There was a young Wizard named Clover, still early in her schooling, she had learned the basic secrets and could craft circles, but still did not completely understand many of the finer points of the magic. She had aptitude for magic, and her teachers knew it, they could sense her brimming energy and eagerness to learn, and tried to steer her right.
She was young, and active, and with the activity of youth came a great impatience. She excelled at action, at spells that were quick. Her circles, however, were hastily constructed and drawn and energized, so they also, quite naturally, hastily broke down. She could set a fire or create lightning or summon water, but she couldn't master any spell that required any sort of time.
Now, the time came for exams, and spells of protection were, quite naturally, on the exams, as they formed not only an important field of study, but an integral part of the life of every Wizard, for the Wizards were often sought out by soldiers of the far-off King. So, Clover was very worried, as she wanted to pass her exams. Her teachers were worried too, they liked Clover and wanted to see her succeed to her potential, but they could not seem to help her, could not seem to rid her of the subconscious haste, and her spells, though sometimes lasting up to some abuse, would still quickly fizzle and die.
A fortnight before the exams, Clover retreated into her room for an entire week. She rarely even left for food, and missed many of her lectures during that time. She took stack after stack of the thin-sliced paper and bottles and bottles of ink in, constantly working away constructing spell-circle after spell-circle, practicing for hours and hours until she could practice no more.
At the end of this, she emerged, drowsy and beaten, from her room. She staggered around as if she had never before seen the light, and rushed to the dining hall. She ate prolific and extreme amounts of food, as if to make up for the past week. Her fellow students wanted to know, had she improved, had her extreme measures gotten her what she wanted? However, they could not get it out of her, she remained silent to all who approached, but seemed quite upset. They figured, and correctly, that Clover's extreme hard work and study had not borne fruit, and she was still in great trouble for the exams.
For two days, Clover was seen all places on campus, wandering from place to place. She did not seem to be studying or learning, just going around place to place, moping worried from the stress. Occasionally, her teachers would go up to her, trying to help or even determine the problem, but she pus/hed them away each time.
Clover was very frightened. She knew her teachers meant well, but she worried quite a bit about the results of the test. She felt like the teachers couldn't help her at all, and she started to feel very dumb. She wished that she could find a secret, something, anything, that would help her with this. She wondered why everything had seemed so easy and she had been so good at things beforehand, but now it was all collapsing, and she felt like she would never be good at it again. She worked herself into more and more of a panic the further and further time went on.
One of her teachers had mostly sat back from helping her. He was concerned, yes, but he felt like pushing her directly like the other teachers were doing would only worsen her mood. He felt he had to be more subtle to be helpful. He looked around and found one of her spell-circles, and examined it. From a glance it looked good, if plain, but his trained eye noticed all the faults, all the wobbly lines and slightly bent runes, all the places that could not hold up to the influx of power, and failed when someone actually tried to use it. He had an idea, and he sought out a rather talented upperclassman to see if he could put his plan into motion.
The upperclassman sought out Clover, and he asked her if she would like her bag enchanted for protection. Clover initially felt bad about this, thinking about how pathetic she was for not being able to do this herself, but she steeled herself, and vowed to watch the upperclassman to see if she could learn anything from him.
The upperclassman started off extremely slow, and with the very center of the circle. Using a fine ink and brush, he painted a very intricate geometrical patter. Carefully, he encased the geometrical design inside a perfect circle. Clover was impatient at the time this took. She asked, 'Why are you drawing all this extra stuff, it's isn't like it means anything!” The upperclassman, still focused on his work, and starting to carefully inscribe the runes, simply said, “It isn't like that.” In a few minutes, once the work was done and properly energized, she thanked him, and she was starting to get it. She spoke, in epiphany, “I was rushing through all of my circles, trying to get from one to the next. When I tried to do so many, I lost focus on the one I was doing. I chose quantity over quality, and ended up with a mass of poor circles. The designs may not do anything, but they do mean something. They focus you and give you structure for the rest of the circle.”
Clover walked away, satisfied. That night, in her room, she made a protection spell. It didn't last as long as normal, but it lasted longer. Each night after that, she tried once more, and improved a vast deal each time. By the time of her test, she could do it well, and she passed it with flying colors. She continued on, voraciously learning, and became very heavily involved and entwined with the school and learning in her later life.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Story: Untitled 2 (May 29th, 2011)
One day, a farmer was tilling the fields outside of his house. He was a good farmer, and he always seemed to have a stroke of luck. His barley plants were always higher, his vegetables were nearly always bigger than any others in the area, and he always had far more than enough to feed his family. He was always quite happy, until that day.
While tilling, he uncovered something glowing. He stopped, intrigued. He continued to uncover the glowing thing, revealing an intricate and calligraphic circle of runes. He wasn't an educated man, his wisdom quite limited, but even he knew a magic circle when he saw one. This was bad.
He started to enter a panic. He knew that magic was hated in the kingdom. Could he be accused of being a Wizard, of enhancing his own crops? No, no, he was known as a loyal supporter of the King. They would give him the benefit of the doubt, he thought, but why risk it? I'll just destroy this silly spell and be on my way. He plaintively wondered what it did. Maybe it helped his plants grow?
