Deadlines and stuff.

I have been working, on a few things and I think I am going to shoot for tomorrow to post at least the second part of Dusdane's tale, or maybe Dion's haven't decided yet. I have started working on a third tale and I hope to have that up sometime after Dion's and Dusdane's go up. The third guy we will be following is Daniel. Yeah, I have noticed the many D names as well. It wasn't intentional, I have a set of names for each world and I just happened to pick the D names each time. Also more characters besides these three are going to be around. I really like the direction I am going with these pieces. Usually I write in empty worlds where it is just the major characters but this time I seem to be populating things rather densely which is fun and I hope adds to the feel that these are real breathing places.

I got off topic. Fridays are going to be my big post days from now on. Musings will be posted as I come up with them and sentences will still be daily, but I am going to make most major pieces appear on friday.

Sound good? Sounds good to me.

Everyone felt like their shoes were a bit too tight.

His eyes fell upon the desolation; he could really use a sandwich right now.

He was aggressively happy today, and it had to stop.

New Label, Sentences

A few years ago a friend of my step-mother's said to me that to really better your writing you need to write a sentence everyday. Since this blog is here solely for my experimentation I think I will give that a shot. New corresponding label has been created and we will see if I can get one written most days if not everyday.

First sentence:

Why do we wear shoes; shouldn't we just keep the ground clean?

Brief Musing

Just wanted to speak a little bit about one of the issues that I have personally as a writer. I think this is also an issue with the internet as a whole but I will get to that.

I have been trained as a writer to revise, revise, revise and edit, edit, edit. Obviously this is because we want to remove all the obvious mistakes in the piece, and this in of itself is a useful skill to have. However a writer like myself can endlessly tinker with his/her words.

As a Journalism Professor of mine once said "Writers don't finish a work, they abandon them." I think there is a lot of truth to this, which is why deadlines can be very useful to a writer.

I started writing silly fiction back in gradeschool. I had this great idea for a sci-fi story about two people on opposite sides of a war overcoming their differences and saving the world or something like that. At the time I felt this was a fantastically innovative idea, and I had a great innovative title "Space Wars." I don't think I was even 10 at the time, so forgive me. Thankfully, that story has been lost due to the failure of the Macintosh IIe it was written on. That story however was the beginning of a great many stories that I never finished.

Part of me thought that I shouldn't finish those works mainly because I didn't think my skills were enough to do the stories I had in my head justice. So I kept working on my writing through Middle School, through High School, through College. Trying to learn what made good writing.

Well I am post grad now and I still have no idea what good writing is. From a lot of my writing classes in college I was led to believe there is no creative ideas anymore, and that all I could do was deconstruct existing ideas. While that idea in of itself is not bad, the whole idea of deconstructing existing tropes and ideas is becoming more and more of trope of itself. Also for every excellent deconstruction of an idea, we get dozens of other stories which are cut and paste masquerading as art. I even had a professor who encouraged outright plagarism.

So I waited all this time to get the skills to write the stories I wanted and now I am told that my ideas are cliche.

Sadly a lot of school, even in creative endeavors, is trying to figure out what your instructor wants, and while I was in College I managed to finish a great many short stories. All of them attempts at seeming like whacky post-modern writing while trying to keep to the old structures I held dear.

Now to clarify the "old structures" I refer to very much come from the heroic journey as outlined by Joseph Campbell. I didn't know this at the time and it wasn't until the middle of my college career that I realized how much I loved the ideas of heroes, and being thrown out of your element to realize a truth and bring it back to your world. Those stories, no matter how cliche resonate deeply inside me.

Back to my college writing days, I finished a great many stories. I felt like I could continue with them but the all important deadline stopped me forcing me to end a piece. I wasn't always satisfied with the ending but I had a piece with a beginning, middle, and end. That in itself is a great feeling to have.

The issue now with the internet and my lack of structure in my writing is that I am back to the endless tinkering with my work. So the only response I can think of is to write and post without letting myself tinker too much. The problem with this is that sometimes my work is not what I want it to be and is often unfiltered, sometimes illegible. However it is important that I get the words out there warts and all, I can tinker later. To finish a story longer than the usual twenty page limit that a usual creative assignment implements.

However now I am just throwing my unfiltered mess into the pool that is the internet, and it is scrambling to be seen among all the others.

Every writer has to at some point get over the fact that they think their work is worthless. So throwing it up helps with that, and my compromise is that I will come back after the work is done and tinker more, simply to make it clearer.

I think an issue with the internet is the temptation not to go back and fix. The words are already out there so why bother fixing and reposting. In the end I guess that is my challenge to myself, not to let half-finished things simply fall into the mess that is the internet but use this blog as a vehicle to keep me writing and keep me improving.

Anyway I feel as though I may have rambled a bit, but sometimes unfiltered is okay, at least I have put something up for today.

I believe in equal linkage

Apparently this whole blog thing has taken hold of my friends. I have added a third link on the Friends' blog box over there. Bestow on them the love I wish you would bestow on me.

And seriously more writing will go up soon. Most likely a continuation of Dion's Tale.

BEHOLD!

Widgets have been added! My Blog is slightly more organized than it once was. I have heard some disparaging remarks about the layout, and to those naysayers I say to them... it is a work in progress. I will keep tinkering to make it better.

In the mean time more writing will be put up in a bit. I have a bunch written that I haven't posted but I am holding off on posting until I have more than that written, so that I don't bunch a lot of my work then have nothing for a long time.

You know like what happend in november... and december.

I might start some kind of regular update schedule in order to manage the appearance of legitmacy. Also it will help me keep writing since I have a bad habit of just not writing for extended periods of time.

Also any of you new readers who have I may have accidently siphoned off of my friend's blogs, I welcome you.

Now With Labels

In order to help organize what will end up being a lot of posts, I have put labels on the pieces so that they can be more easily viewed in groups. I am currently trying to find a widget that will display the labels so that people can browse my projects easily.

Chapter 2

This is the center piece of the Many Worlds Project. The Story of the Fortyne Incident, at least that is my plan for now. You will notice connections to Dion's tale in this piece. And I will be posting the second part of Dion's tale later. Also excuse typos and things, this is still in a very rough draft. In fact there may be inconsistencies still because I have written different pieces of the story at different times and may not have had the full cohesive picture of what I wanted to do with the story yet. More editing will come in the future.

