Tag: writing

The Tiny Frog

G. Derek AdamsLeave a comment

In a tiny forest, next to a tiny pond, lived a tiny frog.

An early frost had killed the rest of his spawn-brothers, and when the lone tadpole-with-legs wriggled out of the tiny pond the other frogs were much dismayed. The Greenlord, in a fit of classical allusion, dubbed the newborn “Schadenfreude”.

The tiny almost-frog nosed forward in the mud. If its eyes could see it’s first view would have been a thunderstorm. If it’s ears could hear it’s first sound would have been the distressed wailing of the other frogs.

However, his eyes were not quite formed yet, and his ears were filled to the brim with pondscum – so, he didn’t see the storm, he didn’t hear the wailing. Schad’s only memory of his wriggle-day was a taste. Quite by accident, his nubby mouth clomped onto a fallen blackberry. It popped in his mouth and exploded with purple-sweet, a riot of spring.

And so, despite the bleakest of omens and the most dire of beginnings — Schad hopped into the world with a vague, unformed idea that the world was wonderful.

Despite all that he learned afterwards, and much effort to convince him of the contrary – the tiny frog never abandoned this precept.

When the older frogs pushed him down, and took the juiciest mosquitos for themselves — he would swim to the quiet bank by the willows, and make up silly songs about water and hedgehogs.

When the summer grew hot, and the pond nearly dried up — he took great delight in building castles from the cracked, drying bottom-mud.

When the winter ice came, he was the last to dream in the mud — dancing a jig in the bitter air, as the other frogs looked on in disapproval.

When the time of spring-love was through, and he was alone and unmated — he sang his pond-songs to the new tadpoles, and danced a solemn air across a broad oak root.

Schad danced and sang and built and dreamed – the world turned, and a plate of sorrow was his constant diet. But it never erased the first sensation of his soul, the taste of fresh blackberry.

And then the snake came.

Sliding from beyond, from the dark forest — black and gray, with eyes like white river-stones. Long as a mile, and wide as a river. It gobbled up a brace of frogs in an instant, then wound itself around the pond once, twice, thrice. The few frogs to escape had fled to the pond, and piled one on the other – croaking and groaning and smacking in terror.  The looked to the east and the west, to the north and the south — but the enormous snake filled the horizon. Then one old-frog saw something, and shouted and pointed — his yellow eyes goggling.

Schad was dancing along the snake’s back.

In pure shock, the trapped frogs fell silent. Above the hiss of the snake’s scales they could hear.

Schad was singing. A silly song about hedgehogs and water.

The snake saw the tiny dancing frog too.

The diamond-head of the snake moved towards the tiny singing frog, and then came to a stop. It was too far to hear, but it seemed as if the snake was speaking to Schad.

Schad made a handsome bow and said something in reply, green face beaming with delight.

The tiny frog hopped into the air, and landed squarely on the snake’s head. Schad cupped two green hands to his wide mouth and called across the pond.

“It seems I was left out again, just my luck I suppose.  You were all in a cluster, an easy meal — while I was alone, sleeping in the briar. As for you, I’m afraid that this is a water snake.”

Schad laughed and did a little jig, and then the snake popped it’s head and snapped Schad up – less than a bite.

“Well.” the old-frog said. “At least that asshole went first.”

[Story on Demand for Patrick.]

Story on Demand: Milliardo Peacecraft Edition

G. Derek Adams4 Comments

Lots of Lodestar writing, reading a colleague’s short story and novel chapters, plus day-job woes. Brain quivers and shakes, so no typey-typey, angsty-angsty today.

Toss a story idea in the comments, when I’ve reassembled the fragments, I’ll pick one and write something shiny.

Parallelogram’s Report

G. Derek AdamsLeave a comment

I write these words in haste, the Lodestar flies at sundown and I plan to be on it. After the siege of Starmhill I intend to be on something well-defended and mobile until the end of this war.

