Tag Archives: fiction

Piece Four – The World's Eye at the Heart of the Sea

Posted on by under A Puzzling New World

The hooded figure waved frantically for Curian to swim towards the strange island. She had no other options, and so she did so with more than a hint of reluctance in her heart and a worried feeling gnawing at her gut. As she reached the thin line of shore that surrounded the domed building, the hooded figure reached down and helped her out of the water and to her feet.

“Inside, quickly,” the hooded figure said. She turned and walked towards the smooth stone wall, no features offering any clue as to how exactly they would get inside. Curian shrugged, trying to will away the cold of being in soaking wet clothing. She clenched her arms at her sides as she walked, and felt the familiar warmth in her hand. Hazarding a glance, she confirmed the piece of the trinket–the Prognosticarium, as the awful creature had called it–was still there. She closed her fingers around it and returned her attention to the hooded figure and the building.

“Closer, please. It will make this less of a nuisance, I assure you.”

Curian stepped closer. The figure motioned again, and she complied despite her reservations, until she was only a pace away. She could see the face beneath the hood. She was clearly of Elven descent, her features giving away no hints to her age. Curian’s eyes met the hooded figure’s for a moment before she looked away, warmth spreading at her cheeks. Gods damn it, she thought. Her one weakness, and she was already inviting her into her house.

“You’ll want to brace yourself,” the hooded figure said, her tone difficult to read in its matter-of-factness. “This can be a bit jarring.”

“What?” Curian managed to say as the hooded figure placed a hand against a part of the wall that looked like every inch around it. Slim fingers flexed against the stone, and lines of light snaked out from around them before moving to the floor.

Suddenly, Curian found herself standing over nothing but open air. She fell into the newly-opened space, landing gently on a curved chute that seemed to spiral downwards endlessly. She clenched her fists at her sides, holding onto the piece of the trinket for dear life as she flew downwards at speeds she would’ve reserved for nights of drunken horseback riding only. Before she could force her eyes to stay shut long enough to not fully experience the constant downward movement, there was a bright light ahead. It grew rapidly until it consumed her vision, and suddenly Curian found herself falling through open air.

She screamed reflexively as she landed on a heavily cushioned surface, bounced gently to her feet, lost her balance, and fell on her face.

“Apologies, but I did warn you.”

Curian leapt to her feet, immediately adopting a defensive stance with her fists raised. The hooded figure raised hands, palms forward.

“I have no quarrel with you,” she said. “Only questions. First, I would think a change of clothes and a warm meal may do well to foster some good will, perhaps?”

Curian lowered her fists. The dome was enormous from the outside, but it seemed impossibly far above them from the inside. The chamber was deep beneath the ground, and a number of floors were visible around the outer walls. Arched doorways opened into outer rooms at spaced intervals, and an infinite number of books lined shelves between the openings.

A chill from still being in soaking wet clothing brought Curian back to the current moment. “Suppose that’d be a good start,” she replied. “Before we go any further, I’d like a name to go with that hidden face of yours.”

The hooded figure nodded. Reaching up with both hands, she lowered her hood. What looked to be long, silver hair snaked around the top of her head in an elaborate braid, interrupted by two long horns that looked like small networks of tree branches. Eyes greener than the world on a clear spring morning gazed back at Curian, filled with visible curiosity and perhaps a hint of apprehension. Thin lips curled into a tentative smile.

“Sophia,” she answered. “And you are?”

“Sophia,” Curian repeated. “That’s a new one for me.” Sophia, the once-hooded Elven woman, raised an eyebrow.

“Ah. Sorry. Curian. My name’s Curian,” she added. She shivered again. “Now, what was that you had mentioned about dry clothes again?”

Sophia chuckled. “Follow along closely now, or you’ll get lost,” she said as she walked towards one of the arched doorways. Curian did as she was told, and found herself walking into complete darkness. There was a flash of light, and when Curian’s vision cleared she saw a small flame dancing above Sophia’s extended hand.

“Fancy,” Curian muttered.

Sophia laughed again. “You’re rather forward, aren’t you?” she said more than asked. “Not much of a barrier between what you’re thinking and what you choose to say?”

Curian was used to her approach to speaking her mind being referred to as a number of things, but she’d never heard it put quite so eloquently before. “Something like that, I guess,” she said. “Lying’s never done me many favors, so I figure if I’m just honest all the time it won’t kill me. The people it makes angry, on the other hand…” She trailed off.

The corridor, lined with even more bookshelves, sloped gently downwards. Doorways interrupted the shelves at measured intervals, just as they did in the larger chamber, and nothing was visible beyond the doorways–even with the light of the fire Sophia had conjured. An arched doorway ahead opened into a small chamber, a doorway at each of its other three walls.

Sophia gestured to a doorway on the wall to their left. “You’ll find something in there to change into,” she said. “Nothing quite as colorful as what you’re wearing, I’m afraid, but you’ll find yourself feeling warmer before long.”

Curian shrugged. “I’m no fish, so dry and plain suit me just fine for now,” she replied before she made her way to the indicated room. It was furnished simply. A small bed occupied the far wall, and a simple wooden wardrobe stood tall against another. Curian approached the wardrobe, opening its doors with care. There were a number of identical dull green tunics, each paired with similarly dull green pants. Beneath each outfit rested a pair of leather boots, all well-worn but reasonably maintained.

She grabbed up a complete outfit and approached the bed. As she had hoped, she spotted a simple bedside table she could set the piece of the trinket down upon while she changed. Each piece of her outfit hit the floor sounding like a fish flopping about on deck, each replaced by the borrowed clothing. Sophia’s words rang true–it was most certainly plain, but it was warm and comfortable, and fit remarkably well. She found a spot to hang her wet clothing to dry, retrieved the trinket piece, and returned to the chamber to find a table set up. Sophia sat at one side with a free chair at the other. A bowl sat at each place-setting, each with gentle curls of steam rolling up from the contents within, and each was flanked by an ornate drinking glass.

“You have questions, I’m sure,” Sophia said, breaking the silence. “As do I. Sit. Eat. We can get to that before long.”

Curian plunked down in the seat, surprised by how deceptively comfortable it was. “Not to spoil all of this kindness you’re offering, but I’ve had some questionable encounters so far,” she said.

Sophia arched her eyebrows. “You suspect the possibility of me poisoning you?”

“Sounds about right, if you’ll forgive the concern,” Curian replied. “And even if you don’t forgive it, I still suspect the possibility is there.”

