Ardenia, founded in 1815 by US Army General Eric James Arden, stands as a testament to the bold ambitions of its founder. Nestled along the Gulf Coast of Florida, the city’s strategic location has always been key to its growth and resilience. Initially built as a military outpost, Ardenia evolved into a bustling urban center, its foundations laid in the architecture of fortresses and barracks that now blend seamlessly with modern skyscrapers.

At its core is Fort Arden, the original military stronghold, preserved as a national landmark. The fort’s weathered stone walls and cannons overlook the bay, a reminder of the city’s martial beginnings. Surrounding it, the city has grown into a vibrant metropolis, known for its wide boulevards lined with palm trees and Spanish moss, giving Ardenia an atmosphere that is both tropical and steeped in history.

The Ardenia River snakes through the heart of the city, its banks transformed into scenic promenades dotted with statues honoring the city’s military heritage. The old shipyards, once vital to the city’s early economy, have been repurposed into sleek marina districts, where yachts and fishing boats share space with modern waterfront restaurants and luxury condos.

Despite its tranquil exterior, Ardenia still carries the mark of its founding: a sense of vigilance and strength. The city’s historical landmarks tell tales of battles fought along the coast and its role in the defense of the region during the early 19th century. Today, it serves as both a cultural hub and a reminder of Florida’s complex past, where the spirit of General Arden still seems to linger in its streets, inviting a balance between progress and tradition.

The Jamieson Love Hotel, perched near one of Ardenia’s exclusive private beaches, offers guests a stunning view of the shimmering Gulf waters. Surrounded by palm trees and manicured gardens, the hotel seamlessly blends luxury with the natural beauty of the coast. The crystal chandeliers of its main ballroom give a sweet touch to the room. Its three restaurants offer a wide selection of unique dishes from all over the world. Its private beach is a serene escape from the bustling city, with soft white sands and crystal-clear waters, reserved for the elite clientele that the hotel attracts. At sunset, the horizon glows with hues of orange and pink, casting a tranquil aura over the hotel grounds, making it a coveted retreat for visitors seeking privacy and relaxation. But, the hotel will be the theater of something terrible within its white marble walls.

Scctartcing with her youth in the eighties in Hungary and moving through time too the present Beginning in Budapest their life is constantly changing as they are nomadic by nature it is a Real life accounting it varies from being coloforulvexcitibgvand vibrant to bribgvdarfnvf got dark racist and filled with despair dependent upon their current locale

It’s not the fire and brimstone they would have you believe. It feels like an enclosed space beneath something, such as a basement. The difference it is vast. There is nature as it is on Earth. Plants, bodies of water, sky, soil exist in the same manner. However, there is a pit of molten lava with long sturdy shackles made of Schmeckle, a non-Earthly element attached to the earth surrounding the pit, meant to hold any wayward angels just above the lava. That is punishment for them.

Those in Hell live as they would on Earth, but there’s no death nor any catering to living needs. You sleep, fight, play games. Any injuries are temporary, sometimes debilitating impairments that render you weaker during that time. It’s a problem because anything you claim as yours can be taken if you can’t defend it. There’s not much to have but location is useful, just more comfort if you’re not near the fiery pit. Boundaries are set and defended in anyway each party agrees to. There’s never any real reason to get outside parties to intervene. If they do, it becomes a problem if Devil personally has to be bothered. Anyone involved, is punished.

Punishments include joining the military and fighting wars against God as Devil fancies regaining access to and even control of Heaven. Nobody thinks it’s a winning situation because they’ve never come close to winning, only suffering at God’s hands.

When humans end up in hell, they don’t really know they’re in hell. Their bodies no longer exist. Their soul interacts in what appears to be Earth. They lack their traditional five senses that would differentiate real Earth from Hell. Whenever they realize the atrocities around them, they just think “The world is going to hell in a hand basket “ when they’re actually already there. The good experiences such as people being good humans still exist but not as a constant. There’s no concept of time so nobody knows how often anything happens. They just know it happens.

Imagine spending eternity in a world that seems largely familiar, your past life and world forgotten, but you can’t put your finger on it. Have you ever asked yourself, “Why does this feel so familiar?”? It’s probably because it is feel familiar. As you read this story, try to place yourself in the shoes of the main characters who have left Earth but are accidentally in Hell with the goal of leaving.

The world of [not named yet] is one of magic, monsters, and adventure. Strewn about the singular continent are various races and cultures with distinct traditions.

This story will be told in the Southern Spire, duely named as the southern most lands and known for the towering mountain ranges they posses. A peninsula, the Southrrn Spire has a unique composition and strange history.

The northern most edge of the peninsula is entirely lined with a massive wall close to 200 feet tall. Trails from the foot hills lead to a series of gates along the coast of the western side. However as you head east, the ground drops sharply into a valley, over which the wall looms large. A singular river gushes from the base of the wall and traverses the valley way until it reaches the edge of the mountains nearly 100 miles south and east.