No, come to think of it, the crops over there always came out a little more poorly. It must have been some kind of a curse, put upon him from an angry Wizard, an evil scheming madman who wanted to starve the loyal subjects of the King. Only his superb farming had prevented it from claiming all his crops, and he has managed to even thrive despite it. Quite the accomplishment!
He set about trying to rub out the inscription. He didn't want to touch it, so he found a small trowel. The dirt inside the circle seemed to have set, almost like stone. He tried to destroy the circle with the trowel, but it too had set like stone. Unsatisfied, he tried digging around it. The dirt moved freely, and he had quickly dug a small trench. He went and fetched some gloves, and tried lifting the circle. It seemed rooted, or inordinately heavy, he couldn't budge it an inch.
Desperate, he grabbed a shovel, and widened and dug out his little trench into a hole large enough to stand in, completely circling the spell circle. He ruined a bit of his barley this way, no matter, he had plenty where that came from. He then dug underneath the circle, finding the dirt just as easy to move as ever. In the end, he was left with a puzzling situation, a disk of dirt, surrounding the circle, which was floating in the air.
The farmer was intrigued and amazed and terrified. He hit the floating disk with his shovel, but it bounced right off with a loud clang. He carefully extricated himself from his hole, and tried to balance himself on the strange dirt disk. It held his weight, and didn't budge an inch. He was baffled. He filled in the hole most of the way, and puzzled on what to do next.
Well, the words inside the circle, maybe they were written in in ink, he thought. So he grabbed a bucket of water to wash away the ink. He threw the water on to the disk, but it was repelled and fell off. The water splashed with no effect on to the dirt below. He tried filling in and covering the words with dirt and clay and even ink, but everything was repelled and fell away.
The farmer went out, and lead his ox over, a powerful and stalwart beast. He tied a rope around the strange disk as best he could, but none of the knots would stick, until he created a knot so complex it was nearly a harness, and the farmer could never hope to replicate it again. He commanded the beast to pull, and it pulled with all its might, harder and harder, but absolutely nothing came of it. The ox was stuck in place for a long time, a seeming eternity. Eventually, he saw the ox start to move slowly, and then the rope slackened, and he looked at the disk. It was still there, the rope had frayed and broken, and the ox was so exhausted it couldn't move for hours.
Now, the farmer was desperate, and worried. How did he have such an eldritch artifact? Why was this his? What had he done to deserve such a curse, and how could he rid himself of it? He gathered together as much spare wood as he could find, and made a pyre for the strange magical disk. He burnt the entire pyre, which surrounded the disk, until only ashes remained. Ashes, and a strange disk of dirt, completely unperturbed by being in the fiery inferno.
By this point, the farmer was quite exhausted, and desperate, and he leaned his hand on the strange magical disk without realizing it. He was thinking to himself rather loudly. “I wish this thing were gone,” he thought. Now the magic was old, and worn, and despite the farmers complete lack of magical talent, it was enough to begin to unravel the spell. The spell circle was breached, and gravity and time and force began to apply, and the runes began to fade, and the farmer almost tripped as the magical disk crumbled into as much dirt and left him with no support.
The farmer was quite happy with himself, having finally destroyed the evil magic circle once and for all. He skipped about his merry way, happy he had finally rid himself from the darkness it had brought upon him. That year, and early frost killed half his crops, and he nearly didn't make it through the winter.
Many many years ago, when the farmer was just a boy, his father, also a farmer, had secretly saved a Wizard and helped him escape. In exchange, the Wizard had enchanted a powerful rune in the soil under the farm. He covered it up under the dirt, and told the father that it would grant his crops warmth and growth and good luck for a hundred years. The farmer smiled, hoping his farm would be a great inheritance to his young boy, and sustain him for the years to come.
While tilling, he uncovered something glowing. He stopped, intrigued. He continued to uncover the glowing thing, revealing an intricate and calligraphic circle of runes. He wasn't an educated man, his wisdom quite limited, but even he knew a magic circle when he saw one. This was bad.
He started to enter a panic. He knew that magic was hated in the kingdom. Could he be accused of being a Wizard, of enhancing his own crops? No, no, he was known as a loyal supporter of the King. They would give him the benefit of the doubt, he thought, but why risk it? I'll just destroy this silly spell and be on my way. He plaintively wondered what it did. Maybe it helped his plants grow?
No, come to think of it, the crops over there always came out a little more poorly. It must have been some kind of a curse, put upon him from an angry Wizard, an evil scheming madman who wanted to starve the loyal subjects of the King. Only his superb farming had prevented it from claiming all his crops, and he has managed to even thrive despite it. Quite the accomplishment!
He set about trying to rub out the inscription. He didn't want to touch it, so he found a small trowel. The dirt inside the circle seemed to have set, almost like stone. He tried to destroy the circle with the trowel, but it too had set like stone. Unsatisfied, he tried digging around it. The dirt moved freely, and he had quickly dug a small trench. He went and fetched some gloves, and tried lifting the circle. It seemed rooted, or inordinately heavy, he couldn't budge it an inch.
