Vocable

To my Brother Bentius, The quieter you are, the more you can hear. But you can never truly experience total quiescence. Even in the most silent of places, you’ll still hear your breath, your heartbeat, the thrum of blood rushing through your veins. These are signs that you are alive. Uncertainties always exist in life. You should know this better than I as a Scholar of the Principalities, but I feel you need reminding of the guiding truths that you have long followed. The coming war soon approaches but you need not hasten yourself to meet it. The more you hasten, the more uncertain your position becomes. Slow down, my Brother, and fi

Garmund didn’t really believe in prophecies but he believed in Zreoban. The elf was the smart one between the two of them. Didn’t Zreoban say that Garmund’s own blood-brother would betray him? And that the long slimy fish Garmund caught in the gray river would give him a nasty stomachache even if he was an orc? Zreoban saw a lot of things Garmund didn’t. His friend was a seer, he knew. A see-r and sightseer. They traveled a lot and Garmund got to see many things also. The axe in Garmund’s hand did not feel heavy but Garmund thought it should. Garmund thought he was getting stronger, he was not tired though he h

Warm and dry wind scattered sand over the dunes where Dosne walked, flapping his clothes. Everyone offered their dead to the desert and this was the least fertile region of it, no vegetation in sight, only the vast mineral landscape that extended into the horizon. And so this is where the dead were buried in sand or left facing the sky. Dosne imagined bodies drying up and turning into skeletons, and those skeletons becoming brittle and eroding into dust. Their bodies are the sand we stand on, countless ancestors supporting our feet. He often walked into this region of the desert, the part that was least untouched by man. Compared with the v

A good story begins at the ending. He can only hope the multiverse is one such story. The concrete shelves tower over his form as he walks through them, searching for the next staircase upwards. His eyes glance over the books filling those shelves—not to scan their titles out of curiosity or a thirst of knowledge but to beware of any traps. The perception-triggered runes were the nastiest of the lot, requiring him to avoid looking at the spines of the books or he’d set off the spells linked to them. And yet he had to look in case there was something nasty was waiting, like touch-sensitive worms or those papery bats that masquerad

PNEUMA (1) Hot and wet. The meadow is an open space where flowers bud, where roots push out of damp soil. Movement is the exchange for growth. Wind blowing: unknown in source, unknown in destination. I hear the ghost of your breathing. GASTER (2) Hot and dry. The sand is a lachrymal bowl where tears petrify, where an angry golden god continually weeps. Light is the energy for transformation. Dunes lapping: heat that rises, heat that penetrates. The scent of your burnt flesh lingers. OSTEON (3) Cold and dry. The leaves are a dying bed where teeth and hair fall, where skin sloughs off. Gravity is the pillow for death. Burdens calling: a de

"I forgot to save…" — Last Words of Hero Theodore Raspel in battle with the Arch-demon Guzalthazar Many scholars have argued about the last words of Hero Theodore. While the weakened Arch-demon Guzalthazar was quickly slain by the gathered forces and his demonic army routed, much confusion remained in the aftermath of the conflict. Who or what did Hero Theodore forget to save? Perhaps it was a loved one unknown to the masses? A great city or his hometown? Soldiers were dispatched to many locations under the order of many officials but no further demonic incursions occurred or were recorded. Close friends to hero were as much in

George frowned, continuing to stab the corpse of a five-foot-long caterpillar. His stick made wet squelching sounds every time it thrust into the soft flesh of the bug. "So this thing… has my soul?" The wizard standing behind him answered in a high squeaky voice. "Why, yes. That Deadfall Crawler should be your counterpart in this world. Now that you've killed it and absorbed its mirror of your soul, your spiritual connection to mana should be established which should allow you to use magic. Theoretically speaking, you're now considered part of this world's system so there'll be no need for your anchor point." George continued stabbing

You wake up to the smell of sweet smoky meat, the sound of sizzling grease, and a head like pyramid stones being hammered by ten thousand workers. A groan escapes your desiccated lips, your supine position on the floor helping gravity to push where your lungs once were. A near-empty jar of palm wine is cradled between your arms as a makeshift pillow, some of its contents splashed on the bandages of your chest. It takes you a while to get up, pushing the jar away and grabbing onto nearby stonework for good leverage before stumbling bullishly towards where the smell is coming from. A man wrapped in bandages the color of ripe peach stood over t