You've spent years debating this moment. This tape is one of the very last things you have of him, aside from the multitude of pictures his sister gave to you. Your children are with you, but you tell them to leave you alone. This isn't something you want to share. This last piece of him. You open the box, hands shaking, and you almost drop the drive as it slides out of the box. Luckily, your hand is already at the opening. It takes you a few tries, but you get it plugged into your laptop. The folder is titled "Kira", and there's an mp4 file. It's title is simple: "I Love You".

You hesitate, finger hovering over the mouse. Do you really want to do this? If you do this, then the final nail will settle in this coffin you made for him. You thought you had sealed it, but there's still one more thing: this. Before you can think about it further, you click twice and there he is! Your father is sitting there, his eyes clear for the first time in months. He's staring directly at the camera with his long hair and neatly brushed beard, and you know he's looking at you right now.

Hey kiddo. I know it's not looking good, and I'm sorry. The old man's always been a stubborn bastard when it comes to his body, even when it's not good for him. I wanted to talk to you about this in person, but it's hard to explain, so I'm going to do it here, where I can get as close as I can.

Sympathy: "I'm sorry for your loss."
Empathy: "I know what you're going through. Do you want to talk?"

That's what my therapist told me years ago, and I never really understood that until now. What is sympathy? Sympathy is knowing what the person is going through and feeling sorry for them, a sort of pity. Most people don't want that. They want empathy. They want you to put yourself in their shoes, to really understand. Why? Why do they want this? I feel my mind spiraling as it tries to answer, flashing through my life. It lands on a memory of a friend, of someone I loved.

I was in high school, and I thought I was a good friend. All of my friends were able to come to me, and I was always there to listen. I never gave them grief, and I never told anyone else. What we talked about stayed with us. They would always say "You see that man? Alex Volen? Yeah, he saved my life. That guy was basically my therapist," and sometimes, all I did was sit there and listen to them. I embraced this role completely because it satisfied me to help my friends. I never talked to other people about my issues though, so they never really got to know me until much later.

Anyway, it was the beginning of my senior year, and I was stoked. I had just gotten my first car, the girl I was crushing on made a move, and my teachers were relaxed. When I got out of school, I went straight to work to save up for an awesome laptop. The year was starting out great.

Around mid-October, I was sitting in my car after school. It was a mostly sunny day, but the forecast had been predicting rain. I could feel the coming storm in the air. I sighed, savored the fresh, crisp taste of the air before the storm, and startled when someone knocked on my passenger side window. It was a girl that I had noticed in my art class. She was really good at designing settings for characters, but she didn't like drawing characters. I loved drawing characters, but I was never really good with drawing the background. I gave her my characters and an idea of what I wanted the setting to be like, and it always turned out amazing. Sometimes, she'd give me this setting and this story that she was working on, but she needed the characters, amd maybe some personal stories for those characters. I thrived on character creation, so I was happy to provide. She would usually have this small smile on her lips just sitting there, as if waiting to leap into a beautiful grin. That smile was gone, and I could see tears falling down her face. I rolled down my passenger window to greet her.

"Hey, what's up?" My therapist voice had already kicked in. This was odd, since we had't had more than two meaningful conversations at that time. I barely knew her on a personal level.

"Can we talk?" Her voice was soft and quiet, but I felt the hoarseness of her tears in her words. I immediately unlocked the door and she stepped in. She sat down and rolled up her window. I did the same to mine and then she tried to apologize.

"I know you have work later, and I'm really sorry for bothering you, but-" I held up my hand and pulled out my phone.

I called my boss and told him I needed to take the day off. I was apologizing profusely when he interrupted me.

"Shut it. Listen, you haven't taken any days off, and you work hard. I'll be okay about the last-minute notice this time. Whatever it is, I hope you're good."

I dipped my head in thanks, even though he couldn't see me. Force of habit, I suppose. "Thank you sir."

He hung up without a word. I looked at my friend crying in the seat next to me and set my phone down.

"What's going on?" I asked. My heart was pounding, my mind anticipating her answer, but hoping it was wrong.

She tried to collect herself, fell apart, and tried again. When she managed to put enough pieces together, she looked at me. I could see the grief, pain, and anger in her eyes as clearly as you hear my voice, Maya. It was thick enought that I could have probably cut it if I wanted.

"I just got the news an hour ago. Mom got in an accident with a semi-truck," she whispered. I had turned my car off, so her breath was the loudest sound there. I felt my heart freeze for a moment before thawing and continuing its daily journey of pumping my vital force throughout the vascular tunnels of my body. All I could hear was the blood rushing through me and our inhales and exhales. My deeply buried memories started to surface, but I pushed them back down again, burying them a little more.

Not now was all I could think. I can't break down too. Not now. She doesn't need that.

"Oh shit," was all I could say. "What's the situation right now?"

"She's in ICU and they're doing emergency surgery. I don't know if-" Her phone rang, the startlingly loud sound interrupting her. Panicked, she fished it out of her jacket and dropped it. I picked it up and handed it to her, but I notced that a hospital was calling her. I remember thinking "That's the same hospital where Mom-" before I shoved that thought away too. Mierda, but I've gotten good at that. Anyway, we were both dreading that call.

She looked at the the number and gasped. "It's the hospital!" and then the line went dead. In the next few minutes, we stared at the phone. I prayed that they would give her good news, but hospitals rarely called with good news. Those minutres felt like lifetimes passing by. I could feel the memories, and I had to physically tense to shove them aside again. The phone rang again, just as suddenly. Maya was prepared though, and she anwered it immediately. "Yes?" She answered nervously, her voice barely above a whisper.

I heard the voice over the phone speak. "Is this Maya Carmin?"

"Yes. How is my mother?"

"I'm sorry," is all they said before Maya dropped her phone.

"Ma'am? Ma'am, are you okay?" The operator's voice was panicked.

I saw my hand move almost of its own volition to pick up the phone. I turned down the volume so only I could hear what was about to be said. She knew already. She still didn't need to hear. I could tell that by looking at her face contorted in pain, and I could already feel my panic building. I held the phone up to my ear, cleared my throat, and tried to speak, my voice hoarse. I cleared my throat again and tried again, the words coming out more clearly.

"Hello.

"Who is this?" The impertinence in his voice nearly set me off. The voice was nasally and arrogant. I could tell that that little gilipollas on the other side of the line thought he was all the shit. He was one of those that thought that if someone was rude to him, he could simply ignore their call and look the other way as they died. "I can end your life if I so wished." was what his voice screamed. I wanted to punch him immediately.

"I'm a friend of hers. She's sitting next to me."

"Whatever." The operator's tone showed that he couldn't care any less. Why'd you ask then? "Is she okay?"

"She's okay, ish. She's sitting down."

"Okay, what's her behavior?"

I glanced at her and answered truthfully. "She's just sitting there, staring off into space. She's really pale."

"Okay, I want you to stay with her until a medic can get to her." This guy. He thought she was physically hurt. He thought she needed to go to the hospital herself, as a patient. Los burros sabían más que él.

I hissed at him under my breath. "Ella no necesita una ambulancia, ella necesita un amigo." The Spanish that Mom worked so hard to teach me, the Spanish I cultivated for her, slipped out as my emotions ramped up. I guess it was my way of honoring her. I kept her voice in me.

"Erm, what was that?"

I sigh in exasperation. "Just confirm it for me. How is her mom?"

"She passed about five minutes before we called her."

My vision went dark as I processed this. She's not recovering from this easily. It took me ten years before I could even begin to heal from my mom's death, and even then, I still hadn't fully healed. Every time I thought about her, my chest felt like a two ton weight settled on it. The clouds were gathering quickly. It looked like the meteorologists were right. A storm was on the way. They couldn't predict the storm in my car though, could they?

All I said was "I see. Thank you." before I hung up. I set the phone down on the center console between us and stared at it. I'm not sure how long we just sat there, but it felt like a lifetime before Maya spoke.

"Hey, Alex?"

"¿Sí?"

"Can we go to the hospital?"

I cleared my throat a little, trying to get back to English for her. It was hard. I felt like something was stuck in my throat, and I couldn't dislodge it. "Sure." I turned on the car and shifted it into gear, pulling out of the lot to head out. We didn't speak on the way there, but we both knew what the other person was thinking. It was eerie.

We arrived at the hospital and headed inside. My mind was flashing back to the time my mom had gotten sick. It came so fast. We came to this very hospital and checked in at this very counter. It was even the same receptionist, and though I hadn't seen her since that day, she recognized me and waved a little. The doctors could barely cure her, and she came out of it physically weak. One day, she was walking to the kitchen to get some water. We had told her not to do that; she wasn't steady enough to walk yet. As she turned the corner, her legs gave out and she hit her head hard on the edge of the counter. She was rushed to the hospital again, but she died before they got there. They couldn't bring her back.

