Tag: Fiction

An afternoon with Prva Metzr caretaker of the Everflow

Prva rows in the heat of a summer swelter. The water isn’t choppy. He’s still struggling a bit. Deep, pulling cuts to get to the Font of Two Paths quickly.

Most of the other font-kids stay in when it’s this hot. Prva knows he can make a few coin, and safely because Vrda his river otter companion will splash through the lake to make it more comfortable.

Most thems with birds and dogs won’t get the splashies. Vrda is the reason Prva can work a day with this sun.

A quick j-stroke stops the boat, right near the Font. He tosses a knotted rope to the otter who chomps a big knotted end. Then the work of getting the jars ready starts.

Already set in order. Lids off. Getting them ready for pure waters of the Everflow direct from the Font as it falls from cliffside. An attempt to stay stable underneath kind of works, mostly because the little otter is pushing the small boat back towards the fall.

Prva bows his head. His lips moving.

That big rush of noise under the fall with the rough waters would obscure his words if anyone was close. No one is close though — the heat.

They wouldn’t hear him anyway. He’s performing, not praying. He learned long ago that Quar didn’t care about prayers or belief. The pure waters heal.

But he still pretends to pray. It’s a job. The performance matters.

All the jars are full. Flip caps are on.

Then the row back to Quar’s dock, where the acolytes hand the harvested Everflow off to the Orthodox Church of Quar. It’s a trip he’ll make a few more times today. There’s a small bonus when he’s willing and other ain’t.

Boat isn’t his. That’s tied off for the next one to do the work, the jar racks now empty.

Vrda crawls up the quay side. Dripping the waters of the lack behind them. They’re off for some fish and a chilled tisane of pine and limon from Daoud.

Legendary magic was big and powerful, life changing. Modern magic is a cold drink on a hot day after heavy labor. Modern magic is also the ability to make oneself just a little big wet during the worst heats.

This narrative slice of life was an attempt at Tuesday Afternoon, a technique to test world building to see if the created world makes sense for normal people.

Telse and the Western Wildes j

Telse was the center of my first 5e campaigns. It is the source of the Everflow, the healing waters that feed into the Font of Two Paths. The Church of Quar controls access to the lake, the Font and the Everflow. That mercantile-faith is the origin of the common tongue in the World of the Everflow.

Once part of the empire of Sheljar, Telse is now a free city like most of the Western Wildes. Both the Orthodox and Reformed Churches of Quar are based in the town. Despite being a small city or large town, Telse has embassies from the other kingdoms and free cities due to its healing waters.

Prva Metzr is an acolyte of Quar with a river otter bonded companion named Vrda. Metzr is a human in their mid-20s. He considers his faith a job more than a duty or calling.
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June 25, 2026
An afternoon with the cooper Sudes Rudes

Walking past Idarak’s I grab a fresh peach off one of his trees. Nightbridge tends to have more of the old fruits and Idarak’s family keeps a small grove. Plus Edarra wants a white bucket soon, with some falls from the Dead Forest (obviously not the red oak or black maple — other trees seem to be seeding too).

Visiting the Dead Forest now is this weird mix of Council Guard, elves, dwarves, Daoudians, Kirtin-ish — crowded and uncommon. We Rudes need to go there because our buckets and casks are expected to have staves and finishes from the Forest. That may not last. Craft has to change and if dragons come back I do not need that risk. Maybe something from the island or up toward Kirtin proper.

Anyway, I’m off to see if it’s safe.

This is a daily assessment in Kirtin-on-the-Lake. There’s so many competing interests. The old neighborhoods and walls don’t mean as much. If dragonken settle in a few blocks that’s a new neighborhood — with magic everywhere.

Refugees from the destruction in Kirtin-in-the-Sky are trying to move in with cousins they ain’t seen in decades. Kirtin is a mess.

The peach is good, though. Really good.

Yaffy’s cackle-call echoes through the street from behind. Yaff hates visiting the forest, because those trees are not for him. He’ll always find a way to dilly-dally on the way. I think he ‘reads’ the neighborhood more than Kyrik, my little ratting dog that stays home, always.

I’m not of the born generation. I don’t have magicks.

The forest seems to refuse us and accept the youngsters with their elementalisms, enchantments and energies. This works in my favor. A few copper to the youth you have these abilities for each of the sticks I can turn into staves.

That peach is already gone. It’s three bites for an old stoney like me. Apple’d be two, but the pit gets in the way. I toss the pit to Yaffy as I sit down on a bench.

Casking for someone up in The Rise means gathering stick for art, proper wood carving ‘ll be needed too. I’ll see if maybe I can convince a dragonken to do it, mayb an elf. Edarra will pay.

Blues and whites without paints thanks to the woods from those trees come from a few kids. Those dragontrees seem to be shedding. There will be new dragons soon.

I shudder.

In-the-sky went from mighty city to flooded caverns with most bridges fallen into the waters.

Douad ain’t to protect us. Kirtin is a fighting force over on the Slope, but without leadership. Is it going to fall like Sheljar to the Necromancer? Broadsheets say the West is many cities without a kingdom now.

I need another peach. Or tea. Or ice cream (magicks are great for a few new discoveries). Or a game.

My mind wanders under this constant pressure of not knowing how this city will fall further into disrepair or if maybe it can rise like Sheljar under the Free City movement.

I stick the staves and falls into my basket. Yaffy leading the way to church. Quar’s followers have the Everflow — that’s better than wine, it’ll heal, even a broken soul.

Then it’s back to work.

This narrative slice of life was an attempt at Tuesday Afternoon, a technique to test world building to see if the created world makes sense for normal people.

Kirstin-on-the-Lake was the center of the Uprising & Rebellion campaign. It is the former winter capital of Kirtin, but was conquered by Daoud for most of the past several centuries. It is now controlled by neither nation with influences of both, with the new council system taking over governance while the Dragons come back to the Dead Forest, goblins land at their airxip tower, and the visitors from Sheljar.

Sudes Rudes is a cooper. His animal companion is a green woodpecker named Yaffy. He also has a non-bonded ratting dog Kryrik. Sudes is a goliath with Kirtin-ish heritage (stone) whose beard is tinged with the blue-greys (wave) more common in Daoud.

May 6, 2026
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.

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.

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.

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.

November 11, 2023
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.

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.

December 17, 2020
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.

June 27, 2017