Sorry that all of the pieces I’ve been posting are crazy scattershot. No particular order, beginning and ending abruptly with no context. A lot of the stuff I’m pulling from 
Lodestar is going to be like this unfortunately. Scout’s honor, I’m going to be posting some fresh, longer pieces in a few weeks when my creative life calms down.
Feel free to judge the scenes a la carte and drop a comment, and let me know what you think!
The Street of Gods hummed with activity as the barbarian and cleric entered the South District. A street urchin had pointed the way, but the Temple of Seto was easy to spot.
“The Temple of the Burning Blade – I see now where the name comes from…” Bramble said quietly.
Sheets of gold had been hammered to the cream marble of the temple’s massive construction, the late afternoon sun reflected an orange blaze across the courseway. One of Pice’s rivers ran past, split by the temple’s shining glory.
The barbarian walked through the crowded streets, as if in a dream. Bramble speaks, but he hears it with only part of his mind.
Long ago, a great warrior came to the city of Vardeman, as Pice was once known. He had lived a long life of conquest and battle, and his skill with a sword was unmatched. With blade in hand, the rain could not touch him, the wind could not catch him, and his foes fell before him as wheat before the scythe.
The warrior had sought long for a suitable challenge worthy of his skill, for an enemy that
could make his heart pump quick blood as in his youth. The Seers of Seroholm told him that if he came to Vardeman, he would find such a challenge.
The city was much smaller in those days, and mostly empty. In an abandoned square, by the river he found a stone fountain. The fountain was dry, and filled with dust. A young woman sat at the fountain, holding a vase.
“The warrior was impressed by her beauty, even though his youth had long since fled. ’I come seeking a great challenge.” said the swordsman, and the girl smiled and said ‘You have found it.’
Agnar stepped across the stone bridge, the water sounds of the river finding their own place in his mind. The worshipers of the sun goddess moved quickly to avoid the bemused barbarian.
Bramble continues, her voice dropping to a whisper as she and the barbarian enter the chapel proper. Vast marble balustrades span the high-domed chamber, stained glass refracting a million images of the Sun.
‘Let us fill the vase’ the girl suggested, ‘A simple task.’
The old warrior laughed, but the girl smiled so that he could not resist. He reached into the nearby stream, and brought water to the vase from his cupped hands. To his surprise, only dust poured into the vase. Determined he tried again – faster and faster his hands flew trying to fill the vase with water. Only dust fell from his hands.
The warrior’s ire was great, but he found himself calmed by the simple touch of the girl’s hand on his brow. He stood back a pace, as she simply said ‘My turn.’
She reached, not into the river but into the dry fountain. Grasping a handful of dust she flung it into the vase. A splash. The dust had become water, even as it left her hands. A few more handfuls of dust, and the vase was overflowing with pure, clean water
The girl smiled at the old swordsman. ‘Do you understand my riddle?’
Bramble grinned, and pulled Agnar down into a stone pew at the back of the nave. Sunset Service would be soon, and the people were entering in a steady stream.
“This was when my tutor would always look at me over his spectacles and ask, ’ Well, do you?’”.
Agnar turns his head toward the cleric. His expression is grimly apologetic.
“No.”
He adds, “Unless you mean to say that there are tasks in life that require more than a blade or a killer’s skill. That a man must go beyond himself, open himself to the touch of the unknown, and thus become something more than dirt and bone. That the power to make dust from life is a trifling thing when set against the power to make life from dust.”
He shakes his head slowly, turning his eyes upward to the stained glass above.
“But otherwise, no.”
[Response stolen from Agnar – J. Darnell]
Bramble pinched the bridge of her nose with two fingers and sighed.
“I’m never telling you a story again.”
Most of the worshipers have been seated, and a tall half-orc, wearing the bright orange robes of an Arcleric steps forth onto the grand pulpit. Hovering behind him, seemingly suspended in a beam of sunlight is a sword. Agnar’s practiced eye immediately recognizes it as a greatsword.
