Storytime: Flynwann Reflections

 I have this wonderful Barbarian/Paladin Halfling character (Flynwann but nicknamed Red) in one of my DnD games. He's a tiny ball of holy rage, a very good and spicy cinnamon bun. During a pretty intense and dramatic moment we ended the game at a cliffhanger, and for days later all I could think about was the characters mindset and mood. I wrote this piece of creative writing after a few days of tumbling it about my head. Enjoy!

DnD: The Land of Ly'Dall

 Over the years I have slowly been working on my own custom world and setting for a DnD homebrew game. I have a really great group together right now which is allowing me to explore the stories in such, and it's really helped me have the creative juices flowing! Here is the overview for the world setting I have shared with all my players.

The Six Kingdoms of The Conjured Isles

In the modern day there exist 6 kingdoms which can trace their lineage back to one of the ruling nobility from the empire. All have a tentative claim to the fallen empire, yet none have been able to prove their worth as heir. It is tradition that the heirs of each Kingdom make pilgrimages out before their 18th year, solving problems and living the life of adventurers to prove their worth as heirs and make an effort to claim the Empires former throne.

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Kingdom of Novia - Their lineage traces back to the Emperors younger brother, they have ruled through good times and bad for centuries. Theirs is a kingdom known for its prowess in the field of battle (blades and in court), and their great works of art. Princess Vivianne is the only noble child left of this once thriving kingdom, and she has been kept bedridden by illness for years.

 Ergacan Empire - A militaristic kingdom, theirs is might through strength of arms and conquest. Descended from the Emperor's older brother, they are highly competitive and prone to great struggles with their pride. They host a great contest of games every year, inviting athletes from other kingdom a chance at “true honor and glory”. The current Emperor has 5 children, of note is the youngest Prince Philip who is eager to prove his place to his father.

 Kingdom of Vil’Cia - a kingdom founded by the court wizard to the Emperor, Vil’Cia is a kingdom where magic rules the day and your ability in the Arcane arts dictate your place. Each city holds vast storehouses of knowledge and schools to educate. Considered a peaceful nation, owing to their magical powers can overwhelm most armies.

 Confederacy of Dörr - A gathering of nation states under the banner of an elected council, their founding was from the noble council whom advised the Emperor on the actions of the common folk. While under the banner of freely elected officers to manage them, all those elected to various city and nation councils come from a small collection of noble houses that snip and snipe at each other. Known for their vast trading fleets (on land and by sea), their members are more often found traveling the trade caravans between kingdoms.

 Kingdom of Grak - Descended from the nephew to the Emperor, this kingdom makes up for its lack in military and magical might with its technological prowess. Investing in burning the engines of creation, they have harnesses fire and flame to such an extent to be the technological leaders of the Isles. Always planning ahead, they are often overlooked and under appreciated.

 Republic of New Yemozan - While originally founded by the Emperors Queen Consort and her lineage, this kingdom had a revolution which saw power taken from the nobles houses and placed in new hands. The original nobles went underground, becoming rulers of a vast criminal empire while the people above them restructured their lives. Known for their unwillingness to answer to a single sovereign, the Republic of New Yemozan practice a city-state ruling system where all the cities and villages in their “kingdom” rule independently; only coming together to decide joint issues once every few years. This area is known for inventive and sometimes dangerous practices as individual freedoms are prized above all else.

The Conjured Isles

As most stories go, in the long long time ago there was nothing but Darkness. Within this primordial Darkness was the nature of all things, the potential for things to be born and unborn all at once. From within this Chaos came the idea of existence, of Order and Life. This first blinding thought, this flash of light and inspiration created the Light and illuminated the great expanse. Once illuminated, Chaos could not stand to look upon its ugly form of disorder and mess and began to organize the parts shining in the new Light into spheres and stars and all forms of structure and order. From this became life, became the world of Yemozan. From this starting point, did the Gods come.

 Unique to this world, the people and cultures do not speak of creation myths that start with the Gods and Goddesses shaping life and starting the engine of creation. It seems that the deities of this world found it quite by accident and were happy to come into the land with its great people and cultures already taking their first steps forward. Various Gods and Goddesses patronize various races and groups in Yemozan, and their influence has changed them both physically and mentally, but even the Gods insist that they are not the creators of life here on the world. They simply found these conjured isles in their travels across the great universe and were happy to settle on in.

