Sunday, July 16, 2006

Khrennad: A History

1. How did the world begin?
Unlike the Mandrekan 'brane, the universe on the Khrennad'an 'brane did NOT have a "beginning". It simply existed in a pure unharnessed form called "chaos energy".1 Each membrane is in actuality a region of a given kind of equally pure unharnessed energy: in the Khrennad'an case, ether. Random interaction of chaos energy with ether eventually led to the formation of mass and matter. In direct contrast to every other form of energy created so far, mass and matter had the unique property of longevity. In other words, they did not instantly decay or revert to the base chaotic state. This allowed for accumulation of mass, which inevitably led to the instigation of the laws of gravity. Densely-packed mass-energy interacting with ether and chaos-energy led to the creation of a single highly volatile molecule, which eventually became unstable and exploded.2 Matter exploded every which way and slowly settled down to become planets, stars, and all the expected detritus.3 From there development of water and life proceeded in a fashion very similar to that of Mandreka, but at a considerably retarded pace (unsurprising given that Mandreka's development was based on and guided by knowledge of Khrennad). After hundreds of millions of years, the Khrennad'an planet was fully formed and teeming with life.




1Some scientists believe chaos energy is actually a derived form of ether, but there are no substantial theories yet as to how it came into existence.

2The scientists and magicians who set out to create Mandreka attempted to follow this formula as closely as possible, but due to the lack of chaos and ether energies, were forced to replace the initial molecule with a prefabricated substitute. The end result is known in Mandreka as "the Big Bang".

3Just how many of these planets eventually developed life - sentient or not - is still unknown, due to the utter lack of Khrennad'an interest in space travel or communication. However, technologies and ideas imported from Mandreka may soon answer this question.

Saturday, May 27, 2006

Chapter One

The minute hand clicked over another notch, but regretfully. It crawled impossibly slowly towards that final stupendous moment when the class would fall silent, the bell would ring, and all pandemonium would break loose as three thousand teenagers raced for the exit. But for now, Nicholas Black still had thirty minutes of History to suffer through.

The class, usually a loquacious group, quieted a bit as Mr. Coaltin wheeled the television set to the front of the room. He was a tallish man, going grey around the edges, and even though his lectures were generally intolerably dull he was well-liked by most of his students.

"Now don’t get your hopes up too much," he warned as he plugged the set in. "It may be a movie, but you’ll have a quiz over it first thing next class. So I’d suggest paying attention." He pressed play and stepped back.

As it turned out, Viserys would rather have heard another lecture. The film was a documentary on the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. Utterly enthralling. One could spend a lifetime studying just the layout of the theater and how it contributed to the president’s death!His sarcasm must have shown in his face, for Coaltin sent him a warning glance. Viserys resigned himself to watching the thing. He couldn’t afford to fail another quiz in this class anyway.

Now that he was actually paying attention, he realized that the documentary wasn’t quite as bad as he’d thought. The narrator’s voice faded away, replaced by the soft murmur of hushed voices broken into intermittently by the actors onstage speaking their lines. Coaltin had apparently turned the lights off, for the room was dim. Viserys shifted in his seat in an attempt to make himself comfortable.

Wait. Since when were the chairs cushioned? And with velvet, no less?

Involuntarily he glanced to either side. His scrambled mind was slow to realize that the people seated next to him weren’t his classmates, that Coaltin was nowhere in sight, and that the stage was most certainly not a picture on a television screen.

He was in the Ford’s Theater.

And unless he was very much mistaken, he had an excellent seat.


He cast his eyes upwards, instinctively; the door in the back of the Presidential box was opening; Lincoln must have summoned someone in. Satisfied that his charge was safe –

my charge?-

he turned back to watch the –

television?

