Fear Not The Night

Fear not the night, for the sun shall rise upon the morrow,

Burning away shadows long and cold,

Cleansing all they try to cling to,

Leaving naught but husks and ash in its wake,

As it spreads across your path,

Guiding you through all the day,

And warms all in preparation of the coming night.

~ Fear Not The Night, from the Annals of Light

Inhabitable

   Whatever world used to be here ended. It did not go quietly; without a fight. It was harsh and abrupt. There were overgrown remains of strange structures and contraptions all around the surrounding area of our landing vessel. Our people found this dead, lush, vibrant world a long time after the last body fell or crumbled where it had stood on that final day, that final moment of an entire civilization. Fragments of bone are all that remain.
   Unhindered, nature took its course. Everywhere is "The Wilds" on this planet. Life of a kind found a way to begin anew upon the ruins and ash; of the desolation that was wrought in a cataclysmic finale. Enormous trees, vines, and plants of all kinds grow everywhere, untamed and in constant competition for space. Flying creatures unlike anything I've ever seen before, rule the skies, and the wild calls of beasts among the foliage are unrecognizable to my ears. It is a world that looked like it had been reset, the slate wiped clean.
   It was here that our people attempted to rebuild our own civilization. We had been adrift amongst the cosmos for thousands of years aboard our ship. An ark of sorts. Generations had passed, and our former home world was akin to a tiny star among the cluttered night sky. It had ended abruptly, much the same as this place. We did not wish to leave, but had no other choice. It was simply a case of advance or die.
   Nomadic by nature, our race embraced the challenge ahead of them then with caution and skepticism at first, but as the fate of our world became increasingly evident, with vigor and a sense of urgency. Our people came together as one to achieve their goal of interstellar flight on a sustainable scale that would allow each massive vessel that left our planet behind forever to succeed in their quest to find not one, but many new homes. Courses were plotted based off of hundreds of years of research of the universe. We would attempt to re-establish contact with the other settler ships over time.
   Ours was the longest journey, to a planet simply known as Inhabitable-3854. It was approximately thirty three hundred light years from our world.
   We had been in orbit for months before this first landing, and I was the head of landing vessel three. Our mission was to collect soil, air and water samples for analysis and return to the mother ship. All was going according to plan so far, but that did nothing to ease the pain of planet-side gravity slowly crushing my body after a lifetime in artificial gravity.
   It would take us two days to gather all the samples we required from a large enough area to sustain our people if indeed it was safe to inhabit this place.
   While the vegetation and calls of the wild were promising, it did little to ease my mind of the 'what if' scenario that would see us set adrift once again.
   I took in the sky with awe as I stretched to my full seven foot three inch height, the first real sky I had ever seen, with two suns and three moons visible in various sizes. My spine popped in several places as it adjusted to the gravity a little more with the stretching. The pain was excruciating, but the gravmeds were keeping the worst at bay.
   The first shadows of nightfall were beginning to creep across the landscape of the valley we had landed in as the second of the two suns began to dip behind the mountain range to my left as I looked up the valley. Orange fire danced off the surface of a river that wove its way through the flat of the valley, bending through grasslands on both sides before dipping beneath the forest canopy once again.
   My peaceful serenity was shattered by a piercing cry, deep and guttural, with three echoing cries following it. The bass of the cries shook my bones and I knew without a doubt that whatever beast was king in this place was awake and ready for a hunt. The hairs on the back of my neck were on end as I signaled to the rest of my team that it was time to return to our landing vessel for the evening. Seven of us in total. Five scientists and two guards including myself.
   One by one they filed into the ship with their equipment in tow, and I found myself eager to hear what they had seen over the course of the day, and even more excited to see what they would find in the data from their samples they had already collected. The landing ramp closed behind me as I thumped the closing switch with the heel of my hand and waited for the enviro-chamber to clean and vent, then stabilize the air before opening the inner hatch for us to enter the ship proper.
   We stripped out of our suits and stored our equipment before heading to the mess hall to eat. Every one of our faces was aglow with the dreams of a tomorrow on the surface of an actual planet. It was going to be a long night.

Rufus

   Here is a short bit from a 15 minute free form writing session about an intelligent dog named Rufus:


   Rufus scratched furiously at a patch of fur behind his ear, awkwardly cocking his head to the side, and almost bending in half as he did so. He half growled and half whined, pulling one side of his upper lip back over his lower canine.
   "That's all you have to say on the matter," questioned a scraggly, bearded, older man as he sat at the end of the fishing wharf, slowly kicking his feet back and forth in the water.
   Rufus finished scratching his itch, looked at the man and chuffed.
   "Well then, what would interest you enough to converse in earnest today?"
   He tilted his head to the opposite side as he listened to the man, and when he was finished, barked once loudly and pawed the mans news paper which lay beside him on the wharf.
   "Ah, feeling refined today are we," questioned the man as he looked down at the paper and flipped it open with one hand while blindly steadying his fishing rod with the other, "what shall it be then?"
   Rufus stood and repositioned himself, sitting next to the man so he could look straight at the news paper.
   "This one," asked the man as he pointed at the first article "a bank robbery?"
   Rufus looked from the article to the man and back again before shaking his head, his collar jingling lightly.
   "OK then, nothing too serious. I can appreciate that."
   The man flipped a few more pages and pointed at the next article. It was a story about a flower show at the local convention hall that coming weekend.
   Rufus repeated his previous disapproving actions.
   "Hmm, going to be one of those days is it," gruffed the man before flipping ahead some more.
   Suddenly, Rufus pounced on the open page with both front paws and yipped once, loudly.
   "Ok then, no need to get excited. I mean, I know the mayor lady is a looker, but lets be civil here," the man said as he laughed at the dog's excitement. He cleared his throat and began to read the article aloud as Rufus curled up next to him and stared intently at the paper.

A Warning Too Late

   Clouds are weird!
   It was a fact that had many times entrapped Tommy Tigerson deep in thought. They could hold water, glow, race across the sky, block the sun from shining, and dissipate as quickly as they formed a variety of shapes on their errant journeys across the sky.
   They had no purpose at times it seemed, yet at others, they brought life giving water or the protection of shade from the summer's blazing heat. He twisted sideways more while remaining on his back so that he could get a different view of the clouds.
   "It's like magic don't you think Jim," he asked with excitement in his voice?
   "Yeah," replied Jim, "they really are amazing."
   They stared up into the sky for a long while in silence.
   Tommy's imagination was on fire as he painted his own world with the clouds.
   A looming tower sprouted from a field of cotton fluff, while a short distance away a chariot was pulled across the bright blue expanse nestled between two white mountains by turtles. A silhouette of a giant appeared atop one of the mountains, standing guard for a while as the chariot passed by, and then evaporated on the wind, becoming the smoke plume of a volcano.
   Day was just giving way to night when the warning roused him from his daydreaming.
   Tommy's world shattered around him like ice cracking away during the spring thaw. He bolted upright and looked at Jim, who's face resembled the clouds they had been watching.
   "Was that the first horn or the second," asked Tommy?
   "First... I think," replied Jim hesitantly.
   A moment later, a second horn blast rang out, long and shrill, echoing down the valley.
   "Oh man, no way," exclaimed Tommy as shock crept across his face.
   "That's not good," replied Jim, scanning the the valley and the sky all around them, "I don't see anything, do-"
   The shriek Jim let out made Tommy wet himself as his best friend disappeared from his side, up into the clouds above him. His own scream drowned out any thought other than the one that told him to RUN!
   His faculties didn't fully return to him until he had run halfway down the mountain path towards the village. His mind was fuzzy and his vision blurred by tears. He didn't remember leaving the mountain top where he wast posted to man the signal fire that was to be lit in warning to the other villages further down the valley.
   A dozen thoughts raced through his mind at once. Had he lit the fire? Did Jim really get carried off into the clouds? Did he really see what he thought he saw? If so, that meant they were real! They aren't real thought, they are just creatures of myth, used in stories to frighten little children. And young men it seems! Did anyone else see it? Is that what the warning horns were for, or was the village under attack?
   A quick glance over his shoulder as he splashed through the stream just before the village told him all he needed to know. There was no smoke plume coming from the mountain top. His heart sank into his stomach as the dereliction of duty mounted the already crushing failure and emotions that drove his foot falls one after the other as far away from what he had seen.
   Tommy crashed against the gate made from hewn logs at a full sprint, banging his fists upon it and screaming at the top of his lungs, wailing to be let in. He put his back to the gate and scanned the mountain path where he had come from, then the sky, looking for any sign of the beast he thought he had seen. Darkness threatened to claim him, creeping in from the edge of his vision as he began to hyperventilate. He kicked against the gate with his heel, pleading for someone to hurry. Fresh, hot tears bore a path down either side of his face as he screamed in rage at the mountain. He felt himself falling backwards, his body becoming weightless as darkness washed over his vision; The gate finally opened behind him. He didn't feel the ground come up to meet him as he passed out from sheer terror.

