Commander Gargalash turned at the sound of his name. Rendoo, the mage, was holding open the entrance flap of the command tent. The mage stepped aside as Gargalash approached, ushering the commander inside. The old man looked weary, no doubt having spent all of last night and the majority of this morning working his magic. The results were impressive, as now all their thousands were as fresh for battle as on the first day of their rapid march. Even the ogres who had carried the parts of the just assembled catapults the many miles from Garfarli in East Arkra no longer felt the strain in their muscles.
Inside the tent, in the far corner, was a creature that needed no such assistance as it felt no fatigue. Swathed in black robes, no features were discernible to describe it, save for its impressive height. If there was a face hidden within the black hood, Gargalash had never glimpsed it. The creature was perpetually shrouded in darkness and cold, even in a clear field under the mid-day sun. It mostly stood still, even its robes untouched by any breeze, yet when it moved no one could describe how it moved or when it had moved from one place to another.
Gargalash was careful to maintain a strict distance from the dark creature as he made his way to the rear of the tent, towards a makeshift table with two men standing beside it. General Fheru and Emisar Wurd Bkardto were poring over two maps, one of the border country, and another of the city of Juandar. The larger map had proved invaluable in planning the movement of their forces along various routes across the border to the largely unprotected southern walls of Juandar. Now they hoped the map of the city would prove equally advantageous in planning the assault.
“Commander Gargalash, come. We need the catapults to focus on a new target.” General Fheru was a large man, with shoulders as broad as an orc’s. When he spoke, his deep voice seemed to reverberate in the confined tent. Gargalash knew that the general could have stood at the entrance to the tent and called for him where he had been inspecting the catapults just minutes earlier, and he would have heard the general’s summons.
The commander now looked to where General Fheru pointed on the smaller of the two maps. The general was tapping at a small building sitting almost against the inner walls of the castle compound. Gargalash examined the map to get a sense of the scale, then made some quick calculations. The catapults would have to be moved forward to hit that target, but since they knew Juandar did not have any Imperial longbows to bear against them, the catapults would be safe.
“It can be done.” Gargalash looked at the general and waited for the order.
“Good. See to it. Once we have confirmed the destruction of that target you may begin work on the outer walls.” The general waited for the Emisar’s nod of assent before turning to Gargalash and dismissing him. Gargalash did an about turn, exited the tent and made his way through the ranks contemplating what information the Emisar had about their true target.
12 October 2009
09 October 2009
The Lost Emperor, Chapter 4
Yarga was just reaching for the door when it opened, from the outside. It was the young page from earlier. Feraz, if the Minister remembered correctly. He was the ward of one of the Duchess’ servants. The Duchess preferred to hold court further West, ‘away from the barbarians’, as she put it. If Lord Tomaz had received the reports of this incursion from East Arkra any later, the Duchess and her household would have been caught on the open road. As it was, the Duke insisted she stay within the safe confines of Castle Juandar.
How safe those confines were, was now up for debate.
Feraz paused in the doorway, uncertain for a moment whether to let the Minister pass through first or deliver his message. In the end, expediency won over courtesy.
“Minister Yarga, the Duchess requests your counsel.” The page bowed respectfully as he delivered his message, and then stood aside to let the Minister pass.
“Of course, by all means. Please lead the way.” Yarga fell into step behind the page as he turned to lead the way down the hallways to the Duchess’ quarters. The page, walking in front of him, was quite tall considering his fifteen years. He had a steady gait, no doubt born of his many years of menial labour. His hair was well-kept, combed straight, and barely long enough to cover his neck.
Navigating their way through the hallways and climbing staircases, Yarga wondered what his life would have been like, if he had made different choices. Maybe he would have married, and had a son like Feraz. Maybe he would have taught at an academy, instead of serving as a Minister. Maybe he would have served closer to the interior, instead of so close to the troublesome border, where he was likely to fall to an invading army and be forgotten amongst the many dead.
Yarga shook his head to clear his mind of such morbid thoughts, just as they arrived at the entrance to the Duchess' chambers. There were no guards posted here; all the guards had been stationed to defend the entryways to the Castle.
Feraz halted, rapped sharply on the door, then carefully pushed it open. Spotting the Duchess inside nodding her assent, Feraz entered and held the door open for Minister Yarga. Once the Minister had crossed the threshold, Feraz silently shut the door and stood to one side of the entrance, waiting for further instructions.
The Duchess had been pacing back and forth in the centre of the room. Now she stopped, beckoned to Yarga and retreated to one corner. On the other side, near the windows overlooking the inner courtyard, sat her youngest daughter and a handmaiden. No one spoke.
“My Lady,” Yarga broke the silence with a bow, “how may I be of assistance?”
“Minister Yarga, thank you for coming so quickly. Am I correct in assuming that you are not occupied with the defence of Juandar?” The Duchess spoke quickly, as if for fear that she may not have time to finish any conversation. Every once in a while she would turn slightly to look out the windows, or at her daughter, sitting serenely enjoying the late morning sun.
Yarga smiled at the Duchess' implication. “My Lady, the defence of Juandar is, thankfully, left to more capable men.”
“I thought your intimate familiarity with Juandar would prove invaluable at a time such as this.” The Duchess had never been very interested in the Duke’s martial responsibilities, and so had little knowledge in those affairs.
As an orphan, Yarga had never known for certain where he was born; nevertheless, Juandar was the place he considered home. He had spent his childhood roaming the streets of Juandar, and later returned as a young Imperial administrator. After that he had spent years travelling BurJuandar, before returning to his home and joining the Duke’s Council. Only one other Minister now serving BurJuandar actually hailed from Juandar.
“My Lady, I am certain that the War Council has the necessary experience. Besides, the enemy is attacking not from the East, through the city, but from the South, directly at Castle Juandar’s walls. My familiarity with the streets of Juandar and its people are of no help.” What Yarga left unmentioned was that it made no difference, as Yarga no longer held an Imperial appointment, and no Minister except those with an Imperial appointment belonged on a War Council.
“Yes, I see.” The Duchess paused to consider the situation, wringing her hands and staring out the windows before turning back to Yarga and launching into her rapid speech. “Maybe your familiarity with Juandar could have other uses. It is not that I do not have faith in the capabilities of our fine soldiers, and the wise War Council. I know the situation is dire. My place is with my husband. I know this too.”
Yarga shifted under the intense gaze of the Duchess. She was staring straight into his eyes and he could sense her desperation. She was going to ask something great of him, and he would be forced to face up to his measure as a man. “My Lady, I -”
The Duchess cut him off, motioning for him to let her continue. “My daughter, Dayani – there must be some way for you to spirit her away from all this. She must move unnoticed, to the West, to her sister Dayaqi. You know where, yes?”
Her eyes never left his, and she pleaded as only a mother could. Yarga turned towards where her daughter sat by the windows. She was a slight girl – a young woman actually, already entertaining a fair number of suitors. She had her father's blond hair, falling in waves down her back, and his startlingly blue eyes, the colour of a clear summer sky. The rest of her features she had inherited from her mother, with the same small mouth that was versatile with smiles.
Yarga sighed as he turned back to the Duchess. She had an expectant look on her face. She had not put her request in the form of a question. “Yes, my Lady, I know where.”
“Good!” Her mouth widened into one of her more beatific smiles. “Thank you, Minister Yarga. I am indebted to you.”
“It is my honour to serve.” Yarga turned to look at the girl the Duchess had just placed under his care. She was known for a temperament that changed like the winds on the North Plains, and could be quite obstinate at times. Yarga wondered if she comprehended the danger facing them.
Perhaps sensing that her fate was the topic of conversation, Dayani stood up and faced her mother. From the corner of his vision, Yarga noticed Feraz straightening, as if to ensure the Duchess’ daughter noticed he stood as tall as her.
“If I am to escort your daughter out of Juandar, we must leave at once my Lady. And she will have to change into something –“ Yarga searched for the right words, “– plainer and more travel-hardy.”
“Yes, I understand. And what retinue shall I have accompany you?” The Duchess signalled for the handmaiden to approach as she queried the Minister. She understood the urgency of an early departure.
“I would advise against it, my Lady. The smaller the group, the safer we are.” Yarga was already considering what needed to be done to accomplish this flight to safety. They would have no time to plan as they had to leave immediately.
The Duchess gave instructions to the handmaiden to help prepare her daughter for a hasty departure, watched as she left the room, then turned back to Yarga. “I must at least send someone to assist you, and for your protection.”
“Maybe the boy,” Yarga gestured towards Feraz by the doorway. “He can help me. And a soldier from your guard, for protection. That is the most we should travel with.”
The Duchess looked worried, but she sensed she would have no time to argue the point. “Very well. It shall be done. Feraz is placed immediately under your care, to make what preparations are required for provisions and such. I will have a guard meet you in the north courtyard.”
The Duchess moved past Yarga to embrace her daughter, leaving the Minister to give instructions to Feraz. Dayani looked confused as her mother hugged her; she had not seen her mother this distraught since her sister’s wedding. This barbarian invasion might turn out to be more important than she had originally anticipated.
“Mother, whatever is the matter?” Dayani looked enquiringly as her mother held her at arm’s length.
“Hush, my dear. I just want to look at you.” Gazing at her youngest daughter, the Duchess felt she was looking at her younger self, but for the lighter hair. “You must go with Minister Yarga, my dear. He will take you to your sister. Please do as he says, so you will be safe.”
Her mother had only the faintest of smiles on her lips, and her eyes betrayed her worry. Dayani could only manage a small nod and a small smile of her own in answer. Then her mother embraced her, holding her tightly, as her mother had held her sister on her wedding day. They stayed that way for what seemed like a long time, before her mother released her and gestured for her to leave. As Dayani followed her handmaiden out, she turned to see her mother, standing at the windows, with her back to them. That image of her mother, half bathed in sunlight, would stay with her for a long time to come.
How safe those confines were, was now up for debate.
Feraz paused in the doorway, uncertain for a moment whether to let the Minister pass through first or deliver his message. In the end, expediency won over courtesy.
“Minister Yarga, the Duchess requests your counsel.” The page bowed respectfully as he delivered his message, and then stood aside to let the Minister pass.
“Of course, by all means. Please lead the way.” Yarga fell into step behind the page as he turned to lead the way down the hallways to the Duchess’ quarters. The page, walking in front of him, was quite tall considering his fifteen years. He had a steady gait, no doubt born of his many years of menial labour. His hair was well-kept, combed straight, and barely long enough to cover his neck.
Navigating their way through the hallways and climbing staircases, Yarga wondered what his life would have been like, if he had made different choices. Maybe he would have married, and had a son like Feraz. Maybe he would have taught at an academy, instead of serving as a Minister. Maybe he would have served closer to the interior, instead of so close to the troublesome border, where he was likely to fall to an invading army and be forgotten amongst the many dead.
Yarga shook his head to clear his mind of such morbid thoughts, just as they arrived at the entrance to the Duchess' chambers. There were no guards posted here; all the guards had been stationed to defend the entryways to the Castle.
Feraz halted, rapped sharply on the door, then carefully pushed it open. Spotting the Duchess inside nodding her assent, Feraz entered and held the door open for Minister Yarga. Once the Minister had crossed the threshold, Feraz silently shut the door and stood to one side of the entrance, waiting for further instructions.
The Duchess had been pacing back and forth in the centre of the room. Now she stopped, beckoned to Yarga and retreated to one corner. On the other side, near the windows overlooking the inner courtyard, sat her youngest daughter and a handmaiden. No one spoke.
“My Lady,” Yarga broke the silence with a bow, “how may I be of assistance?”
“Minister Yarga, thank you for coming so quickly. Am I correct in assuming that you are not occupied with the defence of Juandar?” The Duchess spoke quickly, as if for fear that she may not have time to finish any conversation. Every once in a while she would turn slightly to look out the windows, or at her daughter, sitting serenely enjoying the late morning sun.
Yarga smiled at the Duchess' implication. “My Lady, the defence of Juandar is, thankfully, left to more capable men.”
“I thought your intimate familiarity with Juandar would prove invaluable at a time such as this.” The Duchess had never been very interested in the Duke’s martial responsibilities, and so had little knowledge in those affairs.
As an orphan, Yarga had never known for certain where he was born; nevertheless, Juandar was the place he considered home. He had spent his childhood roaming the streets of Juandar, and later returned as a young Imperial administrator. After that he had spent years travelling BurJuandar, before returning to his home and joining the Duke’s Council. Only one other Minister now serving BurJuandar actually hailed from Juandar.
“My Lady, I am certain that the War Council has the necessary experience. Besides, the enemy is attacking not from the East, through the city, but from the South, directly at Castle Juandar’s walls. My familiarity with the streets of Juandar and its people are of no help.” What Yarga left unmentioned was that it made no difference, as Yarga no longer held an Imperial appointment, and no Minister except those with an Imperial appointment belonged on a War Council.
“Yes, I see.” The Duchess paused to consider the situation, wringing her hands and staring out the windows before turning back to Yarga and launching into her rapid speech. “Maybe your familiarity with Juandar could have other uses. It is not that I do not have faith in the capabilities of our fine soldiers, and the wise War Council. I know the situation is dire. My place is with my husband. I know this too.”
Yarga shifted under the intense gaze of the Duchess. She was staring straight into his eyes and he could sense her desperation. She was going to ask something great of him, and he would be forced to face up to his measure as a man. “My Lady, I -”
The Duchess cut him off, motioning for him to let her continue. “My daughter, Dayani – there must be some way for you to spirit her away from all this. She must move unnoticed, to the West, to her sister Dayaqi. You know where, yes?”
Her eyes never left his, and she pleaded as only a mother could. Yarga turned towards where her daughter sat by the windows. She was a slight girl – a young woman actually, already entertaining a fair number of suitors. She had her father's blond hair, falling in waves down her back, and his startlingly blue eyes, the colour of a clear summer sky. The rest of her features she had inherited from her mother, with the same small mouth that was versatile with smiles.
Yarga sighed as he turned back to the Duchess. She had an expectant look on her face. She had not put her request in the form of a question. “Yes, my Lady, I know where.”
“Good!” Her mouth widened into one of her more beatific smiles. “Thank you, Minister Yarga. I am indebted to you.”
“It is my honour to serve.” Yarga turned to look at the girl the Duchess had just placed under his care. She was known for a temperament that changed like the winds on the North Plains, and could be quite obstinate at times. Yarga wondered if she comprehended the danger facing them.
Perhaps sensing that her fate was the topic of conversation, Dayani stood up and faced her mother. From the corner of his vision, Yarga noticed Feraz straightening, as if to ensure the Duchess’ daughter noticed he stood as tall as her.
“If I am to escort your daughter out of Juandar, we must leave at once my Lady. And she will have to change into something –“ Yarga searched for the right words, “– plainer and more travel-hardy.”
“Yes, I understand. And what retinue shall I have accompany you?” The Duchess signalled for the handmaiden to approach as she queried the Minister. She understood the urgency of an early departure.
“I would advise against it, my Lady. The smaller the group, the safer we are.” Yarga was already considering what needed to be done to accomplish this flight to safety. They would have no time to plan as they had to leave immediately.
The Duchess gave instructions to the handmaiden to help prepare her daughter for a hasty departure, watched as she left the room, then turned back to Yarga. “I must at least send someone to assist you, and for your protection.”
“Maybe the boy,” Yarga gestured towards Feraz by the doorway. “He can help me. And a soldier from your guard, for protection. That is the most we should travel with.”
