Daniel Gilbert
Aspiring fantasy author looking to find a way to get words down and feel good about them.
Daniel Gilbert
Aspiring fantasy author looking to find a way to get words down and feel good about them.
Aspiring fantasy author looking to find a way to get words down and feel good about them.
Aspiring fantasy author looking to find a way to get words down and feel good about them.
My grandmother always told me "be sure to keep them laughing." Thick tar scent pouring past yellowed teeth. I remember the cool touch of her flaccid skin The crystalline blue of her eyes behind thick lensed glasses.
"You're good at it. Make sure they keep laughing." The sharpness of her voice distinct from the hum of Christmas. I remember the smile as her eyes surveyed the family A single tear rolling down her cheek looking at her daughters.
"Laughing makes you happy. And they deserve to be happy." The cold skin of her hand on my cheek smelled of smoke, The coarse fabric of her sleeve itching my face. Our eyes meeting in a moment unlike any I'd known.
"I try to keep them laughing grandma." I'd whispered years later at her wake. Eyes watering with the regret of years lost to madness. A promise kept for her daughters continued.
Farrago sits in the Library of Ettlemont, and the walls shake with sounds of battle. Errant arrows smash through windows, sprinkling glass down onto the stone floors. He covers his head with the bag in his hand, books inside hitting him in the face. Farrago recoils, holding his eye a moment, before another arrow splinters against the wall. He resumes rifling through the books before him, throwing the occasional item inside. His purposeful movements carry him deep into the library, and into his residence.
Standing beside his bed, Farrago hears the door of library explode inward. Shards of wood are thrust past his open door, and a heavy footfall fills the stone rooms. Farrago freezes, eyes trained on the doorway. A heavy shadow creeps forward, lit by the siege filling the chasm of Ettlemont. He begins to crouch, tucking the books under his head. Move footfalls, slow and methodic. The shadows head surveying the room, two tusks protruding from its face.
The massive orc moves into Farrago’s view. Filling the doorway with it’s height, and the breadth of its well shaped shoulders, Farrago gasps at the site. Corded muscles ripple across it’s body as it sees Farrago kneeling in fear, and a cruel smile forms tight around the pair of long tusks protruding from the lower jaw. Moving to stand overtop Farrago, the creature looks down. His bandoleer filled with oddities lays across his bare chest and stopping on his hip where the massive curved blade resides. Reaching down, its clawed hand wraps around Farrago’s neck, sharpened nails biting in to the soft skin at the back of his neck. Farrago’s feet come off the ground, with no strain being shown on the face of the monster.
“They’ve been looking for you.” It growls. Its breath is rancid like aged milk and rotting meat. Steps hasten back out of the door and into the frey outside.
to whom this finds.
Long is the hour in which this brings you, and my most sincere prayer is that it finds you better than you shsll find me. You see, in its arrival, this form denotes a most unusual demise of a man often left forgotten and neglected. This letter tells you that I am soon to be no more.
Now you see, this letter is not just the jubilant announcement of my earth end, but instead is a most unusual beginning to a beautiful game. Enclosed you will find the first of a series of clues you most use to seek and find the possessions most beloved by me, as secured by those I most love. It is your task to convince these people to part with their piece of our history in order to unlock the resting place of all the treasurers of accumulated during my time on this earth.
While I am confident that this elaborate production will secure you attentions from the start, the challenges are daunting and could be quick to dissuade you. And so I remind that at the end of this puzzling rain is you’ll find my treasures but also the the joys of all that I have been or hoped to be. As you plod through the clues, be sure to take the time to see just the piece of me you made, and the story we told together. For you see, my friend, as you seek the end of the road, you will review the life I’ve lived and life I’ve made along the way. And somewhere along that way, there wag your.
So, dear friend, embark on the task to review all that I was. I beg your kindness and forgiveness as you venture though this bout of narcissism, but pray you know it is my hope for you to see within you the spark that fueled my love of you. I pray that you see the glow your light has shed for me on the darkened path I walked. I pray you see yourself a moment for all that I’ve seen in you.
Good luck my loved one.
And goodnight.
I want magic to be something of the past. There will be creatures that do magical things because it is there nature. But thr artistry of magic, ability to learn it has been absent for a long time. Giving a hinderance to magic allows for the chance to show growth and development for character. Farrago is be known as a conduit. He will be able to touch magic but doesn’t yet know it. He finds out accidentally but knows the rarity of it. Farrago’s ability to teach makes him dangerous. For magical creatures, there is a love for this instability in magic. This allows them advantages, while the goodly raved rely on technology. However, the arrival of a conduit, and one trained to record data and interview people, Farrago has the skill set to once again begin the teaching of magic.
