actually like to write a series, and this world has the potential to be broad and interesting enough to actually hold my attention for long enough to do it too.
So, that post down there about my current projects? Yeah I'm ignoring most of those and working on this instead. I'll still be trying to put time into Besetting Shadows and Chronicles of the Prisoners, but no promises on how fast that will happen. We'll see how things go, but I'm fairly excited about Immortal Lands.
Grace and Peace,
-Matthew
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Work... Why Work?
Really, why work?
Why was it declared that mankind will spend the bulk of his golden years performing a repetitive task that accomplishes him little, and that he generally dislikes--or openly loathes--so someday he can have what he actually wants.
This is bullshit of the highest degree in my opinion.
I write, because it is the only way I have found to express the hundreds of millions of thoughts that screech through my head every day; the only way I can keep my mind focused--by giving it an infinite canvas with which to paint upon.
Why work.
By work I do not mean holding a job to pay the bills, or doing something that earns you an honest wage, rather I mean the fixation on a career, on making it your life's primary focus and content. That ones career should be the most important feature of their lives, such that people define themselves by it, is unfathomable to me.
I am a lawyer... a salesman... an accountant... I am my job....
That is what I hear from people's lips, that they have become their career, their job, their work. They are no longer a person, they are simply a being that performs a task. It is that state which I detest so strongly. More than anything else, I am appalled by--and frankly, terrified of--becoming one of these drones. A man-shaped automaton whose purpose is to endlessly repeat his days of work until that magical day that he can 'retire' and spend the money he has been accumulating on things he actually wants, now that he is old and lacks the energy and drive to do much more than sit quietly and ponder what he has lost.
I have watched men a decade older than me that are trapped in this wheel, unable to break free of it and prayed in my heart of hearts, "oh God please don't let that be me."
Why work.
Money, money is the knee-jerk answer. You can't get money without work, and you can't live without it, so you must work. And this is a fair point to be sure, but why then does that become our life? Think about it, if you spend 40 hours a week earning money, to do... something... sometime... then what is the point of your money? When do you do things you enjoy? When do you get any benefit at all from your money? If money is our goal, if that is why we work, then clearly many many people are going about it all wrong. While money is certainly required to survive in any comfortable lifestyle, it is only valuable insofar as it actually allows you to have a lifestyle, not just an existence.
For that is what so many worker drones do... they exist.
They do not work so that they may enrich and enjoy their lives, they work to earn money to pay for their car that they drive to work in, their house that they eat and sleep in after work, and to do something on the weekend that lets them forget about their work for a while.
I would literally rather die.
-Matthew
PS. This rant brought to you by hours of frustrated thinking, brainstorming and talking about why I can't seem to get a job, hold it, and not hate my every waking moment. Your regularly scheduled writing posts will continue shortly.
Why was it declared that mankind will spend the bulk of his golden years performing a repetitive task that accomplishes him little, and that he generally dislikes--or openly loathes--so someday he can have what he actually wants.
This is bullshit of the highest degree in my opinion.
I write, because it is the only way I have found to express the hundreds of millions of thoughts that screech through my head every day; the only way I can keep my mind focused--by giving it an infinite canvas with which to paint upon.
Why work.
By work I do not mean holding a job to pay the bills, or doing something that earns you an honest wage, rather I mean the fixation on a career, on making it your life's primary focus and content. That ones career should be the most important feature of their lives, such that people define themselves by it, is unfathomable to me.
I am a lawyer... a salesman... an accountant... I am my job....
That is what I hear from people's lips, that they have become their career, their job, their work. They are no longer a person, they are simply a being that performs a task. It is that state which I detest so strongly. More than anything else, I am appalled by--and frankly, terrified of--becoming one of these drones. A man-shaped automaton whose purpose is to endlessly repeat his days of work until that magical day that he can 'retire' and spend the money he has been accumulating on things he actually wants, now that he is old and lacks the energy and drive to do much more than sit quietly and ponder what he has lost.
I have watched men a decade older than me that are trapped in this wheel, unable to break free of it and prayed in my heart of hearts, "oh God please don't let that be me."
Why work.
Money, money is the knee-jerk answer. You can't get money without work, and you can't live without it, so you must work. And this is a fair point to be sure, but why then does that become our life? Think about it, if you spend 40 hours a week earning money, to do... something... sometime... then what is the point of your money? When do you do things you enjoy? When do you get any benefit at all from your money? If money is our goal, if that is why we work, then clearly many many people are going about it all wrong. While money is certainly required to survive in any comfortable lifestyle, it is only valuable insofar as it actually allows you to have a lifestyle, not just an existence.
For that is what so many worker drones do... they exist.
They do not work so that they may enrich and enjoy their lives, they work to earn money to pay for their car that they drive to work in, their house that they eat and sleep in after work, and to do something on the weekend that lets them forget about their work for a while.
I would literally rather die.
-Matthew
PS. This rant brought to you by hours of frustrated thinking, brainstorming and talking about why I can't seem to get a job, hold it, and not hate my every waking moment. Your regularly scheduled writing posts will continue shortly.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Projects
To start with, I suppose I'll talk about some of the various writing projects I'm working on. This will be in no way an exhaustive list, as I usually have so many things running around inside my head that its basically impossible to write them all, but these are the serious ones.