The Duchess looked worried, but she sensed she would have no time to argue the point. “Very well. It shall be done. Feraz is placed immediately under your care, to make what preparations are required for provisions and such. I will have a guard meet you in the north courtyard.”
The Duchess moved past Yarga to embrace her daughter, leaving the Minister to give instructions to Feraz. Dayani looked confused as her mother hugged her; she had not seen her mother this distraught since her sister’s wedding. This barbarian invasion might turn out to be more important than she had originally anticipated.
“Mother, whatever is the matter?” Dayani looked enquiringly as her mother held her at arm’s length.
“Hush, my dear. I just want to look at you.” Gazing at her youngest daughter, the Duchess felt she was looking at her younger self, but for the lighter hair. “You must go with Minister Yarga, my dear. He will take you to your sister. Please do as he says, so you will be safe.”
Her mother had only the faintest of smiles on her lips, and her eyes betrayed her worry. Dayani could only manage a small nod and a small smile of her own in answer. Then her mother embraced her, holding her tightly, as her mother had held her sister on her wedding day. They stayed that way for what seemed like a long time, before her mother released her and gestured for her to leave. As Dayani followed her handmaiden out, she turned to see her mother, standing at the windows, with her back to them. That image of her mother, half bathed in sunlight, would stay with her for a long time to come.
30 September 2009
The Lost Emperor, Chapter 3
“What do you mean they march towards LiYarfah?” Lord Tomaz Cilarfa, Duke of BurJuandar, was more surprised than angry. The news had initially shocked him into sitting down, but a second later he pushed himself away from the table and marched to the mural on the west wall, stopping right in front of the circle that represented LiYarfah.
“Why would they march towards LiYarfah?” He turned around to face his War Council. “Could someone tell me why troops from LiBangden, not more than two days march from here, where we face an army of monsters from East Arkra, are now heading towards LiYarfah, at least a four day journey away?”
General Krihul shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. He was glad to have the cieyal and the planning table between himself and his Lordship. Maybe the exasperation would not be so obvious in his voice.
“My Lord, LiYarfah sits near the border –” He was cut off by Lord Tomaz, leaving little chance of unseemly behaviour from a subordinate.
“This army out there did not cross at LiYarfah!” The tension in the Duke’s voice was apparent for all to hear.
General Krihul could not help but glance at the planning table and the markers placed on the map unfurled on it. There were markers representing the many troops of Lord Tomaz’ army. Krihul’s gaze went directly to a marker placed just to the northwest of LiBangden; it marked the current location of troops normally stationed at LiYarfah. General Manasis was leading that force on the shortest path to Castle Juandar, returning from an expedition to a northern neighbour. It was Manasis who reported on the Imperial Garrison’s movements.
As Krihul raised his eyes he noticed Captain Grenald had also been looking at the same marker. It was no secret that some of Lord Tomaz’ advisors thought it unwise to send LiYarfah’s garrison northwards two weeks ago. Alliances being what they were, some begrudgingly agreed Lord Tomaz had no choice in the matter.
“My Lord, if I may, General Manasis is soon to arrive from the vicinity of LiBangden.” General Kanakashash interjected, waving at the marker Krihul and Grenald had moments ago been examining. “And I have dispatched my best Captains to speed along the arrival of our forces from the south.” Here he waved at several markers placed south of their location at the centre of the map.
Lord Tomaz stalked back to the planning table to consider the markers again. They had studied the troop placements many times over the past two days, and it all still seemed futile. The enemy had moved in scattered packs, and they marched quickly. Lord Tomaz had barely enough time to despatch riders to reorganize his armies before the enemy appeared on the doorsteps of his fortress. How an army of over ten thousand could just appear on his doorstep was beyond anyone's explanation.
Lord Tomaz ran a hand over his face, as if to wash away his despair. He understood all too well why the closest Imperial forces could not come to his aid, and yet he had clung on to the hope that his predicament was considered more pressing.
“Too far. And just too few.” Lord Tomaz seemed to be speaking to himself. There was no need to interrupt him; their forces were indeed too few. Within the castle walls there were only six hundred soldiers, barely enough to man the first defence. General Manasis marched with a thousand soldiers, and from the south there were maybe three thousand troops within a two day march. The rest of Lord Tomaz' armies were too far south, defending against another incursion from East Arkra. No one thought the two attacks were unrelated; it was obvious now that whatever master commanded the two armies from East Arkra was more powerful than any encountered in recent memory.
That alone was a discomforting thought. Lord Tomaz was certain that the Imperial Palace was aware of what was transpiring out here near the border. However, the current troubles within the Imperial family triggered by the recent assassination of the heir apparent to the throne did not help matters.
The two thousand strong Imperial Garrison from LiBangden would have been a welcome addition to Castle Juandar's defence. They were a well-equipped and experienced force, led by fearless commanders with an awesome reputation. Where Lord Tomaz had failed the Emperor, his Imperial Majesty's armies would not, for now they marched in defence of the Empire.
They had their priorities. After all, the count was now two armies that had crossed without alerting the Rangers who patrolled the border.
“It begins.” Captain Grenald's deep voice brought everyone's attention back to their present situation. The Captain was watching the cieyal, which had been focused on an overview of the enemies' frontlines. They all turned towards the large brass basin and the images dancing on the surface of the pooled water to watch as the enemies' ranks parted to allow large catapults to be pulled into place by dark, hulking beasts. “By your leave, my Lord.”
Lord Tomaz waved his consent and the Captain turned and quick-marched out of the War Room. General Krihul bowed to the Duke and followed the Captain out.
“Why would they march towards LiYarfah?” He turned around to face his War Council. “Could someone tell me why troops from LiBangden, not more than two days march from here, where we face an army of monsters from East Arkra, are now heading towards LiYarfah, at least a four day journey away?”
General Krihul shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. He was glad to have the cieyal and the planning table between himself and his Lordship. Maybe the exasperation would not be so obvious in his voice.
“My Lord, LiYarfah sits near the border –” He was cut off by Lord Tomaz, leaving little chance of unseemly behaviour from a subordinate.
“This army out there did not cross at LiYarfah!” The tension in the Duke’s voice was apparent for all to hear.
General Krihul could not help but glance at the planning table and the markers placed on the map unfurled on it. There were markers representing the many troops of Lord Tomaz’ army. Krihul’s gaze went directly to a marker placed just to the northwest of LiBangden; it marked the current location of troops normally stationed at LiYarfah. General Manasis was leading that force on the shortest path to Castle Juandar, returning from an expedition to a northern neighbour. It was Manasis who reported on the Imperial Garrison’s movements.
As Krihul raised his eyes he noticed Captain Grenald had also been looking at the same marker. It was no secret that some of Lord Tomaz’ advisors thought it unwise to send LiYarfah’s garrison northwards two weeks ago. Alliances being what they were, some begrudgingly agreed Lord Tomaz had no choice in the matter.
“My Lord, if I may, General Manasis is soon to arrive from the vicinity of LiBangden.” General Kanakashash interjected, waving at the marker Krihul and Grenald had moments ago been examining. “And I have dispatched my best Captains to speed along the arrival of our forces from the south.” Here he waved at several markers placed south of their location at the centre of the map.
Lord Tomaz stalked back to the planning table to consider the markers again. They had studied the troop placements many times over the past two days, and it all still seemed futile. The enemy had moved in scattered packs, and they marched quickly. Lord Tomaz had barely enough time to despatch riders to reorganize his armies before the enemy appeared on the doorsteps of his fortress. How an army of over ten thousand could just appear on his doorstep was beyond anyone's explanation.
Lord Tomaz ran a hand over his face, as if to wash away his despair. He understood all too well why the closest Imperial forces could not come to his aid, and yet he had clung on to the hope that his predicament was considered more pressing.
“Too far. And just too few.” Lord Tomaz seemed to be speaking to himself. There was no need to interrupt him; their forces were indeed too few. Within the castle walls there were only six hundred soldiers, barely enough to man the first defence. General Manasis marched with a thousand soldiers, and from the south there were maybe three thousand troops within a two day march. The rest of Lord Tomaz' armies were too far south, defending against another incursion from East Arkra. No one thought the two attacks were unrelated; it was obvious now that whatever master commanded the two armies from East Arkra was more powerful than any encountered in recent memory.
That alone was a discomforting thought. Lord Tomaz was certain that the Imperial Palace was aware of what was transpiring out here near the border. However, the current troubles within the Imperial family triggered by the recent assassination of the heir apparent to the throne did not help matters.
The two thousand strong Imperial Garrison from LiBangden would have been a welcome addition to Castle Juandar's defence. They were a well-equipped and experienced force, led by fearless commanders with an awesome reputation. Where Lord Tomaz had failed the Emperor, his Imperial Majesty's armies would not, for now they marched in defence of the Empire.
They had their priorities. After all, the count was now two armies that had crossed without alerting the Rangers who patrolled the border.
“It begins.” Captain Grenald's deep voice brought everyone's attention back to their present situation. The Captain was watching the cieyal, which had been focused on an overview of the enemies' frontlines. They all turned towards the large brass basin and the images dancing on the surface of the pooled water to watch as the enemies' ranks parted to allow large catapults to be pulled into place by dark, hulking beasts. “By your leave, my Lord.”
Lord Tomaz waved his consent and the Captain turned and quick-marched out of the War Room. General Krihul bowed to the Duke and followed the Captain out.
29 September 2009
The Lost Emperor, Chapter 2
The door creaked open and a ray of light stabbed into the room. The shadow preceded the page, who squeezed past the barely open doorway and made his way to the Ministers clustered around the only table in the room. Such was the discipline required of all servants in the Duke’s household that even in this, the direst of hours in many a century past, the page walked over to the group instead of ran, arms flailing madly.
It would have been a pretty picture indeed, Minister Yarga thought grimly. If he could reach out with his thoughts he would have urged the boy to run as if he were chased by demons!
As it was, he watched patiently as the young page approached, while his fellow Ministers attempted to discuss their predicament as calmly as arranging for a winter festival. The real planning occurred a few hallways down, in the War Room, with the Generals and his Lordship. By virtue of Imperial Sanction, only Minister Feni Jaelar attended that congregation.
Yarga did not envy the Minister, as he knew Feni had a weak stomach for conflict, and the War Room was where the cieyal was located. They were doubtless surveying the enemy amassed in the lands outside the castle walls to better understand the enemy, the situation, the hope for escape. To hear the rumours was one thing, but to see the enemy through the cieyal would be truly unnerving to a simple man unaccustomed to the dreadfulness of warfare.
At last the young page was close enough to respectfully make his announcement. Yarga detected an excitement in the boy’s face, the way the eyes twitched. The murmured conversations between the Ministers gave way to silent anticipation.
“Honoured Ministers,” he began, stretching himself to his full height, “we have received word that his Imperial Highness has awakened from Trance.” There was an audible sigh of relief from the group.
This was indeed news, and each Minister in the room longed to hear the rest of it, willing the page to verify expectations of Imperial favour. It was their only hope for survival.
“We have also received news that the Imperial Garrison at LiBangden is on the march.” This prompted the other Ministers to burst into excited conversation. Finally! Salvation was on the way.
Minister Yarga maintained a grim outlook. The Commander of the Imperial Garrison was an acquaintance and, living so close to the border with East Arkra, the possibility of conflict was always a popular topic of conversation. Yarga and the Commander had discussed this very topic on a few occasions. He was not as excited as the others because, unlike even the young page, he knew which way those battalions marched.
And so must those in the War Room.
Yarga raised himself from his seat to stretch his legs. The page, waiting to be dismissed, sought permission from Yarga’s eyes. The Minister waved him away and pondered if there would be other news later in the day.
After all, the Emperor was no longer in Trance.
It would have been a pretty picture indeed, Minister Yarga thought grimly. If he could reach out with his thoughts he would have urged the boy to run as if he were chased by demons!
As it was, he watched patiently as the young page approached, while his fellow Ministers attempted to discuss their predicament as calmly as arranging for a winter festival. The real planning occurred a few hallways down, in the War Room, with the Generals and his Lordship. By virtue of Imperial Sanction, only Minister Feni Jaelar attended that congregation.
Yarga did not envy the Minister, as he knew Feni had a weak stomach for conflict, and the War Room was where the cieyal was located. They were doubtless surveying the enemy amassed in the lands outside the castle walls to better understand the enemy, the situation, the hope for escape. To hear the rumours was one thing, but to see the enemy through the cieyal would be truly unnerving to a simple man unaccustomed to the dreadfulness of warfare.
At last the young page was close enough to respectfully make his announcement. Yarga detected an excitement in the boy’s face, the way the eyes twitched. The murmured conversations between the Ministers gave way to silent anticipation.
“Honoured Ministers,” he began, stretching himself to his full height, “we have received word that his Imperial Highness has awakened from Trance.” There was an audible sigh of relief from the group.
This was indeed news, and each Minister in the room longed to hear the rest of it, willing the page to verify expectations of Imperial favour. It was their only hope for survival.
“We have also received news that the Imperial Garrison at LiBangden is on the march.” This prompted the other Ministers to burst into excited conversation. Finally! Salvation was on the way.
Minister Yarga maintained a grim outlook. The Commander of the Imperial Garrison was an acquaintance and, living so close to the border with East Arkra, the possibility of conflict was always a popular topic of conversation. Yarga and the Commander had discussed this very topic on a few occasions. He was not as excited as the others because, unlike even the young page, he knew which way those battalions marched.
And so must those in the War Room.
Yarga raised himself from his seat to stretch his legs. The page, waiting to be dismissed, sought permission from Yarga’s eyes. The Minister waved him away and pondered if there would be other news later in the day.
After all, the Emperor was no longer in Trance.
24 September 2009
The Lost Emperor, Chapter 1
The most heavily defended city in all of South Arkra was the Imperial Capital, Jurathia, named after an Empress from Ages past. Many have seen the wonders of this sprawling city.
At the center of Jurathia was the most heavily guarded building in the land, the Imperial Palace. Sitting atop a hill, there were spectacular views of the Imperial Capital, the mountains to the northwest and the plains stretching to the south. Many passed through the gates of the Imperial Palace daily.
Within the Imperial Palace, deep in its heart, was the most heavily protected room of all. It was known simply as the Trance Room. Most have heard rumours of the room; very few have stepped foot within its confines.
The Trance Room was a square room with two small unassuming doors. One led to an antechamber which opened up to a hallway and a flight of stairs on either end. The other led to a small retiring chamber. The walls of the Trance Room were heavily inscribed with runes, both visible and invisible. In the centre was a circular pedestal with three wide steps, and at the top sat a white marble throne, in stark contrast to the red stone of the rest of the room. The room was lit by a silvery glow emanating from four crystal balls placed on pillars standing at shoulder-height at each corner of the room. The light from these crystal balls would sometimes dim to the brightness of a solitary candle, and would sometimes brighten to a degree that the room seemed open to the noon sun. Those entering the room were always wary for these changes in illumination.
The Emperor would always be conditioned for these changes in lighting, for he spent the most time in the Trance Room.
When Mal Jiyun entered the Trance Room from the antechamber, three of the crystal balls glowed like a full moon, whereas the one in the far right corner was hardly noticeable. As he stepped closer to the throne he noticed the blue shimmer of the magical shield that surrounded the top step of the pedestal and the throne like an egg shell. The only sound in the room was the soft rustling of his robes as he walked, amplified in his ears by the otherwise oppressive silence of the room.
At the foot of the pedestal Mal paused for a respectful bow towards the figure of the Emperor. The Emperor, seated in his throne, unmoving, was in Trance and therefore would not notice Mal, but he was still the supreme ruler of South Arkra.
