Solo Adventuring

 I have had a standing appointment nearly every Wednesday for almost 2 years now.  It is with a group of adventurers travelling a world in order to save it from those that wish to destroy the innocent and bring forth evil.  When people come together to play D&D, anything is possible.

We recently came to the end of a story arc the DM had composed for us.  Without access to his notes, I like to believe we loosely followed his plan and veered away from it only when it was most inconvenient to do so.

During a brief interlude, I thought about my character and what he might do after beating the big boss and before taking on any more challenges.  In his younger days Cordon Lindenbrook had seen his mother killed by hobgoblin forces.  He was unable to help her so he retreated into the shadows physically and emotionally.  So now he returns to a land controlled by his enemies to complete a chore he gave himself.

Before leaving the embattled capitol city of Springhill, he wandered around town until he found a small craftsman that could make a fancier version of his nation's ancient artifact. Cordon describes the belt as he wants it made instead of showing the Belt of Strength to the shopkeeper. He asks for a few additions to the design to draw a wandering eye more quickly. The edge will have silver thread wrapped around it. The buckle will have a circuit of gold thread surrounding it. Instead of an onyx, Cordon commissions a hunk of obsidian to be embedded in the material.

Cordon travels back to the village where he and his mother lived. He uses happy memories to hide the dread he feels. The last time he was here was the night his mother was slain by the hobgoblins. All that is left is demolished forests and destroyed homes covered in weeds. Deep in his former homeland, Cordon is aware of the presence of those watching him. This is no longer a Halfling nation. It is now a wasteland that belongs to the hobgoblin tribes. Cordon isn't sure exactly why he isn't being harassed by the interlopers, but he likes to think his confidence and sure stride is the source of their reluctance.

Upon reaching the outskirts of his former home village, Cordon finds the place he piled some of the larger stones from the bed of a nearby stream. He had run to escape the advance hobgoblin forces after his mother was killed but before they finished torturing her body. Her screams still echo in his mind to this day, more than 30 years after it happened.

Cordon had piled the stones as a marker of where he wished he had been able to bury his mother's remains. A clear spot where the babbling of the stream can be heard and is lightly shaded by leaves high in the trees. He kneels before them and closes his eyes. Over the sighs of the wind weaving through the foliage overhead and the soft twittering of birds in the distance, Cordon imagines hearing her laugh one more time. Before the tears forming in the corner of his eye can become large enough to fall, Cordon places his pack on the ground and extracts a simple box and a shovel. He uses the shovel to dig a hole slightly wider than the box and about two feet deeper than the box is tall.

Cordon picks up the box, his pack, and the shovel, and steps over to a nearby tree. He sits down and catches his breath for a moment. Two apples and a stale slice of bread find their way out of the pack and into the hungry worker. Once Cordon is relaxed, and aware of every set of eyes watching him, he opens the box to reveal it is empty. From his pack, the Halfling pulls out a belt that looks like it has been drawn directly from legends and tales instead of a worn traveler's pack.

With more reverence than an item from a common shop should be given, Cordon carefully folds the belt. The light flickering through the leaves above flashes off the threads of gold and silver embedded in the belt's material. As Cordon lifts the folded belt into the box, the light seems to be completely absorbed by the black stone on top of the folded fabric. The entire forest seems to hold its breath as the belt is lowered into the box and the lid is replaced.

Like a cleric taking an offering to an altar, Cordon carries the box to the hole he had dug. He lowers the box into the ground and uses his hands to shove the dirt over the hole. He carefully spreads the loosened soil around to disguise the former hole. Careful placement of some foliage from nearby camouflages the signs of his work.

The sun gets closer to the horizon and Cordon steps into the growing shadows of the forest. He knows the hidden figures that had been watching him are now more interested in what he has left behind. This is exactly what he had hoped for.

Using the skills he had developed during his recent adventures, Cordon vanishes into the undergrowth. Blended in with the darkness, he watches the area around the piled rocks carefully. An arrow is knocked and he is ready to draw the bow's string in less than a heartbeat if anything moves towards the box he buried.

The sun finally sets and the area grows completely dark. Unable to see anything in the darkness, Cordon stealthily backs away and begins his return journey to Springhill. When he feels like he is safe from any pending attacks, Cordon opens up his cloak. His hand brushes the onyx stone on the belt he wears as he checks the placement of the ancient dagger clipped to the belt.

Cordon knows he will never have a home or family as most people know it. On the other hand, he did have some fun adventures with some recent companions. More chances to kill hobgoblins and gain a little coin will always be welcome. While Cordon has vowed to never become emotionally attached to anyone again, he is aware of the value of his companions and their skills. There is an old adage about new friends, old friends, silver, and gold. Cordon can't remember the exact wording but wants to experience more of the world and collect as much of each of them as he can.

I will admit, some of the details of this story will only be known to the Darling Brothers Entertainment Extravaganza and Friends.  Still, I am hoping this is the first of many tales of their adventures, either alone or together.

Technomancy

In many areas, high technology and magic use seem to be mutually exclusive.  The two contrast each other so much, rarely are the featured together.  There are some exceptions of course.  The Harry Dresden books by Jim Butcher is the first example to come to my mind.  However, this has magic as an underground ability that exists in the shadows of modern life.  In these books, technology fails to work around power magic.

What if this didn't have to be?  What if magic and technology could coexist?  Like any other tale of the modern world, this would include people trying to do wrong with their skills and abilities and others trying to find and stop the evildoers.

One of these days I will learn not to answer my phone when the caller ID tells me it is the local PD on the other end.  I have no problems with law enforcement and they don't have any problems with me.  It's the tremendous amount of work that always follows one of those calls and the torturous bureaucratic chain of hoops I have to leap through in order to get paid for that work.  I am grateful for the pay since my public service clients are just barely enough to cover my costs in a good month, but investigating and consulting for the Police is so much more involved than locating the occasional missing husband or lifting an ancient curse that may or may not have been placed on a household.

I get out of my own head as I get near the address Detective Anderson had given me.  It was impossible to pull up to the front door of the building through the array of Police cars parked up and down the block and the yellow Crime Scene tape strung across the sidewalk.  Instead, I park in an alley around the corner.  Getting out, I activate the alarm and wave my hand to activate the magical wards.  Like the alarm, the wards wouldn't stop anyone from stealing my car, but would notify me and any other magic user in the area if someone tried.  In that case, other little tricks and spells I had in place would help me track the thief and teach them a little lesson at the same time.  The additions I made weren't exactly factory approved and would void any warranty and insurance policies, but I fee; better with them in place.  With the car protected, I nod and turn towards the street and start walking to the officers guarding the yellow tape as though it is the most precious material in the world.