Desperate, he grabbed a shovel, and widened and dug out his little trench into a hole large enough to stand in, completely circling the spell circle. He ruined a bit of his barley this way, no matter, he had plenty where that came from. He then dug underneath the circle, finding the dirt just as easy to move as ever. In the end, he was left with a puzzling situation, a disk of dirt, surrounding the circle, which was floating in the air.
The farmer was intrigued and amazed and terrified. He hit the floating disk with his shovel, but it bounced right off with a loud clang. He carefully extricated himself from his hole, and tried to balance himself on the strange dirt disk. It held his weight, and didn't budge an inch. He was baffled. He filled in the hole most of the way, and puzzled on what to do next.
Well, the words inside the circle, maybe they were written in in ink, he thought. So he grabbed a bucket of water to wash away the ink. He threw the water on to the disk, but it was repelled and fell off. The water splashed with no effect on to the dirt below. He tried filling in and covering the words with dirt and clay and even ink, but everything was repelled and fell away.
The farmer went out, and lead his ox over, a powerful and stalwart beast. He tied a rope around the strange disk as best he could, but none of the knots would stick, until he created a knot so complex it was nearly a harness, and the farmer could never hope to replicate it again. He commanded the beast to pull, and it pulled with all its might, harder and harder, but absolutely nothing came of it. The ox was stuck in place for a long time, a seeming eternity. Eventually, he saw the ox start to move slowly, and then the rope slackened, and he looked at the disk. It was still there, the rope had frayed and broken, and the ox was so exhausted it couldn't move for hours.
Now, the farmer was desperate, and worried. How did he have such an eldritch artifact? Why was this his? What had he done to deserve such a curse, and how could he rid himself of it? He gathered together as much spare wood as he could find, and made a pyre for the strange magical disk. He burnt the entire pyre, which surrounded the disk, until only ashes remained. Ashes, and a strange disk of dirt, completely unperturbed by being in the fiery inferno.
By this point, the farmer was quite exhausted, and desperate, and he leaned his hand on the strange magical disk without realizing it. He was thinking to himself rather loudly. “I wish this thing were gone,” he thought. Now the magic was old, and worn, and despite the farmers complete lack of magical talent, it was enough to begin to unravel the spell. The spell circle was breached, and gravity and time and force began to apply, and the runes began to fade, and the farmer almost tripped as the magical disk crumbled into as much dirt and left him with no support.
The farmer was quite happy with himself, having finally destroyed the evil magic circle once and for all. He skipped about his merry way, happy he had finally rid himself from the darkness it had brought upon him. That year, and early frost killed half his crops, and he nearly didn't make it through the winter.
Many many years ago, when the farmer was just a boy, his father, also a farmer, had secretly saved a Wizard and helped him escape. In exchange, the Wizard had enchanted a powerful rune in the soil under the farm. He covered it up under the dirt, and told the father that it would grant his crops warmth and growth and good luck for a hundred years. The farmer smiled, hoping his farm would be a great inheritance to his young boy, and sustain him for the years to come.
Story: Starlance Part 1 (May 28th, 2011)
In the deep, dark, inky blackness of space, there flew a shining silver ship, emblazoned on it's side, the USS Starlance. Like a bullet she soared on, except she wasn't being fired at anybody, just kind of going on, and who fires a bullet through ink? Also, space isn't really inky black anyway, ink sort of shines, and space doesn't shine, it's completely matte. There are stars though, and those do shine, but not in the way ink shines. I don't think ink undergoes nuclear fusion.
Can I start over? I wasn't exactly chosen for my writing skills. My names Robert, and I'm one of the many maintainence guys keeping the USS Starlance running. Sure, I can write pages on the bad wiring in sector 12, but a narrative? It's all this flowery, flowing, ambiguous language. I think I can weave a pretty good yarn, though, and hey, if I can't make something out of what just happened on the Starlance, I don't think there's any hope for me at all. So, I think I'll just tell it like it happened.
About a week ago, the Starlance was on its normal mission, exploring the not-exactly-inky blackness of space. Pretty boring. There's really nothing out there. Some planets, some moons, zooming off, taking atmospheric samples, marking off worlds for colonization. It's like we don't have enough worlds to colonize, we've got them by the bushelful by now, but hey, I'm not the one who makes the policy, I just fix things when they break down.
I remember like, a few months ago, when there was all this hubbub in the scientific sector about finding a planet with life on it, and they sent probes down and took a sample and brought it up. I waited around, pretending to fix a nearby relay. Finally, they brought it out, in a little glass globe, and it looks like some sort of sandwich condiment. It's just some red slimy stuff, and everyone's all excited.
So, when I heard about what had appeared on the long range scanners, I kind of expected something like that again. We'd go into an uproar for a few days and the scientists would have their champagne and they'd bring up some sort of purple slime for us to see. Then everything would die down and the scientists would dissect it under a blacklight and tell us exactly how this new form of slime absolutely revolutionizes the study of slime. If we probe the whole galaxy, we'll collect an entire rainbow of slime.