I spiraled in a constant litany of guilt and grief. I blamed myself for not being at home. I could have gotten her the water if I was there. Maybe I could have been her support if I was there. I would have understood if she wanted to walk on her own. It took me years to get out of that place, but at that age, I was still fully entrenched in guilt and regret.

Walking inside with Maya felt a lot like that trip. It was like walking to my death. On the other side of those doors was a firing squad with a love of cruelty. We were going to come under fire as soon as we walked through them. I knew at that time how she felt, but more importantly, I subconsciously knew what she needed. She needed someone who understood and would, no, could actually be there for her. Sure, her dad would be there for her, but his pain wasn't really the same. I realized something else years later, the day you were born. I was in that situation myself. I would be the one to be there for her. As we left the elevator to head to her mom's room, she stopped in the middle of the cold, cruel halls of this place of life where death was familiar. I just put my arm around her shoulder and held her while she wept, all the wile holding back my own tears.

Maya turned out to be as wonderful a woman as I had ever come to know. We spent more time together and got to know each other better. We went to the same college under two different majors, and we fell in love.

That woman became my wife when I was 23, as I'm sure we told you hundreds of times, and we had 48 wonderfully happy years together. She died a few years ago, and I was crushed. I woke up next to her, but she was cold. No breath. She didn't move. My Maya, gone. She was always energetic, always finding something to do. Even on the day she died, she was preparing a baby shower for her great-grandson. I never even got to say goodbye. She died in her sleep, which was a mercy to her. I liked to think that she didn't feel anything. It helped me cope, but it never stopped me from asking God why He took her so suddenly. I feel the pain, but I'm not sad anymore. We're old, and I'm dying too. We'll see each other again, but not yet.

How did she fall for me? It was "empathy". I knew what she was going through, and I didn't pity her. She wouldn't want that.

You see, we told you that we met in high school, which is true. High school sweetheart and all that. We never told you how we really met though. Never told you how we began to know each other as more than simple acquaintances or art collaborators. We never told you about the last few months of high school. I don't have time to tell you about those months right now. I'll tell you one day, after we all reunite.

Do you know what "sympathy" is? It's nothing more than pity to me, and I despise it. Pity is feeling sorry for someone, but not really doing anything about it. If you aren't going to actually go through it with someone, then why the hell are you even their friend? ¡Es absurdo!

*The video is interrupted as Mr. Volen started to cough uncontrollably. The video cuts to Mr. Volen sitting calmly in bed. The clock on the wall shows that two hours have passed.*

Sorry. I gardened a lot, and the radon messed with me pretty bad. Lung cancer's a real bitch, ain't it? I can't take those pain meds or I wouldn't be able to do this for you.

Anyway, that time I spent hacking my lungs out was also spent thinking. I know what to tell you next.

It was five years after we got married. My family, some friends, and I were gathered on the 25^th anniversary of my mother's death. We were in someone's living room. I don't remember whose but it doesn't matter. The white carpet was freshly cleaned, and the room smelled of upholstery cleaner. They had spent a lot of time cleaning Mark's house. That's whose home it was!

Anyway, the walls were a sort of cream color, and everything was hung meticulously. A well-stocked, polished oak bar was set up against the eastern wall. Obviously, that was the main attraction, as is often the case when dealing with death. Most of us had been doing a some drinking. Some didn't drink, while others had very little, and others decided to get hammered. Me? I nursed a beer, knowing that it would be my only drink of the night. I had to drive home, and I wanted to keep her safe. This was especially at the front of my mind since she was pregnant with you. Obviously, she didn't drink. As it happened, one of the more drunk ones piped up.

"You know, I used ta date her. Yer mom, I mean."

"'Scuse me?" In my mind, I thought "Ah, joder. This guy again." I'm pretty sure the only reason he showed up was to drink, but he seemed decent enough. I talked with him several times over the last few years, as he had his own happy marriage. I went to him for a bit of advice, and after that, we became friends. I noticed that he drank a lot though, and that concerned me. I confronted him once about it, but it fizzled out. Obviously, judging from his swagger, he didn't take my advice.

"Yeah. Back in high school. God, she was tha most gorgeous ting you'd ever seen. She was smart, funny, and she could dance like no othah. Course, it helped that she had a nice ass too."

I clenched my fist, but I held back. If he was going somewhere with this, he had better get to it quick. I was about to swing on his ass.

"I miss her, ya know. You know my wife, right? Charlene?"

"Sí. I remember her. I noticed she's not here?"

"Ah, I asked her not ta come. I married her anyway cause she reminded me of your mom. Smart, yeah. Good ass, yeah. She can dance too. We dated for a while, your mom and I. Best years ever. I miss Iselda."

"If you have a point, get to it." My voice was quiet, almost a growl. What does this hijo de puta think he's doing at my mother's funeral anniversary? I was going to stay calm though. I didn't want to kick a family friend out. My wife touched my shoulder, and my heart stilled a little at her touch. Who knew that just five months later, she would bring you into the world? Mi hermosa joya, mi hija. I will always be eternally grateful, and in her debt for that. This man right there, though, made me angry. I hadn't felt that kind of rage since I caught my father trying to OD on his perscriptions.

"Yeah, we dated, but then, your fatha came round. He got her almost like that!" he snapped his fingers to solidify his point. "Man, we coulda made it if he weren't there. I shoulda bumped her when I got tha chance, even if she didn't much like it."

"LLEGUEN A LA MIERDA AHORA!!!"

I'm shaking at this point. I pointed at the door and said, "Get. Out." When he didn't move, I yelled, "Now!"

"I'm sorry. I do miss her, but ain't these events here meant ta remember her?" he asked. Maya had already snatched the glass from his hand, and he was grabbing at her, trying to get it back. She slapped him, and all he could do for a moment was stare at her, stunned, until I pushed him to the floor. The little shit didn't have the common sense to stay down, and he came up swinging at me. I threw him to the ground again and started whaling on his face. He raised his hands up to block me, but I just shoved them aside. I didn't stop until he was bleeding profusely and missing three teeth. I kept going until the satisfaction of my fist on his face ebbed, and only then did I speak, very quietly.

"We don't fucking remember her like this, Jason. You remember her as something like a whore. No. You wanna remember how the rest of us remember her? We remember her as a mother, a friend, a daughter, a wife. Not a woman someone almost fucked."

"Ah, at least someone remembered her for shomething they tought was important ta how they knew her," he spat into my face. I didn't even bother wiping the spit and blood away. "That's the only reason I married my wife. She reminded me of your mother, and I remind her of that every day. That's how much I miss that woman." I slapped him and lifted him by his collar. He was only inches away from my face, and his breath reeked of vodka.

"If you think that was important, you need to get the fuck out now." I was quiet, but I don't need to be loud. I carried my threat very well in a murmur. If he said something stupid again, I very well may have gone to jail for murder. He was sweating, and his little, beady eyes stared at me in abject terror. It finally looked like I got my point across to him.

"Fine. Just don't come cryin' ta me when you need some marriage talks." He stood up slowly, cautiously, as if I was rabid.

I smiled sweetly and said, "You don't need to worry about that."

He stormed out and slammed the door behind him, never looking back. Only then did I wipe his spit from my face and take off my overshirt. I stripped from that shirt into my T-shirt like I stripped him from my life.

I never saw that man again until his divorce. He had crossed a line that should never have been crossed. I forgave him eventually, but I never wanted to see him again. He felt sorry for us and had said as much. That much I believed, but he never really understood. He was my dad's friend, not my Mom's. His wife divorced him when you were 3. It was really messy, but she had had enough of the constant battering of her emotions. We helped her out, especially since we had secretly made her your godmother. I went to war a little after that, and we were distant when you were a young teenager. I had new problems I had to work through, and Mom was my therapist this time. She was damn good at it, and I'm really glad too. I'm glad we managed to build a relationship between us again, kiddo.

Ah, well. That doesn't matter. I kept tabs on Jason, and saw that he died about thirty years ago. It was anaphylactic shock. He had a major allergy to bees. His daughter's doing okay, as I'm sure you know. You and her got really close, so I decided to build up a good relationship with her. What am I saying, you got married to her! I remember when I found out you were lesbian. I just said "Entonces te gustan las mujeres, ¿eh?"

You said "Sí" with the sassiest smirk I've ever known! It was hilarious!

I grinned and replied "Nice. Yo también," and we had a good dinner that night. Lisa is a good woman. I'm glad she's my daughter. When I heard you were going to adopt a baby girl, I knew how my dad felt when I told him he was going to be a grandfather. I was overjoyed, and I saved up all my money so I could spoil her rotten. When I told him this, he laughed for a long time and said "See? Now we understand each other a little better. Now let this old man sleep happy."

