Category: Fiction

Scenes, narration, poems, and short stories set in the World of the Everflow

  • Potential

    Potential

    I write. A lot.

    I don’t publish a lot (at least not ‘a lot enough’). My life is full of fractional stories, plotless narratives. These are bits and pieces of the tales I want to tell, someday.

    I Tried to Finish a Dead Man’s Novel nearly destroyed my soul today.

    One of my greatest fears in this life is my family handing someone else this curse and responsibility of finishing my briefcase-novel. It’s not fair to them. It’s not fair to me. But it’s my fear.

    It is both a gift and a curse to be handed a briefcase containing a life’s work

    I have two tales in me. One was dealing with the traumas around my time in the military (these were traumas of the soul and not traumas of violence as I am a peacetime vet) and one is the tale I currently tell mostly through D&D. That second one is captured in some of my fiction here as well.

    But these stories are all over the place. Like Jim, the stories are bits and pieces. Scraps of notebooks, dead computers, hard drives that I’ve carefully removed and then ignored.

    Picture of a Field Notes notebook, a wooden S2000, a sailboat coin, a pen and a laptop

    They’re all over the place. In closets, end tables, night stands, old bags, boxes. There’s probably a fragment in my dresser, and definitely many in a closet/storage room bin. Like Jim, they’re unorganized. Unlike Jim there’s an outline to both tales.

    Correction: Both tales have outlines, plural. They’ve stopped and restarted at various points of happiness and sorrow.

    I started writing a long time ago. As far back as I can remember doing things I can remember writing.

    Quite old photo with me and my brother climbing down an icy glacier.

    Compared to the general public I’m a rather prolific writer.

    Sounder at Heart has in its archives thousands of stories I’ve written about soccer. TacDefiance and WeAreTacoma and SoundersFC and other sites have even more. There’s some stuff on The Guardian and Top Drawer Soccer and MLS too.

    I’ve written about baseball for Inside the Park and FanHome.

    One product on DMs Guild contains a few of my backgrounds and even how to do sports in Dungeons & Dragons. This site clearly has more of that type of thing.

    My current role involves writing a lot of email and even some blogs about news-as-security.

    While I love all of that writing, none of it causes me fear.

    Fiction makes me afraid. Fiction makes me dread sharing my deepest soul and fiction is only excellent when you do that.

    Much like how the unfathomable expanse of our universe might be traced back to a pinpoint, the briefcase novel originated in a single cigarette. Jim started his novel in 1974 as a way to quit smoking. “He needed something to do with his hands,” Laurene explained. “He’d go to a restaurant and sit for hours.”

    Quitting smoking didn’t last for long, but the book stuck around. By the time Jim was diagnosed with stage four esophageal cancer in 2013, it had been nearly forty years since he started his novel. – Richard Kelly Kemick

    I didn’t start writing to get away from something. I started because I couldn’t stop.

    Portions started to pile up. School helped me put out some works. They were good enough to turn in, decent grades. Nothing accepted. A now-abandoned Hotmail address contains a folder called “rejections.”

    This didn’t dissuade me.

    Every box I pickup from either parent includes at least one notebook, legal pad, sheaf of papers with things related to the two tales I want to finish — this papers are from before I discovered the stories’ meaning.

    Lists of names. Tables. Plot outlines. Novel structures (in the Army when standing in line I would focus on a bit of the camo and think “what story would be structured like that pattern”).

    And I just keep writing unfinished thoughts.

    I may in fact be an essayist. That might be why the Propagandist is my favorite personally developed subclass (it may also be because I like Cawti, Kelly, Val, Peter, Bean, Paine).

    Maybe I’m not a fiction writer. Maybe the fiction just kind of happens in fragments because the fiction helps tell the reality — that’s how fiction shows up at Sounder at Heart!

    Maybe I’m a storyteller.

    Burning fire along a hillside with a full moon in the background.

    That’s probably why I currently tell most of my fiction via D&D.

    D&D is a lot like the oral tradition of fireside storytelling. It reacts to the audience, builds in real time and doesn’t follow formulaic narrative arcs. It is from a time before such a thing.

    But it also means that without a fire pit, without a bar rail, without a D&D table my tales may never be finished.

    Honestly my tales may never be finished even with those things.They aren’t finish-able. They exist and shift and change via the day, the month, the year, the decade, the LIFE.

    That’s how I’m the most like Jim. It’s not that his briefcase-novel lacked genre or voice. Every element of the briefcase-novel was a moment in his time. Jim wasn’t a surveyor. He was a storyteller. Those scraps and notes were part of the tale.

    Scraps and notes are part of our tale.

    I’ve been watching The Magicians quite a bit lately. We won’t get into the whys. The final two seasons have a consistent thread about how we each have our own story. Our friends (and our enemies) help its telling, but it is ours — alone.

    We own our own story.

    We write it. If that means it is spoken, written, played out on stage or screen, via short-form text, or micro-videos, at a D&D table, in a big damn novel or in a briefcase full of loose pages like a specialty tea — that’s writing.

    That’s Storytelling.

    I am so very afraid that my family is going to pick up those notes some day and try to figure out who I was. It’ll be quite confusing.

    One page will mean something to one of them. Another notebook will remind a friend of what we did together without mentioning them. An abandoned blog will cut through and release emotion locked behind a veil.

    Small dagger slide through a notebook as if the book was a sheath

    I’m simultaneously Jim and Richard.