The officer sees me coming and makes sure I am aware he sees me.  When I get within a few steps, he tries to puff up but doesn't seem any more impressive.  He puts a hand out to stop me in my tracks.  "You will have to find a way around.  This is a crime scene and nobody is allowed to enter."

This guy must be new to the Force.  It doesn't take long for me to become known to any officer on the job for more than six months.  With the types of cases I get called for, none of them forget me after we have met.  I keep my hands behind my back and move my fingers in a familiar yet complicated sequence.  A mote of light nearly invisible in the bright sun of the day appears and floats behind me.  A quick mental command sends it quickly far above my head and over the officer in front of me.  Quicker than he could blink, the mote of light is behind him and in the building, seeking out the target I had sent it after.

I stop and stand before the officer with my hands behind my back.  I don't puff up like he did, but I know I can easily take care of myself if the need arises.  There is no need to look more impressive with the energies I have at my command.  "I won't be looking for another way around.  As a matter of fact, I will be walking past that tape and entering the building behind you in just a minute or two."

The officer is torn between confusion and confidence in his position.  He knows he shouldn't let anyone pass, but the authority in my words has him unsure about my identity as just a passing civilian.  Before his mind can settle itself, Detective Anderson comes up behind him and puts a hand on the officer's shoulder.  Despite its gruffness, his voice calmed the officer and his authority cleared up any confusion.  "Let her pass.  She is with me.  Also, learn her face, she will not be delayed any time she shows up at a crime scene."

The officer raises the crime scene tape above his head and gestures me through with a quick "Yes, sir."  I poorly hide my smile as I nod at him after ducking under the tape and walking towards the front door with the chubby detective.

Anderson shakes his head as we walk side by side.  "I keep telling you that you need to get yourself an official license.  Then we could avoid moments like this every time some rookie is on duty."

I no longer try to hide my smile and let it stretch across my face.  "We've done this enough times, you know I won't ever get a government-issued badge as PD Mage.  It would cause too many issues with my side projects.  I also don't like the idea of someone remotely watching every little spell I cast.  Besides, that rookie will remember me more now than if I had just flashed some fancy piece of metal."

Anderson's voice loses all of the authority it had when speaking to the officer.  "I know all of that.  I just want to avoid the need for you to use that damn little wisp thing.  It creeps me out every time it buzzes in and whispers your name in my ear.  Give me the shivers every single time."

I chuckle as another officer opens the doors in front of us and Detective Anderson and I enter a large lobby.  "It's a sprite, not a wisp.  You wouldn't want me to summon a wisp and send it in your direction, trust me."

Anderson doesn't appear to be relieved by my clarification.  "They are all creepy critters to me.  You can give me a detailed lesson later.  Right now, we need to discuss why you are here."

I look away from Anderson and take in the lobby around us.  My first impression was that we were in the front room of a classic theater.  It took me a moment to realize we were in a bank instead.  Velvet ropes on gold plated stands for herding customers to the counter in the middle of the space where tellers would normally be waiting.  A number of desks sit behind a short wall to one side.  A hallway extends to unknown recesses opposite the enclosed desks.  A single door sits in the wall behind the teller counter directly across from the front doors.  Two officers, one to each side, stand watching over the door.

"I'm guessing someone robbed the bank and you want me to help you figure out how."

"The how is fairly easy to figure out.  The bank's cameras caught the whole thing.  What we need your help with is the who."

"If the cameras caught everything, why do you even need my help at all."

"It's because of what the cameras saw that we need your help.  Just three figures walking through the lobby full of customers and past the open door to the vault.  There two of them stand and wait while the third one walks through the vault door."

"I'm still confused as to why you need me.  Cameras see the figures and a lobby full of people?  What is the mystery here?"

"On the cameras the figures are nothing more than white blurs.  Almost like walking blobs of static.  None of the customers or employees saw anyone at all.  None of them could give any kind of description because they couldn't see anyone at all."

"So your perps used an invisibility spell or artifact.  The people here would be unable to see them and the visual distortion would be projected to the camera system.  Only a practiced Viewer here at the time would be able to see them.  Well, what about when they opened the vault door?  Did they leave any fingerprints or DNA or anything?"

Anderson waves the officers away as he opens the door to the vault room.  "That's just it, the suspect didn't open the vault door.  He or she walked THROUGH it while it was still closed and opened it for their accomplices from the inside.  This despite a mild electrical current being run through it and layers of wards on each side."

You take a good look at the oversized round metal door and skim over the protective runes engraved on it.  "That does complicate things a bit.  I understand now why you called me."

What would you do if you could control both magic and technology?  Would you do good or evil?  Would you help people or keep your abilities to yourself?

Guard Duty

Aspects of this story have been plaguing my mind for about half of my life.  While this particular scene takes place deep underground, I have a specific physical location in mind.  There are still many aspects of the story itself still missing, but I believe I have one major character and a starting location all sorted out.

I sit here on my throne, at least that's what I consider it. It's truly little more than a stone that happens to be the right height for me to sit on comfortably and offer my aged back some support. On cold days, I am not above placing a couple layers of skins on the seat. Just to keep the cold stone from sapping too much of my strength, not out of a desire for padding. My time here is one of duty, comfort has no place when discharging a responsibility.

Here, I watch. Here, I observe the happenings around the world. Here I sit and see all that is to be seen and contemplate how I would go about solving the problems of society. There are many things I could do to solve those problems. Things I could move. People I could assist. Other people I could eliminate entirely. So many things I could do to solve all the problems there are and everyone alive would be better off afterwards. However, I am not permitted to do so until the time is right.

Such are my orders. Orders that were given to me at the same time as the powers I now possess. Powers that are granted by the very crystal that I now watch over. Powers that would forever solve humanity's problems, if the person wielding them didn't mind becoming the subject of adoration of hundreds of thousands of people and the hatred of millions more. Such is the reasoning of those that instructed him when he first accepted his post. Now, he just sits and watches the world go by without acknowledging his existence. Just as he likes it.

Not for the first time, I look around this place that has been my home for far too many lifetimes to count. It is a large underground chasm with more open space inside that many cathedrals. My chair sits on a 10 foot high ledge at one end of it. Along each side in front of me is two rows of statues. Four of them to each side, all facing towards each other. The statues are of humans wearing majestic hooded robes. From the area the robes pool around their feet to the top of their hoods is easily 20 feet. The faces on the statues all appear similar, but I have looked each of them over enough times to know the differences between the individuals. To a casual observer, the different figures would appear to be close cousins. After such a long time in the company of these stone-faced individuals, I know how unrelated they really are.

On the floor of the cavern, between the statues, is the only source of light I have had for my entire time here. It is a giant crystal that shines bright enough that I think the sun would seem pale in comparison, should I ever see it directly again. This crystal was created by the people that assigned me to sit here and watch. The same people that made the statues that stand in observance with me around the crystal. They imbued the crystal with its power and created it to continue to collect power over time. For generations I have sat here and watched it gather the light energy of life itself. I will continue to do so until the timing is right and the power is ready to be released, however many more generations that will take.