Darion the Defiant

   Nothing could have prepared them for it. Not the smell. Not the sounds. Especially not the sights. No, the things seen in battle could never be unseen. They visited them in their sleep, they appeared behind their eyelids every time they blinked shut. The screams echoed in their ears over and over, even when the ringing from the concussive blasts threatened to drown out all other sounds for the rest of their lives.
   Eternity stretched on as they hunkered down in their trenches and battle holes. Ditches dug into the farm lands that stretched for thousands of feet. Farmers who but a few short months ago were sowing seed into the fresh turned spring soil now dug like rabbits and fought like packs of rabid packs against an usurper unlike anything they had ever seen before. A man-- No, a monster of a man with no name that commanded an army of faceless savages larger than any other force that had dared to invade their lands before. The only thing worse than the savages were the robed and hooded figures that stood atop giant platforms with their hands folded together beneath over-sized sleeves as they overlooked the battlefield. The last mistake anyone could have made would be underestimating them based on how fragile they appeared. When their hands clapped together, a concussive blast rushed forth, shredding anything and everything that stood in its path.
   The first of the farmers-turned-soldiers over the the top of the trenches disintegrated and blew back over their companions as dust and ash would from a fire. They were not the first to die, nor would they be the last. The second wave of soldiers fared no better. The third wave, now in shock at the speed with which their friends and family members had been erased from this world, fell back into their trenches and wailed in defeat.
   Four lines behind them, one simple soul had not been paying attention to the demise of those who attempted to clear the way ahead of him, as he was lost in his blindness, praying to the heavens for deliverance from those that would wipe them from memory because they were caught in the middle of a feud that they neither cared about nor wanted any part of.
   Darion the Blind felt a tug at his heart, and his legs pulled him forward suddenly as the wails of agony washed over him. He crested the lip of the trench he had helped to cut out of the fields. Once out of the trench, he stood defiant, blade in one hand, walking cane in the other. He planted himself and raised his head to the sky he could not see and bellowed at the top of his lungs as he tamped his cane into the muck beside him.
   A ray of sunlight pierced the veil of shadowed clouds that hung low in the sky over the battlefield, casting its warmth upon the remaining farmers-turned-soldiers. Their wailing ceased, and a calming certainty filled them as Darion's call echoed out across the sundered fields. They began to poke their heads up above the safety of their trenches, and seeing Darion the Blind standing alone facing their enemy gave them the heart they so desperately needed in that moment.
   Darion's cry came to an end, and after a few breaths he leveled his gaze towards his unseen foe and bellowed one order that all his fellow men answered.
   "Scatter like the ash of our lost brethren, come upon them from all sides, and give no quarter!"
   Like locusts they swarmed up and over the trenches all at once in every direction, giving their enemy no point to focus on. Thunderclaps came and few turned to dust, but within moments every section of their lines were assaulted by hordes of defiant farmers filled with the rage that only those defending their homes could exude. With everything to lose, and no mercy to give, they fought the bloodiest and most savage battle their realm had every known. Many of them fell and were lost to naught but memory, but many more overcame the insurmountable odds.
   The robed men were not impervious to blade, spear, or pitch fork, and once encircled could not flee from their platforms. Their power was no less awful against a single man as it was against many, and they did their worst. Pillars of walking fire, bolts of lightning, and men turned to stone or salt all around their platforms as they faced their inevitable deaths.
   As the last of the platforms fell, a horn blared out as dusk crept in. The usurper had sounded retreat and with that call, fled alone into the south as his army was slain to the last faceless savage.
   On that day, Dorian became 'The Defiant', leader of the free men of the western plains where farmers became soldiers and an usurper's army became fertilizer for their lands.

On The Eve of Tomorrow

Another day has come,
And another will soon be spent.

With heavy minds and burdened hearts,
We lay ourselves down to rest.

To see the dreams and live tomorrow,
We shall forget all this sorrow.

Spend a moment and breath it in,
This is the beginning of something new.

Alas ye stay,
Near and dear yet far away.

Soon then,
We shall meet again.

On the eve of tomorrow.

Good Timing

   Sometimes the creative mind has a mind of its own and it ends up lining up with something relevant unexpectedly. This is one of those times. I scribble out a little Sci-Fi idea earlier this week, and not a day later, came across the Arizona State University 2016 Climate Fiction Short Story Contest. At first I had to check my web history to make sure I hadn't subconsciously skipped over it while scrolling through my various writing news feeds, emails, or social media, but to my delight, most certainly had not.
   I re-read what I had scribble down earlier in the week and decided that it was definitely on the right track already, and have started to run with it and see where it ends up. It's beautiful timing for the writing contest to pop-up, as I am currently looking for my next work adventure, and have free time to fill with writing and reading. It's double so as I wanted to more research on climate change for general knowledge anyways. I figure, if I'm going to be creating worlds that change with the ebb and flow, I should have a good understanding of how a world can change over time from a scientific perspective.
   So, today I sat down at my usual coffee shop office and got to work researching and expanding on the bit I had written already. Here's what I have so far:

Exodus Earth

   We thought we could escape all our problems if we could just reach the stars. Interstellar flight was the key to our future. It would bring us closer together as a whole; provide us with endless potential, and the brightest of futures.

   The first Generation Ship launched to a staccato of cheers and verbalized fears for the loved ones being lost to Earth forevermore. That was a hundred and sixty years ago. Twenty years later, Earth was entering the final stages of a massive climate change. A new ice age had begun to encase the equator to the dismay of scientists and theorists alike. They couldn't understand how they could have been so wrong about how the Earth works after so many centuries of constant study. To me, that's the beauty of life in this universe. For everything we think we know, there are ten things that surprise us.

   A massive exodus from Earth was inevitable. There simply wouldn't be enough space for the remaining populace to relocate to the polar circles and although the technology to build subterranean living shelters was advanced enough, no preparation had been made to counter nature's wrath.

   Of the nearly eight billion people that called Earth home, seven remained surface side. Best estimates for the remaining ships already built or being built in orbit, could house another five hundred million people. The Mars and Moon colonies could take another two hundred and fifty million each if they put all their efforts into expanding living and agriculture domes. That left nearly six billion souls to fight for survival as the remaining population attempted to cram as many as they could into the polar circles while maintaining adequate sustainable food, water, and waste management systems. To say it was ugly would be putting it in the most positive light possible.

   Over the next ten years, nearly half of the remaining Earthers died of exposure or in the fighting that broke out over who would get to live in the polar circles. Fanatical groups that were pro-apocalypse sprung up in ever increasing numbers and frequency. By the time the last seven generation ships were ready to leave orbit, only two billion people remained surface side. My grandparents were two of them, and they were the remaining leaders of the southern polar circle.

~*~

   Icy winds bucked and rocked the supply shuttled as it flew across the frozen tundra that was now mid-western Canada. An alert klaxon warned that the turbulence was at dangerous levels and a small display panel next to it indicated the new recommended safe flying altitude. Denton Weaver flipped the acknowledgement switch to register his confirmation of the warning with home base, and punched in the new altitude on his flight panel. The giant thruster engine located at the back of the shuttle above the cargo bay door ramp whined as it accelerated, and the polymetal frame protested slightly as the flight computer directed the vessel up to the new height.