Interesting query. ‘this war’ – no nomenclature has developed among the participants. What will this war be called by the survivors? I imagine that depends entirely on the victors, in the usual fashion.

No time for digression. Four words that fill my scholar’s mind with dread. If this world falls to the devils, I fear there may never be time for digression ever again by any human mind.

My studies have long concerned the different planes of reality, with a focus on the Umbral Plane — the Shadow Dimension. In the past month, my knowledge went from blood-crucial to trivial. The events that transpired at Kythera, and the city’s subsequent destruction have severely diminished the connection between our world and the shadows. Saving the world from a great threat, certainly — but also curtailing my further studies.

Logically I should be glad, but my mind still aches that I will never journey into the Umbral Realm and divine its secrets.

And in the wake of the destruction of the Arkanic capitol — a new foe has appeared, and moved with precision and menace across the globe. The forces of Hell, iron-clad legions of perfect evil and regimented sorrow. They serve Fairchild, the King of Glass.

‘The King of Glass’ is an imperfect translation into the Common tongue. The Infernal language is far more gifted than ours in conveying levels of meaning, especially in relation to pain and suffering. A more unpacked translation would be – The King of Breaking Glass, the taste of copper in the back of your mouth when you hear the sound, the alarm that all mortals feel when they hear the sound, the knowledge that everything can be broken.

Though, to be exact – Fairchild is not truly a king. He is a prince. The devils are not native to our world, they traveled here from some unknown place beyond.  I’ve looked through dozens of scrolls and tomes this afternoon, looking for more information – but there has been no conclusive evidence found that clarifies what drew them here. Many sources corroborate that there was once a true King of Hell, a godlike being of pure malevolence. Either he died or was left behind in their travels, and his royal court arrived in Aufero with no clear leader.

Reports vary, but most seem to say there were nine princes of hell. A few reports set the number at seven, and a few as many as thirteen. Regardless of the original number, they immediately gathered their supporters and vassals, and descended into a vicious civil war. Devils are creatures of law, for their society to function, there must be an absolute authority – there can be no gaps in the system. They needed a King. After several centuries, Fairchild was triumphant – subjugating his brother and sister princes through trickery, seduction and force.

Another digression. This is not a history of the royal court of Hell. This is about the methods available to them for visiting our dimension — and the unbelievable way they have found to subvert them. My time grows short, the sun is near the horizon.

Devils cannot visit our world without aid. It is a function of the laws of our world, by which they must abide. A mortal agent of some sort must choose to let them in. Choice seems vital, according to all of the texts I’ve studied. Whether through a spell, or a contract, or the construction of an elaborate portal — the mortal soul must knowingly choose to allow the devil in. Folklore is full of tales of devils tempting the people of Aufero with all sorts of earthly pleasures in return for entry — and our history [especially recent] has shown the great time, patience and planning the devils have devoted to building Hell Gates. Brimhorne, the Piccan Undercity, the ruins of Thay, the great dam of Jacra. Mortal agents, toiling sometime for generations — choosing again and again to give the devils sway.

And now this gate in Gilead. The description provided by the barbarian, Agnar was evocative enough, but sadly lacking in technical information. I’m including it here for later reference.

“Two pillars,” Agnar blurted. “Two pillars of thick crystal-looking stuff. But not showy crystal, like fancy ladies wear. More like the crystal that bends and shapes sunlight, breaking it into colors. Edges cut perfect, each pillar a mirror of the other, angling up from the floor then towards each other. Wedged between the points of the pillars, a ring of metal that glows blue from some enchantment, and chained within that ring is the Browncloak. Golden light— thick, like liquid sun— pours out of his chest like a waterfall, and through that waterfall walks the devil legions.”

I have dug through scroll after scroll, leaving the stacks in such awful disaray. When the Tomemasters return, they will be sickened by my clutter — but I was desperate to find some mention of this, and I think I have been successful. One fortunate benefit of the vicious battle today — the Forbidden Texts Repository was left unlocked, and unwatched. I have dreamed of being within this tiny room for years, so many questions that could be answered, so many scholarly riddles finally unwound! Frustrating to finally be inside, but have a time limit and one narrow field of inquiry.

