The Beginning...

People talk about "world building" nowadays.  What an amazingly adequate term.  I think it should replace "writing" in most situations.  When people ask you what you do, and you respond, "Oh, I write a bit", or "I'm a writer", I think many people just attach antiquated preconceptions to you, for good or bad.  Mostly bad.

But if you tell them: 

"Hmm? Oh, (pause) I build worlds...", a certain gravity of what it takes to write fantasy begins to settle upon their being.  

That being said, I am not under any preconception that my writing is good enough to be classified as "world building"...yet.  What I have written so far is indeed a rough draft.  Many of my ideas come as I go.  It's rare if I have a solid plan for any one character from the get-go.  Plus, the quality of my writing depends greatly upon whatever mood I happen to find myself in.  So, there are certain to be inconsistencies, or *gasp* outright errors despite rather extensive proofreading.  The beginning Elven Salvation Prayer is a good example of something that will most like change significantly.  Also keep in mind that I am a beginner in HTML, so my alignments may sometimes look odd.  But, again, the most important thing I keep telling myself is to just get my butt in the chair.

It's interesting what finally encourages us to put pen to paper.  For years, ideas have rolled around in my head for a fantasy novel.  My parents instilled a deep love for imagination and fantasy within me.  I'll have to create a post regarding a few of the things that have influenced my writing sometime.  Anyway,  I'm very thankful for this opportunity to be able to share a few of my ideas with you all.  

Your thoughts or ideas are much appreciated, positive or negative. (This isn't high school, I'm a big boy, I can take it) Oh, and if anyone is curious as to what kind of music I like to jam my fingers to while I type, click here for a good example.

                                                                      

Heh, Heh....I...Build...Worlds...

A World Long Sundered

David Kottas

...world long sundered

By past failures,

Two halves from one, neither whole.

The last of light bequeathed to seven

To halt the Chaos,

Five will go, five will fail

At the summit

Of two worlds stained red

By the blood of heroes...

Sleep Oh Sapphyre,

See not your children

Blind and bound by Chaos’ rule

Your light is passed to failure

To heal the breach

Madness remakes the worlds

Under darkness

For an age.

And reveals the fallacy

Of the gods

Punished for their arrogance.

Sleep Oh Sapphyre,

See not your children

Blind and bound by Chaos’ rule

Your light is passed to failure

To heal the breach

Yet, even two worlds remade

Under darkness

May strike a spark

And fan the flames of hope

Perhaps in vain, perhaps in victory.

Sleep Oh Sapphyre,

See not your children

Blind and bound by Chaos’ rule

Your light is passed to failure

To heal the breach

Oh nations raise your eyes!

Harken to the dwindling light

And break the cycle

That binds.

Fight for the future

That brings free will within reach.

Awake Oh Sapphyre!

And see your light passed to victors

Is there no power

To save your children?

Coupled with newfound Truth

Will you wake and see

Two worlds made whole

In harmony?

Separated in peace?

Or bound in damnation...

Awake Oh Sapphyre!

Awake Oh Sapphyre...

And forgive us our failures...

Chapter 1

Drip...drip...drip...

Single drops of murky water falling from unknown heights above reverberated throughout his skull. Strangely, with little of his own concentration, his mind seemed to over focus; his view rotated around each watery orb, as it coursed down towards its destination. Each drop terminated in silvery ripples on a death black pool. Nothing existed beyond the pool and its droplets save the sound. Riggs knew this sound, a gong, distant yet clear, perfectly timed with the strike of each drop of water. Although he couldn’t quite place where it was that he last heard it, or even if he had heard it before, it tugged at his consciousness, pulling him out of darkness and pushing him further into light.

...Drip...

Every drop seemed to lurch his consciousness painfully one step further from the void, while each following ripple caressed his pain, numbing it momentarily, as if offering apologies for the water’s behavior. There was a duality within the droplets and the pool; a mixed blessing, one that seemed to cause Riggs to recoil; perhaps a memory forgotten. A slight tremor fluttered through Riggs’ body. Body? Suddenly the image of himself was superimposed with that of the pool and incessant water. What did this mean? Self-awareness began to fire once again throughout his mind. Fragments of unrecognizable images appeared only to be swept away once he began to focus on them. Altogether, it was a rather unpleasant experience.

