Crusade 2

“Yesterday, the sun was shining, the animals spoke and the world was right.  Today, the sun is gone, the animals are in hiding and nothing is right.”

-Agi-Tume, Illietheril Runner

“I was watching Laakasa in the night sky, when she disappeared.  Why Tak’gaar, has Laakasa disappeared from the sky?”

-Chakk, Korogin gha’tok initiate

“As we moved into our positions above the Om’rhak hamgar, the mountains roared and the hills shook and the night sky disappeared.”

-Mutaag, Herg warrior

“I thought something was different when I got up and the sky was gray and thick clouds hung in the air as far as I could see.  I knew something was wrong when I arrived at the gates of Nairn-vel-toth and nothing remained, but a giant hole in the ground.”

-Burke, Merchant

For centuries on end the wise and generous Mairhzba governed the land and peace reigned over it.  All across the Empire the people lived in harmony with one another.  The Mairhzba and its vassals traded freely with distant lands and there little was needed by anyone.  Markets throuought the land boasted all manner of trade goods and brought in visitors from across the continent.

Artists and scholars thrived and literacy was common among even the poor.  The works of great philosophers such as Suh’tan were available to all and formed the basis for many of the laws of the land.  Doing good to one another was considered to be the paramount law and respect for each other stemmed from the need to follow age old dictates of politeness and decorum.  In all life was good for the people of the Empire. 

Then it was gone.

With the disappearance of the great cities of the Empire the infrastructure of the nation was brought to a screeching halt.  Trade routes lay empty and fields were left to go to seed.  No one knew what to make of the disappearance of the Mairhzba and the attacks by all manner of raiders and marauders left much of the nation in shambles. 

Here and there small enclaves arose that were able to return their protected areas to a semblance of the lost civilization.  The age old mantra of Might-Makes-Right has returned to the forefront and these self-proclaimed leaders of the people prove that every day.  While it is true that most of the new settlements are led by honest men there are a growing number of stories detailing the atrocities and evils perpetrated not only by raiders, but also by those the populace looks to for protection.

The forces of the herg and korogin have taken great advantage of the disappearance of the Mairhzba and their armies and are raiding deeper into what’s left of the Empire every day.  Even age old allies such as the cymean and nemtsa are sorely tested by the loss of the Mairzba and both of these nations have done their best to withdraw from the Empire.  This withdrawal is not done out of spite rather it is from the fear that aiding the people of the Empire will draw the attention of the many raiders that are tearing at the remnants of what the Mairhzba had built.

Already the cymean city of Kar-met-Istan is under siege by a large contingent of barbarians from the north and it is feared that it is only a matter of time before herg mercenaries are brought in by the north-men to assist in the breaking of the city.  If Kar-met-Istan falls it is feared that there is nothing that can be done to stop the barbaric tribes from over-running the entire region.

All of these events have taken place in a year’s time and to say the future is uncertain is as great an understatement as one can make…

Crusade

After taking several months off any serious writing or creating I am back.  I am working on a fantasy story now and am really enjoying myself.  Here is part of it...

Times Before

The great Mairhzba city of Nuan-il-Travir was alive with activity, the five roads leading to it congested with travelers and citizens going about their business.  From the quintet of wide cobblestone paths branched out fifteen bridges that led to the greatest market anywhere in the Empire.  A thousand peddlers hawked goods from across the Empire and beyond from small rickety stalls to sprawling pavilions replete in all manner of finery.  All manner of goods from highly prized spices and incense to hand-made trinkets of questionable value could be found and the deeper one went into the market the more one could find.

Despite the almost chaotic nature of the market the city itself was a marvel of engineering and control.  Large parks full of delicate flowers filled the air with a pleasant smell and the granite statues that dotted the city stood in silent respect to the greatness of the Mairhzba and their Empire.  The city of Nuan-il-Travir, and indeed all Mairhzba cities across the realm were clean and well taken care of.  Extensive sewer systems kept waste from the streets, enchanted crystals glowed at night to keep the streets safe, and members of each cities Guard watched over the people.