Viserys blinked. He was back in the classroom and the lights were still on. The narrator continued to ramble on about something to do with a horse. All this registered in his mind at the same instant, immediately followed by the realization that he was, for no apparent reason, falling over. He put out a hand to stop himself and

grasped the door handle, turning it slowly – carefully – so that no stray noise would alert the unsuspecting man on the other side. The thrill of icy rage that had driven him earlier had evaporated, leaving in its place a quiet, deadly calm. He knew what he had to do. The door opened, and he stepped through. The cold hilt of his pistol seemed to slide into his hand of its own accord. One of the women looked up (I should probably kill them too, he thought, ...but I won’t) and he raised the gun and fired in one swift uncalculated movement. The planet stopped in the midst of its revolution; by the time the president's body had crumpled to the floor, he was across the box and over the balcony. He twisted in midair to avoid landing on the actor below. Not fast enough! He landed on one foot, grimaced at the sound of his ankle fracturing under the unaccustomed stress, and then he was

crying out in pain, the hand that he had thrown out to catch himself now flying back to his throbbing ankle. Viserys hit the floor with a resounding thud.

"What the?"

"Hey, man, you all right?"

"What’d’ya fall outta yer desk for?"

"Quiet, in the front!"

Breathless, head spinning, Viserys pulled himself back into his – thankfully hard and plastic – seat. He didn’t notice the class snickering quietly at his fall and they, in kind, didn’t see that as he walked out of class half an hour later he was limping heavily.

Several weeks passed without further incident. The pain in his ankle had dissipated fairly quickly and by the time he went to bed that night he had almost convinced himself that it had all been one long hallucination. The only reminder of the entire experience were the bonus points he’d gotten on the quiz for knowing exactly how Booth had broken his ankle.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It's no vacation, but I'm learning more than I ever did at home. Plus, the food is better.

Nick couldn't help but chuckle. Trust Alex to rank schools by food. He still wasn't sure how his friend stayed so tiny while eating enough for four. The letter continued:

Shakespeare - he's my principle, my "homeroom professor", I guess you could say - says I can probably come home for a few days for Christmas. He's not happy about it, but I'm making more progress than the others, and he can't start me on the next level until there's enough for a full class. And yes, his name really is Shakespeare. William Shakespeare, as a matter of fact. I think he's a little crazy, myself, but who here isn't?

Anyway, I have exams to study for now, but I'll let you know when they send me home. Don't have too much fun without me.

The letter was signed simply, Alex.

Nick held the handwritten paper in one hand and sipped from the steaming coffee mug in the other; he could feel the caffiene surging through his system. He was living off the stuff this week. Alex wasn't the only one with exams. Still, given the choice between algebra and whatever odd mumbo-jumbo they were teaching at the other school (Alex said he wasn't allowed to give any details), Nick would take the algebra every time. At least math made sense.

He sighed. No matter how many letters there were, or how long they ran, things just weren't the same. He folded the paper carefully and slipped it back into his pocket before leaning over his history textook again.

Slowly, carefully, he scanned down the page; nothing. The words stayed words. He sighed again, this time with relief, and started reading.

The third word on the next page was a name, and Nick was gone.

Prologue

The air was dry, and thick with dust; this small room tucked away in the depths of the Greystone Palace had obviously not been disturbed in years. And, if the unordered stacks of books tottering haphazardly on the solid uncarved table and the open volumes still waiting on solid bookstands scattered around the room were any indication, the room's last occupant had fully intended to return. Evan Tyllern tried not to wonder why he hadn't. Considering the number of well-hidden secrets he'd already run across, there were things tied up with this that he probably didn't want to know.

"This" had started as simple curiosity, and escalated almost overnight into a full-scale, intensive research project. It appeared that for all the connection between Mandreka and Khrennad was what allowed the second world - this world - to exist at all, no one had ever bothered to study the nature of the bond. Oh, sure, they had long since decided that the two shared the same physical space, and that the former preceded the latter in time by the tiniest fraction of a second, but no one had ever figured out how the two entirely different worlds could coexist or - more importantly - how exactly they were held together. Why it was that a certain amount of energy handled in a very precise way could move any object, living or not, instantaneously from one world to the other. Why natural events, like storms or earthquakes, that occurred in one were mirrored in the other, but anything caused by a man might or might not be reflected at all, much less in its entirety. A forest cleared in Mandreka, the "modern man's world", might suddenly die in Khrennad, or it may simply thin, or it might show no change at all. The pattern was impossible to predict.