Sophia shook her head. “Very well,” she said. First, she lifted a spoonful of the bowl’s contents–a hearty stew from the looks of it, with no shortage of meat and thickly cut vegetables–and raised it to her lips. “Or perhaps this wouldn’t be sufficient.” She returned the spoon before picking up her bowl and Curian’s, and swapping them. She took a bite, chewed, and swallowed, before taking a drip from the glass.

“You’ll find I’m both quite alive and not poisoned, if that helps,” Sophia added, mischief dancing at the corners of her eyes and the edges of her smile. She replaced the spoon, and gestured to Curian to try hers. Warmth filled her from head to toe as she took the first bite, and it tasted better than anything she’d ever managed with what money she could scrape together.

“You don’t seem to be from around here,” Sophia said. “Might I ask where you’re from?”

Curian took a sip from her glass. Gentle notes of peppermint and lemon, followed by just a touch of honey. She hated tea, but begrudgingly found herself enjoying this particular one.

“Rivenbrook,” Curian replied in between bites of the stew. “Out-of-the-way little village near the southern wall of the Westenvale Kingdoms.”

Sophia furrowed her brow. “I recall no such kingdoms nor any village by that name,” she said. Her expression brightened. “Most interesting indeed.”

Curian shrugged. “Not so much, but I guess maybe a little?” she conceded. “What is this place?” She gestured broadly with her spoon.

“An easy question,” Sophia replied. “You sit in the lower reaches of the Eye of the World. This is the seat of all of the world’s history, and a repository of much of its knowledge. I am one of many charged with its upkeep.”

“Many?” Curian asked. “I didn’t see anyone else. I mean, sure, this place makes some castles look like a peasant’s hut, but I figure I would’ve seen at least one other person here by now.”

Sophia nodded. “Astute of you, but I believe it’s my turn to ask a question,” she said. Curian opened her mouth to protest but stopping shy of saying anything.

“Go on,” Curian said, taking another sip of her tea.

“How did you end up so far out at sea?” Sophia asked. “I saw no vessel nor wreckage. I was tending to the fishing nets, and looked up in time to see you crash down into the waters.”

Curian smiled. “Lucky thing, too, since I’m not the best swimmer around,” she said. She considered the trinket piece in her hand. Sophia had been most welcoming, and had been disarmingly charming in ways that bordered onto bothersome for Curian, and yet…

She placed the trinket piece on the table. “This thing, whatever it is, brought me out here,” Curian explained. “Before that, it brought me to some old castle ruins.”

Sophia glanced at the thing, her curiosity evident in her prying eyes. “May I?” she asked, pointing to the trinket piece.

“I’d be careful,” Curian said. “Last two times I touched that I ended up in different places from when I started, and we seem to be awfully deep in the ground.”

“I’ll take that risk,” Sophia said, picking the trinket piece up between her thumb and forefinger. She turned it over slowly, taking in its every inch. “This is part of something bigger, yes? I can’t help but feel it looks familiar somehow.”

“Huh,” Curian said. “You’d be right. I got it from someone I do business with here and there. I tinkered with it for a bit, and then I wound up at the castle I mentioned. Found it there, floating up in the sky. Some creepy critter there seemed awfully interested in it, too.”

Sophia’s attention returned to Curian, an eyebrow raised. “Creepy critter?” she asked.

“Some knightly-looking monster. Or man,” Curian explained. “He had the creepiest purple eyes and he kept moving around in the shadows.” She paused, dwelling on her encounter with the creature. She felt a wave of unease wash over her, as if she were suddenly in his gaze again.

Curian snapped her fingers. “Right,” she said. “Almost forgot, but he was also holding his head under his arm.”

Sophia stifled a gasp, her eyes suddenly wide. She finished the remainder of her food and drink. “That’s very concerning indeed,” she said. “We’ll need to continue this conversation in the Astrarium, I think, so we can both get better answers.”

Before Curian could respond, Sophia was on her feet with a flame in one hand and the trinket piece in the other, walking towards the door they’d first come through. Curian leapt up from the seat, grabbed her glass, and followed quickly after.

Piece Three – Foes or Friends to Be Found

Posted on by under A Puzzling New World

Curian stood at the base of the stairway, her eyes fixed on the trinket as it floated above the tower in the distance. She looked around again, an uneasy feeling bubbling up in the pit of her stomach. This looked nothing like anywhere near Rivenbrook, nor the Shaded Weald near its edges. Curian had heard rumors of forgotten castles once lorded over by mighty kings and queens, all well beyond the Luminous Gates that surrounded the Westenvale Kingdoms, but they were just that–rumors. Ghost stories to tell greenhorn adventurers to keep them on their toes when venturing into the badlands beyond the kingdoms’ walls.

This looked like none of the places Curian had ever seen or heard of, and she couldn’t help but wonder how far she’d traveled.

“May as well retrieve the damned thing before I get my bearings,” Curian muttered to herself. She took a cautious first step, allowing only her toes to touch the stone first. She shifted more of her weight to her foot until finally she had fully stepped onto the first stair. There was a deafening silence as nothing out of the ordinary happened, and Curian breathed a sigh of relief.

The trinket glimmered in the air far ahead and above, bright even against the clear daytime sky. Curian gathered up her nerve and pressed onward, her goal visible and waiting for her arrival.

The castle ruins were interesting in that they didn’t seem to belong to one castle, but several. Obsidian stonework abruptly gave way to slate before shifting without warning to sections carefully crafted with clay and straw. The craftsmanship of each section was amazing, and Curian couldn’t help but admire it as she walked along. She found herself wondering who lived here that they decided to sample so many styles of building.

Curian almost missed the first royal crest, or at least what was left of it. A charred outline of a shield was all that remained, the thick layer of ash a severe contrast to the surrounding limestone. She wondered how many such things she had missed as she walked along, but her curiosity was not so great as to reverse her progress. She made a mental note and continued onward. It was, she reasoned, not uncommon for a dragon to destroy the markings of the rulers of a castle it razed. Perhaps that was the fate that had befallen this unusual place, she wondered, and her thoughts quickly turned to hurrying to the trinket in hopes that it would take her from this broken husk of what once was and back home, or at least somewhere a little more inviting.

The stairway sloped downwards, evening out until it became a pathway through a spacious courtyard. A fountain towered at its center, and its statue depicting a hero wielding a sword and shield was noteworthy for not having a head. Stagnant water sloshed gently over the lip of the fountain’s base with each breeze, a sickly green dense with plant growth. The gardens were overgrown with wild, grasping vines covered in thorns so long and sharp they could be used as daggers in a pinch. Curian followed the path along to where it forked around the fountain’s base. She felt a chill run up her spine that stopped her dead in her tracks.