Anyway, as I'm sure you know it was exactly not what I was expecting, but the first thing that happened was that deafening noise. It came through on most of the intercoms, so we had to shut power to them. Apparently, the ships communications were also picking it up, and so we had to shut them off. The whole area was filled with the dreadful noise, like a billion wasps right in your ear.
So, I go and see my friend about it, because he knows about all sorts of stuff, and he is busy in his quarters, which he's filled all to the top with computers. He never has the lights on, and I'm always tripping over wires in his place. Somehow, though, he's managed to snag cheetos and mountain dew from the ships food machines. He's pretty amazing like that. So, I go in, and he seems really excited, and he's playing out that horrible screechy noise over and over again and has like a billion things on all of his computer monitors. He tells me that he's pretty much made sense of what that noise meant, and started rattling on about aliens.
Now, you might be saying, well, the crew of the Starlance didn't know what the noise was for another day even. I tell you, if I even suspected that my friend in his cheetos stained quarters knew something that the captain and all the scientists didn't, I would have told them immediately, though probably while laughing. I figured that they had figured this all out hours ago, but, hey, your tax dollars at work.
So, yeah, my friend knew about the aliens, but he didn't know everything yet. He told me that this noise was some sort of signal, but it wasn't from anything from Earth. It was a completely different sort of system, or something. He said that it was all over, that it seemed like some sort of machine code for computers. He said this computer was so huge, it had to be put on a lot of different planets, and this noise was the computer talking to itself. I asked him who would want a computer that big, but he must have not understood what I was saying, because he acted like I was talking blasphemy.
So, I walked back over to the maintainence depot, all the while musing about this big alien computer. Who would need such a huge computer? Maybe it was trying to figure out how to attack us best. I know aliens wouldn't be like in the movies, but sometimes you can't help thinking that they're all out to invade us.
Since the intercoms weren't working, there was a lot of work to do putting up wires and tin cans and such so that people could talk to each other floors away. Usually they just ring me up on my wrist when someone wants me to go somewhere, but now I had to go over to the depot, and all the work orders had to be submitted by hand, and it was just a mess. So I did my best to try and connect up everything and hopefully we'd be working again.
Hey, do you mind if I go over and get a glass of water? I didn't expect this story to last this long, and my throat is getting a bit sore. Anyway, most of the rest of that day, I was just hard at work, so it isn't terribly exciting. Don't worry, though, we'll get to the good bits soon.
Can I start over? I wasn't exactly chosen for my writing skills. My names Robert, and I'm one of the many maintainence guys keeping the USS Starlance running. Sure, I can write pages on the bad wiring in sector 12, but a narrative? It's all this flowery, flowing, ambiguous language. I think I can weave a pretty good yarn, though, and hey, if I can't make something out of what just happened on the Starlance, I don't think there's any hope for me at all. So, I think I'll just tell it like it happened.
About a week ago, the Starlance was on its normal mission, exploring the not-exactly-inky blackness of space. Pretty boring. There's really nothing out there. Some planets, some moons, zooming off, taking atmospheric samples, marking off worlds for colonization. It's like we don't have enough worlds to colonize, we've got them by the bushelful by now, but hey, I'm not the one who makes the policy, I just fix things when they break down.
I remember like, a few months ago, when there was all this hubbub in the scientific sector about finding a planet with life on it, and they sent probes down and took a sample and brought it up. I waited around, pretending to fix a nearby relay. Finally, they brought it out, in a little glass globe, and it looks like some sort of sandwich condiment. It's just some red slimy stuff, and everyone's all excited.
So, when I heard about what had appeared on the long range scanners, I kind of expected something like that again. We'd go into an uproar for a few days and the scientists would have their champagne and they'd bring up some sort of purple slime for us to see. Then everything would die down and the scientists would dissect it under a blacklight and tell us exactly how this new form of slime absolutely revolutionizes the study of slime. If we probe the whole galaxy, we'll collect an entire rainbow of slime.
Anyway, as I'm sure you know it was exactly not what I was expecting, but the first thing that happened was that deafening noise. It came through on most of the intercoms, so we had to shut power to them. Apparently, the ships communications were also picking it up, and so we had to shut them off. The whole area was filled with the dreadful noise, like a billion wasps right in your ear.
So, I go and see my friend about it, because he knows about all sorts of stuff, and he is busy in his quarters, which he's filled all to the top with computers. He never has the lights on, and I'm always tripping over wires in his place. Somehow, though, he's managed to snag cheetos and mountain dew from the ships food machines. He's pretty amazing like that. So, I go in, and he seems really excited, and he's playing out that horrible screechy noise over and over again and has like a billion things on all of his computer monitors. He tells me that he's pretty much made sense of what that noise meant, and started rattling on about aliens.
Now, you might be saying, well, the crew of the Starlance didn't know what the noise was for another day even. I tell you, if I even suspected that my friend in his cheetos stained quarters knew something that the captain and all the scientists didn't, I would have told them immediately, though probably while laughing. I figured that they had figured this all out hours ago, but, hey, your tax dollars at work.