A stone tablet, conservatively dated at -13289 VA. Thousands of years before the coming of the Lost [Precursors, Arkanic Civilization] — the Time of Dragons. I almost couldn’t decipher the text — it is a primal form of Draconic, beyond ancient in syntax, and the tablet has suffered much to the ravages of time. The tablet itself is incomplete, only a third of what was clearly a much larger piece — and many of the ideograms have been completely blotted by wind and water.

It seems to be a codification of the laws of Aufero — almost a charter of sorts. The author is unclear, but it seems to speak of some sort of meeting place, or place of judgement . All of the strange travelers who had found their way to this world, having the rules explained to them. Perhaps I read too much into some of the nouns, inadequate time for a proper analysis.

The main section that caught my attention was a reference to a Circle of Gold – it reminded me of the barbarian’s description. The author of the tablet seems to be recounting a question asked by some sort of lord — the question directed to the higher power that presided over the judgement, or meeting. The following translation is incomplete, and hopelessly innacurate – but I believe that it catches the gist of the exchange.

Lord: But why must my people be kept outside the walls?

Higher Power: That is the way of it.

Lord: Is there no way we may enter into the city?

Higher Power: Only at the citizens’ invitation. Only at great cost. Only through the proper ways. And never for more than a [period of time].

Lord: This is unjust. All of the other lords have been treated fairly, as is their due.  It is not right that we should be so denied. All others are welcome in the city, is there no way that we may not become citizens ourselves?

Higher Power: You speak true. A balance is required. Through one door only can your people forever enter the city. Through a Circle of Gold. 

After this, the gathered personages all nodded as if this ‘Circle of Gold’ was a common term, that required no further explanation. The rest of the tablet makes no mention of it. On a hunch — and truly, out of desperation — I searched through a series of lexicons dated from the founding of Valeria. I only found reference to something known as a ‘Circle of Power’, a magical construct that could bridge the gulf between worlds — the interesting section was that it required something of both worlds to operate, a willing sacrifice.

My hypothesis is as follows. Somehow, Fairchild discovered the existence of this Circle of Gold — a loophole in the very fabric of this reality. The man referred to above as the ‘Browncloak’ [Izus Torossian, infamous assassin] is the willing sacrifice from our world — but what was the sacrifice of Hell?

I am certain the process was far more complicated, but I have no more time to study. I will grab as many books as my arms can carry on the subject, and transport them to the Lodestar — in hopes of continuing my studies on this matter. I cannot swing a sword, or lead an army — but if my knowledge or scholarship can aid our world…. I pray that it might.

Parallelogram – Scholar in Absentia, Primex Loghain

Headphones

G. Derek AdamsLeave a comment

The girl with the headphones pinched her nose and closed her eyes. The bus and the people roared around her, her thumb cycled the volume up and up.

She opened her eyes, and the bus was hers. The people were back behind the glass where they belonged. The girl with the headphones coiled a finger through the wire, and leaned her head back against the window. Frost and steam did battle behind her, in the gray streets.

The old steel worm chugged along, bending in the middle – armor rippling around a corner. A tall boy with corkscrew hair dangled from a white pole. His eyes were black and curious, making a naked cartography of her shape.

The girl frowned, and her thumb moved.

The boy let himself hang from the rail, his body making a triangle between the floor and the roof. He smiled at her, and refused to get behind the glass where he belonged. His shirt was a grimy green, and had a mermaid printed with blank ink.

Her stomach crawled and she turned her face toward the front of the bus.

The mermaid boy twined around another moment, then thudded to the floor when the bus screamed to a stop. The girl with the headphones gritted her teeth in satisfaction.

He hooted and grumbled, then pulled himself to the doors of the steel worm and was gone.

The glass reformed, and the girl was alone and satisfied.