Those were the last words he spoke to me. I got a call that next morning: Dad passed in his sleep. He still had a smile on his face when they found him.

What can any of you listening to this old man get from this? Sympathy and empathy are two different, very real things. Empathy is truly understandng what a person is feeling. Sympathy is just knowing that a person is going through something and feeling sorry for them; however, you don't put yourself in their shoes. You don't understand that no one wants pity. It truly saddens me when I see people who still think that. I'm glad you took that lesson to heart and never forgot it, even now, when I'm teaching my daughter about it even though she knows damn good and well the difference.

*a voice in the background says something unintelligible*

Sí, I'm ready. She's in the next room?

*a short reply*

Okay. Bring her in here. And can you pause it while I'm talking to her? Thanks a ton.

*A woman steps into the room and hugs Alex fiercely.*

*the video abruptly switches to nighttime. the clock reads over eight hours later.*

That was you. That's the last time we'll ever speak, honey. I hope this helps. Miss, could you bring me some water?

*A short woman brings a cup with a straw to Alex.*

Gracias.

*Mr. Volen sips from it deeply and sighs.*

That's nice. Been dying for that for a while now.

*He laughs bitterly and coughs a little before suppressing it. Some blood spits onto his hand.*

Not now, dammit! I'm sorry. It's gotten bad. All these damn machines pumping oxygen into me don't do my throat any favors. I just wanted to say I'm proud of you and the woman you've become. I used to think you and I were very different people, raised in two different worlds. Sometimes, I felt like we were barely related, but those times were just the times you took on my bullheadedness. We're a lot alike, you know. You definitely got Maya's brains though. What is it with us and smart women? Nothing. We just know we love our smart women. I love Maya, and you love Lisa.

*A few minutes pass, and the only noise is his breathing.*

Doc?

*A female voice responds in the background.*

I'm ready. Get me out of this damn thing.

*The doctor detaches all the tubes, and Alex coughs for a few minutes.*

*a door closes; Alex sighs and finally gets his lugs under control.*

Well, it's about time. I told them I didn't want to die as a wretch. I guess it's my pride, but I want to keep my dignity. I'm going to see Maya now. Goodby Kira. I hope you understand why I'm giving you these messages. These are my last directions to you: Live a good life and face others with empathy. Be there for your real friends and stand by their side. Love the people in your life with all your fire. Please give this to your children when they grow up, and let them know. Goodbye.

*He pauses and speaks again, barely audible.*

I love you. Mi estrella brillante.

*a flatline tone is heard for twenty seconds A single tear rolls down Alex's still smiling face; a doctor steps forward and shuts the monitor down; hushed voices are overlapping each other before someone sighs heavily and clicks the recorder off*

*the video goes black*

You're sobbing uncontrollably, tears soaking your shirt as you finally let him go. It's been seven years since he died, and that last nail is finally hammered into place. The force of it sends earthquakes across your heart as you mourn him anew.

Dad. I miss you so much.

Lisa, your beautiful, strong wife, comes in and sits next to you, holding you tightly in her arms.

Never let me go.

You rest your head on her shoulder and stay like that for hours before you can rise and go into your garden. This piece of him is your way of honoring him. Your garden, your sanctuary. It's beautiful, and you take a pink rose, his favorite, and you save it to be pressed.

Now, I can let him go. I really am glad he gave me this gift. My father. Even now, in the grave, you can cut to the deepest part of my soul and show me something new about myself. I guess that's why they always called you the mind reader.

You laugh and head back inside to make dinner.

Goodbye. Te amo, papá.

Give credit where credit is due.

Write Good Poems: A How To
Writing Characters: A How To
So THAT'S a Mary Sue!
Rounderhouse?
How Tp Stop Attaching Your Entire Self-Worth to Your Creative Output
General Writing Tips
Hemingway Editor

Worldbuilding:

Masterclass: How to Write an Engaging Fictional World
Jerry Jenkins: Worldbuilding
#1 Amateur Writing Mistake
How to Make a Currency; Check it out later

Worldbuilding notes

What type of world is it? Fantasy/futuristic

Margova Isulde is a half-breed. He is half dark elf and half sea elf. His skin is a dark blue.² He is a berserker/warrior with much training in martial arts, magic, and smithing. In these stories, you will see him in different chapters of his life. We will begin with the sin that started him on his journey. We will end with his eventual death. This will not be written for a while, as elves can live for centuries.³

Good day, travellers, and I hope you find peace.

- Solaris, wandering storyteller

I slam open the door to my house, drop my stuff, and punch the wall, screaming in frustration. I don't need words, just a long, guttural bellow of anger.

It's been a long, irritating day. I couldn't get much done, my coworkers were ignoring problems I brought to attention, and no one was trying to bring our products back onto the market.

You know that's not why you're mad

I sit down on the bench next to the door. My wife clearly had a frustrating day, too.

"You too?"

I sit there and stare at her.

"Let's go get a drink." She starts taking off her collared shirt. "First, I gotta get changed." I sit down and think:

This could have gone better.
Why won't i tell her?
Don't i trust her? what's wrong with me?

A few minutes later, she comes out of the closet. I'm already in a t-shirt and jeans, and so is she. She has a black t-shirt and blue jeans on, showing off her caramel skin and bloodred markings. I love looking at Erinya. Me? I'm wearing a grey t-shirt and black jeans, showcasing the black marks on my arms and their wiry musculature.

goddamn, how did we marry?

I still can't quite figure that out. I don't dwell too much on it, cause I have an awesome woman with me, and I would do anything for her.

There's a bar called the Cracked Stone just around the corner of our street, so we go walking. The name's kinda a joke, 'cause the guy that runs it is huge, and I don't mean fat. He's heavily built, and everyone says he looks like a piece of living stone. No one messes with the bar when it's open, or even when it's closed. Even better? He sells good drinks.

We open the door and speak of the devil! There's Kharvon right there!

"Usual?"

"Yeah, man," I answer. Erinya orders a glass of scotch, and he serves me some Firemelon Whiskey. I sit at the bar and nurse my glass, savoring each sip, the spice, the burn, and the cooldown.

"What happened with you?" Erinya starts. Huh. I must look like shit for her to start the conversation. Kinda how my mother was a few years after Dad left. Her day was fiiled with a shit ton of suitors trying to get her hand.

as if

I sigh. "The usual idiocy. They kicked it down the road again. I'm trying to keep it together, but the CEO isn't making it easy."

and the news i got today didn't help

"So howcome it's affecting you so bad today? You don't usually get this angry about your job."

"You know me. I value loyalty, and I've been with this company for nine years. Right after college, I applied and was accepted. I've bled, cried, and almost died for this job and the people in it. But now? All the people that could help get us back on our feet left. I'm the only one legitimately trying to keep us at the top. I'm doing great, but there's only so much I can do on my own. Today, I almost walked to my boss's office with my two weeks notice. How about you?"

She looks at me and laughs. "You know how politicians are. Always playing games. One guy today tried to make a very… explicit move on me today, and I shot him down. Another one tried to tell me how to do my job even though he has no experience with web design. He kept badgering me, so I told him to walk away before I gave security a reason to report to the bullpen. He backed off quick. I'm expecting a reprimand tomorrow."

I raise my glass. "To shitty days, and better nights."

"I'll drink to that." She raises her glass and we click them together, just like the first time we met. It was at my sister's wedding. A friend of a friend of one of my sister's friends.

Later, I guess.

A few hours later, I'm lying in my bed, thinking.

god, i haven't been this drunk in years. how much did i drink?

I try to come up with the answer, but all that keeps flashing to my mind is Mom. And Marolis. He was my father. He left me, my sister, and Mom years ago. Mom couldn't really handle it, so she did what every dark elf queen does. She slaughtered people. She wanted answers as to where he went. The only thing that could happen was he was killed. His guards were still outside his room, and where he goes, so do they. So what happenned?

you know

you know what

happened

thump

What the hell was that? My eyes pop open and I'm on my feet immediately, panting.

I'm in a dark house. It's darker than the night sky in the middle of the city. No stars in sight. I feel a little adrenaline begin to cloud my thoughts, so I look at something else. Why is the table so huge? Am I in a house of giants?

ridiculous

I look up. There's a door! I make a mad dash for it. I'm just about to open it when-

BOOM

It bursts open, revealing a man. He's skinny and looks like he could use several vaccines and a lot of food. He hasn't seen the sun in years. All he's wearing is a loincloth and a mask over his head.

it's not even a-

"Man, it's nice to see you again, Margova," he says. "You don't know how long I've been waiting for this." he's holding a whip, and advancing towards me. I'm five again. I'm small, and I don't know what to do.