So, yeah, my friend knew about the aliens, but he didn't know everything yet. He told me that this noise was some sort of signal, but it wasn't from anything from Earth. It was a completely different sort of system, or something. He said that it was all over, that it seemed like some sort of machine code for computers. He said this computer was so huge, it had to be put on a lot of different planets, and this noise was the computer talking to itself. I asked him who would want a computer that big, but he must have not understood what I was saying, because he acted like I was talking blasphemy.
So, I walked back over to the maintainence depot, all the while musing about this big alien computer. Who would need such a huge computer? Maybe it was trying to figure out how to attack us best. I know aliens wouldn't be like in the movies, but sometimes you can't help thinking that they're all out to invade us.
Since the intercoms weren't working, there was a lot of work to do putting up wires and tin cans and such so that people could talk to each other floors away. Usually they just ring me up on my wrist when someone wants me to go somewhere, but now I had to go over to the depot, and all the work orders had to be submitted by hand, and it was just a mess. So I did my best to try and connect up everything and hopefully we'd be working again.
Hey, do you mind if I go over and get a glass of water? I didn't expect this story to last this long, and my throat is getting a bit sore. Anyway, most of the rest of that day, I was just hard at work, so it isn't terribly exciting. Don't worry, though, we'll get to the good bits soon.
Story: Profile of a Town (May 27th, 2011)
The sun shone on the abandoned, dusty plain. Little vegetation would grow here, and even the beasts and monsters of the surrounding forests rarely tread on the loose, crumbly soil. The winds whipped through harshly, and the dust was fashioned by it into tiny projectiles. Every once in a while, a fearsome beast of the forest would duck out into the wasteland, chased by an even larger predator, or wishing to cross over the land, but besides those, life in the wasteland was uneventful, removed from the wilds of nature and from the politics of lands and city-states.
Even armies rarely crossed the flat wastes, for the wasteland was between city-states in the great Confederacy of Perdonia. Peace had reigned within the borders of Perdonia for quite some time now, the greater part of a millenia, however, at it's borders had long raged a war. The Kingdom of Lortha, a mighty and warlike power, had strove to relieve Perdonia of some of its outer territory. In doing so, Perdonia awoke like a sleeping giant, and the two powers have been locked at a stalemate since.
Sprouting up like mushrooms in wet soil, this dry crumbly dust brought forth a crop of rebels. Instead of gilled caps grew rough barricades made from the timber of the forest, and in place of roots, series of wells and pipes sought water under the surface to try and make the ground fertile, or at the very least habitable. War had changed Perdonia, and the constant drive to produce an army to fight had eroded what freedoms they had. Those who could not, or would not support the war effort were not tolerated. While deserters, pacifists, and those who could not be put to use were not killed, they were also not supported, and left to die outside the protective walls in the forests, deserts, and wastelands, at the teeth and claws of wild beasts.
Perdonia had been warring for a decade by now, and on the tenth anniversary of the war, an uprising was planned. The support ran deep, as war, especially protracted war, wears down most people. While the thoughts of uprising and rebellion spread like a weed, the information also found its way into those who were sympathetic to the government, and some platoons of the military were called in to keep the peace at home.
Those who were behind the revolt, mainly a skilled and clever group, also had their spies. They knew that, while On the eve of the planned uprising, they fled, escaping into the wilds with whatever they could carry on whatever carts they owned or stole. Without its leadership, the uprising failed to occur, and life in Perdonia went on as normal.
The revolutionaries fled to the wastelands in haste, and set up and encampment to protect against the winds. Those that knew how to hunt and forage were sent into the woods to gather sustenance, and the few mages of the group set out trying to find water or creating spells to protect and feed the growing town. All the rest gathered their supplies, and began collecting themselves to build a town.
While the town did not thrive, it struggled on, constantly growing with the latest group of deserters and outcasts. Food was short, but not at the levels of starvation, and the deserters brought in weapons and skills that were useful in hunting. Farms were set up, and the soil improved, and the dust slowly changed to a fertile state.
The government of Perdonia, though aware of the formation and growth of the town, was relatively unconcerned. Only very few Perdonians fled to the town, and the town kept to itself. Life was much harder in the town, so only those Perdonians who had no choice would go there.
The little town grew for many years, becoming more and more established. Still, there was always a raggedness, a sort of ad-hoc nature to the town. Though there were some stone buildings, the majority was put up in haste out of whatever materials were handy. Farms grew, ever transforming the soil to fertility, but the wasteland was vast, and there was still a great deal of dust. Large walls surrounded the town, not to protect it from anyone but the dust.
With the growth grew leisure time and culture, and the art of the town grew and evolved unto itself, for many of the artists had fled here. There were many bars and stages for musicians, and almost every indoor surface was covered in murals and art. Musical instruments were cobbled out of whatever materials handy, timber harvested from the forests, parts of the many beasts, and whatever was around. Though the instruments were often crude, the musicians hands coaxed beautiful melodies from it, and in its own way, the dusty cobbled together town became a quite vibrant place.
