Tag: swordpunk

Five Lodestar Secrets

G. Derek Adams2 Comments
The Lodestar Crew, in their finest. ARTIST/W.Steven Carroll

Lodestar is an odd beast. Telling a story live for two years across thousands of words online, and scores of tabletop games it’s easy to get lost in the thickets. At least I know I often did, and at least nominally I was in charge of the story. Killervp asked for some Lodestar related blather, so I’m obliging. These are 5 things that the players either never knew, didn’t notice, or never encountered. Some of these are missed plotlines, or NPC backstories — or just things that I thought about a lot in the shower, but never actually mentioned in-game. Now that I had some time and distance from the story, here are a few things way back in the freezer of Lodestar.

1. The Precursor Homeworld

Oh, man. This was going to be amazing. Admittedly, this was part of the ‘Machine Unleashed’ end of Act 3. [More on that later in the list.] After a few failed attempts to defeat the Machine, the crew of the Lodestar was going to discover a hidden cache of Precursor knowledge [through clues  in the sadly neglected Arkanic Computer, Carbunkle.] and discover Teon’s notes reconstructing the route back to the homeworld, along with the Song of Change that would have finally unlocked the Lodestar’s sleeping heart/psyche. [LEVEL FIVE!!!]  The whole ship was going to gain an Interstellar Travel Mode in epic Flight of the Navigator fashion and the crew would have gone on last ditch quest across the stars.

There they would have encountered the Dark, the nebulous force of ultimate evil that forced the Arkanics to flee to Aufero. I don’t know what it is, but it scares the shit out of me — so, definitely nasty. Making their way through a shattered planet, finding lost technology and twisted Precursor-spawn — fleeing from the ultimate negation, the destroyer of all. They would have no chance of defeating it, but would have found something that allowed them to defeat the Machine. A glimpse into the larger cosmic battle beyond their own world — and foreshadowing for the next tale in Aufero.

2. Shadar Logoth

Ah. My unabashed crib from the Wheel of Time series. In Jordan’s first book, it’s a lost city filled to the brim with an ancient evil.  In middle school, it really fascinated me, so I wanted to have it in my game world.

Immediately after the crew saved Talitha from the Shadow Knight in Brom, they had to deal with the temporarily-riderless and wounded Giant Roc, Bird. The druid managed to tend the creature’s wounds through and pulled a sizable stone chunk out of one of the bird’s wounds. A quick inspection revealed that it was overloaded with negative energy, a clue that the party could investigate to lead them to Shadar Logoth. They would have found an open conduit into the Umbral Plane, and the remnants of Izus’ battle with a large manifestation of shadow creatures. The players didn’t really miss much, but it was an opportunity to learn a lot more about the Plane of Shadow much earlier in the campaign.

And, of course there would have been a dagger with a ruby in the pommel.

3. Enton Blake, Scion of the Neclord

Oh, this still burns my players — because they know they missed this one. So, not totally a secret, but I like to rub things in.

Early in the campaign, I ran a ‘murder mystery’ adventure styled around Murder on the Orient Express. The main point of it was to introduce a new antagonistic group, the Seafoam Trading Company. The somewhat-evil multi-national conglomerate that controlled most airship and naval commerce in Aufero.  There were about eight red herring suspects, and unfortunately I made the clue to who was the real killer too hard to notice. So, they had their ‘drawing room scene’ and accused one of the Vice Presidents of Seafoam with the crime under the evidence that he was an evil dick. He was evil, and they had a good fight — but he wasn’t the killer.

The real killer was that guy’s nebbish secretary, Enton Blake. I wrote a ‘confession‘ of sorts here on the blog several months later.  And he was a vampire.

If they had uncovered the true killer, it would have served two purposes.

It was a neat link to the old campaign that spawned this game world. The Neclord was a master vampire who nearly toppled an entire country with his schemes. The old heroes had quite a time dealing with him, so I liked the nod to the old campaign.

Enton was the only Scion remaining — the only Child of Zed to survive the purge by the Forces of Light. His mission in life was to keep his existence a secret, as he slowly prepared over many, many decades the return of the vampires. Not quite sure whether he was going to resurrect the Neclord, or BECOME THE NECLORD HIMSELF. MWAHAHA.

Hey, you know what? It can still happen! Thanks, heroes!