Curian looked around. There was a second level overlooking the courtyard. Remnants of the floor jutted out with broken balconies extending further still. Beyond the stretch of floor, however, was darkness. The roof, or what was left of it, allowed for nothing to be seen beyond a certain point despite the sun shining through in a number of places.

A glint of deep purple was visible in the shadows for only a minute, and then it disappeared.

“Nope,” Curian muttered. “Absolutely not.” She turned on her heels and started walking faster. She reached the next portion of the stairs, which climbed along the side of a smaller tower, winding out of sight ahead. She could feel the hair standing up on the back of her neck as whatever she saw, she feared, watched her as she continued her progress towards the trinket. She walked faster still.

Her foot met the next stair, which gave like wet paper beneath her weight. She stumbled forward, grabbing hold of battered stone of the next stair. Three stairs behind her gave way, leaving her hanging on above the void. She clambered up onto the newly formed ledge, cursing the whole way, and once she was safely on part of the stairs she felt was secure and safe, Curian allowed herself a glance downwards. She immediately regretted it. Nothing was visible beneath where the stairs had broken away, or at least nothing was visible aside from the seemingly bottomless chasm that had opened up.

Curian breathed a sigh of relief before carefully getting to her feet. The stairs opened up to a small bridge that spanned between the tower she was on and the massive tower at the ruins’ heart. The trinket looked far closer now than before. Not willing to tempt fate, Curian picked up a large stone and threw it to the center of the bridge. It clicked and clacked along the stones of the floor, throwing off small sparks. The bridge held fast, not showing signs of being any less sturdy than the day it had been built.

“One easy step after another,” Curian reassured herself. “How difficult can it be? Almost there.” She stepped onto the bridge, each muscle moving into each step charged and ready for a mad dash to the other side should the bridge choose this to be its final moments. She reached the bridge’s center, and her fear began to give way to hope as the trinket seemed well within reach.

“How curious,” rumbled a voice from ahead, though Curian could not see who had spoken. More shadows had pooled just at the edge of the bridge, blocking the path to the final stair ascending the tower above which the trinket floated.

“Curious indeed,” Curian replied, a ghost of a tremor in her voice threatening to betray the coy tone she was trying to put on. “And with whom do I have the honor of speaking? The master of the castle?”

There was a horrible sound like millstones grinding to a sudden halt. Curian could feel it deep in her bones, and it took a moment to realize what she had just heard was laughter.

“It has been some time since anyone has come here,” the voice said. “I am not used to guests. I would ask you to forgive the state of things, but it appears you are passing through and not terribly interested.”

Curian tensed. If the trinket was her way home she couldn’t risk whoever–or whatever–she was now staring down taking interest in making it theirs.

“Just a student of the architectural arts passing through, admiring the many varied facets and facades of this magnificent castle,” she replied. “Very interested in the journey. No destination in mind just yet.”

There was a sudden rush of cold around Curian’s neck, along her shoulders. She could feel a presence only a few paces behind her, and the air around it was cold as the worst of winter. She could not muster the nerve to look.

“By all means, admire,” the voice said. There was an edge of something to it that Curian couldn’t quite pin down, but it left her feeling a very strong urge to get the hell away as quickly as possible.

“You have my thanks,” Curian said. “But also my apologies, as I don’t believe I’ve gotten your name.”

More laughter, accompanied by another blast of frigid breath. “No, I don’t think you did,” the voice mused. “A discussion for another time, perhaps, as I must tend to other matters at present.”

The oppressive presence behind Curian disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, and the base of the stairway was once again bathed in sunlight.

“To the seven Hells with that,” Curian blurted out, breaking into a full sprint. She took each step along the stairway winding around the tower with great care, though each step touched the stones only as long as necessary. With one last leaping step, Curian stumbled forward onto the circular platform at the tower’s zenith. She gasped for breath, hunched over but her eyes still locked on the trinket.

“I’ve got,” Curian said between deep, gasped breaths. “Even more. Questions for you, damn it.” She straightened up and took a step towards the center of the platform. The trinket, almost as if in response to Curian’s approach, drifted downwards until it was only a couple feet above the floor.

A newly familiar, horrid laugh issued from behind Curian, causing her to flinch.

“The Prognosticarium, here and ready to be taken,” the voice rumbled. “How convenient. And I suspect I owe you the thanks for bringing it to me, so unwittingly and carefree?”

Curian spun on her heels, fists raised. “Listen, you,” she snapped, ready to teach this king among creeps a lesson they wouldn’t soon forget. The next words she had meant to say hitched just behind her teeth when she saw who had been following her. The figure depicted by the statue.

He was tall, dressed in an outfit that screamed nobility. A wine red cape fluttered around the deep purple regalia. The silver of his gauntlets shined in the light of the trinket. He smiled at Curian, his purple eyes locked with hers. His head was tucked neatly in the crook of his right elbow, his neck topped instead by a thorny crown of jagged interwoven metal bands.

“What are you?” was all Curian managed to ask.

“Hardly your concern, child,” the creature said. “Step aside. You have no idea with what you are trifling. Once I have made use of the Prognosticarium, however, I assure you that you will be…” He paused, a dreadful smile creeping across cracked lips.

“Rewarded,” he added. The suggestion his tone gave the word did little to put Curian at ease.

She took a step closer to the trinket–the thing he was calling some strange, long, important-sounding name–and raised a hand towards it.

“You don’t know me,” Curian said. “I’m not terribly good at listening. Definitely lousy at taking orders.” She leaned closer to the trinket, her fingers hovering around it.

The creature recoiled ever so slightly, eyes narrowed. “That would be…” he said. “Unwise.”

Curian let out a laugh. “Good thing, then,” she said. “I’m not always the wisest, or so I’m told. Let’s see what happens if I do this.”

The creature let out a terrible, roaring shout as Curian’s fingers closed around the trinket. It was both burning hot and painfully cold to the touch. A burst of light emanated from it, rushing over the platform and spilling out far across the open air beyond the castle ruins. She could feel it shifting in her grasp, but this time it seemed to be growing in size.

Curian could feel parts of the trinket opening up as it moved in her palm until she could hold on no longer and was forced to let go. A number of pieces orbited a core of radiance and warmth, spinning faster and faster, some having changed direction and going opposite of the other pieces. Suddenly, the pieces stopped.

Before either the creature or Curian could say anything, the pieces rocketed off across the open air one by one, until the final piece was left.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Curian muttered as she reached out into the final piece’s path as it screeched through the air. Her fingers locked around it, and before Curian could process what had happened she was lifted off of the platform and into the air. The world below rushed by rapidly, and Curian felt her stomach turn. She shut her eyes, clenched her jaw, and offered a short prayer to any Gods she hadn’t recently blasphemed.

