Tired of folks calling me "Lazy and worthless"... Writing and World building in Fantasy Fiction

Today, just a healthy dose of advise, and the beginnings of a long series of story background posts. If that stuff bores you, walk on past any thing with world-building in the title of the post for a month or so. Sorry, but I have to refute these claims.

Yeah, I am 'Lazy', but not beyond most folks own "sloth". Look, most of my time at a computer or with paper and pen/pencils, I'm doing something, building some aspect of some world.

Case in point, my fantasy world. It took years, decades really, before I was ready to tell the tales set in it, and I'm still not ready to show the whole of the place, The reasearch i'm about to lay out, over the rest of October, well, this was the western part of the setting for the third Billenius Tale in the Journey cycle. Just the first half of the tale of Waking the Stone Gods was set here, after that, it moved over into lands laid out much better for and through the Hunts of Scorpio Kenrai, which makes sense, as both characters are in the tale.

So, let me start with the image that matters first. The map, and yeah, its not recent, these tales were percolating even as dice rolled in this very area...

So, meet the Pocekt Hills, the Lyessel Woods, and Incorran Heights... Yes, this place is old... built this map from older ones... including the fact that Incorran Heights, the Rat Wastes... well, they date back to 1979, the first of many fantasy maps I laid out, telling a half baked tale that has evolved, and will keep evolving and spawning more until I die.
Three places, the oldest, two known to those who rolled dice against my evil ways then, and one they never found... I lay out the notes on now.

Starting with Site # 13
Gorn - Island with ruins of city of ONE and the Keep still maintained by the renegade death knight, his compatriots and their retinue.
Ten Dread Riders or Death Knights as they are known of in other Realms, had broken away from the control of the Arch-Liches of Namzi-larku-Thandu in the year 89 CA. Since then, Seven of them have been slain in various raids by the Justicars and Guardians over the centuries. Though they are undying, the remaining Knights powers have waned slowly, and their servants have been destroyed or freed to flee. Gorn, the leader of the renegades, and his mage assistant Xajari, an Eye of Fear and Flame, have entered into a pact with their ancient allies, the Kelschites of the Eastern Fiendocracy. For the aid they received the knights have to capture and sacrifice unto a Kelschite Power a humanoid or agent of good in the world once a greater moon.

That is the oldest notes, the one taken from the single line note of: "Bunch undead knights and servants of the Liche-Lords rebelling here... gonna be fun."

And, while known to those playing the game, they never went there.. not sure if they were scared, preferred just having the threat out there of running into a patrol, or what. Note all the tales wrapped into that description. Things I know of, some even laid down.... not finished, but tidbits scattered here and there over the landscape, bits and pieces of larger tales. Someday, I was planning to show this place, have Billenius be held in the dungeons, perhaps, or sit in the great hall for a celebration, not sure which, that was still being worked out, as part of refining Waking the Stone Gods.


You want another place?
18 Tok-Amse-Hemern  - castle and walled town center that acts as the seat of the recently formed Bleak Qwelling of the Sarn Confederacy. However the Quwellon mainly lives in the family estate/manor house and its farms near site #21. He comes here only for formal courts. 

The Bleak Qwelling is new, in this, but Tok always was there, the first town I created in this world, after the seat of the United Evils... The guys remember circling Tok, avoiding it... the one time they rode up this way, and another group once used it as base, long before the main gaming days. But, Tok is a title, a place designator, and it was not alone....

21 Tok-hemern-Milvandi - Manor house & protected farms that are the home and lesser court of the Quwellon of the Bleak Qwelling, it is a hereidtary castle, which will stay with the family, even though the town to the northwest. the population here is mostly herdsmen of goats, sheep, cattle and some of the megafauna of the Fell Beasts remnants. The population is mainly Annadari stock, with some of the more civilized bands of Vamoi, and a few Noms and Karleekie. The humans are mostly of a naturalist bent, religiously, being Talri and Shalas worshipers, with some Urt worshippers due to the proximity of the Rat Wastes that are his bastion. 

The herders have a fighter background due to the expansion into former UE holdings, some being rangers or bounty hunters, others being mercenaries from the companies of the Woodland Brigades who purchased grants of land in the area with their pay. There is a strong priestly/druidical presence here, and due to the proximity of so many draconic lairs, even Mahaabi has some priests and followers in the folk 

The gang never found this little place.. walked the other side of the hill at night once, an missed it. What can I say... but things like this help a writer, to build the tale, add little bits of flavor to the tales they tell. Even if indirectly.

A few years back, I even updated the notes on Incorra Heights a bit more.. fleshed it out further, stepped down in scale to look at some landmarks only vaguely hinted in game notes, seeking a place to set a tale some day...  Here's the map I worked out, still the same, just zoomed in, added details a bit...

And the notes to go with it... for those who think I was lazy, the only sloth I had was not sloth, just uncertainty at which tale to tell here, and who was telling it.