The war raged on far away, continuing in a stalemate for decades. War influenced the growth of Perdonia, and it grew even further apart from the town forming inside her. Ever more focused on the growth of the military, the Perdonians took some quite large risks. Even the mages began to worry, for they felt their neutrality might be breached. Perdonia embraced and attempted to control the more unstable, eccentric inventors, and use the creations of these madmen against Lortha.
About four decades after the founding of the town, and around five decades after the war had started, a young soldier fled to the town, a quite usual occurrence. He appeared to have left hastily. Like many of the soldiers, he was brandishing a spear and still wearing his armor, though with the painted insignia of Perdonia hastily scratched out. He also held, close to his heart, a deep secret. He heard many stories while in the army of this place, a town that would accept deserters. Most said it was terrible, with many starving people on the streets. To his observation, it was certainly no great capital, but it wasn't any slum either. He swore he even heard some quite beautiful lute strains in the background. Like most soldiers, he made a beeline straight to a local bar, and ordered a very stiff drink, wondering what kind of currency they accepted.
Even armies rarely crossed the flat wastes, for the wasteland was between city-states in the great Confederacy of Perdonia. Peace had reigned within the borders of Perdonia for quite some time now, the greater part of a millenia, however, at it's borders had long raged a war. The Kingdom of Lortha, a mighty and warlike power, had strove to relieve Perdonia of some of its outer territory. In doing so, Perdonia awoke like a sleeping giant, and the two powers have been locked at a stalemate since.
Sprouting up like mushrooms in wet soil, this dry crumbly dust brought forth a crop of rebels. Instead of gilled caps grew rough barricades made from the timber of the forest, and in place of roots, series of wells and pipes sought water under the surface to try and make the ground fertile, or at the very least habitable. War had changed Perdonia, and the constant drive to produce an army to fight had eroded what freedoms they had. Those who could not, or would not support the war effort were not tolerated. While deserters, pacifists, and those who could not be put to use were not killed, they were also not supported, and left to die outside the protective walls in the forests, deserts, and wastelands, at the teeth and claws of wild beasts.
Perdonia had been warring for a decade by now, and on the tenth anniversary of the war, an uprising was planned. The support ran deep, as war, especially protracted war, wears down most people. While the thoughts of uprising and rebellion spread like a weed, the information also found its way into those who were sympathetic to the government, and some platoons of the military were called in to keep the peace at home.
Those who were behind the revolt, mainly a skilled and clever group, also had their spies. They knew that, while On the eve of the planned uprising, they fled, escaping into the wilds with whatever they could carry on whatever carts they owned or stole. Without its leadership, the uprising failed to occur, and life in Perdonia went on as normal.
The revolutionaries fled to the wastelands in haste, and set up and encampment to protect against the winds. Those that knew how to hunt and forage were sent into the woods to gather sustenance, and the few mages of the group set out trying to find water or creating spells to protect and feed the growing town. All the rest gathered their supplies, and began collecting themselves to build a town.
While the town did not thrive, it struggled on, constantly growing with the latest group of deserters and outcasts. Food was short, but not at the levels of starvation, and the deserters brought in weapons and skills that were useful in hunting. Farms were set up, and the soil improved, and the dust slowly changed to a fertile state.
The government of Perdonia, though aware of the formation and growth of the town, was relatively unconcerned. Only very few Perdonians fled to the town, and the town kept to itself. Life was much harder in the town, so only those Perdonians who had no choice would go there.
The little town grew for many years, becoming more and more established. Still, there was always a raggedness, a sort of ad-hoc nature to the town. Though there were some stone buildings, the majority was put up in haste out of whatever materials were handy. Farms grew, ever transforming the soil to fertility, but the wasteland was vast, and there was still a great deal of dust. Large walls surrounded the town, not to protect it from anyone but the dust.
With the growth grew leisure time and culture, and the art of the town grew and evolved unto itself, for many of the artists had fled here. There were many bars and stages for musicians, and almost every indoor surface was covered in murals and art. Musical instruments were cobbled out of whatever materials handy, timber harvested from the forests, parts of the many beasts, and whatever was around. Though the instruments were often crude, the musicians hands coaxed beautiful melodies from it, and in its own way, the dusty cobbled together town became a quite vibrant place.
The war raged on far away, continuing in a stalemate for decades. War influenced the growth of Perdonia, and it grew even further apart from the town forming inside her. Ever more focused on the growth of the military, the Perdonians took some quite large risks. Even the mages began to worry, for they felt their neutrality might be breached. Perdonia embraced and attempted to control the more unstable, eccentric inventors, and use the creations of these madmen against Lortha.
About four decades after the founding of the town, and around five decades after the war had started, a young soldier fled to the town, a quite usual occurrence. He appeared to have left hastily. Like many of the soldiers, he was brandishing a spear and still wearing his armor, though with the painted insignia of Perdonia hastily scratched out. He also held, close to his heart, a deep secret. He heard many stories while in the army of this place, a town that would accept deserters. Most said it was terrible, with many starving people on the streets. To his observation, it was certainly no great capital, but it wasn't any slum either. He swore he even heard some quite beautiful lute strains in the background. Like most soldiers, he made a beeline straight to a local bar, and ordered a very stiff drink, wondering what kind of currency they accepted.