   Denton leaned back into his cozy contoured pilot seat and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee from his thermos into the lid. No matter how many times he made this supply run, he couldn’t get used to the extra chill that bit through the sidewalls of the shuttle when flying over the Ice Belt that now encased the entire equator of the planet. Steam rolled off the coffee in vivid dancing lines, and the smell of the brew was as fresh as if he had just brewed it a moment before. As he took a sip he flicked the heat dial to max with his other hand. The setting sun to the west was his only companion on this trip besides his emergency droid harnessed in its docking station inset in the hull ten feet behind him. It blazed through the small cockpit windows as it danced off the endless ice that traversed the horizon to meet its decent.

   Despite all the technology advancements in the past hundred years, the shuttle trip still had a round-trip count of twelve hours before adding on the loading and unloading procedures. There wasn’t a ton of trade between the Northern and Southern Circles, but they maintained the essential supplies trade routes as much as weather would permit. Orbital jumps were simply too expensive on the remaining resources left accessible to the Earthers, and was only used when absolutely necessary.

   Other than these few trade routes and their shuttles, the only other resources coming into or going out of the colonies came in the form of supply drops from the Galactic colonies on Mars and the Moon. It was rare that anything would be sent back with the small team of Droppers.

   Denton found it hard to imagine that there was nothing out there as he watched the white-blue landscape rush by far below. He had video clips and pictures aplenty from his family of the time before the ice. The world was completely unrecognizable to anyone left alive that remembered it any other way. His mind wandered to thoughts of what he would do if his shuttle ever went down, but quickly shook himself out of it. That was a dangerous train of thought to allow on a solo supply run. Although it was rare that it could happen, the fact remained cemented in the back of his mind that it could. The company archives were littered with stories about the crashes that had occurred, some recovered, others observed during a passing flight came across the half buried wreckage on the horizon after the ice storms had abated enough to continue running the routes.

   He hated the cold, but the money was good, and it was better than doing an essential duties job that was all too common but necessary for the Polar Circles to be maintained. Two billion people crammed into roughly a tenth of the livable space previously available and entirely brand new as far as ecosystems go. The one saving grace was the Svalbard Global Seed Vault that had been established on the old Norwegian island of Spitsbergen in the Svalbard Arctic Archipelago about 1,300 kilometers from the North Pole back when the earliest signs of global change began.

   The seed vault had provided the foundation for the revitalization of food crops lost to the ice belt, including the coffee he now enjoyed. The polar circles had shifted to mostly tropical climes, and a great deal of engineering went into maximizing crop growth within vertical farm pillars. These consisted of a central column with jutting greenhouses that looked like leaves branching off of a plant stem. Solar glass doubled as the primary source of energy production for the colonies within each polar region, and the grid could sustain well in excess of the demands.

   Thoughts? Feedback? Input of any kind? Let me know what you think.

Exodus Earth

   We thought we could escape all our problems if we could just reach the stars. Interstellar flight was the key to our future. It would bring us closer together as a whole; provide us with endless potential, and the brightest of futures.

   The first Generation Ship launched to a staccato of cheers and verbalized fears for the loved ones being lost to Earth forevermore. That was a hundred and sixty years ago. Twenty years later, Earth was entering the final stages of a massive climate change. A new ice age had begun to encase the equator to the dismay of scientists and theorists alike. They couldn't understand how they could have been so wrong about how the Earth works after so many centuries of constant study. To me, that's the beauty of life in this universe. For everything we think we know, there are ten things that surprise us.

   A massive exodus from Earth was inevitable. There simply wouldn't be enough space for the remaining populace to relocate to the polar circles and although the technology to build subterranean living shelters was advanced enough, no preparation had been made to counter nature's wrath.

   Of the nearly eight billion people that called Earth home, seven remained surface side. Best estimates for the remaining ships already built or being built in orbit, could house another five hundred million people. The Mars and Moon colonies could take another two hundred and fifty million each if they put all their efforts into expanding living and agriculture domes. That left nearly six billion souls to fight for survival as the remaining population attempted to cram as many as they could into the polar circles while maintaining adequate sustainable food, water, and waste management systems. To say it was ugly would be putting it in the most positive light possible.

   Nearly half of the remaining Earthers died of exposure or in the fighting that broke out over who would get to live in the polar circles over the next ten years. Fanatical groups that were pro-apocalypse sprung up in ever increasing numbers and frequency. By the time the last seven generation ships were ready to leave orbit, only two billion people remained surface side. My grandparents were two of them, and they were the remaining leaders of the southern polar circle.

Seven Days To Dead

   It all went to hell on a Monday. It was nothing like the zombie apocalypse or post nuclear fallout stories and tv shows we were oh so familiar with, nor was it an alien invasion. It was more like the Earth simply had enough of our bullshit.

   The ground shook like mad. City streets ripped open swallowing houses, cars, and anything else that occupied the same space as its wrath. The sea rose like bile in an upset stomach, and once dormant volcanoes erupted with fury. Their tops exploded or simply slid aside as the bowels of our once mystical world vomited up raw vengeance for all the years of ignorance and neglect brought on by our greed and laziness. The skies were aflame with a torrent of molten slag that descended like a rainstorm straight out of hell.

   Maybe that's what this is, hell. God knows we deserve a reckoning. Time and again we've displayed that we never learn from our mistakes. We like to think of ourselves as a sophisticated and intelligent species, and we definitely like to think that we've evolved into this majestic race of beings that have come so far in our short existence. The truth is, we never really learned a damn thing. We mock faith, we squabble and fight over existential things that really don't matter, and we go to war over resources we really don't need instead of moving beyond them when we discover an alternative that is better for our health and the world as a whole all because the one percenters hold sway over the decision makers of whole countries with their wallets.

   Truth hurts when it really boils down to it. I guess that's why I'm writing about it now instead of explaining what happened to us. Hell, what I really wish is that I could just lay back on my pillow at night and fall asleep without thinking about it all again and having to get back out of bed to empty it all out onto paper until I can't physically keep going anymore and essentially pass out instead. Can't always get what you want I guess.

   The worst of the first day wasn't all the shit the Earth threw at us at once, it was the chaos that ensued after. Our complacency became so apparent that day. We had become so blinded by the technologies we created to make the day to day easier that we literally had no idea how to react to a total cut off. All of the infrastructures for communication lasted about fifteen minutes tops. By mid-afternoon the skies were dark enough with smoke and ash clouds that it could have been dusk. All the extra energy in the air manifested into electrical storms without the thunder. Definitely not the pleasant summer storm one might enjoy witnessing in the countryside while visiting a family farm. The discharged electricity nuked most electronics within fifty miles of the storms wherever they occurred. Not like an EMP though. Some things still worked after. This just added an extra layer to the panic of course. You see, people tend to go completely mental when the world breaks as it turns out. Some have a primal survival instinct that kicks in while maintaing their humanity, but the rest just sort of crack. They instantly give into the fight or flight instincts that seem to be present in most species. More into the fight than the later.

   There was no time for anyone in the governing body or in the military to respond to anything. No emergency broadcasts, no emergency responses or aid teams, no, nothing like that. Everything just seemed to happen all at once, everywhere. The only thoughts anyone had was to save themselves. Of all the things that happened that first day, far and above it all was the very hard lesson that in the end of all things the thing to fear the most is people. We're bloody animals.

Day One

   There's nothing better than the smell of fresh brewing coffee and bacon in the morning for me. It epitomizes relaxation for me. It's the only routine I have at the end of a long week dredging through society to earn a living. Friday ends and I hit the road home forgetting all about everything that occurred over the past five days, and I let it all melt away as I pull into my driveway outside of the city. This is my fortress of solitude and peace. For two full days and nights I am the only one in charge of my destiny. I know it won't last forever, but I don't care. The door clicks shut behind me as I enter the house and that's the last I think about any of it for those two days.

   "Honey, I'm home," I shout down the hall as I wrestle out of my coat and shoes.

   "Daddy," my seven year old son shouts as he runs out of the living room to my right and jumps into my arms, wrapping his arms around my neck. My wife pokes her head out of her office halfway down the hall towards the kitchen with a smile from ear to ear and glow on her face that melts my heart every time I set eyes on her.