Good writing day today.
Feel informed. INFORMED OF THE MINUTIAE.
The old king walked over to Sinoe, and reached behind her ear. He produced an orange, as if from thin air. The purple-haired construct blinked, and seemed to find this unremarkable.
Cai ran his hands over the fruit for a few moments, and then said “Watch.”
He held the orange at eye level, and gently released it. The fruit hung in the air, and began to slowly spin.
Light shone from the fruit, and different colors began to appear. Blue seas, and green lands. Each watcher knew instantly that they were looking at their own world, Aufero.
The globe continued to spin, but then a point of light appeared a hand’s distance away — it grew in brightness, and then moved to touch the turning orb. The light spread over the globe, then broke apart into tiny pinpricks of illumination. Carbunkle had to squint to be sure, but they took the form of little men.
The light men walked around the globe and rejoiced and danced with glee. The globe spun, and the light men began to build. Shining silver towers began to rise, connected by beams of every rainbow hue. The blue waters shone, the green grass grew and the light men danced.
The globe spun.
The light men began to dance less, and stand more. All at once they began to break their silver towers, and bring them to one place on the globe, building the greatest tower of all. The tower took on the shape of a giant man, silver metal growing dark, and slick like oil. All the light of the globe was channeled into this creation, and its eyes opened.
It’s eyes were dark, dark as night.
The light men fled in terror from their creation. The dark machine began to move around the globe, leaving destruction in its wake.
The light men gathered and huddled together, and began to prepare a trap for the machine. A hole leading nowhere. As the footsteps of their creation drew closer, they threw themselves into the hole, their light forming a net — a net made of stars.
It pulled the dark machine down, it clawed and pulled at the earth causing more destruction. The light men and their creation fell into the chasm, and their energy imploded. For a moment two globes hung in the air, they danced and spun, and folded inside of one another, almost gently.
On the globe, amongst the ruins of silver towers — a few pinpricks of light huddled, and wept.
“This is what happened to the Precursors.” Cai said simply.
The Lodestar
“… and the Black and White Monster came roaring out of the cave!”
Talitha brandished her sword expectantly. The moment hung, and nothing happened.
The little blonde girl stomped her foot.
“Crackers! Just like we practiced!”
Head low, the blink-dog emerges from behind the wheelhouse. His golden fur has been liberally marked with black soot.
Large black circles around his eyes gave the vague impression of a raccoon. Clearly, Talitha thought this wasn’t suitably fearsome, so a black cloak [Carbunkle recognized his best rain cloak] has been tied around him. Looking deeply ashamed, the dog slunk in front of the backdrop and gives a half-hearted yelp.
“AH HA! The Black and White Monster! Face my sword, evil one!”
Very seriously, Talitha bonked the young dog on the head – taking great care to not damage him in any way. Crackers gives a long-suffering sigh and lays down on the deck. The little blonde girl smiled hugely, and stands behind her fallen foe.
“So the Hero-Princess Talitha is victorious at last, and went back to have ice cream and cake with the rest of her friends. The evil Black and White Monster was gone forever, and everyone gave the Hero-Princess a big hug! And they all lived happily ever after. THE END!”
Talitha bowed with a grand flourish, her armor desperately trying to hold its integrity.
The crew applauded, and laughed as the sun dipped below the horizon. A few more cookies are dispensed, and the poor Black and White Monster is given a quick bath by Echo and The Vagabonder. Talitha whirled back and forth to each of the crew, demanding honest feedback and re-enacting choice scenes with little or no encouragement. Despite all the danger and tension of the last few days, honest smiles are shared and a few “big hugs” easily secured to reward the Hero-Princess.
The last light of the setting sun catches these sights, as the Lodestar flew on south across the Great Sea.
What is Lodestar?
Oh man, do you have a few minutes?
Put on your story hats.
Just over a year ago, being an inveterate nerd, I started a simple Level 1 tabletop campaign. We used the Pathfinder system, because Dungeons and Dragons 4.0 is icky. The players were all D&D neophytes — either having never played before, or only tried it out in video games.