Until then enjoy Dusdane's Tale.

It was midday, the sun king hung directly above Dusdane’s head. He knew that if he stayed out in it much longer he’d get a nice red spot on his scalp. He fumbled through the cart and found his hat. Wide brimmed and thickly woven, it should do the trick just fine. He walked to the front of the cart where the caravan leader stood, his boss, Faecon.

“We almost there boss?” Dusdane asked before a yawn slipped out of his mouth.

“Tired? The day isn’t even half done.” Faecon replied his eyes stuck on the horizon. He was looking for walls of Fortyne City, the place where all roads end and begin, trade capital of the Many Worlds.

“It’s this blasted sun, it drains the energy right out of me. Why can’t this blasted world have some damn trees?”

“First time to Fortyne for you?”

“No, I’ve been here before. I just never get used to this never ending flatness.”

Faecon let slip what may have been a smile but it quickly moved back into an unreadable line. “They say Fortyne is the most flat-chested of the three sisters.”

Dusdane blinked. Had Faecon just made a joke? It had been three weeks since entering the portal at Kell, and it had been another two weeks journeying from Dalran to Kell. During all that time Faecon had never smiled, nor joked. He was all business. Had to get the caravan moving on time; had to make sure all the supplies were ready; had to take care of every damned thing so that he could relax, but he didn’t. His gray eyes were always darting from horizon to horizon. He seemed more at ease now that we were crawling across the plains of Fortyne. At least here he could see the danger coming at us in time to properly panic.

However, Fortyne was the most peaceful of the Many Worlds. Many of the rival worlds had at one time or another attempted to take it for the strategic positioning, but none managed to hold it. It was a nexus for the majority of the portals connecting the many worlds. Xirus and that frost ridden world didn’t count in Dusdane’s opinion though. To him Fortyne was the center of all the worlds, and there was no where he would rather be.

“Did you just make a joke?” Dusdane asked Faecon.

“Merely quoting some of the humor I heard some of the guards tossing about,” said Faecon with no sign of the near smile he had once had.

“That’s too bad, I thought for a moment you were interesting,” said Dusdane and began to wander back to his side of the cart to keep an eye on the west.

“To answer your question, yes we should be able to see it by now, which means we should be there by nightfall.”

Dusdane smiled, a night in Fortyne and hopefully five weeks pay to spend there. There would be wine and women from all of the many worlds.

Dusdane looked through the cart again. He was not expecting to find anything new. With luck, perhaps one of the guards had pinched something and there would be a bit of intrigue. However the usual assortment of textiles and foodstuffs were still there. Exactly as he had left them, for the hundredth time.

A large Haranatonian guard named Hurn approached Dusdane and tapped his shoulder with a bulging finger. Dusdane turned to see the man’s hairy bare chest. The hair was streaked with sweat. He was naked from the waist up and wore little to cover the lower half. He towered over Dusdane and he looked up.

“Has Faecon mentioned how much farther we must go?” The large man asked.

“He said we should be there by nightfall,” replied Dusdane. The man smelled like a wet beast. He figured while the heat had been bothering him it must have been murder to this man so used to the snows of his homeworld.

Hurn cursed in his language. Then he began to complain. “Five weeks and no attacks, I see why you people who dwell on the three sisters are so small. No combat to fill your hearts and bodies with the life.”

“I don’t know about you beastie, but I am glad for the quiet trip. The last caravan I was on went to Garren.”

“Are you saying little worms like you fought the nomads there.”

“I am, great battle too. They came out of the ground like skitter bugs and swarmed over the caravan. We ran for our very lives…” at this the beastman snorted, “and drew them through a narrow pass where two rocky walls lined either side. While we circled the carts and fought them out the others climbs the rock walls and dropped stones onto the nomads, scattering them and winning the day.”

The beastman eyes grew slightly larger than they had already been, “impressive, did it really happen that way.”

“No, really we were all killed to the last man. I escaped by burying myself in the sand then I was carried off by the nomads and forced to be a concubine for their women. Best year of my life, before the company which ran my caravan ransomed me out. Bastards.”

Hurn raised a thick eyebrow.

“I didn’t know the nomads took prisoners,” the beastman said in a gravelly voice.

“They don’t. I was lying, I actually died there.”

Hurn snorted and walked away. “I have no time for your silly games.”

“We have nothing but time,” Dusdane shouted after him.

Dusdane walked for a short time before Faecon came back to speak with him.

“Doesn’t seem the Harantonian took to your humor.”

“Doesn’t surprise me, the uncivilized brute doesn’t even have the sense to notice sarcasm, let alone true wit.”

The sun sank sending its last rays at the crystal wall of Fortyne City. The rays cascaded of the crystals creating an evanescent glow around the city. The walls of Fortyne were not so much walls as they were a natural outcropping of huge pillars of crystal. They jutted out of the ground criss-crossing making a barrier that circled most of fortyne. Where there were gaps either conventional stone walls or gates had been erected. This was another reason why the world of Fortyne had never fallen. Time and time again many nations of the many worlds had laid siege to city but none had ever been able to overtake the city. The closest were the Harantonian force in their short lived attempt at domination. The people of Fortyne held out in their capital until a combined force of Elaynian and Maeden forces arrived to force the beastman out.

The caravan reached the southern gate. Standing at the gate were two men, dressed in long yellow cloaks. They wore wide-brimmed hats which made Dusdane’s hat look tiny.

“Something is up,” whispered another assistant. “They usually just have mercenaries at the gate not Arbitrators.”

Dusdane’s eyes widened. In all his times visiting Fortyne he had never encountered an Arbitrator. It was good that he hadn’t, they were the last line of defense the people of Fortyne had. They were expert law enforcement teams in of themselves, and also skilled negotiators. All disputes, criminal or civil, that could not be worked out went to them.

Hurn bowed his head in reverence. Even he knew the stories of the Arbitrators and how they had defended the gate between the two worlds. The Harantonians eventually managed to make it through but the small force of arbitrators badly damaged the overwhelming numbers of beastmen. Fortyne had few laws that warranted harsh punishments, most of their laws were related to trade, but interfering with and Arbitrator while he was on duty was a capital offense. If someone with diplomatic connections who cannot be outright killed interferes with and Arbitrator’s duty, it can mean a full scale trade embargo with that government and a blockade of their portal. The portal network is centered in Fortyne, no government would risk that.
The Arbitrator walked up to Faecon. Faecon bowed low.