Slowly, and with carefully measured steps, Mal climbed the pedestal until he was inches away from the shimmering magical shield protecting the Emperor. It was always unnerving being this close to the Emperor, watching him in Trance, eyes wide open, immobile as a statue. Mal leaned in as close as he could without feeling the burn of the shield; from his vantage point slightly to the right of the Emperor he could see the Emperor’s lips were indeed parted ever so slightly, as reported by the previous Watcher.
His attention focused on the Emperor’s frozen face, Mal did not notice when all four crystal balls dimmed. It was only when the Emperor’s face seemed more lit by the shimmering blue shield that Mal realized how dark the Trance Room had become. Just as he turned to inspect the nearest crystal ball behind him, the room was thrown into sudden daylight. Caught off-guard he did not hear the pop of the magical shield dropping into the floor.
“Watcher.” It was the Emperor’s soft whisper that Mal heard first.
Shocked into action, the young Watcher ran down the pedestal, almost tripping on his own robes. He turned at the bottom and went down on one knee. As he was lowering his head he noticed the Emperor gesture towards him.
“Come up here Watcher.” The Emperor waved at Mal to rise up the steps. “How do you expect to hear me properly from all the way down there?”
Mal stood up and retraced his careful steps up the pedestal again, taking the time to catch his breath. Once at the top, he approached the marble throne, keeping his eyes low.
“Your Majesty, I am Mal Jiyun.” Mal bowed his head perfunctorily.
“Come closer, Mal Jiyun. You must be a new Watcher.” The Emperor’s voice was coming out raspy, from a throat too long dry. “Lean your ear close to me.”
Mal did as commanded, stepping closer to the throne and leaning his head down to hear clearer.
“There is a balmaj coming down the stairs right now. Tell him to report to Master Seyarn that I have asked for balmaj Aramus Jilarni.” The Emperor pronounced the name slowly, for Mal’s benefit. “Remember that name.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Balmaj Aramus Jilarni. It will be done.”
“Now, Mal Jiyun.” The Emperor gripped the arms of his throne and pushed himself up. Mal had backed away and was now rushing to the antechamber door. The Emperor went around the throne and slowly traced a path down the pedestal and towards the retiring room. He longed to quench his thirst with the water provisioned there.
Inside the rear chamber the Emperor found a seat and drank sweetened water from a flask. The Watchers made sure to keep a fresh stock of provisions in the retiring room. Over the centuries the Watchers had learned what provisions would be best suited for the Emperor waking from Trance: lots of liquids and fruits. While waiting for the balmaj he had summoned, the Emperor crunched on a crisp apple, stretched his legs before him and reviewed the visions from which he had just awakened.
He did not have long to wait. The door on the far side of the Trance Room opened and he heard someone running in. The figure that came into sight wore the half-robes of a balmaj and had the requisite glowing blue eyes from perpetual mage vision. Aramus Jilarni stood as tall as an average man, shorter than the Emperor, and had the shoulders and arms of one trained in heavy swordplay. His dark hair fell to his shoulders and he wore it free. On his left hand he wore the three rings that marked him as an Emissary of His Imperial Highness, the Emperor of South Arkra. He ran effortlessly, his body conditioned to physical exertion, unhampered by the sword strapped across his back.
Aramus paused at the doorway to the small room the Emperor rested in, his fingers pulling runes from the ether. He put together a simple spell and released it as he drew closer to the Emperor, enveloping the Emperor and himself in an invisible globe of silence. Whatever orders he received from the Emperor would be heard by his ears alone.
“My Lord, I am Aramus Jilarni.” Aramus knelt in front of the Emperor and raised his face to his Master.
Emperor DeGarak II, Master of the Balmaj, paused to consider Aramus. Images from his visions passed through his mind.
“I have found the Lost Emperor.” Only the upper ranks of the balmaj knew the truth behind the myth. From Aramus’ unchanged expression, and the sharp intake of breath, the Emperor judged Aramus had already been inducted into those rare ranks. “He is in danger now and must be protected. You cannot fail. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my Lord. My life for his.” His response required no forethought. His only purpose was to serve in the protection of the Emperor and the Empire.
Aramus considered the Emperor’s news. In view of the current conflicts within the Imperial family, the Lost Emperor would be highly sought after by many parties. It was highly unlikely that the identity of the Lost Emperor was known to anyone. Even the Emperor had spent weeks in Trance searching for his identity.
Yet, Master Seyarn had warned them about enemies from other lands. Every day now there were reports from the border with East Arkra; some of it alarmed Master Seyarn enough to send personal scouts. If only Aramus could know what those scouts reported. As it was, he would have to piece things together himself.
The Emperor stood and began to walk out; Aramus followed him, maintaining the globe of silence surrounding them.
“Go to Castle Juandar, near the border. They are under attack. I will instruct Master Seyarn to send some balmaj to assist, but their task is only to distract.” The Emperor glanced askance at Aramus. You must be my eyes there. When the Lost Emperor is found, I will inform you. This last the Emperor sent into Aramus’ mind.
Aramus felt the urgency behind the missive. Much was happening already.
At the center of Jurathia was the most heavily guarded building in the land, the Imperial Palace. Sitting atop a hill, there were spectacular views of the Imperial Capital, the mountains to the northwest and the plains stretching to the south. Many passed through the gates of the Imperial Palace daily.
Within the Imperial Palace, deep in its heart, was the most heavily protected room of all. It was known simply as the Trance Room. Most have heard rumours of the room; very few have stepped foot within its confines.
The Trance Room was a square room with two small unassuming doors. One led to an antechamber which opened up to a hallway and a flight of stairs on either end. The other led to a small retiring chamber. The walls of the Trance Room were heavily inscribed with runes, both visible and invisible. In the centre was a circular pedestal with three wide steps, and at the top sat a white marble throne, in stark contrast to the red stone of the rest of the room. The room was lit by a silvery glow emanating from four crystal balls placed on pillars standing at shoulder-height at each corner of the room. The light from these crystal balls would sometimes dim to the brightness of a solitary candle, and would sometimes brighten to a degree that the room seemed open to the noon sun. Those entering the room were always wary for these changes in illumination.
The Emperor would always be conditioned for these changes in lighting, for he spent the most time in the Trance Room.
When Mal Jiyun entered the Trance Room from the antechamber, three of the crystal balls glowed like a full moon, whereas the one in the far right corner was hardly noticeable. As he stepped closer to the throne he noticed the blue shimmer of the magical shield that surrounded the top step of the pedestal and the throne like an egg shell. The only sound in the room was the soft rustling of his robes as he walked, amplified in his ears by the otherwise oppressive silence of the room.
At the foot of the pedestal Mal paused for a respectful bow towards the figure of the Emperor. The Emperor, seated in his throne, unmoving, was in Trance and therefore would not notice Mal, but he was still the supreme ruler of South Arkra.
Slowly, and with carefully measured steps, Mal climbed the pedestal until he was inches away from the shimmering magical shield protecting the Emperor. It was always unnerving being this close to the Emperor, watching him in Trance, eyes wide open, immobile as a statue. Mal leaned in as close as he could without feeling the burn of the shield; from his vantage point slightly to the right of the Emperor he could see the Emperor’s lips were indeed parted ever so slightly, as reported by the previous Watcher.
His attention focused on the Emperor’s frozen face, Mal did not notice when all four crystal balls dimmed. It was only when the Emperor’s face seemed more lit by the shimmering blue shield that Mal realized how dark the Trance Room had become. Just as he turned to inspect the nearest crystal ball behind him, the room was thrown into sudden daylight. Caught off-guard he did not hear the pop of the magical shield dropping into the floor.
“Watcher.” It was the Emperor’s soft whisper that Mal heard first.
Shocked into action, the young Watcher ran down the pedestal, almost tripping on his own robes. He turned at the bottom and went down on one knee. As he was lowering his head he noticed the Emperor gesture towards him.
“Come up here Watcher.” The Emperor waved at Mal to rise up the steps. “How do you expect to hear me properly from all the way down there?”
Mal stood up and retraced his careful steps up the pedestal again, taking the time to catch his breath. Once at the top, he approached the marble throne, keeping his eyes low.
“Your Majesty, I am Mal Jiyun.” Mal bowed his head perfunctorily.
“Come closer, Mal Jiyun. You must be a new Watcher.” The Emperor’s voice was coming out raspy, from a throat too long dry. “Lean your ear close to me.”
Mal did as commanded, stepping closer to the throne and leaning his head down to hear clearer.
“There is a balmaj coming down the stairs right now. Tell him to report to Master Seyarn that I have asked for balmaj Aramus Jilarni.” The Emperor pronounced the name slowly, for Mal’s benefit. “Remember that name.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Balmaj Aramus Jilarni. It will be done.”
“Now, Mal Jiyun.” The Emperor gripped the arms of his throne and pushed himself up. Mal had backed away and was now rushing to the antechamber door. The Emperor went around the throne and slowly traced a path down the pedestal and towards the retiring room. He longed to quench his thirst with the water provisioned there.
Inside the rear chamber the Emperor found a seat and drank sweetened water from a flask. The Watchers made sure to keep a fresh stock of provisions in the retiring room. Over the centuries the Watchers had learned what provisions would be best suited for the Emperor waking from Trance: lots of liquids and fruits. While waiting for the balmaj he had summoned, the Emperor crunched on a crisp apple, stretched his legs before him and reviewed the visions from which he had just awakened.
He did not have long to wait. The door on the far side of the Trance Room opened and he heard someone running in. The figure that came into sight wore the half-robes of a balmaj and had the requisite glowing blue eyes from perpetual mage vision. Aramus Jilarni stood as tall as an average man, shorter than the Emperor, and had the shoulders and arms of one trained in heavy swordplay. His dark hair fell to his shoulders and he wore it free. On his left hand he wore the three rings that marked him as an Emissary of His Imperial Highness, the Emperor of South Arkra. He ran effortlessly, his body conditioned to physical exertion, unhampered by the sword strapped across his back.
Aramus paused at the doorway to the small room the Emperor rested in, his fingers pulling runes from the ether. He put together a simple spell and released it as he drew closer to the Emperor, enveloping the Emperor and himself in an invisible globe of silence. Whatever orders he received from the Emperor would be heard by his ears alone.
“My Lord, I am Aramus Jilarni.” Aramus knelt in front of the Emperor and raised his face to his Master.
Emperor DeGarak II, Master of the Balmaj, paused to consider Aramus. Images from his visions passed through his mind.
“I have found the Lost Emperor.” Only the upper ranks of the balmaj knew the truth behind the myth. From Aramus’ unchanged expression, and the sharp intake of breath, the Emperor judged Aramus had already been inducted into those rare ranks. “He is in danger now and must be protected. You cannot fail. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my Lord. My life for his.” His response required no forethought. His only purpose was to serve in the protection of the Emperor and the Empire.
Aramus considered the Emperor’s news. In view of the current conflicts within the Imperial family, the Lost Emperor would be highly sought after by many parties. It was highly unlikely that the identity of the Lost Emperor was known to anyone. Even the Emperor had spent weeks in Trance searching for his identity.
Yet, Master Seyarn had warned them about enemies from other lands. Every day now there were reports from the border with East Arkra; some of it alarmed Master Seyarn enough to send personal scouts. If only Aramus could know what those scouts reported. As it was, he would have to piece things together himself.
The Emperor stood and began to walk out; Aramus followed him, maintaining the globe of silence surrounding them.
“Go to Castle Juandar, near the border. They are under attack. I will instruct Master Seyarn to send some balmaj to assist, but their task is only to distract.” The Emperor glanced askance at Aramus. You must be my eyes there. When the Lost Emperor is found, I will inform you. This last the Emperor sent into Aramus’ mind.
Aramus felt the urgency behind the missive. Much was happening already.
NaNoWriMo 2007 – The Lost Emperor
In October 2007, when someone introduced me to NaNoWriMo, I thought it was a cool idea. I also thought it might provide me the impetus to keep at a writing project. That’s why I signed up after a few days thought.
The story I started writing was one that had been bouncing around in my head for some time already. It wasn’t a complete story in my head; just elements of a story. NaNoWriMo gave me the chance to start pulling the disparate parts into a coherent tale. I’m still not certain how it’s going to end up, since I wrote it without an outline. NaNoWriMo is about getting your “writing juices” flowing, and just writing as the ideas hit you, aiming for a 50,000 word target in a month. I didn’t even reach ten percent of the word target though, since I’m too much of a perfectionist to just type without a filter. I still spend too much time considering how to write, instead of writing. Hopefully, with more practice writing, that filter will process faster.
For NaNoWriMo, I didn’t write in chapters. Later, I edited what I had written a bit, and divided it into chapters. It’s still a work in progress, and I would like to finish it someday. What I’ll be posting here are the first five chapters. Chapter five was finished post-NaNoWriMo 2007. The rest will come as and when I write it and am happy enough with it to share.
The story I started writing was one that had been bouncing around in my head for some time already. It wasn’t a complete story in my head; just elements of a story. NaNoWriMo gave me the chance to start pulling the disparate parts into a coherent tale. I’m still not certain how it’s going to end up, since I wrote it without an outline. NaNoWriMo is about getting your “writing juices” flowing, and just writing as the ideas hit you, aiming for a 50,000 word target in a month. I didn’t even reach ten percent of the word target though, since I’m too much of a perfectionist to just type without a filter. I still spend too much time considering how to write, instead of writing. Hopefully, with more practice writing, that filter will process faster.
For NaNoWriMo, I didn’t write in chapters. Later, I edited what I had written a bit, and divided it into chapters. It’s still a work in progress, and I would like to finish it someday. What I’ll be posting here are the first five chapters. Chapter five was finished post-NaNoWriMo 2007. The rest will come as and when I write it and am happy enough with it to share.
08 September 2009
About Mission: Evacuation, Episode 1
Mission: Evacuation is the first piece of fan fiction of an established universe that I have tried. The setting is the PC game Total Annihilation (TA), which, admittedly, didn’t have a very detailed universe. TA was a revolutionary real-time strategy game that came out in 1997, but I won’t go into the merits of the game here. Even though story was not the strong point for the game, TA was very popular in its time. With that popularity came the fan fiction.
Many people drew on the basic threads established by the game’s creators and wove their own stories, sometimes with only the most tenuous of links to the original story. The premise of the game was simple: two warring factions have waged deadly battle over centuries, spanning galaxies in their conquests. One side, the Arm, and the other side, the Core. Some backstory was provided in the campaign mode of the game, but there were more questions than answers. So when the fans started writing their own stories, there were many different takes on the universe.
I wrote my own fan fiction during Christmas break, 1998. It was my first time writing fan fiction, but it was easy considering I didn’t have much canon to consider. I wanted to bring a more human element to the universe, since too much focus had already been given to the “mechanical” aspects of war. I have fixed some spelling and glaring grammatical errors in this first story, but otherwise it is left intact. I had started on Episode 2, but did not get far, and I’m not sure I will continue this.
Many people drew on the basic threads established by the game’s creators and wove their own stories, sometimes with only the most tenuous of links to the original story. The premise of the game was simple: two warring factions have waged deadly battle over centuries, spanning galaxies in their conquests. One side, the Arm, and the other side, the Core. Some backstory was provided in the campaign mode of the game, but there were more questions than answers. So when the fans started writing their own stories, there were many different takes on the universe.
I wrote my own fan fiction during Christmas break, 1998. It was my first time writing fan fiction, but it was easy considering I didn’t have much canon to consider. I wanted to bring a more human element to the universe, since too much focus had already been given to the “mechanical” aspects of war. I have fixed some spelling and glaring grammatical errors in this first story, but otherwise it is left intact. I had started on Episode 2, but did not get far, and I’m not sure I will continue this.