   "Hi there," she says as she steps out into the hall and leans against the doorframe waiting for me to close the remaining five feet of distance between us. I'm smiling like a goof as I bend around our son who's still in my arms to give her a passionate kiss as she hugs us both. All is right in the world for another two days.

   Friday evening fades away with the family and quickly gives way to Saturday morning, my favourite time of the week. No alarm clock forcing me to wake up and get out of bed before I'm ready to, the smell of fresh ground coffee and frying bacon greet me when I do. This Saturday is sunshine and blue skies. Not a cloud in sight. We eat our breakfast and sip our coffee on the wood patio in the back yard, soaking it all in, simply enjoying each other's company.

The Man With A Thousand Names

The man with a hundred faces, skald, wanderer, minstrel, heretic. These are but a few of the names collected over the many years Ahngvar had been journeying across the world. Each place he visited seemed to posit a new name, sometimes more than one. He had never been able to stay for long in one place, the longest stretch no more than a few years, to which he vowed never to do again. He had fallen into an illusion of the heart, and his mind had become weak. He allowed himself to feel safe, worse, he had allowed himself to believe that those around him could be safe.
It had been many years and many places since his first event. To think it would never happen again was folly. It all ended badly, his only recollection of the second event was that of flames licking at his cloak as he walked from the rubble of the humble little cabin he had made his home. As his awareness returned he looked about the village in horror. It had been completely leveled. Not a single wall remained intact. Shattered skeletons of homes and friends alike were strewn everywhere, burning. Acrid smoke burned his eyes and throat. He was often reminded of the second event anytime he was around a fire or caught scent of wood smoke. He had buried those he could find amongst the ruins of the village or had been flung through the air landing in various places on the outskirts. Most had simply evaporated or burned to ash. The worst of it was not finding any remains of his beloved with which to say goodbye.
He had traveled hard after that, stopping for no more than a few days to do whatever odd job he could to earn a few coins or more commonly in exchange for food for the road. His only constant companions were a simple lute, his bow, a bedroll, a backpack with a few meager belongings, and a finely forged axe.

~*~

During the onset of summer a few years later Ahngvar sat on a large flat rock that jutted out over the shore of a lake somewhere in the hinterlands. The glassy surface reflected the deep blue sky above and the sun warmed his face as he leaned back, hands propping him up as he took in the serenity of it all. Birds sung their songs as they fluttered about in the trees behind him. Somehow he had found a moment of peace once again. All of his haunts and worries melted away for a brief moment while every muscle in his body relaxed. He laid back on the rock and let it all wash over him. He wished this euphoric moment would last forever. There he slumbered.
It was dark when he awoke to the scent of smoke on the wind. A full moon danced in the reflection of the night sky off the water as a slight breeze lapped water against the shore. A flicker of firelight pulled his gaze towards the north end of the lake and his belly grumbled. He realized he had not eaten since breakfast. He rummaged through his pack for a heel of bread, his last, and a strip of dried meat. He contemplated whether to forage for food or hunt on the morrow as he chewed on his food.
The firelight which at first seemed small was now much brighter. He couldn't tell if it was one campfire or a few, or something else entirely from this distance. His curiosity got the better of him as he finished eating the last of his food. Resigned to the fact that he would most likely not get much sleep this evening due to his long sunny nap, he gathered up his belongings and trudged off into the woods heading north towards the firelight.

Rise of the Phoenix King - Part One

I wrote this first part as a writing prompt piece for a group I am a part of on Facebook. We were challenged to come up with a 750 word piece to describe the events of the following picture:

Here's what I ended up with.

Rise of the Phoenix King - Part One

   Three kingdoms came together to crush one. Like a flash flood, the blood lust washed over the eastern kingdom. In less than a day the once beautiful eastern landscape was razed to nothing more than stone and ash. No greater tragedy had ever been recorded in the annals of history. The skies wept over the land for months after the slaughter and during this time the three leaders of the remaining kingdoms came together to vow a pact of peace for evermore. The shock of the devastation surprised them beyond their wildest imaginings. They repented against their actions, and vowed never again to have such action be taken against men or otherwise.

   But as they sat in their palaces brooding, the second son of the eastern king whom none had known about began to realize his lineage in a small village on the furthest fringes of the eastern kingdom. He was the only living heir of the bloodline of the phoenix, and his vengeance would be all consuming.

   A great fog rose to shroud the borders of his kingdom from the rest of the world, and behind its veil he began to rally his scattered people. He sent forth a number of his Shadow Watchers to infiltrate each of the three kingdoms and to gather information about the plot that had brought about the destruction of the family he had never known, and why three kingdoms feared his bloodline so much that they would sooner wipe it from history than attempt to meet in peace.

   To Izikithin it mattered little. Their actions had awakened him, and he would avenge his family at all cost. His people, having been ruthlessly attacked without warning would back him fully without question. Theirs was now a life dedicated to war and revenge. Driven by hate, the engine of destruction churned behind the great veil for decades, preparing, growing, and waiting for its chance to spew forth.

A new capital city was forged out of the ruins of the old, carved of stone. At its heart, a twin spire rose from the peak of a mountain, crowned at the top with a palace of Obsidian trimmed with gold and alabaster. A natural spring broke forth from the earth between the spires, spilling over the sides of the mountain, carving out a lake all around the base of the mountain, and a river that ran north and south to form a new border along the edge of the veil. It seemed even the earth sought to avenge the wrongs wrought upon it.

   Izikithin’s resolve was only strengthened further by this, seeing it as a sign that he was destined to take up the fallen mantle of his family. The evening of the twentieth year since the attack, Izikithin dreamt he was flying over his land. It was lush and vibrant once more. He had no body, at least not a human one.  As he flew over all corners of his realm and back to his palace, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the lake surrounding his home. It was that of a phoenix. He woke the next morning to find that the veil was beginning to thin. The time had come.

   In less than a week, the entire might of the rebuilt kingdom had gathered on the western border. The sands of the north and the windswept mountains of the west would be sundered first. Lastly, seeing their end coming, the mists to the south would boil under the full gaze of the phoenix.

   On the eighth morning of the campaign, Izikithin stood on the precipice of a hill overlooking the desert capital of Shan-Um-Drah, his leather and chain armor draped about him, billowing slightly in the risings winds from the west. He planted one sandaled foot upon a boulder, gripped the hilt of the sword at his side with his right hand, and raised his war lance towards the city with his left. The sun danced across his sinewy muscles as he raised his head to the sky and bellowed at the top of his lungs. His army fell upon the walls of the city in a great rush. What happened next none would believe for a thousand years as possible, for it had never been witnessed before nor again since.

   A great serpent rose from the sands beyond the city, another appeared in the sky from the west gliding on the winds, and most dazzling of all, a great phoenix rose up from where Izikithin stood. The three came together above the northern capital to convene.

Yambik's Multi-Tool Mining Harness

Multi-tool Mining Harness (MMH) with Eye Protection and Head Lantern!

The MMH is a highly sought after utility harness used by many explorers for various harvesting purposes. Whether you are in need of a saw for cutting a swath through the forest, or a pick/drill for mining through the various layers of Norrath for ore, this device is for you. Despite its questionable reliability and efficiency, the MMH is the first of its kind. It was invented by Yambik Torquesprocket as an alternative to digging and chopping by hand.

Power Sources

The MMH runs on plain wood or coal depending on the version. The more advanced models of the harness are more fuel efficient. They consume fewer resources while becoming more efficient at mining/harvesting.

Many of the tools in the earlier models are prone to overheating, such as the drill bit, and the saw.

The MMH can be equipped with different utilities such as an axe head, saw blade, drill bit, hammer, pick, and a sickle. The more advanced harness units were fitted with an attachment called The Multi-Grappler. This tool was made for suspended mining especially while deep underground. This device aloud the wearer to fire two grapple hooks attached to a pulley system that would allow them to suspend themselves over an open area or closer to the roof of a cavern.

The MMH comes in a variety of wood framing options and metal finishes, the newest of which is Burled Wood with a Rubicite finish.

Upgrades

The MMH can be retrofitted with a variety of upgrades from the base model as the user sees fit over its lifespan. The basic model comes with a pick axe, chopping axe and sickle attachments.