4. Nyver Moonbeam and Jan Wise.

Sometimes you have a really cool backstory for an NPC or villain.

Sometimes you are just about to open your mouth, and lay down some narrative jazz and blow the players’ minds.

Sometimes the players kill that NPC or villain. Right. Before. The. Reveal.

Early in their career, the Lodestar crew did some work for a local crime lord in the city of Flenelle, a Dark Elf known as Nyver Moonbeam. They uncovered the edges of some sort of nefarious plot he was hatching, and decided they needed to take him down. They enlisted the aid of an alcoholic ranger named Martin Wise, who had a serious grudge against the crime lord.

When the party went to face Nyver, it was in the wreck of an abandoned galley that had been turned into a saloon. He had a female bard chained to the wall, forcing her to sing for him in between intermittent bouts of torture. The barbarian freed her, but they wouldn’t learn much about her until later.

As mentioned, the party made quick work of the nefarious Dark Elf. The only little nugget of the backstory I managed was his dying words to the ranger.

“You know I really loved her.” Nyver sighed.

“It don’t mean a damn.” Martin Wise replied. “And you know that too.”

“Yeah.”

So,  yeah. Here’s the big backstory. Martin’s daughter, Jan fell in with Nyver early in his career. She was his lieutenant, and eventually his lover.  The wrinkle was that the dark elf had a predeliction for causing pain, an inescapable compulsion.  Jan allowed herself to receive the brunt of his abuse in an attempt to help him work through the condition. I don’t think she enjoyed it, but she was a willing participant.

Enter her father, the renowned ranger and adventurer, Martin Wise. He rolls into town and finds

By Rui Tenreiro.

bruises and scars on his little girl, and immediately commences to tracking down her villainous boyfriend. An epic duel erupts, Jan gets caught in the middle, she dies.

Ironically, much of Nyver’s sado-masochistic leaning is broken in this event. He still feels the compulsion, but then he will see Jan’s face on his victims and stop. His bard prisoner had some clues to the effect.

Martin started drinking, and didn’t stop. He even sunk to the level of taking odd jobs from Nyver’s growing criminal syndicate to make ends meet. He had some ale-soaked thoughts about working his way close enough to the dark elf to get revenge, but they didn’t amount to much.

5. The World of the Machine

The other way the last half of the campaign could have gone. The entire first arc of the game involves the discovery of the Shadow Plane — and some sort of being trapped within that is frantically trying to break into our world. Through travel and investigation the Lodestar crew learn that the trapped entity is a giant machine, built by the Precursors to destroy the evil that filled their homeworld. In typical Frankenstein fashion, they made it a wee bit too powerful.  A large portion of the race’s population sacrificed themselves to create the Shadow Plane and imprison the machine.

The big moment at the end of Act 3 hinged on two options. Will the heroes stop the Machine from breaking free, or will it run amuck across the globe?

To my chagrin, the heroes succeeded.

But, oh. The Machine. It was going to be so freaking sweet. Just stomping its way across the world, crushing cities to dust. The party was going to need to ally themselves with Seafoam [and maybe the devils and Izus] to even have a chance to survive long enough to get to the next leg of the adventure.

I just loved the idea of spending over  a year building all these communities, cities and countries — then pulverizing them. Admittedly, the 13 Day War that came later did just as good, but it was going to be a giant robot!

A GIANT ROBOT, PEOPLE.

 

Judge the Book by its Cover

G. Derek Adams3 Comments

I am beyond excited….and more than a little terrified. I actually have an artist working  on the cover art for Spell/Sword.

Cyberman – Mike Groves [poopbird]

I insist that you click on this super-rad Cyberman art and check out some other examples of his work. He’s got a lot of style-flexibility, but everything he does is interesting, distinctive and [as mentioned] on the north side of Rad. We had a great brainstorming session last week, and I should start seeing sketches in the next couple of weeks. I almost wrote ‘barnstorming’. I really want to have a barnstorming session in the immediate future.

Mike Groves – aka Poopbird – is a phenomenal artist, living in my hometown of Athens, GA. You should follow all of the links below and rub your grimy internet-hands all over his virtua-product. He is also an amazing tattoo artist, so if you need some ink (especially nerd-ink) he’s the man to call.