“No... not again...” was his first fully formed thought.

The implications of this basic thought were rather immense. Even though Riggs wasn’t quite sure what had brought on this foundational emotion of disgust, he did feel it. Such a feeling connected him to some previous knowledge, or history. The thought seemed important, since at the moment, he could remember virtually nothing but his own name. Just what caused such revulsion? He found he was rather proud of it. It proved that he was more than only conscious, more than just aware. He possessed a history, knowledge, he was sure of it. Or at least relatively certain, even though he recalled nothing of his past at the moment.

He wasn’t sure why each drop increased his feeling of foreboding. Something deep within urged him to retreat back within the comfort of sleep, luring him to return to the void. Something warned against pursuing the path the water represented. It was as if a previous consciousness grappled with Riggs’ natural desire to be coerced by the water’s influence. The temptation to resist was real, almost physical. Inwardly, Riggs took satisfaction from this small victory as he felt his consciousness shift once again. And why should he not feel this way? The path of water was proving unpleasant, while the abyss had held him wrapped within its sweet nothingness for who knows how long, perhaps years. Besides, he still wasn’t completely sure if he had ever heard the troublesome sound before, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that his inner consciousness was protecting him from some unknown, or perhaps some previously known threat. He began to embrace the void of sleep once again.

...Drip...

As it turned out, sleep alone proved to be rather ineffectual to the water’s incessant behavior. The gong and the water reverberated through his defenses like sound through water. Rather than pierce his defense of sleep, the blasted noise flowed through it, wrapped around it, merged with it. The water’s aspect changed slightly. No longer did the water painfully lurch his consciousness forward, but kept him from sliding further back into sleep. As the gong flowed, so did the ripples of the pond. The ripples, still possessing their numbing touch, coaxed specific memories from the recesses of his barely woken mind. Riggs knew that this was the water’s way of bypassing his desire to stay unconscious. He was still asleep; yet the water interacted with him in his mind alone. When realization finally make its appearance, Riggs found that he wished that it hadn’t.

“Damn bugs...” Riggs replied mentally and not a little callously.

The words came to his mind as more from habit than from real understanding. He focused on the mental sound of his own thought. Why had he said that? Once again he wondered at the implications of such words. Parts of him, whether as a whole or not, were making mental leaps that other parts were having trouble keeping up with. Mentally, he felt rather like a minute cutworm, part of him rushing ahead while the rest was continually yanked forward. Regardless of how his mind made these leaps, the problem still presented itself. He had been in this predicament before, and it had not been pleasant.

Yet, even this foreboding feeling meant fairly little to Riggs. With his body evidently asleep and his mind barely above consciousness, he was finding it increasingly more difficult to focus on anything. Even if he wanted to, Riggs’ mind was incapable of wrapping itself around anything significant at the moment. It wasn’t for a lack of trying though. As his mind attempted to pursue memory, flashes of images seemed to almost take form only to slip out of his consciousness at the most integral moment. Discouraged, his mind merely desired the solitude of a dreamless sleep.

In addition, something else also hindered consciousness. Regardless of his limited access to his own memory, something fundamental held Riggs from action. Oddly, he was aware of it. Even more strange was his acceptance of it. Although unable to define this counter-force, he felt that it had some link to a past he could not recall. He thought it strange though that it would still have such influence without a memorable history to support it. Some scars just ran too deep.

Regardless, he told himself, such thinking was pointless. He was tired; it had been too long and too late. Even without his memories, Riggs felt, he knew, that it was pointless to wake. He knew not why, but within him resided some sort of powerlessness, a stain. Failure? Yes, that was an apt description, he had failed. The void within him confirmed it. As soon as the word had surfaced to consciousness, he knew it to be true. Somehow, somewhere in his past he had failed. Inwardly, he felt that it had been utter and complete, and that somehow, any further action on his part was useless. A failure that had been burned upon his soul, and therefore, surpassed both memory and history. He could feel it in him. Thus, waking was not really an option. Nothing would come of waking, at least nothing good anyway—especially if he was a part of it.