 While Yemozan is the official name of the world, named after the first Elven Emperor who united the three lands under his banner and ruled for 500 years, many have taken to calling it The Conjured Isles after the remarking from their deities as well as the peculiar magical nature of the land. Everyone is born with a hint of magic in their blood here, even the simplest child one day wordlessly and without training stumbles upon a cantrip or two they find themselves capable of performing. The land itself at times seems almost otherworldly in its beauty, many of the forests hide fairy rings that lead to the Fey Wyldes or dark catacombs hide secret entrances to the darker realms beyond. Then there is the peculiar incidents that occur all across the land, where people and objects (and sometimes whole towns) simply appear out of nowhere as if conjured by some great magic. These people found are referred to as the Conjured Ones, and though they just began to appear in the span of an instant they seem to come whole cloth with a life and memories of their own as if they had already lived a great deal before.

 1000 years ago, the lineage of Emperors faltered and the Age of Kings began. A great darkness swept over the land, a force of evil that the people of the Conjured isles had never seen before. What exactly occurred has fallen into legend and myth, but it is said a great evil force led by the Lord of Dragons rose up in the far north and laid siege to all of Yemozan. The last Emperor, Yemozan the 9th, fought on the field of battle against the Lord of Dragons. Seeing his forces pushed to the brink, and knowing that if they fell here the rest of the world would soon fall, he removed the Crown of Command from atop his head and broke it in half. The release of the magical energy from within overwhelmed and destroyed most of both armies and shattered the land into a series of small archipelagos. Both the Lord of Dragons and Emperor Yemozan had their souls gathered up by the forces of Light and Dark, to be reincarnated in the future to finish their epic battle.

 It is 1009 AE (After Emperors) and the Conjured Isles are ruled by Kings and magical nobility all whom claim a right to the Throne of Emperors but cannot prove their claim. The golden chair sits in the ruins of a once glorious castle, untouched by age and so far none have had the proper blood right to sit upon it and claim uncontested rule. Whispers of dark forces gathering to the north are on the lips of every Bard and people begin to wonder if this is the time spoken of in the past; when the Emperor Yemozan and the lord of Dragons are reincarnated and the great battle of Light and Dark are to finally reach their conclusion. It is said in this time heroes will rise from among the Conjured Ones and one of royal birth will finally stake their claim for the Throne of Emperors. Each of the Great Kings and many of the noble houses have sent their children into the world to rally the people and make a claim for their “birthright”, but will they succeed? And what is to become of the land and people in a time of growing darkness and war?

Story time reflections

Once upon a time, there were six young children lost in the woods. They had grown up together in a small town at the edge of the woods, but that town was a place of filth and refuse that never truly came clean. Agreeing that they had to strike out on their own to start a new life away from that town, they packed their bags and meager belongings with a few sandwiches. Slipping away with the smallest of goodbyes, they hit the road out of town and walked deep into the woods to cross and find a better life.

As they traveled, the children shared their hopes and dreams for the future and what life they wanted now free of their old town.

"I want to find a place that will let me become a warrior of renown, someone that people will sing my tales for years to come." Thus spoke the first child, and the leaves shook and heard his call.

"I want to live life as one party, traveling from one camp to the next and meeting all the new friends I can." Thus spoke the second child, and the squirrels chit tweed and heard his call.

"I want to be an artist, to bring to life the images I see in my mind, and work for what I want without being beholden to others." Thus spoke the third child, and the bubbling spring flowed fast and heard her call.

"I want to fight the good fight, to work hard for my gain and end the day with a new meal every night. I want purpose." Thus spoke the fourth child, and the wind picked up and heard his call.

"I want a place to call home, to make my way free and have a family." Thus spoke the fifth child, and the birds took to the air and heard her call.

"I want to create something lasting, to help support a great work or some building to have that satisfaction." Thus spoke the sixth child, and the flowers slowly opened in the sunlight and heard his call.

After a time, the children crossed the wood and entered a new kingdom. There they met wonderful people, new friends who took them into their homes and let them sleep a spell in exchange for a few chores around town. There they met the new King and Queen, freshly crowned and ready to make new friends as well. The children decided that this was a place they could call home, and began to settle. They met new friends, new faces, and the influence these good folk had on them helped shaped their growth. As they started their lives, those dreams they shared in the wood began to come true in ways they never could have imagined.

The first child picked up the blade, and though skilled as he was it was his way with the pen that quickly won him renown. His tongue and quill became sharper than any blade he could wield, and there were stories told of his prowess in battle true...but these tales of valor and honor came from his wordsmith skill and the lightness of soul it takes to master speechcraft. Thus, when that first King and Queen came back round to rule the land again the child found his dream had come true. 