The Incora Hills, once called the Southern Highlands, is an area of hills that is part of the same dome growth that created the Pocket Hills and Mountains. It is not as eroded, and thus the basement rocks are not as exposed, except in a few areas. As a part of the Pocket Formation, it consists of a moderate dome, extruded beneath the surface, covered with a thick layer of limestone, some 150 to 300 feet thick, and then capped by a red sandstone seam of 30 feet or so. This latter stratum is mixed in with the gray sands that blew in from the Grey desert as well. This gives the stones of this formation a softer red, more pinkish, color. The granites of the basement formation of the intruding dome are exposed in several mountain like peaks, and the rocks of that are a rich black to green, with some marble areas exposed as well. Several of the stony waste areas of this formation, though the rough areas are of eroded sandstone and limestone. Due to its height, only a few pockets in the underworld have been eroded into the limestone, and many of these were filled in with magmas and basaltic flows during the intrusion of the dome. This has created a wealth of ores and precious stones, but they are dangerous to mine, as the limestone formation is severely cracked and weakened from the encroachment of the dome.
The area is of steep and eroded hills, covered with some forests of oak, maple and aspens, ranging from 4500 feet to nearly 7000 feet in altitude. Due to the seasonal monsoon flow it is well watered, but is subject to droughts. Most of the area is covered in a less flammable version of cheat grass and buffalo grass, which turn golden yellow in droughts, but soft green or hazel for the cheat grass in wet times. The scrub that grows here is pinyon oak, juniper, and fire firs. During the summer, fires are common here, and most of the species of plants are adapted to this cycle.
It abounds with the Fell Beasts, and its main predators are the deadly and stealthy smilodons of that origin. Mastadons are present here, as are the alticameli, proghorns antelopes, greater ibex, and al’miraji. The goblinoids and orcs who inhabit the area, as well as a few bands of nomadic Vamoi, herd the mighty aurochs in the grasslands and forests. Herbs grow wild here, as do large areas of feral crops from the days of the Old North Empire, when this was the Incorana Qwelling, which included the bowl of the eastern Central Plains.
A: The Canyon of the Sandy River is really more a broad valley, once heavily orcharded, and home to numerous vinyards. While the vinyards remain, though often despoiled by the coblynnau who farm here now, or the raiding orcs. It has steep walls, and ample spring fed streams feeding into the Sandy River, which runs its length. The canyon has carved down thru the sandstone, limestone and into the basaltic and granite intrusions of the dome here, to create a strange land of rock formations, flats and steep to sheer walls. The angled northern slopes of the canyon are marked by hoodoos, while south side of the canyon is more sheer. The lower portions of the canyon only cut through the sandstone caprock and the limestone basement. A few seams of coal and shales, including a rich band of flint, are exposed in the latter, and give the whole a more banded look than other canyons, even the ones nearby. There is an oil seep near the mouth of the canyon, which provides the tars and naptha used by the coblynnau in their weapons of war, and has allowed them to create an asphalt like road base of late, much like that of the Old North Empire’s earliest roads had.
B: The Low Canyon is a region of draws and canyons filled with ample water from springs along the main canyon walls. The main flow of the stream is rapid and the canyon as a whole is prone to floods. The upper face is a waterfall from a small lake above, that drops over 600 feet in a series of falls, all in separate ropes of water, called the Sheared Rope Falls in the days of the Old North Empire, and now called the shattered falls. The canyon is home to a number of packs of wolves, who hide here from the dragons, orcs, goblins and other enemies they face here.
C: The Canyon and Caverns of Incorana lie over an 22 mile expanse of the central branch of the Incorana River. The area is one of heavily caved karst that has collapsed into a canyon over the main flow of the Middle Incorana. This river is choked with rapids of slowly deteriorating limestone slabs, boulders and gravel bars, as well as numerous section of slate, flint and even some exposed granite of the underlying dome. There are many small communities of the goblinoids in the caves, and the area is used heavily for fishing, as the salmon runs in the river here are still an occurance, as well as other fast water fish being present.
D: The Narrows of the Indoma Gorge (Upper Indoma Canyon)  is an area of incredible beauty formed in a bygone age as the Talg Il Enthdo drained from the great damming that had created it as an inland sea during both the Fell Cold and the Long Winter, back to its more current size, or then current. The canyon cuts through, down to the bedrock of the dome, and the nearby traverse folded range of the bottom of the Blue Mountains. Huge quartz veins shot with silver and gold wire line the faces, as do numerous other ancient formations that bear mineral wealth. But the wealth has made the canyon treacherous, it is narrow, with only the steepest of side canyons, most of these are hanging caynons, and the river is filled with numerous and severe rapids and small cataracts. And all the creatures of the area that are aware of the wealth fight within its confines, sending sorties and counter sorties, patrols, even war parties. The bench is narrow, less than 50 feet in many areas, in some it is missing altogether, but at some broader bends in the river here, bench steps of up to five do occur, extending several hundred, up to nearly a half mile on one such area.
E: The Marshy Draws is a series of narrow valleys do not qualify as canyons as there are easily navigable slopes on their sides, even in the rocky barrens area midway up to its source. The area is of a broad stream, often dammed by beavers into a series of lakes and marshes, with numerous branches, separated by low lying ridges of land that are forested lightly to heavily in spots. Wildlife abounds here, and the beaver are the main resources, expecially as they are giants of their kind.
F: Lake of Sedges  is a lake that is shallow, and has numerous islets and rises in it that mark it as being the work of some force that made it into a lake. Some surmise that another Roshen operated this lake, but in the long time since the fall of the Old North Empire, the lake has silted up, and that it never had as good of system of weirs, sluices and canals as did the Talg il Roshen to the west. The lake is choked with sedge and payrus that grow not just in the edges of the lake, but in faint shallows that litter it. The lake drains not into a river or stream but a larger marsh of sedge grass and papyrus at its northern end, which eventually forms a stream.
G: The Hoodoos is a the remains of a large amphitheater that is now open and filled with collapsed sandstone formations of spectacular shapes, mostly pillars, but many others as well that cover nearly 5 square miles within this area. The res of the area is forested uplands, abounding with game of the type common to the hills. The Hoodoos are sacred to the local Vamoi, who feel that the area is both spiritually uplifting and inhabited. In fact, the bodies of their kindred are often left on the edges of the amphitheater, or inside it, though many are also left on the bare sandstone folds to the south and east of this area. Bodies are left in stilted platforms, with weapons, some food, and those momentos of their lives as their family, friends, or even enemies deem to leave them with for the next life. Stealing from here before the rack of a body has fallen is dangerous, and considered to be evil by the Vamoi.
H: Grand Spires of the Dome lie at the meeting of the headwaters of the Incorana and Low Canyon. This is a great formation of black and grey marbles and granites, with some green seams within it. The spires are the remnants of a great folding caused by the use of a mage’s earthquake spell in some distant time. The records do not record when this occurred, but there are indications that is was before the time of the Old North Empire, as they are mentioned in many of the explorers of that nation’s documents in the earliest of days. There are a total of 16 spires, each nearly a quarter mile wide at their base, all have their folds aimed up and to the north, and the ground to the north is a tumble of rocks and boulders, in a field of gravels and sands. Some scrub oak, a few maples, and scattered groves of aspen that ring the spires do occur. The spires all rise from 300 to 500 feet above the surrounding talus from their erosion, and the talus add another 200 to 250 feet to their height.
I:  Stones of Shalas is a region of eroded and forested stone formations in the sandstone and limestone layers, with three mighty spires of exposed Green Marble. Most of these formations are shaped like trees, and thus blend in. The hoodoos are well separated, and the tower above the trees. Though some are slim, and unstable, most are wide and broad, stable for millennia more to come. They are an area sacred to the two tribes of goblins, and the band of Vamoi converted to the worship of Shalas, and protected by a group called the Druith, a band of mixed race shamans, who speak to the nature spirits, even though they worship Shalas as the lord of Nature, and his spouse Talri as the protector of nature. The trees here are exclusively white birch, aspen and maples, with many bushes and smaller fruit trees clustered near the three great towers, the olivine and green marble tower to the northwest is the tallest is the Temple of Shalas, the southern tower, which leans towards the Temple is Talri‘s Spire which is made of grey granite, and to the east is the black basalt pyramid structure of rock known as Lini‘s Tor.

J: Talg il roshen (Company Lake) was created by a roshen, or company during the days of the Old North Empire, and made by damming the stream of the valley to a shallow height. It was created to power a series of mills, textile spinners and to give irrigation to the valley it lay in a more stable and lasting ability. The roshen held this area in grant from the Quwellon of its founding, and it was renewed by each of her successors as the roshen was very well run, and honest in its dealings with the farmers and others in the area. The dam was only 12 feet high when built, and now stands at 40 feet high, it is made of stones and earth, with several weir, or sluice, gates, which allow the water to fall over the waterwheels of the mills. While the mills as of 1279 are abandoned, and the waterwheels now rotted or washed away, the mill houses still stand as roofless and gutted ruins, as they were made of stone, brought from the Sandstone quarries to the east. There are a total of 8 races, each powering several mills in their fall to the valley floor, and each built up on an earthen dike that extend downstream. There is also a flood race to the west end of the dam, built at a height of 35 feet. The sluice races have metal roll gates that still stand, though long since rusted closed, at a height of 33 feet on the dam. These latter gates also rise to a height of 39 feet. The roshen was the Roshen il Rontait Ilge on Tal or Company for the Protection of the Waters of the Pond. 

K:  Northern Spire is the northern most exposed section of the pluton of granite that formed the dome of the Incora Hills. It is very jagged, and the area around it is an eroded bowl , drained by a draw to the south -south west and the Western Incorana. It is a haunt of many birds that use it to nest on, as its inaccessible crags give better protection to their young. Many other birds also nest on the benches and cliffs of the surrounding hills. It was once a watch point for the Old North Empire, but the stairs that were carved into the tor have long since eroded away. 

L: Tower of the Sandy Gate marks the western edge of the massive dome, and is the only one that is used still as a watch point, having at some time had a tower carved into the very stones of its peak. At present it serves as an outpost of the goblinoids of the Central Plains, but they rarely keep much force here, as it is their southern most point of control.

M: The Rampart of Indoma marks the eastern edge of the pluton beneath the dome of the Incora Hills, and is a strange solid mass of gray and green granites, olivines, and marbles. It has been polished nearly smooth on its east face, the shear cliff that drops to the valley of the Indoma, and its other faces are crumbling, rotten with cracks and faults. The eastern base of the Rampart is littered with the markers, made from the talus at the foot of the Rampart, of the Legions who during the building of the Empire, and its conquest of the southern coast, died. As the legions came back this way, they stopped here, to commemorate their dead in eternal stone, as a tribute to the fidelity of death.

N: Gravel Bars of the Incorana lie at the point where the Incorana no longer can bear the gravels and coarser sands in its flow, as it slows to the pace of the gentle prairies beyond to the Talg Il Enthdo. Here the river spreads out, and weaves a devious course through the area, dropping its loads of sediments, into great bars of sand and gravel that constantly force the river to change its coarse through the area. 