It was better this way, better to just drift off into eternity. Since eternity asked nothing of him, he could not fail it. “Failure... Failure...” the thought of knowing what he was aided him in rejecting the path the water offered. He told himself that embracing one’s true identity was completely natural. Riggs, decidedly happier with this realization, began to slip back into eternity. It was so much easier this way.

...Drip...

Riggs almost snickered at the futile effort of the water droplet, knowing his victory of peaceful eternity was within grasp. Confident in the buffer of half-sleep Riggs began to pull his concentration deeper into the folds of unconsciousness.

Then, the world changed.

It was slow at first, and Riggs originally thought it was just his captor's last futile attempt at the coercion of his own consciousness, but then Riggs felt something—different. A subtle change came over the next droplet. Not a forceful or compelling change, but a curiosity. Just before passing beyond the boundary of half sleep and full, a simple flicker of pure light seemed to emanate from within the falling droplet. Only for an instant did the light penetrate the watery shell. Nevertheless, the light, not unlike a lighthouse on a moonless night, pierced the darkness surrounding Riggs’ awareness with such ferocity that Riggs had to stifle a mental cry of surprise. In the droplets place stood a jewel. Or what nearly seemed like one, for with the abyss shattered, Riggs was able to fully focus upon the tiny droplet of water. It too had changed, or perhaps it was Riggs' perception that had truly changed, but regardless, in the place of the murky droplet of water spun a single perfect gem. A sapphire.

Tumbling down the same path as the droplet before, Riggs was bathed in a series of serene azure rays that manifested from the sapphire. Enthralled, Riggs felt the light gently and completely sweep the fog of unconsciousness away. No longer merely a curiosity, this light demanded his complete attention. Riggs was naked before such light. His callousness was stripped away as the gem's light embraced him. He could not pull away from this summons as he so often did from his captors. Nor did he want to.

Although he could not define the emotion that this light held within it, he tried to. It was like the promise of morning sunlight from a thousand different worlds. It was a rebirth, a beginning; it was the first step on a journey long waited for. It was the journey itself. And then he finally had it. It was purpose. True purpose. Not merely purpose born of duty or obligation, but a purpose beyond all needs and all desires. Riggs’ own defenses began to melt away as the gem called to him, beckoned for him to reach out and grasp it—to take it and make it his own. It felt so familiar. Even as he thought of such an action he felt the sapphire's own desire to be held, to be united and impart such purpose. In that instant, Riggs knew he shared a bond with the gem. He, with his lack of purpose yearned for nothing more to find it, possess it, and use it. Simultaneously Riggs felt the gem’s need to impart purpose, its need for a partner.

Riggs stood transfixed, as if in a dream. He knew he needed to grasp the gem, to touch it would be to accept its proposition. He knew with all certainty, yet, his body shocked by the purity of what the light promised, merely stood immobilized. He could not act. An internal battle began to take shape. He could not deny that a part of him yearned for the healing nature of the gem. However, the stain within him resisted this urge with equal force. It was impossible for him to completely comprehend the power and nature of the sapphire. However, he possessed a very clear notion of just how powerful and insidious the scar of failure within him really was. It began to present an effective argument to the gem’s.

Internally, Riggs cried out in desperation as a thought began to form: He did not have the right to act. Realization crashed into Riggs. The light had almost banished the ever-present stain within him--almost. Thus, the scar within him proved its superiority. This was his punishment, born from his past, a great mockery. His failure knew what would happen if he dared touch such purity. He could not grasp the gem lest he pollute it with his own failure. It was arrogance to think otherwise. And yet, he wanted to touch it, to take its purpose into him, make it his own. This thought was only his own arrogance and he knew it. The void within him was right. To think that this creature, whatever it was or what it represented could be held by his own failure-stained hands was arrogance. Riggs knew that if he touched the sapphire, he would only stain its purity with his own misdeeds, whatever they had been. Any purpose offered by the creature would ultimately be polluted if left in his hands. Thus, gazing one last time at the gem, for his mind’s eye had never left its radiance; Riggs mentally urged it to flee.