The entire western edge falls off starkly for near the whole of the continent, creating a 200 foot, or more, ledge to prevent entrance , or exit. The sole exception is a small fishing village far to the south, Angler’s End. Nestled on a small beach with a trail of switch backs leading into the highest reaches of the Soire, Angler’s End is known as the greatest fishing in all the lands. But also the greatest risk. Stories of unknown beasts consuming entire fleets of war ships and murderous merfolk seeking to undo the will of even the most senior of captains.

The Western Edge is also known for the harsh winds and violent raging storms that break against the wall. Storms seem to appear out of no where and crash into the stone walls before despipating. Rumors abound of a great Druid that grows angry at the wall, as they see it as a construction of civilized folk, not the natural structure that it is.

The eastern edge of the Spire is far more tame tame, and public. Freighters Paradise is a shipping port that has slowly spread out along the coast over the past 100 years, as mines within the spire pour out more minerals, gems and resources. The bristling hub acts as a means of getting materials out of the spire to be sold around [world name] and make many captains quite rich.

Along the eastern coast, the weather is temperate. The waters smooth. The deep water offers great groom for the sailing ships but not too much that the waters are particular cold. Much of the western storms are lost before arriving to the eastern shores, allowing for fairly consistent and pleasant weather.

Scattered through the Spire are small hamlet and makeshift villages. These are often hermits or famalies finding shelter in the mountains. The mountains provide shelter from storms of all kinds. In the summer months , deluges of rain may appear, but holes have been carved out along side would be rivers. In winter months the deep rising snow is dangerous, but homes often abut maintain caves which provide security used warmth in the harshest times.

However, there is a singular township high in the mountains at the base of the Last Spire: Ettlemont. Ettlemont is a village by all accounts with only a few dozen permanent residents. Throughout the year, odd caravans will move through with would be adventurers and merchants trying to procure items from the mines or shops. Constructed inside a chasm of nearly 100 feet, Ettlemont is a unique town hidden within the mountain at the mouth of The Last Spire.

Once a year, however, the town bristles with life and is flooded with mercenaries and adventurers alike. In the month of Amondar, the end of the year, the Deep Portal opens and the bridge between the monsters of hell and earth is opened. This becomes a proving grounds for many, and they require housing and sustenance in Ettlemont.

The Warden of Ettlemont, Shyloh Verkinix, sees that the accommodations are met and the adventurers tended to. He knows their wealth will help sustain and improve the town, including better libraries for his recluse son, Farrago, and better militia resources for his warrior daughter, Ferentyl. However, he also knows that every year since he first sealed the portal and established Ettlemont, the assault has worsened. And so he knows it is only by way of these would be heroes that Ettlemont will stand in the long term.

This world is built upon myths and legends, and those who remember their wisdom may still share it with those who will listen. What follows is a brief recounting of several of those legends, and a brief history of the nation in which the majority of this story’s events take place.

In the ancient days, there were six golden cities; bastions of human civilization in a world of vast wilderness. It is remembered as a time where great magics and technical wonders were cultivated. But the hubris of mankind undermined their sensibilities, and they allowed the most evil of spirits to deceive them. These spirits took physical form as men themselves, desiring to work in the shadows, until their influence grew to a point that they walked openly in their evil power. They assailed the minds of powerful men and caused great turmoil among them. They became known as the Lords of Desolation, and their true names were Ruin, Wrath, Blight, and Oblivion. Mankind began to delve deeper and deeper into discovery and innovation, but the spirits encouraged men against one another, and out of the fires of creation came terrible weapons of war. Only too late were the spirits’ true identities revealed. One by one, the great cities would fall into darkness, leaving their survivors and refugees to stand alone as the tides of evil swept across the lands. It was in that perilous time that many heroes would rise up, and their great deeds would dare to challenge the dark, and their legends would long be remembered.

One such hero challenged Oblivion himself to a duel, though, in the end, it cost him his life. It’s said the hero’s stare was so intense that it caused even Oblivion to flinch when he fired his shot. The enemy’s bullet went wide-right, while the hero’s round hit Oblivion’s right cheek, and severed his flesh from mouth to ear. Never before had the spirit been struck, for he always had the faster hand, and cupping his wounded cheek, stared in disbelief at the hero, who stood seemingly unharmed. Oblivion fled the scene, with trails of foul blood staining the ground as he ran. The hero watched his enemy fade away into the distance - before collapsing upon the ground. The stray round from Oblivion’s gun had indeed missed its mark, but ricocheted off a buried stone, and struck the hero in his heel. Worse still, the bullets were said to have been tipped with a deadly toxin. Thus, the hero died, and was brought into the mountains to be buried in a cave, where, so the legend says, a magical spring began to flow that could heal those who were wounded.