Tyllern had been working towards an understanding for seventeen years now, and to tell the truth, he felt no closer to his goal than he had at first. His mind contained enough state secrets to bring down every Khrennad'an country ten times over, and most of those in Mandreka as well, but as far as the connection between the two worlds went not a single puzzle piece fit. It was enough to drive a man mad! If one text speculated this, the next claimed the opposite; both supported their positions perfectly with the most accurate of facts, but no theory he had yet seen held up under extended probing. Something always fell through. The laws of physics were no different in Khrennad than they were in Mandreka, and every explanation violated at least one as thoroughly as could be conceived. Utter madness.

Holding a thin handkerchief over his nose and mouth, Tyllern made his way through the thick blankets of dust to stand by the book-strewn table. Maybe his predecessor, hurrying out, had marked an important page, or even forgotten a sheet of notes...? No such luck. He picked up one of the topmost volumes and leafed through it. It would be in Aarkendi, of course. All the eight ancient tongues to choose from, and he would have to pick up a book in the one he couldn't read two words of.

"It's a good thing I don't believe in omens," he muttered darkly. He pulled a thick notebook and a Mandrekan-style pen from his shoulderbag and settled in to work.

Greystone Palace was a fancy name for a library, but it fit. The walls of the building were an unrelieved grey stone that, despite its textureless surface, still managed to give a soft shimmer in even the faintest light. Tiny flecks too small to be seen normally caught the tiniest gleam and flashed like so many diamonds. Where the current caretakers had deigned to add decoration, the tapestries that hung from the walls could have made a king envious, and any one of the fine vases perched on pedestals set into the wall could have financed the creation and settling of an entire town - with some left over. Not just any library, Greystone: It was the single most comprehensive archive in Khrennad, and the best-endowed. Few remembered that it had started life as a humble personal collection in a tiny, poorly-ventilated room tucked away in the depths of the Palace.

All this flashed through Tyllern's head as he walked; his lips twitched with the beginnings of a small smile, but it fled as quickly as it came, leaving only a deepening frown in its place. The puzzle had finally clicked together, and he wasn't sure he liked the picture it showed. He quickened his pace.

The front hall was empty of the usual crowd, a mix of pinched-looking old historians on their way to the center of their world and bright young people with dazzled looks in their eyes and easy laughter on their tongues. It took a moment for Tyllern to realize that the torches along the walls were unlit. He blinked; the Palace foyer was never unoccupied! Why...? Nervous now, irrational fears of his news already spreading through the world and turning into a pit of chaos, he ignored the grand heavy entrance doors and hurried down a short narrow passage instead. It led to an unobtrusive servants' door, not far from the main doors but almost impossible to see from the outside. He wasn't trying to be secret; he just didn't want to waste thirty minutes getting the solid wooden twenty-foot main doors open and shut again.

Outside, he blinked. Night had fallen while he was lost in his research. Well, at least that explains the emptiness, he thought, relieved. And my stomach. Some ravenous beast was ripping away at his insides, pausing only to give the occasional growl. He grimaced in its general direction and turned towards home.

Three miles later, he suddenly realized that in his hurry to tell someone - anyone - what he'd worked out, he'd left his notebook sitting on the corner of the table nearest the door. Its elaborate diagrams and detailed explanations would convince even the most skeptical; the servants' door had locked behind him with a hardly audible click. Fat lot of good the thing would do him now. But the world had survived this long - surely, it could wait one more day.