Mission: Evacuation, Episode 1
Three minutes after coming through the gate and I was under attack. Not much of an attack, but an attack nonetheless. Three AK's and two Storms don't give me any concern (I barely noticed them), but now the Core was alerted to my position. They knew an Arm Commander was on the scene. After a few seconds of self debate about the ramifications of this revelation I decided I liked the idea that they knew I was around.
As I worked my nanolathe building my support structures, I reviewed my orders and my priorities. My orders were simple. There was a Genesis Station on this unnamed planet; don't let the Core forces breach it. The situation itself was far more complex.
Commander Syrnak looked down the small hill at his defenses as they fought off Core forces. It was the third attack from this flank of his base. He had no reason to actually be present other than to satisfy his curiosity. Why was the Core attacking here? And with light forces only? It made no sense to him.
Commander Syrnak shifted his gaze to the distant horizon; spoke through the comlink, "Well? I assume this is about the Wolverine unit design."
"You are certain this line is secured? From both the Core and ... our side?"
"Yes." How many times do I have to tell you? The bureaucrat from Strategic Planning And Review was being overly cautious! "You know damn well it is," he said, exasperation leaking through. "Now, tell me what is so important to justify a Priority Alpha-One call?"
A moment of silence, then, "You're being reassigned. The current situation will be handled by your second-in-command, and -"
"Wait a minute. Why am I not getting this from Central Command?"
"Well, things are a little delicate. CC did not like the decision the SPAR Council came to. CC has full knowledge of what we're doing here."
Full knowledge! Yeah, right! "My obedience is to -"
"Yourself. Your obedience ... is to yourself, first. Hear me out, Commander Syrnak. Trust me, you want to hear me out. You're needed for a Genesis Station evacuation."
Genesis Station evac? Didn't Reflin just complete training for that?
As if reading his mind, the other voice continued, "Commander Reflin is being side-stepped. You've done six full evacs, making you the most experienced. We need you." Then, as if for further emphasis, he added, "The zone is red-tagged. Level three."
There was no hesitation from Syrnak; he was, after all, a professional. "Profile population?"
"Twenty three."
"You'd better be talking about twenty three hundred, and not thousand, or more. Why didn't you contact me when you blue-tagged the zone?"
"It was never blue-tagged."
Better start counting the surprises. That's number one.
"And I'm talking about a much smaller number than twenty three thousand."
Number two?
"I mean twenty three. Exactly."
No!
"They're all Commanders, Third Generation."
NO!
"Commander Syrnak, your Originator profile is one of them."
Syrnak's surroundings melted away from his consciousness, isolating him in his own thoughts, leaving nothing of the outside world but the voice on the other end of the comlink.
"Zone coordinates and other details have been transmitted to the Gate. The Wolverine unit has been approved for operational status. Commander Syrnak? Good luck."
Silence.
The comlink hissed static, then his end of the comlink shut down. His suit automatically erased all memory of the Priority Alpha-One transmission. His mind did not.
One element of the outside world entered his consciousness. The Galactic Gate.
Yes. I have a mission... THEY ARE NOT GOING TO KILL ME!
"Peeper Flight 4, this is GS Command. We need a visual sweep of Sector 12-3."
Human hands rested lightly on the armrests of a command chair. Three of the four screens the chair faced came to life as the info feed from three Peepers was directed to the station. Station Commander Degault glanced to his right as the Terrain Display Unit came to life, tracing a three-dimensional holographic projection of Sector 12-3 from its memory banks.
An artificial voice inquired, "Specify data projection protocols."
Degault answered, "Recon-1."
"Recalling Recon-1 protocols. Dark-paint visual areas. Mark all radar contacts. Iconize confirmed units and track. Warn on possible security leaks. Recon-1 protocol now in effect."
Degault forced himself to watch the TDU, even though he wanted to watch the forward sensor feeds from the Peepers. As if he knew he couldn't rely on his self-discipline alone, Degault pressed down on a switch and the command chair rotated slowly to the right. As the chair came to a halt, three triangles appeared on the near edge of the TDU projection. The triangles were moving at a rapid rate towards one of the far corners. Degault threw an occasional sideways glance at the three screens, as if he could see something on them first.
His attention was soon fully on the TDU as three red dots appeared on the display. The Peepers changed course to intercept the radar contacts. Degault knew they would fly by at too high a speed for him to make out any details on the view-screens, so he kept his eye on the TDU, waiting for it to transform the data into a form he could more easily recognize. More red dots appeared in two other clusters as the Peepers came closer to the original contacts. As the Peepers came into visual range of the contacts the TDU interpreted the information and the red dots coalesced into identifiable icons. They were Arm units; two solar collectors and a metal extractor where there wasn't supposed to be anything. The Peepers changed course again to sweep over the other two clusters. The second cluster was another two solar collectors and a light laser tower hidden behind some trees. As they neared the third cluster they picked up another lone contact deep in some nearby forest. The third cluster was a solar collector, a level one Arm k-bot lab, a Construction K-bot, and a missile tower which did not turn to fire at the Peepers.
Degault was almost sure now of what the Peepers would find, but it was best to be certain. After all, the Core had managed to get their hands on Arm units before. As the Peepers raced towards the last unconfirmed contact, Degault reined in his hope.
The red dot coalesced into a form which was very familiar to Degault. He leaned forward in his chair, opened a channel to the Peepers, and barely whispered, "Identity-check that last contact."
A moment passed before the reply came back, "GS Command, this is Peeper Flight 4. We have a confirmed identity-check on last unit contact. I repeat, we have a confirmed identity-check on last unit contact."
An Arm Commander!
Degault leaned back and let hope recharge his tired body.
A flight of Peepers came to greet me to this new world. No doubt they were responding to the power surge in the Gate. They requested an identity-check from me in the second fly-by; a prudent move.
It didn't take much longer before I was hooked into the energy and metal distribution system. Then I began my work in earnest. First, I would need to be briefed by the commander-in-charge. Then I would have to verify all the latest intel, personally. Finally, I could begin evac preparations. My initial impression of the mission was that it could take a while.
As I worked my nanolathe building my support structures, I reviewed my orders and my priorities. My orders were simple. There was a Genesis Station on this unnamed planet; don't let the Core forces breach it. The situation itself was far more complex.
Commander Syrnak looked down the small hill at his defenses as they fought off Core forces. It was the third attack from this flank of his base. He had no reason to actually be present other than to satisfy his curiosity. Why was the Core attacking here? And with light forces only? It made no sense to him.
Commander Syrnak shifted his gaze to the distant horizon; spoke through the comlink, "Well? I assume this is about the Wolverine unit design."
"You are certain this line is secured? From both the Core and ... our side?"
"Yes." How many times do I have to tell you? The bureaucrat from Strategic Planning And Review was being overly cautious! "You know damn well it is," he said, exasperation leaking through. "Now, tell me what is so important to justify a Priority Alpha-One call?"
A moment of silence, then, "You're being reassigned. The current situation will be handled by your second-in-command, and -"
"Wait a minute. Why am I not getting this from Central Command?"
"Well, things are a little delicate. CC did not like the decision the SPAR Council came to. CC has full knowledge of what we're doing here."
Full knowledge! Yeah, right! "My obedience is to -"
"Yourself. Your obedience ... is to yourself, first. Hear me out, Commander Syrnak. Trust me, you want to hear me out. You're needed for a Genesis Station evacuation."
Genesis Station evac? Didn't Reflin just complete training for that?
As if reading his mind, the other voice continued, "Commander Reflin is being side-stepped. You've done six full evacs, making you the most experienced. We need you." Then, as if for further emphasis, he added, "The zone is red-tagged. Level three."
There was no hesitation from Syrnak; he was, after all, a professional. "Profile population?"
"Twenty three."
"You'd better be talking about twenty three hundred, and not thousand, or more. Why didn't you contact me when you blue-tagged the zone?"
"It was never blue-tagged."
Better start counting the surprises. That's number one.
"And I'm talking about a much smaller number than twenty three thousand."
Number two?
"I mean twenty three. Exactly."
No!
"They're all Commanders, Third Generation."
NO!
"Commander Syrnak, your Originator profile is one of them."
Syrnak's surroundings melted away from his consciousness, isolating him in his own thoughts, leaving nothing of the outside world but the voice on the other end of the comlink.
"Zone coordinates and other details have been transmitted to the Gate. The Wolverine unit has been approved for operational status. Commander Syrnak? Good luck."
Silence.
The comlink hissed static, then his end of the comlink shut down. His suit automatically erased all memory of the Priority Alpha-One transmission. His mind did not.
One element of the outside world entered his consciousness. The Galactic Gate.
Yes. I have a mission... THEY ARE NOT GOING TO KILL ME!
"Peeper Flight 4, this is GS Command. We need a visual sweep of Sector 12-3."
Human hands rested lightly on the armrests of a command chair. Three of the four screens the chair faced came to life as the info feed from three Peepers was directed to the station. Station Commander Degault glanced to his right as the Terrain Display Unit came to life, tracing a three-dimensional holographic projection of Sector 12-3 from its memory banks.
An artificial voice inquired, "Specify data projection protocols."
Degault answered, "Recon-1."
"Recalling Recon-1 protocols. Dark-paint visual areas. Mark all radar contacts. Iconize confirmed units and track. Warn on possible security leaks. Recon-1 protocol now in effect."
Degault forced himself to watch the TDU, even though he wanted to watch the forward sensor feeds from the Peepers. As if he knew he couldn't rely on his self-discipline alone, Degault pressed down on a switch and the command chair rotated slowly to the right. As the chair came to a halt, three triangles appeared on the near edge of the TDU projection. The triangles were moving at a rapid rate towards one of the far corners. Degault threw an occasional sideways glance at the three screens, as if he could see something on them first.
His attention was soon fully on the TDU as three red dots appeared on the display. The Peepers changed course to intercept the radar contacts. Degault knew they would fly by at too high a speed for him to make out any details on the view-screens, so he kept his eye on the TDU, waiting for it to transform the data into a form he could more easily recognize. More red dots appeared in two other clusters as the Peepers came closer to the original contacts. As the Peepers came into visual range of the contacts the TDU interpreted the information and the red dots coalesced into identifiable icons. They were Arm units; two solar collectors and a metal extractor where there wasn't supposed to be anything. The Peepers changed course again to sweep over the other two clusters. The second cluster was another two solar collectors and a light laser tower hidden behind some trees. As they neared the third cluster they picked up another lone contact deep in some nearby forest. The third cluster was a solar collector, a level one Arm k-bot lab, a Construction K-bot, and a missile tower which did not turn to fire at the Peepers.
Degault was almost sure now of what the Peepers would find, but it was best to be certain. After all, the Core had managed to get their hands on Arm units before. As the Peepers raced towards the last unconfirmed contact, Degault reined in his hope.
The red dot coalesced into a form which was very familiar to Degault. He leaned forward in his chair, opened a channel to the Peepers, and barely whispered, "Identity-check that last contact."
A moment passed before the reply came back, "GS Command, this is Peeper Flight 4. We have a confirmed identity-check on last unit contact. I repeat, we have a confirmed identity-check on last unit contact."
An Arm Commander!
Degault leaned back and let hope recharge his tired body.
A flight of Peepers came to greet me to this new world. No doubt they were responding to the power surge in the Gate. They requested an identity-check from me in the second fly-by; a prudent move.
It didn't take much longer before I was hooked into the energy and metal distribution system. Then I began my work in earnest. First, I would need to be briefed by the commander-in-charge. Then I would have to verify all the latest intel, personally. Finally, I could begin evac preparations. My initial impression of the mission was that it could take a while.
03 September 2009
About A Beginning in Sight
After a short break from Utopia, I recreated an account. I don’t recall the exact timeline, but I wrote another story around that time and dated it in Age 15 (Q1 2002). I didn’t share the story with my Kingdom-mates for some reason or another, although I did post it to my GeoCities page.
It’s not a coincidence that this story was written around the time of my other two short stories, “A Crazy World” and “The Keys”. I was in the writing mood, and it’s obvious I was projecting myself onto the characters I created.
There’s actually not much in this story, except a reference to game mechanics that dates the tale (Storms negate Droughts, and vice versa, which seems logical enough, but was only just then introduced to the game), and a light-hearted exploration of Dhuergar’s and Qualath’s friendship. In the end, Dhuergar’s practicality tugs the two back into the harsh realities of their world, just as I too learned to let go of what had to end.
It’s not a coincidence that this story was written around the time of my other two short stories, “A Crazy World” and “The Keys”. I was in the writing mood, and it’s obvious I was projecting myself onto the characters I created.
There’s actually not much in this story, except a reference to game mechanics that dates the tale (Storms negate Droughts, and vice versa, which seems logical enough, but was only just then introduced to the game), and a light-hearted exploration of Dhuergar’s and Qualath’s friendship. In the end, Dhuergar’s practicality tugs the two back into the harsh realities of their world, just as I too learned to let go of what had to end.
02 September 2009
About Homeward Bound
My second Utopia-based fiction was written as an introduction piece to a new Kingdom. It was Age 11 (Q1 2001, soon after I left Canada) and I had actually done the unthinkable. I had traded into an existing Kingdom, taking over someone else’s province. This is expressly forbidden by the rules of the game, though many people did it. The main motivation was either to move into SK’s (Super Kingdoms), or to join people you knew. For me, it was the latter reason. My own Kingdom was dying a natural death, and my then-girlfriend had an opening in her Kingdom due to someone announcing his intention to leave. Hers was a good Kingdom, with a good track record, and a group of players who had proven their ability to play together as a team. So I traded in, despite my earlier conviction that trading wasn’t good for the game.
I made reference to my trading in the story, with the notion that Dhuergar rules the province by proxy, since in-game, I was not playing Dhuergar Warhammer. I can’t remember the name of the province or its ruler. All I remember is that it was a dwarf province, which is lucky for me, because I know how to play a dwarf province.
In the story I also gave an indication of my game-playing experience, by mentioning all the different races I had experience with (Dwarf, Elf, Avian, Faery, Human, Halfling). In fact, I’ve tried all the different races in Utopia, including Undead and the “newer” Gnome (replacing Halfling) and Dark Elf (replacing Faery), except for Orc. The mechanics of the Orc race don’t suit my play style very well, so they’re the only race I’ve never played on any of the Utopia servers. Besides, I could never imagine Dhuergar Warhammer as ruler of an Orcish province!
Incidentally, I didn’t stay in that Kingdom for too long. A few Ages later, my province was deleted, most likely for being a traded account. I can’t confirm that of course, but I suspect that, since a few of us from the Kingdom were deleted in one purge. It was quite common for Swirve to purge the servers of multi accounts or other cheaters every once in a while. By the time I was deleted, I didn’t mind it. My ex had already stopped playing, and I had no particular attachment to the Kingdom, so I took a hiatus from the game when it happened. It was a break I needed.
I made reference to my trading in the story, with the notion that Dhuergar rules the province by proxy, since in-game, I was not playing Dhuergar Warhammer. I can’t remember the name of the province or its ruler. All I remember is that it was a dwarf province, which is lucky for me, because I know how to play a dwarf province.
In the story I also gave an indication of my game-playing experience, by mentioning all the different races I had experience with (Dwarf, Elf, Avian, Faery, Human, Halfling). In fact, I’ve tried all the different races in Utopia, including Undead and the “newer” Gnome (replacing Halfling) and Dark Elf (replacing Faery), except for Orc. The mechanics of the Orc race don’t suit my play style very well, so they’re the only race I’ve never played on any of the Utopia servers. Besides, I could never imagine Dhuergar Warhammer as ruler of an Orcish province!