Upgrades could include:

• Blasting Launcher
• Saw Arm
• Shears
• Drill Bit
• Dual Grappler Pulley System
• Variety of Head Lantern options
• Variety of Banner mount options (Settler, Explorer, Trailblazer, other.)

Yambik is also proud to announce the new MHP (Multi-Harness Pack) which is suited more for the traditional explorer that just needs extra carrying capacity. It’s a harness mounted square framed pack with multiple storage pockets along the harness as well. It comes in a variety of colors and cloth/leather options.

DISCLAIMER: We are not accountable for any thefts of harness units for precious resource salvaging. By reading this, the end user agrees to the terms, conditions and risks associated with purchasing the flashier options.

The Ever Evolving Art of The Writing Life

   The art of brainstorming and developing an idea is an ever evolving one. I often find myself sifting through old notes, hastily scrawled lists, or scouring a plethora of writing sites for prompts and suggestions. What is it about the blank page that both mesmerizes us writers and yet terrifies us half to death at the same time as the cursor sits there, blinking ominously at us on the screen, waiting to leave a trail of narrative behind it as it blazes down the page towards the infinite empty space?
   I'm still trying to find the system that works best for me, and so far what I find myself doing regularly when the writing actually gets done is:

• Listen to instrumental music (no lyrics)
• Sit in the back of a coffee shop with a cup of coffee close at hand
• Routinely read various writing blogs or writing prompt pages before starting to write
• Leave the cell phone on silent
• Stay logged out of instant messenger apps

   I've been reading through the Writer's Digest 2014 Writer's Market (this is a top notch tool that I highly recommend all writers have) book and studying all facets of the writing/publishing industry, and no matter how much research I do, I find it impossible to figure out whether the best course of action for my writing is to self publish or to get a literary agent. There are many positives and negatives with both choices.

   In the interim of this decision making process I've decided that I will try my hand at some short stories/novelettes for various writing magazines such as Analog, Asimov's, and S&SF, to hopefully help pay the bills. If you know of others that could be worthwhile I would love to hear about it.

My reading list for writing currently consists of:

1. 2014 Writer's Market
2. Writing Fantasy & Science Fiction: How to create Out-of-This-World Novels and Short Stories
3. Write That Book Already!

   For those of you that know me, or have been following me for a while, you know that I've been trying to make writing a part of my daily life, and that I've been working towards turning it into my full time career. Until that time comes, I have to take on work to pay the bills. I've done a number of contracts with gaming companies in the past as a tester, designer, producer, narrative designer and various combinations of all three. I'm extremely passionate about both creative career paths, and would love nothing more than to mesh the two into a full time job. This work search digs into the time I get to spend on my writing craft, and fills my head with a lot of non-creative clutter which can stifle my creative drive at times. This too is something I'm still trying to perfect.

The Collector - Part 1 - Jan. 15th

   I hated the feeling left behind in my body after a teleport. Despite what the engineers and the docs said about the safety of tele-travel, it didn't feel the least bit normal. They definitely were making a killing off of the travel network. Thirty percent of every job payout went towards my trips back and forth, and another ten percent towards tools of the trade. It's a good thing my line of work was so lucrative, but I couldn't help but wonder what it was doing to me every time I was forced to use the stupid thing. I would have been happier never seeing other parts of the world, but in my line of work, that wasn't a possibility. I couldn't just walk away from my career either. Not then. The thought was 'Maybe after this last job.'
   You see, I specialized in collections of a sort. Not the kind you might be thinking. I didn't hunt down people for a few measly coins they forgot to pay to a loaner, but rather, I searched for and collect special ingredients from around the world. Rare types of wood, fungi, foods, paints, metals, artifacts etc. If you could name it, I could find it.
   Not many collectors learned the tele-network after it was discovered, and even fewer had kept on the new places being discovered. Our world had changed forever when scientists had figured out that there were other lands and how to travel to them. It had been twenty years since the first successful discovery, and since then the world was in a slipstream of discovery and exploration. New technolgies were being invented all the time, known botanical and animal species had more than double in count, and business was booming.
   This trip was the most lucrative one I had ever had the pleasure of contracting out for. Jove Mot, a local metallurgist and somewhat of a mad scientist, required an ultra rare metal that had only ever been seen around the Great Pillar, a giant rocky formation that jutted from the center of the ocean, ringed with a narrow strip of land at its base, covered in exotic trees and fauna. It's was the most dangerous place known to exist, at least that had been discovered so far. It was a blind science exploring the unknown corners of our world. Some researcher would get it in their head that something may be exist at a set of random co-ordinates in their computer, they would prepare supplies complete with an emergency return beacon, then they would set the teleporter to this location and do a blind jump. If it turned out there was only water there, they dropped a mapping buoy and hit their return beacon, but if there was land, they setup a new camp with a telepad, and began researching. That's how the Great Pillar was found.
   The heat was almost unbearable, the critters were surly, and the Great Pillar rumbled regularly, shaking the ground beneath your feet. Sometimes it spit balls of fire and spewed columns of smoke and ash from its peak. I didn't like going there at all. I didn't trust the place. Lucky for me, I knew the best spot to look for the requested material, a cave I discovered on one of my few previous trips. It was near the foot of the pillar on the south end of the island. The telepad in was located on the east side, so it should only have been a half day journey south west. In most climates, I wouldn't mind a camp out for a day or two, but not here. My plan was to get in and get out in under a day. I packed a burrow capsule just in case though. It's a cool little device that laser cuts a pre-set depth and temporary living quarters shape into the ground. It melts all the surface material to create solid walls, and gathers scrap material to etch a natural door or hatch. It can be adjusted for flat or vertical cutting, depending on whether you want a cliff entrance or man-hole style entrance. Personally, I liked a normal doorway as opposed to a sewer grate. To each their own though.
   Thankfully the weather was good that day, at least I wouldn't have to worry about any electrical storms or hurricanes. Both are relatively common near the island apparently. The water lapped against the shore, the sound soothed my mind as I walked the beach. It was the path of least resistance. I'd have enough fun hacking my way through the underbrush of the jungle when I reached my destination. A blue bellied beach turtle was digging out a hole to lay eggs in I assume. It's a magnificent creature about three feet long, and about a foot and a half tall. A flock of cliff gulls were diving for fish just off the shore, returning to their nests to feed squawking infants when they had caught one.
   About halfway through the hike the tingling in my body had mostly subsided, and I had started to relax a little. No sooner had I thought that perhaps my chills about this place had been childish, a tremor shook the ground beneath my feet, turning my legs to jello, and dropping my heart into my guts. The trees sway violently back and forth as I fell to the sandy ground, the beach undulating beneath me. My mind raced to comprehend what was happening. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before. I became dizzy and felt sick to my stomach. The ground became still once again as I retched into the sand. I sat there for a while trying to wrap my head around the event, and deciding whether to go on or not. In the end, the lure of a retirement sized payout won out. I hadn't noticed the pillar beginning to spew smoke yet. It wasn't until the first flakes of ash brushed past my face that I looked up to see the dark plume spreading out over the sky to the north west. This was around the same time I had come upon the marker I had left along the beach which would lead me into the jungle towards the cave beyond the dense foliage. I didn't want to find out what would happen next without having shelter. I unsheathed my cutting laser and frantically sliced through the foliage as I raced through the jungle towards the foot of the pillar. I cleared the last of the few feet of the jungle and spotted a river of fire flowing down the side of the mountain of stone. Liquid fire! I spotted the cave entrance with its large overhang and jutting stones not more than a hundred paces away. I ran as fast as I could towards it, fumbling for the burrow capsule in the pouch on my belt. I cleared the mouth of the cave and raced into the darkness, letting the sensors on my survival suit trigger the guide lights on my shoulders. Light flooded over the stone walls, melting away the dark as I weaved between stalagmites and stalactites. A wave of heat wafted against my back, and I knew I had to find a spot to burrow, fast! I stuck the burrow capsule against the flat stone surface at the back of the cave and hit the red button. It clicked to life and lit up the blue display screen on the front of it, indicating that it was scanning the wall in preparation for a vertical cut. I looked over my shoulder and save that an orange glow was coming from the dark tunnel where I had been moments before. My heart raced.
   "C'mon c'mon, scan faster," I yelled at the stones around me as I paced back and forth!
   Bzzzzz!
   Bits of melted stone oozed as the lasers cut the entrance and began burrowing. It would be complete in a few minutes, but did I have that long? It seemed like an eternity as it went about its job. I watched in horror as the glow became brighter and brighter, and then the liquid fire oozed into view, flowing slowly around the base of the stalagmites. I could feel the intensity of the heat rising as it inched closer and closer.
   Ssssss-Thunk!
   The sound of the capsule completing the sliding stone door almost made my heart stop. I lunged inside my new burrow and slid the stone slab shut just as the river of fire began to pool in the small area at the back of the cave. The capsule hovered next to me, waiting to be retrieved or given fresh instructions. I was effectively buried alive.