“Not to return without him?” Kyah’s tone thick with rage and melancholy. “I’m the one doing all his work! I’m the one getting him all the things he needs! ‘The Shadow of The Wall’ my ass!” Kyah slams down the bag she withdraws from the small chest at the foot of her bed. Cloths and tools alike and thrown with haste into the waiting mouth of the traveling bag, Kyah’s attention on gathering things not organizing.
Grabbing the last of her things, Kyah stands before the bed with her life sprawled out before her. A few shirts, a few pants, a dress or two, and a variety of tools. All that she had been at the wall since her mothers passing would soon be stuffed into a small night sack for her to sleep in. Grimmock had adopted her when her mother passed, and given her a chance to earn a wage as a child. And now he throws her to the wolves. Rage again wells inside her, the flush of her skin appearing purple and red like a bruise left by the all in the face as he departed.
Kyah’s screens billow out of her room and down the outside hallways. She wants him to hear the rage boiling within her. He deserve to know.
I feel the cold wooden chair under me as I lower into the seat. The ivory walls and white grantine columns emanate the chill that fills the musky air of the library. The dim candle light provided by the rate sconce casts flitting shadows about the reading carols behind every corner. I feel the faint breeze I’ve grown familiar to these recent weeks, the smell of old books and Farrago’s citrus soap carried from his distant quarters indicating his eminent arrival.
“Hello book worm.” I feel the corners of my lips turn up as my voice, with all of its useless melody, breaks the stifling silence.
“You know that you keep showing up here the more people will talk. I mean, it only makes my reputation better, but will surely hurt yours.” His voice careens out from between the last book shelves in the column, around the small corner against which my desk area rests. Though I cannot see him, I know Farrago isn’t far.
“What adventurer cares is their reputation outside of conquest?” I raise myself onto the desk, legs dangling off the edge with impish kicks.
“Well, actually you’d be surprised.” Farrago’s head poles around the corner, a full head above me. His skin radiates the unusual glow that emanates from him seemingly every morning. The bronze in his hair seems darker this morning, and I realize it’s wet, and styled. “Anecdotally, the average adventurer is highly obsessed with their intersocial perception, to the point where they seek opportunities to enhance it through …” I stand in the desk and place my hand over his mouth.
“Calm down Text Book. Was joking”. I let go of him, but he brings himself around the cover looking up at me, though just barely. “Plus, if you keep listening to me and cleaning yourself up, people will most definitely be talking.” I reach out and ruffle his hair, feeling his discomfort with me doing so. He really does pay attention.
“Couldn’t hurt to try something new. “ his eyes drop to his feet and the adjacent chair. Farrago learns himself over the desk and rolls his his into the seat. I slide myself back to the edge of the desk, looking at the books he chosen and begins to sprawl out across the desk.
“ and todays reading selection?” Small diagrams of unusual monsters are scrawled across the pages, and a chaotic script accompanying it.
“Dragon kin. Kobalds. It’s been a while since I’ve ready anything and with them appearing in the South Spire recently, I thought it best to research. “. His emerald eyes are intense in their examination of the pages, feverish gathering of detail across each page.
Something from behind me catches my ear. I resist the urge to look and instead focus on the sound itself. The rows made by the book cases to my left offer many hiding planes. The study carols to my right offer very little. The windows behind Farrago allow a little light in, but little else. Farrago’s muttering and dictations encumber my senses , but I cast my attention beyond him and toward the book cases.
Someone is listening.
I lean down toward Farrago, whose face has dropped down to the page od the book before him, nose nearly pressed to the browning page.
“Who else is here this morning? Speak softly”. His body grows ridged, fighting his instinct to panic.
“Just me.” His voice is strained but hushed, and I can see his eyes darting about from beside the page.
“We aren’t alone. You need to be ready.” As the last syllable escapes my lips I feel the bite. Sharp steel buried in my calf and the hush of the moment is lost to the carnal scream from my lips. Grabbing the bolt in my calf I tug, the crude arrow releasing a spray of red as it is removed.
I look between the book cases and see the grim shadow standing in the darkness, as if the ink of Farrago’s book was given life. His struggles with the crossbow in its hand, and I know I must get to it before it’s ready.
Pain rushes through my entire body as I leap toward the creature and enter into a sprint. Mu blade emerges from its sheath at my lower back with practiced grace.