The Reason Behind the Hunt

So many heroes are motivated by tragedy.  The main character of my current works in progress is no exception.  He decided to hunt Demons after watching his mother die.  While I work through and touch up my first draft, here is what you might call my hero's origin story.

I still haven't settled on a name for him yet.  In the meantime, I use "SonHunter" as a placeholder.

SonHunter had taken his pregnant wife and first two daughters to a local festival to boost the town's morale in the face of the Demon threat. A celebration to remind everyone of the days before Demons brought humanity down through fear and random destruction. His mother had been feeling ill and decided to stay home. He was never sure if she was truly ill or that was part of the Demon's plan to get her alone.

SonHunter was walking with his wife and children when the screaming started. He hurried his wife and children along so he could get them safely into the house before investigating the source of the suffering sounds. It was only when he saw the flames licking at the sky behind the house his family shared with his parents that he became truly afraid. He began running, ignoring the words of his pregnant wife and cries of his frightened young daughters.

SonHunter reached the field behind the house to see his mother's body completely engulfed in flames. Her clothes nothing but ash floating in the air as the Omega Demon stood nearby, laughing as the last breath of life left the woman. SonHunter reached into his pocket and grasped the crystal he kept there in case of emergencies without breaking his running stride. A primal roar of rage came out of him as he charged at the Demon. “You foul beast from Hell! What have you done?”

The Demon turned at his words and raised one hand. It seemed to grin as it snapped its fingers. SonHunter suddenly found himself frozen in place, mid-stride in his run at revenge. The Demon licked its lips in anticipation of more fun as it looked SonHunter up and down. Its attention wandered only when the sound of the cries of SonHunter's daughters came around the corner of the house, closely followed by the two girls with tears streaming down their faces clinging to their mother's hands.

The Demon turned to look at the new arrivals. SonHunter had never heard of any Demons speaking out loud until that moment. “Ah, even sweeter little things to play with.”

The fury in SonHunter began to build and rise. His vision tunneled in on the Demon, blanking out the rest of the world. He tried to force his limbs to move. Pressing against the Demon's imposed paralysis with every ounce of will he had. He had lost his mother. He refused to lose his wife and children as well. Not today, not now, not ever.

With another roar that seemed to shock the Earth itself with its ferocity, SonHunter shattered the spell the Demon had him under. He charged once again at the figure of evil and torture. The Demon's face was locked into a look of shock right up to the moment SonHunter thrust the crystal at its chest. The shock momentarily became pain before disappearing completely in the flash of light that signified a Demon's capture.

SonHunter's wife stood frozen in place, as though the Demon's spell had hit her when he broke free of it. The girls, his own daughters, cowered in fear behind her legs. Peering around their mother at the previously enraged form of their father. Fresh tears now flowing down their faces.

SonHunter took a step towards them. They all stepped back as one. He turned and walked towards the flaming remains of the bonfire and his own mother. Tears flowed down his own face. Tears from the heat of the nearby flames. Tears from the sudden loss of his mother. Tears from the reactions of his wife and children. Tears of a lack of hope for future happiness. On his face, he could feel a pair of cool streaks in the heat still radiating from the deadly fire.

Do you think anything more can be added to help the story along?  Do you have a suggestion for my main character's name?

Novel Demons

National Novel Writing Month is in full swing.  This year I am doing a story based on an idea that has been in my mind for a very long time.  I have even written a few blog posts about it.  This year's book takes place in a world where Demons have emerged and special individuals, Hunters, try and protect humanity.  A number of aspects have changed since I first came up with the idea.  Today's post is an excerpt from the work in progress.

Demon from Hell. You have come unbidden to this Earth. Your presence in this town and on this plane of existence is undesirable. I have come to banish you and end the pain you and your kind have brought forth.”

The Demon just laughs. The sound lacks anything close to mirth as far as SonHunter knows it. The sound of the Demon's joy echoing off the walls of the hall fills SonHunter with dread. The sense of evil in that simple noise is enough to bring most people to their knees. It is a something SonHunter had heard before, but still causes him the same emotional pain as it did the first time.

The ember on the end of the Demon's cigarette glows more brightly as it takes a drag. Then it speaks with a voice that sounds like rocks tumbling in a deep grave. “You silly humans and your rituals. Weekly gatherings where you read from some dusty old tome. Phrases are said and replied to. None of it does any good, really. Candles, robes, all that fancy décor. And all of it asking for favors from some deity that may or may not be listening.

“Is it really any wonder so many of you follow my kind when we make our offers? You will believe in anything, even if you know it's wrong to do so. Just give you a tempting enough offer from someone in front of you, and you will give up on generations of worship.”

The Omega Demon takes another drag off its cigarette and lift one hand straight out. It snaps its fingers and the shades drawn over the hall's windows all fly up. The room is filled with light. All of the seated shadows are now revealed to be the residents of the town. They all sit still as statues, their eyes tracking the Demon as it strolls back and forth across the stage.

SonHunter can now clearly see the Demon. Its skin is as red as blood. This particular Omega has the body of an athlete and is naked from head to toe and almost six feet tall, minus the horns. Every Omega Demon looks the same, except for the horns. This Demon's horns curve back from high on its forehead. The seem to lay across the beast's bald head. The black horns come to sharp points near the back of its head.

SonHunter grabs two crystals from his pocket. He selects, by touch, two of the larger ones to allow for a quicker capture of the Demon once he gets close enough. He grips the crystals tightly, one in each hand. “Demon, hear me and answer me true. What have you done to these people? Why have you trapped them in this place?”

“I have done nothing to them. They have done it to themselves. I just came to town and made each of them an offer. Those that accepted, now sit here. Those that didn't spread word of my legend to other towns and villages.”

As the Demon speaks, SonHunter gets a closer look at his cigarette. He realizes it isn't a bundle of tobacco wrapped in paper. It is a small, burning bone. He can't tell what part of the body it may be from, or if it is even a human bone. All that is clear is that the Demon is breathing in on one end of a bone as the other end smolders. The Demon takes another drag as he continues to smile and taunt SonHunter.

“These people are just sitting here, waiting for me to make up my mind. I haven't decided if I want to make them kill themselves or go out and kill others as my bloody army. Either way, they are only doing what they chose to do by accepting my deal.”

This is still a very raw first draft.  Leave a comment and let me know what you think.

Demons Rising

For an eternity, I've been meaning to write the story about a world in which Demons are hunted and contained.  Ideas for this story crop up at random moments.  During work.  While eating dinner.  Laying down for a quiet evening.  Driving down the highway.  Rarely at a time I have the tools at hand to put words on the page.  Now I think it's time to try to advance the tale a little further.