The Realms of Cloud & Fog - Jan. 14

   Thunder roared as the glowing clouds of the Illuminated realm collided with that of the swollen, dark mass of storm clouds that made up the Shadowed realm. Lightning crackled and shot across the surface of the dark clouds as the two realms clashed together, the friction releasing a torrent of energy and a deluge of water from the heavens upon the world below. The water collectors of the Undermist had the most dangerous of all jobs as they rushed to collect as much of this life giving liquid as they could while the unseen battle raged far above their heads. The fog layer danced and billowed as the tumult passed through to the empty void beyond the Undermist, creating temporary holes in their world. They had to be extra careful not to fall through these holes. Everyone else hid in their song spun homes of snow, and ice.

   The sun blazed between these various layers in the sky, revealing lush, vibrant rainbows rings. Birds fluttered to perch on the roof tops of the Undermist, looking for any form of shelter whenever the storms came. If one was to look down through the holes in the fog layer, they could catch a mesmerizing glimps of the sun reflecting off of the great orb of water that made up the core of their world. Its great mass rippled with the addition of fresh water.

   Every few years the scholars would join the collectors to have a chance such as this, so that they could study and record and change in size of the watery core, and to take samples of the falling water as well as mist, fog, and air samples. They were constantly trying to find out if the water would eventually rise high enough to wash away their world. This was a silly idea, but of course they knew no better. It was a constantly repeating cycle of evaporation and dispersion brought on by an endless war between the Illuminated and the Shadowed.

   Few had ever caught a glimpse of either race from the cloud kingdom above, but it did happen. One such case occurred when an Illuminated and a Shadowed became entangled in battle, and not paying attention to their surroundings, had lost their footing near the crack where their two realms had collided, sending them tumbling out of the sky like comets. They had both passed through the fog of Undermist, leaving a giant hole behind as they fell to give their essence to the watery core. They did not scream, nor did they flail, they simple accepted their fate as they fell, decorated in the golden and obsidian armor of their respective kingdoms. This is how the scholars of the Undermist came to believe that not all of the denizens that resided above were of celestial origin, as those would have had wings, or so it is thought. No one can be certain, for no one has ever seen the realms above for themselves. Not for a lack of trying mind you.

   A few of the scholars were deemed mad, for they often experimented with the giant birds that roosted on the small cloud pockets in between the Undermist and the realms above. They would wait until the giant birds flew too close to the fog layer, then they would launch snow harnesses at them. They would then anchor them to the fog layer, and climb up on their backs between their wings. They would secure themselves with ice bindings, then they would release the anchor and prod the giant birds with their heels, attempting to control their flight path to the realms above. None of these mad scholars have ever returned. Whether they ever made the journey successfully or not remains a mystery. Perhaps one day one will float down on their giant bird again to set the records straight on the matter, but until that day, they will continue to attempt the ascension.

Ingvar's Last Watch Part 2 - Jan. 9th

   Ingvar's eyes shot open as pain shot through his head. He brought his arms up from his side where he lay in the snow, and held his head in both hands as he sat up. Snow fell from his armor as he righted himself, and a wave of nausea rushed through his body. He looked about for his helmet as he realized it was not on his head, and he was freezing. Snow and ice matted his hair. He spotted his helmet sitting awkwardly and half buried in the snow a few feet away. There was a large dent in the top of it.
   He attempted to stand up so he could retrieve his helmet, but a fresh wave of nausea hit him, and he retched into the snow at his feet before falling back on his rump. He struggled to recall what had happened as his senses slowly returned. The top of his head felt like it had been hit with a splitting maul. His right hand brushed against the haft of his poleax which lay covered in the snow as he leaned back on his arms, partially propping himself up.
   He gripped the haft, and used the poleax to steady himself as he attempted to stand again. This time he managed to get up and stay up. He sighed heavily as he stood there for a moment before reaching to pick up his helmet with his left hand. He moved to lean against the wall of the nearby shop as he brushed the snow from the inside of the helmet, then placed it on his head. It didn't sit quite right anymore, but it would keep the cold out for now. He remained against the wall for a few moments longer as he found his bearings. The smell of smoke was heavy on the air, and he now noticed that warm light lit the night sky. He could not see the sky for all the smoke. Then it hit him. He remembered the events all at once. He looked about for the militia men that had been battling the giant creature back here behind the shops, but there was no sign of them, only drag marks in the snow towards the wall of the town. Claw marks marred its surface up the length of the giant logs that formed the barrier against the outside world. He had a sickening feeling that wasn't caused by his bump on the head. It made sense now. He must have been hit from behind by a second intruder. Not wanting to stick around to see if the creatures would return to drag him away as well, he wobbled on rubbery legs back through the dark alley towards the main street where he recalled the inn had been ablaze. There was no sign of anyone as he emerged into the street from the shadows. Multiple buildings beyond the inn on either side of the street were also engulfed in fire now. Debris from the shop interiors littered the street.
   Ingvar's first thought was joyful delight at the prospect of not having to deal with the dullards and drunkards that frequented the inn anymore, but was quickly replaced by fear. He had not felt fear in many, many years. Not since he was a child. It gripped his entire body, freezing him in place, leaning against his poleax, firelight reflecting off his helmet as he stood staring into the heart of chaos. Where was everyone, why were they not fighting the fires? These and a dozen other questions raced through his mind. An unnatural desire to flee the city beckoned him, and he listened. He backed away from the main street slowly at first, but within the span of a few heartbeats, had turned his back to the scene and ran towards the west gate. Luckily his home was on the west side of the city, and he made a quick stop only long enough to grab the coin pouch he had stashed under the floorboards beneath his straw lined bed, and a small travel pack which he filled with a change of clothes, some dried meat, cheese and bread. On his way out the door he grabbed a torch from the sconce on a torch post in the street. He had no idea where he was headed, but he knew he couldn't stay inside the city walls. He was no hero, nor did he desire to be. There was no chasing after unearthly beings through the night to save people he cared little about, just the will to survive. The exertion melted away the cold in his bones, and the rushed intake of fresh winter air cleared the fuzziness from his groggy mind. He flew through the small heavy door built into the west gate house, out into the farmlands beyond. The further he got from the city, the better he could see the stars in the sky, aiding in his navigation. Whether by instinct or by choice, he decided he would make for the western outpost along the coastline a few days journey from the city.
   He had never wanted a life with the militia, and had tried to leave a few times in the past, but each time his captain had somehow talked him out of it. He had been a conscript during his youth, when raiding bands threatened the borders of their kingdom. Perhaps this was his chance to abscond from his duties without anyone being any the wiser. He had saved enough coin over the years to survive for many years without having to worry about employment. He had always wanted to find a chunk of land, build a house, and perhaps open a smithy or a work shop. Only time would tell how that would play out, but for now, he would be happy if he made it away from this place alive and unnoticed.

Ingvar's Last Watch Part 1 - Jan. 8th

   Ingvar shifted his weight and paced around in a small circle in his watch tower as he rubbed his hands together, and pulled the long collar of his jerkin tight around his neck. He hated the night watch during the warm seasons, let alone having to do it during the height of the cold season. The brazier at the back of the perch along the log wall that looked out over the mountain village did little to fend off winter's cold bite. Over the years he had learned a few tricks to help keep the blood flowing, and the cold out of his bones, but despite his pacing and wolf skin lined armor, boots and gloves, failed to do so this night. He coughed once to clear his throat as he jumped up and down on the spot a few times, the condensation from his breath collected and froze in clumps on the whiskers of his mustache as he did so. The end of his watch could not come soon enough.