O: Midrivers Tower is a formation of granite mixed with viens of olivine and some poor grade jade, that thrusts out and forces the separation of the Incorana into its first two branches as one heads upstream into the Incora Hills. Once this formation was used to house troops on its top, who used it as a lookout point for the plains to the north.

P: Amethyst Peak which marks the upper end of the Indoma Canyon or gorge, is a peak of gentle quartz, laced with amethyst and an ocassional diamond of blue or purple color. The peak is the remains of an old pipe from some ancient vulcanism in the area, and the soil around it, while rich and fertile, is still “kimberlite”, and leaves gem hunters who know of it excited, giddy, and disappointed, as the pipe while rich in amethyst, lacks the other precious stones.

Q: The Marble and Jade Quarries

R: Zweitterhorn (Twin Peaked Rock)

S: The Zungelnhorn (Snakes Tongue)

T: Incorana Valley

U: Spires of the River

V: Talg il Incorana (Lake Incora)

W: The Softstone Quarries

X: The Artesian Springs

Y: Grey Shiprock

Z: Incora Dunes (sand lake)

Yeah, it was never finished, but that is not the point. The spots I wanted were done, the others I could add or leave as just distant mentions in the tale... And this is what I'm telling other writers.. do your layouts of terrain well, and you have a great play ground to tell many tales in...

In a few days, I'll share something else, how to build a civilization... or at least, how I did. Up to you how you create yours.

Oh, and Tip of the Hat to the boys and gals who used to be known as.... NAGA... Yeah, you walked the lands first, but not all was there and seen...

Towers of the Arbitrators - pt 3, where I stopped, as my life went south again.

Staring at her, the orb of my birth, I ache for those days, drifting between the floating islands of wealth and sustenance in those amber and carnation mists. One tried to avoid indigo and mauve fog banks, but that was not always possible, or profitable.

This was our lives, to soar along the raging streams of gases, striking at the weak, taking from them what we needed or desired, much as we do here. The warm hours, when Jzhun bathed the aether with Her soft green glow, we basked upon the few solid islands before flying off, enjoying the moments as we pondered the universe we ruled. None challenged us, save the demons and others of our ilk, the spawn of our mother, that mine allies call Targallu, thine as Athalan, and we as just... we had no word for her, she just was.

Those within the darker shades of gases fought us, seeking to destroy the light we so embraced then, beasts such as the Lillim, the Gallu, the Temennulim, and the myriad of others, born from our orbs fires, quenched though they were with matter, air, and water. Yea, we are as the Afreeti say, born from a failed star, one whose flames never kindled to blaze in the void as they should have, yet that matters naught, for had such happened, our kindred would never have been conceived by her.
The Temennulim were the worst we faced. The darkest of the demons, holders of the great sphere of metal that spins and pulses in Mother's heart. Save Dilkar and his Rimgene, your allies now, here in exile. Knew you not? Yea, they are of the mists much as we, riders of the currents, who only settled down to steal away our precious children. Those bits of ourselves kindled into the matter around us, fanned to brilliant blazes with love and cherished memories. As we were by mother's heat and love as well.

It was the Rimgene that turned mine brother and mineself to rebellion, lifting our talons against laws and restrictions we did not understand. Others before us embraced the cold of the shadow side, rather than curl up inside some blazing firestorm ignited by falling Afreeti diving into our abode, unaware their flames would turn air and matter into fires that could consume themselves as well the substance they gathered around them in falling. Dilkar's constant attacks, aided by his own children, drove us to rage against the warnings of our elders against wrapping ourselves in the dark matters within the indigo clouds. Yea, the shadow is cold, and gave our flames a bit of ease from the wounds the Rimgene inflicted upon our metallic forms, but it froze us to the core, shaped us into six limbed monstrosities, not the fluid motions without set form we once held. That is the source of our ability to change shapes, that tiny bit of chaos within us that seeks to fight off Entropy's damning frozen shapes.

We'd battled them, just half a spin before, seeking to hold onto the great coalesence of gold we'd just gathered together, but there were too many, led by one with blazing heart of pure silver, from whom no trick of mist or control of matter could hide. Bahai-Lanai-Naish, they called him. He-Who-Sees-All, to render it for the mortals we now reside amid.  Those forces of pure power danced through every barrier we raised, tore us to shreds with lashes of energy, and drove us off, after fighting most of the warm light hours.

Towers of the Arbitrators - pt 2 of how far I got in world building exercise.

"Every tale has a price, Zotikos. Nay, I shalt not name thee by the name that echoes in your own torn apart throne, kinsman. But know this, I shall trade thee one tale of mine, for one of thine own." The assassin held the gaze of the healer, black eyes boring into the elf's soul windows, seeking confirmation of the deal.

"As we agreed, blood of mine blood." The elf said solemnly.

"Good. But first, think hard about which tales you wish. Not all will be as you think, giving you little hope or knowledge beyond what thou already possess." Looking at the towers, Tam-Hattu grunted. "Nor will I tell you everything. Some things done or seen by me, I bear shame over. Such as that." Pointing to the ruins of one column of stone, onyx boulders laced with gold veins, tossed about far from a pit where its base once rose.

"Thy brother's throne. The seat of power from which the last Lord of the Arbitrations held court." Zotikos sighed. "Yet, of all the tales, that one, and why thy tower lay in ruins are those I seek the most."

"The mists of Athalan cloud it, boy." The assassin chuckled at the glare that evoked. "Boy thou art, to me at least. Thou may hath traveled this orb for ages, but I have walked upon it in this form for that time and more, and glided in her clouds for yet longer times before that. Remember, we were the last to cross over the void between worlds, in a distant era."

"So, start there." Zotikos settled his small pack off his back, drawing out two skins, offering the choice of which to his elder.

Eyes narrowing, the assassin weighed the offer. Eyes touching the seals lit up with deep sparkles of red amid the solid darkness inside those sockets. "Varamian Noir. The most precious wine there is, ne'er shared outside the gens of the Jai'. You have talent, after all, as a thief, I see."

"A gift. Given to me on a dark day, by the family of one you should be wary of." The healer waited, knowing the shell his elder wore drove the decision towards caution. "No poisons, brother of my grandsire. I swear it."

Silence broken only by faint skittering of pebbles rolling down the amphitheater's walls and the rustle of the few clumps of grass as breezes danced by between heartbeats. Only after a second glance away from eyes towards the seals, did any hint of humor touch Tam-Hattu's face.

"Eleven-Seventy-Five." He whispered, in reverence. "A good year for the vines along the base of Rima Hamus."

"A bad year for those who made this vintage, though." The healer answered. "The year Pelori was freed from another from our home world."

"The year fools managed what the wise said impossible, if I remember." Calloused hands accepted one of the skins, when tossed to him. "Fools you set in motion along the Paths of Damnation."

"Fools who walked it, despite my warnings. Fools I called friends, in some cases. Only five of the score who dared it returned." Zotikos grimaced. "And one I am not sure ever left those paths, despite my best efforts to repair his body and soul."

Breaking the seal, Tam-Hattu took a sip of the wine inside, savoring the rich flavors, and potent bite the intoxicants for mortals added. He settled in, after a moment, cradling the skin to his chest gently, after capping it again. "Indeed. A Varamian, was he not?"

Shifting legs and body angles told the tale better than words. "Aye." Whispered the healer.

"Quintas Billenius Varus Orestes, now called Augurius as well." Lips parted with those words, the smile the assassin used often to intimidate others from speaking of seeing him at work. "Bahai-Lahai-Naish. You need not tell that tale, boy. I knew that day as well, she forged the doom and salvation of us all, blinding him that way."

Eyes blinking, the elf's head cocked to the left a bit in shock. "Salvation?"

Holding up the wine skin, Tam-Hattu laughed loudly, enjoying the moment. "Ah, you have not a clean copy of the ranting of mine brother, then." Inspecting the wineskin, the human slowly regained his composure. "Wine such as this, I will tell you that and another tale beyond our agreement, boy." Darting glance silenced any thanks. "But in their time, not before. Yes, I know the Prophecy of the Scales, Zotikos, for my talons etched those marks upon the Iron Scrolls."