Everywhere one looked there was proof of the greatness and majesty of the Mairhzba.  Peace across the region was the rule and even those living on the edge of the Empire felt protected and safe.  It was only as one traveled into the wilds of the frontier that one became threatened by the marauding hordes of the herg and the wandering korogin tribesmen.  Barbarians of all kind dwelled deep in the frontiers many mountain chains and the price of a man’s soul was determined by their skill with a blade. 

Within the empire though, the light of civilization shone brightly and the threats of the wild were used to keep children in line and as fodder for the bards who regaled people with stories of horror and daring-do.  All in all the people were content and compassionate toward one another and even the poorest had enough to get by.  By and large the people of the Empire were fat, lazy, and sated. 

Then in an instant it was gone.

A low rumble deep within the earth and a sudden windstorm were the only warnings.  In one terrible moment every one of the Mairhzba cities vanished, leaving nothing behind but massive craters and scattered ruins here and there.  In the blink of an eye untold millions disappeared and civilization was shattered.  Dark and ominous clouds hung unmoving over the width and breadth of the land and the even the light of the noon-day sun was barely able to pierce the gloom.

For weeks nothing happened.  Farms were left untended, smithies lay quiet, and the people were shaken and stunned by what had occurred.  The Mairzhba were gone.  Their guiding hand no longer led the people or protected them from harm.  Those members of the Guard that remained worked frantically to hold back the tide of fear that quickly overtook the populace. 

The first raiders came from the mountains to the north, great bands of half-naked men covered in sigils and painted in blue.  They quickly laid waste to several settlements across the edge of the frontier before moving east toward what was left of the cymean lands.  Korogin tribes brazenly moved into the fertile hills and terraces to the west and herg platoons overran the meager defenses across the frontier.  Even as the age old enemies of the Empire began to lay waste to the order that stood before and creatures unseen in generations again rose up to terrorize the people.

---

One year, one stinking year since they left us.  One year of chaos and fear, of blood and death.  Personally I don’t get it.  Sure, the cities were gone and the Mairhzba had vanished, but had we entirely forgotten what it was like to take care of ourselves?  It seems to me that our generations under their rule left us far too complacent for such a dangerous world.  Just look at how short a time it took before we were at each other’s throats.

We are fickle creatures unsuited to taking care of ourselves.  I am not at all surprised at the atrocities I have seen in the year since the Empire was destroyed but one cannot blame me for hoping otherwise.  Of course the irony of the fact that I have used my own strength and the strength of those I command to create a somewhat stable region is not lost on me.

Perhaps it’s a good thing that we were abandoned

~From the journal of General Issaks Terellius

 

 

 

Hellbound 4

The Abbey

The building was old, older than any structure deserved to be in this part of the country.  It had weathered hurricanes, blizzards, and everything else God could throw at it, and yet it stood.  Despite its internal strength, the weight of its bones, its outward façade was peeling and faded.  From the outside it looked like nothing more than a derelict old manse, its many-gabled porch sagging under the weight of years, and its paint worn to an indistinct shade of milky gray.

Even the little things spoke of the age of the house.  The rope-pull on the rust pitted doorbell was frayed and held together by nothing more than the assortment of cob webs that covered it.  The double doors were slightly ajar, the right side hanging by a broken hinge.  All one had to do was apply a little pressure and that ancient door would open wide enough to let me through.  A slight shove, nothing more, and I would be in and out of the weather.  But something makes me hesitate, some age-old and primeval fear of opening a closed door, of walking in on something one was never meant to see.  What was it about the unseen that always sent a shiver, a thrill up my spine?

I can make out the sound of the hound in the tangle of cypress trees and marshy reeds behind me, tracking me by the smell of my fear.  It was only a matter of time before I will feel its rotten meat tainted breath on my back.  If I don’t find some sort of cover it would be my ass in the fire.  So, against my better judgment I push open the door as slowly as I can to prevent any kind of noise.  My effort for stealth fails miserably as the ages-old hinges let out a squeal of protest at their jostling.