“How may I assist you good Arbitrator,” Faecon said as he rose from his bow.

The man in yellow tipped up the rim of his hat and glanced over the caravan. His eyes made tiny jerking movements as he took a wide sweeping glance. Dusdane figured he was analyzing everyone in the caravan.

“Papers,” the man said, it was not a request.

Faecon yelled to Dusdane, “Get our permits!”

Dusdane darted over to the administrative cart and picked up the pile of forms that allowed this caravan to enter. He then shuffled back Faecon and placed the permits on the front cart’s seat.
The Arbitrator picked up the papers and began flipping through them. The forty page form could take him and hour to sort through. It had taken Faecon, Dusdane, and Faecon’s staff a full day to piece it all together. However the Arbitrator flipped through the pages with amazing speed. Still it took an uncomfortably long time. The caravan workers shifted in place as night grew darker.

Dusdane had excused himself and moved farther back in the caravan.

“I don’t get it, they usually have clerk’s to do this why an Arbitrator?” Dusdane wondered to the assistant.

“I’m telling you something is wrong,” he began then looked at Dusdane. “How many times have you been to Fortyne?”

“Maybe a dozen or so times, that is why Faecon hired me on as an assistant.”

“In all those times have you ever seen an Arbitrator?”

“No, I always considered that a good thing,” said Dusdane, then his eyes sharpened on the assistant. “How do you know what they look like?”

The assistant lowered his eyes, put the toe of his shoe in the ground, and didn’t answer. Dusdane shrugged, it didn’t matter to him much. His eyes drifted back over to the man with the ridiculously oversized yellow hat. “Not much for fashion are they?”

“They want you to see them, they want you to know who you are dealing with.”

“You’d think they’d find a less gaudy approach.”

The Arbitrator dropped the papers on the seat. The cart lurched forward slightly.

“You are cleared to go, Arbitrator Dylan will escort you to your booth in the bazaar,” said the first man and yellow then he motioned towards Dylan the silent one behind him.

Dylan had been a statue until the moment when the first man motioned to him. He then stepped forward and took off his hat revealing leathery skin from too much sunlight and scars crisscrossing his face.

Faecon raised an eyebrow and looked at the two men. “Escort? We can find out own way, there is no need for…”

Dylan cut him off, “…There is an emergency situation, all caravans are being monitored as per the Emergency Situation Order passed down by Head Arbiter. I’ll try to be as convenient as possible.” He smiled a warm smile which offset his grizzled face. “Your papers are in order and I have seen most of you around here before so I expect no trouble.”

Faecon forced an unnatural smile.

Dusdane shrugged at the situation, at least they were being let in.

The caravan was led into the city by Dylan. They took a direct route to the Bazaar no detours. Usually this would have been the time for some of the guards to slip off and catch a drink or some of the local entertainment, now that the caravan was safely in the city.

However when one began to slip off Dylan said to him without looking, “I am sorry but I can’t allow you to leave the caravan.”

The guard an old veteran of the Garrenian and Elaynian wars, a man Dusdane had never wanted to get cornered by, got back in line.

Dusdane stood close to Faecon who stood near Dylan. Dusdane was curious and listened in as Faecon tried to ply information from the Arbitrator.

“I have never heard of an emergency situation like this,” said Faecon.

“I would assume you haven’t, they happen rarely,” replied Dylan simply.

“But they do happen?”

“There are always emergencies, it is our job to minimize that,” Dylan adjusted his hat so he could see better.

Faecon tried to be more direct, “What can cause these situations?”
Dylan smiled again and said nothing.

Faecon shrugged. He looked over at Dusdane and pointed at an inn coming up on the left. “Dusdane, go in and speak with the innkeeper. He should know me, and arrange for lodging of the caravan crew.”

Dusdane nodded and began to move, but Dylan said quietly and with an edge, “No one is to leave the caravan.”

Dusdane froze.

Faecon protested, “I need to make arrangements for my men they are very tired. You cannot impede the operations of a caravan the laws are quite…”

Dylan stopped. The whole caravan stopped. Then he smiled disarmingly. “I am aware of the laws as much as you are aware that I am an Arbitrator. Now if you would please quit your prattling we will make sure your men are taken care of.”

Dusdane was of the increasing opinion that something was very wrong. At first he had just been annoyed at the lack of ability to stop by and see Tya at his favorite tavern. She always was welcoming of the young man, especially after he had been paid, and then he would have stopped by and seen Freah, she often had a soft bed to fall into after a hard night enjoying the comforts of Fortyne. He always stopped by to see them when he first arrived.

But now he was more worried about something else. He suddenly felt that the caravan was in danger. The streets were quiet. Fortyne was a bustling metropolis with the greatest night-life of the many worlds and here it was utterly silent. He shuddered to himself and remembered another time he had been a city of this size where it was this quiet. His home town when it had gone into resistance against the Garrenian invasion. But war couldn’t come to Fortyne.

“Dylan!” A voice shouted from a rooftop, “Defender of a wicked city, you murdered my comrades now you will judged!”

Faecon barely had time to yell for the men to seek cover and they were among us. Shadows from the alleyways there were maybe a dozen of them but in the darkening night Dusdane couldn’t tell. He saw the beastman Hurg bat one aside, bare handed. But three of the shapes changed directions and overwhelmed him. The beastman barely let out a shout before he fell to the ground.

The shapes were headed towards Dusdane from the rear of the caravan and others were appearing from the front. Dylan had drawn a blade about the length of his forearm, he was holding it with the grip reversed and back along his arm pointing towards his elbow. Dusdane pulled out a knife himself but glanced at it and it seemed small as weak. Faecon had pulled out a pistol.

Dusdane squared his shoulder and raised his knife against the first attacked and suddenly got a good view of the fully armored man. The black armor bore the insignia of a woman holding a scale before her eyes, Maeden Judges.