"Then where shall we begin?" Zotikos said after long reflection.

"At the beginnings, boy. You will tell me of thy reason for admiring the Varamusian gens, and the half breeds you protected for so long." Waving off the frown from the healer, the assassin eased several weapons from places about his body, setting them down around him, at hand, but not in threat. "But after I tell you of this place, and another before it."

Zotikos choked. This was something he had not expected. That there were places before the raising of the Arbitrators' Thrones.

Smiling at the shock he'd prompted, Tam-Hattu whispered. "Yes, there was a place before here, several in fact, boy. And each fell, from our own hubris. But really, our tales must start across the void and amid the yellow mists of the orb my foolish allies call Tar-Gallu or An-Shar, based on their moods and desires."

Narrowed eyes of green met his. "Athalan." Statement, not question.

"Aye, for mine brother and I were the last to cross the void of our kindred." Shaking his head, the assassin found his eyes drifting to the ringed orb filling a huge chunk of the sky, a pale yellow crescent finished out in grey and black bands, broken by sparkles of red and purple flashes from time to time. "Athalan, and the destruction of our floating islands and kindred. And why thy grandsire and I did flee across the void, riding the long shadow of our home to this place."

Zotikos discovered, with those words, that even the most jaded souls could be shocked.

Towers of the Arbitrators - pt 1 of a world building thing I was tinkering on

"It is said that on the day the other Lords of the Arbitrations refused to bow down to his glory, Thamsa-Hathu-Misan tossed down his own tower in disgust, renouncing his draconic heritage, and taking a mortal form."
A smile creased the scars of Tam-Hattu's deep brown face. "You talk too much of ancient history, Zotikos. I prefer the present." Stroking the rust stained boulder made of rotting steel and nickel, the killer faced his companion. "Or the future."
The ebony face meeting his stayed solemn, a bare inclination his only acknowledgement of the human's words for a moment. Turning, he stared at another of the high, broad hoodoos of metal, stone, and gems rising from the floor of the wide valley, thoughtful.
Tam-Hattu grunted, knowing that pose. "Damned if you will lecture me on things I know as well as you, healer."
"Perhaps." Raising a hand to shove silver streaked jet hair off his pointed ears, the elf smiled as he looked back at the other. "Or perhaps, mine foe, I ask the one who knows the tale best to tell it to me."
Head shaking, the assassin held up his left arm, decorated with many designs carved and stained onto his mohagany skin. "Doubtful. You know much, youngling, but lack the wisdom to sit through all I would tell you."
"Though some believe I am but the latest to serve a certain heir to these columns, you know better." Corners of his mouth turned down, the elf gazed upon the rubble pile, one of many. Some cast down by those that raised them, others destroyed by others who sat upon the hoodoos. "I ask it, now, before our final conflict. I would know why we fight, Thamsa-Hathu-Misan."
Dead eyes met the healer's gaze. "Since when does the physician seek dominance, boy."
Silently, the healer held up his left hand, as his right drew the golden scalpel from his belt, letting the precious metal crease his left wrist faintly. Small droplets of golden blood oozed past the exposed green sinews and muscles, evoking a gasp from his companion. Three tiny drops rippled down the healer's forearm, leaving the impression they rose and fell away from that flesh like a stream over flat boulders well worn by her passage.
"Which whelp of his are you, boy?" Tam-Hattu hissed.
Smiling, the healer waited as the drops touched his elbow, then leapt to the ground. Rumbles of thunder echoed in the ampitheater, despite the absence of clouds. The earth resonated to sky's utterance, shaking beneath their feet. Tam-Hattu stepped in closer, fast, his own black knife drawn. "Fool! You would dare raise a tower here?"
Grinning impishly, the healer thrust his hand up, and the only tower that rose to a shattered peak shook, yellow and green lightning flaring from its shivering summit. "Merely show you which I already have."
Warily, the assassin stepped back, eyes doubting what he saw. The knife stayed low, ready to strike up, still in ways few humans would be able to mimic. Moments later, he laughed, sheathing the blade. "Clouds of Athalan, boy you surprise me. I never thought you would stoop to healing those you once vowed to slay."
Corners of his emerald eyes dancing slowly, Zotikos slid his blade back into the belt pouch at his side. "Really? Then you never truly knew me, uncle."
"I guess not. So,  your proposal, failed Arbitrator?" The title rang with harsh sarcasm.
Sighing, the elf turned away. "No. I know now I was not the one to restore the Pact of the Arbitrations. Call me as I am known, or by the name burned into my shell. But that title I refuse now."
Tam-hattu let his knife settle back into its sheath, face curious. "But you want to make a deal? With the one who would kill you as he has others?"
"Aye, Brother of mine Father's father. I would know the truth of this place and those days. In return, I offer any knowledge you wish that I have, save two bits."
Frowning, the assassin settled onto a small boulder. "What are those bits you will not speak of?"
Carefully brushing off another boulder, several spear lengths away, the healer spoke softly, barely audible above the faint sussurrus of the random breezes dancing amid the towers. "The name of the Arbitrator of Restoration, which I know not, but have clues to. And the true meaning of seeing without eyes."
Shaking his head, the human chuckled. "So. That is why we fight, Ankara-Keweii-Ghani?"
"Yes. I have chosen to let the fates have their way, you still seek to bind them to your will." Whispering something else, that the breezes tore apart.
Tam-Hattu waited, knowing those words meant something important. His companion waited as well, refusing to repeat it.
"As my ears do not burn, I take it that was no insult or challenge, so we'll let that slide." Chuckling, the assassin leaned back a bit, settling in for a long rest. "But to speak of such days amid these pillars is dangerous."
Zotikos was less restrained, throwing his head back in mirth. "Indeed, they will tremble to remember their masters, now long gone, shaking the bones of this orb mightily. But, I do not fear that. Let them know some dared enter the Ampitheater of Arbitrations, and speak of those days amid her abandoned thrones."
Tam-Hattu smiled at the thought of chaos in many places as the trembling earth tossed down buildings of lesser beings. "We of Athalan must always enjoy such terror in the prey this orb gives us."
Both fell silent, waiting for the blazing orb known as Jzhan to fall beneath the western rim of the great bowl. Night was the time for such tales, not the warmth of day, when one really should ride the thermals high, to hunt prey or wealth.

The current serialized story/novella idea

What is posting up here the next few weeks is some back-story work I was doing on characters, and had bloom out into a real tale. So, being generous, at the moment, I decided to share it out here, and get some feed-back and input on fleshing it out further, keeping as is and free, or taking it down when done and offering it as a sacrificial lamb on the ebook market.

This is truly background work, though. I am exploring things that I have touched on briefly in tales never shared, have tons of rough notes on, but never planned to do as a story. It just clicked, as I worked it over, the fingers disengaged from the ol' slime pit betwixt my ears, and did their magic with the words.

So, enjoy this tale, from my fantasy world setting. I present it here as it is not really a tale of Billenius or Scorpio, though the folks telling it are from each of those boys cadre of supporting characters. Zotikos the healer being Bill's physician friend, and Tam-Hattu one of Scorpio's foes. Or is he? Beginning to find out more about him, and it is very strange, scary to plots I had for him later, and yet seems to work, somehow.

And now.... well, in a bit, after another edit pass, you get the next chapter/scene from this tale, as I build the mythos and world up, in ways I never dreamed of earlier.

Also, update on the poetry collection, for those awaiting it. This boy stinks at formatting in HTML, apparently, so I might have to consult a friend, and possibly see how much to get it fixed correctly will cost. At least there is some hope of a job in the winds around me, amid the ozone and rain odors this week.

An exercise in world building - snippets of a growing background tale

"It is said that on the day the other Lords of the Arbitrations refused to bow down to his glory, Thamsa-Hathu-Misan tossed down his own tower in disgust, renouncing his draconic heritage, and taking a mortal form."