"Go, whatever you are, go. Find someone worthy of your gift, before my presence ruins it."

As if not hearing Riggs words, ever so gently, the light pulled at something within him. Not forcefully, as if saying “Are you certain”? He sensed something more, another emotion emanating from the gem—sympathy. After all this, it pitied him. Riggs didn’t know exactly how he felt about that. It didn’t matter, however, he could feel the power of the gem waning. It was heeding his words. Time seemed to shift back into its destined path as the azure rays retracted once again within the gem. It continued its journey down, reverted at last to water again, and hovered ever so slightly before it added its worth to the ebony pool, its internal light momentarily illuminated the depths and was gone.

Riggs tried to tell himself that this had all been merely another attempt of his captors to coax him to complete consciousness, but he could not convince himself. Nothing about the gem reminded him of his captors. The darkness that followed left Riggs with more than just the absence of light. Riggs could not halt the despair that ripped through him. Gradually, regret spread through him like poison. It was all he could do to not shout after the gem to return. The gem’s light had kept the darkness and desolation at bay, but its sudden departure had created a vacuum around him. That darkness and solitude now came crashing down upon him, once again drowning him. He resisted the temptation to call after the jewel again.

He had missed his chance at escape. His inaction had failed him again. No, not inaction, this had been his choice. It was he who had failed again. He nearly broke. He had been offered not just escape from his captors and this vile pit in the earth, but from the loneliness that had gripped his heart for centuries. Centuries? Yes, he knew it to be true, that much he now remembered. He had been here centuries, separated from whatever he had failed in the past, as punishment he suspected, and quite possibly self-inflicted. Riggs felt it to be true. He did not need solid memory to know what his heart was telling him. He was here because of his failure, and now he had let his one chance at redemption slip away into nothingness. In a macabre sense of rationalization, Riggs was able to take a modicum of solace in the fact that he had resisted the temptation to take the gem. The gem would remain pure. It was ironic really. In failing, in refusing the gems offer, perhaps he had truly done it the best possible service he could muster. Painfully, he almost chuckled.

As the darkness settled, Riggs couldn’t help but wonder just how such a creature could find its way here. Even more intriguing was simply its very existence. He supposed, even despite the world’s current condition such creatures still existed, although rarely. Perhaps the gem had been drawn to this place, just as the bugs had been. Ah, some things were coming back to his mind now. It was interesting just what chose to return to his mind and what did not. The latter category certainly held more sway. It didn’t really matter anyway; the gem (he would continue to refer to it as that even though he knew that was merely a symbol of what it represented) would eventually be discovered by the powers that now ruled this world. An aura that bright would make a feast for a legion of them. Even though this prison of his was well hidden, he doubted that even the wards could conceal such an aura from hungry eyes. Now, with the gem gone, his senses were able to better focus on his surroundings once more. How many years had it been this time? It was impossible to tell, the glass prison made sure of that. Even despite his more awakened senses, they returned very little information. The air was stale and forced. He wondered just how many times it had been filtered all these years. The fact that this place still functioned was nothing short of a miracle. Riggs supposed that was a testament to the ingenuity of his captors.

...Drip...

The water dropped louder this time, at least in a sub-conscious sense.

“Leave me be!” he shouted mentally, and then more softly, “Let me sleep, I’m too tired for your pointless questions.”

He was merely being stubborn. Although he did desire sleep, the experience with the gem left him disturbed. Perhaps it really had been just another ploy of his captors.

The dripping stopped. Riggs mentally sighed and began to prepare himself for his return to dreamless sleep. Further contemplation was getting him nowhere. If the gem had been real, it was now gone. If it was a deception, then Riggs intended to ignore it. Either way, it was no longer a concern of his. His despair gradually lessened as sleep began surround him once again.