    I’m always Dave Clark, the full moon storyteller. My complicated self who found a medium via dice, friends and paper. I’m me, the person who can’t finish a novel, but will never stop trying.

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  • Storytime as Moons Rise – a short story

    Storytime as Moons Rise – a short story

    Sweat dripping from my brow, I head back towards home. Dinodas bounds towards me, shifting to walk on the customary left side as we stroll. My hand reaches up to scratch that comfortable spot behind his ear. It’s an instinctive move now, for both of us.

    We’re kin for many years now, this massive hound and little me, a halfling from Kirtin, just off Slope.

    A wolfhound running towards you
    Drew by Airwolfhound (CC BY-SA 2.0)

    On certain days in the field he’s closer to me than others. On rising full Glibbon he knows I’m going to cut wood and brush. The physical exertion helps me focus, or unfocus — whatever. Those things that happened down Slope, and the years after, normally sit back in my head, but since the Hornjaws started visiting on full moons I’m unable to avoid the thoughts.

    Don’t know how they got me to open up — probably something to do with how well they treat Dinodas. He likes them, so I like them. It’s typical for a bond. Meeting Belni and Terdu was good for him, probably good for me too.

    I don’t like thinking about those times. I don’t want to remember the decision I made.

    So that’s why when a moon rises full I cut brush and start a burn pile. Because this evening I’m going to share some stories. Daytime cannot be about Down Slope and regrets. That’s what moons rise is for.

    I think back to the week-moon Feylf’s rise in Autumn. Belni was at the door. I didn’t have the rituals then, no stories. Just a drink from second mug. First mug is for caf in morning; second mug is ale in evenings. I lost third mug a while ago, that’s the one that Serg’nt gave me with the bottle. The fire was blazing, a bit too hot for this time of the year. Din’s at my feet when the knock comes.

    Wrong time of day for a visitor.

    A hatchet settled into a stump, with a burn pile in the background
    Fire and sickle by Enrico Francese (CC BY-ND 2.0)

    Out here in Cold Creek things are pretty spread out. Down by Iron Road they be more city types. Here we’re alone at night, and that’s why I live by Creek.

    “Ho. Door’s open.”

    I set second mug down. Looking towards the door, one eye on the dusty sword that hangs to its right. Dinodas lifts one ear, one eye. The old hound is apathetic.

    “Sir, ‘s Belni. I been looking for Terdu. He late from bonds-day.”

    I helped the older Hornjaw look for his younger brother. They human, Belni with a solid herding dog. Good size to his bond, smaller than Din.

    We searched for a few hours, the light of Feylf helped, and a few hours after sunset the month-moon Glibbon rose too. That made things easier. We found Terdu crying in a briar. He was embarrassed. His bond were two little sheep — two little fluffy wool sheep.

    So I talked and talked and talked. I told tale to Terdu of all the kin and their bonds I met Down Slope. Many dogs, horses too. But when you’re on the northern front you see a bit of everything. Cold Creek doesn’t have a lot of people. Most of their bonds are herding dogs, we’re a herding community and then Iron Road nearsby has the ford. Still mostall the bonds have purpose.

    Telling Terdu and Belni about the bigger world helped. Terdu was willing to go home. Belni, his dog, the two floof-sheep and the now prideful Terdu waved away. On that first night I didn’t know they’d come back. They’ve been back five Glibbons now.

    Winter on the Slope and Rise gets cold, so the fire rages and the Hornjaws started to bring their friends.

    There’s a first-timer tonight. Someone from Iron Road? Not from Creek, that’s certain.

    He’s with a pony, carrying a lance and shield. Oh, and the helm of a new conscript. Older than the Hornjaws. Hmmm.

    A campfire on the side of a cliff with a moon well off in the distance.
    Island Rock Fire and Moon by Michael Rael (CC BY 2.0)

    Feylf and Glibbon are both rising now, full. Kin is three-quarters too. It’s a bright night, but bitter cold. The Dragon is tucked behind a cloud and years from being full.

    “Terdu, is this everyone you invited?”

    “Yessi.. I mean, yes.” They’d stopped calling me sir. I’m just a man, and a dog, and a past that interests them.

    There’s three girls, not the same families, as one is a goliath. She’s got a flutter of sparrows round her, several braiding her beard while she sits and waits.

    “Belni, serve the cider. Tonight I’m going to talk about Fer and his bull. Fer came from out east. Getting to know Fer was probably the best thing about serving Down Slope. Warm soul who knew warm songs, and would always smile.”

    The new one is clearly disinterested.

    “It was Fer who taught me talking-drum. I never picked it up the speed he could do, but didn’t matter. He made me practice. Made me good in the head. Hitting that little drum meant not thinking about the lines across the river with the people of Az and Sel, their mastiffs, their rage…”

    New kid stops muttering to himself and just interrupts.

    “How was he at fighting?!” He shouts.

    “Fer would sing too. Not a deep voice, not falsetto — just that type of voice that is confident in itself and willing to share…”

    “His fighting! Was he a master at the sword, or bow, or an axeman?” Another interuption.

    It’s going to be one of those nights. This isn’t the first time a near-child has wanted the focus to be on the violence in the front. It most certainly won’t be the last.

    “Others may tell you those stories. My tales are of the friendships made, the acquaintances held close, and the connections lost. I no longer swing a sword or throw my spear. But I still think warmly about the women and men with whom I serve.

    “They are what I miss. They are my regrets. The people and their bonds are the only thing worth my time, for any other thought is sorrow and pain.

