“It was…necessary.” he replied. “Many strange paths, many dark days — all for necessity.”
The Browncloak coughed fiercely, sending more purple phlegm across his chest. At the end it turned into weak laughter.
“Listen to me, getting a little maudlin and drippy. I always get a little choked up when I talk about child-murder. Ah, so many happy memories….” the villain leered at the paladin.
“Ah, Gentle Sir Knight, with your wide cow-eyes. I think you will soon understand a tiny part of what I mean — about necessity. Because now the great game truly begins.” Izus flopped a wounded hand off his chest onto the floor between he and the others. With battered fingers, he slowly began to draw crude figures in the strange ichor that was his blood.
“The board, Kythera.” he drew a wide oval. “The pieces – a key, a shield, and a girl.”
Three crude drawings slowly appeared inside the oval.
“Now the key has been removed, but the game still moves on.” Izus wiped away the crude picture of the Crimson Key. “And the girl is also out of your hands.”
He smudged out the picture of Talitha. The Browncloak was beginning to pant with exertion.
“The only piece that remains is the Shield — and whatever knowledge you’ve brought with you, or can discover in the Unbroken City.” he concluded.
The villain laid his palm flat on the floor, covering the picture of the shield.
“Ah….but you don’t control the Shield. I do. ” his voice became thin with exertion. ” And if I die, you’ll never find it. ”
Izus coughed again, regaining some strength to his voice.
“That’s what I mean about necessity, Sir. If I die, you’ll never save her — you have to keep me alive to give yourself any chance at all. Keep me alive, knowing what I am.” Izus leered again, the flesh of his face cracking horribly. ” Keep me alive, knowing that I’ll kill the girl as soon as I have her in arm’s reach.”
[Was discussing exposition with Kristin McFarland, and how it’s preferable to have characters find clues or learn new information via in-world texts – instead of having Jagerspike Shatterpaw, Bear Pugilist and “Wise Wizard” show up and dump some plot on the main character’s heads. Here’s an excerpt from Lodestar with an example.]
The green flame’s bored directions soon led the barbarian to a large tome, nearly four handspans in length, and almost as thick as Agnar’s arm. The cover was simple leather, embossed with an ornate representation of the Arkanic symbol, Knowledge.
The Northlord found a quiet desk, hidden away in the towering stacks and set his guide down on the stand provided. The sprite brightened visibly, giving Agnar sufficient light to read.
Opening the first page, a musty fume filled the air. Heady and thick, but not unpleasant. The scent of old books.
The first page was filled with large block representations of several major Precursor symbols, a few of which Agnar found himself surprised to recognize. The numbers, and the symbol for Fire seemed to jump out at him.
Turning the page, the barbarian found a simple rhyme.
How’d they come, and where’d they go?
Little boys and girls all want to know!
East of the Sun, and West of the Moons
On silver roads born of Star
Walking and singing their secret tunes
Far and near, near and far!
The green flame tried nobly to roll its eyes, before remembering that it didn’t have any.
The next few pages are gorgeously illustrated with a series of landscapes.
Primitive people going about their simple lives, farming and hunting. Agnar gazed critically at some of the spearmen — they were holding the weapons completely wrong.
Flip.
A time of darkness, fire and death. Monsters roam the land, killing and maiming the simple tribesmen.
Flip.
A shining knight, marked with the Precursor Sigil of Power — light shines from him in all directions, making the monsters flee.
Flip.
The simple people’s village rebuilt, but grander and stronger. The shining knights walk amongst the people, helping them build things, till the earth.
Flip.
The village is a grand city, with ships that sail through the air and towers in the clouds.
Agnar stops a third of the way through the tome.
The barbarian finds several pages missing, sliced neatly from the overall tome — the barest stubs of paper remaining at the center of the binding.
The next pages showed fanciful illustrations of scholars and researchers looking through the ruins of Precursor structures, with descriptions of the undying wonders left behind by their civilization.
Maybe you will solve the mystery! Maybe you…. one page had solemnly written.
“Look!” Alice interrupts with a hushed whisper, pointing towards a gash on the Browncloak’s leg.
At the edges of the wound, the flesh was beginning to blacken like the charred edges of a fireplace log.
The princess immediately resumed binding his wounds with scraps of fabric, tying quick knots with a spool of twine. The black corruption was obvious on several of his other wounds. She spoke hurriedly as she worked.