Poopbird.com

Tumblr.

Deviantart.

I can’t wait to see what he comes up with — even though the anxiety-engine in my head is already revving up.  Cover art means we’re getting closer and closer to the book being real, and launched into the world where everyone will hate it.

But at least the cover is going to be boss.

The Pitch

G. Derek Adams5 Comments

An act of salesmanship is never an act of truth.

That’s not to say that it is a falsehood, or a pure fabrication. Certainly there are many who call themselves salesmen that deal in outright deceit, but they’re just liars. Plain ordinary liars.

No, salesmanship is all about awareness. Complete knowledge of the product: it’s particulars, benefits, problems, logistics and idiosyncrasies  and your most reliable perception of the character of your customer. Everything you say, everything you withhold is an attempt to calmly weave the product into the customer’s needs and desires. You concentrate on what you know about the product, and carefully present only the parts that you intuit will be attractive to your mark. You are creating a narrative, a workaday tale — a story with purpose. To make the sale. To win.

This is antithetical to the creation of art. An act of art should always be an act of truth. Individual truth — the opening of the inner eye and allowing the energy of your private whirlwind to express into your medium:something. Anything. As long as it’s true. Or real. Or important.

I’m still a ways from publishing Spell/Sword — but I’m already thinking about how I am going to sell it. The plan remains to self-publish, then grassroots my ass up the zeitgeist to something more than a blip. Financially and culturally. So I need to be able to sell the book. To other artists, to family, to friends, to total strangers, to people who love fantasy, to people who hate it, to people who never read. But every time I approach the problem in my head, I feel this enormous lassitude. It feels wrong.

In my day job, I am a salesman. I’m extremely good at it. But the key seems to be my total lack of concern. Apathy towards the product, and disinterest in actually making the sale. It allows you to be dispassionate and objective — truly focused on reading the situation and the customer. But with the book, where I’m hopelessly invested in the product and emotionally overwraught in the sale – it’s much more difficult.

It doesn’t help that I’m specifically trying to find my own little niche in the genre. It feels cheap to say “Oh, it’s just like ‘X’ and nothing like ‘Y’, and if you like ‘Z’ then buy, buy, buy!” But when I try to pitch it on its own terms, it just sounds hollow and uninteresting.

There’s a guy, and he has a sword. And there’s a girl and she’s got magic. They don’t like each other, then some shit happens and then they do. Also: hi-jinks.

I could do a laundry list of the random things in the book.

Electric-Eel Powered Jukebox. Prescience. Dwarven ghosts. Lesbian bards. Sweaty wyverns. Hangovers. Friendship. Mailboxes. A devil-spawned assassin. Fairy tales. Horse euthanasia. Wizard duels. Mysterious backstories. Prophetic dreams. Cheese. Plot-holes. Garden plots. Sorcerer bondage. Magic swords. An ogre with red boots. A blue fish. A white bridge. A first kiss. A last breath. Hyper-intelligent frogs with steam-powered roller skates. Banter.

Okay, I wound up kind of liking that one.  But still, the problem remains. All that sounds fun, but I don’t know how convincing it is. Part of me wants to sell the book the same way that I wrote it. Honestly, with great love and with no artifice. Well, maybe a teensy bit of artifice.

This is important. This is true. This book is real. It matters. Or at the very least, I need it to matter.

So, yeah. Buy it or whatever.

Oh, my. This question is in bold. On WordPress, that’s like a Tumblr post dissing Doctor Who — it demands a response. What do you look for on the back of the book, or in a sales pitch for a book, when you’re considering reading something from an unknown author?

Space Invaders

G. Derek Adams5 Comments

Where do ideas come from?

Certainly they can be built inside the human mind, but at least in my experience, they often come from elsewhere. The ether, if you will. Often when thinking of a character name, or a detail I just make a space in my head and let the idea pop in. I have total faith in these moments, even though I couldn’t explain the rationale if I had a gun to my head.

Admittedly, this may just be a justification for an unwillingness to slog. An idea presents itself, complete and shiny — why go through all the work of outlines and planning and research, just tune in the radio station and let it blare.

But, I am intrigued with the physical precense of ideas — that they could have an origin…and a purpose. With the past few stories I’ve been working on, I’m rolling around the concept of an Evil Idea. A malevolent entity that travels in the heads of mortals, infecting them like a virus. As weird as that piece was, I guess ‘The Option’ is a good enough name for my Big Bad as any.