It's been a decade since the first hole to Hell opened in the farmer's field.  Other portals have appeared in other locations.  All of them on the ground, but not all of them in areas as open as the first.  School children celebrated as their school fell into a chasm, then ran in fear as beasts began to emerge.  City traffic, an entire freeway, had to be diverted when a support for an overpass fell below the surface of the Earth.

In all, 182 gaping portals opened between the Earth and whatever world the Demons came from.  13 gigantic chasms in various locations around the world with 13 smaller holes around each one.  From constant monitoring it was revealed that size did matter.  Smaller demonic imps and figures crawled from the smaller holes, while titanic, horrific, monstrous beasts erupted from the larger holes.

Over the decade that passed, many technologies were lost.  The Demons tore down cell towers in their rampages.  Power plants were irreparably damaged.  Corporate headquarters fell to the ground as the office buildings that housed them were toppled by demonic claws and extreme strength.  Humanity was pushed back nearly to the Iron Age of civilization.

However, at the same time a new "technology" was developed.  It was discovered by accident that the Demons were susceptible to certain minerals placed in a specific lattice structure.  Crystals.  The Demons could be fought and trapped in crystals.  In this aspect, size didn't matter.  A demon of any size could be captured in a crystal small enough to fit in the palm of a person's hand.  All that was required was someone brave and strong enough to get close enough to a Demon to touch them with the crystal.  This was easily accomplished where the smaller imps were concerned.  Trapping one of the larger Demons was much more difficult.  This is how the Hunters came to be.

What do you think a side effect of approaching the Demons could be?  Should the Hunters have extra abilities or just be gutsier than an average person?  Comment and let me know.

A Dark Beginning

A story that has been stuck in my head for a long time takes place in a world that is battling and capturing demons.  Demons that cause chaos and confusion by possessing people and influencing them for their own foul intentions.  I have posted about this story idea before, although I haven't really worked out much of the tale itself.

Here, today, I have worked on something that could possibly be the emergence of the world in which the story takes place.

The legend had been passed on for generations. Fathers had told it to their children at bed time. Bards had entertained taverns full of drunks with songs based on the tale. Scribes had copied endless books whose pages were filled with the words of the legend. Everyone knew the story of the legend, even if they didn't always agree on the details. The legend continued to live on far longer than anyone that had taken place in the event that inspired it. Still, the story continued to be told and passed from generation to generation.

Like many great stories, big and small, this legend began in a tavern after a few drinks. A group of companions from a distant land had stopped for a hot meal and good night's rest. How many in the group and where they came from varied from telling to telling. They were just finishing their dinner and contemplating climbing the stairs to their rooms when a local farmer burst through the door. His hair was singed and his clothing had oddly shaped burn marks on it. He was coated in sweat despite the cool night air. He uttered one single word before collapsing on the floor. This word remained the same, regardless of who was speaking the legend.

“Hellfire!”

The waitress, who was also the farmer's wife, dropped her tray of tankards and hurried to his limp form on the floor. With patience and a calm that was exceptional at the time, she checked him for injuries and began belting out demands. She ordered a handful of regular customers to their home to check on her children. Two others she sent to the village apothecary for specific herbs to treat her husband's burns.

This wasn't the season for travelers so there were a number of empty rooms in the inn above the tavern. With a look at the building's owner standing behind the bar, the waitress nods upward. Her eyes pleading as her lips contain the fearful screams and mournful groans she wants to release. He gives a nod of acknowledgment. She grabs the hand of the largest man in the tavern and asks him to help her move the unconscious form of her beloved husband. The two of them carefully transport the farmer upstairs to an empty room and lay him down on the bed. There, the wife continues her treatments as the medicines she requested arrive.

The men sent to the farm return to the tavern s the wife finishes her ministrations and collapses in a nearby chair. She waits patiently and watches for any changes in his condition as the rest of the story unfolds in the large room beneath her. The different versions of the legend vary in regards to the exact words used to describe what the group found at the farm. However, they all agree on the general conditions at the farm.

The farmer's plow lay on its side, charred and broken. All that remained of the plow horse was the back half of a smoking skeleton and the foul smell of burned flesh in the air. The front half of the animal had vanished down a deep chasm that dropped far below the turned soil. The pit had opened in front of the farmer as he prepared his land for the planting of his crops.

The walls of the pit glowed with shifting and moving reds and oranges. As though they were made of living flames. The bottom of the pit couldn't be seen. Just more menacing light the further down one looked. One of the villagers tossed a rock into the pit in order to listen for it to hit bottom and gauge its depth. There was no answering crack of stone on stone. Instead, a bestial roar echoed up and caused the villagers to all leap back from the edge of the pit. All of this was relayed by the breathless folks that had been tasked with investigating the farm. Their words mingling as the tale moved from mouth to mouth.

Days passed. The farmer remained in a deep slumber despite his wife's nursing. He neither improved nor weakened. His burns were slow to heal, but showed no signs of infection. The hole in the field was being watched over constantly. There were only two changes in the field. A cloud of smoke began to emerge from the depths of the pit. Over time the smoke thickened and darkened. What, at first, was faint white wisps evolved into a thick column of black so dark it seemed to suck in all the light around. The smoke could be seen at night. Its darkness being so much deeper than a moonless sky.

The other change was a matter of sound. The initial roar that sounded after the rock was tossed in started a reaction. Numerous guttural growls and grumbling roars followed. As the days wore on, the number of voices and volume of each increased. Mixed in with the beastly sounds were occasional words and phrases. Nobody, not even the village scholar, was able to interpret the language being spoken.

At midnight of the 6^th day, something finally happened. A hand the size of a cart wheel with sharp ebony claws and rippling skin slammed down on the rim of the pit. A second clawed hand quickly appeared next to it. A roar louder than any heard before accompanied the emergence from the smoke of a head that could only be described as demonic. As the rest of the beast's body rose from the cavernous pit, numerous impish figures quickly scampered to the surface around the large figure. The imps chittered to each other as the demon rose to a height more than the largest house in the village. The beast stretched and took in its surroundings.

According to the legends, the injured farmer's eyes opened the same instant the hand slammed against the ground. His wife had been checking his bandages when she saw his eyelids flutter open. She would always insist that the eyes of the man she had fallen in love with were different in that moment. They seemed to glow with a light that defied the darkness outside. A pure light, of the clearest white. A clarity that she never knew could exist.

He sat up, the light from his eyes giving his face a faint glow. Once more, all the tellings of the legend agree on what words he spoke. “The war has begun.”

Where things go from here and how I introduce the rest of the inhabitants of this world will wait until another time.