It was a very basic first game, heavily cribbed from a lot of fantasy tropes. All the players are in prison, crime they didn’t commit, blah blah, a new charismatic prisoner arrives, blah blah, prison break, blah blah, arcane poison dumped into the prison’s water source that devolves all humans into beast men, blah blah, new prisoner tries to kill party, escapes on badass golden roc, blah blah, party finds crashed airship outside of prison, gets it to work in the nick of time, roll credits, blah blah.
You know, pretty standard.
The whole hook of the campaign was to get them on board the airship, the Lodestar. I have a giant boner for airships, and make no excuses for that. Final Fantasy VI is deeply embedded into my psycho-creative pleasure centers, as well as Star Trek and Farscape. I love the idea of the hub of the story being mobile, freedom to travel, the whole world is accessible.
So, after the first game – I was bored at work.
Really bored.
And I thought – Hey. They need to explore the ship, and that might be a little boring at tabletop — so how’s abouts I just email everyone, and they can explore it right now? And then I won’t be so bored!
You are standing on the deck of the Lodestar as the boosters shudder to a halt. You are still aloft, but your forward momentum quickly dissipates. The strips of magenta light flicker and go out. A quick survey of the wheelhouse reveals that the console has gone completely dead.
So we did. I described the ship room by room, as they explored — adding fun little details, reacting to what they investigated. I even added a couple of little challenges. It was a novel way to pass a few slow days at work, in the week or so before we could play again.
And then we didn’t stop.
It was basic at first, very “Choose Your Own Adventure”. But unbeknownst to me, my players were 
writers. Like WRITERS-writers. Like, understand proper verb form, tasteful use of imagery, dialogue, tone, figurative language. It got real.
I moved us to a RP/Storytelling site Obsidian Portal, just so we could have stable forums to keep track of everything. It also offered us places for maps, and art, and a wiki. It kept growing, and growing and growing.
The result of a half-dozen budding novelists finally getting an outlet.
Here we are, a year later. At a low estimate, we’ve written 550,000 words together. That’s 11 novels.
Suck it, NaNoWriMo.
It is the longest sustained creative project of my life. It is absolutely the reason this blog exists, the reason that I’m taking my first faltering steps into making writing my day job. It’s really empowering to look back and think about the massive amount of content that has been generated.
Thank you, crew of the Lodestar. This is all your fault.
Long explanation, I know. A lot of the scenes, and short pieces I’m going to put up here are from Lodestar, so I guess I felt an explanation was in order.
And it’s not done. It’s still going. You can read all of it, if you dare.
Such a tiny link to a massive world.
Flenelle
Izus pulled the dagger softly free from the young boy’s chest. He had ended the child’s life so swiftly, that the dark-haired boy seemed to sigh into a deeper slumber.
The bedchamber was quiet. The house was quiet. The brown-cloaked man’s work was almost finished.
He wandered idly through the family’s library. A frown creased his face when he saw that the father’s heartblood had sprayed over a rather fine edition of Tonics and Tinctures of the Altan Greenspeakers.
So wasteful, he thought. But no matter…
Izus stepped carefully over the dozen bodies that littered the hallway. The house guard had been quite fervent in their defense. The brown-cloaked man casually ran a finger along the wall as he walked – a ripple of green and purple flame following. The stone began to burn.
Why had he left the boy for last? Chance? Perhaps to lengthen his last dream.
The mother’s body was slumped in the doorway, gushing blood onto the steps. Her form was wedged in front of the door, so Isuz sent one last gout of strange flame, reducing her to ashes.
He shut the door behind him.
Izus Torrosian turned back only once, as the green and purple inferno began to consume the manor. The estate shared the street with several other fine homes. His flame was beginning to dissipate into honest fire, but he could see it licking through the grass, hungry to burn. This whole tier of the city could very shortly be ablaze.