Empire of Wolves: A high-magic fantasy story, I'm intending for it to turn into at least several books, a series if I can manage it, we'll see how that goes. Not giving away too much of the story, the setting is a fantasy empire ruled by a semi-immortal emperor whose name is rarely spoken, he is simply the emperor. Magic in this world is controlled and expressed through music, though not all have the ability. The focal character was born mute, and his mind has learned that music is its own language. He cannot speak, and he only vaguely understands when others do, but is a musician without peer.
Once more, I don't want to give away too much, but as with any good story, there is far more afoot than there appears to be in the empire.
Besetting Shadows: This is not a story, it's actually a setting for tabletop RPGs. I'm designing it such that it adapts easily to a variety of systems, rather than being for any specific one. A new dark age has fallen on the world after a series of cataclysms and disasters--collectively referred to as The Breaking--occurred roughly 100 years ago. With the breaking, great serpents arose from the seas, dragons appeared to attack cities, and many other animals were warped and twisted by foul energies into horrible monsters. Very few individuals found themselves with strange powers after the breaking, and very rarely such people will still be born. The world has two continents, Dol and Maracht, with Dol being mostly wild lands full of monsters after the Breaking, and Maracht being somewhat more civilized. Dol will be a great backdrop for traditional dungeon-crawl style games, and Maracht lends itself very well to games of intrigue and power struggle as proud nobles fight over control of what is left of the world.
Chronicles of the Prisoners: Another RPG project, this one is an adventure path for starting level characters in the Legend system from Rule of Cool gaming (this system comes with high endorsement from me incidentally) Starting out with the characters in prison, they are released for a suicide mission that the king does not wish to risk his own men on; success will earn your freedom, failure will likely mean your demise. Chronicles, I am designing to ease in players new to the system by gradually introducing the various features of the game, and repeating the same ones enough times for even newbie gamers to pick up on the patterns. It helps that my wife is not much of a gamer and I can generally just ask her if something makes sense--if not, then I need to rewrite it.
Death's Handmaiden: An epic supernatural story focusing on the Servants of Heaven and the strange bureaucracy that they run in the afterlife. The focal characters are Thanatos-one of several angels of death-and a young human girl named Shelia. After her mortal eyes penetrate the veil and witness an angel of death, Shelia escapes from the appointed time of her death, and Thanatos brings her back to heaven anyway to see what should be done with her. To the angel's consternation, the order from On High makes her his new assistant. Now he must figure out what the Father is thinking making a mortal girl helper to an avatar of death. And he must figure it out soon; as threads of fate begin to unravel, and mortals lives do not follow their appointed times, events are coming that will shake earth and heaven.
Blade Magic (working label): The world for this story hasn't been named yet, and neither has the story actually. The name comes from the magic system in this world, which is focused around weapons that are pulled from a demi-plane known only as The Armory. Every blade holds unique powers, strengths and weaknesses, and those who carry them are called Mage-Knights. A rogue Mage-Knight has created a warped blade from accidentally fusing several others, and now he has gone quite mad. The strange powers of his black blade allow him to control and dominate others, and he leads armies to ravage one country after another, with no clear goal in mind but to cause chaos and spread destruction.
Tale of Broken Wings: Another fantasy story, this one is intended to be a bit more tragic than most of my other works. James, a young trinket mage, finally gets his lucky break when a local lord takes him into his household as a retainer. While searching for components outside the city he stumbles across a strange ruin, and inside he discovers what looks like an angel, seemingly frozen inside a crystal casket. In trying to move it, he disrupts the magic which had been holding her and she awakens. Her name is Argentine, and as far as she knows, she is the last of her race. She is the most beautiful thing James has ever seen, but at the same time it is clear that the ages have not been kind to her. Her wings are severely injured, and she almost immediately falls ill. James works to heal her, and restore her memories, which were also scrambled when she was awakened. However, not everyone is as inclined towards Argentine as James is, and sides are being chosen, with the confused and fractured angel in the middle. It will be up to James--and whatever companions he can find--to keep her safe.
So that's it, those are the different stories and projects that I have started. Which ones I will actually manage to finish, and when? God only knows. Anyhow, if you actually stumble across this post, and you have questions, or an opinion on what I should finish first, leave me a comment.
Grace and Peace,
-Matthew
Empire of Wolves: A high-magic fantasy story, I'm intending for it to turn into at least several books, a series if I can manage it, we'll see how that goes. Not giving away too much of the story, the setting is a fantasy empire ruled by a semi-immortal emperor whose name is rarely spoken, he is simply the emperor. Magic in this world is controlled and expressed through music, though not all have the ability. The focal character was born mute, and his mind has learned that music is its own language. He cannot speak, and he only vaguely understands when others do, but is a musician without peer.
Once more, I don't want to give away too much, but as with any good story, there is far more afoot than there appears to be in the empire.