Fidgeting and Spinning

Fidget spinners are the latest fad to invade practically every aspect of everyday life.  They have even reached into the realm of Reddit writing prompts.  Of course, more can be done with fictional fidget spinners than just giving them a whirl.

I wrote a short tale for one particular prompt that caught my eye.  If you don't want to open a new browser window or follow the link, the tale is below.

I've had many subscription boxes over the years. Random comics, toys, movie props, all kinds of things. My favorite box each month, the subscription I've maintained the longest, is from Fantastic Spintastic. Two or three fidget spinners each month. Metal ones, plastic, even a wood one now and then. All of them in different colors and more shapes than I would have originally imagined. I have spun them all. A few flashy ones, most of them average, but none of them particularly special in any way.

One month the box felt heavier than normal. My first thought was, “Bonus. Extra spinners this month.”

I tore off the outer packaging and slowly opened the inner box. There was just one spinner inside. After taking a good look at it, I could see why. It laid on a form fitted felt cushion inside the hard metallic box The middle grip was solid black and shined like metal but felt like soft rubber. It had four arms that appeared to be made of smooth gray stone. The entire thing had the feel of a brand new granite counter-top. Strange characters ran the length of each arm. They looked a little bit like runes shown in the fantasy novels I read and DnD games I like to play. I lifted the spinner out and noticed a symbol engraved on each tip. A clock, a drop, a lightning bolt, and a skull.

As I walked up my driveway from my mailbox to my front door, I gave the new spinner some slow experimental turns. It was a lot smoother and lighter to turn than its appearance suggested. Reaching out for the doorknob, I gave it a good spin to test its speed and duration.

The arms became a blur and the runes started glowing. There seemed to be a breeze growing and coming from between my fingers. A single note, like an opera singer holding an extended note, started to rise from my fingers. A sensation of low voltage electricity flowing from my hand and up my arm made me both excited and a little scared. This new spinner was getting better by the second.

I stopped the spinner as I opened my front door. The drop symbol faced away from me as it flashed. The next thing I knew, I was being washed off my porch and onto my front lawn by a cold tidal wave of water. I looked around from my unexpected position on my back in muddy grass. Everything in my yard was soaked. What I could see of my living room through the open door looked to be dry as a bone.

Of all the thoughts that ran through my head as I got up off the wet grass, two stood out the most. Picking up the spinner, I wondered what the lightning bolt and clock symbols might cause to happen. The other thought was a strong desire to not find out what happened if I stopped the spinner on the skull.

Is there a current or old fad that was guilty pleasure?

Ready to Rumble

There is the WWE, World Boxing Federation, the UFC, Lucha Underground, and many other leagues that feature combat for entertainment.  The combatants prepare themselves in different ways.  For today, I decided to enter the mind of one competitor before he enters the combat arena in a league that doesn't exist.....yet.

Here I sit. Getting myself prepared for what lies ahead. A battle. A fight for supremacy. A bout that will take every ounce of my power in order for me to be successful. I have been successful in similar situations before, but never with so much at stake. Victorious, and I will be the top of the heap. The best there is at what I do. Completely and officially. Until another comes along and tries to knock me down, that is.

I flex my fingers. I clench my fists. I can feel the energy coursing through my arms. It is aching to be released. I am aching to unleash it in a fury aimed at my opponent. I want him broken and beaten, begging for mercy on the floor. I want him looking up at me and knowing that I am his superior. I want to look him in the eyes and see his weakness and my strength reflected back at me. The problems lies in the fact he wants to see me the same way.

I have to fight smart. I must not let myself lose control. I don't know how my opponent may have prepared himself for my attacks. How he plans on defending himself from my onslaught. How he intends to on shattering my defenses and taking me down. Despite my urge to utterly destroy him quickly, I have to restrain myself. I have to prod and test his shields. I have to probe his defenses while keeping mine intact. As the power in every cell in my body rages at me to unleash it all in an animalistic attack, I must keep my mind focused and in control.

Mere seconds remain. I am alone in this locker room. The tools for my fight sit on the bench next to me. I gather them up as the music in the arena rises. The crowd adds their voices to the din. My blood begins to boil and my breath comes faster and harder. I start my walk to the arena and the combat pit in the middle of it. The brief time it takes to complete the few steps between the locker room door and the entryway into the arena feel like an entire mile walked in slow motion.

The music becomes louder and spikes a blast of notes. The spotlights of the arena focus on me as I emerge from the shadows. The entryway glows around me. The announcer's voice echoes over the cheers, applause, and stamping feet. Even the small amount of hisses and jeers sent my way are covered up by the volume of the PA system.

“Ladies and gentlemen! We have reached tonight's Main Event! It is for the ultimate title in the League. The most highly regarded title in the entire world. The challenger tonight Torgo the Black Blooded. The current champion is Christian of the Mighty Tower. Now, these two face each other for the title of Magus Suprema in the Wizarding Battle League!”

What kind of spells would you cast to protect yourself in a wizard battle?  Would you rather go on an all out attack and not worry about defense?  Would you want to see a battle live, or prefer to be safer and watch it on pay-per-view at home?

Wars

It seems like there has been war as long as there has been humanity.  Wars over the possession of land.  Wars to remove tyrants.  Wars to reclaim stolen fortunes or beautiful women.  Wars for food, or over religious tenants, or defending the rights of the people.  Whether or not is good for anything, war has been around forever.

With that in mind, it is understandable that two powerful figures would go to war between themselves at some point.  Today's story is about two powerful wizards that each create an army of their own and wage war against each other.

Flags flutter from the tops of tall poles.  Tents line each side of a field.  A field that was once covered in beautiful flowers.  Now it is full of craters and stains.  The grass is trampled and contains marks where bodies have been dragged away.  As the sun rises over the camps, a single figure stands before the largest tent on each side.

The figures begin chanting in an ancient language.  While their tones are similar, the words themselves are different.  They gesture and move their arms in similar yet varying fashions.  The chanted words begin to shape alter reality.  Air shimmers and shifts.  Wispy clouds overhead start building and becoming looming storms.  The ground itself moves underfoot as tremendous powers are flexed and released.

The ground in one camp rises more and more.  Small bumps become mounds.  The mounds form new, unnatural shapes.  Arms develop and muddy bases split into legs.  The humanoid piles of solid and grass begin to line up in ranks between their camp and the field.  Branches and twigs gather themselves into piles.  The piles become laid out in skeletal shapes.  Smaller pieces of wood form hands and fingers.  They grip wooden bows that form themselves in the palms of the developing archers.

The magic being wielded on the other side has a different effect.  Instead of rising up, here the ground splits open.  Skeletal hands of true bone reach out of the chasms and grasp the ground above.  With a grip as strong as Death itself, the multitude of hands grab the dirt and pull.  Arms of bone begin to emerge from the holes.  The arms are followed by torsos and heads as skeletal warriors of every type and size emerge ready to do battle.  Some have swords strapped to their thin waists.  Others have bows slung over their bare shoulder blades.  A few are dragging studded clubs on the ground as they lurch towards battle.