After the time of the great heroes, the forces of darkness had been suitably forced back. The Lords of Desolation could not be found, and some began to think they had gone back into the abyss from where they came. Mankind began to rebuild. Eventually, the nation, to which the Dannings belong, would be established and declared the seventh golden city, and named “Rebirth” in their own language. Soon, populations swelled and expanded back into the world. Centuries of relative peace would pass, and it seemed all was well. However, events would transpire that, to the keen eye, betrayed sinister agendas at work, whose aim was to tear down mankind’s final hope against the forces of desolation.

In a world filled with challenges, there is potential for progress. Despite the obstacles, there is hope for overcoming these struggles. This world is made up of various cultures and social classes, each with their own distractions that can lead people astray. Within these communities, there are examples of unity, faith, and strength. It is up to individuals to learn from the mistakes of the past and work together to create positive change.

In the face of hatred, racism, or division, I am committed to being a force for positive change in my community. By embodying the best of myself and striving to represent the kingdom of God, I believe that the spirit of God will unite us as one.

In the coming years, I anticipate revisiting the serene landscapes of Olympia, Washington, and Northern California. My parents' long-divorced status added a layer of complexity to an already difficult situation, and I believe that the passage of time will bring new perspectives. I am looking forward to finding peace and closure.

As I move forward, I anticipate creating new positive moments and cherishing happier memories. I look forward to the opportunity to be a more understanding individual and to embrace the chance to build stronger connections with my loved ones.

In the future, I hope to find solace in the tranquil forests, breathing in the scent of the first rainfall, and discovering beauty in the lilac and midnight iris everywhere. I anticipate that these experiences should help me process my emotions and bring me a sense of healing and understanding.

Set in a small town in outback Australia, where everyone knows and every body and where gossip spreads like wildfire. The town consists of a grocer/post office, a small coffee shop, bookshop, police station and a barely standing community hall. The only reason the town is known to outsiders is the stunning and extensive botanical garden that brings tourists in every spring.

[Just playing around with my sci-fi world, all subject to change!] [apologies for typos, my keyboard is sticking!]

First in a system of four planets, tidally-locked Zira orbits its sub-giant star closely. As such, it has no natural satellites, for it’s gravitational force is not strong enough to prevent the star from pulling them away with its own, stronger gravity.

As the planet is tidally locked, one face of it is fixed toward the star at all times. The majority of Zira is rendered uninhabitable by the lack of a day/night cycle, one side egg-burningly torrid; the other, frigid. Only a narrow strip along the terminator zone—the divide between the night and day regions—can support life.

And support life it does. The Zairan people reside in the twilight tundras, and in recent centuries their cities extend into the dusk, edging a midnight so cold the very air sublimates into dry ice.

Zairans are hermaphrodites; all individuals have male and female characteristics. The society does not have a concept of gender.

The reason for their migration is simple. Their star is old. Zira is dangerously close. It was never going to be permanent.

[this was meant to be an idea splash page, so it is a bit dense, but I’m leaving it open to feedback because I would like to hear your thoughts! Plus I’m still working out the science. Also, any tips on sentence variety and showing not telling?]

[also: note, I’ve been behind the scenes considering the logistics of a hermaphrodite race, but my previous writings do refer to the main character as she]

[this mostly laid out the planet, will go into culture later!]

[okay thats enough notes]

Jennifer’s world was a tapestry of familiar routines and comforting rhythms, woven together by the steady cadence of everyday life. She was a typical 17-year-old, navigating the ups and downs of high school with a sense of youthful optimism and curiosity.

On that fateful Saturday, the sun was shining brightly in the sky, casting a golden glow over the beach as Jennifer and her friends arrived. They laughed and chatted as they spread out their towels, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore providing a soothing backdrop to their day of relaxation.

As her friends went off to get ice cream, Jennifer lay back, closing her eyes and soaking in the warmth of the sun. She felt a sense of peace wash over her, content in the company of her friends and the beauty of the beach around her.

But then, the world around her began to shift and change. People started to look at their phones, their expressions filled with confusion and fear. Jennifer, lost in her own thoughts, didn’t notice at first. It wasn’t until people started to move away from her, casting fearful glances in her direction, that she realized something was wrong.

Before she could make sense of the situation, a bag was suddenly placed over her head, cutting off her vision and her screams. She struggled against her unseen assailant, but the fumes in the bag quickly overpowered her, and she slipped into unconsciousness.

When Jennifer finally awoke, she found herself in a dark, unfamiliar room, tied to a chair. The world she had known had been ripped away, replaced by a terrifying reality where danger lurked around every corner. She knew then that her life would never be the same, and that she would have to summon all of her courage and strength if she was to survive the ordeal that lay ahead.