    “Maybe you’ll find another to tell you your tales. Here, at my fire, under the full moons, my stories are of them, because these are the stories I have.”

    Chided, the man-child laughs and storms off. No one joins him.

    “Another custom Fer taught me…” I continue with my tale of my friend, the story I have.

  • Finding fantastic locations in the normal world

    Finding fantastic locations in the normal world

    Driving off into the wilderlands of Oregon my thoughts wandered to the D&D world I’ve created. Creating names for places on the fly is hard. Often people get consumed with making something that feels like Tolkien, Jordan, Weis, Bardugo or other greats. These names are complicated and often involve invented languages.

    You don’t need to be so impressive that linguists study you.

    Your world will feel alive borrowing from our own world.

    These are great names for a fantasy space.

    Seven Devils Road and Old Seven Devils Road is perfect for any Dungeons and Dragons game. You don’t need to stretch to far for there to be both an incident that involved seven devils and for the now ruling empire to have a newer, more popular road that carries the same name.

    West Beaverhill Road could mean that it is west of Beaverhill. I submit that your fantasy world is more Lewis when you have every cardinal direction have a Beaverhill Road. Each of those is for a different beaverhill. Make those beavers talkative and have them part of the empire to capture some Fillory vibes too.

    Whiskey Run Road is just down the way from where we are staying. In my fantasy world that road probably started as a minor trail used by some bootleggers. Now, as they gained power within the realm, thanks to their whiskey runs making money, Whiskey Run Road is the main thoroughfare between the capitol and its not-quite-satellite city. What was once a former smuggler cove is now the headquarters of a major influence on a failing state.

    Hidden Canyon Road is something I’m fairly certain I passed by driving to get a cranberry turnover this morning. But my memory of this road is fragile as the road may not exist. The canyon might not exist. I never saw it. In a fantasy world Hidden Canyon Road could be a road, and a bridge, that exists over a fey gulch. There are nights when the gulch exists on most days the hidden canyon and covered bridge is just a normal passage with no need of a bridge at all. But on those nights with a few moons waning the fey canyon is back. Elves and their friends come out of the gulch demanding tax from those who use the bridge.

    tl;dr

    Take a few road names with you and be ready to create them as fantastic locations using the techniques from SlyFlourish’s Lazy Dungeon Master series. These quite normal names create a world of magic and wonder. Use placenames in reality to inspire your fiction.

  • Tips about naming your characters

    Tips about naming your characters

    Naming characters can be hard. For a DM coming up with names at the spur of the moment can lead to a stoppage in play as their mind struggles to find something appropriate for the NPC that was supposed to be a background character, but your players have thrust that individual into a major role.

    For most players, naming a character is a rare event. It is usually the first or last thing that they do. Then, it’s over until the next campaign starts. Still, you want to get the proper name for your character, because you will carry it with you for a long time*.

    *strong exceptions for rogues, criminals, urchins, and the like.

    As someone who both creates way too many PCs, and once named a formerly non-notable NPC “Anderson” after the car dealer across the street from the restaurant hosting our session I’ve developed a few tricks to naming characters.

    Easy Button

    Those of you using DnDBeyond.com probably already know this, but the Fantasy Name Generator has well over 100 different naming categories. Click the category and it will spit out ten names. Simple is as simple does. Sometimes you’ll hit those buttons a dozen times to get the one you like.

    Xanathar’s Guide to Everything

    All the way back in November of 2017 Wizards of the Coast released Xanathar’s Guide to Everything. The book is most well known for being the first official significant expansion of character classes in 5th edition. Those people into optimization ranted against the inclusion of almost 20 pages of names.

    Frankly, it was a poor critique.

    There are so many more people picking up the game every day, every month, every year. They don’t have the knowledge base that stretches back editions. They may not want unofficial sources for fantasy names.

    Xanathar’s includes official lists of fantasy names as well as dozens of real cultures that are often captured within your gaming table. This section is one of the forgotten joys of Xanathar’s Guide to Everything. Cracking the book open to those sections should help inspire your next character’s name.

    Use Athletes for Inspiration

    After working in sports for nearly 15 years, there should be little surprise that they become part of my gaming paradigm. There’s a reason that Sports as a Tool exists in my worlds.

    Sports, particularly Olympic sports and soccer/football, are an excellent way to discover wonderful inspiration for names. Just look at the recent MLS SuperDraft.

    Mitch Guitar was drafted. Who doesn’t want to make a Bard called Mith Lyre now?

    Sondre Norheim was drafted. Could that be your next dwarf named after a powerful elven king? Yes.

    Real people and cultures can inspire your name. Honor those peoples through the name of your character.

    To discover new names head to a reference website covering a sport with international play. Click on a league outside of the mainstream, click a team at random, and combine a two-four players’ names. Drop a couple letters, or add a few. Research those players because their lives can help inspire you the same way that reading Tolkien can inspire you.

    Sports Reference, Soccerway, and Transfermarkt are my favorite places to do this.

    As a DM, I try to have a small selection of NPCs already made up ahead of a session. These index card sized characters are there because my players will always surprise me. Most of their names have come from various athletes around the world. Some will be consistent within a certain set of cultures, while others recognize that the fantasy worlds in which we play are generally as interconnected as the modern world in which we live.

    Your naming conventions should embrace the fact that the peoples travel extensively.

    How do you name your characters?