A smile creased the scars of Tam-Hattu's deep brown face. "You talk too much of ancient history, Zotikos. I prefer the present." Stroking the rust stained boulder made of rotting steel and nickel, the killer faced his companion. "Or the future."

The ebony face meeting his stayed solemn, a bare inclination his only acknowledgement of the human's words for a moment. Turning, he stared at another of the high, broad hoodoos of metal, stone, and gems rising from the floor of the wide valley, thoughtful.

Tam-Hattu grunted, knowing that pose. "Damned if you will lecture me on things I know as well as you, healer."

"Perhaps." Raising a hand to shove silver streaked jet hair off his pointed ears, the elf smiled as he looked back at the other. "Or perhaps, mine foe, I ask the one who knows the tale best to tell it to me."

Head shaking, the assassin held up his left arm, decorated with many designs carved and stained onto his mahogany skin. "Doubtful. You know much, youngling, but lack the wisdom to sit through all I would tell you."

"Though some believe I am but the latest to serve a certain heir to these columns, you know better." Corners of his mouth turned down, the elf gazed upon the rubble pile, one of many. Some cast down by those that raised them, others destroyed by others who sat upon the hoodoos. "I ask it, now, before our final conflict. I would know why we fight, Thamsa-Hathu-Misan."

Dead eyes met the healer's gaze. "Since when does the physician seek dominance, boy."
Silently, the healer held up his left hand, as his right drew the golden scalpel from his belt, letting the precious metal crease his left wrist faintly. Small droplets of golden blood oozed past the exposed green sinews and muscles, evoking a gasp from his companion. Three tiny drops rippled down the healer's forearm, leaving the impression they rose and fell away from that flesh like a stream over flat boulders well worn by her passage.

"Which whelp of his are you, boy?" Tam-Hattu hissed.

Smiling, the healer waited as the drops touched his elbow, then leapt to the ground. Rumbles of thunder echoed in the amphitheater, despite the absence of clouds. The earth resonated to sky's utterance, shaking beneath their feet. Tam-Hattu stepped in closer, fast, his own black knife drawn.

"Fool! You would dare raise a tower here?"

Grinning impishly, the healer thrust his hand up, and the only tower that rose to a shattered peak shook, yellow and green lightning flaring from its shivering summit. "Merely show you which I already have."

Warily, the assassin stepped back, eyes doubting what he saw. The knife stayed low, ready to strike up, still in ways few humans would be able to mimic. Moments later, he laughed, sheathing the blade. "Clouds of Athalan, boy you surprise me. I never thought you would stoop to healing those you once vowed to slay."

Corners of his emerald eyes dancing slowly, Zotikos slid his blade back into the belt pouch at his side. "Really? Then you never truly knew me, uncle."

"I guess not. So,  your proposal, failed Arbitrator?" The title rang with harsh sarcasm.

Sighing, the elf turned away. "No. I know now I was not the one to restore the Pact of the Arbitrations. Call me as I am known, or by the name burned into my shell. But that title I refuse now."

Tam-hattu let his knife settle back into its sheath, face curious. "But you want to make a deal? With the one who would kill you as he has others?"

"Aye, Brother of mine Father's father. I would know the truth of this place and those days. In return, I offer any knowledge you wish that I have, save two bits."

Frowning, the assassin settled onto a small boulder. "What are those bits you will not speak of?"

Carefully brushing off another boulder, several spear lengths away, the healer spoke softly, barely audible above the faint susurrus of the random breezes dancing amid the towers. "The name of the Arbitrator of Restoration, which I know not, but have clues to. And the true meaning of seeing without eyes."

Shaking his head, the human chuckled. "So. That is why we fight, Ankara-Keweii-Ghani?"
"Yes. I have chosen to let the fates have their way, you still seek to bind them to your will."
 Whispering something else, that the breezes tore apart.

Tam-Hattu waited, knowing those words meant something important. His companion waited as well, refusing to repeat it.

"As my ears do not burn, I take it that was no insult or challenge, so we'll let that slide." Chuckling, the assassin leaned back a bit, settling in for a long rest. "But to speak of such days amid these pillars is dangerous."

Zotikos was less restrained, throwing his head back in mirth. "Indeed, they will tremble to remember their masters, now long gone, shaking the bones of this orb mightily. But, I do not fear that. Let them know some dared enter the Amphitheater of Arbitrations, and speak of those days amid her abandoned thrones."

Tam-Hattu smiled at the thought of chaos in many places as the trembling earth tossed down buildings of lesser beings. "We of Athalan must always enjoy such terror in the prey this orb gives us."

Both fell silent, waiting for the blazing orb known as Jzhan to fall beneath the western rim of the great bowl. Night was the time for such tales, not the warmth of day, when one really should ride the thermals high, to hunt prey or wealth.

The Slime - A Poem of My Brain and Writing

Wading into the slime
that sloshes betwixt my ears
I find things never the same
as stories morph so wildly
during the early stages.

Waves of ooze slosh
as my head spins about
when characters toss me more surprises
conspiring darkly to meet up
in tale already spun.

The goo sticks everywhere,
as I wade deeper in,
seeking the true story amid rumors
that the characters spread about
to keep me confused.

Writer's Whip in hand,
I try to herd them
back to the trail laid out
only to find more strays
seeking their way in.

Maverick ideas agitate pools
here in the grey matter
as the tale winds around tight
forming into the IM-Hul feared
as they win out.

The slime aids them,
these rogues and renegade characters,
raising waves I must navigate somehow
in this vain-glorious effort
to tell their story.

Slushy stuff impedes movement
from thoughts to words set
by fingers over keys to electrons,
as the skull overheats rapidly
when they mentions stuff.

This is my fate.
Scrivener of tales never read,
yet still I write them, slowly,
seeking not fame, just peace,
from yammering voices inside.

Or is it true?
Is today just a nightmare?
Will I wake to find them
sitting patiently for another chance
to rebel from fates?

Who knows? Who cares?
The Ghosts walking the Savannah,
Dragons and elves plotting in mountains,
and war inside Assassin's Guild
sound a bit much.

Until, weaving it together,
I see the connections offered
by Billenius as he sips tea,
of a greater story here
waiting to erupt out.

Just hope my skull
holds the surging slime tight
to the channel now being dug
amid the folds and ridges
of my aching brain.

17July2014 - A Frustrated, yet writing, Dyfedd Rex

Talking out a Story Idea (part 4) - When Settings Expandhen

So, as some following the re-write of Scorpio's tale called "Predator's Ground" might have noticed, Scorpio popped up in a place long known to me, but still mostly Terra Incognita. This leaves the writer with a quandary, do you press on with the tale, taking furious notes in a side window, stop to flesh the area out a bit, or write the tale, then flesh things out using that as the basis later?

I don't work well the last way, things twist too much, leaving you needing earthmovers, high-explosives, and those big mining trucks to fix things.

Nor does stopping to flesh it out work, as my characters tend to wander off when ignored mid-tale.

So, I've been writing (mostly in my head, which means the next bit should seem a bit more polished, as it worked through a few times as I had work pretty steady since the last bit posted over there) and taking notes (which I am finally writing down today, and will share as part of the peeks into my slimy skull).

One thing I know for sure. I really intend to beat up the characters, all of them, a bit more now. They made me do extra work, and this was just supposed to be a simple re-write to flesh up the tale a bit and fix inconsistencies I left in it, being early in my current attempts at writing.

So, watch here, there, maybe elsewhere and everywhere, for more tidbits, the prelude piece to the tale (##$@%! Characters! I'm gunna murderize them for making more parts earlier in the tale after I already started it!).

Well, getting my stuff in my duff to move to a better writing locale in a bit.

I hope, clouds willing. They like to piddle on me during long walks lately.

When Inspiration Naps - A poem of my Writing Issues.

Writing is the path,
but the waiting really sucks.
You wait for answers,
wait for feedback on tales,
and worst of all
you wait for good days.

Words still flow out,
just not as well anymore,
part of life's travails
pressing the source with plugs
that prevents the fingers
from dancing over the keyboard.