Incidentally, I didn’t stay in that Kingdom for too long. A few Ages later, my province was deleted, most likely for being a traded account. I can’t confirm that of course, but I suspect that, since a few of us from the Kingdom were deleted in one purge. It was quite common for Swirve to purge the servers of multi accounts or other cheaters every once in a while. By the time I was deleted, I didn’t mind it. My ex had already stopped playing, and I had no particular attachment to the Kingdom, so I took a hiatus from the game when it happened. It was a break I needed.
01 September 2009
About The Dawn of Sylvan Hold
I started playing Utopia in the Second Age, early 1999. The Third Age, however, was my first full Age playing the game. In my first experience with Utopia I had selected dwarf for race, and named my province Mithrils Hold (no punctuation, since Utopia doesn’t allow for punctuation in names). By the time the Third Age was going to start, I had already grasped some of the basics of the game. Since I had faced difficulties with a dwarf province, I selected the elf race for the Third Age.
My ruler name for the Second Age was Dhuergar Warhammer, a reference to AD&D gray dwarves (duergar) and the Warhammer fantasy world. Plus, the warhammer was often associated with dwarven characters, so that seemed to fit. My province name was just a quick nod to the mythical metal mithril, from Tolkien’s LoTR universe.
When I created my account for the Third Age, I was a little stumped for a ruler name. Then I decided to maintain the one I had used previously, for continuity sake, as well as for role-playing reasons. To this day, I have not changed my ruler name in Utopia. For my province name I just changed the reference from a dwarven reference to an elven (forest) reference.
As an introduction to my Kingdom, I wrote a short story to explain how an elven province came to have a dwarven ruler. I posted the story in the Kingdom’s forum at the beginning of the Age. I can’t remember the reception it received, except that it didn’t start a flurry of role-playing in the Kingdom. Somewhat discouraged, I realized that people played Utopia more for the strategy than anything else, so my role-playing took a backseat. In those early days though I made all my forums posts IC (in character), rarely posting OOC (out of character).
As a bit of Utopia history, in the Third Age, Mehul (the game’s creator) did away with ruler titles. Players were free to prefix their names however they saw fit. The standard titles made their reappearance in a later Age. That bit of history fit well with my story, as I explained how Dhuergar Warhammer would carry no title, having earned none in the eyes of the elves.
My ruler name for the Second Age was Dhuergar Warhammer, a reference to AD&D gray dwarves (duergar) and the Warhammer fantasy world. Plus, the warhammer was often associated with dwarven characters, so that seemed to fit. My province name was just a quick nod to the mythical metal mithril, from Tolkien’s LoTR universe.
When I created my account for the Third Age, I was a little stumped for a ruler name. Then I decided to maintain the one I had used previously, for continuity sake, as well as for role-playing reasons. To this day, I have not changed my ruler name in Utopia. For my province name I just changed the reference from a dwarven reference to an elven (forest) reference.
As an introduction to my Kingdom, I wrote a short story to explain how an elven province came to have a dwarven ruler. I posted the story in the Kingdom’s forum at the beginning of the Age. I can’t remember the reception it received, except that it didn’t start a flurry of role-playing in the Kingdom. Somewhat discouraged, I realized that people played Utopia more for the strategy than anything else, so my role-playing took a backseat. In those early days though I made all my forums posts IC (in character), rarely posting OOC (out of character).
As a bit of Utopia history, in the Third Age, Mehul (the game’s creator) did away with ruler titles. Players were free to prefix their names however they saw fit. The standard titles made their reappearance in a later Age. That bit of history fit well with my story, as I explained how Dhuergar Warhammer would carry no title, having earned none in the eyes of the elves.
31 August 2009
A Beginning in Sight
The storm finally passed. After two days of incessant rain and howling wind, the sun poked its rays through the clouds. Streams of light danced amongst the lingering shadows, bridging earth and sky. To describe the lands in one word was easy - wet.
Dhuergar Warhammer looked down at the rain-soaked fields and forests of his province and smiled. The experiment had worked! The knowledge of the new Storm spell had passed to his province's wizards just recently. There was now an easy counter to the Droughts that would undoubtedly plague his lands in any war, and as a dwarf his fear of Droughts was an especial one.
"Well. It worked." He turned to his friend and advisor who stood next to him.
Qualath kept his gaze on the lands stretched out beyond the battlements of the fort, surveying for any damage done by the storm. "Indeed."
Dhuergar turned from the view and stode towards the tower; Qualath followed a step behind. Dhuergar's brisk pace was easily matched by the half-elf.
"Be sure to have a note of thanks sent to our friend." Wizards from a neighbouring province had aided in the experiment.
"Of course, my lord." Qualath was efficient, and he had no doubts about the success of the new Storm spell; a note had been drafted the day the original agreement was signed. All that remained was for the official seal to be applied, and a rider to deliver it to its destination.
The pair were through the door and climbing down the stairs. "I want reports by this evening."
Qualath nodded in silence. That also had been looked to; forewarning had been given to the appropriate people. Those people were doubtless already gathering the necessary information for their reports. Qualath, however, would have to personally see to it that the war-room was prepared; only one servant was trusted to enter that room, and only when supervised.
At the bottom of the stairs Qualath stopped by Dhuergar's side. "By your leave, my lord."
Dhuergar did not pause in his strides, saying only, "Go, Qualath. No time to be wasted." There they parted ways.
They crossed paths again in the afternoon, Dhuergar almost walking past Qualath in one of the courtyards. Qualath was sitting on a stone bench near the center of the garden, his gaze fixed on a point in front of him. Curious, Dhuergar looked in the direction his friend was facing. There was nothing there; no flowers, no bushes, no statues, no paintings, nothing.
"Hmm." If there was one thing the battle-scarred dwarf knew, it was that his weakness was dealing with what he called the 'softer emotions'. Still, he had many years of experience dealing with other races, and was constantly learning how to deal with them. And though he never considered his old friend 'soft', he knew that Qualath had the heart of an elf. Quiet repose was a part of his character.
Dhuergar approached the bench and sat next to his friend. "Well."
No response.
He tried a more direct tack. "What happened to that elf lady friend of yours?"
Without turning his head, Qualath answered, "She - had to go."
It was a short answer. "I see."
"She was swept off her feet by some elf. A prince I think."
"Oh." So far, by Dhuergar's own reckoning, he was doing very well. "Hmm."
"Not much chance for a half-breed like me to impress her."
"Well, that's her loss." His reply was automatic, but, he also felt, the right one.
A smile threatened to tug the corners of the half-elf's lips up. He half-turned to face the dwarf.
"Of course."
And that was that. Dhuergar slapped his knees enthusiastically, pushed off the bench, and gave his friend a good clap on the shoulder. Just before leaving the courtyard, he stopped and turned to his friend again. "I will see you later then. It was good to talk." That, he felt, was a good finishing touch.
The smile came to Qualath's face finally, as he lowered his head to stare at his hands. "Yes. On both accounts."
And the day continued, as the two most powerful men in the faery province of Voide Knite prepared their followers for war.
Dhuergar Warhammer looked down at the rain-soaked fields and forests of his province and smiled. The experiment had worked! The knowledge of the new Storm spell had passed to his province's wizards just recently. There was now an easy counter to the Droughts that would undoubtedly plague his lands in any war, and as a dwarf his fear of Droughts was an especial one.
"Well. It worked." He turned to his friend and advisor who stood next to him.
Qualath kept his gaze on the lands stretched out beyond the battlements of the fort, surveying for any damage done by the storm. "Indeed."
Dhuergar turned from the view and stode towards the tower; Qualath followed a step behind. Dhuergar's brisk pace was easily matched by the half-elf.
"Be sure to have a note of thanks sent to our friend." Wizards from a neighbouring province had aided in the experiment.
"Of course, my lord." Qualath was efficient, and he had no doubts about the success of the new Storm spell; a note had been drafted the day the original agreement was signed. All that remained was for the official seal to be applied, and a rider to deliver it to its destination.
The pair were through the door and climbing down the stairs. "I want reports by this evening."
Qualath nodded in silence. That also had been looked to; forewarning had been given to the appropriate people. Those people were doubtless already gathering the necessary information for their reports. Qualath, however, would have to personally see to it that the war-room was prepared; only one servant was trusted to enter that room, and only when supervised.
At the bottom of the stairs Qualath stopped by Dhuergar's side. "By your leave, my lord."
Dhuergar did not pause in his strides, saying only, "Go, Qualath. No time to be wasted." There they parted ways.
They crossed paths again in the afternoon, Dhuergar almost walking past Qualath in one of the courtyards. Qualath was sitting on a stone bench near the center of the garden, his gaze fixed on a point in front of him. Curious, Dhuergar looked in the direction his friend was facing. There was nothing there; no flowers, no bushes, no statues, no paintings, nothing.
"Hmm." If there was one thing the battle-scarred dwarf knew, it was that his weakness was dealing with what he called the 'softer emotions'. Still, he had many years of experience dealing with other races, and was constantly learning how to deal with them. And though he never considered his old friend 'soft', he knew that Qualath had the heart of an elf. Quiet repose was a part of his character.
Dhuergar approached the bench and sat next to his friend. "Well."
No response.
He tried a more direct tack. "What happened to that elf lady friend of yours?"
Without turning his head, Qualath answered, "She - had to go."
It was a short answer. "I see."
"She was swept off her feet by some elf. A prince I think."
"Oh." So far, by Dhuergar's own reckoning, he was doing very well. "Hmm."
"Not much chance for a half-breed like me to impress her."
"Well, that's her loss." His reply was automatic, but, he also felt, the right one.
A smile threatened to tug the corners of the half-elf's lips up. He half-turned to face the dwarf.
"Of course."
And that was that. Dhuergar slapped his knees enthusiastically, pushed off the bench, and gave his friend a good clap on the shoulder. Just before leaving the courtyard, he stopped and turned to his friend again. "I will see you later then. It was good to talk." That, he felt, was a good finishing touch.
The smile came to Qualath's face finally, as he lowered his head to stare at his hands. "Yes. On both accounts."
And the day continued, as the two most powerful men in the faery province of Voide Knite prepared their followers for war.
Homeward Bound
The sun rose over the hill, casting brilliant colours upon the valley beyond. The city nestled in the center of the valley was already awake, and so were the surrounding villages. People here rose early to meet the new day. Two figures atop a hillrise looked down with the sun. Watching. Remembering.
"Back home, my lord?" One bearded face looked to another.
"Home?" The dwarf turned and looked up, ever so slightly, at his half-elven friend. "Home, Qualath? What home have we had these past few years? We are wanderers. We have traveled far and wide, moving with a band of believers - " he waved a hand back at the large camp packing up behind him, " - going where there was a need for leadership. Leaving once we heard certain news." At this, he turned and spat on the ground in a show of disgust.
The half-elf, Qualath, listened to his friend and lord. Dhuergar needed this. He needed to be reminded where they were traveling next. And, as his loyal advisor, he was going to make sure Dhuergar was prepared for any emotions that might get in the way of good, sound judgement.
"No, Qualath," the dwarf continued, turning back to face him, "though I am returning to my birthlands, I am not returning home. Though I am returning to the company of a dwarven nation, I am not returning home. My home is here," he thumped his chest over his heart, "and here," he pointed to the earth beneath his feet, "I bring my home with me where I walk. And I welcome you to share it with me!" He broke into a wide smile and gave his friend a hearty slap on the arm. "Come. Let us make our move."
They turned to face the sun and made their way down the hill, leaving the valley behind. Ahead of them was a band of dwarves, elves, halflings, humans, and even faerie-folk! The seasoned dwarven warriors were organizing the final preparations to pack up camp and begin their march. Above them, a flight of griffons twirled in the sky. It was a varied group, but they all had one thing in common. They had all sworn an oath of loyalty to Dhuergar Warhammer.
"You know, it's good to see you in a beard again, Qualath!" Dhuergar's laughter ran down the hill before them, washing over the band known as the Wanderers. It set the mood for the day.
They were leaving behind an elven province, and marching towards the dwarven lands.
A scowl marred the battle scars on Dhuergar's face. "What? Rule by proxy?"
Qualath looked across the table. Dhuergar was still looking down at the maps spread out on the table, but his attention was with his advisor. He had been trained to study maps with half his mind, while focusing on other matters with the other half. It helped on the battlefield.
"Yes. The Overlords will not approve of the Wanderers' intervention here. The Kingdom wants us here, but they will not anger the Overlords. So, you rule by proxy." Qualath's eyes followed Dhuergar as the dwarf went to the large desk on the other side of the room.
"I understand you have...more than a passing acquaintance with one of the Rulers. An elf, if I hear correctly." Qualath could hear the smile in Dhuergar's voice.
"Uh, yes, that's right." Qualath glanced over at the open door. He would have to get someone to look at that; it refused to stay shut.
Dhuergar was silent as he looked out the windows. After some time, he turned back to his friend. "Who here knows?"
"Everyone, my lord."
"Then it's just the Overlords who will not know?" Dhuergar stepped away from the windows and made his way back to the maps.
"Yes."
"Very well. Rule by proxy. For now."
"Of course. If there is nothing else?" Qualath straightened, as was his habit when he was on official business. Dhuergar was his friend, but he was a Ruler.
"No, no. Not at this time. I will be receiving visitors soon. I think you will be free for the rest of the day. If you have anyone to see..." Again, there was the hint of a smile.
Dhuergar looked up into Qualath's face, and could sense the unease there. He smiled at the half-elf, and waved towards the door. Qualath hesitated a while, then nodded at his lord and left the war room.
"Back home, my lord?" One bearded face looked to another.
"Home?" The dwarf turned and looked up, ever so slightly, at his half-elven friend. "Home, Qualath? What home have we had these past few years? We are wanderers. We have traveled far and wide, moving with a band of believers - " he waved a hand back at the large camp packing up behind him, " - going where there was a need for leadership. Leaving once we heard certain news." At this, he turned and spat on the ground in a show of disgust.
The half-elf, Qualath, listened to his friend and lord. Dhuergar needed this. He needed to be reminded where they were traveling next. And, as his loyal advisor, he was going to make sure Dhuergar was prepared for any emotions that might get in the way of good, sound judgement.
"No, Qualath," the dwarf continued, turning back to face him, "though I am returning to my birthlands, I am not returning home. Though I am returning to the company of a dwarven nation, I am not returning home. My home is here," he thumped his chest over his heart, "and here," he pointed to the earth beneath his feet, "I bring my home with me where I walk. And I welcome you to share it with me!" He broke into a wide smile and gave his friend a hearty slap on the arm. "Come. Let us make our move."
They turned to face the sun and made their way down the hill, leaving the valley behind. Ahead of them was a band of dwarves, elves, halflings, humans, and even faerie-folk! The seasoned dwarven warriors were organizing the final preparations to pack up camp and begin their march. Above them, a flight of griffons twirled in the sky. It was a varied group, but they all had one thing in common. They had all sworn an oath of loyalty to Dhuergar Warhammer.
"You know, it's good to see you in a beard again, Qualath!" Dhuergar's laughter ran down the hill before them, washing over the band known as the Wanderers. It set the mood for the day.
They were leaving behind an elven province, and marching towards the dwarven lands.
A scowl marred the battle scars on Dhuergar's face. "What? Rule by proxy?"