  • Queen and Konstruct: A Goblin’s Lyfe

    Queen and Konstruct: A Goblin’s Lyfe

    There are two important things in a goblin’s lyfe. I’m talking about all of us, the gobkon, the hobkon, the mulkon — all of us — our relationship to the Queen and our Guild. This is hard for you humans, with all your divergent nations and cities and faiths and disgusting menagerie animals to understand.

    Goblin
    By creanita design und ausführung by nina saner (CC BY-SA 2.0)

    I’m a printer, part of the Ratxet Guild. My engines run on the power of muls (best!) or whoever else I can hire. The clockwerks give that comforting noise as sheaf and stamp press against each other leaving words behind.

    We’re into gears, mostly. But also some other interesting clockwerks. Frankly, we do better with springs than the Union does. Sure, they’ve the Queens’ Stamp – so we cannot sell to others. In our builds we don’t buy from the Union anymore.

    My first engine was a climbing device. Lean it up against a feral tar-tree and you’ll be able to get to the top on a platform to work that tree with nary your own effort. It was a tough build, because I needed it to be strong enough for a hob. Without a brother there were no hobs to help me. Sis rode atop my shoulders during the entire testing phase.

    At Test it showed a new mechanic for the tar-tree. A Baroness blessed the family via flag and decree. Mother’s standing improved, and the full family took on that glory.

    Now, sister is part of the Airxip Syndicate. They’re relatively new. Taking our bike-props and bladders from the Sisterhood, and the Federation’s tar stacks, the Syndicate built those awesome airxips. I don’t understand her werk. There’s something about steampipes. She’s done well for mother. Her flags came from a Countess, one for her and one for mother. Blerxa left on the First Flight with me.

    I’m Phatha Phioxa Baroness-flagged of the Guild. Sis is Blerxa Phioxa First-Countess Flagged and Many Unfurled of the Syndicate.

    We are what we build and how much the Ladies, may they serve the Queen, reward us for our werks.

    A few more daughters like us and mother could be a Lady. If Blerxa and I hadn’t left for the untamed lands of the Kin Blerx may have earned mother the knighting on her own.

    Our werks are trapped from knowing since we are far from Queen, so I expect mother to have a few more gobkon. Maybe I’ll find out if I go back, not until after I figure out how to use the power of horses in my next werk. They smell, but they are even stronger than mulgobs.

  • Turn flavors into the story you wish to tell

    Turn flavors into the story you wish to tell

    In wine, beer, coffee, etc there’s the concept of the perfect pairing. At its simplest, the concept is to find foods that complement that specific flavor notes of the beverage. More completely you can find ways to do this through similar and disparate notes – sometimes hitting opposites on the flavor wheel gives the taster an experience that highlights both the food and the beverage.

    Pairing beverages with gaming in something I just do. When playing Awf I always have a beverage. Sometimes that beverage is inspired by his personality – drinking an earl grey lavender toddy out of a masonry mug to highlight his duel cultures of dwarf and bladesinger. Other times the beverage connects to the adventure that Droop’s Brigade is going – Skookum Caverns, a barrel aged strong ale, as we enter Wave Echo Cave.

    https://twitter.com/bedirthan/status/1315839234020798465

    The use of flavor here helps inspire the story being told during that gaming session. The flavors evoke a mental space where Awf’s unique history of annoying elves enough that they taught him bladesong, despite his being a stubby dwarf, is brought to the forefront. Or, the dangers and darkness of a cave are brought to the front of mind through can art and the potency of a strong ale.

    Flavor does wonderful things. Pairings aren’t just about maximizing the flavor experience. The connection between taste-smell and memory is powerful. People buy Kona coffee because it awakens memory, much more than due to its quality. A margarita on a cold winter day can put your headspace back to a nice beach vacation. Hot cocoa in front of a fire, even while home alone by yourself, will send you dreaming back to a Christmas visit to a small town.

    As roleplayers, in Dungeons & Dragons or any other game, we can use the magic of flavor to help us. The foods and beverages of your game night are important. Make those small choices that aid gaming, just like you would a token, art, or cosplay.

    Rather than confine yourself into using flavor as a way to connect your current character, you can also use flavor to inspire new characters.

    https://twitter.com/bedirthan/status/1335066277476372481
    https://twitter.com/bedirthan/status/1335080716913106945
    https://twitter.com/bedirthan/status/1335440812889391104
    https://twitter.com/bedirthan/status/1335280984602726400
    https://twitter.com/bedirthan/status/1335302097407860736

    Each of those characters started with the simple prompt related to a beverage and the object out of which it is consumed. From there decisions were made not just regarding the race, class, and background, but also to inform the skills, attributes, spells, and weapons chosen.

    Rum connected to sailors, pirates, merchants, or water genasi. Carbonation was an indication of something light, refreshing. Salt a connection to authority. The mistaken belief that halflings are just old children popped into the head with the root beer.

    What those various prompts did was start internet searches into the techniques used to create certain beverages, into their history, into their cultural significance. Chasing those touchpoints and activating them through D&D and by including others in the process, my character portfolio expanded. These are now new NPCs, or maybe even PCs, that would never exist.

    Food and drink can inform your characters just as art, books, movies, shows, music and media can. Great cooks say that their meals tell stories. Adapt that into your PC and NPCs.

    Empower flavor to empower the stories you tell.

    A replica viking longboat loaded up in charcuterie. From the 4-foot tall mast hangs shaved prosciutto. The base of the boat has cured meats, pickled vegetables, and various cheeses.

    What type of character builds a replica longboat and uses it as a charcuterie table? How does that inform who they are?