Silence echoes across the land as the wizards each complete their summoning spells.  Two unnatural armies face each other.  The minions of each side advance towards the field.  The commanding wizards stand and watch.  Looks of concentration on their respective faces.  Eyes darting from inhuman soldier to soldier.  Slow advances become rushing charges as each army fills the field of battle.

Suddenly, the one sound that could bring the entire conflict to a halt booms across the entire realm.

"Sam, honey.  It's time for dinner.  Come inside and clean up."

A child stands up, multiple figurines and toys at their feet.  "But Mom, I just started having fun."

"Dinner time is now.  You need to clean up and wash your hands.  If there is some light left, you can play more after you eat."

Did you ever play any war games as a child?  If so, what were some of your favorites?

The Source of Sorcery

Magic has been a part of fantasy stories for as long as humanity has been telling them.  From tales of mysticism during the Dark Ages to magic being wielded by superheroes in comic books and movies.  While the source of all the different magics varies, the common thread is that the user controls and shapes the energies to their will.  What if the source took a human form?  Would that person have a will of their own or would it be the will of the energy itself?  Would it be influenced by the wishes and desires of all the magic users?  How would that person be viewed by other people?

While I can't come up with all the answers today, I will do my best to answer that last question.  I have long thought about the conversation two wizards might have when confronted with a sorcerer that is literally the source of their power.

"Jack, you see that guy over there?"

"Which one?"

"The one leaning against the tree looking relaxed."

"Yeah, I see him.  Now that I look and really See him, there is something odd about him."

"Are you telling me you don't know who he is?"

"I feel like I should, but I don't."

"He's the One.  The true sorcerer.  The one living person that has been in The Chamber of The Ancients."

"No!  It can't be.  That is just an urban legend.  Nobody knows where that is.  That's where all the magical energy in the world comes from.  Legend tells us that the Life Crystal down there is what lets us cast the spells we do."

"Exactly.  The Ancients discovered it centuries ago and they were able to manipulate the massive wild energies found in that cavern into a crystal that could be controlled and manipulated.  Generations later those same Ancients sealed the cavern and crystal."

"Right.  It's said they saw magic being used too much and feared the energies would be drained for no reason.  From that day on magic vanished from the world, the battery removed before it could be drained.  I even heard there are giant statues of The Ancients down there, although nobody's ever seen them."

"Nobody but that guy over there.  I heard he was called to the desert and he fell asleep in the dirt.  When he awoke, he was in The Cavern.  The statues of the Ancients spoke to him.  They asked about the state of the world and the people in it.  Without any fear in his heart, he told them of the struggles and difficulties humanity faced.  The Crystal before him started to glow and he instantly knew what had to be done to bring magic back to the world.  The Crystal gave itself to him completely.  That's what I heard anyway."

"That can't be the same guy though.  He's too young.  He looks like he's barely older than my daughter.  The schools of magic were established a couple of decades ago, and magic had been reappearing in isolated spots long before that."

"If you didn't just wield power, but were the embodiment of power itself, do you think you would age much?"

"Probably not.  I still don't think that's him.  I See that he is in control of quite a bit of power, but I don't think he has that much."

"That's just it.  He doesn't have the power, he IS the power.  It doesn't flow through him, it comes directly from him in the form he wants it to be,"

"I still don't think so.  There is too much legend behind what he is supposed to have done for him to be just leaning against a tree in the middle of our town.  Now that I think about it, I don't remember a tree ever being right there before."

"Well, I guess we'll never know if it's him or not.  He's leaving.  Off to some grand adventure I'm sure.  Besides, you're right.  There wasn't a tree there before.  If you look, there isn't one there now either."

Comment below and let me know if you think magic entering our modern world would solve many of the problems we have, or make them worse.

A Supernatural Detective

In this modern time crime is ever-present and in all aspects of life.  Law enforcement organizations often have detectives that specialize in one type of crime or another.  Homicide detectives look into incidents of one person killing another.  Individuals of the narcotics division do their best to keep the streets safe from those that sell illegal drugs.  There is no reason why there couldn't be a department that focuses on crimes related to a world many don't believe exists.

Pulling a little from Jasper Fforde's Nursery Crimes Division novels, the Harry Dresden books of Jim Butcher, and numerous stories and tales of the Faerie Kingdom interacting with the modern world, I thought a little bit about a police detective that involved magic.  What tools would he use?  What kinds of evidence would he discover?  How would he track down and arrest suspects?

It was raining again.  Or still, I couldn't be sure.  This time of year an evening shower was to be expected.  This storm, however, seemed to be particularly oppressive.  My trenchcoat was quickly dripping water on my boots as I got out of my car.  I do my best to keep the falling water out of my eyes as I look up the height of the apartment building before me.  I had been called here to visit an apartment about halfway up, on the fifth floor.  I didn't know which window on that floor belonged to the room I needed to visit, but the shadows crossing one set of thin curtains seemed particularly active for such a dreary night.

I climbed the five flights of stairs despite the elevator in the lobby appeared to be working just fine.  With the types of law breakers I tended to chase, being contained in a box as it quickly rose dozens of feet above the ground wasn't an ideal place to be.  That and my general lack of exercise combined to make the ardous trek up the stairs a better option than the otherwise modern convenience of the elevator.

Stepping off the stairwell landing it was immediately obvious to me which apartment was the one where my presence was required.  The two street officers standing on each side of a door decorated with a single stripe of police tape were only slightly less of an indicator than a giant neon sign would have been.  My trained and finely tuned senses caused my skin to crawl and the hair on the back of my neck stand up straighter than a flagpole.  This told me the crime that took place was indeed one that required my talents.

I showed the officers my detective's badge as I pushed the apartment door open and walked in like I owned the place.  A hall stretched away in front of me with a door leading to a room on either side.  The other end of the hall opened to a larger room.  The flash of a camera and subdued conversation of the crime scene techs pulled me that direction.  Reaching the end of the hall I saw it opened to a kitchen and dining room on one side and cozy living room on the other.  The technicians were doing their best not to step on each other as they attempted to collect evidence around a body laying in the middle of the living room floor.

At a glance it appeared the unfortunate deceased was an older woman.  Without confirmation from a coroner, I would guess cause of death to be simply old age.  She looked like a dried out husk of a human being.  Her skin was wrinkled and her hair was splayed out on the floor in thick white strands like an angelic glow shining from behind her head.  What struck me as odd was her clothing.  I hadn't encountered many women in their 80s wearing the latest club scene fashions.