Dusdane leapt onto to the first one stabbing wildly looking for a gap in the plates of the armor, but the attacker simply brushed him off and shoved him into the cart. Dusdane felt pain flow up his spine like fire then he readied for a second attack that didn’t come. He looked up to see the man had walked past him, as if he were not worth the effort. Faecon fired the pistol at another incoming Judge but the flechette of crystal bounced harmlessly off of the armor. Five of the judges converged on Dylan.

Dylan flicked his wrist and a small device fell onto the back of his hand. It sprayed out a sheet of liquid in a circle which suddenly hardened into crystal. The Judges all drew their swords. In the back of the caravan it appeared that the other judges were simply disarming and holding the workers back.

Dusdane leaped onto the back of the judge who had attacked him stabbing at the neck only to find the neck armor had been reinforced. The knife did nothing but he had a hold of the man. He stumbled under Dusdane’s weight, and tried to reach back, but the heavy armor restricted his reach. Dusdane tried to find the man’s neck but all he felt was metal and crystal. His fingers crept up onto the man’s face, and pressed inwards. But Dusdane was thrown off and he hit the ground hard. The Judge whirled around and swinging his sword, Dusdane jerked his head back to avoid but the tip sunk into the side of his head. He felt the sharp pain and expected to feel death’s cold hand casually take him like the others in the caravan who had died. But the blade didn’t continue through his head.

Dusdane opened his eyes and saw another blade in front of his head blocking the Judge’s sword, a crystal short sword. It was held by a man in a yellow longcoat. With expert skill the man ran the short sword up the Judge’s blade and cut the between the plates of the wrist armor. The Judge dropped his sword. Dusdane looked around and saw a dozen yellow longcoats disarming the Judges. The fight was over and many of the Judges lay dead. Dylan flicked his wrist and the shield melted away the liquid flowing back into the device. He had killed two himself.
“It worked,” said another Arbitrator as he approached Dylan.

“Indeed,” Dylan turned to two other Arbitrator who dragged and beaten Judge towards him. “Is he, healthy enough to talk?” One of them nodded.

Daren turned to Faecon. “We thank you for your services, please go about your business, your caravan has been granted amnesty from the curfew.”

Faecon turned red, “I lost many of my men and some of my cargo has been damaged, I demand an explanation!”

Dylan blinked but other than that looked unfazed. “We are aware that in your service of our city you have had some loss, you will be compensated. Come to the Arbitrator Headquarters tomorrow.”

The yellow coated men quickly moved off into the streets some carrying captured Judges some simply vanishing when Dusdane turned his head away. The rest of the caravan workers had long since scattered off into the quiet ends of Fortyne, some to lick their wounds others to try and drink the chaos away. Dusdane followed Faecon to the merchant they were delivering to. Since the bazaar was closed they had to make a direct delivery. Dusdane had begged to wait till tomorrow, but Faecon was obstinate. They arrived at the gates to the Merchant’s compound. Guards made their best show at being intimidating but after the battle with the Judges and scrutiny of the Arbitrators, the guards posturing struck Dusdane as amusing. Some blood trickled down his face and he wiped it away. The judge’s blade must have knicked him pretty bad.

After the Guards let them in Faecon kept things short, Dusdane went over the manifest, accounting for the damaged goods, and reduced the price accordingly. They would still make a profit but it was narrowed by the skirmish, however Faecon would be talking to the Arbitrator’s about that.

After their business was complete Faecon released Dusdane, and Dusdane stumbled off into the night.

Chapter 1

Excerpt from the Many Worlds project. This is Dion, say hello Dion.

Dion sat on a low wall lining the sides of the road leading into Kell. Dion had always liked Kell, a small city with the only real reason it exists is the enormous crystal gate that stood near it. The gate had been closed for thousands of years but in the last few hundred it opened. Little Kell turned from a small farming community to a small city utterly devoted to the service of the travelers coming to and leaving Elayne. A small military base once stood here as a first line of defense against possible incursions, but since the Treaty of Fortyne it had long been abandoned. The fields surrounding the city had grown wild since the economy of the little town was shifted to hospitality and import/export related bureaucracy.

This little eccentric city was the main hub of information flowing to and from Fortyne and from their to the rest of the many worlds. Dion’s job was to tap that flow, and to filter the nonsense from the gems and report back to his superiors. However, for now he was enjoying the sunshine. It was a few hours past midday and his contact’s pub didn’t open for another hour still. He could go around and chat with some of the beggars, he thought. Rumors were often good for pointing him in the right direction for useful information, but he knew what he was here for today. He needed to find the status of another Wraith who went to Fortyne last week. His reports stopped coming the day he arrived at Fortyne, and there was some fear he had gone rogue.

Dion doubted that the current bunch of transients would know about him. Kilan would, though, probably had given him info on the way out. One thing Dion could always count on, most of his contacts had been tapped by other Wraiths. Either to pick up similar information or to keep tabs on Dion. Dion had one up on the others though. Dion had kept tabs on a young girl and her mother living in the capitol. Turns out Kilan had his wife and daughter run off on him five years ago. The man didn’t have the guts to go look for them but was always willing to barter information.

He still had some time to kill as he watched Xirus circle the rim of the sun and begin its short trip behind and out of sight. Garren was in the sky as well today, meaning Sikasta was on the other side of the sun. Garren, it wasn’t so long ago that he was at Fort Yeradin, watching the coming and goings of refugees from that barren world. The refugees from Garren, were always a good source on the many enemies on that rock. The Hen, the long conquered people of the grasslands, particularly hated the current Nomad who had declared himself the Warlord of Garren, Odyn.

He had been antagonizing the clans to try another assault Elayne. But luckily due to the work of some cunning Wraiths, the Garrenians had their hands full with a dispute with the Maeden forces. Set one powerful enemy against another. Though the Maedens were never a direct threat to the Elaynians, they threatened Fortyne on a regular basis. They declared it a hotbed of corruption and subversion of law, luckily no other world has gotten behind their ideas. Maedus had gates to Icene and Harantos, and neither of those worlds would help. The Harantons were more interesting in testing their warriors against the Maeden Judges, and the Iceneians were never quick to do anything.