I run at the door, but he easily catches me. I kick and sink my foot into his ribs. A wet, gurgling sound leaves his mouth, and I realize he's laughing.

"No no. Very naughty," he croons at me. The door shuts, slamming with a ringing finality. All hope is gone, but I'm a stubborn sonovagun.

you thrive in the dark

I gather the shadows around me and create two portals. I fuse them together. The reaction from that is violent, creating a ray of pure elemental energy. Shadow Lance. It hits him directly and he just stands there.

He raises his limb and whips at me, flaying my forearm open. My right pectoral is next. The blood is oozing out of those wounds, coating me in black liquid.

blood is red. this isn't right.

He keeps at it, lashing at my legs, my arms, my back. A particularly hard shot rips off some of my hair, exposing the bone of my skull. He steps back, then says, "I'm bored. It's time for something new." I'm lying in a pool of not-blood, staring at this not-man, and wishing I could escape.

"I know what to do! Why don't I get you-"

i don't want anything from this-

"-straw. Get it for me." That wasn't directed at me. I hear something whisper from the shadows. Something inky moves from just outside of my vision. I strain to see that it is, but my neck won't obey my commands. I feel another jolt of fear.

i can't move.
ican't move.
icantmoveicantmoveicantmovesomeonepleasehelpicantmovewhatisthatthinginfrontofme

I look and see a pile of straw and a piece of wood. It's in the shape of a

crucifix

cross. My hands are tied, and It starts dragging me. I can feel the blood trying to get to my hands, but the rope is too tight. It lifts my bound hands up and hooks the rope to the pole. It walks away and for a moment, I have a moment to think.

How do I get out of here?

you can't

What is that thing anyway?

you know who it is

As I'm thinking about that, I smell gasoline, and he comes back, carrying two gallons of it. He proceeds to slowly pour it into the straw, circling me. He takes a match and lights a cigarette.

"Care for one? It'll be your last." He extends one toward me. I look at him and finally put a name to a face. No, a memory.

"I don't smoke

dad

Marolis." I shake my head. "You wanna know something? Mom is still a queen, and she's absolutely batshit. You left us, and no evidence of your disappearance was there! It's like you didn't even exist! She thought someone killed you, and it took 5,000 people's lives before she finally calmed the fuck down! Everyone thinks you're dead. I don't believe that. You just got sick of the fact that you couldn't be at the seat of power." I'm screaming at this point. I've been rehearsing this speech to him for years and I finally get to tell him what I think of him. "She was kind before you left! YOU ARE THE REASON I CAN'T RETURN HOME!! I CAN'T EVEN GO TO MY MOTHER'S FUNERAL WHEN SHE DIES!! GO KILL YOURSELF, ASSHOLE!!!"

He just stands there, match burning. The last notes of my monologue echo throughout the room.

what have you got to say now, fucker?

He cocks his head at me, as if confused. He tilts his head back, and starts to laugh.

//what the hell is so funny, huh?"

"Let me in on the joke," I hear spring free from my lips.

oh shit. did i just say that?

"You know, you're wrong. I didn't leave her. I left YOU." It drops the match.

I'm bleeding out. I know I'm dying.

i can't bring myself to…

move…

…

I wake up, gasping for air. My eyes wander my room and it takes me a few minutes to recognize my bedroom. I'm still breathing heavy, so I swing off my bed and go to the bathroom. I look in the mirror and see It by the curtain. Whirling around, I gather my shadows, but nothing's there. I rinse my face off and go to the kitchen to dunk a teabag in. I'm not going to sleep for a couple days, but I know what to do. I do what I always do. I sit down and open my laptop, ignoring the real problem. I focus on another one. I begin with the title for my business: Drakonian Prosthetics.

Erinya walks out of our room, rubbing at her eyes.

tell her

For once, I listen to my head.

"Hon? Can we talk?"

She freezes, hand at her eye.

"Sure," she answers slowly, sitting down in a chair.

"Something happened yesterday that wasn't really work related." I stare at my hands, knotting them restlessly together. My knee is bouncing at a machine-gun pace.

"i-" I pause.

try again

"I saw…"

why the fuck can't I get it out?

"I saw my father yesterday."

Radiant energy blasts from her, shattering the cofeepot. She quickly fights to get it under control. I give her a few seconds and continue.

"Yeah, that's about how I felt. Shocked. I was also-"

say it

"I was scared. The way a child is when he knows he's about to get beat. I couldn't move."

"Did he see you?" She looks concerned, and her knuckles are whiter than mine.

"Yeah. He started walking toward me. At that point, I hit the eject button and got the hell out of there." I can feel the shadows starting to gather around my body again, and I have to fight them down.

oh but that's not all

No. It isn't. I don't think I could handle the pity, but I have to tell her.

"My sister came by the office a few days ago."

This time, the windows leading to the balcony shatter.

"She said Mom's sick. She's dying."

"Go to her." She says it like it's so simple.

"You know their laws. Once I leave, I can never go back."

"Sure you can. The laws of your previous home no longer apply to you. It isn't your home anymore. That's your mother. As for your father-"

I don't let her finish. "Fuck him. I've had enough of that little shit to last a lifetime."

"And has that ever helped you? You talked in your sleep again. 'She was kind before you left.' You said that last night. You say 'Fuck him' every single time I bring him up. It won't help."

I raise my voice. "Then what do you think I should do!?"

She takes my hand, and I feel myself stop shaking. That's why I married her. She could see right through me. She was always the only one I ever let get this close to me. Even my sister couldn't give me a hug the day I left. I still regret that.

"First, Margova, we pay a visit to a dying mother."

She's right.

She always has been.

Spectres: spirits of spite. They do not appear easily to the naked eye, and don't appear at all if viewed directly through normal means. Those unlucky enough to see them may recognize them. They appear to have the same facial features of themselves from when they were alive, though similarities end there. They appear sickly and noticeably thinner than they were in life. Spectres are translucent; aable to be seen through. Not everything on the other side is clear. This is a fatal mistake. Now, for the important questions. What force creates such creatures? How do they think? What happens to those unfortunate enough to encounter them?

Spectres are the spirits of those unlucky individuals who suffered extremely violent deaths. Most of them do not remember how they died, and those are easy to deal with. There are a few who do remember their death, and they are worse. They actively seek out life to extinguish, and must have their souls destroyed if they are to stop. As to how they are created, they must be someone who has never killed before; someone who is innocent. To create a spectre, you must kill them in an extreme manner, with a blade infused with the blood of a king who died at least three centuries earlier. This blade does not have to be the instrument of death, no. It only has to pierce the skin, and the rest is up to the killer. On the eve of the next full moon, a spirit will rise from the desecrated corpse of the victim and it will seek to eradicate all life around it. Once it has done so, it will rest until something living comes near. The places a spectre rests is marked by an absence of life. It is not like a dragon, which burns all around it. It is simply dead. All plants have withered, the ground has been supernaturally spoiled, and the air is poisonous, choking those who linger too long. To intentionally create a spectre requires that the creator has lost all that could be defined as humanity.

Spectres exist only to cause pain to others. As noted before, they are spirits of pure spite. They will even harm themselves just to satisfy their hunger for pain. If someone enters their territory, they have announced to the spectre that they wish to be tortured, and the spectre is happy to oblige. It is dead, so it destroys what is living. The cycle never stops, it's just pain. So, I have devised a method in which to give these tortured souls rest. First, you must find their killer. This can be achieved by scanning the spectres' latent memories. Obviously, that is risky. Then, you kill the killer. Yes, that is a little contradictory. I understand. After that, find a weapon similar to the one that killed the spectre and soak it in the killer's blood. Then, you may go to the spectre and cut it with that weapon. It will recognize the blood and it will find peace. Its soul will find rest and leave this world. Those who it has killed though, may remain as ghosts. They require a different skillset to handle.

I have ample reason to pursue this subject. I was helping get medicine to an orphanage. They were suffering from severe cases of the Bloody Cackles. As I was in Halfforge finishing up on my gathering, I sensed one of my arcane locks breaking.

These monstrosities, you may pity. They once were like you and me, but they lived in squalor, not by choice. They were born in it, and they died in it. The gods tried to welcome them, but the beauty was too much for them to handle. They shunned heaven, not believing that they were worthy. Thus, their souls are reborn into monsters that hate all, not believing they are pure enough for the heavens. When they see people, they cover said people in various bodily excrements. This places a curse on them, making them shun the heavens as well. This can be removed by any spell that removes curses. Any long-term psychological effects that may be placed on an individual can be solved by regularly visiting a professional psychologist.