Wasteful, he thought. But no matter…
A flash of golden feathers, and the roc landed before him. The brown-cloaked man pulled himself up onto Bird’s strong back, and sent him skyward with a thought. In a moment, they were winging through an open space in the walls, leaving the spreading flame behind them.
The brown-cloaked man’s work was finished.
The brown-cloaked man’s work was only beginning.
Somewhere
Two thieves sat uncomfortably in a smoky room at the back of an inn. The money was good that had brought them here, but the contacts had all warned against pursuing the job. Dark rumors surrounded this employer, and the deeply cowled figure sitting across from them did nothing to alleviate their concerns.Their new employer’s voice is soft and sweet, but the temperature dropped steadily during his instructions. Each thief’s breath steamed as they exhaled. The cowl turned towards the first thief.
“So we have a contract?”
Sweat beaded on the thief’s nose, and he nodded. A half second later the second thief jiggled his flabby jowls in assent.
The hooded figure continued.
“Bring me the girl alive.”
The two thieves almost leaped out of their chairs in relief, and made their way to the door. On the back of their vests, black wings are marked.
Frost gathered on their abandoned mugs. The room was empty.
Pice
Ananda’s naked form shone in the light of the White Moon. She rose from the bed, leaving her current distraction gasping, eyes wide.
He won’t last much longer. Pity.
The Moonchylde’s lovers rarely lasted much beyond a fistful of days.
Her glass spectacles floated across the room, trailing white ribbons. Of their own volition, they threaded themselves through the piercings that rim her face. The dark-haired woman looked out at the White Moon and smiled – looking past it towards the small sliver of the Black Moon, receding on the horizon.
Come soon, my love…
Just sent Another Story off into the void to be read [and JUDGED] by total strangers.
I came across this cool new Science Fiction/Fantasy journal, Unstuck — I liked a lot of the excerpts they put up, and their very first issue is coming out in December — all very exciting. Plus they’re based in Austin, which is renowned as the Almost-Athens of the Midwest. Then I poked my clicker-self into their submission section.
Taking submissions. This week.
I’ve been tiptoeing into the realm of writing, and part of that is getting published, and PART OF THAT IS REJECTION.
Delicious cinnamon-scented rejection.
So, I slapped Another Story into a submittable form, and clicked that terrifying button.
Submit.
I keep visualizing some sort of Norse warrior holding a spear to my throat, and making me kneel and polish his shoes. All while he looks through my story, rolling his eyes and coughing with disgust.
Norse disgust. Which is 40% worse than normal disgust. RAGNAROK-level DISGUST.
The disgust that Odin would have for a mortal who bought him a monocle for his birthday.
In short: Nervous.
Quorum
Enton raised his hands, as if to ward off a blow.
“Madame Karis, I’m sorry if you’re upset, but we handled it the best way we knew how! They did save the city, we couldn’t very well have attacked them at that point. It would have been a public relations nightmare for the company.”
The elegantly dressed woman tapped a nail on her desk, then abruptly slammed her fist down.
Karis replied, “ I don’t want excuses, fool – I want results. You had that motley crew of sniveling thieves in your grasp, and you let them get away! What part of my instructions were confusing or unclear?!?”
The dark-skinned human smiled nervously. He moved to the window, and looked up at the White Moon just beginning to rise. Without turning, he spoke quickly.
“It wasn’t a total wash, Madame. Your …err, assistant Morris did have some success during his infiltration of the Lodestar. He discovered something very…interesting.”
From his place next to the door, the bondslave Morris took a single step forward. His perfectly parted hair slid slightly across his youthful face. He spoke without emotion.
“That is correct, Mistress Karis. It is as we suspected, the Lodestar is far more than it appears. I have sketched the engine room from memory, and it matches exactly with the schematics that Seafoam obtained from the Library of Pice. It is definitely of Arkanic origin.”
Karis smiled for the first time since her arrival in Quorum. Her lips are painted an immaculate purple.
spell-sword.com 