Version: Next

The People

  • Nicholas [Nick] Black
    Main character
    Mandrekan, from Demora
    Subject to unexpected and unexplainable visions
    Alternate personality: Viserys Stark
    Main character
    Khrennad'an, from Aislin, lives in Onaedo

    Powerful in the art of Diffraction
  • Alex Dumon
    Friend of Viserys
    Mandrekan, from Demora
    Student at the Academy
    Has a sort of mental connection to Nick, and occasionally recieves information about him in dreams
  • Iola du'Kennu
    [TAKES PADMÉ'S PLACE]
    Waitress at Seventh Street Coffee
    Companion
    Acquaintence of Tarin
    Not medically trained, but has skill at healing
    Sensitive to Viserys' presence, but not to Nick's
  • Elearon Whiteveld
    Companion
    Khrennad'an; one of the few remaining El'din (which race?)
    Skilled warrior and guide
  • William Shakespeare
    One of Alex's teachers
    Close friend of Tim
    Brother of Randall S.
    Mandrekan by birth, Khrennad'an by choice
    Lives in the Towers
  • Tim Markandov
    Head of Counsel of the Council Towers
    Close friend of Shakespeare
  • Arlo Malory Tarin
    Companion
    (Brings Viserys to Towers)
    Khrennad'an, from Aislin, lives in Onaedo
    Becomes a Companion when Alex is unable to go
    Has attended the Academy and knows the theories behind Diffraction, but is extremely weak at it
  • Randall Shakespeare
    Mandrekan
    Brother of William S.
    Follower of Denegar
  • Joseph Robert Lee; Denegar
    Antagonist
    Mandrekan by birth; Khrennad'an by choice
    Insanely brilliant, but misdirected and obsessive
    Takes Kayle's place after Kayle's death
    Well-versed in Khrennad'an lore
  • Evan Tyllern
    Researcher
    Discovered that severing the two worlds will loose chaos and destruction on both
    Was murdered because of all the other state secrets he discovered
  • Tir'shan Kayle
    Found an incomplete set of Tyllern's discarded scratchwork
    Using that incorrect work as a basis, devoped a rudimentary 'brane theory in which the two worlds were bound to pull each other in until they collided and were both destroyed
    Became obsessed with this false theory and acquired a large following, demanding that the link between the worlds be severed
    Trained Joseph Lee, a Mandrekan, as his right-hand man
    Travels to the Towers to face the Head of Counsel; arrives, speaks, and departs, but is bitten by a snake and dies en route home
    His disappearance is blamed on the Tower
  • Masked Men
    Out-of-control offshoots of Kayle's original followers
    Decided that since the world was going to end anyway, they might as well loot it now
    Have basically taken over Onaedo through their vile thieving ways
    Responsible for giving Denegar's men a bad name
    Drive Denegar's men to rage and riots, for which (to save face) Denegar must take responsibility



The Places

  • Mandreka
    World of Modern Man
  • Khrennad
    Mandreka's "shadow"
    Inhabited by people more attuned to Nature, and also by the remants of the El'din
  • Demora
    Mandrekan city
    Hometown of Nick and Alex
  • Towers
    Site of the Three Towers
    Capital of Khrennad
    Home to the Academy
  • Onaedo
    Home to Viserys and Tarin
  • Aislin
    Small town from which Viserys claims to have come
  • Seventh Street Coffee
    Coffeeshop in Onaedo
    Named and run in the Mandrekan fashion