A block later and she forgot the mermaid boy. She did not think of him  again.

[Story on demand for Leigh — her suggestion too me in a weird direction, as it often does — mainly because I was thinking more about my last trip to Chicago, the City of Ice. Thanks for the idea!

For those of you playing the home game, I did write another “mermaid” themed SOD, click here to be underwhelmed. Suddenly, Mermaid.]

Devil in the Green

G. Derek AdamsLeave a comment

Let me tell you about the first time I saw Fairchild.

I was working at Papa John’s — the day shift. I had just moved back to Athens after a blurred year away, and it was the first job I found. It was terrible money, and ultimately destroyed my car at the time — but hey, free pizza.

One of the big tasks that I had to do everyday, was food prep. All of the various pizza ingredients had to be carted out of the walk-in freezer. The cheese had to be fluffed [no-shit technical term], the meats had to be sorted — and all of the vegetables needed to be prepped fresh each day. The tomatoes were chopped, the onions were diced [pure misery], everything sliced and prepped with a big steel knife.

I hated it, but in a mute sort of way. It was systematic and mindless. Plenty of time to plot my escape, or let my mind wander.

For some reason, I really did enjoy cutting up the green bell peppers.

For the uninitiated, here’s the process. You cut off the cap [stem part] with a knife, then scoop out the seeds and guts inside. Then you would toss the whole thing into a big chopper with a crank, a few spins and out would come eviscerated vegetable.

It’s hard to explain exactly what I enjoyed about it. Other than the wanton destruction. The peppers were always nice and cool, and pleasantly crisp when you sliced into them. It was neat and self-contained, a little green world — protected by a thick barrier. Chop up onions, you get more onions — chop up a green pepper, you are Galactus.

One day I cut the top off of a bell pepper, and found something new.

Fairchild.

The pepper looked completely normal on the outside, maybe just a little twisty at the bottom — but inside was a tiny green growth, a nub of another pepper growing inside. It was a much brighter green then its host, almost fluorescent green, twisted and strange growing in the center of things.

My immediate thought : “This is what cancer is.”

Because it wasn’t a blight, or a bug — it was something that grew from within the little world, innocent and merry and green, green, green. All it wanted was to grow, and was blithely unconcerned with what that meant for rest of the pepper.

I’ve scanned the internet for a good picture of one of these things, and I absolutely cannot find one suitably impressive.

This is a red pepper, but you get the idea.

It was just so pleased with itself — that’s what struck me. So vibrant and wicked and sure of itself – it almost waved in delight to be discovered.

Look what I am doing, it said. It’s so very nice inside of here, would you like to pull up a chair? Things are going so well!

That image sticks with me. And so when it was time to create a villain for the last act of Lodestar — the green, green cancer sauntered into my mind, as blithe and merry as ever. A devil, a prince of devils dreaming of being King. A trickster and a manipulator — one so very, very sure of his success. Fairchild, the King of Glass. He had appeared in bit parts in other stories, but it was time for him to take center stage.

And if the heroes of Aufero aren’t most clever and potent, he will sit on the throne of my little world until the end of days.

But even if they succeed, I know the image of the green pepper in my mind will survive — so Fairchild will too.

A short story that features my green devil – The Cost – if you care to peruse.

 

 

 

 

Sitar

G. Derek Adams3 Comments

I play and she dances.

That is how it works. That is it.

The heat of her day, and the hat on her head, and the crease of her waist and the slight boredom in her green-green eyes.

I thump down on the strings and an eruption of trees – pines today. Green like her eyes, but I place them outside her reach with petty twangs. She spins faster, catching the rhythm. A few coins clatter. It’s hot.

I throw gold notes at her feet, but her steps erase them – Nena the Cruel, the Cat Dancing. Give her a heart, and she will return a hard-scrabble scrap rat-tat-rattling around your rib cage.

She makes the devil jealous. The sun weep.

I fill the plaza with water, my fingers on the strings. She steps onto the waves like a birthright, her hem dry.