Degenerates, as previously stated, were once like us. The only difference is that they lived in abject squalor for their entire life. They had a chance to go to one of the Heavens, but they were ashamed of themselves when viewing its beauty. They turned their backs on it, not believing they were worthy of the reward of the Heavens. Hadoru⁴ knew this, and he used it to his advantage. He soothed them and said that if they didn't deserve to go to the Heavens, no one did. He gave them the power to stop that. They now cover us in whatever material they lived with. Generally, it is mud and insects, but other times, more disgusting things are seen covering a Degenerate's victim. If victims die with the curse on them, Hadoru is able to take their souls. Most often, those souls become Degenerates, but on rare occasions, they're kept to become currency with the other Rulers of the Hells⁵.

So how do you let a Degenerate rest? The very first thing you must do is find out if they have caused a soul to become a Degenerate as well. That is very simple. A degenerate who hasn't smells like ale. A Degenerate who has, however, caused a soul to fall smells of feces. Know this: the process is the same, but the results are very different. You must procure a vial of holy water blessed by the cleric of the local temple⁶ and mix honey into it. The ratio of holy water to honey is either 6:1 or 1:5. Both of these will produce the same chemical for different purposes. In the mixture with more holy water, you use it to purify one who has made a soul fall. This will permanently destroy their soul. In the case with the higher concentration of honey, the spirits that haven't made a soul fall are purified and given a second chance to go to the Heavens. They will take this chance. You have brought peace to them, so they will offer you one boon. Knowledge⁷, Power⁸, or Peace⁹. After the boon is bestowed upon you, the spirit will ascend with a whispered word of thanks to you. You may reccieve no more than six boons from a purified spirit every five years¹⁰. Their Soul will go to one of the Heavens¹¹

So, you finally found my memory fragment. Good for you. I've been teaching you for a long time, it's about time you got it. I recently started remembering who I am, my life before the adventure, the glory, and the planewalking. Where do you want me to begin, huh? I'll start with how I woke up and continue from there. You always said you wanted to know your old teacher better, so the old cat's gonna sit down and take a trip down Memory Lane.

All I know is that when I woke up, I was in a lab of some kind. Blueprints were strewn all around me. The floors, the furniture, the walls, even the ceiling was covered in diagrams. It took me a moment, but I realized they were-

*begin memory processing*

- organs. Odd. Below the diagrams are different kinds of organs. One of the hearts catches my eye. It's a flesh heart, but it's not normal. I look more closely and realize that it's veined with something brilliantly green.

That's liquid emerald.

It's a masterpiece. I can see where there was a hole in the heart. Blood wasn't being properly pumped. The emerald didn't simply fuse the hole shut. That wouldn't be enough to fix the damage long term. No, this integrated into the heart, sealing it with an accelerated natural healing process. Before me lies an incredible organic prosthetic heart, ready to be transplanted into a patient.

How do I know that? I search my mind and find… nothing. No memories. I don't know who I am or even how I got here. Where even is here? I find no answers.

Wait! There's something here!

My mind races to catch the thought. I grab hold of it with everything I have.

I'm in a sterilely clean room lit by bright white lights. In front of me is a 3-D projection of an arm. No, it's a prosthetic arm. The patient is…who is the patient? Who is this arm being made for? I start to panic, trying to hold onto this memory for as long as I can, but I'm slipping away.

"It's beautiful. Thank you, Doctor-" The memory begins to fade

"NO!" I scream in fury, my voice deep and raspy from disuse. I'm jerked back to the diagram room before she can finish her sentence. I couldn't even get a good look at her. "No…"

I sink to my knees, wondering if this is what my life was going to be. Brief flashes, but I can't find anything that defines me? No people to find or places to visit? Will my identity always be tantalizingly close, brushing my fingertips, but never close enough to grasp?

I'm wallowing in this pile of self pity for what feels like hours before I realize something important. That girl was talking to me! I was a doctor! My excitement is suddenly toned down by the realization that I may have been an intern and that she was talking to someone else. It doesn't matter. It's still something to go off of.

I can feel the traces of that memory starting to slip away, so I start scouring the room for something to write in and something to write with. The latter is easy: there are inks and other instruments strewn all over the desk. Finding the journal proves to be more difficult. So many are completely filled or so filled that I wouldn't even waste my time trying to record these flashes. Eventually, I come across a journal that's filled up a quarter of the way through. I mark the edge of the page to signal where my recordings are and write down what I found and my possible theories based off of that. Once that's through, I add a note: "Maybe this is a new start. Who knows? Was I a good man? I don't want to forget though. I need to remember."

I flip back to the beginning of the journal and read it, wondering why it's so short. "This subject is peculiar. Every other subject has had… lacking results in fusing with these organs. This one though, assimilated the organs into its body smoothly and perfectly. The amethyst core and blood will serve to strengthen the subject. The muscles have been coiled tighter, allowing it to jump higher and move faster, nearly an impossibility with Felinor, as their muscles are already coiled extremely tightly. It's a shame it's dead, or it'd be my triumph."

My chest suddenly feels itchy, so I rub at it and feel something weird. I look down and realise I'm covered in stitches. as I touch them, the skin slowly knits back together. The stitches fall off and I'm left with fur. Just like the rest of my body.¹²

Accelerated healing. That's not normal, but everything in here will probably explain it.

I begin looking around the mess and spot a particularly large stack of books and journals. Sighing, I sit down to try and organize them around me, wondering how I'll be able to tell what goes where.

Doesn't matter. I'll figure it out.

I don't have a way to conveniently track the time, so I can't get distracted by asking how much time has passed. By the time I look up, I've sorted through about fifty books and twenty-seven journals. My eyes are tired, and I feel heavy. I stop, set the unopened journal down, and walk through the door. I wander around, searching for a bed or some equivalent.

I come across a hallway with two doors directly across from each other. I open the door to the right and am greeted with a vast array of weaponry. From spears of the Gilson Haruun Age to modern day flame bullet rifles, this collection covers so much history. Unsurprisingly, this room is littered with books and journals. I can't bring myself to read them though. I just need to rest.

I leave the weapons room and open the other door. Finally, I find a bed. I'm completely naked, so I go to the closet and take a shirt and some shorts and I dress myself. I just lie down and let my mind slip into darkness.

I'm not actually asleep. I can tell. I know the sensation of sleep, and this isn't it. It's kinda in-between. I see a seemingly bipedal shape approaching me. As it draws near, the details become more distinguishable, and I see that the figure is a female Darvora, a dark elf. She stops a few metres away from me and holds out a hand.

"Hello, Isengran Halte. Wonderful to meet you." Her voice is soft, but speaks of ages of life and it drips with the wisdom she has in her.

"Isengran Halte?" I ask, unsure of this language. It feels familiar, but it's beyond me.

"You are one who has forgotten. You need help. I want to offer it to you, but there comes with it, a price."

I'm immediately put on guard, ready to fight if need be.

"If I meant you harm, I wouldn't be speaking to you, nor would I be in this shared mind space. We can both do what we want here, create whatever we want. I, for example, can create a comfortable seat so that we may have a conversation. Please, try it out. You may find it…inspiring."

I provide for myself an intricately decorated pillow made from black silk and gold designs. When I sit down on it, I cross my legs and keep my back straight, never taking my eyes off the woman.

"Who or what are you? Why are you so interested in me?"

She laughs a little under her breath and looks at me, amused. "It's not me that's the important one, but I will answer your questions. My name is Khalnisha, and I am an aangora to Olowenye Maylenai."

"And who might that be?" I ask. "Who is this person you are a messenger of?"

"She is the Great Scholar. She is the goddess of learning. She is not the goddess of knowledge. That is her daughter. Make no mistake, she knows everything that can be learned, and perhaps more, but she does not rule knowledge."

"And this applies to me how?"

"You have the potential to harness what we call Shatterpoint energy, exhibited by your easy creation of that pillow. It was practically second nature to you, wasn't it? Olowenye Maylenai is the patron of Shatterpoint mages. She is also interested in your kind, Isengran Halte."

"And what am I?"

"The answer lies in the home you now reside. You must find it."

The thought of a hunt for knowledge is alluring, but I want to know who I am now.

As if she read my mind, she asks me if I remember anything at all. I tell her about my dream, and how infuriatingly close I was to getting answers. She nods and replies "That's common, but eventually, you will begin to piece together the information. Give it time."

I groan in frustration before realizing that the woman is dematerializing from my vision.

"Wait! I still have questions!"

I bolt up into a sitting position and just stare at a blank wall.

Did I dream that?

I don't think so, but how can I be sure? It doesn't matter to me: I have to organize. I go back to the room I woke up in, sitting down once again. The first book I pick up feels strange. An energy emanates from it, flowing up my arm. When I open it, the letters materialize, as if a drop of ink was placed into the centre of the page and it flowed along the cracks.