She hit the water just as a wave crested, the cold salt water forcing its way up her nose. The shock of the impact caused her to gasp, and she immediately regretted it. Curian bobbed at the water’s surface, only to sink into its inky depths. She clawed at the water around her with one hand while flailing her fist–still clenched tight around the piece of the trinket she’d grabbed–until she broke the surface.

Curian gasped for air, her eyes darting around madly. There was nothing but ocean for miles in each direction, it seemed, but before she could resign herself to her clear fate she heard a voice from behind her.

“Swim this way! Hurry, or the storm will claim you as its own!”

Curian turned and spotted a robed figure, hood obscuring its face, standing on what looked to be the edge of an island taken up by one squat, dome-shaped building.

With few other options, Curian swam towards the safety of shore.

Piece Two – A Puzzling World

Posted on by under A Puzzling New World

Curian stared intently at the curious trinket on the table before her. She had seen something very similar, if not entirely identical, to it, but so long ago it may as well have been a previous lifetime. She wondered what it could be, or what could be hidden within the trinket, and so with a deep breath and a gentle touch she picked the trinket up and began turning it over in her hands. She listened closely for any sounds, but there were none to be heard.

“All right, you go ahead and be difficult,” Curian muttered. “I’ll figure you out before long.” She picked at one of the small switches only to discover it refused to move, as if it were locked in place. She turned the trinket over in her hands and found another only to be met with the same results. She set it down on the table and sighed. She stepped away from the table, her feet leading her to a small shelf.

She retrieved a stoppered bottle of rum for which she’d traded a story and a fresh baked loaf of bread. The traveler, who had only stayed at her modest cottage for a night, insisted it was one of the finest rums she would ever drink as it had been stolen from the lost temple of some God-King whose name had been forgotten over time and lack of worship, and so it was only to be imbibed under very serious or auspicious circumstances.

Once the stopper was removed the smell hit her like a falling boulder. It was far from subtle, and stunk of very old bananas and spices. Curian tried wafting the aroma to see if that would lessen its punch. It didn’t–if anything, the potency and pungency of the rum’s funk only seemed more intense.

Curian took the small bottle of rum back to the table and set it next to the curious trinket.

“If I have to, and only if I have to, I suppose it’s worth a try,” Curian said to herself, eyeing the drink. She wrinkled her nose. “Not just yet.”

She picked up the trinket again, turning it over in her hands. A dial near Curian’s right thumb felt like it jutted out a little further than the surrounding metal. First, a turn clockwise which seemed to do nothing. She turned it back, then counter-clockwise until there was a soft clicking sound. Curian nearly dropped the trinket, excitement washing over her in a wave at the possibility of progress. She let go of the dial to explore the rest of the trinket, and the dial snapped back into its original position.

“Damn you,” Curian muttered. “That wasn’t very helpful.” She eyed the rum again. She sighed, somewhat resigned, and hoped that the traveler hadn’t been lying.

“Bottom’s up,” Curian said, pinching her nose with her fingers as she upended the bottle into her mouth. It tasted like warmth, first and foremost, followed by a powerful mix of cinnamon, bananas, and porridge. It far more dense than she had expected, but still went down smoothly and left a lingering tingling feeling dancing about her tongue and around her teeth. She set the bottle down as steadily as she could, the spirits already doing their work.

“Forgotten God-King, let’s hope your fancy swill was worth it,” Curian said as she picked the trinket back up. She turned it over in her hands, her eyes probing and poking at every inch of its surface. The dials, it seemed, as well as the buttons and switches all seemed to be at set intervals, grouped in small trios–one of each. They all looked identical, or close enough to identical at a glance, but Curian remembered the dial she had found that seemed to be recessed into the metal. She turned the trinket over in her hands again, feeling around it until she located the dial she sought. Again, she turned it counter clockwise until there was a soft click. This time, however, she held it in place. Gently, she set the trinket down on the table and held the dial with one hand while testing the button with her free hand. It moved into the trinket with a soft pop, and a silver door shut over where it had been.

Cautious, but driven by greater curiosity still, Curian attempted to engage the switch. She nudged it with her thumb, and with little effort on her part the switch moved upwards until it jutted out slightly from the trinket’s surface.

“Finally getting somewhere,” Curian murmured to the trinket only for the stench of banana funk on her breath to hit her nose. She thumbed at the switch again and it snapped downwards into the trinket. A thin line of ruby appeared where the switch was, and before Curian could react the dial slipped from her grasp and disappeared into the trinket to be covered by a small image of the sun.

That’s when Curian heard the ticking sound begin. Something had started to whir gently within the trinket, ticking not entirely like a clock and not entirely like a bomb. It had an urgency to it, and Curian could feel her breath catch as she waited. The trinket grew white hot in a flash, previously feeling cool to the touch. She dropped it to the table, and it rolled and spun gently for a moment before it stopped.

“What…” Curian said before she was cut off. The trinket spun rapidly on the table, the other dials and switches and buttons activating seemingly of their own accord. A gentle chime issued from the trinket as each set of interfaces disappeared beneath its metal surface. By the time the last one disappeared, it glowed like a coal in the fireplace. The ruby lines seemed to crawl along the trinket’s surface as the trinket continued to spin wildly. It snapped to a sudden stop, the image of the sun facing Curian.

The sun had a little face etched into its surface, and Curian was certain the face winked at her.

The trinket exploded outwards into the room in a brilliant flash of light.

“Oh, shit,” Curian managed to say as she was enveloped in the warm, brilliant bloom. Everything was suddenly dark, save for points of light that hurtled past Curian at extraordinary speeds.

Everything stopped.

Curian found herself standing at the base of a long, winding stone stairway that snaked its way through what must have been a wondrous castle at one point, though it was but an echo of its former self. To call it ruins would be generous, with parapets that sloped abruptly into courtyards and towers whose rooms were open to the air on most sides. Amidst the ruined castle loomed a tower higher than the others. The stairway wrapped and wound its way from where Curian stood to the top of the tower.

And in the air above the tower, glowing more brilliantly than a bonfire in the dead of a winter’s night, floated the curious trinket.

Piece One – The Curious Trinket

Posted on by under A Puzzling New World

Curian hurried along the stone streets of Rivenbrook, hands stuffed firmly in her pockets and her eyes focused on a point in the distance. She was, after all, on a mission of great importance. The ring she had acquired–no, liberated–from a gang of Dunbrough Goblins had to be worth at least enough to put dinner on the table for the next month if not longer, she reasoned. Ahead, not but a few blocks in the distance, stood Alistair’s Awe-Inspiring Antiquities and Curiosities, its doors illuminated by lanterns that never held a flame.