The second child did indeed spend his time traveling from camp to camp, traveling to meet new friends and celebrate life. As he traveled, he learned new tales and shared them as he went. He found a love for the bardic arts, studying multiple musical arts and sharing his joy of life to every tent and cabin he found himself. Thus, when that first King and Queen came back round to rule the land again the child found his dream had come true. 

The third child quickly became an artist of renown, earning the respect of the various guilds and rank within. She found joy in creating art for the sake of art, but her heart truly soared when she did art for the sake of another. She dedicated herself to art for the sake of others, raising others up. In the joy of others she found life, and bent to task. Thus, when that first King and Queen came back round to rule the land again the child found her dream had come true. 

The fourth child did find his fight, and his skills with the blade became well known. But his skill became known not for combat, but the kitchen. He worked hard, he ate well and he learned to value his work for others. Dedicating himself to art and work for others, he found purpose. Thus, when that first King and Queen came back round to rule the land again the child found his dream had come true. 

The fifth child found the family she sought, a good man to wed and a doting child to have at her knee. Her family would not simply be them, she would soon discover a whole family who flirting about as the butterfly to take her under their wings. She found a home working the sewing rooms and scribal halls, and was happy. Thus, when that first King and Queen came back round to rule the land again the child found her dream had come true. 

The sixth child found great success with his ability to see what needed to be built, and to create works that others needed. He rebuilt and redesigned a whole tavern and town postal service, he inovated a new method to share festivals held throughout the land and found happiness. All this was good, but still his soul did not know satisfaction. It wasn't until he had wed and held the son he helped bring into the world that he truly knew joy, and the greatest thing he would leave behind as a legacy. Thus, when that first King and Queen came back round to rule the land again the child found his dream had come true. 

In the end, all the children found that their dreams had come true in one fashion or another, and all rested well and in happiness. They toasted the King and Queen, the first ever they remembered having, vowed to continue to support the magical kingdom they had found which made dreams come true.

And they lived happily ever after.

Fiction: Listen

Have you ever stopped and spent a few hours in silence to listen to the sound coming from your house, and I mean really stopped to listen? All houses have those sounds, those creaks and groans as metal and wood settle on foundation or the wind blowing through the gutters that rattle against the dirty window pane. Your feet will crinkle carpet as you step your way into bed, shoes will click against the fake wood linoleum when you walk in the kitchen. Door hinges will softly sigh when new, or creak and whine with age, and the soft hum of the a/c unit as it breathes out to chill your home. Your house has a voice, a life, a unique sound that you can only hear if your very still and quiet.

A friend of mine suggested I try meditation the other day, to relax as well as align myself with my environment in my new house. I don't really believe in much of that new age mumbo-jumbo, but I do understand the value of some peace and quiet. To be honest I had never really ever had it, there's always music or TV playing to distract me. Modern life, right? The price we pay for our advances, that constant hum of electricity and artificially created sounds. I decided to turn everything off, unplug all my electronics and even turn off my modem. I set the A/C to off and made sure everything in my house that could create an artificial sound was off, finding a quiet room far from my kitchen and resting in the center. I sat down on the floor and closed my eyes, focused on my breathing and just...listened. I listened for the sounds in my house.

I heard what I expected at first, the creaking in the wind and the brush of branch on wall. Then I heard a different sound.

The sound still haunts me. I can't be alone in my house anymore without something on, which annoys my roommates but they don't understand. The TV hides the sound, the a/c blasting distracts me, the hum of electricity drowns out any other noise. I can't sleep without music, I can't find peace without something to distract me from the sound I can never unhear. I will never be in my home alone in silence ever again. I can't ever handle that moment. I thought I was the only person to ever hear that sound, to listen to what I should not, but when I looked online I saw I wasn't the only one. Thousands, all around the country, had heard the same sound when alone. All of us are afraid to ever be alone in silence again. What if its in every home, what does that even mean? Why doesn't anyone hear it, anyone listen?

If I was really alone, then how did I hear that sound?

Don't believe me? Sit down in a room away from the kitchen. Turn everything off that might produce a sound, wear comfortable clothing and sit with your eyes closed and listen. LISTEN. Don't even think, clear your mind and just LISTEN. LISTEN.

Hear that?

I did.