“I’m not familiar with the energy of the floatstone — but my magic is aligned to the plane of Light. I’m afraid that any similar energy will only harm this….person? Demon?”
Her hands stopped moving momentarily, and she looked across Izus’ body at the assembled crew.
“Should we really be trying to save him, then?” she said stricken.
Spirit World/Lodestar
Careful — careful! Don’t you think we should return to the World of the Living now, pet? The Ianu stone whispered.
Echo ignored the stone’s pleas and pushed towards the shining man. She felt the heat on her face, and smelled sulfur in the back of her nose.
At the center of the man was a hole. The golden light radiated from the opening, glowing white-hot at the center — like a ring of candle-flame.
The druid leaned forward, and peered down into the chasm.
She saw a ring. A silver ring, pitted and worn — no more than a handspan across.
Bound to the ring, with cords of gold were five black hearts.
Five black flames.
The ring spun slowly, as the black flames pulled and fought. Sometimes at each other, sometimes at their bonds — always straining against the circle of silver.
There was something more. Something in the center of the ring, but the erratic spinning of the ring made it impossible to make out.
Oh, and Lodestar is back! Yay! Feels good to be off hiatus, and back in action.
Of interest: If you’ve read Another Story and The Cost, we’re actually dealing with the protagonist Izus/Jonas in current Lodestar continuity.
For those of you playing the home game, this scene takes place about ten years after the end of The Cost.
Here’s an excerpt –
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” the green blaze of light confessed. ” Whatever it is — it definitely isn’t natural, and stinky. Diagnosis: Stinky.”
Martin and Dayjen took charge of the unconscious prisoners and moved past down the stairwell. “Be careful not to slip!” the blonde wizard yelled over his shoulder.
The smear of purple and green fluid got worse as the adventurers proceeded down below decks. Reeking and thick, it the smear lead to the door of the Sun Room. It reminded Agnar of a wounded boar that he had tracked on his first hunt, disemboweled it had left a red foam for miles before finally falling dead into its lair.
Boots stuck to the floor, and made a sickening sound as they trod through the strange fluid.
Pushing the door open, Haskeer leads the way into the room.
Izus is laying in the wide bed in the center of the room, purple and green oozing from several vicious wounds. A quick glance shows them to be long slashes across his torso, as well as several burn marks that appear to be electrical in origin, and a dozen bullet holes that appear to be made by Seafoam ordinance. A shallow gash runs across his forehead and through his left eye. He appears to be unconcious, breathing shallowly.
Alice is standing over the Browncloak, covered from fingertips to elbow in the strange ichor. She is doing her best to close his massive wounds with strips of bedsheet, and a ball of twine. Her eyes are a little wild, but she is managing to keep her voice calm.
“I’ve already tried healing him magically, but it just seemed to make things worse. You’ve dealt with this man — or whatever he is before, any idea what has happened to his blood?”
Since Lodestar will be soon generating an obscene amount of text again, I’m thinking about putting up a taste of it on the blog every day or so — thoughts?
Unveiling all this poetry from my younger days, has actually been sort of interesting.
After I stopped cringing.
A lot of the same images turn up in my current work – the red sword, the ocean, the angst. The drippy, drippy angst.
It’s also revealing to see how much of these themes and concepts have coalesced into one character, Izus Torrossian. A lot of these poems could have been written about him, or BY him — even though I wrote these years before that character ever existed.
So, Lodestar Crew, take note. Izus is some sort of manifestation of my adolescent id. Be afraid — be very afraid.
The Lodestar Crew, in their finest. ARTIST/W.Steven Carroll
Take any fantasy plot, and try to explain it to the uninitiated with a straight face.
Guess what?
You sound like a crazy person.
I tried to write out the plot of Lodestar, leaving out all side plots, character plots, backstory, and world building — and reduce it to it’s essence. THE MAIN PLOT. How I would explain it to someone who knows nothing about the story, and nothing about fantasy. Here’s my first pass.
So, there’s this Gate.
Behind the Gate, is something Very Bad. VERY, Very Bad.
The only way to open this Gate is with Three Magical Items.
The Crimson Key.
The Blue Shield.
The Blood of the Precursors.