The crowds pass, but they do not see. This marble and stone corner of the world full of spite and spiders — full of amaranth and ambrosia. At the end of the day I will slide my hand under her elbow, and she will jerk it away. My desire-sweat drips, and she kills me again with green-green daggers.

I bring a spirit of fire into the forest, I build a wall of earth — it is never enough to hold her. A snake winds around the base of my spine and I want her and want her. I scream down into my hands, and the strings do their best to answer.

My hands move. Nena dances.

I play and she dances.

That is how it works.

[Story on Demand for N.E. White]

 

 

 

 

 

Identity

G. Derek Adams4 Comments

[Spoiler Alert: I’m a giant nerd. I’ve been running a Pathfinder campaign for the past two years, and I’m starting to work on the next one. All of my new players are relative neophytes to the game, and I put together this rough breakdown to guide them through choosing a proper character class for their style. One of my players really liked it, and suggested I put it up on my blog for use by nerds throughout the land — and since I’m lazy, and going to be away for a week — WISH GRANTED, Mr. Yellow Devil.

Any other tabletop nerds out there? I’d love any feedback or suggestions you have on this chart.]


Here’s a rough break-down of the nineteen character classes available. Think of this as a very rough overview, to give you some idea for further discussion with me and the other players. I’ve also included links to further descriptions of each class — it’s very technical, but there’s a good overview of each through the link, enough to give you more idea of what each class can do.

Arcane Divine Martial Skilled Natural Synthesis
Wizard
Sorcerer
Summoner		 Cleric
Paladin
Oracle		 Fighter
Barbarian
Cavalier		 Rogue
Bard
Ranger		 Druid
Monk
Witch		 Magus
Inquisitor
Gunslinger
Alchemist

Nineteen Ways To Die

CLASS Description Best at… Examples
Alchemist “I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensaring the senses … I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death..” S.Snape Making themselves more powerful; influencing enemies and the battlefield in unexpected ways. Severus Snape
Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde
Barbarian Fueled by rage, they destroy all who oppose them. Doing lots of damage. Conan
Khal Drogo
Bard Their songs are magical, their wit and knowledge deadly. Making the party more effective.
Gathering information		 Kvothe*
Tom o’Sevens
Alan-a-dale
Cavalier Noble knights, they ride into battle leading the way to victory. Mounted combat.
Unique Ability: Tactics		 Jaime Lannister
Sturm Brightblade
Barristan Selmy
Cleric True servant of their faith, they shield the world from evil. Healing.
Making the party more effective.		 Sazed
Sephrenia
Melisandre
Thoros of Myr
Druid The raw forces of nature are theirs to command. Elemental magic.
Shapechanging.		 Tim the Druid
Beast Boy
Allanon
Cold Hands
Fighter In the press of battle, there are none more rightfully feared. Doing damage.
Most adaptable class.		 Boromir
Garet Jax
Bronn
Gunslinger The smell of gunsmoke and black powder, hard-knuckle death dealers. Doing a lot of damage.
Unique ability: Grit		 Roland Deschain
Matthew Quigley
Chow Yun Fat
Inquisitor Their god commands them to bring the unfaithful to judgement. Weakening enemies.
Unique ability: Judgement		 Simon Belmont
Inquisitor Glokta
Magus Pure magical energy, channeled into the sharp edge of a blade. Doing a lot of damage.
Wizard/Fighter		 [I honestly can’t think of an example — the cast spells through their weapons, it’s ridiculous.]
Monk A combatant armed only with wisdom. Mobility, and damage. Tempi
Drunken Master
Son Goku
Wong Fei Hung
Oracle Their power is a mystery, even to themselves. Healing.
Unique Ability: Mystery		 Calypso
Cassandra
Paladin A divine warrior, they bring hope and courage to all. Healing/Combat Hybrid.
Diplomacy.		 Obi-Wan Kenobi
Paksenarrion
Ranger A fierce combatant, a skilled traveller of the wilderness. Ranged Combat.
Tracking, Wilderness Survival.		 Aragorn, son of Arathorn
Rogue A thief, a trickster, cunning wanderer of the night. Stealth, Trapfinding and Lockpicking.
Sneak Attack damage.		 Locke Lamora
Arya Stark
Tasselhoff Burrfoot
Sorcerer Magic flows in their blood, and bends to their will. Spellcasting.
Knowing less spells than a Wizard, but can cast more often.		 Kelsier the Survivor
Belgarath
Summoner They create a powerful beast, the Eidolon from pure thought and desire. Well, summoning.
Perfect if you really want to play a Monster.		 The Incredible Hulk
Lyra Silvertongue
Witch Their power flows from spirits unknown. Spellcasting.
Freaking people out.
Unique ablity: Hexes		 Elphaba
Baba Yaga
Wizard Their mastery of magic comes from long study and mental excellence. Spellcasting.
Most varied, and adaptable spellcasters.		 Gandalf
Harry Dresden
Albus Dumbledore