  • Here There Be Dragons

    Here There Be Dragons

    In most fantasy worlds dragons are hoarders of treasure. In some they are (also?) destroyers of worlds. There are worlds where dragons founded existence. On Krynn the chromatic and metallic dragons battle each other sometimes interfering in the lives of Man.

    In establishing the World of the Everflow I wanted a slightly different take upon how dragons (as well as other dragonkin) exist within the World.

    Dragons are part of the People of Ken. They are knowers of things, especially of magic. They, and all of the Ken, control access to magic of all kinds. For millennia of millennia they prevented the People of Kin (companionship and love) from knowing magic. Through the Scholars and the Proctors of Grace the Dragons and their followers (Elves, Dwarves, Gnomes) kept their thumb on magic, eliminating all but love and the healing power of the Everflow.

    Rather than piles of gold, a dragon’s home back on Ken (the continent) is full of scrolls, books, and tomes. The long lives of all Ken mean that their minds are full of mighty spells well beyond the standards of Dungeons & Dragons.

    Dragon breath by Nicklas Lundqvist (CC BY-SA 2.0)
    Dragon breath by Nicklas Lundqvist (CC BY-SA 2.0)

    Their immense powers are legendary, the same way that our modern world views dragons — a story so fictional it is not even legend. Statues and tales about dragons are created for artistic reasons.

    Within the current campaign the dragons are returning to Kirtin-on-the-Lake seeking an ancestral homeland in the Ward of Mighty Trees. These trees are essential to the Dragons life in ways that the group has yet to discover.

    Those Dragons, from the Ale Dragon Brewst Griselle to a mighty Red waiting on the southern plains of Kalst’s Field, are now quite real. Some fit in well. Brewst is small enough to fit inside buildings. He drinks and cavorts. His study of brewing, distilling, and vintning is familiar to the Kin. Yes, he’s different, but there is also familiarity.

    Other drakes do not cause fear, initially. They remind most in Kirtin and Daoud about the lizards of Mehmd, a Kin-ish kingdom that bonds with lizards more frequently than mammals.

    KOMODO DRAGON by NAPARAZZI (CC BY-SA 2.0)
    KOMODO DRAGON by NAPARAZZI (CC BY-SA 2.0)

    But, when those drakes fought they taught fear. Their breath of fire, or poisoned stingers, killed in ways that nature should not. The drakes are not as intelligent as a person. Unlike Brewst they do not speak. They consume. Negotiation is not possible.

    Brewst, and his companion gnome Oolia, are talkers. They also use the power of illusion and charm to work their way towards their goals. The governor and the group do not know these goals. They only know that the influence of the two continues to grow.

    They worked as advanced scouts for the Proctors of Grace. Their goals could be called fey-like as all of the magical Ken work in ways that are not familiar to Kin (Goliaths, Halflings, Humans). The plans of Ken take centuries or even millenia.

    When life lasts at least a few hundred years the approach to the world is incomprehensible to races that live to 100 at most.

    Now, our heroes have to discover how these plans impact life in Kirtin-on-the-Lake, and the two kingdoms. This process of discovery could be deadly, it will be challenging. In the end, life in Kirtin and Daoud will change. Our heroes will determine how much it changes and how the Dragons will be included, punished, or rewarded.

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  • Fox, Crow and purpose

    Fox, Crow and purpose

    I’ve turned the lantern off, oil is expensive. There’s only light from the embers. This hovel isn’t much, but then again Ooshar isn’t much. It’s a frontier town corrupted by The Fox and Crow. The docks and lifts are slovenly. The Drop is essentially living dung. But the money is good. My family needs money.My daughter is sick. The Sheljar Guard offered up a spot out in Ooshar, so I took it. And then The Awakening. I’m constantly looking for swords, bows, weapons and now it’s even harder. I cannot tell who, or what, can cast these spells.

    I’m one of two outsiders in the Guard. The Ooshar peoples are pretty simple. They’ll be bribed away from simple stuff, take a cut from standard shipping and will never allow someone to harm their nation. They aren’t really loyal to Sheljar. The Captain? She cares, a lot. But she does’t have eyes for everything.

    My new team isn’t evil, just a bit selfish. I do not turn them in. They do not ask questions. I do not ask them questions. I work three days, off two, then three nights, off two. I work a lot lately. Rista’s body was just discovered in the waters.

    It isn’t busy. Estrella’s messenger shop has a fire. Her shop is always bright, pastels by day, orange lanterns at night. Most shifts I end by dropping a note for her to send to my family. It is simple.

    –

    You are loved. I’m sorry I’m not home. Go to the Emperor’s Bank. Show them this seal. Stay well. I’ll be back by winter.

    –

    Estrella knows me. I’m one of the few goliaths in service to Sheljar rather than raising geese, ducks, chickens or axebeaks. I’m just a big, dumb guard that normally manages Down River on Sheljar Side. I’m honest, and I think the families here like me.

    The others have fires, but now it is late. They are dwindling. I’m off. Jelse and Horold replace me and Jhom.

    “Pirti, go home, or wherever.” Jelse is a jerk. Rista is, was, his older sister. Losing another guard in some bizarre attack that leaves no wounds is frightening. It’s not that he dislikes me, but Jelse isn’t concerned with being happy today, or yesterday, and probably not tomorrow.

    So I drop the note off in the post-box for Estrella. She’ll send a pigeon tomorrow. I do not see Rohan. But I do see Tlipa and Pipa. They are two low-class idiots. They are struggling to hide in the bushes near ‘Strella’s place.