The door swung open for Curian, as it had every time she arrived there to do business. On previous trips this might have made her flinch or jump a little, but the trickery was familiar now. Perhaps even a little underwhelming on days like this, when Curian’s mind was sharply focused. A labyrinth of uneven, catawampus shelves stood just beyond the doorway, their contents only fully visible when looked at directly and a blur of color and shape when not.

“You’re very nearly late, you know,” echoed the imperious, insufferable tones of Alistair’s nasal voice. He was a wood elf, displaced by tragedy but not removed from his haughty demeanor, and his sense of his place in the world was never more apparent than when he spoke to someone he saw as beneath him. Someone like Curian.

Curian cursed under her breath. She scanned the shelves, following one path to the next. A left at the intersection of stacked umbrella stands containing old and forgotten swords, followed by a sharp right at the colossal aquarium occupied by tropical fish far from their natural home, and then one long straightaway until she reached the great gilded desk.

Alistair peered over his glasses, down his long, gently sloping nose, to Curian. His eyes drifted about her, and Curian could see the mental notes forming. The grime on her face from having fled the remaining Goblins through the Untermire. The thick mud caked on her boots, and the scratching vines still clinging to her aged and battered olive-colored tunic. Sands blown from the dunes just north of Rivenbrook, blown southwards by the ever-more-violent storms that had blown in recently clung to the sweat on her terracotta skin.

“Childling, you look simply dreadful,” Curian said, her words emphasized by her exaggerated scowl.

Alistair wagged a finger. “There will be no business, childling, with you behaving as such,” he shot back. Curian pursed her lips, but did nothing more. Alistair’s curiosity as to where his acquisitions came from only went so far, but the rules of decorum in his shop were immutable. He stared at Curian for a moment longer before holding out an immaculate palm. Long, pointed, recently manicured nails stabbed at the air between her and his hand like daggers.

“I think you’ll be pleased with this,” Curian said as she retrieved the object from her pocket. She placed it in Alistair’s hand gently and quickly, making sure not to not allow her hand to touch his. It had happened once, and that was enough for him to bar her entry to the shop for well over a month. Though he would not admit to it, Alistair’s disdain for Mountain Dwarves came into play with Curian whenever he saw her even though she had explained she was only half Dwarven, and that there was no reason to be such an asshole about it. Such remarks, naturally, had earned her a week of no entry to the shop.

Alistair’s fingers snapped shut and he pulled his hand close to his face. He opened his perfect, pristine fist and eyed the ring in his palm with much curiosity. It was a simple, silver band, inlaid with subtle runes that only showed when the light struck them just right. A small piece of unpolished jasper glittered in its setting on one side of the ring.

Curian leaned closer, but not too close to the desk, eagerly waiting.

“A trinket like this is a copper a dozen,” Alistair said at last, an eyebrow raised. “What is it you expect me to pay you for this?”

Anger bit at the back of Curian’s neck and around her ears. The heat of her rage crept towards her cheeks and up around her eyes. She took a deep breath, held it a moment, and exhaled.

“That’s no shoddy workmanship and you know that just as well as I do,” Curian replied, her tone as even-keel as a ship approaching stormy waters. “Runes for protection on one side, but when worn inverted they become runes of devastation. Whosoever wears this ring could raze cities or raise cities.”

Alistair nodded along, a hint of approval flashing across his face for less than the blink of an eye. “Well observed, childling, but wisdom like that does nothing to pad my pockets,” he replied. “I’ll give you ten silver and three copper, and not a coin more.”

Curian opened her mouth, fists clenched tightly at her sides, but snapped her teeth shut to keep the words she’d wanted to say locked up tight in their current cage. She would have to release them later, perhaps in the smoky, dark familiarity of the Backwater Bog Inn.

“Fine,” she said at last, holding her hand out.

Alistair retrieved a coin purse from among the heaps of things on his desk and slowly, deliberately began to count out the payment. It wasn’t nearly enough, Curian thought, but it had to do. She couldn’t bring herself to watch him count out such a pitiful sum, and so her eyes began to wander.

Something round and glittering caught her attention. She’d stood in that exact spot a million or so times, she knew, and she had not once ever noticed such a thing. She turned without fully meaning to, and there it was. A perfect sphere, copper in color with accents of silver and veins of ruby. Small dials and buttons jutted out at odd intervals. The longer Curian looked at the object, the more certain she felt it was calling to her. Only when her hand closed around it did she even realize she had reached for the curious trinket.

“Hm? Oh, that old thing,” Alistair said, clearly unable to hide his amusement. “Take it. I’ll keep the copper pieces and one silver from your payment as compensation.”

“Keep it all,” Curian muttered as she turned the trinket over in her hands, her eyes dancing along its surface as she did.

Alistair arched his slim, perfectly trimmed wisps of eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“Keep your silvers,” Curian repeated. She pocketed the trinket. “Until next time,” she added, turning on her heels. She walked at first, moving out of Alistair’s sight as quickly as she could. Once he could no longer see her, she broke into a run.

There was something about this thing worth investigating, Curian decided, and so she exited the shop and ran down the hillside, weaving through the small crowds of people moving about the streets with little to no interest in her. She continued to run as the streets gave way to the fields beyond Rivenbrook, and before long she stood outside of her humble cottage just at the edge of the shaded copse. She threw the door open and leapt to the only seat at her table.

“All right, then,” Curian said. She removed the trinket from her pocket and placed it on the table, curiosity bordering onto madness in her eyes. “What are you? Tell me your secrets.”

An Unintentional Hiatus, and Remembering to Breathe

Posted on by under Misadventures in Non-Fiction

Life happens, or so the saying goes, as does work and writing and finding time to exercise. Organizing parties. Dozing off in the middle of the day. And so on.

I’ve certainly kept busy, and sometimes I am kept busy. Sometimes I find myself time to simply be, and sometimes I am reminded to simply be (or, with a gentle nudge and much love from my wife, I am told to simply be). It’s during the downtime of being that I find myself thinking about what I should be doing and what I could be doing, and how I’ve not necessarily gotten any closer to accomplishing those things. On the plus side, I’ve gotten no farther from doing so either. Instead, I’m enjoying the adventure of being a father to two fantastic children, navigating the adventures of marriage with my entirely remarkable wife (who supports my writing far more than I do at times), and so on.

So what’s next, then? What misadventures wait ahead?