Simple Complicated
Barbarian Fighter Ranger Monk Cleric Wizard
Rogue
Paladin Oracle Witch Summoner
Bard
Gunslinger Inquisitor Sorcerer
Cavalier Druid Alchemist

If you want to do damage: Barbarian, Magus, Monk, Gunslinger
If you want to hurt things with magic: Wizard, Sorcerer, Magus, Witch
If you want to heal things: Cleric, Oracle
If you want to be a leader: Cavalier, Paladin, Cleric, Bard
Sneaky, stabby type: Rogue, Ranger, Inquisitor

*It’s tough to pin Kvothe down to one class. Bard/Assassin/Wizard/Fighter/Rogue would just about cover it.

Cyrus

G. Derek Adams3 Comments

[I know I just posted this a couple of weeks ago — but I STILL LIKE IT, DURN IT. It’s funny how names and associations stick with you throughout the years — I never grow tired of the name Cyrus for any sort of warrior, swordsman or knight — and Chrono Trigger is completely to blame.]

And his hand slid through the hilt as if it were made of dream.

The barbarian stumbled forward, thrown off balance. He turned around, and the sword was gone.

In its place stood a hooded figure, old gray travelers cloak worn thin from endless miles on the road. Agnar glanced around and saw the temple seemed to be caught in gray amber, the clerics at the doors were nearly statues they moved so slow, the demons outside were a painting in stillness. A moment out of time.

The figure squared his shoulders, and fell into a natural fighting stance. Strapped across his back was a massive greatsword, the length of it tightly wound in dark cloth. The cowl slipped back, and Agnar stared into a stranger’s face. His face was clean-shaven, flat as slate — his hair was nearly gone, just gray fuzz on the sides of his head.

“Need is not enough.” the traveler said.

Agnar tried to respond, but found himself mute.

“Fate is not enough.” the traveler said, and Agnar felt the winged mark on his palm burn and itch.

“Rage is not enough. Skill is not enough. Might is not enough. All of these are dust.”

Sand began to pour from the sleeves of the traveler’s cloak, Agnar tasted the desert on his tongue.

“Only love is enough. Only truth is enough. Only sacrifice is enough.”

The traveler turned, and looked out towards the doors of the temple.

“You can bring death, but can you bring life? You have walked in the Light, can you bear its lack? Go out into the world, go without the Bright Lady’s balm, survive, and redeem one of the wicked. One evil soul brought back to the light, and I will be yours to wield — from now unto the Cracking of the World.”

The traveler walked away, and faded even as time slowly wound back to its proper pace. Agnar stared ahead at the demons pounding on the doors of the temple, and felt a dry, empty feeling steal through his limbs. A man who has lived his life ever by the sea, withers and dies when he can not hear the waves crash.

Marlowe looked up with great pain, and smiled with the sadness of knowledge. “Your trial begins, brother. You have stepped out of the Light.”