    I head home. It’s been twelve hours. Glight day is tomorrow. I do not need to work. Tlipa and Pipa continue to move towards the coops.

    My home isn’t much, just a room, a bed, a table and a stove for heat and warmth. I have one chest of goods with a lock and a rack where I store my spear, my shield, the cape of the Guard and the cheapest armor I could buy. My wife needs the money. My door has one window. The wall opposite it has the other. As I close the shutters I see Pipa enter Estrella’s coop.

    My lantern is a foot away. I snuff it out. The stove and chimney still have some heat. They offer little light, but it’s a two moon eve. I shutter the window with force.

    I want them to think I’m asleep.

    Slowly I open the door. ‘Strella’s home is many dozen feet away. There is a inker, a villien and a cheesemonger between us. I start to creep. How does a 12-foot tall man creep on a two-moon even? Carefully, slowly.

    There is a noise. It’s the snick of a lock. The inker has a lock, but he is off to the south. Estrella has a lock. It is her lock.

    ‘Strella reminds me of my daughter, but grown up a bit. She is sweet and caring. She is so loyal to her friends – Teegan, Kellamon, Piyu and Rohan. Mostly to Rohan though. She is fascinated by him. No one has seen the little shit for a couple of days.

    Estrella has been in tears during that time. Rohan and the rest saved her during the day of Awakening. When she felt overwhelmed they stood by her. At the time Kellamon and Piyu were strangers, but all protected her. More than anything she talks about how Rohan and Teegan comforted her, and how he protected them all. Her adoration for the little Kirtin halfling shows through.

    But tonight Tlipa and Pipa are moving in on Estrella’s home. The pigeons coo. That’s a constant noise. Jelse and Horold are looking down at the river, obviously. Jelse is emphatic that something is down there. Horold cannot see a thing.

    Pipa rises from the coop and climbs on the roof. Estrella has two rooms, because her home is her office. He is over the main door. Tlipa is in front of it. Tlipa, a goliath like me, breaks the door down.

    It immediately reforms. That’s Estrella’s thing. She can repair items quickly. Another massive fist bangs into the door.

    I run. Spear in hand and my warbler overhead, why did I go into the army with a warbler??!, I run. My letter must get to my family. They need vials of the Everflow. My money is the only way. A message from Estrella is the only way.

    Estrella’s door falls apart. Pipa has pried up some shingles on the roof.

    She’s just a girl that sends messages. What are they doing to her. If anyone is full of brightness and joy it is this young girl who cannot go back to her home because of a price on her head.

    I glance towards North River. Jelse is pulling Horold to look at something. That bastard is involved.

    Where others have certain powers after the Awakening I have nothing, but I’m 12 feet tall. That’s big for a goliath. I’m also not one of those Crinthians. I can think. I’m a free man in the Sheljar Guard. These members of the Fox and Crow are trying to hurt my friend.

    The dagger at my belt is in my left hand. I throw it underhand into Pipa’s chest. My dagger is as big as his femur. It’s also sticking through his chest.

    “By Sheljar’s rightful Emperor you will surrender.”

    My voice booms. Tlipa is my same size. Horold looks over.

    Tlipa is at the door, and then is gone. In his place is a skeleton surrounded in a purple-black apparition similar to a body. That thing, that corrupt thing, turns to me and wails.

    It is the scream of suffering. It is the scream of pain for thousands. It is the haunting cry of my daughter. I fall to my knees. That noise is too much. Huge tears fall to my cheeks and the ground.

    The wailing will not end. I’m stuck. I drop my spear. My warbler crawls into my beard. She is crying too. There is a rot in this voice from beyond. I collapse. My face falls into the mud created by the water of my eyes.

    A small dog, but no, not a dog. There is no form. Is this a nightmare? It comes to me and licks my brow without touching me. Sleep overtakes me as Rohan steps through the broken door. He has a staff, a robe and a book.

    I only have sorrow.

    A small voices wakens me.

    “Pirti, please Pirti, rise.”

    It is Estrella. Next to her is Rohan, the commander of death.

    “Please Pirti. We didn’t mean for this to happen to you.”

    I shake. I nod. I rise. Estrella’s voice gives me faith.

    “This?” I ask.

    “Rohan can prevent the dead from dying, but it has odd effects on the living.”

    “HE WHAT?!”

    Rohan smirks. “Those I love will never die. Those I hate will never live.”

    I lean on my spear. My daughter, little Llead, she can be rescued. Everyone loves her. If only I can talk Rohan into going to Sheljar.

    “Please, please,” I start to beg. Rohan interrupts. “Do not beg. You will live. I am only concerned with the Fox and Crow.”

    “No, I need help. My daughter, Estrella, tell him of my daughter,” I’m pleading. “My life does not matter. Llead needs you. She is rotting away. The blight has her.”

    Rohan looks to Estrella. She nods, knowing the truth. “Rohan, Master Pirti tells only the truth. Can this thing help him?”

    “I will try. You must keep safe. I will go to Sheljar. Find Piyu, Kellamon and Teegan. Tell them I’m leaving and that Willan wants you dead. Tell them to run.”

    “Why?” asks Estrella.

    “Because Tlipa is still under Willan’s control. Every night Tlipa’s skeletal form will try to complete its task – to kill me and you. Tlipa will try to do that until we are dead. Please, run. I cannot lose you as I lost Alleway.”