There will certainly be more Follow the Ashes sooner than later. Still plenty of distance to travel before we reach our destination with that story.

Introductions to Amira, and her Quest, are probably in order. We’ll see.

Then, of course, there’s a small matter of things to do with ducks, and if that’s confusing to read I promise it was just as perplexing to type.

Those, however, are misadventures for other days. Today, instead, I’m choosing again to simply be and remember to breathe.

[Message Received]

Posted on by under Follow The Ashes

…

…

[Data transmission incoming…Receiving…Please wait…]

…

[Encryption detected. Reviewing codex library. Stand by…]

[Error. Decryption protocols have failed to decode the message. Please stand by – rerouting through decryption sub-routine Foxtrot Tango Alpha. Stand by…]

…

…

…

[Decryption Complete. Message received.]

……….

[…Don’t forget to Follow the Ashes.]

[Follow the Ashes returns 3/1/2019]

Follow The Ashes: Forgotten Places, Lost Places

Posted on by under Follow The Ashes

Cas stared at Raph, both urging and daring him to elaborate. Raph merely shook his head in response.

“We need to keep moving,” Raph said. “I am truly and deeply sorry, but there are things you cannot know for the time being. It’s for your own good.” He nodded to the catwalk behind Cas.

Cas glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting someone to have caught up with them. She realized Raph was only indicating the path they would need to take. “What if I choose to wait here?” Cas challenged. “What if I refuse to press on? Or worse, what if I refuse to let you pass?”

Raph pursed his lips. “I can only speculate,” he said. “Nothing good.” He stepped forward. Cas grabbed at the railings on either side and stood her ground.

“I have no reason to trust you that I can think of,” Cas said. “Though you set me free, this could all be some elaborate ruse to lull me into false security.” She studied Raph’s face, hoping for answers that he refused to speak to manifest.

“You don’t,” Raph said. “Right now, you don’t. I let you out and guided you away from the more heavily-surveilled areas, but we can still be seen.” He gestured toward the wall. It was only then that Cas noticed the otherwise-sheer metal surface was interrupted at odd intervals by small, translucent domes.

“Like it or not, we still have a way to go before we can really talk,” Raph said. “Or we stop here and now. Gavin will find us. I’m sure my punishment will be far worse than yours.”

The scars. Cas found herself fixated on the scars that traversed Raph’s face. “Were you punished before?” she asked before she could stop herself. She clenched her jaw, not allowing herself to complete the line of questioning though it still lurked in her thoughts.

Raph frowned. “If I answer truthfully, can we please proceed?” he asked. Cas nodded silently.

“Yes,” Raph said simply. “These scars are a reminder of another time I disobeyed orders.”

Cas stepped back onto the landing, allowing Raph to pass her. The catwalks clinked quietly with each step they took. The dull echo of their progress proved to be the only conversation for some distance as Cas followed Raph deeper into the compound.

The Facility, Cas reminded herself.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said. “That was rude of me before.”

Raph chuckled. “No need for an apology,” he replied, rounding another bend. “There will be a time when everything can be made clear. When you can have answers. Until then, however, we must press onwards.”

A small opening in the wall was visible, blocked from being viewed overhead by a small outcropping. Raph turned around and smiled. “Besides, I know you meant no ill will,” he added before turning and continuing ahead. Cas was taken aback by the comment. Clearly, she reasoned, Raph was someone who knew her. Who seemed to trust her.

“Don’t linger too long,” Raph called back over his shoulder. He was now some distance ahead, Cas realized as she was snapped back to the present. She sped up, and as she reached the opening to the concealed room, she realized she wasn’t looking simply a door. A wall had once stood there, its remains clinging to where the ceiling met the other walls.

Raph tapped at a spot on his chest as they entered the room. A powerful light sprang to life inside a panel of armor on Raph’s chest, illuminating a room like the one she had been in earlier. This one, however, was in a state of great disrepair. A large, cracked glass panel blocked where the cells had been. Only a handful of the consoles remained, and of those only a few had monitors that were still in one piece.

“Keep your wits about you, Miss Cas,” Raph said. He approached the consoles. Cas followed close behind. There was something to the quality of the shadows in the room that put her on edge. Maybe it was paranoia, but she was certain something was moving at the edge of her vision.

“What is this place?” Cas asked as she looked around the room.

Raph tapped at the console. “Better to show than just tell,” he responded, his words shaped by a hint of a frown. He stepped back and clenched his fists. Suddenly, unexpectedly, Raph struck the side of the console. A dull whirring emitted from somewhere beneath its surface, and a few lights blinked to life.

“That’s a step in the right direction,” Raph said. He stepped closer to the console once again and resumed tapping away at its surface. Cas watched as small points of light followed Raph’s fingers, tracing lines along the dusty surface.

The floor shuddered as something shifted deep within the facility. One after another, panels of lights in the ceiling flickered to life. They were dull, Cas noted, and some of them remained off. Raph nodded to where the large pane of glass was, and Cas turned to face it.

Birds darted around a peaceful meadow. A family of deer appeared in the distance, only partially visible amidst the trees. A small stream bubbled along its path.

“It’s beautiful,” Cas said, drawn to the glass. A field mouse scurried up to the glass and stopped, eying Cas. The floor shuddered again, weaker this time. The lights flickered, and the animals briefly became transparent. The trees shifted and twisted unnaturally, branches briefly suspended by nothing. The grass and sky inverted colors. Cas felt her heart sink.

In an instant, the simulated environment returned to the way it initially had been.

Raph’s footsteps were quiet as he approached and placed a hand on Cas’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I should have explained first,” he said. “This is the prototype for what you saw upstairs, which in turn is a prototype for the functional version. Formulated Installations of Reality.”

Cas stared at Raph for a moment.

“It’s hard to explain, but I needed you to see this,” Raph said, the pace of his speech rigid as if he were reciting something. “It’s important that you question everything. Don’t let your guard down for a minute.” He paused, and something else blinked in the reflection on the glass. It was brief, but long enough to catch Cas’s attention. She spun around to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.

One of the little spheres from the wall rested on the floor, a dull red light visibly blinking at its core, visible through its outer, translucent layers. Cas took a quick step towards it, landing hard on one foot as she swung the other towards the device. It was deceptively light, and once her boot made contact it shot out of the room and down into the vast expanse of catwalks.

“We need to press onwards,” Raph said, a panicked look on his face. “I fear our time together is short, and there was still much I needed to cover. This is bad.” He motioned for Cas to follow, and Cas did so without question. The door at the opposite end of the room was tucked into the wall slightly, blocked by a honeycombed forcefield. Each portion of the forcefield was a distinct color.