Qualath looked across the table. Dhuergar was still looking down at the maps spread out on the table, but his attention was with his advisor. He had been trained to study maps with half his mind, while focusing on other matters with the other half. It helped on the battlefield.
"Yes. The Overlords will not approve of the Wanderers' intervention here. The Kingdom wants us here, but they will not anger the Overlords. So, you rule by proxy." Qualath's eyes followed Dhuergar as the dwarf went to the large desk on the other side of the room.
"I understand you have...more than a passing acquaintance with one of the Rulers. An elf, if I hear correctly." Qualath could hear the smile in Dhuergar's voice.
"Uh, yes, that's right." Qualath glanced over at the open door. He would have to get someone to look at that; it refused to stay shut.
Dhuergar was silent as he looked out the windows. After some time, he turned back to his friend. "Who here knows?"
"Everyone, my lord."
"Then it's just the Overlords who will not know?" Dhuergar stepped away from the windows and made his way back to the maps.
"Yes."
"Very well. Rule by proxy. For now."
"Of course. If there is nothing else?" Qualath straightened, as was his habit when he was on official business. Dhuergar was his friend, but he was a Ruler.
"No, no. Not at this time. I will be receiving visitors soon. I think you will be free for the rest of the day. If you have anyone to see..." Again, there was the hint of a smile.
Dhuergar looked up into Qualath's face, and could sense the unease there. He smiled at the half-elf, and waved towards the door. Qualath hesitated a while, then nodded at his lord and left the war room.
The Dawn of Sylvan Hold
A tale you seek, is it? Hmm. I have a good one for you then. Come, take a seat. Let me tell you of Dhuergar Warhammer and the Utopian province of Sylvan Hold.
In the previous age of Utopia, there was a province named Mithrils Hold. It was a young province, with not much history in the second age. Yet, however brief its appearance in the Kingdom of The Second Empire, there were many in the lands of Utopia that would sing its praises. But what of this province, you ask? What has it to do with the province of Sylvan Hold? Was it not a dwarven province? Right you are.
Here is how we, the people of Sylvan Hold, tell this tale:
It was dark when the riders entered the elven fort. The lead rider dismounted and quickly entered the fort. He walked quickly, his cloak still draped over him, the hood pulled up, hiding his face in shadow. The soldiers standing guard throughout the fort snapped to attention at the sight of him walking the halls. The clasp on his cloak was easily identifiable, and so was the decorated hilt of his sword peaking through the folds of cloth that hid his frame. Even so, his long and quick strides were enough to identify the man as Qualath, personal advisor and right-hand man to Sir Dhuergar Warhammer. This was the second most powerful person in the province of Mithrils Hold. Though he was not dwarven, it was rumored that he was the next in line to rule Mithrils Hold. And there weren't many dwarves that would not accept him.
When the doors to the throne room opened, the second most powerful man in Mithrils Hold entered and went down on one knee. The only person he would kneel to gestured to him and called him to the side of the room.
"My lord."
"My friend, it is good to have you back. I could use some advice right about now. What news?"
Qualath sighed as he pulled his hood down and unfastened his cloak. "There is no easy way to say this."
Dhuergar glanced up at his most trusted advisor, the half-elf that saved his life so many years ago. He had feared that the news was not going to be good. Several weeks earlier he had received a message from a neighbouring elven province with which his own province had good relations. The two rulers had become close friends over the period of several years, and on more than one occasion, he had sent his berserkers to the elven province in military aid. The message did not come from his friend, but rather from one of his council advisors. The message was a short one, explaining that Sir Dhuergar Warhammer's presence was desperately required. It was grave indeed and he wasted no time responding to the summons.
Upon arriving at the elven province with his entourage, it was revealed that his good friend had been murdered at the hands of plundering orcs. The elves were not a strong military force and they were not prepared for a strike deep in their territory. Now their province was in disarray and they needed help. Fearing that the roving orcs might still be nearby, Dhuergar ordered his most trusted advisor to return to his province and oversee preparations for a search and destroy mission. Dhuergar himself remained with his personal guard to assess the chances of the elven province.
Now, his friend and advisor returned from his own province.
"It wasn't random, was it?"
Qualath lowered his eyes. There was no easy way, but he so wanted to save his friend from the anguish and pain that was sure to follow his news. "No. It was well-organized, beautifully orchestrated. Trolls from the north hit our search parties first. Then the magical assault began. Orcs attacked from everywhere. We couldn't regroup in time. It was your father's old nemesis."
"You are sure." It did not come out as a question.
"Yes. The pennants they flew were as those described. Some of the older dwarves would attest to this fact."
Dhuergar waved a hand at Qualath. "I do not doubt you." He paused to gather himself. "Mithrils Hold?"
"I am sorry." Qualath bowed his head.
Dhuergar's fist slammed down on the table. "Damn." Sorrow threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed it aside. He still had problems to solve. Later, he would have time to mourn. "The elves here have asked me to lead them."
"I know."
"It comes as no surprise to you? You knew then."
"It was the only course of action from their standpoint. There is no one else in line to lead them, unless you go outside ordinary sources. Also, their mystics probably foresaw some version of what you would be put through."
"Yes. And they saved me so I could lead them."
Qualath nodded. "There is much that is different about leading elves and leading dwarves."
Coming from anyone else, that would have been an insulting remark. From Qualath, it was a reminder. "I already know."
"You accept then?"
"Yes. Now we must save as much from Mithrils Hold as we can."
"There are two marches behind me. All that is left, all who survived the onslaught are on the way here."
"Very well then. Now begins a new history. The history of Sylvan Hold."
"My lord, the elves...they will not recognize your human title of Sir, nor your dwarven title of Thane."
"I know. Here, I am simply - Dhuergar Warhammer."
In the previous age of Utopia, there was a province named Mithrils Hold. It was a young province, with not much history in the second age. Yet, however brief its appearance in the Kingdom of The Second Empire, there were many in the lands of Utopia that would sing its praises. But what of this province, you ask? What has it to do with the province of Sylvan Hold? Was it not a dwarven province? Right you are.
Here is how we, the people of Sylvan Hold, tell this tale:
It was dark when the riders entered the elven fort. The lead rider dismounted and quickly entered the fort. He walked quickly, his cloak still draped over him, the hood pulled up, hiding his face in shadow. The soldiers standing guard throughout the fort snapped to attention at the sight of him walking the halls. The clasp on his cloak was easily identifiable, and so was the decorated hilt of his sword peaking through the folds of cloth that hid his frame. Even so, his long and quick strides were enough to identify the man as Qualath, personal advisor and right-hand man to Sir Dhuergar Warhammer. This was the second most powerful person in the province of Mithrils Hold. Though he was not dwarven, it was rumored that he was the next in line to rule Mithrils Hold. And there weren't many dwarves that would not accept him.
When the doors to the throne room opened, the second most powerful man in Mithrils Hold entered and went down on one knee. The only person he would kneel to gestured to him and called him to the side of the room.
"My lord."
"My friend, it is good to have you back. I could use some advice right about now. What news?"
Qualath sighed as he pulled his hood down and unfastened his cloak. "There is no easy way to say this."
Dhuergar glanced up at his most trusted advisor, the half-elf that saved his life so many years ago. He had feared that the news was not going to be good. Several weeks earlier he had received a message from a neighbouring elven province with which his own province had good relations. The two rulers had become close friends over the period of several years, and on more than one occasion, he had sent his berserkers to the elven province in military aid. The message did not come from his friend, but rather from one of his council advisors. The message was a short one, explaining that Sir Dhuergar Warhammer's presence was desperately required. It was grave indeed and he wasted no time responding to the summons.
Upon arriving at the elven province with his entourage, it was revealed that his good friend had been murdered at the hands of plundering orcs. The elves were not a strong military force and they were not prepared for a strike deep in their territory. Now their province was in disarray and they needed help. Fearing that the roving orcs might still be nearby, Dhuergar ordered his most trusted advisor to return to his province and oversee preparations for a search and destroy mission. Dhuergar himself remained with his personal guard to assess the chances of the elven province.
Now, his friend and advisor returned from his own province.
"It wasn't random, was it?"
Qualath lowered his eyes. There was no easy way, but he so wanted to save his friend from the anguish and pain that was sure to follow his news. "No. It was well-organized, beautifully orchestrated. Trolls from the north hit our search parties first. Then the magical assault began. Orcs attacked from everywhere. We couldn't regroup in time. It was your father's old nemesis."
"You are sure." It did not come out as a question.
"Yes. The pennants they flew were as those described. Some of the older dwarves would attest to this fact."
Dhuergar waved a hand at Qualath. "I do not doubt you." He paused to gather himself. "Mithrils Hold?"
"I am sorry." Qualath bowed his head.
Dhuergar's fist slammed down on the table. "Damn." Sorrow threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed it aside. He still had problems to solve. Later, he would have time to mourn. "The elves here have asked me to lead them."
"I know."
"It comes as no surprise to you? You knew then."
"It was the only course of action from their standpoint. There is no one else in line to lead them, unless you go outside ordinary sources. Also, their mystics probably foresaw some version of what you would be put through."
"Yes. And they saved me so I could lead them."
Qualath nodded. "There is much that is different about leading elves and leading dwarves."
Coming from anyone else, that would have been an insulting remark. From Qualath, it was a reminder. "I already know."
"You accept then?"
"Yes. Now we must save as much from Mithrils Hold as we can."
"There are two marches behind me. All that is left, all who survived the onslaught are on the way here."
"Very well then. Now begins a new history. The history of Sylvan Hold."
"My lord, the elves...they will not recognize your human title of Sir, nor your dwarven title of Thane."
"I know. Here, I am simply - Dhuergar Warhammer."
About Utopia stories
Utopia is one of the oldest browser-based multiplayer games, coming online in January 1999. In its heyday it could claim to be “massively” multiplayer, drawing over 100,000 players (more or less, depending on who you ask). It won the Webby Gaming Site of the Year Award twice, in 2002 and 2003. Being a text-based game, with an interface that hasn’t changed much since its first days, Utopia may not appeal to the gaming masses who are more graphically-inclined and for whom World of Warcraft and its ilk are true representations of massively multiplayer online games. Nevertheless, Utopia has its following.
I was introduced to the game by my cousin, and was first attracted by the traditional fantasy RPG background. So much so that I wrote a story as an introduction to my in-game avatar. Of course, my naiveté was met with complete silence on the Forums for my Kingdom. Good thing I took an interest in the strategy of the game, otherwise I would probably have abandoned the game.
The story-writing was actually inspired by a collaborative-writing-cum-role-playing experience I had back in 1995, at The Dragon’s Inn. The Dragon’s Inn was a newsgroup on Usenet (alt.dragons-inn or alt.pub.dragons-inn) for role-players who would maneuver their own characters through collaborative adventures. I mostly just read the various entries posted to that listserv, but I did de-lurk to introduce my own character. The Dragon’s Inn was the birthplace of Lothaq, which became my alter-ego on the net, and also used as my nom de plume.
I’ve only written three Utopia-related stories, and they were all beginning of Age stories. The first two were shared with my kingdom-mates, while the last was written just for my own amusement, although it was also published at my GeoCities site. None had titles previously, and I even recorded them with just the Age number. I’ve given them titles for posting here, and will reveal the timeline in my backstories.
I was introduced to the game by my cousin, and was first attracted by the traditional fantasy RPG background. So much so that I wrote a story as an introduction to my in-game avatar. Of course, my naiveté was met with complete silence on the Forums for my Kingdom. Good thing I took an interest in the strategy of the game, otherwise I would probably have abandoned the game.
The story-writing was actually inspired by a collaborative-writing-cum-role-playing experience I had back in 1995, at The Dragon’s Inn. The Dragon’s Inn was a newsgroup on Usenet (alt.dragons-inn or alt.pub.dragons-inn) for role-players who would maneuver their own characters through collaborative adventures. I mostly just read the various entries posted to that listserv, but I did de-lurk to introduce my own character. The Dragon’s Inn was the birthplace of Lothaq, which became my alter-ego on the net, and also used as my nom de plume.
I’ve only written three Utopia-related stories, and they were all beginning of Age stories. The first two were shared with my kingdom-mates, while the last was written just for my own amusement, although it was also published at my GeoCities site. None had titles previously, and I even recorded them with just the Age number. I’ve given them titles for posting here, and will reveal the timeline in my backstories.
25 August 2009
The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold
I just finished reading The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold last Friday. The weekend earlier my sis had recommended it to me, after telling me about the upcoming film adaptation. The movie is directed by Peter Jackson, and is due out at the end of the year. I’ll admit that the association of an A-list director with the story piqued my interest. So my sis pulled out her copy of the book and handed it over to me. It doesn’t take much to get me interested in reading a book, but I did read the back cover before deciding to turn its pages immediately instead of putting it in a “maybe” pile.
The Lovely Bones tells its story in an unconventional way. The story is narrated by the – shall we say – spirit of a teenaged girl who has been raped and murdered, and now watches her family, friends and even her murderer from her personal heaven. The entire novel is narrated by our protagonist, Susie Salmon – no, not Simon; like the fish – from her unrestricted vantage point above us in heaven. The free-floating nature of our protagonist allows the narrative voice to follow any and all characters through space and time, but we are still giving gentle reminders that the narrator and the protagonist are one and the same. Susie’s viewpoint sprinkles our study of the world, and we get a sense for her priorities and her emotional stake in the characters we – both reader and narrator – observe.
This is not a whodunit, since we know from the very beginning who Susie’s murderer is. Neither is this a tale of vengeance or otherworldly retribution, although, in one delicious piece of foreshadowing, there is room for interpretation in the role played by that “perfect murder” weapon. In fact, when Susie is granted the chance to impart damning and conclusive evidence that would catch her killer, she instead indulges in those pleasures denied her by circumstance of her death.
No, this is not a mystery waiting to be solved. This is a tale about grief, and moving on, and how different people deal with loss as individuals, as a family, as a community. Those left on Earth aren’t the only ones coming to terms with the abrupt ending of a life. Susie, too, has her own journey wherein she has to accept her condition and that those she loved will also need to move on with their lives.
The Lovely Bones is a powerful novel, and its message creeps up on us as it does our protagonist. Susie and her family discover through the period of the novel that unexpected loss happens, and the only way past it is to remember those still with us. It is a good lesson for us, the reader. Honour those we have lost by living our lives to the fullest.
I’ll end this review by echoing Susie’s parting words to us, the reader: “I wish you all a long and happy life.”
The Lovely Bones tells its story in an unconventional way. The story is narrated by the – shall we say – spirit of a teenaged girl who has been raped and murdered, and now watches her family, friends and even her murderer from her personal heaven. The entire novel is narrated by our protagonist, Susie Salmon – no, not Simon; like the fish – from her unrestricted vantage point above us in heaven. The free-floating nature of our protagonist allows the narrative voice to follow any and all characters through space and time, but we are still giving gentle reminders that the narrator and the protagonist are one and the same. Susie’s viewpoint sprinkles our study of the world, and we get a sense for her priorities and her emotional stake in the characters we – both reader and narrator – observe.
This is not a whodunit, since we know from the very beginning who Susie’s murderer is. Neither is this a tale of vengeance or otherworldly retribution, although, in one delicious piece of foreshadowing, there is room for interpretation in the role played by that “perfect murder” weapon. In fact, when Susie is granted the chance to impart damning and conclusive evidence that would catch her killer, she instead indulges in those pleasures denied her by circumstance of her death.
No, this is not a mystery waiting to be solved. This is a tale about grief, and moving on, and how different people deal with loss as individuals, as a family, as a community. Those left on Earth aren’t the only ones coming to terms with the abrupt ending of a life. Susie, too, has her own journey wherein she has to accept her condition and that those she loved will also need to move on with their lives.