Fiction: That One House

Every town in Florida has that one run-down house, that one spot filled with urban myths and stories handed down from neighborhood kid to neighborhood kid. Riding bikes around town, coming up with various schemes and games to entertain yourselves in the rural backwaters of a town that lives in the shadow of tourists, every kid eventually finds this old house. It is a source of wild tales and crazy dares, stories shared to frighten.

The truth of the matter is that this house is a source of dread and fear for all the children, but not that they truly understand why. They ride by it, trying to catch glimpses of what frightens them about it. They gather in groups and dare each other to get ever closer, some getting close enough to touch the mildew-covered walls and smell the rot from the leaves mixing with the heat of the sun that lay heavy on the lawn. Sometimes you catch glimpses of a figure, always a woman, moving around inside the sun-bleached house. One of the kids swears they saw her in the backyard, hoe and spade in hand, planting some unseen garden. She is always a witch, always some demonic figure who curses and summons monsters to frighten. Every child knows her, every child knows the run-down house.

As teens many have forgotten the old stories they used to tell themselves, moving onto new horrors from film and stage. But none of them ever forgot that house, or the woman inside. When the stolen beer flowed and the teens gather late at night for thinly-veiled sexual games, horror stories come out. And someone always brings up the old "crack" house, along with one of the horror stories attributed to that house. A murder, missing child, a witch, a demon-summoning agent of the devil. One by one, they all remember the stories they told and the dares they made; they never forgot the house. 

The teens find their way to the rotting house, drunk and high on more than the drugs in their system. The house is still there, just as they remembered it. There's a light on, and the peeling paint and crumbling walls on the house seems more imposing and frightening for the light. A shadow moves across the filthy window, someone is inside and awake. One teen is dared to go to the house, to sneak around and investigate. Old fears come back, those primal nightmares that as children refused them sleep. One teen goes up, to touch the moldy door like old times. The light turns out, and they hear the door creak open. They run, all afraid and terrified of what hell spawn is unleashed upon them. They go back to school the next day, laughing off their encounter. They joke about how stupid it is, and how dumb they were. 

But they never go back to that damned house, they never bring it up again. And their friend just moves one day, no explanation.

Adults are beyond such things as childhood fears, that's what they all say. Adults have real fears, worries of money and relationships, they don't have time for childhood scary stories. They forget, they move on. They forget all about that one scary house, and the figure inside. They don't even remember what it was like as a teen, that fear clutching the belly and twisting all rational thoughts into a warped horror. They never think about it again, until they go back to that old hometown.

Stories and memories from the old days resurface as old friends drink beers and discuss life. Stories of old teachers and neighbors, childhood loves lost and friendships forged. And of that old house, the one you haven't thought of in years. The beer makes things fuzzy, and you can't believe you were ever afraid of a stupid house. You talk yourself into going to visit the house, if you even remember how to get there.

You remember, because you never truly forgot. It's exactly as you remembered it, unchanged by time. You remember the fear and the horrors, the things your mind has tried to forget. As you stand outside this old house, you hear the door open wide. A woman walks out, a young one clutching her belly that has just begun to swell. Her eyes are filled with dread and regret, her face set and determined, her walk brisk to be free. You remember her, remember your childhood friend who never left town. You lost contact when you moved, you never reconnected; just like she never left this rotting and festering town.

An old woman hangs in the doorway, watching you. The shadow on the moth-eaten curtains, the witch, the devil-summoner. The source of nightmares your whole life, casually lighting a cigarette and gazing at you from a haze of smoke. She knows you, has seen you your whole life. You've known her too, seen her your whole life. She is the decrepit woman you remember being shunned at the wal-mart, the aged woman that adults in town would talk to in hurried and quiet breathes and would be afraid to be seen with. She's the old woman watching you ride by from her seat at the bus stop, but never gets on the bus. 

She goes inside, and you run. You drive away, and drink to forget. But in the dark of the night, when your mind won't let you sleep, you remember her. And every time you find yourself in your old hometown, you drive by that broken-down house. And she's always there, covered in a haze of smoke, waiting for you.

Every town in Florida has that house. Each town, living in the shadow of media and tourist centers, live in darkness. Each town is a festering rotting hole, compost to grow new lives in which one day must leave. But someone needs to tend to the compost, someone needs to ensure the healthy leave. The dead stay and rot, their nutrients feeding new generations of life; their gardener stays in that house. 

Every town in Florida lives in shadow, rotting and festering as it ages away. Every town has that house, and the woman who tends the compost.