This is a bit of a re-tread of Inception’s philosophical themes, the power of an idea — the immortality of an idea.  Same goes for the V for Vendetta memes flooding the internet yesterday, you can’t kill an idea. People live and die for ideas, the course of entire civilizations turn on one or two great ideas.

That sounds like a great villain to me.

Is this too esoteric to support some fiction? Just too weird? Thoughts? Can’t you see that this question is in bold?!?!?

Knight of the Scroll III

G. Derek AdamsLeave a comment

Inconsistencies: There are several portions of the recording that do not seem to bear up to scrutiny. Without further knowledge of the events surrounding Teon’s death, I am unable to know whether to attribute these inconsistencies to his delirium, or to perhaps some sort of metaphorical meaning.

At the beginning of the narration, Teon insists that he brought the darkness with him from the Precursor’s Home. He seems to be drawing some sort of


Library by daRoz

connection between this darkness and the ‘evil’ in his left hand.  This evil seems to be the influence that lead him to creating the Machine, and the ultimate destruction of his civilization.

But then he speaks of the tree.  And my credulity is overtaxed.

I can stomach the idea that somehow he survived a fall from several miles height in the atmosphere, the physical might of the Arkanic’s is referenced in several bits of lore from that period. But, the idea that a root of a tree maliciously grew into a spike in the exact place where he would land is absurd. Even if we accept the thesis that somehow the tree has sentience enough to  do so, and the foresight to prepare this trap in advance — that Teon’s falling body could somehow manage to fall exactly onto that spot is simply unbelievable. The odds against it are astronomical.

Once again, I must return to the speaker’s state of mind. He was a man at the end of his life, in a great deal of pain — remembering another moment of incalculable trauma.

But, accepting Teon’s story at face value for the moment — I am still left with several broken chains of reasoning. He claims that he brought evil with him — and the root’s placement through the left side of his chest is not lost on me — but somehow the tree germinated that seed of evil into a blue flower. When Teon is saved by Jalyx, he takes pains to mention that the flower ‘disappeared somewhere in my chest.’

So, the tree was evil, and Teon brought evil, and the flower was evil and the flower was evil and the flower was evil and the flower was evil and the flower was evil and the flower was evil and the flower was evil, but somehow it took hold of him, leading to the evil in his left hand — and the downfall of his race?

So much is unclear, if only he could have spoken more plainly — or if I had the wit to decipher his warning.

Ah, but I must remember to keep a proper skeptical outlook — as much as I feel empathy for this being’s plight, I am sadly making my way to the conclusion that he was mad when he recorded these words.

Summation:

Dozed off for a moment, only a bare hour or two before dawn. Must forge ahead.

I find his description here most chilling.

“That was the curse, the horror of it all. I can see it now. The shining cities, the bridges of purest white, the towers of glass rose again — but everything we built, everything I built had in it a flaw. A shadow. Twisted lines carefully placed by my left hand.  Note by note we sang, but each verse hid a darker chord.”

How horrible. To find every work of your hand turned to your downfall. And for the present time, where Arkanic relics are of supreme value this is a most unsettling thought. Many of our cities are built on or near Arkanic ruins — and much of our mechanical lore is developed from recovered technology. Crudely, all admit. We do not have the spark of genius and mastery that they did — but every year we grow more clever in our copies and begin to make our own innovations.

If what Teon said was true – if everything the Precursors built had a flaw, a ‘shadow’- then we may be marching our way down a path lined with bones.

I find myself at a loss. What can I possibly report to my superiors? I can conclude nothing from this recording, but it suggests so much — so much that my soul tells me is of vast import. We discovered this recording as part of a different investigation. Reports of a manor in the hills south of Carroway, a place of horror. The local populace filled my agents’ ears with tales of demonic forces, lost children, sickness and death. Could there be a connection between the mnr—-

My quill stutters as I write. I know I just had a thought, but I can feel its absence in my mind. What is happening?

I scan my eyes along the words I have written, but I skip over the previous paragraph. At first absently, then with a growing feeling of dread. Something is keeping me from reading what I wrte–

No. Calm yourself, Dryden. You are a Knight of the Scroll – your mind is your blade. Kept sharp and keen in service of the Legion. I know not what I have stumbled on, but I MUst remain calm. I am the master of my own will. I am the master of my mind.