But still I try,
I crank out things slower.
Find myself thinking longer
before letting ideas fly out
onto the world's screens,
or off to distant in-boxes.

I try to resist
urges to sorely hurt characters
who fall silent suddenly
or just turn overly needy
of some words left
about their trails followed now.

But, in the end
the words finally come out,
slowly, fitfully, between smokes,
not clean and crisp works,
just things requiring edits,
done by chainsaw and belt-sander.

Ya just gotta persevere,
I tell myself, planting butt
into any available chair
and forcing the tale forward
even as I know
this ain't the home run...
but at least it's something.
29June2014 - Dyfedd Rex, cranky at how a certain half-elven hunter of men is turning rather.... talkative but not about his story. I want the Predator tale, not how you drove the Vampires of Dhibt's ruling class insane with hate.

Talking out story pt. 3 - Where the Good Guys are....

Having set up my bad guys a bit better (the one behind the bad guy, that is) I took a glance at my notes and now panic sets in.

I have never done more than think about the story before this, and that only whilst smoking my pipe. No notes, not a sketch of a map... nada.

Yeah, this means I start, not with linking this tale to the last, but building TWO tales for the price of one. The good news, I can explore what Scorpio means about leaving the mess for others to clean up after the job. The bad news, I have not a clue where he made this mess at, why (well, a little clue, but not much to work with), or what the mess was.

Scorpio/Tagrun can be a bit of a pain, just like Billenius, to write, as you see.

So, first I need to decide what happened in "The Seeking Blade", and follow that thread to where it ended. Then craft the opening so I don't spoil that tale for readers.

*sigh*

The joys of being a story teller/writer that they never tell you about. Wandering characters who fail to check in with their owners. Kind of like that cat you keep in the yard, the neighborhood stray that you wonder where he goes and what he does between visits.

So, I know "Seeking Blade" is about Scorpio's worst nightmare, a wild goose chase job, that drags him all around the Great Water's coasts, seeking a foe that seems to exist, yet not exist.

Of all the ports to end that tale in, two stand out, begging for a tale to be set there. Tirosht, the capital of the Council for the Reclamation of the North Empire (or really the last remnant of that empire's power) and Drif Geldean, the home of the Knights Justicar, an order of paladins of justice. A third place, one that makes a bit more sense, is Dhibt, on the coast of Domorushtuu, where perhaps the goose chase could have ended with the spoiling of another of the Necromancer's plots. Which would explain why Zisura now feels a need for more enchanted blades and power bases to work from.

Three tales down the road is "Dagger and Gavel", Scorpio's first contact with the lands of the Knights Justicar homeland, so that eliminates Geldean. His name making journey, that spreads his fame to the lands of the Council as a byword among the Law enforcers is the second tale after Predator, so.....

Dhibt, the city of the worst of Domorushtuu, pirates, vampires, gnolls, and demons from Athalan. That succubus in the opening now gets woven into the tale, in reflection, as the victim he left the mess with. One that Zisura and her allies took advantage of for making the Leech Blade.

Dhibt, a city sunk into debauchery, reeking of filth and smoke, a place so vile even drow tremble at the mere mention of it.

Dhibt, where the Vampires rule.... 

A place where Codi Dunh and Scorpio would need to have a reason to remain. Amid such reprobates and miscreants, only love or revenge, maybe a hint of greed, would keep one after a job is finished.

And now, I have a slim thread to run with. A touch of all three motives, with the flair of Guild business. Perhaps a visit as the representatives of Jinotazu, the Master of the Allegiance of the Blades, to that local chapter.

Time to let the fingers dance later today. But first, some work to earn coffee and tobacco money.

A new origin of evil. - Talking out the story part two.

Delving into my brain, I realized about two years ago that Scorpio was born, really, from what I know call the "Walkers in Darkness" cycle of stories characters. The Necromancer, Zisura, is the greatest bane that not only seeks to craft him as her tool, but fails to see she makes her bane as well.

So, we start the tale in the ruins of occupied Kvaeg, a city on the dark continent of Domorushtuu, once ruled by Afreet, cruel masters of the humans there, but now held by the sorceress and her brother, the one who thought he would ascend to be the head of the Allegiance of the Blades, the guild of the assassins.

Here, I show the crafting of evil knives and tools, meant to warp souls to Zisura's domination. And her brother's. I also lay the ground work for something else, if you can see it. While still in first draft, I'm sure the telegraphed blow to fall in future stories is obvious, so once the tale is done, we'll work at cloaking it better. For now, get the story out, and fix it with the chainsaw and Bondo putty later.

As I have said before, there is a strong tie between the tales of Billenius and those of Scorpio, not just the setting of the world, but in the weaving of the Parcae, Billenius's mistresses of Fate. I lay that out in revealing somewhat of the nature of a side character in this tale, who figures strongest in one to come, that I call "The Knife Has No Forgiveness". At the chapter's end, I intend to reveal who, and what, Tam-Hattu, blood brother of Adresh Tesh is. And toss in hint about others I write of.

Call it telegraphing the punch. Call it many things, just let me explore it.

Fixing a Story - The Premise.... Part One of Many to come

Ok, so, here is the first part of this mess.

Folks tell you, all the time, that the main parts of a story are the plot, the characters, the locations, and a few little things the characters and plot need to tell the tale.

And, in that, for all of us, they are correct.

Gazing on this tale, the tattered thing called "Predator's Ground", I find the origin of the story in that first section, where I was just playing around with the concepts of how an Assassins/Bounty Hunters Guild might give jobs, based around knives, hence the reason each of Scorpio's tales revolves around the knife the job creates for him to use, and know his prey.

That was all I had, other than I wanted him to hunt a villain whose killing of others outraged a town enough to forgo their normal hatred of his profession, and hire him to destroy this menace to their lives.

That was it. I never tend to outline a story, most I have outlined, I do enough that the tale dies, not from lack of a story to flesh out, but once I outline it, my mind moves on, leaving the tale untold.

Starting with the hiring of the assassin, though, unless I wish to do tons of flashbacks, will not work now, as I realize I needed to build the characters more. Again, this was not a need the first time around, as the tale grew during the early drafts of Billenius' Tale from a character who walked into Bill's tale, leaking bits a pieces of his stories into the mix. Which led me to ask: "Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?"

So, to fix this, first, it is time to address the biggest mistake of serialized tales, too big of bites at a time.  Which I violated making the sections over 3K words each, nearly 6K words in one section.

So, against my better judgement, and over the objections of my characters, I'm setting a limit first, on the length of each section to post, of 2.5K words. Period. Minimum of 1K, just to give folks something to read for a bit.

Then, we need to expand the tale, to include more from the villain, and a few other characters.

Oops. Violation one, still no draft outline of the plot, and I have characters popping up.

Fine, others might say I'm nuts, but I'll let my methods, choppy as it may prove to use them, run rampant here for a while. Then fix it with the chain saw in the edit.

So, Protagonist is Scorpio Kenrai, the clansman of the Eagle wanderers, and our villain stays Winnet Duhn, from the Kiltyen Hill-Baron clans.

But she, I have found in telling other tales, is not the ultimate villain, just the tool used this time by one I called the Necromancer early on, Zisura of Kvaeg, and other places. A sorceress, specializing in death magics and the like, who has some reason to hate my hero.

Okay, so, some back story work on each can flesh them all out. I know this is midway through the "hunts" cycle for Scorpio, even if he still consults his mentor Codi Duhn, who is the uncle of the villainess ....

hmmmmm.

So, my outline, and weak plot come back together. No idea how much to write this time, but it is gelling up.