Looking around the room I could see a number of pictures of groups of young people and a few of a young couple smiling at the camera.  There was one person consistent in all of the images.  I supposed she was the victim's granddaughter or great-granddaughter.  She was attractive enough that I was almost tempted to go against my lifelong rule about not personally informing next of kin.  Almost.

I walked up to the head technician and looked at him knowingly.  "What do we have here Mickey?"

Mickey glanced my direction and opened his notebook.  "There were no signs of forced entry.  The landlord had to unlock the deadbolt and doorknob for an officer doing a wellness check requested by the resident's sister.  There are no indications of a struggle and the neighbors haven't heard anything from in here for days despite frequent guests in the past."

Mike turned the page in his notebook, glanced at the words, and looked me directly in the eyes as he recited the next set of facts.  "The coroner has come and gone.  He declared the cause of death to be heart attack due to advanced age and dehydration.  The victim has been identified as Genie McCallister.  A 23-year-old legal secretary at a firm downtown."

I blinked quickly at this last statement and looked again at the woman on the floor before me.  I would have estimated her age at no less than 70.  I honestly would have guessed at an age closer to 90.  There was no way anyone would have mistaken her for 23.  I changed my mind about the young woman that all the pictures around the room had in common.  It wasn't the resident's descendant, but the resident herself.

I reached into a deep pocket in the inside of my coat.  Fingering past several familiar shapes I grasped a smooth crystal and extracted it.  I then looked over at Mike and gave him a quick nod before stepping to the body and standing with my legs straddling over it.  I held the crystal out before me and started an ancient chant in a language that was considered dead before Latin became popular.

Mike gestured to the other technicians and started to walk back towards the hallway leading out.  "Come on boys, let's give the detective the room."

As I was left alone in the room with the deceased victim the crystal in my hands began to glow brightly and become cold in my grip.  I could feel an tingle in my spine as aetheral energies flowed through me and into the crystal, seeking out any residue that might be in the area.  As I watched figures and shapes began to rise from the crystal and take form.  They coalesced into the characters that made up the alphabet of magic itself.  While I didn't immediately recognize the words being formed of light in front of me, I could tell enough about them to determine their intended use.  It was a spell to draw the life force out of a being quickly, aging them decades in a matter of seconds.  As I couldn't see any part of the spell indicating a destination for the life force, I could only assume it was being stored somehow.

I ceased my chanting and held my pose until the crystal's glow faded away completely.  Putting it back into its pocket in my trenchcoat I exchanged it for a small tin containing a powder specially mixed for me by a friendly woman that happened to be the direct descendant of an Ancient Oracle.  Putting some of the powder in the palm of my hand I closed my eyes and pictured the letters I had just seen emerging from the crystal.  I opened my eyes and quickly looked at the powder.  Some of the silver components in it had migrated to one side of my palm.  This was the side that was facing towards the kitchen.

As I turned and moved towards the kitchen the silver in the powder shifted to point me towards a space between the small table and fridge.  The silver flecks in the powder centered themselves in my palm when I stepped behind one of the two chairs slid under the table.

I returned the powder to its tin and put it back in the deep inside pocket with the crystal.  I reached to the back pocket of my pants and withdrew a simple notepad with pen attached.  I opened it to a clean page and made a quick note of the date and address of the apartment building.

I once again closed my eyes and began a chant different than the one I spoke over Genie's body.  Instead of maintaining a flat tone, my voice rose as I came to the end of each phrase.  It could easily sound to anyone listening like I was asking a series of questions over and over.  This was amazingly accurate.  I raised one had into the air in front of me around the area the powder had indicated.  My other hand gripped the pen and held it against the page of my notebook.

My raised hand began to feel cooler and cooler as a field of snow appeared before my eyes.  A set of strange footprints led towards some barren trees nearby.  In the distance was a familiar castle built entirely of ice.  The pen in my other hand began to make a series of marks on the paper.  Nothing like the characters that the crystal generated earlier, these marks were much more organic in appearance.

After a minute I stopped my mysterious questioning and opened my eyes.  The snowy field vanished instantly and I could once again see the walls of the apartment.  My raised hand warmed to room temperature quickly and I closed my notebook before replacing it in my back pocket.

I now had the first few things I needed to figure out who had invaded Genie's apartment and taken her life force.  They had opened a portal to the Winter Realms of the Fae Kingdoms and strolled right through.  The marks I made in my notebook indicated the energy used opening the portal was from a middle level resident of the Kingdoms.  Now I only needed to compare the marks to a few records and ask a few friends form the other side of the Veil to narrow down the list of suspects.

Do you think Law and Order: Faerie Kingdoms could become a thing?

Game Time

Between spending time with my sons, working full time, various writing projects, and all the other things life throws around, I still manage to find some time to myself to enjoy a little time playing video games.  One game I enjoy playing is Final Fantasy XIV.  Adventurers travel all the lands of Eorzea fighting in dungeons and battling foes to protect the citizens from evil forces.

Like other games in the Final Fantasy franchise, this version includes the popular Chocobo.  Usually the large bird is a utility used as a mount.  Very rarely is much of the story told from the Chcobo's point of view.  I thought it was time for this to change.

I see these as being tales told to other chocobos in the stables at the end of each day's travels.

I am so excited. My day has finally come. I have been given a partner to travel and explore this wide world in which we live. I see all the different types of peoples that visit the fields near our home. Tall muscular fighters that nearly have to duck to enter the stables. Short folks that can hide from sight in tall bushes and barely reach my knees. They all travel about protecting others, fighting monsters, and collecting materials for their various crafts. Now I can travel with someone and do all of this along with them. Wait. I hear the whistle made for my new partner. KWEH! Off to start my adventures.

I spent most of the day running through the woods with my new partner. He is a small person that uses mystical energies rather than steel weapons. I could have not asked for a more perfect rider. As we moved between the trees I could see some people fighting smaller monsters. Beasts too weak for my partner to be bothered with. Some people were fighting these monsters to keep them away from the nearby city. We rode to a village filled with people even smaller than my rider. They were so short, their feet didn't touch the ground. They just floated around with their wings fluttering. We crossed through the village and approached another forest filled with larger beasts and walking trees. I will admit I am a little glad my partner dismounted and sent me away before fighting anything there.

My partner got some clothing for me. He calls it “barding.” What I have now is simple and decorated in the colors and symbols of the nation he has been helping lately. He has promised me more barding in different styles and patterns. I can't wait.

Cold. Today was a journey in an area that was very cold. Mountains soared into the sky. Stone towers rivaled them in height. Beasts here come in both large and small sizes. Fortunately, I am much faster than the large lizards that roam the area. Some of them tried to come after us, but I was able to keep us safe until we entered the brick city that had been established a long time ago. Some of the walls of the city looked damaged, but it was still safer than the castle nearby that had been taken over by beasts and dragons.