The noise seems to echo on forever until it is overridden by the sound of the hound tearing through the swamp after me.  If it didn’t have my scent before it certainly knows where I am now.  In a moment I am inside and doing my best to slam to rickety doors shut behind me.  Just as the doors latch clicks home I feel the doors shudder as the hound slams its considerable weight against them again and again.  My last glimmer of hope fades as licking tongues of flame appear under the doorjamb.  Those fuckers in the coven sent a hell-hound after me…now how in the hell am I going to get myself out of this mess?

*

Deep below the main floor of the house, in a hideaway dug from the floor of the basement it stirred.  The thick moldy smell of wet soil and ancient wood filled it’s nostrils as it slowly awoke.  Sleep flees its dream-ridden mind as the creature stretches its body from the cramped crouch from which it slept.  It thinks back to the last time it was awake, the last time it moved its ancient muscles and remembers the war over the slaves.  It remembered the power of life rushing through its veins as it fought against the forces of the great oppressor.  The war was fought on so many fronts, brother versus brother, freedom against bondage, and darkness against the light.  For years it had battled to preserve the souls of the fallen and to protect the sanctity of life only to be forced to retreat into hiding again when the war ended.

Now, after so many decades, it once again felt the touch of darkness nearby.  It could also feel the man’s fear and his life force coursing through its fragile veins.  The creature had hoped fervently that it would never again be forced into battle that it could spend its eternity hidden away from everything, but it was not to be.  It stood and slowly stretched.  After ages of slumber it could again feel the power coursing through its muscles, its mighty wings spreading wide enough to scratch at the walls of the spacious basement in which it had slept for so long.

The darkness would be punished for awakening it…

*

I step back from the decrepit doors as they begin to shimmer with heat.  It’s only a matter of time now before the hound is through them and onto me.  I can feel the long sigh escape my lips as I check the weapons that I still have on me.  Two clips for the .45 and my short sword.  It figures that I would lose the AR somewhere in that blasted marsh.  I could really use some automatic fire to try to drop the hell-hound but that’s just not to be.  This fight is going to be ugly.  I can already feel the beasts sweltering breath through the doors and there isn’t much lead bullets are going to do against its scorching hide.  Maybe, just maybe, I can slow it down with the .45 enough to use the sword but I’m not holding my breath.  Damn things are fast as hell and twice as mean.  Even money says I end up as nothing more than a pile of dog-shit on the floor of this old mansion before the day is over.

What's the Hook?

I can't really sum it up any better than the topic of this post.  In writing the hook is everything in my opinion.  You can be the greatest writer the world has ever seen, but if your idea isn't somewhat original your not going to get anyone to read it.  I don't mean the idea has to be 100% brand new, I mean are there really any brand new ideas anymore?  But it at least has to throw a different spin on the basic topic.

That is where I am at today.  Writing wise, other than a few more character write-ups and some little bits of expanding, I consider Rally Cry to be as done as it is ever going to be.  I think its good.  But I can't find a real hook in it.  I wonder if that is because I have read it sooooo many times.

This seems to be the reason why I change topics so often, trying to come up with something new and cool.  My Nexus setting is pretty sweet, but I can't help if it is too neat.  It takes things pretty far and is pretty extensive to say the least.

So now I am wondering.  Do I do a massive overhaul on Rally Cry, to up it to my current writing style, or do I leave it as it is and work on Nexus for the time being.  It is an interesting question since RC has been submitted for approval to a small games company.  The idea is to self-publish it as a 3rd-party supplement for their product.  Now it is just a waiting game.  Waiting to see what changes they want and waiting to see if it is approved.

In the mean time I write and wonder...

hellbound 3

The Abbey

The building was old, older than any structure deserved to be in this part of the country.  It had weathered hurricanes, blizzards, and everything else God could throw at it, and yet it stood.  Despite its internal strength, the weight of its bones, its outward façade was peeling and faded.  From the outside it looked like nothing more than a derelict old manse, its many-gabled porch sagging under the weight of years, and its paint worn to an indistinct shade of gray.