Seeing my run and hearing my laments, it throws the crossbow at me and pulls its own blade. Shaped like the gnashing tooth of a great dragon, the small creature bounces beteeen feet readying himself.
He is no taller than I am, though his limbs are thinner and frail. Heavy spines punch out of his ratty tunic, but reveal the metallic copper flesh of the kobald. Wild slashes of the too heavy blade force it to stumble as I near, and I slide under a blow with an attempt to drive my blade into it. It’s hard flesh pushes back the attack, the clang of steel against scale mocking the weakness of my blow.
Now between myself and Farrago, the kobold is torn. His back turns to one of the book cases and his left arm is outstretched with the unusual blade. But his eyes dance back and forth between me and Farrago.
Insee his right arm reach to his hip and recoil. I lunge, seeing its eyes shift toward Farrago, and knowing he’ll not see me in time to halt me. My weight slams into the beast and I drive him to the ground lead by the tip of my blade. Thick red blood trickles out from the wound and begins to puddle on the grey flecked stone floor.
With the kobald dead, my eyes look back up to Farrago who still sits the old wooden chair. Wide eyes are fixed on the deceased monster, but my eyes linger on the dart still vibrating in the crossbar of the chair in the middle of Farrago’s knees. I pull my blade loose from the creature, and wipe my blade clean as I stride toward the dazed scholar. Pulling the dart from the chair and casting it back at thr corpse of its master, I rest a hand on Farrago’s leg.
“You’re okay. “. My voice is genuine, hoping only he believes me enough to leave.
Demoran glistens in the morning sun. G Grimmock Pulutra stands at the expanse of windows before his throne, eyes darting about the southern lands. His belly rests against the ornate carved stone, occuluding the mixture of gemstones nestled inside. Ahead of him, dawn casts its fingers wide over the plains and distant mountains. Faint shadows of caravans and groups traversing the lands point west as the sun creeps over the edge of the world. Grimmock chuckles with a rumbling from his belly as a crow and cardinal dance in the windows outside. “A bad omen.” The voice echos in the air, sounding of stones hard pressed and drawn across one another. Grimmocks eyes dart to the right, but he does not give away the trembling in his eyes. “How so, Shadow?” Grimmocks eyes return for the aerial display. The smaller and agile cardinal flits and dives impacting three crow, but the midnight black feathers seem unruffled. “A cardinal and a single crow. The battle beteeen hope and death.” Shadow leans his thick arms toward and rests the full length of his beard outside the window, and his chin into the palms of his hands. “The eternal struggle l, not one too many don’t think to see as the inevitability of death.” The course was of his voice halts as a smirk appears beneath the salt and paper beard in his face. He leans further forward to watch as the cardinal begins its descent, having lost in its daring battle against the crow. “ I see. Though to some a single crow is an omen of change. Or good luck. “. Grimmock steps are labored, size battling against his very movement. His waddle carries him back to the thone where he hoists his ample rump back o to the seat. “Perhaps this is a sign of good things to come.” “Irony that you’d look to the south and see hope. Greater dancers loom in the north, Steward. “. Shadows voice is raspy, ominous tones leading his turn toward the throne. “Some would argue that there is greater dangers alredy in Demoran, Theif. “. Grimmocks tone stops the Shadows approach. He raises a heavy brow, a moment lost before resuming his steps. Arriving at the throne, hr rest and elbow on the stone arm rest and pat’s the belly of the steward like a dog welcoming his master home. “And might you be amongst these “some” of which you speak, steward? I feel as though after all this time, and all the rewards you’ve consumed from our endeavors, that you’d be wise to avoid such … accusations. “. Grommock winces as a small blade slides through the silk fineries and bites into the tender skin of his stomach. Blood begins to pool in the silk and darken the deep green robes. “Of course not friend. But to what do I owe this pleasurable visit?” Grimmocks done rattles out of his throat, his hands reach to apply pressure to the wound. “The threat to the north. And a favor to the south. There is much work to be done. “ the shadows voice flattens, uncommonly cold like the air that suddenly ripples in through the southernmost windows.
Kyah is an orphaned young woman who has carved out a niche in life through her work and skills. She is incredibly cunning, and has a natural gravitas that she can weaponize when she chooses to. Kyah's live has provided her with a great deal of trust issues, but also the ability to talk with people to ensure that she is insulated from needing to share with them.