Today's adventure was both exciting and intense. I was given a treat of gysahl greens. With a gift like this, I expected to carry my partner from one end of the world to the other. However, this time he didn't hop into the saddle for a ride. Instead I fought alongside him to beat many, many evil monsters. It was very scary at first, but I couldn't leave my partner alone when he had so much faith in my skills. KWEH! I learned a new kick to use the next time I'm asked to fight. Despite my fears at first, I can't wait to beat more monsters and learn more combat skills. Maybe I will even learn some tricks to help my partner by more than just fighting.

These last few days has been extremely busy. We traveled from area to area, region to region, and nation to nation. We fought evil troops that came with magitek defensive units, a behemoth, numerous goblins and evil sylphs, and more fish men than I care to count. We traveled to the ocean, visited a region full of giant crystals, and cruised across a giant desert. While I truly enjoy my time with my partner, I wouldn't mind if he got a new mount so I could get a little rest. Maybe one of those flying things with one eye could carry him around for a bit.

Now, where did I leave my controller.  Ramuh has offered up a challenge I can't refuse.

Notes on Demons

I've never been one to use outlines for my books or stories.  Instead, I have a file of notes about the characters, story, plot details, and world where the story takes place.  Some of these notes are broad generalizations that frame the environment.  Some are simple comments about the direction the story is going or what kind of turn I want it to take.  Others still may be preferences or feelings the characters have that aren't obviously stated but come out through their actions and interactions with others.

Sometimes a story doesn't develop past the notes stage.  This may be due to an excess of clutter in my headspace, a lack of time to develop it properly, or just not enough story there to expand on.  One such story is one that I've had notes on for decades.  While there is a major plot conflict to base the story on, I just don't seem to be able to come up with enough to fill out the world it takes place in.  Maybe some day the rest of the tale will come to me in a dream.  In the meantime, here are the notes as I have them so far.  Derf is just a placeholder name I use until the character is fleshed out more and a proper name comes to light.

• Long life span of hunters, but not immortal. Just don't age normally.
• Communicate with "Hunter Council" via meditation and a special crystal
• Council catalogs Demons based on activity. Ranks them based on strength and shares information with Hunters.
• Smaller, weaker Demons not named, simple to catch.  Stronger Demons are given names and require more elaborate rituals to satisfy and catch.
• Each hunter chosen by "Hunter's Spirit." When one Hunter dies, the spirit moves on never know who will be next.
• Spirits don't clearly speak to Hunter, but can enhance vision to detect Demonic energies and give a Spidey-sense to hidden Deomnic presence.
• Number of Spirits is fixed, Number of Demons is variable, has gotten down to zero in past but increasing recently.
• Father/son team of Demon Hunters considered best in the realm, very rare for family members to be selected as hunters.
• Main plot point! Main character (Derf) must hunt demon that has taken his father
• Papa Derf disappeared while transporting crystal to "jail."
• Evidence of demons that had been caught by father-son team reappears.
• Demons are caught in and transported via crystals to one-way portal to "Dungeon Dimension"
• Demon possessing Derf's father is known as "The Corrupter" spoke to Papa Derf via the crystal
• Derf lives life alone except when hunting with Papa, chosen before starting a family.
• Papa Derf father of 3-5 kids, chosen after family started and years before Derf.

Leave a comment if you think the story should be developed further or left at this stage.  Suggestions for filling in any of the blanks would be welcome.

Different Strokes of the Pen

NaNoWriMo is in full swing.  A month full of writers summoning forth characters from the endless worlds that occupy their imaginations.  Lives are created.  They begin and end with the stroke of a pen or press of a letter on a keyboard.  Worlds are created and environments come into being.  There are adventures to be had and enemies to be defeated.  Broad fields of story and plot lay before the creative mind.

There are any number of obstacles that must be hurdled when writing a story, whether it be a short read or a multi-chapter novel.  How do you define characters and give each of them a unique voice?  How do you choose a time period for your story and how does it affect the plot and lives of the characters?  Do you reveal histories at the beginning of the story, in little pieces as the story moves along, or leave some mystery for later stories?  How do you get the proper impact of various events across to the reader so it effects them the same way it effects you as you write?

One of the biggest challenges for me is writing just one story at a time.  Over my lifetime I have been struck by the thought of many ideas that would make good stories to tell.  Some of them are similar enough that they can be molded into one story.  Others are so vastly different they must each have their own tale.

For my current NaNoWriMo attempt I am writing a sequel to my first published book.  There are story elements I have been wanting to use in these and other sci-fi stories.  Relationships to develop, locations to discover, and things to happen in general.  Also taking up space in my mind is a story that comes from a world of magic and spells more than one of spaceships and lasers.  In order to clear out some of the extra clutter, I'm going to put some of the opening of the fantasy story here.  Maybe it will be my 2015 NaNoWriMo novel.

A robed figure slowly moves through a dark cavern.  The only source of light is a gentle glow from a large crystal in the center of the room.  The figure's features are hidden under the shadows of a deep hood.  He walks with a tall staff clutched in one aged hand.  Ancient runes seem to glow up and down the staff, reflecting the clear light from the crystal.  As he walks by the crystal, he reaches out his other gnarled hand to caress it as one would a longtime lover.  His voice, despite being as rough as a poorly maintained gravel road, clearly carried a degree of affection.  He speaks with certainty and conviction to the otherwise empty space.

"It is nearly time for us to rise again.  For centuries you have been building your reserves, growing in power, collecting the raw energy of life itself.  The eight recipients have been selected.  When the time is right they will be given access to you in order to bring about a new age.  They will be the beginning of real power returning to this world.  Power that is based on strength of mind and will instead of simple brute force and conniving manipulation.  Power the use of which can drain the user for a short time or eternally, depending on how it used.

"The chosen eight will gather others together and teach them to use this power.  Its use will quickly spread around the world.  Some will have a great talent and use their power for great things, others will only be capable of impressing small audiences with their simple flashes of skill.  Like other powers humanity has come across, some will use it for the betterment of those around them and others will use it only for themselves.  Some will us it for good, others for purely evil purposes.

"The power you have inside you was used many centuries ago.  Now it will be used again.  Magic will rise again on the Earth.  The modern age of electronics and technology will see the return of sorcery and magic.  Spellbooks will take their place alongside e-readers.  Teleportation will join driving and flying as a method of personal transportation.  The Digital Age will give way to The Age of Power"

The crystal's glow shifted as the man spoke.  It gives off a bright flash of light that fills the cavern as the man slowly ends his caress and removes his hand from the crystal.  He raises the staff and speaks an ancient word.  The robed figure vanishes from the cavern with no sign he was ever there.


With that piece of story out of the way, I have more room in my mind for my current tale.