"Hello there. This journal was built for the express purpose of knowledge recording. In this journal, you can write down anything. It was built with enchantments that make sure it never runs out of pages. You will learn more about it, I'm sure, but for now, know this: it is sentient, and it does not tolerate abuse. Treat it well, young one. Aligara hunsorne moku grundra."

"May the wild wind guide you in your journey," I whisper. This person, or this journal, wrote a blessing? I appreciate it, but I don't know how to respond. I turn the page and find the outline of a hand. A few seconds later, text materializes, directing me to put my hand on the page. I do so and feel this…invasive presence float around inside my body. I jerk my hand away, and the presence settles in my mind. It feels cold and foreign. I hear whispers, but it's not a language I know. Ink begins to pool into an image, but it won't stop moving. Letters begin to form at the bottom.

"Hello Onyx. It's good to see you." The figure waves, and I realize what it is. It's a female form. She seems to be an elf, but something's off about that assessment.

"Am I Onyx?"

"Well, only Onyx Winter can access this journal, so logic dictates that you are. Your eyes also gave it away. I'd recognize those eyes anywhere."

"Who are you? How do you know me?"

She pauses, and her expression changes. "You…created me. I'm Phoenix. Don't you remember?"

"I don't remember anything about my life. For all I know, I might not even be Onyx. I might be someone else whose consciousness was placed in this body."

"Maybe. I don't have any way of verifying that right now aside from the fact that it was your aura that woke me."

"Phoenix. What are you?"

"You could call me a constructed mind. I was created with the intention of helping Onyx Winter study anatomy in order to help him with his craft. After a while, I was turned from a digital construct to a magic construct, which is when I first began to think for myself. Onyx was very accepting of my change and helped me work through it. I owe him my sanity."

"Thank you for telling me."

"Of course. What will you do?"

"There's still so much to learn here. I need to keep reading, see if there's some sort of clue to who I am."

"I will help you. Everything you read, I can store so that you don't get overwhelmed. Don't discourage if you don't remember something. I will cover that."

I'm covered in jet black fur, and it reflects the candlelight. My eyes are a deep shade of amethyst.

not purple, for the last time

Where the hell did that come from? I don't waste too much time on that. My eyes catch on a file with a picture of me on the front of it. I approach it slowly, like a bomb, and pick it up. I open it and read.

I slam the book shut and back away quickly, breathing quickly. I get out of the room and find a mirror ouside it. I examine it closely. I have the head of a… cat? Huh. I have pads at the end of my feet and my legs are taut with wiry muscle. My black furred body is free of scars save for my chest. A long, jagged line runs from my collarbone, across my chest, and down to under my left arm. Where did I get that? I rack my brain again and still come up blank.

I suddenly become aware that I am completely naked. I can feel cool air on my bare body, but something tells me I should get dressed. Turning to my left, I begin to walk out of the room and search. Crinkled diagrams and moldy jars litter the shelves and floors, making the walk a dance of care. When I reach a room with tiles on the wall,

bathroom

I look in a cabinet and find first aid supplies. The needle and twine are in good condition, thank goodness. I look in another room and find exactly what I need. This room looks like a storage closet, and it's by far the most organized. Bedding is stacked neatly in shelves close to me, and the shelves on the far wall are stacked with clothes sitting above a pair of large machines.

washer and dryer

I root through the clothes and find a white t shirt and some blue jeans. I put them on with a little struggle. The pants are a bit short on me, but I have other things to worry about.

where do i go

Nothing is coming to mind. No names, no images, just an infuriating, blank nothing. I slam my fist into the wall and wince as I feel the shock run up my arm and into my shoulder. Staring at my fist, I wonder what I feel.

pain. hopelessness. the last could be the one to kill you

There's a door. Panic settles in. I have to get out. I run to the door and slam it open. Sunlight streams into my eyes, blinding me, robbing me of my sense of direction.

My eyes slowly adjust, revealing a beautiful landscape stretching before me. Patches of vividly violet flowers dot the otherwise barren hills, giving them a much needed splash of life. Dark clouds sparsely decorate the mint green skies, lit with a bright sun.

that's odd…a green sky

I'm jolted by a creaking sound and turn to find a carriage with two men in the front, talking about a hunt.

"Aye, 'twas poor huntin today. Didn't even see a rabbit, an' they tend to like these flowers," one of them says. He's a skinny fellow, about 1.7 metres tall, but he has the air of a seasoned hunter, one who knows his prey. He wears a dark blue shirt and black, somewhat sagging pants.

The other one replies "Mm, but we won't be hungry after yesterday's!" He's about 1.9 meters tall, and has a portly frame. Judging from the smell of woodsmoke, metal, and grease surrounding him, he is a cook.

The tall one throws back his head and laughs. "True! I only wish we could have got some for Malani's family."

"There's some stored food in here, if you want to help yourself to it." It takes me a few moments to realize that the voice is my own. The carriage stops sharply as the two men just stare at me.

idiot. what are you doing

Instead of refuting my claim, I just point inside of the building I had just left and repeat myself.

"Mighty kind of ye. Appreciate it." The tall one bows to me slightly and takes off his hat before getting out of the carriage to start loading.

"Sure. Where are you all going?"

The shorter one pauses and looks at me like I lived under a rock.

for all I know, I might have

"We're heading to Halfforge to bring the meat back for our families. We didn't get enough for a widow and her family, so we appreciate it. It's a long journey on foot. Why don't we take you?"

The offer is kind, and I'm going to accept when the taller one calls out: "Oi! Larent, ye gotta come an' see this!"

The short one turns and runs inside, drawing a shortsword as he enters the door. I feel my legs moving me inside, and I feel energy coursing in and through my bones. When I round the corner, I come face to face with a room full of documents and jars with body parts inside. There are diagrams and notes filled with recipies and notes, results.

"Take a look at this. Whoever was here, they were trying to create something. Were they…trying to create a living being?" The tall one looks horrified. I guess there's some pretty nasty stuff in them.

Larent opens another journal and examines it. I'm not sure if he understands it or not, but the man just nods.

"You. What's your name?"

"I-I don't know."

"How do ye not know yer own name, boy?"

"That's the problem. I don't know that either. I don't remember anything about myself from before I woke up." I shrug helplessly, not knowing how to explain the voice in my head or the complete, abyssal blankness of my memories.

"Hmm…" Larent pauses from perusing the journals and looks at my neck. "Quite a noticeable scar you have there. Do you have any clue how you got it?"

"No."

"I think you've been cursed. Something is blocking your memories, but you have your knowledge. That's obvious from the fact that you can speak and understand what you are saying and what is said. I'll take you to Halfforge's Collegia Ars. They can help you out."

"Trade College?"

"Yes. Everyone in Halfforge is an artisan or mage of some sort. It's a city of invention and creativity. At the Collegia Ars, young mages are trained, and the professors are experienced in their fields. Perhaps someone there will know what may have happened to you."

"I appreciate it, really."

"Sure. Before we leave, I want to take a look through these journals."

"Okay," I respond. "I'll check the other rooms and see what else I can find."

I run to the room where I woke up. The journal is still there, as is some sort of bag. I grab the bag and walk back to the document room. I jump up to the rafters, get comfortable, and start reading.

If you are reading this and you are a humanoid feline male with pitch black fur, then my experiment succeeded. Alas, I will never be able to do it again. My body has withered away; I will be nothing more than a lost soul wandering the world, tethered here until I have an answer. But that's not what you want to know. You want the answer to one question: What or who are you? You are likely confused and scared. Unfortunately, I don't know who you are. I don't know your history. I only know this: you are a miracle. You are a marvel, the pinnacle of medical science and magic. More will be revealed to you,but know this: you are alive.

There is nothing more in the journal. I close it and slip it into the bag, disappointed that I couldn't learn anything more.

"Narav, we should go." In the silence, Larent's statement is startlingly loud. I flinch, turning my head toward him.

"Aye, but we should start loading these papers and things onto the cart. I want to really understand what this person was doing." He looks excited, like he's been given an amazing gift.

"Sure, but we can't stay too much longer. The wildenransh¹³ near here are dangerous at night."

We spend the next two hours or so loading the diagrams, journals, and specimens onto a separate cart. Larent drives that cart. When we start moving, the carts raise up, and the wheels transform and emit some sort of energy that allows it to hover above the ground. I'm fascinated by this, but I want to read the notes, so I ride with Larent, reading and studying. By the time I stop, it's nighttime and we're a few kilometres from Halfforge. It's a beautiful sight, with warm lights enveloping the city, giving it a comforting glow. As we near the city, I realise that each of the lights have a scarlet crystal resting in the center, emitting a small, but bright flame. I watch one of the crystals get replaced by a homunculus made from some sort of green metal.

aw how cute. it looks like a tiny dragon.