Raph motioned for Cas to stop. “These old security features,” Raph muttered. “Keep an eye out. I’m certain we aren’t alone.”

As if on cue, a dull beep emanated from the space the highways of catwalks crisscrossed. It was followed by another, and yet more. The camera-orbs appeared, rolling into the room along the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. Points of light traced along the floor, moving with slow deliberation towards Cas and Raph.

“We have company,” Cas said. She glanced over her shoulder. Raph was tapping at the panels one at a time. At some point in entering each combination, the honeycombs flickered bright red and Raph recoiled in pain.

Cas looked back at the entrance. There were significantly more orbs. They rolled over each other, their progress slow.

“They don’t seem terribly dangerous,” Cas said.

“They’re mapping the room,” Raph said without bothering to look. “Anything out of place will be encapsulated and incinerated.”

“A detail you could have lead with,” Cas said, backing up. She kept her eyes on the camera-orbs. She could hear Raph tapping away, cursing under his breath with each failure.

Something caught her eye beyond the glass wall. Raph tapped a green panel, and the simulated grass turned slate gray. The brown honeycomb drained color from the trees’ trunks, the red and orange claimed their leaves, and the blue drained the sky. He tapped a second brown honeycomb and recoiled. All color returned to the simulated environment. The thing Raph had called a Formulated Installation of Reality.

“Let me try,” Cas said absent-mindedly.

Raph met her gaze. “Getting it wrong is quite unpleasant, you know,” Raph cautioned.

“It seems that way,” Cas replied. “We’re running out of time. I have an idea. Let me try it, please.”

Raph stepped aside, allowing Cas to take his place. She tapped a blue panel and the sky faded. She tapped orange, red, and yellow honeycombs, and the leaves on the trees went gray. She tapped the brown and green, and the trees and grass went completely dark. A single, golden panel lit up in the center of the barrier. Cas took a deep breath, held it, and pressed her palm against the golden panel. A silver light flashed across the barrier, and it vanished. The world beyond the glass disappeared completely, replaced now by a plain room. Metal poles stood where trees had been, and small, simplistic robots slowed to a halt—they were all that was left of the animals.

The glass blinked, then broke down and slid across the floor.

“Very clever, Miss,” Raph said appreciatively. “Let’s make haste. There’s an old habitation unit not too far from here.” He walked towards where the glass had been, stepping over its powdered remains and into what had only moments ago looked to be a picturesque meadow. The beeping of the camera-orbs grew closer and louder, their number having increased significantly. Cas crouched down as she stepped across the threshold, scooping up some of the substance.

She sifted it through her hands as she walked, moving fast to match Raph’s pace and keep ahead of the camera-orbs.

“Sand,” she said quietly to herself as the last of it sifted between her fingers. Something dark was left behind on her palm. She closed her hand, dragging her fingers across it. It smeared gray and off-white against her skin.

“More ashes,” Cas said.

The beeping intensified. Cas glanced behind her and saw the camera-orbs had picked up speed, now rolling after her. Cas started to jog. The room turned out to be a long corridor, mercifully free of obstacles. Cas and Raph only had to change course slightly to avoid the occasional tree-posts. The camera-orbs seemed to be pursuing them with purpose now, rivers of glass and metal splitting into individual streams to track Raph or Cas speicifically.

“What’s at the end of this?” Cas asked. Her legs had started aching some distance back, and she saw Raph’s pace had started to slow as well.

“Another control room,” Raph panted.

As if in response to their plight, the floor seemed to angle towards their destination. Cas and Raph ran faster, aided by the shift in the room’s configuration. The sound of metal on metal grew closer as the camera-orbs reached the hill as well.

“They’ll overrun us soon if we’re not careful,” Raph said.

Cas shook her head. “I have no intention of dying here,” she replied, pushing herself to run faster.

“The strange thing,” Raph said. “I don’t recall any of the older environments being advanced enough to handle shifts in terrain. The programming hadn’t progressed that far yet.”

Cas faltered briefly, her stride broken for a split second. She glanced back and spotted a crack in the floor. The paneling was uneven, shifted downwards like the surrounding floor but at a more severe angle. Scanning the floor ahead, Cas spotted more cracks and damage to the floor.

“Watch your step!” Cas shouted to Raph. A doorway loomed ahead, large enough that an airplane could pass through. Raph came to an abrupt stop, having maintained a few paces’ distance ahead of Cas.

“Look out!” Raph shouted. Cas stopped with only inches of floor left. A significant portion of the floor between where they stood and the exit had broken away. Nothing was visible at the bottom of the chasm – only darkness.

The camera-orbs had nearly closed the distance and were still rapidly advancing.

“We need to jump,” Cas stated decisively.

Raph stared down into the pit, then looked back at the robots. “Certain death or possible death,” he mused. “I trust you. Tell me we can make this jump.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “We haven’t the time for me to question why you trust me,” Cas replied. She turned on her heels and sprinted back the way they came. In a flash, Cas slid to a stop only inches away from the camera-orbs. She turned again and sprinted back towards the chasm. She leapt forward, gliding through the air like a seasoned ballerina executing a flawless grand jete. She landed on the other side, rolling forward to a kneeling position.

Raph offered brief applause. He ran back, forced to stop sooner than Cas as the oncoming wall of robots had moved closer still. He ran, huffing and puffing as he did, and leapt. Cas ran towards the gap, knelt down and grabbed Raph’s arms as he collided with the edge.

“Don’t you dare let go,” Cas demanded. “I still want answers, especially now.”

Raph nodded. Cas pulled at Raph while Raph carefully walked his way up the small portion of wall between him and safety. Raph fell forward, breathing heavily.

“I always knew you’d be the death of me, Miss,” Raph joked. “Thanks for that.”

The wall of camera-orbs continued to advance, nearly at the gap. “Don’t thank me just yet,” Cas said. The orbs rolled up to the chasm and stopped. They formed a neat, even line. Another orb rolled up onto the first layer, and then another.

“They’re forming a chain,” Cas observed. “They’ll be upon us before long.” She watched the chains of robots continue to grow. Something else caught her eye, however.

“Perhaps we should continue on, then,” Raph suggested.

“Hang on,” Cas said. “I’m curious. Something’s happening.” A dull, steady creaking sound was only barely audible over the din of beeping noises. The camera-orbs began to lean forward, high enough to reach. Raph leapt to his feet and started a slow but steady retreat when a loud crack filled the air. The camera-orbs heaved up and back, the floor falling away from beneath them. They disappeared from sight in an instant.

“That,” Raph said, pointing at Cas. “was luck.”