   A screech echoed over the rooftops of the city below, loud and shrill, coming from off in the distance to the south. What fool has gotten himself into trouble this time he thought as he retrieved his poleax from the weapon rack against one of the roof support beams. He looked out over the edge of the watch tower, straining to see anything in the moonlit darkness. Nothing but shadows cast across the snow covered streets. Not even a patrolling guard.

   Ingvar grunted to himself and furled his brow.

   "Lazy sodding buggers, probably snuck into the Inn for a drink near the fire while I'm stuck up here," he lamented to himself as he dismissed the situation with a forward wave of his free hand and turned back towards his vigilant watch of the north. "Probably just some drunkard slipping on the ice again anyways."

   The landscape dropped sharply not more than ten feet from the north wall all the way to the coastline a hundred feet below. It was littered with tall fir, pine, and jagged rocks. On a good night like this one, visibility allowed him to see hundreds of meters out into the open waters of the bay. The water was relatively calm, and the only boats in sight were those moored at the fishing docks. A single lantern hung from the harbor master's cabin, and was lit, indicating that he was in for the night.

   All was as it should be.

   Moments later, a series of even shriller and louder screams echoed across the night behind him, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end, and a shiver to race the length of his spine. He gritted his teeth and narrowed his gaze as he rushed to look out over the village once more.

   Flames poured from the windows of the inn, and the smoke billowed up in a large, dark pillar slowly wafting out to the west with the light breeze.

   "FIRE," he shouted as he reached for the warning bell's rope and tugged hard, repeatedly. "FIRE AT THE INN!"

   His shout was echoed by the west and east towers, and soon the streets were filled with people racing towards the inn. Ingvar leaped from the ladder half way through his decent from the watch tower, landing in a run. He barely noticed the impact in his aging bones. He kicked up snow behind him as he raced through the streets, rapping each door he passed with the butt of his poleax and shouted his warning.

   As he rounded the corner of a longhouse near the street the inn was on, he heard the distinctive clang of metal on metal off to his right, in one of the alleys beyond the inn, followed by a groan and a shout of defiance.

   What is going on he thought to himself as he redirected to asses the situation.

   Dark shadows washed over him as he entered the secluded, narrow alley between two shops, working his way around the back side of them, where the commotion continued. A dozen curses flitted through his mind as he edged up to the corner of the wall on his left, and snuck a peak around the corner. He was ready to deal with any number of types of miscreant the coastal mountain village had drawn in over the past few years due to favorable fishing seasons, and open trade with the colonies further to the south, but what he saw froze him in place. He felt his legs buckle slightly as he shrunk back towards the safety of his cover.

   A giant bear faced behemoth was squared off against two militia men, swinging a massive two handed hammer over his head in an arch at them. They were barely able to fend off the heavy blow with their shields. One of the militia men lost his footing as the weight of the impact knocked him off balanced. He hit the ground awkwardly, and the sound of snapping bone was clear. He wailed in pain, dropping his axe as he rolled to the side and reached for his broken arm with his shield hand. The only thing that saved his life was the patterned, metal reinforced, wooden shield which was still strapped to his left arm that protected him from a down swing which followed the initial arching blow. Before the beast could attempt another swing, Ingvar collected himself and raced out of the darkness, poleax lowered in front of him like a battering ram. The giant spike on the tip connected with the creature, but only scraped along the side of its ribs. It snarled and roared at him with such ferocity that he could feel his blood running cold in his veins as the beast bared its teeth, drool hanging between upper and lower jaws. The beast was huge. It towered over Ingvar and the remaining militia man that stood yelling at it as he flailed wildly with his own axe, but none of the strikes seemed to penetrate its thick hide.

   Ingvar circled the creature, trying to find an opening as it was distracted. The fallen militia man scrambled back from the encounter through the snow, moaning in agony. He heard a soft thump behind him, but before he could fully turn to see what the cause of the noise was, brilliant stars filled his vision as the snowy ground came up to meet him, then darkness.

Thordan Spiderhewer - Jan. 7th

   There's nothing more disturbing than the deafening sound of nothing. Even more so than the total darkness that enveloped Thordan Spiderhewer when the last bit of his head lamp's candle flickered out. The burly dwarf had been so engrossed in the chase after the rock spider attacked his digging crew, that he had not noticed the light getting dimmer until it was too late. All he could think about was his friends that were bitten, or spun up in silk and being dragged away into the depths beyond the giant cavern that was home to the stone forest of Rasthal Thokul.
   It was the kind of silence that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and drowned out the ringing in his ears from the blood pumping so fast to his head from exertion. He couldn't even hear his own breathing, or his heart beating like a marching drum in his chest.
   Thordan tightened his grip on the mining pick and his great double bladed axe to make sure they were still there. Despite his natural instinct to remember every tunnel he'd ever dug, natural caverns and winding tunnels on top of them was enough to cause any self respecting dwarf to get turned around. Especially with a burnt out head lamp.
   Even though he couldn't hear the rock spider's movements, he knew it was there, circling him in the darkness. This did not shake his resolve near as much as the embarrassing thought of not finding his way back to the hold where his wife, three sons and two daughters waited for his return.
   He was the fifth descendant of Thorgal Spiderhewer, and as the namesake entails, was part of a family legacy of spider hunting and the rigorous training that came with it. He had spent years honing his senses for such an occasion when he may have to fight blind.
   Thordan chewed on his lower lip as he listened intently for any indication of the spider's inevitable approach.
   "Ahk, come on then ye foul bug," he spat through his beard, "It'll be you or me left standing, not both, and I'll be a gear fiddlin' gnome before I let one of your kind bring me down!"



This was a tough prompt to attempt a non-outerspace approach with, and although I like the character and the setting that I came up with, it's not one of my strongest outings. Here's to stretching the writing muscles!
Today's prompt is: A guard protagonist.
Cheers,
Rob

The Kingdom of Shroom - Jan. 6th

   The Kingdom of Shroom once extended to all corners of the world, but that was a long time ago, back before the Cornstalk Revolution. Kernel Cob of the Corn folk didn't cease his war against the Shroomkin until he had forced every last one of them beneath the worlds surface, where he felt they belonged. In time he would grow to regret these actions, for cool dark, damp places is where the Shroomkin thrived best.
   And make good of a bad situation they did.
   They rebuilt their entire civilization in vast cavern networks filled with wondrous sites of glowing stalactites and stalagmites, bubbling springs, streams and pools of crystal clear water, and enormous glow worm farms which they cultivated for silk. The worm's slime also had many uses, from construction applications to medicine, and even food.
   The Shroomkin enjoyed a great many years of peace in their underworld, until the gem eaters came. These foul creatures discovered that the precious stones which they survived on were abundant in the cavern networks wherever the Shroomkin had settled. They were the best, and most precious stones they Rock Moles had ever seen.
   This is when the Gemstone Wars began. At first, the Shroomkin suffered horrible losses, but as they retreated deeper within their new kingdom, they started to notice that the moles couldn't chew or tunnel through the stone walls of their deepest caverns. When they tried, they chipped their nasty teeth and cracked their filthy claws.
   Upon this discovery, King Shroom, with his oyster shaped natural crown of fungus, ordered every spare Shroomkin stone worker to begin gathering bits of the this stone to craft craft into weapons and armor for a last stand. They would not give up anymore of their kingdom to interlopers. They worked non-stop for days, chiseling and grinding the stone to fit each Shrookin defender.
   The Rock Moles screeched furiously as they sniffed about the too small openings, peering in with their beady little eyes. One Mole got too close with his elongated snout, as he sniffed about in one of the holes in the stone, and was rewarded with a chipped tooth from an ever alert defender brandishing his newly carved stone hammer and armor.
   The Shroomkin bellowed defiantly from within their stone walls, taunting the Rock Moles until they were blind with anger. King Shroom noticed that the angrier the moles became, the more unorganized they were also. And this is how their plan came to fruition. The Shroomkin banged their weapons against their shields, and yelled at the tops of their lungs, taunting the moles over and over as they got into formation to make their advance. When they were ready, King Shroom signaled the advance.
   Every Shroomkin defender in the front line could hear their hearts beating in their ears as their final stand began. They charged as one from their tiny stone holes into the larger cavern beyond, shields raised together forming a wall, weapons held high and ready to strike out at any moles nearby. Tufts of fur, chunks of teeth and splinters of claws flew all around the advancing clump of fungus and fury. The moles squealed and hissed as they skittered and circled about. All they could do was scoop a few defenders up into the air with their dull claws, flinging them back against their allies who steadied them on their feet or caught them from the air without harm, and then they were back in the fray, pushing the advance. Skitter Snarl, the leader of the Rock Moles squealed a retreat, hissing oaths of vengeance upon the Shroomkin as he and his slunk back through the caverns. The Shroomkin gave chase, following them to the ends of their known caverns. Once the last of the moles had disappeared into the shadows of the earth tunnels beyond their realm, King Shroom ordered the tunnel's sealed with the same stone they had built their weapons and armor from.
   The King knew that it was only a matter of time before a new threat or challenge arose, but for now, the Kingdom of Shroom was safe once again.