Story: Untitled 1 (May 26, 2001)
In the early days of the Great School of Magic, there was a mighty Wizard. The Wizard was well known among his peers, and taught his students well, and everyone liked him. There was one Wizard in the School, around as old as the Great Wizard, who had almost no magic in her. Her craft was fine, and she could inscribe the runes even better than most, she could not give them much life, and her enchantments often crumbled in short order.
Even back in her days of schooling, her talents and weaknesses were apparent, as she was excellent at work with her hands, in the craft of the magic circles and the inscriptions of the runes. Her skills extended to lesser crafts, from the mending of fabrics to the making of pottery, and she tried her hardest to make herself useful.
Her schoolmates, despite seeing her skills, would taunt her for her ineptitude in the magical arts. They would inscribe their rough circles upon their clothing to mend it, and conjure up bowls and urns from the native clay, and though their clothing would soon tear again, and their pottery would crumble to nothingness after mere days, they refused to let her use her talents, as they conspired to make her feel worthless.
The Great Wizard, then nearly a boy, saw her and went over. He said, simply, “I see you mending your clothes, and I have torn my favorite robe. Though my magic is strong, it cannot hold as well as nice firm thread, and your talents can make it like new again. Would you do me the honor of repairing it?” He handed over the fabric, and the other Wizard, her heart running over with joy, accepted this, and quickly began to work.
Thus began a strong friendship between the two. They passed notes in classes, helped each other with exams, and spent much of their time with each other. They became so well attuned that he could power her runes, and he greatly admired the subtlety of her inscriptions. Her spellwork, after all, was of the highest quality, it was merely that she had little energy to throw behind it. He provided the energy, and she the skill, and together they were more able than either could be individually.
The Great Wizard was also a great learner, as most are, and before long, he had picked up much of the nuance of the other Wizard's craft. The other Wizard grew resentful, she no longer felt needed. She began to grow apart from the Great Wizard, and though he tried to stop it, he was still young, and inexperienced, and he could not. The bonds of friendship were broken, and she began to keep to herself, mending fabrics and making pottery, which was grudgingly appreciated by the Wizards of the town.
The Great Wizard grew up, and became a teacher, and well respected. He often looked back to the time he shared with the other Wizard, but he kept his sights in the present. He had many students to teach and much work to do. He regretted the past, but still could not see how to re-enter her heart. Though successful, and wise, and learned, the emptiness this created remained within his heart.
One day, the Great Wizard discovered that his magic had left him. With his magic went the respect of the School. Though he was still skilled in the craft of magic, he could not apply it, and he was stripped of his position. No one listened to his advice, though it was the same advice. No one even wanted to talk. The lingering emptiness quickly turned to despair, and in his desperation, he reached out to the other Wizard from long ago.
He found her in a mean little burrow to the side of the complex. She had been scratching out a living on her skills, and though her pottery and clothing were the finest available, she still garnered no respect. He announced himself at her entrance, “It is I, your friend from long ago. I had great power, but I never used it to help you. Perhaps it was a punishment that it was taken away from me.”
She came to the entrance, in a state of disarray, one hand holding a scrap of fabric. “Why should I believe you?” she asked, “This may just be a ploy you made, to trick me into liking you again. You always were clever. You came back to me just because you lost your skills? Where were you all this time?” She started to sob, and her voice rose in anger and pain. “Why did you abandon me? Where were you?” she cried, revealing a knife in her other hand. She stabbed quickly, the blow landing on his leg, a deep gash. “Now, use your magic to heal yourself!” she exclaimed.
The formerly Great Wizard summoned up every ounce of restraint he had, and remained calm. He merely said, “I really can't.” Seeing what she had done out of anger, the other Wizard became horrified. She did the only thing that made any sense to her, and like a piece of fabric, she tried to join the skin together, to slow the bleeding and to help him heal.
After she sutured him, both Wizards entered a state of calmness. They discussed for a while how they felt. She told him of her resentment for his increasing ability, and her fear of becoming worthless once again. He told her that she would http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=2212504836635501558always be better at the craft of spells, that her work was the finest he had ever seen. He told her even if there was someone better, she would still mean as much to him as before, as they were partners and friends, and without each other a hole had grown in each of their hearts.
The Great Wizard did not ever regain his powers, but he lived the rest of his life in a small burrow near the school with his closest friend, and he was happy.
Even back in her days of schooling, her talents and weaknesses were apparent, as she was excellent at work with her hands, in the craft of the magic circles and the inscriptions of the runes. Her skills extended to lesser crafts, from the mending of fabrics to the making of pottery, and she tried her hardest to make herself useful.
Her schoolmates, despite seeing her skills, would taunt her for her ineptitude in the magical arts. They would inscribe their rough circles upon their clothing to mend it, and conjure up bowls and urns from the native clay, and though their clothing would soon tear again, and their pottery would crumble to nothingness after mere days, they refused to let her use her talents, as they conspired to make her feel worthless.