Dion mused to himself, the delicate balance of the Many Worlds. He laid on his back looking at the spheres floating by. Not long ago those were just spheres in the sky, then the gates opened. Each one filled with people and all those people trying to kill each other. The Wraiths did their part to keep Elayne safe but who did that for all of the worlds floating in this cavern. Well, if one believed in the Savants’ theory of the Many Worlds, then all these spheres floated inside one larger sphere. Theories were the luxury of those who had time, Dion rolled his body off the wall swinging his feet down first and standing up. The moderately tall black haired man then put on his black longcoat, the closest thing a Wraith had to an official uniform. He patted down his pockets to make sure nothing had fallen out during his short break. He found a knife on the ground and slid it back into place inside his coat. He shook the dust off the bottom of his coat and strolled into Kell, maybe he could catch Kilan as he opened. Dion strolled through the center road of kell, leading straight up into the crystal encased swirling blue vortex which was the Gate. He listened to the people as he walked. He heard two merchants arguing over the price of a horse and whether or not it game a bad leg. He heard two young girls gossiping about young soldiers who had come through recently. He trained his ear on them for mention of merchants. After a moment the name Dusdane hit his ear, one of the girls apparently had had drinks with this young merchant, and was disinclined to say more to the other girl who apparently had had eyes for the young man as well. Dion ran the name through his head and remembered hearing Faecon had hired a merchant assistant by that name.

Kilan’s general store stood before Dion, a small wooden structure solidly built, but quickly constructed. Dion placed his hand around the door handle and pulled. The shop was still closed. Dion walked around to the back and tried the back door, a door to a room in the back where Kilan lived. The door was also locked. Dion pulled out his knife and wiggled it in a crack and flipped the latch.

Kilan was sitting at his desk, an unmarked bottle next to him.

“Isn’t your store supposed to be open,” Dion said with a friendly grin.

Kilan started and nearly knocked the bottle over. Dion caught the bottle.

“Di, you scared the fool out of me,” replied the old shopkeep.

“I doubt that.”

Kilan gave Dion a cross look, but then brightened up. “Do you have news?”

“I do,” said Dion moving across the room to sit on the end of Kilan’s bed. “But you know news comes at a price.”

Kilan stood up and paced a few steps, “Okay what do you want to know?”

“I am looking for a man named Faecon.”

“Faecon, yeah I heard of him. Came through two weeks ago, bought an axle for a cart of his.”

“Did he ask you about anything?”

“That is two questions, for more you need to tell me of my wife.”

Dion smiled, “You are getting better at this. Very well, your wife moved again in Fortyne City, she has moved away from the merchant quarter. Still working as a seamtress.”

“My Daughter?”

“Did Faecon ask about anything, did he pick up any information from you.”

Kilan looked annoyed but obliged. “He asked about Judge traffic through this gate.”

“And has their been?”

“My Daughter.” This time it was a demand.

“Since your wife is getting older, your daughter has been taking up more work around the home. She has grown into quite a lovely young lady.” Dion said his smile widening a little.

“You’d best not get any ideas Di, I may be old but I will gut you if you touch her.” Kilan suddenly looked worried, “Have there been any men…”

“Judges, Kilan, any increase in their activity.”

“No haven’t seen or heard of a Judge coming through this gate.”

Dion let his shoulder drop a little. Looks as though the Judges’ operations were luckily limited to Fortyne.

“He also asked about something else,” said Kilan.

Dion looked up, “What?”

“Are there any men after my daughter?” Kilan asked again.

Dion rolled his eyes, “You know she will have to deal with men someday.”

“Not before I see her,”

“You’d best get to Fortyne then. Because she still has no man, despite a few merchants trying.”

Kilan sighed with relief.

“So what did he ask?”

“He asked if you were had been asking about him.”

“What? Me by name?”

“Does my daughter work as a seamstress too.”

“Yes, now did he ask about me by name?”

“No he just asked if anyone inquisitive had been asking, I take it to me someone like you, but not you specifically. At the time you hadn’t been so I told him no one was.”

“And he was headed to Fortyne?”

“Yes, they are safe there aren’t they?”

“For the time being, but Fortyne is always a powder keg. I would suggest you move quickly.”

Kilan nodded, “guess I won’t open the shop today. I have to pack.”

“Not a bad idea,” and with that Dion stepped out.

He stepped out into the ally and picked a piece of straw from a bale of hay nearby. He began to chew on it as he leaned against the wall.

Kilan was becoming less than helpful, Dion was having to fabricate more news about his family every time he came in. Next time he would have to ask harder questions. He had learned something though, Faecon was still on mission, but his inquiry into Wraiths following him did raise suspicions. Why would he care if he was on mission. Perhaps he wished to defect to the Maedens. Perhaps this Dusdane had something to do with this as well, he wasn’t an approved member of the operation.

In the meantime, Dion needed to figure a way to keep Kilan in Kell. Vandalizing his shop would probably be enough to kill his nerve and make him stay at least for awhile longer. He would say to himself, “I’ve waited this long I can wait a little longer.” People were predictable, never wanting to leave the security of their bubble.

Dion walked over to a small gang of street urchins, told them the back door to Kilan’s shop was unlocked and that when he left they could get in that way. They thanked the kind stranger and Dion headed for the gate. Those kids were pretty reliable, they wouldn’t do too much damage, just enough to keep Kilan paranoid and in his shop.

Dion smiled and approached a guard at the customs stop. Everyone had to be checked before they left Elayne. Dion handed the guard a single slip of paper. He read it and let him through.
Dion stepped up to the swirling vortex several stories tall. He smiled, he loved his job. Dion stepped through and he was in another world. Blurring lights before him the feeling of motion then nothing and he looked over a grassy plain not too different from the one he had left, but in the distance he saw the crystal walls of Fortyne City.

New template, maybe this will work better for reading long passages of my work.

Still Here

I am aware it has been a few months since I posted anything. I have written quite a bit and am trying to figure out how best to display in on this page. The overall idea of the Many Worlds project is finally taking some shape. I am currently writing many short stories about characters from different worlds and how a few of them meet each other on Fortyne during an unusual incident. My plan is to have this become a larger story arc, but who knows.

My characters keep getting away from me.

Soon there will be updates I promise.

Notes on the Many Worlds Project

The Many Worlds Project, a larger piece I have been trying to put together, will probably occupy the majority of my posts here. So I figured I should give a little overview of what I plan for this piece.