    Alleway is next to him. The terrier and a boulder occupy the same space. That tiny dog moves through the boulder beside the Kirtin-ish shepherd.

    Estrella responds, “We will run. Meet us in Telse.”

    Rohan smacks me across the head with his staff. I drop to the mud again.

    When I rise, I’m in the infirmary. There is panic. All that remains of the Guard is myself, Horold and a middle-age halfing that worked Glight Gate. Horold tells me that Willan’s forces are in charge of Ooshar. They’ve declared indepence from Sheljar.

    Trade still runs the river. The road is still a passage, but a petty gangster is in charge. A few outsiders left, heading to Telse and the Font of Two Paths. They hope that the Everflow can be sanctuary. Those that stay are haunted by the wailing of a goliath that will never die and a gang that will kill to take its wants.

    Rohan broke the town. But he got away. I pray to Selley, goddess of life and hearth, that Rohan can save my Llead. I pray to Glight, god of knowledge, that I may return to them.

    We hide. We hide and we hide for days. There are three of us. Hiding in the guard tower on the Ooshar Bridge means they will not burn us down, for the whole of the town will collapse.

    And we wait. Willan will have to make an offer, because we can bar the gate. But we cannot ask for much. I have a spear. Horold has his sword and mastiff. Old Davd has a goat, a suit of chain mail and the peculiar ability to create food.

    Please, Lord and Ladies of life and light, let my Llead live. Let Rohan help her.

    And so I rise. I have my spear. I have my reason. I’ve heard death, and it will not stop me again. I have my Llead.

    I step to the gatehouse door, slamming it open.

    “Tell Willan I will talk to him about Tlipa’s fate. Tell Willan that Pirti will speak now.” As I shout I slam the butt of my spear into the bridge. Its massive 60 foot wide, two-story, 700-foot long structure shakes.

    “Tell him now. Before I have to find him myself.”

    I have my reason. I have my Llead.

  • Alleway Lives

    Alleway Lives

    That petty gang that hangs in The Drop is up to something. The other day they cut a lift that Piyu was working. The trader from Qin, by way of Telse, lost a crate of dry goods, and the front of their boat needed repairs. It seems that riverboats don’t take well to cargo falling from several dozen feet up near the lower level of Ooshar Bridge.

    Plus, that poor trader lost one of his crew’s monkeys. I sent Alleway after the cut-boy. The little halfling scampered up a stair on Uphill side and then slipped through the crowds to Sheljar side. Alleway got stuck at the top of a down pole. Couple minutes later I’d found the little guy, at least he got quiet. It only took one time commanding him and now Teegan didn’t mind him around. It only took three years for her to accept the dude.

    Picking him up and scratching behind that left ear as the pup looked down the hole it was clear the cut-boy was in The Drop. The odor was there too. The Drop is where all the waste and feces collects from the Ooshar Bridge chutes. Then it falls into the river. North River is clearly marked and the gate only opens every few hours, but The Drop always reeks.

    I imagine that none can see us. A gasp behind me let’s me know that I’m gone, but noticed. I’m invisible and down the pole.

    Some meat goliath (Tlipa?) is there with the cut-boy Aron, little Pip, that human girl Rista and Willan that crusty, old halfling that they all looked up to. I scratch Alleway’s ear again. I can feel his tail wag, but he’s quiet.

    There’s a little nook behind Tlipa, yeah, it’s Tlipa. I slip off that direction. I can make that shadow and listen.

    “Aron, excellent, I needed that jade. It was an outsider, right?” Willan asks.

    “Of, course,” Aron responds. “She should be leaving tonight, came on a flatship.”

    “Perfect.” Willan tosses a few silver to Aron. The boy gets a huge grin. He pockets three of them, one just twirls across his fingers. Then he tosses it right at me.

    Obscon! I cannot move fast enough. My right hand drops to my dagger. My left hand drops Alleway. He yips as he hits the ground. He’s visible. I’m not. We’re down-pole. There’s a stair through a couple passages and doggie doors in the Drop, but Alle isn’t down here enough to know how to get home. Home for him is up. He can’t get up. He can’t get up!

    Willan, Tlipa, Rista, Pipa and Aron… where are their companions?

    I throw that dagger at Aron. Now I’m visible. Aron’s down. Whoa, got him in the neck. He’s down. A whelp and whimper comes from behind a set of crates.

    I look quickly. Tlipa’s duck just flies out through one of the holes. A little retriever follows after a whistle from Pipa. It’s two v. six. That’s not good. I’m alone. Estrella is expecting me back this evening.

    Can I dive that hole? No. It’s over a hundred feet down. There might be a boat there. Can’t wait.

    I cast my missiles – four of them. Pipa, Rista and Tlipa twice. Smack, smack, smack-smack. Willan opens a chest and tosses the jade in there. There are two books in there. I’ll review that memory if I survive. Alleway screams. There’s a Obs-worshiping rat biting him.

    Tlipa charges me. I duck, but that’s like a dozen halflings landing on top. I can’t pull a blade, plus I’m down to one. It probably wasn’t a good idea to merely wound a goliath. Bastards are huge.

    It’s been a few seconds now. Pipa collapses. I shouldn’t laugh, but the idiot sent her dog out the hole. Alleway growls, tosses the rat against a wall and chases it as it scurries away.

    I try to slip through Tlipa’s legs. Willan is staring at me and then I see horns. Oh, my, he has horns. I can’t do this I can’t escape. I’m out numbered and Willan is possessed with some kind of forsaken curse.