The Science

  • Diffraction
    Diffraction works exactly like diffraction is supposed to work. The only new thing is, in Khrennad there is a certain "element" that is not present in Mandreka: Ether. This ether is comprised of infinitesimally tiny particles - free-floating strings, basically - that have no apparent effect on what humans see as matter. Because these particles are so small, they can be influenced by energy waves sent out from the brain; as a result sentient beings can assume a limited "telekinetic" control over ether. Sufficient concentration and skill can lead to the ability to use ether as a diffraction screen. By diffracting matter of any kind through one of these screens, one can effect rapid and completely lossless conversion from one state, form, or location of matter to another. These transformations are not instantaneous because of the nature of wave patterns, but the necessary length of time is directly proportional to the size of the transformation being effected. In other words, Diffraction can be seen as the next evolution of FMA's alchemy, without all the clapping or equivalent exchange.
  • String Theory
    String Theory is also essentially unchanged, with the main exception of ether. This theory is also the driving force behind the existence of two worlds in the same physical space. For centuries it has been believed that Mandreka actually precedes Khrennad through space by approximately one billionth of a second; obviously this hypothesis has its shortcomings. String Theory's multiple dimensions and (more importantly) 'branes are not yet known in Khrennad, but are more directly responsible for the seemingly impossible phenomenon. The worlds are located on adjacent 'branes, and energy (and thus matter) can be transferred from one to the other by simply bringing these branes into contact. (Mandrekan theory states that this collision releases huge amounts of energy, enough to create a universe; while this is essentially correct, Mandrekan theory deals with the situation that arises when large areas of the branes meet. Khrennad'an-induced "collisions" involve the collision of two strings, one from each world. The amount of energy transferred is proportional to the amount of area in contact; thus, these induced collisions do not carry the same impact as a naturally-occurring collision.) What the Khrennad'an think of as "the fabric of space-time" is in reality the mental projection of these 'branes. This is why travel between the two worlds is fairly simple, but travel from one place to another within Khrennad is difficult and prohibitively dangerous.
    Because Strings are common to all 'branes, anyone with enough skill at Diffraction (transformation) can control ether well enough to bring the 'branes together (transfer). This is comparable to Rowling's Apparation, especially in that the level of control needed to Apparate is higher than the control needed to cast most spells; the ability to choose the precise two Strings needed to effect the transfer to a specific place is rare. Most Khrennad'an with any skill at all can move from one world to the other; few can do so and land in a chosen spot with any accuracy. Fewer still can land within a mile of their target. Like Apparation, loss of concentration can lead to "splinching" (known in Khrennad as "splitting" or more simply "screwing up"). If memory serves, Rowling does not mention whether or not splinching is particularly painful; in Khrennad, it is exactly like having that body part forcibly removed (except without the loss of blood). A person who has split himself has approximately four to six minutes to regather - the amount of time a human can survive without oxygen.
    Because of the dangers, few students are allowed to travel between worlds without supervision, and for the most part, people who want to travel have a very well-practiced, professionally trained person effect the transfer for them. Fortunately, however, inter-world travel is instantaneous and very rarely results in splitting. Intra-world travel is essentially Diffraction (no collision of 'branes), and thus takes time; a person undergoing this kind of travel is much more apt to split. Because of the difficulty and the dangers involved, this form of travel is very rarely used.
    Travel from Khrennad to Mandreka can be spontaneous; however, the return trip requires planning. This is because the ether that exists in Khrennad - free-floating Strings - does not exist in Mandreka in high enough quantities to allow for Diffraction except by extremely skilled individuals. (This is why a Mendrekan will occasionally transport himself to Khrennad on accident.) For this reason, the Towers publishes a monthly list of locations in Mandreka where travelers can convene to be "picked up" by a professional in Khrennad. These are usually in fairly public places, such as parks or movie theatres, but take place during off-hours. Thus, travelers can come and linger behind without exciting comment. Every now and then Mandrekans will find themselves inadvertently transported. In fact, most reports of UFO abductions are scattered and confused memories of the "trip" between worlds (Mandrekans are invariably confused when they arrive in Khrennad, and as a rule are easily identified and immediately returned).