The idea of the Many Worlds came to me when I was thinking about the idea of a Dyson sphere, a sphere that completely surrounds the sun at a distance roughly the orbit of the earth. I did some research and found out this is not actually what a Dyson Sphere was, but the idea persisted. But I thought why settle for a world contained in a ball when you could have a solar system within a sphere. A structure so large it contains the entirety of out solar system. These worlds all orbit a sun within this gigantic structure, and there are many many worlds contained within it.

Also I imagined that within this sphere there would be atmosphere. One could travel between planets in an F-16 or a hot air balloon, or if a man was daring and crazy enough, be flung from the surface to escape velocity and float to the next world.

This is all of course impossible. I have had a number of conversations with friends of mine who are physics majors and they have explained the reasons why all of this is impossible. However the impossible has never gotten in the way of a good story.

Onus is the name of the structure which holds all these planets, and the worlds inside are called the Many Worlds of Onus.

I have a crude diagram of all the planets held within:

I'll give more indepth descriptions of each world later but for now the basics are this:

Xirus: This planet is very close to the sun and therefore is nearly inhospitable to life. It's coldest days are some of the hottest on earth, and only those adapted to heat can survive there for very long. During its orbit cycle where it is even closer flares lick the surface of the planet.

Garren and Sikasta: Both more hospitable than Xirus but still harsh places to live. Garren is a world of deserts while Sikasta is full of hot savannahs and jungle.

Maedus, Fortyne, Elayne: These three worlds are the most temperature seeing weather much like the Earth, but lacking much of the extremes. These worlds are envied by the others.

Icene and Harantos: Cold worlds inhabited by people used to such hardships. On Harantos the people have become more beastlike, with thick hair and thicker skin. While on Icene the people living there quickly went underground developing into Albinos.

Roamus: So far away from the sun that it's warmth barely touches it. It orbits close to the edge of Onus. There is nothing here except ice and forgotten things.

Beyond the shell of Onus there is void, or so the people living within Onus believe. The old Legend goes that Onus is a living being, and it formed this shell so that there would be something from nothing. Onus felt a need to create and used his body to shield his creation from the void.

The worlds live at a technology level approximating the renaissance, however there are ancient technologies around all of the many worlds. Most of this technology has to do with manipulating a crystal found throughout the worlds. It is harder than any other material and some devices can make it as malleable of clay. No one knows where these devices came from.

There is also an easier method of travel between the worlds, another relic left behind that the people of the many worlds use. Gigantic portals held in crystal frames that connect the worlds in a strange gate network.

By the way the gates are set up you can see where certain planets may come into conflict and how Fortyne has become the center of the many worlds.

In general my project is to write a number of short stories set in the Many Worlds which may in time become a novel in itself. More though it is just a place to play with this world I have created in my head. More stories and information to come.

Prelude

This is a piece from a larger work I am messing around with. I am taking a tip from Indiana Jones in this piece.

The Sun shone distant and cold, little more than a star in the sky. Four men trudged slowly across the gray and lifeless dirt that stretched on as far as one could see. Three of the men were wrapped up in wool from head to toe, the fourth stood with his bare face exposed to the blasts of icy wind

The bare faced man gazed over the monotonous terrain and somehow picked a course, pointing and shouting orders. The men spread out lying down in the dirt. The fourth stood in the middle of them and activating a device on his wrists, he put his palms together. He slid his hands in opposite directions and a sheet of liquid poured from palm to palm slowly hardening into crystal. He spread his hands about four feet apart then stopped. He flicked the excess from the now formed crystal blade.

Another gust of wind rushed over the men, shards of ice cut the bare faced man’s face. He didn’t move up to cover it, though warmth was rushing out as steam from the small cut.
Before him out of nothingness rose a formless black shadow, towering as tall as three men.
“Voidshaped!” yelled one of the men lying in the dirt.

The formless shadow slowly grew fluctuating arms and legs. The edges of its form ebbed back and force like the tides. It turned to the man who had shouted. The bare faced man stepped forward and sliced at the creature’s new formed leg. The thing let out a wordless cry and near soundless cry, little more than the hissing of air, and swung one of its malformed limbs at the bare-faced man. He rolled backwards to avoid the blow.

“Now!”

The other three leaped up from the ground throwing nets, the cross sections of -which were coated with the same crystal of the bare-faced man’s sword. They landed on their mark and the creature shrank as it looked as though it was curling up under the nets.

The bare-faced man rushed forward stabbing again. The three others pulled ropes to tighten the nets against the creature’s thrashing. A few more stabs and the creature’s thrashing weakened. The battle was nearly won.

One of the three lines that held the ropes went limp. The three men looked to the man who should have been holding the third line. They saw a smaller shadowy shape. The shape rushed the bare-faced man. The bare-faced man raised his sword and sliced at the onrushing shadow, but it warped away from the blade and struck the bare-faced man off his feet. He landed on his back hard.

The two other men strained against the larger creatures renewed thrashing. The ropes ripped out of their hands and the creature tossed the nets aside. One of the two acted quickly pulling a knife of alloyed crystal and leaped into the shadowy mass, stabbing. The shadow enveloped him as he entered.

The bare-faced man held his blade point up as the smaller creature pummeled down on top of him. He caught its side and shoved it off. He stabbed downward as he rolled on top of it, pinning it to the ground. It thrashed and vanished. He stood up pulling his blade from the dirt and looked towards the thrashing mass. The man who had entered cut his way through. The gap the man created slowly closed behind him and he fell to the ground. The creature writhed, its created limbs twisting and entangling. After moments of agony it lost its form, a shadow again it flitted away. The bare faced man and the only other man left standing converged on the man who had clawed his way through the creature. He lay face down in the dirt his clothing torn from head to toe. Where it not for the collection of cuts and gouges covering his body he would still soon freeze. There was no sign of the fourth.

“Daniel, give him your cloak,” said the bare faced man.

Daniel still shaking from the fight stammered, “but… I’ll freeze.”

The bare faced man scowled and “Without your cloak you might freeze. Without your cloak Isaac will freeze. Do as I say we aren’t leaving him behind.”

Daniel removed the outer most covering of his body and wrapped wounded Isaac in it. He looked up to the bare faced man and said, “But where are we taking him, back to the Gate?”

The bare faced man shook his head. “You will, I can’t, I have to go after that thing.”

“But, you can’t take it alone…” Daniel began, but the bare faced man cut him off.