Begin again.
[To be continued]

Knight of the Scroll II

G. Derek AdamsLeave a comment

Impressions of the Speaker: The Arkanic language is an oddity. Rhythmic and focused, but with a strange undercurrent – as if the speaker is humming a harmony to every word. When written, the complexity of the symbology and mathematics at work are staggering — but when spoken, it seems to hover on the edge of sensibility. As mentioned earlier, a simple Translation Enchantment is sufficient to make the words understandable– but I find myself listening again and again to Teon’s words in their original form.

Greg Guillemin

The words are alien, but I find myself deeply affected by them. Teon is clearly in great pain, but there remains a quiet beauty to his speech. I compare it in my thoughts to an oboe, old and showing the impression of many careful stains in the wood. The moments where his reverie lingers on his lost companion Jalyx, his tone lightens before dipping again into the morose chords of his tale.

The beginning  and the end of the recording, his words show clear signs of hysteria. His words crowd together, speaking too fast. Towards the end of his tale, his words grow further and further apart — until he falls silent for several minutes. When he speaks again, it is with great terror and desperation, referring to the removal [?] of his left hand. I have listened carefully to the silent minutes several times, but can detect no sounds other than a low sigh, which I presume to be Teon’s labored breathing. In the dark hours of the night, I half convince myself that I can hear a slight scratching sound on the recording — but my daylight ears can detect no such noise. I attribute this to a simple trick of my distracted imagination.

But taken all together, his words leave a clear impression. A learned, gentle man caught at the darkest of moments. I would not presume an unwelcome familiarity to such an august personage, but I must add: I like Teon. I sadly believe that much of the recording is a result of his delusions, or the pain of his mortal wound — but I still find his plight deeply affecting. It would not be wrong to say I grieve for his passing. Strange, I admit. This recording seems to come from the end of the Arkanic Civilization, which our scholars place around -1564 VA. This means that Teon has been dead for 2,729 years. But I am [perhaps?] the first to hear his valediction.

I mourn him, as if he had passed days ago. I will not mention this in my formal report, it is not germane or pertinent.

Origin of the Precursors:  It seems clear from Teon’s words that the Arkanic race came from not only another planet, but perhaps an entirely different dimension. This flies in the face of much of current scholarly hypotheses. Also, the brief mentions of their sound-based technology is fascinating.  I am not a specialist in that field, but I hope that these brief allusions will be illuminating to my colleagues.

I am uncertain about his description of how our world ‘pulled’ his ship into its orbit. Perhaps this is the memory of a child in danger and stress — being recollected by a dying man. I was startled to hear him use the name of our planet, Aufero, with practiced ease. I have never studied the origin of our world’s nomenclature, but I shall make it a point of study when time presents — but how remarkable that the planet has carried its name for nearly 3000 years.

Artist Unknown

The End of the Precursor Civilization: Here, Teon is maddeningly vague. Clearly it was a subject of great distress, but I wish he could have been more specific.  What is this Machine that he refers to, exactly? It is clear that it was constructed as some sort of implement of war to battle the ‘Dark One’ that destroyed their home world — but what was it? If it was as potent as described, how can no signs of it remain? Something created by the Precursors’ own hands, that brought down their entire civilization — surely some relic must have endured for our study.

Side note. Teon refers to the ‘Dark One’ several times, but is strangely inconsistent about his usage. Initially it seems to refer to a Death-figure, similar to the depiction in many of our current cultures. But then he attributes the destruction of his home world to this being’s forces. Regardless, this Dark One seems to be a major figure in the culture/religion of the Arkanic people — I must cross reference this with the iconography of the murals found in the Gryphon Ruins near Quorum. So much study, so many new avenues opened by this simple recording!

Inconsistencies: There are several portions of the recording that do not seem to bear up to scrutiny…

[to be continued]

Throw Up My Skirts

G. Derek Adams3 Comments

A recurring complaint from my Alpha Readers — and now one of my Beta Readers, is that I don’t tell them enough. They want more details about the world, more about the history of the characters.