The first two items are fairly straightforward, but the third is the problem. It’s a bloodline, carrying the genetic structure of the Gate’s creators down through the centuries in a few human families.
Bad guys have sought the descendents for a long time. Other bad guys have been killing the descendents for a long time.
Bad Guys A want to control What’s Behind the Gate. Bad Guys B want to make sure that their Nefarious Plans aren’t disrupted by What’s Behind the Gate.
Enter the Heroes.
They’ve been protecting a Little Girl. A Little Girl who is the true scion of the bloodline.
Bad Guys A have managed to capture the Little Girl.
The Heroes have to get the Little Girl back, before Bad Guys A can open the Gate – or before Bad Guys B kill the Little Girl.
Can you hear me trailing off lamely towards the end? Cutting my eyes to the right, and regretting even starting? Let me try again.
There’s a Little Girl, and she’s awesome. And important. The Heroes have to keep her safe or the world blows up. Or something.
Now imagine me explaining this to someone on a subway, or an elevator. Can you see that person quietly reaching for their mace?
I guess it would help if I was wearing pants.
[What? Were you visualizing me with pants? Well, I guess that’s your mistake.]
“Something there is to a task done well, a true task, a right task. The door-knob turns, and knows that is is doing exactly what it was made for.”
“Are you drunk?” Simon asked, waggling his empty wooden tankard.
Merridew glared across the table, bushy white eyebrows standing at attention. The elderly Yad-Elf
Artist Unknown
gripped a silver gravy-boat, clearly intended to sail the seas of a king’s banquet table. It was mostly empty, Merridew corrected this – refilling from a dark brown keg that kept the third chair occupied. He took a quick swallow from the business end of the container, all while continuing to glare at the gray-coated rogue sitting across from him.
“Cause you sound drunk. You’re talking about doorknobs. Knobs on doors – the little turny things.” Simon continued.
“That is not my point at all, you besotted simpleton. This is why I despise drinking with humans.” the elf said.
“I’m drunk. See? I said it. Feels good to say it. It is totally fine for you to admit that you’re drunk.” the rogue held his tankard to the keg, hand wavering.
Merridew sat the gravy-boat down, and massaged his temples with long, knobby fingers.
“I’m just saying that doorknobs have a clear purpose. A design suited for one action — and I was musing –”
Simon burped.
“– MUSING that it has to be a nice feeling. Knowing that what you’re doing is exactly what you’re supposed to be doing.” Merridew pointed across the table accusingly
The rogue chuckled, and sipped from his newly filled tankard. He managed to look contrite, and nodded seriously at the elf’s expression.
The old wood elf sighed, and spread his fingers across the top of the gravy-boat. He stared down through the spaces between, watching the foam settle on the dark amber liquid.
“There’s been a few times, I’ve felt it myself. The door-knob turn in my heart.”
Simon continued to nod seriously, and made a twisting gesture with his free hand. His serious expression was marred by the slurping noise as he gulped down ale.
“Door-knob. Got it.” Simon slammed the empty tankard down.
“I hate you.” Merridew said.
The old elf stood, and walked over to the closest door. He poured a generous serving of ale onto the pitted brass doorknob. Then he kept pouring until the gravy-boat was empty. He solemnly hung the empty silver bowl on the knob.
Simon rubbed his face and snorted.
“I’ll get a mop, old man. Unless you want to baptize the lamps?”
Merridew did not reply. He wrapped his long fingers around the brass knob and turned it swiftly.
Once. Twice. A third time.
The old elf smiled, his fingertips resting on the brass.
There is a moment of stillness. Then abruptly the masks of Blue, Yellow, White and Red begin to laugh. Master Tumm makes no move, and the Black necromancer, Song, is still as always. Master Graham places his palms flat on the marble table and says nothing.
” Would you like us to come check in your closet for the Gray Beast, or hold your hand when night falls?
Mercy by Peter Mohrbacher
Such a ridiculous…” the Bloodburner begins.
“Silence.” the Grand Wizard says quietly. For a dragon.
The masked faces of the Council all turn to regard their leader. The dragon keeps his blind eyes on the crew of the Lodestar.
“The Council is adjourned – leave me with these adventurers.”
The Red Master Vayton sputters slightly, then nods his head briskly. The rest of the council genuflect slightly as well, and stiffly make their exit from the chamber. Footfalls on marble, then the shutting of seven doors.