Cas offered a smile in response. “Shall we press onwards now?” she asked.

Raph nodded.

They arrived at a single door set in the wall, with a simple doorknob. Nothing elaborate. Raph grasped the doorknob and turned it, breathing a sigh of relieve.

“These old parts of The Facility have been decommissioned for so long,” Raph said. “Honestly, I’m grateful there are so few upgraded sections.”

“The disrepair certainly worked to our advantage,” Cas admitted.

Raph shook his head. “We’re not out of the woods yet,” he said.

Cas chuckled. “Was that a joke?” she asked.

Raph considered his words and smiled. “I suppose it could pass for a moment of levity, yes,” he conceded. He stepped through the doorway, and Cas followed.

“More catwalks,” Cas said. One catwalk was held aloft from one end of the room to the other. Several smaller catwalks branched off to doors. The opposite end of the room looked like the room Cas had woken up in, imprisoned. Nothing beyond the end of the catwalk was visible, as the lighting ended just before that point.

Cas walked ahead, her hands on the railings. “At what point will you tell me more?” she called back to Raph. “I would certainly appreciate it.”

One of the orbs appeared ahead of Cas as she reached the center of the room. This one looked different, Cas noted. A lense shifted over its surface in a familiar way, and as it rolled away Cas realized what the odd apparatus had done.

It had winked at her.

“Show yourself!” Cas demanded. She heard Raph’s footsteps stop.

“Is something wrong, Miss Cas?” Raph asked.

“There’s nothing wrong at all, is there Cassandra?” Gavin said, stepping into the light. His cybernetic eye was back in its place.

Cas tensed, a searing pain shooting through her. Her knuckles went white from how tightly she gripped the railing.

“Little details hurt,” Gavin said. “Big ones could kill you, Cas, my dear. Come along. There’s no report of this little excursion, nor does there need to be.” He glanced past Cas to Raph and smiled.

“This will be a little less pleasant for you, I’m afraid,” Gavin continued. “That could have been avoided if you had just let Ismeria watch over her.”

Cas worked through the pain. “What are you going on about?” Cas demanded.

Gavin took a step forward.

“Cas!” Raph shouted. “Look here!”

Cas turned, facing outwards. The void below was dizzying, but Cas refused to allow Gavin a chance to catch her unaware.

“I’m sorry,” Raph said. “I didn’t think we would have enough time. It looks like I’ll have to take a raincheck on giving you those answers.” He produced a small disc from a pocked on his uniform and threw it onto the catwalk.

Cas saw the look of triumph fall from Gavin’s face, replaced by intense rage.

“You know there will be consequences,” Gavin said, taking another step forward.

“Cas, you need to run,” Raph said. “Help those who can’t help themselves, and accept help only if you are certain you can trust the person.”

“What are you going on about?” Cas demanded.

“Above all else, don’t forget,” Raph continued. “As a wise person once told me, never forget this. Follow the ashes!” He pressed a button on his gauntlet and the disk emitted a bright light. Cas watched as Gavin jumped backwards, off of the catwalk. The world heaved beneath her, then fell away as the metal of the catwalk was reduced to ash.

Cas tumbled downwards into the darkness. As she fell, she fought to focus so as to prepare herself for what might await at the bottom of her fall. Even if it was her death.

Something shone dimly below. Cas fought to stop turning over in the air and tried to focus. She saw spots glimmering along a moving surface.

Cas braced herself for impact, held her arms tightly at her sides, and shut her eyes. She hit the water feet-first, plunging deep beneath its surface The cold hit her hard, and she gasped before she could stop herself. She fought her way to the surface. Small waves moved along the water’s surface. Not far in the distance, Cas spotted a small stretch of beach. She swam to it as quickly as she could, throwing herself onto the ground.

Nothing was visible above.

“Now what do I do?” Cas asked herself. She stood up, brushing the sand off as she did. There was a rusted recess in the wall, just at the edge of the beach, and in that recess stood a door. I

“Restricted area,” Cas read on the door’s surface. “Sealed habitation zone. No outside influence permitted.” She considered the words.

“Sounds like an invitation,” Cas said. She stepped forward, placed a hand on the door’s surface, and pushed.

Busy by Choice

Posted on by under Misadventures in Fiction, Misadventures in Non-Fiction

Happy Sunday, all (unless it’s been a shit day, in which case I’m sorry that tomorrow is Monday, a day of inevitable suffering).

Installment #3 of Follow the Ashes is drafted and now ready for editing. Still on schedule. Thank god for small miracles. Book 3 in the Dissonance trilogy, which I haven’t quite settled on a name for, is coming along nicely. This is in no small part thanks to my wife and her unyielding support of my writing, which is only matched by her patience with my bouts of writing-related moping.

Speaking of Dissonance in Harmony, some news on that front. It isn’t exactly some secret that I want to get another book published. That’s a rather crucial step towards my goal of writing for a living, which in turn is a step towards my masterful plan for global domination. Obviously. I’ve gotten good, over the years, at starting new stories. I’m improving at finishing first drafts, and I’m slowly getting better at editing and proofreading my work. An abundance of gratitude towards Lindsey Vath, my dear friend and beta reader, for all of the help she has provided with Dissonance in Harmony.

However, all of the above falls a bit flat if I don’t look into querying publishers. I could have the most well-polished, well-written story on the planet and it would be positively worthless without trying to find it a home. Spoilers: I don’t have that story, but Dissonance in Harmony is a fantastic story all the same. I finally took the plunge a few weeks ago and submitted it to a publisher. Then I submitted it to another recently. And two literary agencies. Because when it rains, it pours? Because good things happen in threes…er, fours?

I’m playing the waiting game, focusing on Follow the Ashes (share the installments to show your love, please – it’s a tremendously fun series to write). Wish me luck?

Oh, and I’m on Vero now. New social media sites mystify and confuse me, but feel free to follow me at Philip Wesley Gorski.

PS: When choosing categories, I never fail to cringe at my Hundred Days of Blogging self-inflicted challenges. I may take another crack at that some day, but those were rough.

Follow The Ashes – Into the Belly of the Beast

Posted on by under Follow The Ashes

Cas sat on the slab of metal made up to look like a bed by way of paper-thin sheets and stared out into the space beyond the small room. A series of monitors jutted down from the ceiling, hanging just above their corresponding consoles.  The monitors were dark but didn’t appear to be off. Every few minutes, if Cas tilted her head just right, she could see bursts of text shift across the screen.

She stood up and approached the opening to the room, cautious to not step too close. She glanced out into the larger space, and still she saw no one. Continue reading →