Even the little things spoke of the age of the house.  The rope-pull on the rust pitted doorbell was frayed and held together by nothing more than the assortment of cob webs that covered it.  The double doors were slightly ajar, the right side hanging by a broken hinge.  All one had to do was apply a little pressure and that ancient door would open wide enough to let me through.  A slight shove, nothing more, and I would be in and out of the weather.  But something makes me hesitate, some age-old and primeval fear of opening a closed door, of walking in on something one was never meant to see.  What was it about the unseen that always sent a shiver, a thrill up my spine?

I can make out the sound of the hound in the tangle of cypress trees and marshy reeds behind me, tracking me by the smell of my fear.  It was only a matter of time before I will feel its sulfur tainted breath on my back.  If I don’t find some sort of cover it would be my ass in the fire.  So, against my better judgment I push open the door as slowly as I can to prevent any kind of noise.  My effort for stealth fails miserably as the ages-old hinges let out a squeal of protest at their jostling.

The noise seems to echo on forever until it is overridden by the sound of the hound tearing through the swamp after me.  If it didn’t have my scent before it certainly knows where I am now.  In a moment I am inside and doing my best to slam to rickety doors shut behind me.  Just as the doors latch clicks home I feel the doors shudder as the hound slams its considerable weight against them again and again.  My last glimmer of hope fades as licking tongues of flame appear under the doorjamb.  The fuckers in the coven sent a hell-hound after me…now how in the hell am I going to get myself out of this mess?

Hellbound 2

The Beginning

If you were to ask me why I got into this line of work I guess you could say it is what I was meant to do.  I mean I was never suited for the 9 to 5, suit and tie kind of thing.  Hell, growing up I could barely hold onto my job at that crappy little burger joint in town.  For the life of me I just always thought I was supposed to be someone else.  I never felt like I fit in at school, sure I tied to play their games, shit I even started on their precious football team, but I never felt comfortable doing that kind of thing.  I was better at being the kind of kid who cut class more often than not and I barely managed to graduate when my time came.

It took me another ten years before I figured things out for myself.  The funny thing is that it didn’t even bother me all that much.  I can still remember how I thought to myself that it was about damn time something like this happened.  I recall all too well how that…thing… had lurched out of the shadows toward me.  I can still smell its blood-and-rot breath and feel its shit caked claws bite into my shoulder.  To be honest it was through nothing more than blind luck that I managed to kill it.  I used that broken two-by-four like I was born to it and must have hammered away at its body for twenty minutes before I stopped.

Why am I telling you all of this?  Well I guess it is so you can make a choice.  Y’see I never had one, like I said it was something I was born to do, but you have the chance to avoid all of this.  You could take the high-road and try to avoid this life, try to remain an upstanding member of society and all that crap.  But the thing is I can tell you won’t.  How do I know that?  It’s your eyes.  You have the same look that I had that day, the look that says you finally understand what’s going on around you. 

Sure sure, you know something now, but believe you me, you have got a lot more to learn before you can start hunting.  Just wait and see, maybe you’re meant for this kind of thing, maybe you will be one of the great ones.  But just remember one thing, if they turn you, if you let them change you into something like them I will be waiting…

Drat

Well, as usual something had to happen to inhibit my work progress.  Between waiting for approval for a project as well as my writing laptop not being able to connect to the internet, I have made little progress on much of anything.  Stupid router took a dump and I wont have money to replace it for a while.

While I am waiting for approval, or denial on my Rally Cry project I have been back to dinking around on my Hellborn setting.  It is nice to work my chops out on something else besides super-heroes for a while.

System wise I finally have one I am happy with for RC, but that all depends on getting the OK to continue.  It is funny though, as I wait I cant help but wonder what the hell is taking so long.  I am not a patient person at best, and waiting is something I am never good at.

Even for Hellbound I am happy with its progress.  The writing, although slow, is good and there is already a system that my friend and I created that fits my needs.  It is nice to have some things working out even if the overall project is on a stand still.

So here I am, unable to connect my writing laptop, so I cant really add anything of substance to this little blog of mine.  Hopefully that will be fixed soon, but time will tell.