I have two main characters, and I sort of summarily dump them into the plot together. They both have Dark Pasts and Important Backstories [tm], but…and this is the crux, their backstory doesn’t have anything to do with the plot du jour.  The amorphous goals that I am moving Spell/Sword towards are pace, energy, and involvement. I don’t want to put any woolgathering or world history navel gazing — just accept the tropes and characters as presented, and show me a little trust.   Epic fantasy tends to frontload all of the exposition and world detail, I just want the reader to strap in and go along for the ride. This is episodic structure, not an epic trilogy.

A good example of this would be the pilot episode of Firefly. Admittedly, not a perfect example — that’s a vast ensemble. You’re only shown enough about the world and the character to serve the plot of the episode.

Okay, it’s in space. Mal was in a battle, his side lost. Okay, time passed. Oh, it’s the Civil War. I get it. Hmmm, Asian influences have become culturally dominant. Evil Empire, band of mercenaries and thieves. Okay, Mal’s a rogue with a conscience, Zoe’s a devoted soldier, Wash is comic-relief — oh hey, he and Zoe are married. Jane’s a thug, Kaylee’s an innocent mechanic, Inara’s a diplomatic courtesan, Book’s a priest, Simon is a rich kid doctor on the run, and River’s nuts. Oh, she’s super powerful/insane/government project — the empire is going to hunt her the entire show, hook set for the arc of the first season. Ooh, Reapers are nasty. 

You don’t get the description of every major location in the ‘Verse. You don’t learn anything about the actual setup of the Alliance government, or the name of it’s ruling body. You don’t know how Mal got from being a defeated solider to captain of Serenity, you don’t know anything about Zoe and Wash’s courtship. Book has about eighteen arrows pointing towards him that say MYSTERIOUS SECRET — but, none of that resolves in the first episode. Whedon throws all these tropes into a ship, lets them rattle around a little, then unmasks the sleeper agent who tries to capture River. The character and world exposition always takes a backseat to the action of each scene — and more importantly, the character relationships. The family dynamic of the crew and the budding connections between the new passengers — and their reaction to the imminent danger at hand is what makes that episode work.

We all know right off the bat that Book used to be an assassin. That’s a trope, the holy man who put down the sword. It appears again and again. Whedon could have spent 10 minutes explaining about the Alliance Death Squad and their memorable exploits, but that’s now what makes a work of fiction interesting or memorable. What makes Book more than a trope is his relationships — his seeking out of wisdom from Inara, his antagonistic mentoring of Mal, his almost paternal relationship with Jane.

That’s how I’m trying to view this first book. It’s the first episode. Here’s my wacky duo, here’s their powers, here’s a little sniff of their past, here’s some action, here’s some villains, here’s some crazy, there’s some weird, and hey, book’s over.

One of my favorite episodic novels. The Dresden Files is a good example. I almost stopped reading after the first one, because so many pages were devoted to explaining exactly who Harry was, the various supernatural forces around Chicago, how magic worked, how making potions worked, the backstory of his cat, the backstory of his car,etc. etc. — only when I picked up book two, and all of those details were read did the kick-assery truly begin.

So — to sum up. My goal is to write my very first book and have it be just as good as Firefly and Book Two of The Dresden Files. And I’m going to self-publish. And this doesn’t sound very likely does it?

I have been listening to my Alpha Readers — there was a significant increase/clarification of world and character information in the Beta Draft. But, there’s got to be a line. There is an argument to be made that leaving my readers wanting to know more is a good thing — but I’m a little terrified of leaving them annoyed, instead of motivated.

I am courting my readers, dammit. And I’m just not the sort of girl to throw up my skirts on the first date.

Ultimately, I’m in the weird position of being beholden to no one as a self-publisher. I don’t have an agent or a publishing house demanding that I add more romantic tension between the main characters, or insisting that I cut out the Steam-Skating Frogs as nonsensical. But I also don’t have the advantage of their experience either. I can write it however I want, and no one can stop me from spending a few days on Amazon putting it into print.

Man, it must be relaxing to have an editor.

I’m just starting to get weary of eighteenth-guessing everything in the book. I have a legitimate fear of totally abandoning my own judgement and just cramming in every possible thing into the book that anyone could ever want to see. And winding up with a big ungainly, craven mess. OR not doing that, and putting out an austere, confusing desert.