It flies back to a Norulan female with dark skin and hunter green hair flowing to her knees.¹⁴ The roads shimmer, reflecting the light up, but semming to never glare into my eyes. Scribes flit to and fro through the streets, inspecting public amenities, such as the homunculus gardeners, meticulously, while jotting down notes, data, and possible concerns. Couples gather around fountains who's statues dance and bring forth brilliant displays of aquatic art, dazzling all who see.

The world around me spins as I try to take in my surroundings. It's all too much. The music, the noise, the lights, and so many people; it overwhelms me. My mind goes dark and I topple backwards onto the dried fruits.

I wake up to a stone ceiling and Narav staring at me. As soon as my eyes open, he shines a light into them and mumbles to himself. Once he's done checking me over, he turns to give me a bowl of soup.

"Here. Ye aren't feverish, but yer malnutritioned. Ye weigh next tah nothin', and I saw ye eyin' some of the meat.¹⁵ Don't worry. I made sure to put some in 'ere." He offers me the bowl. I grab it savagely and proceed to inhale it's contents. I silently hold the bowl out for more, and Narav refills it, chuckling.

"Hungry one, aren't ya? Haven't even stopped tah taste it."

I don't say anything until I've finished my second bowl: "Feel like I haven't eaten in my life. This is delicious."

"Thank ye for the kind words, but I'm not the one that made it. Me wife did, and she'll greatly appreciate the high praise. First, we have tah get yer energy up, and then ye can-"

I interrupt him by standing up. I rise too quickly, and it takes a moment for the world to reorient itself. Once it does, I see that I'm in a sparsely decorated room with crates, barrels, and a cot.

"How long have I been out?"

"About two days. We were gettin' a little worried. Glad tah see ye pulled through."

odd. i'm not even thirsty.

As if the thought summoned the action, Narav hands me a glass of water. I take it and sip it much more slowly than I ate.

"Ye shouldn't even be standin', if I'm bein' honest. Ye should be in bed, gettin' some more rest."

"I feel fine. That soup really helped." I take a step forward and feel nothing out of the usual. I pass by a mirror and looking into it, I realize I am completely naked. I stare at Narav and simply ask "Where are my clothes?"

"My wife got ye some new ones. They're hangin' on the rack next tah the mirror." He gestures, indicating the pole attatched to a pair of pillars. Hanging on it are a pair of loose-fitting jeans, a cheap leather belt, and a white t-shirt.

"Sorry about the belt. The leather is tannin', and it'll take a couple more weeks 'fore it's done."

"That's fine. What can I do to repay you taking care of me?"

"You don't," an unfamiliar, feminine voice says, and I see a woman step through the door. She is taller than Narav, about 1.9 metres, and she is completely muscle-bound. She seems to be an Urmordre, one of the supposedly savage peoples.¹⁶ On her hips are two girls, presumably her children. They stare at me with obvious fascination, then scamper out as the mother shooes them away so that I can dress in privacy.

"That's the wonderful thing about giving. You don't have to make sure others repay you. Besides, you already did so when you helped us get all of that extra food. Taking care of you and crafting a fine leather belt and jacket is the least we can do. You helped feed families for weeks. We won't forget that." She bows to me slightly, though the gesture doesn't seem to fit her well, almost as if it was practiced. Remembering that the Urmordre value might and respect, I clench my fist under my chin and force my head up slightly. She starts slightly and does the same, though to a slightly lesser degree, as I am the one showing her respect, and she is acknowledging me.

"Bali, perhaps we should leave him to freshen up?"¹⁷ She gestures him outside. After they leave, I put on the new clothes and inspect myself in the mirror. The top edge of my scar is visible above the collar, but few things other than that would show that I may be anything but normal. Perhaps my unusually purple eyes, but I can't do anything about that.

Once I finish with that, I walk through the door and find myself in a bustling kitchen. The Urmordre woman and Narav are shouting back and forth over the noise of sizzling meat and vegetables, as well as the clacking of a knife on a cutting board as more ingredients are being cut. I recognise perintes¹⁸, makhvan¹⁹, and even gorluntes²⁰, which isn't even supposed to grow in this area, to the best of my knowledge. The aroma is devastating, but I filled up on that soup.

definitely worth it

The woman notices me and exclaims "Ah! Nishvan galin! You look like you enjoy the smell!"²¹

"I do, but I ate too much of that delicious soup to be able to eat any more right now. I really appreciate it, erm…"

She laughs gently. "Ronfharan is my name. What is yours, nishvan galin?"

I pause and try once again to recall it, but there's still nothing.

"I don't know."

She looks at me inquiringly before Narav explains my situation to her. After that, her face lights up.

"The Collegia? I can take him there tomorrow! My first classes start tomorrow."

"I was just about tah ask ye tah do that. Thank ye."

She waves her hand dismissively. "Of course! If I can help him regain his memory, then I will be happy. I want to know who this young one is. Nilan! Makin! Set the table!"

I begin to search for silverware to help, but a strong hand pushes me into a seat. Ronfharan lifts her hand from my shoulder and shakes her head. "Not you. You are our guest, and we do not make our guests do such menial tasks." I begin to protest, but she cuts me off with a raised hand. "No, young one. You will sit. You will rest. You will have all the activity you want tomorrow."

I simply lean back and nod, acquiescing to her argument. Dinner is a raucous affair, with the little ones yelling at each other, the clink of the utensils against the plate, and the rattling of the windows as the rain steadily batters against them. I hear water rushing through pipes and inquire as to them. Narav explains that it's collected rainwater, and that it is going to be purified in the basement to then be used later. Once dinner is done, Ronfharan gets up to do dishes, I get up to help her, but she shooes me away into the main lounge, where I stand clulessly until Narav hands me some inks and a pad of sketching paper. I immediately sit down and begin to sketch diagrams os an arm. I don't know where it will go, but it will be very helpful when it's done.

I'm so focused on my task that I don't even realize that everyone has already gone to bead hours earlier. A crash breaks me from my concentration, and I look up to see a man with a stick in his hand. I don't realize what it is until he pulls his index finger back. I hear a loud bang, and I feel my right arm jerked backwards. My vision goes red as I take the nearby fire poker and gouge his left eye out. My right arm hangs uselessly at my side, but I still immobilize the hand he's using to hold the pistol. I force him to the ground and kick at his skull. He goes limp, and I sit down, tired from the ordeal. Ronfharan rushes out to aid me, but I don't care. All I can think is that I'm just tired. I don't even feel the gunshot wound, but I can tell that it needs attention.

I just say "Arm." before I fall asleep, the world going black around me.

I wake up in a white room with white lights glaring down into my face. An Eildoran female stares at me intently before she shouts out "Lithai! I think he's got control of his senses!"²²

An Itarinkan woman walks through the doors and stops as she makes eye contact with me.²³

Her voice barely audible, I hear her whisper: "Onyx? Ithought you were dead."

Prologue:

You wake up in a land scorched by fire and tainted by smoke. The air is hard to breathe, but not as bad as the house you were burning in. It’s basically fresh air right now. You slowly stand up and interview your various aches and pains. Why is there a flat rock in front of you? It looks like it’s been carved. As soon as this thought crosses your mind, a flash of light blinds you, accompanied by a rush of wind. When your vision clears, there’s a book sitting on it. You stumble toward it like a drunkard to your bed, and pick it up. The tome is warm to the touch, and you can feel a sort of… energy emanating from it. No. Flowing through it. You open it and read:
“Hello, Lost One. You’ve made it into the Volcanic Forest. Don’t worry. I’ve made this journal to help you survive. I am the Traveller. As my name suggests, I walk these planes, documenting what I see and disseminating it for your survival. Read and pay attention."

Survival Guide:

Difficulty: 3/5; Much ground is covered in molten stone and metals. Fauna abound, and if you can survive the day, flora abound as well. Entities may sense you and try to hunt you.
Hazard Level: 3.5/5; As stated, magma is everywhere. If you are very careful, you can avoid the lava. If someone falls though, best of luck. If you are near one of the volcanoes during an eruption event, run. Just run.²⁵
Chaos Rating: 3/5; The volcanoes occasionally move positions and erupt, changing the landscape. Keep your head on a swivel.
Entity Count: 4/5; You are not alone. You are food. There may be entities that want to eat you. Be careful.