Besetting Shadows: This is not a story, it's actually a setting for tabletop RPGs. I'm designing it such that it adapts easily to a variety of systems, rather than being for any specific one. A new dark age has fallen on the world after a series of cataclysms and disasters--collectively referred to as The Breaking--occurred roughly 100 years ago. With the breaking, great serpents arose from the seas, dragons appeared to attack cities, and many other animals were warped and twisted by foul energies into horrible monsters. Very few individuals found themselves with strange powers after the breaking, and very rarely such people will still be born. The world has two continents, Dol and Maracht, with Dol being mostly wild lands full of monsters after the Breaking, and Maracht being somewhat more civilized. Dol will be a great backdrop for traditional dungeon-crawl style games, and Maracht lends itself very well to games of intrigue and power struggle as proud nobles fight over control of what is left of the world.
Chronicles of the Prisoners: Another RPG project, this one is an adventure path for starting level characters in the Legend system from Rule of Cool gaming (this system comes with high endorsement from me incidentally) Starting out with the characters in prison, they are released for a suicide mission that the king does not wish to risk his own men on; success will earn your freedom, failure will likely mean your demise. Chronicles, I am designing to ease in players new to the system by gradually introducing the various features of the game, and repeating the same ones enough times for even newbie gamers to pick up on the patterns. It helps that my wife is not much of a gamer and I can generally just ask her if something makes sense--if not, then I need to rewrite it.
Death's Handmaiden: An epic supernatural story focusing on the Servants of Heaven and the strange bureaucracy that they run in the afterlife. The focal characters are Thanatos-one of several angels of death-and a young human girl named Shelia. After her mortal eyes penetrate the veil and witness an angel of death, Shelia escapes from the appointed time of her death, and Thanatos brings her back to heaven anyway to see what should be done with her. To the angel's consternation, the order from On High makes her his new assistant. Now he must figure out what the Father is thinking making a mortal girl helper to an avatar of death. And he must figure it out soon; as threads of fate begin to unravel, and mortals lives do not follow their appointed times, events are coming that will shake earth and heaven.
Blade Magic (working label): The world for this story hasn't been named yet, and neither has the story actually. The name comes from the magic system in this world, which is focused around weapons that are pulled from a demi-plane known only as The Armory. Every blade holds unique powers, strengths and weaknesses, and those who carry them are called Mage-Knights. A rogue Mage-Knight has created a warped blade from accidentally fusing several others, and now he has gone quite mad. The strange powers of his black blade allow him to control and dominate others, and he leads armies to ravage one country after another, with no clear goal in mind but to cause chaos and spread destruction.
Tale of Broken Wings: Another fantasy story, this one is intended to be a bit more tragic than most of my other works. James, a young trinket mage, finally gets his lucky break when a local lord takes him into his household as a retainer. While searching for components outside the city he stumbles across a strange ruin, and inside he discovers what looks like an angel, seemingly frozen inside a crystal casket. In trying to move it, he disrupts the magic which had been holding her and she awakens. Her name is Argentine, and as far as she knows, she is the last of her race. She is the most beautiful thing James has ever seen, but at the same time it is clear that the ages have not been kind to her. Her wings are severely injured, and she almost immediately falls ill. James works to heal her, and restore her memories, which were also scrambled when she was awakened. However, not everyone is as inclined towards Argentine as James is, and sides are being chosen, with the confused and fractured angel in the middle. It will be up to James--and whatever companions he can find--to keep her safe.
So that's it, those are the different stories and projects that I have started. Which ones I will actually manage to finish, and when? God only knows. Anyhow, if you actually stumble across this post, and you have questions, or an opinion on what I should finish first, leave me a comment.
Grace and Peace,
-Matthew
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
For words and hope
There is something marvelous about fantasy. By its very definition it takes us beyond ourselves and what we can experience to something entirely new. Even if it is not a new place, or a new story, very rarely is there nothing new to be found.
I adore fantasy in all its forms. Most of my writing is fantastical in some fashion or another, from the magically -saturated world of the Empire of Wolves, to the monsters in the Besetting Shadows setting, there is something about it that is far more inspirational to me than anything in cold reality.
I am a Christian, and quite unabashed about it; and I hold that creation--in word, or otherwise--is among the highest orders of praise that can be awarded. Just as imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so is imitating the Great Creator the most sincere praise that can be performed.
I write because it brings me joy to create, and writing is my most natural inclination. This blog will be a space for me to dump random tidbits, character sketches, or just to write about something (or nothing, as the case may be).
Grace and Peace,
-Matthew
I adore fantasy in all its forms. Most of my writing is fantastical in some fashion or another, from the magically -saturated world of the Empire of Wolves, to the monsters in the Besetting Shadows setting, there is something about it that is far more inspirational to me than anything in cold reality.
I am a Christian, and quite unabashed about it; and I hold that creation--in word, or otherwise--is among the highest orders of praise that can be awarded. Just as imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so is imitating the Great Creator the most sincere praise that can be performed.
I write because it brings me joy to create, and writing is my most natural inclination. This blog will be a space for me to dump random tidbits, character sketches, or just to write about something (or nothing, as the case may be).
Grace and Peace,
-Matthew
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