Alright, I had fun with yesterday's prompt: A fantasy world without humans.
Today's prompt is: The silence of space. (does not have to be outer space, it could be a giant room)
Cheers,
Rob

After The Fallen World - Jan 5th

   Bruno couldn't remember the last time the welded seals around the entire perimeter of the giant fifty foot tall, by fifty foot wide, semi arched mechanical steel doors leading to the surface's access shaft were broken. He couldn't even rightly recall if it had occurred during his lifetime. Their whole lives had been in the side of this mountain, tucked away in a secluded valley in the northern Rockies. The Rocky Mountain Range was the least affected by the fallout that occurred at the height of the fallen world top side. The disaster that forced the survivors to retreat beneath the surface of the world was global, and entirely due to man's greed and naivete.
   'Nuclear power is safe,' they said, and they grew to believe it. Society chased after progress with an insatiable hunger, polluting every part of the world in the process.
   The facility research team had completed a study of the sensors that were wired to the facility through sealed pipes earlier in the week, which had indicated that the rad levels had dropped significantly. So much so that they figured a small team in protective suites could survive a journey top side for further analysis and study of the soil, vegetation, and surface water.
   Being head of maintenance, and the most knowledgeable with the cutting torch, Bruno had been requested for the breaking of the seal only hours after the lab rats had reported their study to the mayor. It took all involved two days to agree on a strategy for breaking the seal and closing the doors again behind the surface team with minimal exposure to the rest of the facility. Now it was time to put the plan into action.
   Bruno flipped his welding mask down over his face, and sparked the cutting torch to life. Sparks flew as the torch bit into the ancient welded seal. The surface team was finishing their gear preparations not too far from the giant metal portal, shadowed by the floodlights that lit Bruno's scaffolding. They would be sealed into their suits moments before the final bit of the seal was cut, and then the doors would be opened just enough for them to squeeze through with their equipment. The doors would be closed and sealed behind them as soon as they were through. A team of monitors would keep an eye on the video cameras that were wired all along the tunnel for visual confirmation of their return, when Bruno would once again cut the seal to allow them re-entry. Provided the readings were right of course.
   The surface team knew there was a risk that it would be a one way trip, but they had all dedicated their lives to the re-surfacing cause.
   Bruno signaled that he was almost done, and the team went about sealing each other's suites. No sooner had the last suite been sealed, then Bruno raised his right hand to signal the job was complete. His maintenance crew rushed to remove the last of the scaffolding as he jumped the last few feet to the floor. The mechanical hinges groaned and popped in protest as they began to retract the giant metal interlocking rods from the middle of the doors. The sound was deafening at first, but as the gears worked they protested less and less. The surface team rushed toward the now opening doors, and began passing through as soon as the opening was wide enough. The orange warning lamps bathed the giant entrance way in spinning pools of warm light. Within a few minutes, the last scientist passed beyond the barrier, and the doors began to close immediately behind him. The thwump-clunk of the giant interlocking rods slamming into place startled everyone.
   As quickly as it had been disassembled, the scaffolding was raised once again and Bruno set to work sealing the fate of the surface team.

***

   Anna and her team raced as quickly as they safely could up the tunnel to the surface. It was a mile up a winding cement encased tunnel, lit by guide lights that had not been lit in centuries. Pockets of dark shadows remained where some of the lights failed to return to life when they were switched on as the team began to leave the facility. A thick layer of soot had settled on the ground of the tunnel, and on the top of any jutting surface in the walls of the tunnel. She knew their window of opportunity was short, and that they would only have a few hours topside before having to return to the facility. She prayed that the readings were correct, and that they hadn't doomed themselves to a foolish death march. Her ear piece crackled as Renny transmitted a message from his helmet, startling her out of her own thoughts.

   "Rad level readings are holding steady so far Ann."

   "Thanks Renny, let's hope it stays that way."

   A short while later they emerged from the mouth of the tunnel that led down into the mountain. They were greeted by the most beautiful site Anna had ever seen. Crystal blue skies, blazing sunshine, and snow covered ground. The clearing around the mouth of the tunnel ended in a jagged cliff face that overlooked a river that wound between the mountains in the valley far below. She was struck dumb by the stunning view.

   A few moments passed with the team glued to the spot as they took it all in. Someone sneezed over their com, and she snapped out of her daydream.

   "Alright, let's get to work," she said as she began unpacking her testing kit, "Renny you are on soil, Janus on vegetation, Romen on air quality. I've got surface water."

   They confirmed their duties and set about their tasks as quickly as their bulky suites would allow. Anna decided to start with the raw crystallized water before moving on to melted samples. She scooped some snow into her petri dish and put it under her portable microscope. She attached the customized wide lens that would allow her to look at the sample with her helmet on, and adjusted the magnification to bring the crystals into focus.

   Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw. At first she thought she was hallucinating. The entire molecular structure of the snow crystals moved. Little white bits swirling over and around each other in a slow, mechanical pattern, never stopping.

   "What the heck is that," she stammered to herself as she stepped back from her microscope shacking her head. "How are the rad levels Renny," she asked over her com.

   "No change, why," he replied.

   "Come have a look at this snow sample. I need to make sure I'm not seeing things."

   "Be right there."

   Renny jogged over from his own microscope where he had placed a chiseled piece of rock into a petri dish of his own. He leaned over and peered through the giant eye piece of the lens.

   "Whoa, what the heck is that," he asked as he jumped back.

   "Exactly," replied Anna. "I guess that confirms that, I'm not seeing things."

   Renny stared at her and blinked a few times, speechless.

   "Something isn't right," Anna voiced his concern for him.

   "Does it melt," asked Renny?

   "Good question."

   Anna grabbed her portable torch and a second petri dish. She scooped another small handful of snow into the dish and turned on the torch. Nothing happened. The snow remained un-melted.

   "Yeah, that's normal," she blurted in sarcastic shock.

   Renny gasped and looked on dumbfounded.

   Without hesitation, Anna pressed down on her com unit again.

   "Alright, grab the samples you've got, we're heading back in, NOW," she shouted as she began sealing the snow samples into a containment cube from her kit.

   Janus and Romen must have sensed the urgency in her voice as they didn't protest at all. The four of them hurriedly gathered and packed their samples into their kits, and jogged back toward the mouth of the tunnel into the mountain.

***

   Within minutes the surface team had rushed within view of the cameras. Bruno had only been a quarter of the way done sealing the doors when the shout came up that the surface team was returning already. Once again, they squeezed through as soon as there was enough room, and the doors shut behind them. Everyone except Bruno, who was wildly working on the sealing process again, stared at the suited scientists with a hundred questions in their eyes.


This was from yesterday's writing prompt (write a story about snow that isn't snow), and here is today's prompt: A fantasy world without humans. Bonus points if they aren't all furries.
Cheers,
Rob