“Your opinion is needed, Riggs.”

The voice dribbled into his consciousness seconds before he achieved the sleep he yearned for. He knew it was pointless to try and refuse the bugs. They would have their answers, as they had had countless times before. Yet, it wasn’t in his nature to make it easy on them. But this was new, a turn of events. Opinion? What did his captors need with his opinion? Even though many of his memories were not yet fully his own, he did remember being interrogated before. Many times, actually. Just how many, he could not say. However, this was definitely not the first time he had been awoken for this purpose. Nevertheless, his captors had never requested his opinion; questions yes, but never his opinion. They were interested in only facts, not superfluous opinions. They most likely knew his own history better than he did now.

...Drip...

This last drop of crystalline water seemed to slow down in his mind’s eye. Alarmed, he began to think that the gem had returned. For a moment his heart hoped to see its radiance again. Not a small part of him was soon disappointed. Revolving over itself, nearly splitting in two, coming back together again, the drop slowly elongated into the shape of a crystalline needle. He felt his face go ashen as his view raced ahead of the falling water’s trajectory. The vision of the pond within his mind now lay transformed. A thick sheen of ice covered the dark waters, waiting for the revolving needle.

“NO!” was the only response he had time to scream. Something within his memory flashed warning. His captors had used this method before. The needle plunged at an unnatural speed. As the tip pierced the center of the frozen pond, a searing flash of crimson light erupted from it, sending thousands of miniature fractures throughout the pond and his mind.

Unlike the previous azure light of the sapphire this searing light produced only pain. Shattering, the pond exploded into an unreal cloud of lacerating crystalline shards. The only option for Riggs was to scream. And scream he did. Every shard was a needle in his mind, piercing soft flesh with jagged pinpoint accuracy. This time there was no relief of numbness from this mental barrage of pain, no calming ripple’s caress. Such was his scream that it penetrated his mind’s sleep, forcefully exiting his body in goblets of air that attempted to mix with the viscous liquid that surrounded Riggs’ body. For the first time in years his eyes opened. Through the pain he watched his scream slowly ascend through the yellowish liquid and finally break the surface in ripples of gold and grey. His body quaked under the pain, as he continued to emit bubbles that lethargically lifted themselves in the thick liquid.

Partial relief finally came in the form of rushing numbness.

“Damn you!” his mind sputtered between aftershocks of pain. The numbness only did so much. As the pain ebbed from his body, Riggs found his mind no longer embraced the desire for sleep. The captors had made their point; the time for sleep was over. He beat his hands against his glass-like cell. The fluid around his body resisted such sharp movements and lessened the blows. His eyes now open wide tried to penetrate the golden liquid but could merely see smudges of light through the glass-like cylinder. Several moments passed before his anger subsided. If I ever get out of this damned prison… he thought mentally. Before he could finish his thought another voice surrounded him and reverberated within his mind again.

“We apologize for the pain, Riggs, but there is no time for stubbornness.”

Riggs paused momentarily, even though they had not actually spoken his name, hearing it brought a weight upon his shoulders that he could not explain. At least it confirmed his name. The rude awakening had jumbled his mind once again, however and he fell back on old reliable questions.

"What’s going on? Where am I?" Riggs thought it prominent to dispatch with the basics.

The unnatural silence that followed carried the feelings of confusion to Rigg's mind. Evidently, his questions were not anticipated. Through the confusion Riggs caught a few fractions of thought.

"His memory has not returned," one voice offered.

"That will complicate matters," another added after a momentary silence.

The confusion that radiated from the mental conversation began to spread to Riggs himself.

“Tell me what is going on here!” he shouted, then added. “My head, it’s all messed up. N-none of it makes any sense,” he trailed off. Silence followed as Riggs felt his captors digest his words.

“Perhaps the stasis has finally proven too much even for him,” one commented.

“Unlikely, it is more likely due to our own…” another returned but was quickly cut off by yet another voice.

“Silence, there is no use confusing him further.”