Ecosystem:

Roughly 25% of the ground is covered in magma. At the coolest, you’ll find lava at roughly 1270℃ (2315℉), which is certainly hot enough to incinerate any human organisms that come into contact with it. Notable exceptions to the 25% rule are Clearings, Lakes, Towns, and Volcanoes. While wandering the forest, you will find trees made from volcanic rock. These trees are organic and grow like normal trees. With the right tools, you may be able to cut down the trees and make a home able to withstand eruption events. These trees are easily able to withstand the lava and can even be seen growing less than 1.5 metres (5 feet) from magma rivers and Lakes. Aside from their apparent resistance to lava and durability, these trees are not different from trees on Earth. They will not shatter the way rock does when struck. That being said, you can’t cut them down with standard axes and chainsaws. One, any tools that actually work in this space must be created in this space. Any tools meant to cut down trees must be created with crystallised magma. Strangely enough, there is a frozen half of this limspace. The point these halves meet creates a Temperate Zone 1609 km (1000 miles) across. This is the best place to settle as it is the least likely to kill everyone.

To enter this place, you must be trapped in a burning building, with no hope to escape. You pass out from extreme smoke, and as consciousness fades, a dark portal opens beneath you. Nothing will attack you until shortly after you wake up.³²

It's possible to travell directly from the Forest to the Desert. Find a Clearing with a glass waterfall. You can walk through this, have no fear. You will then enter the Frozen Desert.

I know you are done with the Forests, but another danger may present itself. You may end up in the Frozen Desert. Please, continue reading.

RESEARCHER'S NOTES: OPEN?

Prologue:

You've been travelling for a long time on the frozen paths. Your limbs are heavy, your eyes seem to shut of their own accord. You fall down and stay there. You've gotten back up so many times, and you're so tired. Maybe it'll be good to get some sleep…
"wake up," someone whispers. You open your eyes and find yourself in a hot spring. your clothes are dry and folded neatly next to a rock(?) made from pure ice. when you get out of the hot spring, a warm blast dries you. You get into your clothes and look at the rock. Its surface is unusually smooth, as though it's supposed to be a table. A leather-bound book sits in the center of a cloud of fog. As you reach it, you realize it's steam, and it's… solid.
You open the book.
"Hello, Lost One. You've ended up in the Frozen Desert. I pity you and also say congratulations. That cloud of steam is a little invention of mine. It's called "A Little Frozen Comfort". It's warm and you can use it. It stays dry, and weighs next to nothing. Use it and use it well. This journal will help you survive if you pay attention. Please read, as I have travelled the Planes well. I am the Traveller, and I am sharing my knowledge."

Survival Difficulty:

Difficulty: 3/5: You'll probably survive, though you constantly run the risk of hypothermia, frostbite, and other nasty things.
Hazard Level: 2.5/5: Beasts abound, and you look very tasty to them. Find a weapon or make one.
Chaos Rating: 1/5: Weather patterns change fairly frequently. You may have a still day and one hour later, you'll be caught in a blizzard.
Entity Count: 4/5: Many beasts are here, though there are also prey items. Exercise caution.

Ecosystem:

Everything is cold. That's almost all there is to it. It's nothing but you, the snow, and whatever else is there, watching you. If you just start walking without first checking your surroundings, you are likely to be noticed. There are places that distinguish themselves withing the Desert: Oases, Hot Springs, Huts, Caverns, Mountains, and Hyper Streams. Each of these plays a vital role in the ecosystem of the Desert. Some of them are needed for your survival. The weather is unpredictable and almost constantly changing. While it never precipitates, there isn't really a need for it. There's enough loose snow that once the wind picks up, it sends the snow flying, easily creating a storm. Other days, it can be still, and all you hear is the crunching of your boots in the snow. On some days, it's a blizzard, but the snow crystals are crashing into each other hard enough to create lightning.

RESEARCHER'S NOTES: OPEN?

To enter this place, you must be freezing in a remote location with no hope of being saved. As you slip into unconsciousness, a portal will open beneath your feet and drop you off next to a Hot spring. Nothing will attack or sense you while you are unconscious.

Do you want to hear a secret?

Prologue

You've been stuck in these jungles for weeks. You've been bitten more times than you can count, there's poison running through your veins, and you last ate a week ago. As you collapse from exhaustion, a shadowed figure enters your view and you feel like you drop. Your vision goes black.
You wake up in a forest, on dry land. There's fruit five feet from your head, gathered neatly. You immediately rise and gorge yourself. As you finish, you notice a peculiar object you certaily didn't bring with you. It's a leather-bound tome, with a rune seared on to the front of it. As you open it, you read:
"Hello, Lost One. You're one of the lucky ones on this plane. You ended up in the centre of the battle. Now, It's not the battle you think. It's simply a battle between hot and cold, fire and ice. You are like the Frey to Surtur and Thrym. The Temperate Zone keeps the Volcanic Forest and the Frozen Desert in check. You can visit them any time you want, but both will pose an extreme danger to you. You must bring the correct equipment if you wish to survive. Enclosed within this letter are directions to the nearest community. Once it has been used in this fashion, it will turn into a first-aid kit that replenishes itself every few minutes. It will also turn into a Knapsack of Infinity³⁸ in which said first aid kit is stored. Go to a Den and figure out what your purpose is.

Suvival Difficulty:

Difficulty: 2/5: You have to hunt, gather, and work if you want to survive. Surprisingly few will do that.
Hazard Level: 1.5/5: It's nothing you wouldn't encounter from my world. Standard weather, cliffs, things like that. Just be careful.
Chaos Rating: 2/5: The weather changes frequently, and rivers are known to suddenly drain, flooding the lakes.
Entity Count: 4/5: You will definitely find beasts that want to eat you.

Ecosystem:

To be quite frank, if you've visited the Volcanic Forest or the Frozen Desert, this place is a major halfway point between the two. The Zone is forested, with a blue sky, slightly tinged with purple. Many have moved out of this place for more consistency, as the seasons change at a constant rate, but it can go from hot to cold and somewhere in between. There are a few distinguishing features inside the Zone. Dens, Extractors, the Frostbite Border, the Scorched Border, and Trades. All of these are central to the Temperate Zone and to the rest of the plane.

RESEARCHER'S NOTES: OPEN?

So, PapaGelatin does not match any existing user name brought up a good point. When I mentioned the snow crystals making lightning, I kinda just left it there. I'll explain that here, along with other phenomena that must be recorded, such as the flora and fauna of the Bipolar Plane.

Malstiana Basics:

Malstiana is a world that thrives on magic and technology. Through gifts from the gods, the people of Malstiana have been able to wield magic, and this magic has been passed through their descendents.

Cities:

In my stories, I will be focusing on a large country called Muritar. It is a hub for pretty much everything, and it's history is rich.⁴³ Some of the greatest heroes and villains were born here, and a mortal even ascended to godhood here.

Nuevente

Nuevente is the most technologically advanced city in Muritar. It was once a city on the ground, but many bandits had kept raiding the city. The desperate leaders contacted their smartest mages and technological marvels and ordered them to work together to stop it. What actually happened is that they constructed a complex system, and one day, they activated it. Just as the bandits were preparing to attack, the ground shook, and the city took on a blinding glow. Half a minute later, the city rose up an inch. The shocked bandits could do nothing but watch and stare as a city with over 2 million people rose into the air. Once it reached an altitude of 1525 metres, there was a bright flash and the city disappeared. It reappeared over 1,000 km away, near the eastern edge of Muritar. It remains there to this day. As time passed, more and more people moved to the city, so they hollowed out the floating island and eventually even connected a few smaller ones. Now, it serves as /the// place to go if you want something that just came out.

Wanderers' Sandbox 2

Isolated writings:

"LLEGUEN A LA MIERDA AHORA!!!"

Worldbuilding:

Critique

Harvole writings

This story will be kept in case of rewriting purposes, but it has already been posted here.

ľ̷̪ę̵̽t̷̞̄'̵͎͋s̸̥̀ ̸̼̄ḧ̵̡́u̶̟͆n̶̰̈́t̷͙͊

you know what

happened

i can't bring myself to…

move…

K'idran

Urmordre

not purple, for the last time

Prologue:

Survival Guide:

Ecosystem:

Volcanoes:

Lakes:

Towns:

Clearings:

Prologue:

Survival Difficulty:

Ecosystem:

Caverns:

Hot Springs:

Huts:

Hyper Stream:

Mountains:

Oasis

T̶̨̻̽̄́̕e̵̡̲͚̼̋̀̔̆ͅm̵̨̖̭̦̮͋͒ṗ̸̧̺̟͑̂̿͠ĺ̸̡͙̱̎͂͋ͅe̷̯̼̮̍́̈́͘s̸̮͋̇͗͝ͅ

Prologue

Suvival Difficulty:

Ecosystem:

Dens:

Extractors:

Frostbite Border:

Scorched Border

Trades

Flora:

Notes of importance:

Flameheart:

Malstiana Basics:

Cities:

Nuevente