The Lovely Bones is a powerful novel, and its message creeps up on us as it does our protagonist. Susie and her family discover through the period of the novel that unexpected loss happens, and the only way past it is to remember those still with us. It is a good lesson for us, the reader. Honour those we have lost by living our lives to the fullest.
I’ll end this review by echoing Susie’s parting words to us, the reader: “I wish you all a long and happy life.”
24 August 2009
About “The Keys”
“The Keys” is a much more autobiographical story compared to “A Crazy World”. The protagonist and I share many similarities, both in personality and circumstance. For example, both of us are sentimental people. That’s about all that I will confirm publicly though.
There is a link between “The Keys” and “A Crazy World”, as they both deal with a disappointment in my life. “The Keys”, however, deals directly with my sense of loss, instead of skirting the issue. At the time I wrote the story in early 2002, I was acutely aware that some part of me still felt a longing for the way things were in the past. Writing the story let me express that feeling.
It should be noted that though there are many parallels to real life, this is still a piece of fiction. Events and circumstances described are not exact parallels of what happened to me, but instead are meant to capture the essence of what transpired in real life. Similarly, there are embellishments to characterizations, meant only to make “The Keys” work as a better story.
Having said that, I do believe that one should write about what one knows. There must be something in the story that you can relate to closely, so that the writing is sincere. That’s what I did with “The Keys”; I wrote to capture my sense of loss and longing.
I’ve made one edit to the original version. In the third paragraph, I replaced “sad” with “cheerless”, since the original was redundant. It now reads:
I think it reads better with this slight edit.
To the person this story is about, you may have read the story now. It is history now, and I’m glad we can move past it.
There is a link between “The Keys” and “A Crazy World”, as they both deal with a disappointment in my life. “The Keys”, however, deals directly with my sense of loss, instead of skirting the issue. At the time I wrote the story in early 2002, I was acutely aware that some part of me still felt a longing for the way things were in the past. Writing the story let me express that feeling.
It should be noted that though there are many parallels to real life, this is still a piece of fiction. Events and circumstances described are not exact parallels of what happened to me, but instead are meant to capture the essence of what transpired in real life. Similarly, there are embellishments to characterizations, meant only to make “The Keys” work as a better story.
Having said that, I do believe that one should write about what one knows. There must be something in the story that you can relate to closely, so that the writing is sincere. That’s what I did with “The Keys”; I wrote to capture my sense of loss and longing.
I’ve made one edit to the original version. In the third paragraph, I replaced “sad” with “cheerless”, since the original was redundant. It now reads:
… I’ve never seen my own sad smile. I can’t bear to look in a mirror when I think of her for fear I might see her standing next to me. A friend of mine described it for me: cheerless, nostalgic. I guess I’m a sentimental kind of guy.
I think it reads better with this slight edit.
To the person this story is about, you may have read the story now. It is history now, and I’m glad we can move past it.
21 August 2009
About “A Crazy World”
I wrote this story in late 2001, after a long hiatus from writing of any kind. Not just creative writing, but any sort of writing. Of course, there was a catalyst that pushed me to write again. I was going through an emotional crisis due to changes in my personal situation. I sought some sort of catharsis in writing. It was a way to make some sense of how I was feeling. Writing it down allowed me to step back from myself.
“A Crazy World” is about disillusionment, mainly about “doing the right thing” or “being good”. I’ve had an atypical childhood, having experienced many different surroundings and mixed with a good range of people. I’ve had many kinds of influences, with few constants. One thing that stuck with me throughout, however, was a desire to “be a good person”. That was the only unvarying standard that I held myself to, while everything shifted around me.
Sometimes, I admit, it can become “tiring”. “Nice guys finish last” didn’t enter the lexicon for no reason; there is some truth to it. Still, I would not like to live my life to that maxim alone.
I wrote “A Crazy World” just to put down that sense of frustration and confusion. Sometimes you want to shout out loud; give in to baser instincts; look out for your own interests only, the rest of the world be damned. Sometimes you want to cry in frustration.
The story reads as quite a disjointed piece. It is frustrating, and not altogether captivating, but it was never meant to be anything other than the ramblings of an inner voice. The protagonist fills in for an aspect of me, a facet of me that was reeling from the “unfairness of life”.
I did not find positive affirmation for my beliefs. I did not heal easily. But I did learn to recognize that frustration in me. And I could look at it with some detachment, without letting it consume me, as it had begun to.
“A Crazy World” is about disillusionment, mainly about “doing the right thing” or “being good”. I’ve had an atypical childhood, having experienced many different surroundings and mixed with a good range of people. I’ve had many kinds of influences, with few constants. One thing that stuck with me throughout, however, was a desire to “be a good person”. That was the only unvarying standard that I held myself to, while everything shifted around me.
Sometimes, I admit, it can become “tiring”. “Nice guys finish last” didn’t enter the lexicon for no reason; there is some truth to it. Still, I would not like to live my life to that maxim alone.
I wrote “A Crazy World” just to put down that sense of frustration and confusion. Sometimes you want to shout out loud; give in to baser instincts; look out for your own interests only, the rest of the world be damned. Sometimes you want to cry in frustration.
The story reads as quite a disjointed piece. It is frustrating, and not altogether captivating, but it was never meant to be anything other than the ramblings of an inner voice. The protagonist fills in for an aspect of me, a facet of me that was reeling from the “unfairness of life”.
I did not find positive affirmation for my beliefs. I did not heal easily. But I did learn to recognize that frustration in me. And I could look at it with some detachment, without letting it consume me, as it had begun to.
20 August 2009
The Keys
The key goes in the hole, turns easily, unlocks the door. I know of four keys that would fit this keyhole. I’ve just used one of them. The landlord's got one. She's got one. And he's got one.
I push the door open, stamp my feet, and step inside. My hand finds the light switch in one move. I hesitate a moment, as I have every time for the past seven months. Then the hall light comes on.
I move into the apartment, holding the door open for her. Her ghost follows me in. A sad smile on my face as I close and lock the door, kick my shoes off, and hang my jacket. I've never seen my own sad smile. I can't bear to look in a mirror when I think of her for fear I might see her standing next to me. A friend of mine described it for me: cheerless, nostalgic. I guess I'm a sentimental kind of guy.
I go around the apartment turning lights on and opening windows. The air is quite stale in here; I only come around once a week. It doesn't take me long to go around the apartment. It's only got the one bedroom; living area and dining area are not separated by any walls. In the kitchen I set about cleaning a kettle and a mug; almost the only two items left in the kitchen. There's the old toaster that we bought on our first shopping trip together, sitting on the counter; now broken. And in one of the cabinets, two wine glasses sit. I'm pretty sure they're the ones we drank from on our last night together.
As the water boils in the newly cleaned kettle, I open the fridge door. There's nothing inside of course. It hasn't been turned on in months, so I have to air it out as well. Taking the mug in hand, I withdraw a tea-bag from the box on the counter. There's only two bags left. I remind myself to get another box on my next trip.
Waiting for the water, I turn to the phone table. I'm tempted to go pick it up. Old habit. We used to check the phone for voicemail when we entered. It's still plugged into the wall, but I cancelled the service long ago. It's been five visits since I trained myself to not pick it up to listen to dead silence for a few seconds.
The water's ready.
I make my tea, pouring out the extra water from the kettle. Three visits since I left the extra water to cool in the kettle. I'd justify it to myself saying that I might want a second cup of tea. But I knew I was really just boiling extra water for a cup of tea for her. I still boil enough for two, even though I throw half of it out right after I make my own tea. Have to keep practicing. You never know really...
She said there's a good chance she would come back.
I take my tea to the one chair left in the apartment. This armchair has seen better days, but not while we had it. I'm not surprised she did not take it with her. I didn't bother when I cleaned out after her. Besides, I need something to sit in when I make my visits. And I don't think I could handle sitting on the bed in the bedroom.
I've gotten used to drinking my tea without any sugar.
Just in time for sunset. As usual. I'm facing the window, looking out across the park. The sun's about to go down, and the sky is such a wonderful colour. I'm reminded of her each time I see something beautiful.
There's that sad smile again. I can feel it.
Her ghost settles down in an imaginary chair next to me as I drink my tea. And the memories begin.
Over a year and a half now. Only a year and a half.
I'd graduated and she had just a few more credits to finish. Four years earlier I really had no intention of returning home. But four years can change a person. What changed? I wanted to return home to settle any and all affairs. And to make sure I was doing the right thing. So I arranged to go back and teach English as a second language for a year. I tried to get her to come with me.
Maybe I didn't try hard enough.
So I left and she stayed. We e-mailed almost every day. Talked on the phone a few times. Chatted on the net frequently.
But it was hard on her. And she needed to be independent, like she had never been before. She asked for space. I was accommodating.
Then he came along. And complicated things. She was confused. Unsure. But she needed to know if we were right.
"If you love something, set it free. If it loves you back, it will return."
So I agreed. She did not really ask me. She told me it was what she needed.
Just before I returned, she sent me an e-mail telling me that she was moving out of our place. She would not take everything with her, but she did need some stuff for the place she was moving to. She ended by saying she was sorry, but she still needed time and space. And if I would take her back, she would probably be coming back to me someday. But in the meantime, I should be free too.
So I returned to an apartment I didn't really want to live in. It didn't take long to find a new place and a decent job. The new place is a bachelor pad, with mostly new things. It's a good thing I make enough money and don't really spend too much of it. I'm not saving as much as I wish I could of course.
Six weeks after my return, she e-mailed to tell me they were over and he had moved out. She wasn't ready for me yet, but things were going alright for her. How was I?
Miserable. "Fine."
I miss you. "Job's going ok so far."
I miss us. "Wanna meet for lunch or something?"
I want you back in my life. "Here's my number. Call me if you want, for anything, alright?"
She hasn't called.
Once in a while I bump into a mutual friend. I try not to talk about her.
She's e-mailed a few times. I've written back far more often.
I had a casual affair with a co-worker once. It lasted all of two weeks. I knew that I wanted her. I'd been sure about us even before I left.
Close my eyes for a bit. I remember the good times, the bad times, the sad times, the happy times. I remember our first date. A walk in the park, subs from a small sandwich place, some forgettable movie, holding hands. I remember our first kiss. I remember sitting outside the library teaching her chess. I remember her taking care of me when I fell ill. I remember our first fight – I didn't take her side in a disagreement on an interpretation of something – and how we made up later. I remember our first night together and how it lasted until morning. I remember consoling her when she found out the family cat had passed away. I remember traveling on the train with her when we went to visit family.
It all had meaning for me. It was all special to me.
Open my eyes again.
And the memories stop.
Life has a way of intruding on our dreams. But hope is such a powerful force.
There it is! "First star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might." How does it go again? I can't seem to get it right.
I get up to go wash the mug and kettle. It's time to go.
I know I can make her happy. She only has to give me the chance. So I'll wait.
Only a year and a half now. Over a year and a half.
Before leaving the building I check the mailbox in the front. There's the usual junkmail, and one bill. Nothing from her. Not that I expect her to write me here, even if it is the only mailing address she has for me. If she were by my side, she would chide me once again for not checking the mail on the way in. I'd always forgotten to do that; she always remembered. I've changed since then, but whenever I make this trip, it seems a ritual for me to do it the old way again.
With mail in hand, I leave the building. Heading to my car I think to myself, yesterday was Friday. I haven't gone to Friday prayers in a long time. Maybe I'll go this week.
I think I'll have Chinese for dinner tonight. As usual.
There's four keys that I know of that would open that door. I haven't seen the landlord in person since I left; I deal with her through mail. And I rather doubt I'll be bumping into him anytime. But how I wish I could see that other key again someday.
I push the door open, stamp my feet, and step inside. My hand finds the light switch in one move. I hesitate a moment, as I have every time for the past seven months. Then the hall light comes on.
I move into the apartment, holding the door open for her. Her ghost follows me in. A sad smile on my face as I close and lock the door, kick my shoes off, and hang my jacket. I've never seen my own sad smile. I can't bear to look in a mirror when I think of her for fear I might see her standing next to me. A friend of mine described it for me: cheerless, nostalgic. I guess I'm a sentimental kind of guy.
I go around the apartment turning lights on and opening windows. The air is quite stale in here; I only come around once a week. It doesn't take me long to go around the apartment. It's only got the one bedroom; living area and dining area are not separated by any walls. In the kitchen I set about cleaning a kettle and a mug; almost the only two items left in the kitchen. There's the old toaster that we bought on our first shopping trip together, sitting on the counter; now broken. And in one of the cabinets, two wine glasses sit. I'm pretty sure they're the ones we drank from on our last night together.
As the water boils in the newly cleaned kettle, I open the fridge door. There's nothing inside of course. It hasn't been turned on in months, so I have to air it out as well. Taking the mug in hand, I withdraw a tea-bag from the box on the counter. There's only two bags left. I remind myself to get another box on my next trip.
Waiting for the water, I turn to the phone table. I'm tempted to go pick it up. Old habit. We used to check the phone for voicemail when we entered. It's still plugged into the wall, but I cancelled the service long ago. It's been five visits since I trained myself to not pick it up to listen to dead silence for a few seconds.
The water's ready.
I make my tea, pouring out the extra water from the kettle. Three visits since I left the extra water to cool in the kettle. I'd justify it to myself saying that I might want a second cup of tea. But I knew I was really just boiling extra water for a cup of tea for her. I still boil enough for two, even though I throw half of it out right after I make my own tea. Have to keep practicing. You never know really...
She said there's a good chance she would come back.
I take my tea to the one chair left in the apartment. This armchair has seen better days, but not while we had it. I'm not surprised she did not take it with her. I didn't bother when I cleaned out after her. Besides, I need something to sit in when I make my visits. And I don't think I could handle sitting on the bed in the bedroom.
I've gotten used to drinking my tea without any sugar.
Just in time for sunset. As usual. I'm facing the window, looking out across the park. The sun's about to go down, and the sky is such a wonderful colour. I'm reminded of her each time I see something beautiful.
There's that sad smile again. I can feel it.
Her ghost settles down in an imaginary chair next to me as I drink my tea. And the memories begin.
Over a year and a half now. Only a year and a half.
I'd graduated and she had just a few more credits to finish. Four years earlier I really had no intention of returning home. But four years can change a person. What changed? I wanted to return home to settle any and all affairs. And to make sure I was doing the right thing. So I arranged to go back and teach English as a second language for a year. I tried to get her to come with me.
Maybe I didn't try hard enough.
So I left and she stayed. We e-mailed almost every day. Talked on the phone a few times. Chatted on the net frequently.
But it was hard on her. And she needed to be independent, like she had never been before. She asked for space. I was accommodating.
Then he came along. And complicated things. She was confused. Unsure. But she needed to know if we were right.
"If you love something, set it free. If it loves you back, it will return."
So I agreed. She did not really ask me. She told me it was what she needed.
Just before I returned, she sent me an e-mail telling me that she was moving out of our place. She would not take everything with her, but she did need some stuff for the place she was moving to. She ended by saying she was sorry, but she still needed time and space. And if I would take her back, she would probably be coming back to me someday. But in the meantime, I should be free too.
So I returned to an apartment I didn't really want to live in. It didn't take long to find a new place and a decent job. The new place is a bachelor pad, with mostly new things. It's a good thing I make enough money and don't really spend too much of it. I'm not saving as much as I wish I could of course.