The gray-cloaked figure at the side of the room steps forward slightly, and makes an inquiring gesture, right palm open and up.
” You as well, Sideways.” says the steel dragon.
The cowl shrugs, as the figure turns — barbed tail swishing under the hem of his cloak. He walks through the nearest wall without slowing, as if the marble was made of air.
The Grand Wizard’s neck drooped slightly, and his bobbed slightly towards the floor. The crew can see the weariness in this old creature’s posture. He speaks, quietly.
“Come closer. ” the dragon breathed.
A few cautious steps, just at the edge of the steel dragon’s dais.
“Do you know the story of the founding of Valeria?”
Before Carbunkle has time to shoot his hand up, the dragon continues.
Artist: toshim
” Valeria was my beloved mate, oh so many years ago. We stood together against a mighty evil, but in the last battle she fell — like a comet from the heavens. It was my fault.” the Grand Wizard sighed, an ironworks fume.
” She died because of a lie. Because of me keeping knowledge to myself, and believing that I knew best how to shield her from the harsh truths of the world. Her passing carved a deep gouge into the earth, that filled with a fresh sea – a sea of blue. Where her bones came to rest, I came and wept. A tear for each lie, and I grieved for my arrogance, and the loss of the fair Valeria.”
The dragon blinked, slowly.
“There I swore to share my knowledge with all who sought it. Over time the wise of each race sought me out, and I instructed them in the Art. They were the first wizards, and this marvelous city grew out of the bones of my beloved.” the Grand Wizard stretched his mighty arms, as if to encompass the entire city.
“This is a small secret. The Council knows, and some learned men throughout the world have pieced together this truth from relics, old songs, and the fragments of a lost age. I give it to you freely, so that you may understand what you ask, and how I must respond.” the dragon laid its head down on the dais for a moment, and closed its eyes as if thinking. A few heartbeats pass, until its blind eyes open.
“I have offered you a boon, and I will not renege. Not here, so near the grave of my beloved. The knowledge you ask is dangerous, and costly. I will not tell you all, as I would not teach a child spells of flame and death. My boon shall be the beginning of the path, you must find your own way after that.
The Umbral Plane is a dark mirror to our own reality, it overlaps and permeates the Material Plane
Artist: Thomas Scholes
—separated by a thin band of energy, some call the Spirit World, or Astral Plane. One must pass through the Spirit World to enter into the Shadow Plane, and vice versa. These “shadows” that you have encountered are emanations, using shapes they find in the Spirit World to temporarily visit our dimension.”
The Grand Wizard shifted slightly, steel scales ringing on the marble floor. He stretched his ancient wings, and stood on his hind legs, stretching.
“All this is within the realm of mortal knowledge – not all believe it to be true, but still the wise have assembled the scattered puzzle pieces. What I tell you now is not known, to any but the oldest of dragons and gods.
When my beloved fell from the heavens, there was no Plane of Shadow. Not then, and not for a great time after. ”
The Grand Wizard flapped his wings, and began to rise from the floor. The old blind dragon sings, as it ascends.
the Shadow is mirror
the Mirror is power
Songs of the Lost
shine on Dark Hour
the Key and the Shield
throw wide the One Gate
the Price of the Beast
if Hero come too Late
The Grand Wizard is gone. The crew of the Lodestar are left alone in an empty room, with nothing but marble and questions.
For me, it’s definitely Izus Torrossian, the “Man” in the current pieces I’m putting up. I specifically limit the amount that I write with him, because I know it would all devolve into nerdish adolation. He’s also a little bit of a Mary Sue, which I generally hate in fiction. He’s the main antagonist in Lodestar [but not villain, please note] – I’ve tried to make his sporadic appearances memorable, but brief.
But still part of me just wants him to snap his fingers and set a continent ablaze, then hang ten off the nose of an allosaurus while sipping a cup of oolong with one pinky held up. And then pull out his double-necked keytar and play Queen covers for a while.
“Ah, Gentle Sir Knight, with your wide cow-eyes. I think you will soon understand a tiny part of what I mean — about necessity. Because now the great game truly begins.” Izus flopped a wounded hand off his chest onto the floor between he and the others. With battered fingers, he slowly began to draw crude figures in the strange ichor that was his blood.
spell-sword.com 