This voice exuded a slightly different quality than the others. It seemed to possess a greater authority, one that the other voices deferred to. Riggs focused on this voice as well. There was another quality within it that attracted him as well—a certain kindness that Riggs was not used to. His suspicions rose.

“Who—“, he began with increased confidence.

“Riggs please, there is little time,” the voice interrupted

The desperation within the words halted his speech. Once again he felt drawn to the voice. Thoughts ran through his mind. Something had changed. Something was wrong. Never before had these creatures turned toward him with such emotion. In fact, emotion was the last thing that he expected from these—things. He decided it was best to speak up.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand, I can only remember bits and pieces, none of which make any sense. Help me to understand.” His own calmness surprised him.

Perhaps it was the quality of the voice he spoke with, but his previous anger was vanishing.

“Although you may view it as contrary to our nature, we do understand your confusion. It was not our intention for your memory to fail. In fact, it is a most unfortunate turn of events.”

“Unfortunate?” he felt his anger rising again. “What the hell are you talking about? You seem to know a great more about me than I do. What am I doing here? Why couldn’t I even remember my own name?” His thoughts responded with no little amount of frustration.

Another pause followed his statement. It seemed that he was providing ample fuel for their confusion.

“Riggs, Auryn Riggs, that is the name you have used since our contact with you. As for why your memory has failed, we fear that it may be a result of your stasis here. Coupled with the current situation it is not surprising that you may experience some memory loss.”

Again, the mention of his name seemed to trigger a reaction deep within his mind. It was as if hearing his name spoken brought a burden of history upon his shoulders. For the first time, he wondered whether he really wanted to recall his past. If it truly was a scar of failure that had kept him from consciousness as well as refusing the gem, perhaps it was best to leave the past where he could not reach it. He brought his attention back to the conversation at hand.

“Situation? What situation? What is going on here?”

He had so many more questions. He wished he could illustrate his confusion more aptly. He didn’t know how to illicit the information he really required. Things were coming too fast. His mind felt sluggish and unable to take in all of what he was experiencing.

Suddenly the stress of the situation felt like it was closing in upon him all at once. The voices, the forced stale air, the golden blur that surrounded him at all times along with his own aching within seemed to inundate him in sensory overload. He couldn’t focus anymore, trapped as he was, he felt like running somewhere, anywhere. His body began to thrash, his hands searched the walls of his prison, finding nothing they stumbled upon the device that thrust the continuous musty air into his face and lungs. His eyes searched again for something of use, but unable to penetrate the sickly golden hue, he shut them tightly again. He needed air, real, clean air. His hands scoured the mask-like apparatus for a weakness. Pulling and prodding he let out a violent scream of frustration. Whether due to the stability of the device or his half emaciated body he could find no way to force the apparatus’ removal.

His screaming continued, it was the only part of him that could escape this watery glass prison. And yet, even his breath was re-cycled and forced back upon him. The notion made him sick and he felt like crying. The scream ended and he let his body sink down to the bottom of the cylinder. His hands drew his knees close to his chest, a feeble attempt to shield himself from the outside world, if not the inside one.

“He is no good to us or anyone in this condition.”

“I agree, without his mind he will not survive. We must reintegrate his memories from the database.”

“That will take too much time, and it is unlikely we have enough remaining power to complete the process, that is if we intend to—“.

“That is unavoidable, without his mind complete, his chances of success drop significantly.”

“But that means our entire research may be lost.”

“If he does not succeed, all will be lost.”

“Very well, but he will need more than his own experiences if he is to succeed. Shall we integrate the other research as well?”

“Yes, that may give him the advantage he needs.”

“And what of the anomaly that entered the complex? Were we detected?”

“That is unlikely, however, judging from the time the anomaly entered the complex and Auryn’s elevated bodily readings, the creature may have had contact with him. I can detect no residual aura fragments,” the authoritative voice answered.

“How unusual, under more suitable circumstances I would recommend further study. However, we must make the memory reintegration our priority. Recalibrate the wards to prevent further entry and begin the reintegration process.”

“Agreed.”

Copyright © 2017 by David Kottas. All rights reserved