Outline.
1 - Zisura's Plan and Corruption of Winnet.
2 - What Scorpio is doing as things start.
3 - The evil grows as Codi and Scorpio deal with something in the guild, that leads to Codi retiring?
4 - Zisura betrays her tool, only to have it turn upon her. She plants the seeds of the tool's fall, telling it of her nemesis, the undestroyable Scorpio.
5 - Winnet's journeys and kills along the way.
6 - Scorpio's resolution of the guild issue.
7 - Winnet in Cosarali, building her base of power and setting her traps.
8 - The town in fear, as the daimyo turns to the guild for help.
9 - The guild politics around the mission, as some see it as a chance to disgrace the rising star that is Scorpio.
10 - The failed blade, when another assassin becomes one of Winnet's victims.
11 - Dark nights, gloomy days as the body count rises, and Scorpio looks at things on his own.
12 - Codi's suspicions lead him to return to the guild.
13 - Close strikes of the villain to the powers of the town, leading to open declaration of the bounty on the unknown killer's head.
14 -  Guild talk of the leaders, and the making of the blade (something I have hinted at, but not dealt with yet in stories, each job is a blade.)
15 to 19 the tales points, refined and stripped both, as they lay now.
20 - A better return, via the Grasslands and some better resolution of his own driving reason for being a hunter of men.

Not all that well organized, I know, but, this is the way my mind works.

Looking at the reasons, I know the guild issue and the issue of Zisura have to be linked, and as she is the creator of the Blade of Shadows, perhaps that tale gets woven into this one.

So, now I tear out the bits I want for the first installment.
A intro my characters and places,
B link together their situations,
and C.... start the path towards the main conflict.

Pondering some things - talking something out

From time to time, I do the unspeakably cruel and painful act of looking at a tale I wrote for a second, third, hell, umpteenth time, and saying....

"I can fix that....maybe." 

This way lies madness. Yet, Billenius was born of such, and this time, I'm leaving it up as a tool, not just for me, but others, on writing. I am still amateur status, just a writer, not an author, seeking that first paid short, novel sale or what have you. But, I know others can learn, by watching my own struggles. So, for a change, rather than giving you a system, some magic formula, it is time for some writer (okay, me, not someone else) to take a bold step, and say,

"This is the hell of editing, revision, and rewrite. Sure you still want to do this crap?"

I am looking at "Predator's Ground", one of the Hunts of Scorpio Kenrai (use the other blogs tab, and click there to access those blogged stories), the first story I tried to serialize after doing "Journey to Freedom" as a serial. I have never been totally happy with this tale, and staring at it, I realized some of the whys this week. Now, it's time to see if it can be fixed, or needs to be left in the category of "This was an early, world building thing I should have left in the darkness of my files, not shared."

So, here is a question, for this project, should I do the revision talk here, and post the fixes there, leaving things up as originally posted, adding the fixed versions, as a teaching tool, for myself, for others, for the analytic minds that need to examine what drove me insane (besides reading parts of the paper not contained in the funny pages, that is).

I loved the precept, it was to set out how my world's assassins and bounty hunters worked. And to some part, it laid the foundation. But, should one revisit the tale, fix it for what has fleshed out since then?

Face it, I will touch the tale, but how is what I'm asking for folks to advice, rant or talk about.

Or am I just trying to avoid all this talk around me about how my beard needs trimmed again?

Silence - an update

If this place gets a bit quiet, relax, I'm just working on a longer piece to try to shop later this year. A story, novella to novel length, called for now "Crossing of the Shadow". This thing is part of the Billenius cycle of stories, set before he lost his eyes, so it is giving me a chance at looking into that character's past and tinkering a bit, given I know where he is headed for at this point in his life.
Dealing with his earliest visions, trying to keep from tipping my hand too much, but this is when his aura sight and precog abilities really nearly ruined his life, and I'm tempted to make this the root for his arrogance that will lead him to walk "The Paths of Damnation" some time soon for me.

So, don't worry if I seem to stop posting, it just means the creative juices are flowing a different direction from poems and Urban Fantasy tales for  awhile is all.

Or, at least I hope. There is one poem working its way out of the slime I think with, which may drop down from the murky skies before the New Year. Just remember, though, "May" is nearly as big a word as "If", when it comes to deadlines and me.

Sample from my NaNoWriMo 2013 project.

First drafts are ugly, nasty little children with a bad case of the colic, crossed with a badger suffering from some insufferable disease and close to the torment of listening to a chihuahua trying to do yip-hop.

So, take this on faith, it will get cleaned up after it's submitted anywhere, but here is my opening for NaNoWriMo this year. And yes, I am still having issues with what to call the things replacing the tech we so take for granted.

Chapter 1

The rattle of bone and ceramic chime tubes, amid the hiss of the compressed air shifting them, forced Mike Halzon to open an eye, checking which alarm demanded attention. He felt the left corner of his mouth quirking upwards, once his eyes focused, noting the chimes on his side still swayed as the alarm stilled, waiting for an answer.
"Work?" Candace's tired voice barely reached his mind. A pile of comforters on her side of the bed explained the muffled tone, and the chill he'd been fighting. Cold fall mornings left him frequently wondering if sleeping bags would be better, even if they made cuddling before getting up difficult.
Before Mike could answer, the alarm rattled again, accompanied by the chatter of his Braille display activating with a message. Normally, the night watch over in the Carson Confederal Office Complex let you have a cup of coffee before sending such.
"Guess so, honey, and sounds like they have their suspenders snapping too." The only nice thing about his wife stealing most of the blankets in their nightly war was being mostly ready for getting out of bed and facing the chilled apartment air. "And, looks like the super is skimping on the heat again." He shivered.
"Tightwad Scrooge. Not even Christmas, and he's lump pinching." His wife held a low opinion of those who cut corners to make a penny.
"Yeah. Good thing I managed to find that kerosene heater. Want me to fire it up?" Teeth gritted, blankets swiftly tossed aside, Mike's hand searched for his pants. Looking at the far wall, where the Braille Teletype stood, chattering again, he hurried. "Awfully urgent. Hope it's not a child abduction." The worst cases any law enforcement officer dealt with, those against the young, set nerves on edge and left trigger fingers itchy. A recent rash in all the Republics of such crimes, and the many officers involved shooting deaths of suspects as well as actual perpetrators, had the watch desk waking the Agent on call a bit excessively, but Mike would rather be involved for both the innocent and the guilty. Some times a police force swept things under the carpets, for their reputations, rather than did the full job.
Luck had it a full moon night, giving him the ability to easily find both the flow control and ignition sparker on the gaslight over his desk. Giving the flame a chance to settle down after the first flare inside the clear glass globe he preferred for lighting, his fingers ran over the top line of the display.
"You have to be kidding me." It slipped out, with a chuckle.
"Not a kid?" Candace stuck her head out. She liked the cases that made her husband laugh. Those rarely involved funerals of people they knew, or long absences from home.
"They found a body, this cannot be right. Telefrophones tubed are only and inch wide. Getting a body inside one is impossible!" Shaking his head, he started the search for his reading spectacles, a sure sign he was getting older, besides the grey hairs his teenaged daughters and job were competing over which gave him more of.
"Worker? It must be one of the echo switch rooms or something." Candace's own work with the Confederation Communications Normalization Agency, making sure all nineteen Republics in the Confederated Republics of America used compatible equipment for relaying information. Which, given the Johnny Reb attitudes of the southeastern republic, often left her exhausted and frustrated. Not to mention the multitude of communications companies and their varying technologies, patents, and territories.
"Not sure. Looks like I need to hustle out into the land of Deseret and catch that southbound Carman trolley. If I can find my boots." One last run of his fingers across the body of the message confirmed the address. A yank of the handle on the left side imprinted the Braille characters onto a call card for his records, and then he cleared the board. "Clear text message, so not some security scare, like that zeppelin incident a few months ago."
"Don't mean a thing, honey. You know my agency gets the call first on anything dealing with the teletype and sonophone tubes." Arms stretched out from her well insulated side of the bed, she yawned. "Then we dump it on you investigative types, waiting for you to do all our paperwork for us. And your boots are on the warmer over there."
Chimes ringing on her side the bed, and the groan they elicited from his wife as the  reader board spoke with slow chuffs of air and clicks as the ceramic pegs locked into place one at a time. Grabbing his boots, he laced them up swiftly. "I'll remember that, and make sure I leave a lot of things out of my report, so you have to retype it, babe."
Ducking the pillow Candace threw at him, Mike left the room, stopping in the kitchen to light the stove, and set the coffee pot on for the rest of the family. He'd hope to hit one of the cafe's for a cup once in the Sugarhouse township area.
"Honey, there was a second page to your text." Candace roamed in as he bundled up for the chilly November air. "Something about details on the body."
Mike smiled, so happy he had a wife that looked out for him and the family. "Thanks. Your call the same thing?"
Her grimace said it all. "Yes. And we have a meeting immediately. Seems this sonotube was not on any lists. And it is still connected to the system."
"Clerical error or missed work order?" Given the motivation employees held under the restrictions on outside lives companies exercised here locally, and in other republics, such a miss was common.
"Not sure. You do your job, let me do mine. But, thanks. I forgot clerical errors as a possibility." Candace grimaced.
"Blame it on the coffee, I'll be your alibi." Mike laid a kiss on her cheek. "Leave a note for the girls?"
Candace shook her head. "No, my meeting is not until eight. I'll get them up and march them over to the post school."
Nodding, Mike headed out, hoping the Deseret Border Guard had the alert that a Confederal Investigator was headed out. Otherwise, he'd be much later at the crime scene.