    Rista let’s out a blood curdling scream. I try not to laugh. Alleway’s a terrier. A rat is easy for him to deal with. He killed it. Crazy woman bonded with a rat. Still that’s two healthy against me, and one dude has horns. The other is nearly ten feet tall.

    “I was just watching,” I cower. “It’s just petty theft, and let’s be honest the Sheljar guard likes me less than you. Please, please, get the big ass off me.”

    Willan’s laughter is loud without echoing. He has powers. “Tlipa, up.”

    The command is immediately answered. Tlipa isn’t free. Unlike Piyu, he just found a new controller.

    “Please”

    Extra begging can’t hurt at this point. Willan has a gang behind him. I don’t think Alleway or I killed any, but they aren’t well and that’s our fault.

    Willan’s voice drops deep. It is filled with authority and I am filled with fear. “You are spared. Little Rohan, you are spared. But you are ours now. You do not talk to Piyu. You do not talk to Kellamon. You do not talk to your sister, Teegan. You serve.”

    Alleway is running back. The hole is still open. One of the chutes aimed at it empties a slush of feces, piss and rotten food. Alleway leaps over the chute, landing at my side.

    I nod. I do not talk. I serve.

    “You go now. Do not come to the Drop. You’ll know when you are needed.”

    While I walk away Tlipa kicks me in the ass. His foot is the size of my butt. I stumble a few feet right hand rubbing my butt. Tears pour down my face. I’ve been dominated mentally, Alleway is bleeding from a hind leg and I’m beaten. Fuckin’ Aron stole a few gems and gold. He didn’t even share the gold with Willan.

    Never try to steal from the local gang. I head down river. Estrella’s house is there. She’ll have a salve for All, poor All. He’s limping. One of Sheljar’s guard glares at me. I’ve got blood, but the guard watched me come up from the Drop. I reek. He’s not going to talk to me.

    What would I say?

    Estrella is surrounded by pigeons. It’s so beautiful. Feathers, and wings, and life just surround her. She waves. I smile. Alleway tries to run after one of the birds, but looks back to me, yipping happily.

    ‘Strella makes everyone happy. There is no crowd in the evening. Most are eating, or on the Bridge, or down at River. I run to her, covered in tears. I am bruised, battered. I cannot stop crying.

    She holds me. As always, she is warm and welcoming. I need welcoming. I need warmth. The space in front of her hearth is warmer. That fire is always strong. I settle into blankets leaning away from the boot print. Alleway curls in front of me. He’s so weak. That leg is giving out, and it stinks.

    a day later

    His leg is gone. His belly is disappearing. Alleway is about to die. Willan’s gang, who I cannot talk about, is killing Alleway. He’s fading away.

    My little terrier isn’t breathing. I just wanted a bit of jade to give ‘Strella and Willan’s gang killed Alleway with a rat, A RAT. They took him via disease, but now they’ve angered me.

    Those books were ‘…omicon’ and ‘llusions.’ Jade and a couple books in a chest, and big key in Willans pocket.

    Those bastards killed Alleway for a few gems and a couple of books. They took him from me!

    A sharp bark wakes me from my strife. I look down at my puppy. His body is rot. The bark continues, it’s his happy bark. We’re both wrapped in the blankets, trying to heal from that day. That and hide, we’re trying to hide from life.

    Alleway isn’t alive. But he’s barking he keeps barking. He sounds so happy, but this body is empty. The barking is from my right. There he is off to my right. How? How is my little one there with me.

    He is shadow. He is incorporeal. He is loyal. Beyond death, he is loyal.

    Now, I rise. Willan has a key and two precious books. I have a dog that cannot die and my powers. I need not talk again. Alleway walks through the wall towards the bridge. It is fifteenth night in winter. The Dragon is full, but the other moons are new.

    Alleway is powerfully striding towards the downriver stairs. That’s where Rista preys on the poorest of Fort Ooshar’s visitors. It takes me a bit longer to get to the top. Alleway doesn’t slow down for bushes and trees.

    My little terrier breathes my hate for Willan’s gang and is fueled by my love. We see Rista. He charges at her leaping into her mouth. His ghostly form enters her. She runs to the side of the cliffs and jumps off. Little Alleway jumps back to me.

    We continue. Tlipa is next and then Willan. I’ll take his jade, his books and his gang. I will speak again. Willan will suffer, because I can no longer touch my little dog. I can hear him, kind of see him, but no longer will he sit on my lap or snuggle with me. Alleway remains, but he is only a representation of love now.

  • Song for Mehmd

    Song for Mehmd

    As Saffron gets to know Behn and Samul she wrote a song celebrating their homeland.

    Night pours over the rolling dunes.
    First, pink and purple, swallowing the sun-soaked sky.
    Then red to match the blood-soaked hands.
    And a whisper in the wind decries:
    nothing remains now
    except stars and scars.

    Dawn breaks the black horizon.
    We are thirst, and thirst is all we know.
    We are sand, wind, sun, and burning sky.
    We are.

    Here, in the desert,
    We cannot be claimed nor owned.
    Carried by winds,
    A mirage of heart and bone
    And memories built by hand.

    I turn toward emptiness.
    I see nothing, hear nothing.
    Yet through the silence something throbs.

    Here, in the desert,
    Ahid wraps tight around our ribs
    Preparing us for battle.
    We stand at the gates,
    Men and women,
    Myths and legends.
    Ready to fight.

    We are Mehmd.