Kyah is fiercely independent like Catniss, showing her ability to take on tasks necessary to survive. Catniss learned to hunt and defied the government by doing so with the sole intention of getting materials needed to take care of her family. Kyah has also learned the skills necessary to survive. While Catniss hunts, Kyah stalks prey differently. Kyah is a master of intel, finding ways to put herself in positions to be near discussion but not be visible enough to be concerned about. She portrays herself in ways that disarms people, and gives them the confidence to speak freely without fear of her hearing. Kyah also does not hesitate to break the law a little, but often does her best to keep her transgressions minimal as not to draw the attention of the law itself.
Kyah is also very guarded, much as Catniss is. Both have learned to harden themselves against the intrusion of others, as their lives have made it clear that it is necessary to keep people are arms length to protect yourself. Catniss' love of her sister provides a place where she is able to be tender and loving, but Kyah has not such outlet. In Demoran she lives alone in an apartment. Her family has all passed (as far as she knows). Her friends are more associates with whom she does work regularly. Kyah's relationships are more pragmatic, and provide her access to the things she needs to get her jobs done. The network of assets she carries provides knowledge, materials, objects, and connections that let Kyah get tasks done for the Shadow.
Introduce Kyah in her apartment as she paints at the dawn.
As she settles and drinks her coffee she is surprised by the Shadow emerging in her apartment.
She is assigned to seek out Farrago.
She gathers intel and find a caravan passing through Demoran.
Attaches to the caravan as a indistinct traveler
Learns of rumors of Ettlemont, the Portal, the Horde emerging.
Comes across an assaulted caravan to get signs of scouts of the horde.
Tenuous road to Ettlemont goes without incident, but everyone is on edge.
Ettlemont is at the beginning of the Portal Celebration and portal defense.
Ettlemont is shifting with large groups of adventurers beginning to appear and cause trouble.
Kyah meets Farrago, but doesn't realize it is him (only one not ogling).
Kyah continues to seek out Farrago, and again doesn't realize it is him. Questioning.
Kyah offically meets him, finally getting his name.
Public meetings with Farrago offer little progress, so she meets him in the library.
Repeated meetings at the library lead to Kyah finding favor and doing things with him publically.
Kyah gets to know Farrago and appreciate his role in the community. Respects him.
First assault arrives with promise of the horde.
Kyah discovers that Farrago is there target and tries to convince him to leave.
Farrago remains and attempts to bolster Ettlemont with his father.
Horde descends and the Siege of Ettlemont begins.
Kyah aims to persuade Farrago again, hoping to leverage the carnage as a motivator.
Farrago agrees and shows her the road out under the Portal toward Anglers Edge.
They traverse the road and its challenges, arriving at Anglers End.
They watch the explosion/fire rising above the Spire.
They board a ship heading west toward Corbata.
Kyah sits idly on the small chair held together by string and tree sap. Her eyes locked on the portly dwarf now pacing the short line of orphans, barely examining each child as he passes. Kyah knows he’ll chose one of the littlest. They always do. The dwarf pauses as the far end of the line and twirls on a single to reverse course. Keep eyes denote the silken shoes with guarded toe which allowed the portly man to nimbly about face, but Kyah notes the dampening of the sounds surrounding him. The ancient floor boards moan beneath the slovenly children adjusting their weight, and yet the belly-heavy dwarf makes barely the sound of a breath as he traverses the floor again. He pauses just to Kyahs left to look at Leroy. Leroy is a well build and smart boy. He will eork hard in any trade he is trained. But he’s not one for the shadows. “I require a nimble hand boy. Might you have one?” The silky baritone voice overwhelms the groans of the wood as he examines Leroy. “Yes sir. Very much so sir. “ the boys stands and Kyah notes the tremor in his hands. The dwarf takes a few steps closer, back facing Kyah. In his pocket a small bundle of papers pokes out, on which Kyah can see the names of a few of her peers. As the dwarf intently watches Leroy perform a card trick, Kyah traipses across the floor and stumbles behind the dwarf and toward the door to the street. Not an eye moved off of Leroy, especially not the dwarf. Smiling, Kyah pauses in the street outside the orphanage and thumbs through the paper. Sheet for virtually every child in the orphanage are stacked in a small volume and noted of theirs skills are annotated with used. Leroy’s reads, “Heavy handed, at best.” Smirking, she turns to look back at the demonstration, and her nose is met by the belly of the fat dwarf. “Well Kyah, clearly my notes on you are true. Natural blending. Excellent hands. Over confident.” The dwarf smiles as his thick hands take a hold of Kyahs face. “There’s work for you in the town. And you’ll do it for me. You’ll be rewarded for your success. Generously. And you’ll be punished for your failure.” His pauses making eye contact with her. “Brutallly”.