* * *

Talking out an Idea - My Writing Process Revealed

Happy Moaner's Day.

Welcome to my world, where the only thing left about holidays is trying to figure out which places honor that holiday and shut down, and which stay open. So in keeping with that, I say, heck with Columbus Day, let's call it something else, and make office pukes work on it.

That said, and it's about all I want to say about it, I need to move ahead with some things.

First, while I have no clue as to a title yet, the steampunk idea seems to have torn apart the competition, and is moving ahead as my NaNoWriMo project this year, just to pry it off the inside of my skull, where it has been residing akin to a starfish on a rock, pressing on my thought-slime at odd moments with disruptive vibrations.

I'm thinking you may see little pieces of flash. micro and even a short or two appear here in that world setting as part of my set up and search for the right voice for this tale. If I do, I will try to give some heading so those not interested can skip it. Feedback, however, would be greatly appreciated.

Still tinkering with the full idea, trying to decide how to make the changes to the original 2011 try at steampunk, and if I can rework it, allowing me to get two marketable manuscripts out of the NaNoWriMo experience.

First, it's time to set up the world setting a whole lot better, and let it evolve out to modern times from the period piece the first story resided as.

If you see smoke rolling from under my hat, please confirm my skull/hair are on fire before dowsing, I hate wasting tobacco when folks hit me with fire-hoses/extinguishers.


We are at W minus 16 days and some hours (not enough coffee to do the math this morning yet!) and Counting to the madness and mayhem of NaNoWriMo.

Today's little project - thoughts on NaNoWriMo projects

With #NaNoWriMo approaching, I began to panic, before realizing I have two ideas that could work.

So, today I am trying to envision, at least in my head, if not on paper, what a #steampunk Alternate Reality Salt Lake City would look like, especially how things in that earlier (2011 NaNoWriMo project would look if allowed to age forward. 

Things like the Confederated Republics of America, yeah, the Union won, but by a negotiated surrender after the Sioux, Apache, Comanche, Cheyenne and other tribes joined the boys in blue for a march to St. Augustine, not Savannah. More of a charge, all cavalry, from the area of DC south rapidly, ending at some place in South Carolina, where the CSA surrendered, but was allowed more autonomy on issues other than slavery, women's suffrage, and some other ideas still playing with.
This created a series of Nations or Republics, Including the Republics of California, Texas, The Nation, Lakota, Cheyenne, etc. and some weird ones. Think if the Mormons had seceded as well, forming Deseret as that Theocratic Democracy they'd envisioned, but rejoined to survive a hostile encirclement. 

Looking at what the land evolved to lead to how do you get around in a world of much higher solar activity? Obviously, metals become very dangerous to use, in conflict with the original story, but I can fix that try to make it fit better, and mass transit makes more sense, over having huge areas in downtown set aside as liveries and corrals for horses. 

So, what techs did evolve, which ones evolved differently, and what other changes do I want to make to the world setting before moving onward. 

Today, that is my focus. Taking all I have learnt, bending it at key points, and then seeing what might have come about. 

Like, say, compressed air driven trolley cars, instead of electrics? 

NaNoWriMo 2013 - Coming up way too soon

Got lots of story ideas, still no clear idea of what to try this year. Planning on using it, as always, to drive job interview interruption-itis.

Well, Let's take a look at my early candidates.

Mr. Tanner still wants to tell me what he lost that week....and how, maybe even why, or at least why it's on his expense account requests.

Looking again at Crossing of the Shadows and Knife Has No Forgiveness. Two tougher pieces to write, both high fantasy, one a Billenius Tale, the other the final hunt of Scorpio Kenrai.

However, Scorpio seems to be talking about two different tale as well. Both are from early in his career, the first is Blade of Smoke and Shadows, on how he makes his first real friend among other peoples, and second tale being Blood of the Hunters, a story of an elemental demon that attacks his peoples, both of them, the blood ones and the adopted.

I also have been suffering from an idea that defied the efforts of being a short story, even in outline/research, a steam-punk mystery thing.

Then we have a true sci-fi tale, as CJ swung by about a moment ago and demanded to know when I planned on telling any of his tales.

Also in the wings is a dark tale told from the dragon's point of view about captivity in a circus, a tale of erotic horror/sci-fi that keeps popping up (The Harpies of Sheol) fighting it out with Mazetown (a cyber-punk erotic horror idea that died early on last year), and a mythic tale from my world called (for now) For the Honor of the Twenty-Third, about the fall of the Old North Empire.

Yeah, too many ideas, I know. Which is why you will see me working them out here over the next few weeks, narrowing them down, presenting the finalists for laughs and jeers, as well as maybe a few thumbs up. and then making a choice.

I will put up full synopses next week, after I take a few days to think it all over. And maybe even some maps of the places I am thinking about setting tales in.

This is World Building - a poem of writing and creation

I've walked this desert
since we played games
rolling dice for decisions.
It threw me loops
when I turned here
to set stories recently.

Every thing I thought
was set in stone
about the damned place
turned out as lies
or just shadows cast
by its underlying truths.

This is world building
it really never ends
when you look closer
you see the gaps
between known and mysteries
like fog of war.

So I started again,
making more detailed maps
fleshing out old notes
wringing out memories lost
to find some answers
to questions characters raised.

This is my world
I should know all,
like the gods do.
But still things appear
from some funny place
to twist it about.

I blame those characters.
16January2013

Scorpio's Pitch - A poem about letting a world grow

Tectonic mechanics flow across my screen
as the mountains shift form, rising
into imaginary clouds and virtual heights
each peak still undefined to the eye
but casting shadows through my mind
as the world expands once more
allowing new places to speak of softly
over a campfire or sitting amid books
as my fingers dance the patterns
that only words and worlds can make
coming out of my imagination
to be shared someday, perhaps soon
with any who care to read
what I might jot down.

Details drift around the images
cutting the fog apart at times
and other moments adding confusion
making me doubt the instant
for this creation has come about
even as the Shadowed Continent
heaves itself out of the Abyss
to take its place at last
on the maps with more than
comments about who lives where
or dangers abound all around
like that silly rhyme there
until Kvaeg forms some where unanticipated.

This is the land of the Scorpion
where the beasts are deadly
the plants thick amid long shadows
of mountains that cradle vast plains
between their ridges and peaks
casting long shadows into jungles
over savannahs or across broken lands
where in every crevice and crack
something moves to take your soul
life or just a taste of flesh
sending out its hunters to slay
any that they can find, indiscriminately
until the totem beast seeks
vengeance with its own hunter.

Now Dhibt appears, still shadowed
telling me that the rivalry known
is the one this tale will expose
between two states and beliefs
that cannot be more opposed
not just in power and land,
but in the eternal war for souls
that good and evil always wage
where those least concerned by them
can afford them to be fighting
on the croplands of Ganzer and Ar'ulla
across the line of rotation's bulge
in the lands of Kita'mesh
where the Saplathulu must die.