“You were no help this time, what makes you think you can help me now.” The bare faced man brushed some of the frozen blood from his face. “No the only use you are is to ferry brave Isaac back to the gate, maybe he will fight again if you move quickly.”

Daniel bowed his head, and lifted Isaac up. Isaac feebly held onto Daniel. “Can you walk Isaac?”

Isaac nodded slowly.

“I’ll get him to safety Solomon.” Daniel said to the bare faced man.

Solomon pointed to Isaac’s knife. “Take it. We don’t know if the Voidshaped is headed for the gate. Onus help us if it is.”

“I won’t fail you again Solomon,” said Daniel.

Train musings

This was a bit I wrote on the train going to work. Enjoy my train musings.

I am sitting on the train. There is a strange liquid covering the upper seating area's floor. It has no apparent smell.

The train is a microcosm of our world. We sit minding our own business stuffed in with people we don't know. Right now I see around the train a few business men working on their computers, two women of asian descent talking and drinking coffee. A young man sits in front of me doing homework. I say young man but looking at him I'd guess late high school early college. The size of the textbook suggests math or science, since as an english major I never had to heft tomes of that size.

A pair of middle aged couples sit on the lower level of the train. One couple looking possibly older than the other. Possible relation? Two generations on a train to chicago to see the city. Often families do that go to distant places in order to feel as though they are together. The idea of the family road trip for example. Or rather it is a chance to experience new things as a family.

Young and old, you see the pairing often and it invokes a warm feeling. The feeling that perhaps those two people are related and the older is sharing her experience while the younger shares her energy. Perhaps the two are simply different in age, no relation of blood but they share the same exchange, wisdom for energy.

The two men at the end of the train sit next to their backpacks. I myself have placed my messenger bag in the seat facing me on the train. We have marked out our territories made it clear that strangers should not sit near us. Lord knows what could happen if someone new sat next to us. Change is a terrifying thing, it takes us out of our comfort zones. Solitude is often a very comfortable thing.

I have taken the train two times a day for the past four and a half months, only two occasions have I noticed two complete strangers talking to each other.

One was these two college students who had been forced to sit next to each other, due to the heavy traffic on the train that day. One was a young man in his late teens early 20s the other a girl of the same age. She was from abroad, or recently moved to the US, since she had a very thick Japanese accent. The two seemed to have no problem communicating. I sat across the aisle from them and saw a lady in her mid 30s turn to them and ask if they had known each other, they said no. She commented on how nice it was that they have kicked up such a conversation.

The second was between two men, one a young man probably a junior in high school, the other a young man who had just graduated and was currently working in the banking industry. This was about the time of discussion of the fannie mae bailout. He was talking to the younger man about banking and currency. He came to the idea that since currency only equals buying power that eventually currency will be gone. We will see the emergence of the Amero to combat the Euro and then maybe an asian currency and an african currency as the world economies become more and more entwined. Eventually all we have is a credit score.

The other young man was going to see his grandmother for the weekend. He stated he had to go see them every couple of months to keep the birthday money coming in. But he was very interested in economics.

This was a conversation I jumped into from time to time. However only after I made a chuckle at a comment and the older man, about my age, turned to me and said I could chime in at any time.

I corrected him about a minor historical note he was making about germany inbetween the World Wars.

This is of course only the positive I am noting. There was an instance of negative interaction between people on the train. I remember a very distinct situation in which a man was extremely agitated and yelling at everyone in the train car.

He was an older man, with a long grey beard and long grey hair, all of it sitcking out in wild directions. He wore a hat indicated that he was a veteran. He had a walker, and this was what began his agitation. His walker was in the middle of the aisle during the afternoon rush. I was walking up the aisle looking for a place to sit. Now I saw just beyond the walker a row of seats perpendicular to the old veteran.

The man in front of me pushed the walker aside, he was in a hurry it seemed. I began walking past the man and saw the walker swing back at me. The handle of the walker hit at crotch level. Nothing more than a light tap but I felt my progeny wince for a second. The man began yelling. Saying how could you fuckers kick my walker. I slipped by the walker since I am a skinny guy and sat in one of the free seats. Sure he was agitated but I figured he'd be over it after that outburst.

I sat down. There was a bald middle aged man to my left. He wore large circular rimmed glasses and had a distinct look of apprehension. I soon understood why.

The old vet started yelling about how everyone in the train car were a bunch of pussies. How he was a special ops and he could fight anyone in the train and kill them with his bare hands. He challenged anyone to fight him.

At this point there was a line of people stopped behind the walker which no one was willing to move now. A man thin man in a grey pinstripe suit, with gray hair and a worried smile, asked the man if he could walk by. The vet said, sure you can squeeze by if you got no balls. The man squeezed by pushing the walker only slightly. The old vet said yeah you got no balls there do ya.

People quietly moved past as the man kept yelling. He made a comment about how all his friends had died defending us pussies and not one of us had the courage to fight him.

At this point I heard a message over the intercom telling all the conductors to come to the car I was sitting in.

Three of them came in, and the first moved the man's walker aside and told him he was getting off. The old man asked what stop it was and the conductor replied it didn't matter it was his. He asked for his walker, said he couldn't walk without it. The conductors gave it to him and as the old man walked out he flicked off the whole car. The conductor behind him swatted the hand out of the air. That was that, he was left at the Clybourn stop some ten miles out of the city.

I guess this is why we defend our space so fervently. We know that if we claim a spot people will be less likely to sit there and it reduces the chance of having someone sit next to us who will disturb our solitude.

Ogilvie Transportation Center is the next stop, time to go to work.

Identity

I should probably start by informing you, my (many/few) readers that this is actually my third attempt at making a blog. I have written two other openings to it at different times in my life. The first I was an idealistic high schooler; the second I was a calmer college student; and these days I am simply a post-grad trying to figure out my place in the world.

So before I tell you what I think now let me show you what I thought then. Process is, after all, a major part of the creative process.

Quick note, I am posting these older versions somewhat unedited as to get the true feel of previous pieces, warts and all.

Last Modified November 18, 2003

Daedalus is what I choose to call myself today. I choose that name because I can think of no better man in any of literature who knew better how to stay the course. He had to fly to escape and knew that the wings he had made would not be able to stay together if he flew too high and the water would way them down if he flew too low. He and his son had to stay the course on a thin line between high and low. In the Greek Myths this was an example of Arete, or balance, something I seek now.