Book of Teon V

G. Derek AdamsLeave a comment

My left arm is moving. Every time I blink, it inches forward. I do not have the strength to kill this evil.

I must speak faster.

Days passed, and weeks. I slept and ate and healed and learned to speak the strange tongue of Jalyx

Confession Tower by Piotr Gadja

and his people. He was my savior, my first friend on Aufero – and I swore that his kindness would be repaid tenfold.

My left hand…it moves.

So much that happened, so many years. Must speak faster. We found the survivors of the crash and the wreckage. Both my parents were dead. I found myself made Captain of a shattered craft.

Must speak faster.

With time and skill we repaired the music hall in our ship, and called the fleet to the planet. We faced many dangers and complications, but I was determined to make Jalyx’s home a paradise — a place where we could share our knowledge with any who desired it. I should have guarded our knowledge more carefully, there were many who sought to abuse it. But the years were golden, and the songs we sang knew nothing of doubt.

Inside me the flower of evil slowly bloomed.

That was the curse, the horror of it all. I can see it now. The shining cities, the bridges of purest white, the towers of glass rose again — but everything we built, everything I built had in it a flaw. A shadow. Twisted lines carefully placed by my left hand.  Note by note we sang, but each verse hid a darker chord.

And then my greatest achievement. The Machine. My left hand’s glory.

As I grew in power and fame, my people began to look to me for wisdom. In their grief the Lost could find no satisfaction in the things we built here, nor in the friends we gained. I tried to show them the wonder of our new home, but they would not listen. Their hearts grew hollow and sere — and they begged me. My own people begged me. ‘Oh, Teon – First Singer! Use your skill to take us back Home.”

‘But I cannot. The Dark One waits there, covering an entire galaxy with his malice.’

‘Then build us a weapon. A weapon of Light that can strike him down!’

I knew it was folly, but my hand itched to build it. A colossus, a pure warrior of light.  I could not see…

——

I fell asleep. How long have I been asleep? My hand.

No. No. It is gone. My left hand is gone.

The blue flower blooms.

It isn’t over.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Jalyx, I’m sorry.

 

Book of Teon III

G. Derek AdamsLeave a comment

Did my left hand just move? Did my eyes shut a little too long?

I must stay awake. Awake until the end.

I fell. Through the skies of the blue planet, my body tumbling and burning with heat.

The Lost are stronger than we appear. It was always a wonder to the creatures of Aufero that such frail, golden-skin things as we could hide such might. I fell through the atmosphere, clouds fleeing from my descent.

I was young then and I was afraid. I cried out for my father to save me, for my mother to save me. But the clouds gave way to empty air and I rushed faster and faster towards the earth below.

A saw an ocean, larger than any from Home. A desert, a range of mountains, then finally a dark forest.

I spun in the air, my eyes toward the skies – hoping to catch a glimpse of the silver ship. Nothing.

The Lament of the Heartless by HFFK

The forest wrapped itself around me, and there was pain. Pain like I had never known.

Did my left hand just move? Or is it just a memory?

I do not know how long I abandoned the seat of my mind to the God of Pain. Hours, days, the lifetime of a stone. But at last I crawled back to sanity and looked out of my own eyes again.

I wished then I had not.  To return to the abyss and drift away.  Better if I had. Perhaps, some part of me would like to still say — but I look at my left hand and I know. It would have been better if I had died then.

My body lay at the base of a vast tree.  The bark was black and the leaves were gray, edged with blue ash. And through my left side pushed a great root, right through my heart.

In horror I pulled away the cloth from the stinking bloody thing. It was gnarled and vicious, ending in a sharp point. In my pain I glimpsed the truth, even then. This root had been waiting for me. The tree had grown just so, in this exact spot – patient and vile.

Feeble, I tried to push myself up off the evil spike. But I could not, it had me by the heart. I would die before I was free.

As I have said, the Lost are stronger than we appear. Even a mortal wound can take quite some time to claim us. But without food or aid the end marched closer.

I wept.  I was young and alone. My people had fled the Dark One, thrown themselves into the unknown to escape and I had fallen immediately into another trap. How strange I must have appeared, a small golden child at the foot of a dark tree. A spike of wood through my chest, tears spilling down my face.

But there was no one to see. At least not right away.