Six weeks after my return, she e-mailed to tell me they were over and he had moved out. She wasn't ready for me yet, but things were going alright for her. How was I?
Miserable. "Fine."
I miss you. "Job's going ok so far."
I miss us. "Wanna meet for lunch or something?"
I want you back in my life. "Here's my number. Call me if you want, for anything, alright?"
She hasn't called.
Once in a while I bump into a mutual friend. I try not to talk about her.
She's e-mailed a few times. I've written back far more often.
I had a casual affair with a co-worker once. It lasted all of two weeks. I knew that I wanted her. I'd been sure about us even before I left.
Close my eyes for a bit. I remember the good times, the bad times, the sad times, the happy times. I remember our first date. A walk in the park, subs from a small sandwich place, some forgettable movie, holding hands. I remember our first kiss. I remember sitting outside the library teaching her chess. I remember her taking care of me when I fell ill. I remember our first fight – I didn't take her side in a disagreement on an interpretation of something – and how we made up later. I remember our first night together and how it lasted until morning. I remember consoling her when she found out the family cat had passed away. I remember traveling on the train with her when we went to visit family.
It all had meaning for me. It was all special to me.
Open my eyes again.
And the memories stop.
Life has a way of intruding on our dreams. But hope is such a powerful force.
There it is! "First star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might." How does it go again? I can't seem to get it right.
I get up to go wash the mug and kettle. It's time to go.
I know I can make her happy. She only has to give me the chance. So I'll wait.
Only a year and a half now. Over a year and a half.
Before leaving the building I check the mailbox in the front. There's the usual junkmail, and one bill. Nothing from her. Not that I expect her to write me here, even if it is the only mailing address she has for me. If she were by my side, she would chide me once again for not checking the mail on the way in. I'd always forgotten to do that; she always remembered. I've changed since then, but whenever I make this trip, it seems a ritual for me to do it the old way again.
With mail in hand, I leave the building. Heading to my car I think to myself, yesterday was Friday. I haven't gone to Friday prayers in a long time. Maybe I'll go this week.
I think I'll have Chinese for dinner tonight. As usual.
There's four keys that I know of that would open that door. I haven't seen the landlord in person since I left; I deal with her through mail. And I rather doubt I'll be bumping into him anytime. But how I wish I could see that other key again someday.
A Crazy World
I don't see them. I've been waiting here at least half an hour. Been preparing at least two hours.
Maybe I'm just not good at this. Haven't really had too much practice. Father was a boozer; used to hit Mom. He finally left; she couldn't take care of us. Got put into foster care. Foster parents were alright. But I never really got over it.
Maybe I'm not doing it right. Tried the harder liquors, but some of them actually taste pretty alright. Can't have that. So I guess I'm stuck with this cheap beer stuff.
Pat my brown paper bag. Yeah, took one for the road.
Ok. The park bench then.
See, I did my research. There's lots of examples scattered around this park.
Maybe I should talk to one of them though.
What in the world would I say? Say, have you seen them? See them now? What's your secret?
Maybe I need to prepare longer. I mean, it's not like I was kicked out of that place across the street. It's just, the bartender was starting to stare at me. No, really, he was.
I think.
Yeah, I think, therefore I am!
Used to go to college. Engineering, would you believe that? Dropped out halfway through the third year. I'm not much of a problem-solver. I'm real good at disguising them though. And hiding from them.
Self-aware, I am.
Should be a real catch for the ladies.
Ok, maybe not now. I need quite a bit of freshening up. I may not be a swooner, but I can smarten up pretty good.
So what am I doing here you ask?
Lost my girlfriend? Nah. That happened after I dropped out of college. Coming to five years now. After her were a few casual and meaningless relationships. But that's ok. I'm not really looking right now.
Lost my job? No. Just on the annual sabbatical of sorts. I'm keeping myself busy with something temporary. At least, I'm trying to. I have good references, but I fear they'll have to let me go soon. My mind is just not into it.
Lost my apartment? No, I'm not homeless. My savings will hold me out for some time to come. I don't really need to work over the summer. Except that it keeps me busy.
Is there anything else one can lose? Anything important enough to drive one out here?
Didn't lose my wallet did I? No, no, it's still here. That's good. Lost it once. Was a pain getting everything straightened out.
Got my keys with me too. Means I don't have to sleep out here like some of these other guys.
Can't remember the last time I went camping. Was it ninth grade? Yeah, I think that was it.
This wouldn't be camping though.
So I haven't really lost anything. I'm not out here because I have nowhere else to go. Or because I'm so depressed with my life. Didn't lose anything so important that it's loss would drive me out here. Not in a desperate situation.
Or am I?
Ok, maybe I am depressed.
Lost my mind? Maybe. Just maybe.
What am I doing out here?
Just having an evening nightcap. Or two. A dozen? No. Surely not that much. To be honest, I wasn't really keeping count. I just kept sending for more. Not like I knew what I was doing.
What do I know?
It's a crazy world.
Has to be. What does being the good guy get you? Just hurt and misery. There's some satisfaction in doing good. But then the world has to slam you with something bad. That's my experience. I'm not being overly pessimistic. I have always tried to look on the bright side of things. Tried to be positive. But this last one...
Just a small piece of metal, moving so fast you see its work before you notice it. Commanding the attention of all spectators, drilling through the air. It flew, and left its mark. Shattering my optimism. And more.
That moment is etched in my consciousness. In the history book of my life, that moment fills a chapter.
It is the knockout blow that floors me, leaving me dazed, unsure about where I am and what I am doing. Every hit before that I could recover from. Every set-back the world dealt me, I could eventually understand. Not this; there is no understanding this.
He was just trying to do the right thing. The tank at the back of the classroom had shattered. She was just standing there, staring into the broken tank, staring at the class' pet lizard. There were small cuts on the backs of her arms; she had been hit by broken glass, but she did not notice. She was fixated on the lizard, not caring about the drama that continued in the rest of the classroom. He saw her standing there, not crouching down like everyone else. Forgotten were the screams of the other children.
She was too far from me. My shouts failed to rouse her. And he noticed that too.
So did the shooter.
So what did he do? He did the good thing. He tried to help. He was a lot closer to her than the teacher, and the teacher looked worried about her just standing there. I don't know how he did it. But he did. He just acted. Ran between the desks. Ran straight for her.
And the shooter did the sanest thing a crazy man would do. He shot at the moving target.
The bullet did its job very well; too well. Two bodies fell to the floor; a boy's and a girl's.
He was being the good guy. I would have done the same. Except she was too far from me, and I was on the wrong side of the teacher's desk.
I should open up to the counselor more. I'm having fantasies about her. That can't be good. Maybe I should tell her that. She's a grief counselor, not a full-fledged shrink! Or are they the same thing? I should probably do some research.
Do I even have her number? I'm sure I could get it off someone.
Do us late-night park visitors use the trash cans? My paper bag is empty now. Better use the trash can.
Still don't see them.
Look to my left. No one there. Look to my right. Nothing. Just me and this bench.
Where are the pink elephants when you need them?
Maybe I'm just not good at this. Haven't really had too much practice. Father was a boozer; used to hit Mom. He finally left; she couldn't take care of us. Got put into foster care. Foster parents were alright. But I never really got over it.
Maybe I'm not doing it right. Tried the harder liquors, but some of them actually taste pretty alright. Can't have that. So I guess I'm stuck with this cheap beer stuff.
Pat my brown paper bag. Yeah, took one for the road.
Ok. The park bench then.
See, I did my research. There's lots of examples scattered around this park.
Maybe I should talk to one of them though.
What in the world would I say? Say, have you seen them? See them now? What's your secret?
Maybe I need to prepare longer. I mean, it's not like I was kicked out of that place across the street. It's just, the bartender was starting to stare at me. No, really, he was.
I think.
Yeah, I think, therefore I am!
Used to go to college. Engineering, would you believe that? Dropped out halfway through the third year. I'm not much of a problem-solver. I'm real good at disguising them though. And hiding from them.
Self-aware, I am.
Should be a real catch for the ladies.
Ok, maybe not now. I need quite a bit of freshening up. I may not be a swooner, but I can smarten up pretty good.
So what am I doing here you ask?
Lost my girlfriend? Nah. That happened after I dropped out of college. Coming to five years now. After her were a few casual and meaningless relationships. But that's ok. I'm not really looking right now.
Lost my job? No. Just on the annual sabbatical of sorts. I'm keeping myself busy with something temporary. At least, I'm trying to. I have good references, but I fear they'll have to let me go soon. My mind is just not into it.
Lost my apartment? No, I'm not homeless. My savings will hold me out for some time to come. I don't really need to work over the summer. Except that it keeps me busy.
Is there anything else one can lose? Anything important enough to drive one out here?
Didn't lose my wallet did I? No, no, it's still here. That's good. Lost it once. Was a pain getting everything straightened out.
Got my keys with me too. Means I don't have to sleep out here like some of these other guys.
Can't remember the last time I went camping. Was it ninth grade? Yeah, I think that was it.
This wouldn't be camping though.
So I haven't really lost anything. I'm not out here because I have nowhere else to go. Or because I'm so depressed with my life. Didn't lose anything so important that it's loss would drive me out here. Not in a desperate situation.
Or am I?
Ok, maybe I am depressed.
Lost my mind? Maybe. Just maybe.
What am I doing out here?
Just having an evening nightcap. Or two. A dozen? No. Surely not that much. To be honest, I wasn't really keeping count. I just kept sending for more. Not like I knew what I was doing.
What do I know?
It's a crazy world.
Has to be. What does being the good guy get you? Just hurt and misery. There's some satisfaction in doing good. But then the world has to slam you with something bad. That's my experience. I'm not being overly pessimistic. I have always tried to look on the bright side of things. Tried to be positive. But this last one...
Just a small piece of metal, moving so fast you see its work before you notice it. Commanding the attention of all spectators, drilling through the air. It flew, and left its mark. Shattering my optimism. And more.
That moment is etched in my consciousness. In the history book of my life, that moment fills a chapter.
It is the knockout blow that floors me, leaving me dazed, unsure about where I am and what I am doing. Every hit before that I could recover from. Every set-back the world dealt me, I could eventually understand. Not this; there is no understanding this.
He was just trying to do the right thing. The tank at the back of the classroom had shattered. She was just standing there, staring into the broken tank, staring at the class' pet lizard. There were small cuts on the backs of her arms; she had been hit by broken glass, but she did not notice. She was fixated on the lizard, not caring about the drama that continued in the rest of the classroom. He saw her standing there, not crouching down like everyone else. Forgotten were the screams of the other children.
She was too far from me. My shouts failed to rouse her. And he noticed that too.
So did the shooter.
So what did he do? He did the good thing. He tried to help. He was a lot closer to her than the teacher, and the teacher looked worried about her just standing there. I don't know how he did it. But he did. He just acted. Ran between the desks. Ran straight for her.
And the shooter did the sanest thing a crazy man would do. He shot at the moving target.
The bullet did its job very well; too well. Two bodies fell to the floor; a boy's and a girl's.
He was being the good guy. I would have done the same. Except she was too far from me, and I was on the wrong side of the teacher's desk.
I should open up to the counselor more. I'm having fantasies about her. That can't be good. Maybe I should tell her that. She's a grief counselor, not a full-fledged shrink! Or are they the same thing? I should probably do some research.
Do I even have her number? I'm sure I could get it off someone.
Do us late-night park visitors use the trash cans? My paper bag is empty now. Better use the trash can.
Still don't see them.
Look to my left. No one there. Look to my right. Nothing. Just me and this bench.
Where are the pink elephants when you need them?
19 August 2009
Time to start sharing the first stories
Over a decade ago, I joined in the masses in creating a personal webpage at GeoCities, a free webhosting site that had just popped up on the scene of the still-new World Wide Web. I didn’t know why I did it, except that it was a popular thing to do. In those early days, GeoCities was organized into Neighbourhoods, which were meant to be themed sub-addresses of the whole GeoCities concept. There wasn’t such a wide selection at first, and my natural interests led me to an Area51 address.
I was stumped when I first sat down to “design” my website. I didn’t know what I wanted to put up, so I went along with my interests. I wrote something about games, both PC games and RPG’s, and had some links. A couple of years later, though, I put my site to another use. By this time GeoCities was already declining in popularity. And of course, I didn’t have an audience for my website. But it felt good to share. To put something out there.
So when I wrote, naturally, I shared. I posted my short stories on my website. Later, I would proudly point acquaintances to my website, not to show off any design skills, but just to say, “Hey, I have a website, and I’ve shared some of my writing there.” There weren’t many stories, since I didn’t nurture that side of me, but they were there.
Yahoo! is now closing GeoCities, a relic of the old Internet. People have moved on to cheap web hosting, self hosting, or – as I have – blogs.
I still feel that need. It doesn’t matter if I have an audience. I’ve always written just for me.
So here we go.
I was stumped when I first sat down to “design” my website. I didn’t know what I wanted to put up, so I went along with my interests. I wrote something about games, both PC games and RPG’s, and had some links. A couple of years later, though, I put my site to another use. By this time GeoCities was already declining in popularity. And of course, I didn’t have an audience for my website. But it felt good to share. To put something out there.
So when I wrote, naturally, I shared. I posted my short stories on my website. Later, I would proudly point acquaintances to my website, not to show off any design skills, but just to say, “Hey, I have a website, and I’ve shared some of my writing there.” There weren’t many stories, since I didn’t nurture that side of me, but they were there.
Yahoo! is now closing GeoCities, a relic of the old Internet. People have moved on to cheap web hosting, self hosting, or – as I have – blogs.
I still feel that need. It doesn’t matter if I have an audience. I’ve always written just for me.
So here we go.
17 August 2009
An Introduction to Self-RW
If you want to write, you must read. And that’s not just an axiom of life, referring to basic reading and writing skills. Anyone who aspires to be a writer, must first be a reader. Now, I wouldn’t call myself a “writer” (I hardly put enough effort into it), but I do enjoy writing. More precisely, I enjoy telling stories. I have all sorts of ideas floating around in my head, and when the right mood strikes me, I actually manage to “put pen to paper”, as it were, to transcribe these stories.
It’s a good thing, then, that I also enjoy reading. I’ve always enjoyed reading, ever since my grade school days. I may not have been a truly voracious reader, but I did borrow my fair share of books from the school library. As I grew older, I also borrowed books from friends, and bought an occasional copy from bookstores. Unfortunately, my reading habits tend to wax and wane, as I don’t buy nearly as many books as avid readers do.
Still, I continue to read, trying on different genres and media. And writing excites me still.
This blog intends to chronicle my adventures in reading and writing, and I hope it will inspire me to keep writing. I chose the name for this blog because it represents both what I hope to accomplish and my philosophy on the issue. I Read and I Write, and both I do for myself, to explore and to grow. And I am fully aware that what I Read influences and shapes me, while what I Write reveals me.
It’s a good thing, then, that I also enjoy reading. I’ve always enjoyed reading, ever since my grade school days. I may not have been a truly voracious reader, but I did borrow my fair share of books from the school library. As I grew older, I also borrowed books from friends, and bought an occasional copy from bookstores. Unfortunately, my reading habits tend to wax and wane, as I don’t buy nearly as many books as avid readers do.
Still, I continue to read, trying on different genres and media. And writing excites me still.
This blog intends to chronicle my adventures in reading and writing, and I hope it will inspire me to keep writing. I chose the name for this blog because it represents both what I hope to accomplish and my philosophy on the issue. I Read and I Write, and both I do for myself, to explore and to grow. And I am fully aware that what I Read influences and shapes me, while what I Write reveals me.
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