The Great Wizard, then nearly a boy, saw her and went over. He said, simply, “I see you mending your clothes, and I have torn my favorite robe. Though my magic is strong, it cannot hold as well as nice firm thread, and your talents can make it like new again. Would you do me the honor of repairing it?” He handed over the fabric, and the other Wizard, her heart running over with joy, accepted this, and quickly began to work.
Thus began a strong friendship between the two. They passed notes in classes, helped each other with exams, and spent much of their time with each other. They became so well attuned that he could power her runes, and he greatly admired the subtlety of her inscriptions. Her spellwork, after all, was of the highest quality, it was merely that she had little energy to throw behind it. He provided the energy, and she the skill, and together they were more able than either could be individually.
The Great Wizard was also a great learner, as most are, and before long, he had picked up much of the nuance of the other Wizard's craft. The other Wizard grew resentful, she no longer felt needed. She began to grow apart from the Great Wizard, and though he tried to stop it, he was still young, and inexperienced, and he could not. The bonds of friendship were broken, and she began to keep to herself, mending fabrics and making pottery, which was grudgingly appreciated by the Wizards of the town.
The Great Wizard grew up, and became a teacher, and well respected. He often looked back to the time he shared with the other Wizard, but he kept his sights in the present. He had many students to teach and much work to do. He regretted the past, but still could not see how to re-enter her heart. Though successful, and wise, and learned, the emptiness this created remained within his heart.
One day, the Great Wizard discovered that his magic had left him. With his magic went the respect of the School. Though he was still skilled in the craft of magic, he could not apply it, and he was stripped of his position. No one listened to his advice, though it was the same advice. No one even wanted to talk. The lingering emptiness quickly turned to despair, and in his desperation, he reached out to the other Wizard from long ago.
He found her in a mean little burrow to the side of the complex. She had been scratching out a living on her skills, and though her pottery and clothing were the finest available, she still garnered no respect. He announced himself at her entrance, “It is I, your friend from long ago. I had great power, but I never used it to help you. Perhaps it was a punishment that it was taken away from me.”
She came to the entrance, in a state of disarray, one hand holding a scrap of fabric. “Why should I believe you?” she asked, “This may just be a ploy you made, to trick me into liking you again. You always were clever. You came back to me just because you lost your skills? Where were you all this time?” She started to sob, and her voice rose in anger and pain. “Why did you abandon me? Where were you?” she cried, revealing a knife in her other hand. She stabbed quickly, the blow landing on his leg, a deep gash. “Now, use your magic to heal yourself!” she exclaimed.
The formerly Great Wizard summoned up every ounce of restraint he had, and remained calm. He merely said, “I really can't.” Seeing what she had done out of anger, the other Wizard became horrified. She did the only thing that made any sense to her, and like a piece of fabric, she tried to join the skin together, to slow the bleeding and to help him heal.
After she sutured him, both Wizards entered a state of calmness. They discussed for a while how they felt. She told him of her resentment for his increasing ability, and her fear of becoming worthless once again. He told her that she would http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=2212504836635501558always be better at the craft of spells, that her work was the finest he had ever seen. He told her even if there was someone better, she would still mean as much to him as before, as they were partners and friends, and without each other a hole had grown in each of their hearts.
The Great Wizard did not ever regain his powers, but he lived the rest of his life in a small burrow near the school with his closest friend, and he was happy.
Announcement: The Short Story Project
I have decided that I should make more of an effort in writing and being creative.
I previously posted this on another website with slightly different rules, but here's the ground rules for the current incarnation:
I reserve the right to modify these details to reflect changing situations in my life, but I will try not to, and try to keep this honest. I may edit previous entries to reflect changes in naming and titling, and other minor grammatical and spelling errors, but I will try to preserve the content (changing it, of course, in a separate edit post).
The topics are completely open, but I'm sure a lot of them will end up being sci-fi and fantasy.
I will label each one with relevant world/universe information when I get around to it. I have 5 stories already created which I will be formatting for posting today, so there will be a 6-fold update today.
I previously posted this on another website with slightly different rules, but here's the ground rules for the current incarnation:
- I will write a short story, part of a short story, or possibly a chapter of a novel or novella (this is planned during NaNoWriMo) each day, posted by 6:00 AM Eastern Time the following date.
- These are to be first rough drafts. A feature may appear later where I incrementally edit stories, to be done in parallel with writing new ones.
- Until, and including June 1st 2011, the stories are to be at least 1000 words in length. This minimum will increase at a rate of 10 words per day until it reaches 2500 words in length (Ideally, Oct. 29, 2011). There is no maximum.
I reserve the right to modify these details to reflect changing situations in my life, but I will try not to, and try to keep this honest. I may edit previous entries to reflect changes in naming and titling, and other minor grammatical and spelling errors, but I will try to preserve the content (changing it, of course, in a separate edit post).
The topics are completely open, but I'm sure a lot of them will end up being sci-fi and fantasy.
I will label each one with relevant world/universe information when I get around to it. I have 5 stories already created which I will be formatting for posting today, so there will be a 6-fold update today.
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