I have recently spoken to a few people about my beliefs on various topics such as Religion and Politics, and I decided I should write my ideas down, because, and don’t think me vain about it, I had some pretty good ideas. I know that I am far from unbiased as I have been raised a Roman Catholic and have grown up in an upper middle class house, but I have sought a balance without bias or any pre-conceived notions. I strive for this because I believe that as a species man has to become better than what it is, otherwise we are doomed. We live in a Democracy however this Democracy cannot function effectively unless we have a public who is enlightened enough to see past our own selves.

It is my hope that some will read my words, and pass them on. That by somehow opening peoples minds to new ideas that I can spread those same ideas then. Too often have I spoken about my beliefs and had someone else say, “That’s a nice idea, but it will never work,” and my thought is if it is a good idea why shouldn’t it work. The answer to that is that the world we live in does not like change, and will blindly follow the masses to whatever end they may be stumbling towards. I don’t like the end I see approaching. Left as we are in another thirty or forty years we will destroy ourselves. There are too little resources and our weapons have become far too powerful. Sooner or later there will be a war over the last remaining bits of resources and that will be the last one. We already see wars motivated by resources. How long till it becomes global? How long before we turn to our most powerful weapon? I know that nobody wants that, but at the same time no one is willing to think about it. However, we need to think about it. We need to take control, and the only way to do that is to have an enlightened public, to have a people that can truly work for a better way. We as a species are capable of so much more than we are, and it is my hope that we can figure this out before it’s too late.

Last Modified April 13, 2005

I have the odd responsibility to welcome you to my little corner of the web and introduce you to my modest addition to the massive world of writing that exists in this grand world. I can’t say to you that my writing is greater than anyone else’s because I can never know what the reader will bring to the table. I can do my best to present what I think in the form of fiction, poetry, non-fiction, or creative non-fiction but in the end you will take my words and make your own story.
So in the end if you didn’t like the story the fault may be yours. I jest of course, but not entirely.

The second responsibility I have is to provide some kind of introduction to my works, which is tricky. Once again I deal with the problem of your thoughts changing the idea and if I say anything to preface I can ruin the story you have in your mind about my work and who am I to say my interpretation is any more valid than yours. So as the writer I get to sit back and watch you speculate as to what I was really getting at anyway. That’s the odd thing about writing. You go into a piece thinking one thing and the actual process of writing changes the meaning it has to the point when I am not really sure what I am getting at and I become just another speculator.

What I can say is that I write about a lot of things. I tend to enjoy the escapism of fantasy genre writing as well as writing flash fiction of a moment in real life, often though I have found that there is a bit of fantasy in my realism and some realism in my fantasy. So don’t confine me to a category, just read. Don’t judge until you finish. If perchance you stumble upon a typo or grammatical error I do apologize but in the end I am just as lazy as you and I make mistakes. If I notice, I’ll fix it.

So in conclusion of my long winded explication of nothing I give you my words, just as they are, words. I entreat you to bring them to life. I entreat you to interact with the characters and see what they see. I entreat you to like or dislike the characters. I entreat you to live their lives and try for a moment to see something new that you may have never seen before even if it is something ever so minor. Just imagine with me and if I so happen to drop a political or moral idea in there that you may not agree with or like then forgive me because I am only human and have my vices, opinions, and virtues.

With that I welcome you to my words.

Today

So you’ve seen where I was five and three years ago, and now I have to try and tell you where I am today, who I am today.

When I was in high school I felt my words were full of resolute truths, in college I accepted that readers brought their meaning, but what do I think now?

I think words are tools. Words enter through your eyes circulate in your brain and are spoken out eventually, though often not in the same order. Words are fluid, often changing meaning as time goes by, just as I have changed and how my use of the words has changed.

Our world is fluid, ever-changing, and we try to find patterns to it. I saw that this is a rock, and then I turn around throw up the horns and saw “you rock.” Am I calling my friend a rock? Perhaps, my friends often are rocks, dumb as a rock, steady as a rock, sleeping like a rock.

So if all things change, if the world is fluid then who am I? Can I say I am something without calling myself a liar five minutes from now? Am I very different from the person who wrote in 2003 and am I somewhat different from the person who wrote in 2005? Now in 2008 I look back at those words and see elements of myself. At the young idealist, I see fire and passion which I have always respected, and in the slightly older college kid, I see the openness to others which I have incorporated into myself.

I have grown and I have changed. If changing is growing than is the world growing? Are we turning into something better or are we simply changing without purpose.

I can say one thing about myself. I am an optimist. I believe we aren’t hurtling through space ever changing with no purpose. I believe we continue to grow and change so that we can grow and change. We experience the new everyday, and we continue to change so that we can continue to change. The man I will be five years from now will be different from the man I am today, but I will be the stepping stone for that man. I will be an ever-growing, ever-changing being. Everyday will be new and an adventure, every problem simply a chance to improve.

Words have a type of immortality and stasis that I never will. A word written in the sand will change when the tide rolls in, but the word will remain in the mind. A word written on paper will survive as long as the paper. A word written in a book will survive as long as people wish to reprint it. This can be a very long time as some words have made it through many generations and many languages. But since we are always changing, our view of words is always changing.

Take interpretations of any classic work and see how it has changed over the years.

Since I am always changing, and words remain the same, I change how I arrange them; I change how I think of them. One day I will look back and see the words I wrote in the past and see their arrangement as a footprint of the ever-growing foot of my language. What is in the past is not false and who I am now is not true.

This is who I am, at least today, and these are my words.

Salutations!

So I have meant to do this for awhile now. I have wanted to have a place to self-publish my own musings. Musings I believe is the best way to put it since I rarely ever produce anything of sufficient length to be considered essays, stories, novels etc. Hopefully over time these musings will grow into something more than mere brain farts and words that I have to get out of my head. Maybe at some point they will start glombing together and make some sort of cohesion. Until then, however, I am content merely to put out my words and see if they make any sense.

So I welcome you to the strange and labyrinthine structures of my mind. Here you can hope to see samples of my writing, my philosophy, and -probably whether you like it or not- my politics.

So enter the maze of my own design. Luckily for you, unlike my namesake, I am a more benevolent designer.