The Story

  • Prologue
    Tyllern figures out the connection, but leaves his notes in a dusty room in the library; (is murdered. His notes are untouched for decades, until Markandov finds them while researching the same topic and reveals them to the Council Towers.)
  • Chapter One
    Introduce Nick and Alex as friends, via letters? (Nick is drinking a cup of fresh coffee.) Nick begins to suffer visions.
    - Assassination
    - Home
    - Man in library reading handwritten notes (sparked by reading name "Kayle" on a blog)
  • Chapter Two
    Introduce Tarin, Seventh Street, and the Masked Men. Tarin acquires a reputation among the MM.
  • Chapter Three
    Introduce Lee in the library poring over volumes of ancient legends. Gets up and goes to find food; meets with friends at an inn; discuss Kayle's theories and his trip to the Towers. (Kayle has just left the previous day.) Two weeks pass; Lee is becoming anxious because Kayle has not yet returned. Lee leaves for the Towers.
  • Chapter Four
    Introduce Elearon and W. Shakespeare, talking in the Towers. Shakespeare is also a "history nut", and the two are discussing the legend of Denegar. In the middle of the conversation Lee comes up asking for directions to the Council Towers... Is taken to Markandov, introduces self as "Joe Lee"; Markandov, who has just spent a week in France, hears "jolie"... Introduction does not go well. Markandov can not prove that the Towers are not responsible for Kayle's death, and orders that Lee restrain his men from continuing their riots. Lee huffs off.
  • Chapter Five
    Nick is not sleeping well, and has completely lost his appetite; he becomes increasingly unhealthy with each passing day. He says nothing of his visions, even though (as his body weakens) injuries recieved in the other worlds reflect more and more strongly in "reality". A vision experienced while in the car with his father puts him in the hospital and drives his mother to suspect her husband of child abuse. While Nick (under the influence of heavy sedatives and intraveneous nutrition) slowly begins to recover, his family begins to fall apart. Upon being released from the hospital Nick tries to explain to his parents what the problem is and that his father never struck him, but his mother thinks surely he is covering up for his father because the man has threatened to hurt him more. After a day or so more of this Nick can no longer stand the tension and goes for a long walk.
  • Chapter Six
    Tension is also flaring in the Towers: Lee's men are becoming more violent by the day, and the Academy is worried about falling under attack. Classes are suspended, and students are sent home. Alex (of age in Khrennad) opts to stay an extra two weeks before returning to Demora.
  • Chapter Seven
    He is devastated to find his friend missing, and presses the Blacks for information. They explain what he said about the visions, and how they think fever (father) or fear (mother) are causing them. Alex, however, recognizes the visions for what they are. He breaks his Khrennad'an vows in order to explain, but they do not believe him, either his explanation or his statement that he intends to go searching for Nick at daybreak. If the police can't find their son, they think, surely this demented teen can't. But they are woken in the wee hours by the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen, and are astounded to see Alex meditating silently. They think he is grieving, and try to offer consolation; he shushes them and finishes his session. Then he moves to the living room, where there is more empty space, and just as the Blacks enter he pulls a long knife from his boot. He points it in their direction. For a moment they think he is threatening them, and they shy from those cold empty eyes; Alex spins and enters a blinding series of drills, culminating by slamming the blade home into a scabbard at his waist. He staggers, and they think he has stabbed himself (the scabbard is hidden behind his body), but he wipes his forehead and straightens. "Not used to carpet," he explains sheepishly. Nick's father demands to know just what kind of school he is attending, and Alex replies that it is a very strenuous one. Then he grabs a backpack from the corner - one of Nick's, as his is still in Khrennad - slings a heavy white cloak over his shoulders, bows deeply and leaves the house just as the sun rises.
  • Chapter Eight
    Alex reflects on his dreams from the previous night - odd, all 0f them, and mostly centered around a construction site. He spends the first half of the day wandering the town checking all of Nick's usual haunts, stops for a quick break and a meager lunch, and the decides to try the old campground just outside the city limits. A resident hobo tells him that a boy matching Nick's description passed through about four days ago heading "that way". He finds a tiny game trail and follows it; several miles in, the trail crosses a rough unpaved road. Alex is about to continue on the trail when he hears people down the road. He decides to ask them if they've seen Nick, but when he reaches the end of the road, he realizes he is standing in a construction site - a very familiar construction site. Alex walks in broadening circles around the site until nightfall; nothing. Then, the workers long gone, he hears two voices: One quiet and harsh, one weak. The latter is raving. Alex approaches and finds two disheveled vagrants huddled against an earthmover. The younger one is Nick, shivering, febrile, and delirious.
  • Chapter Nine
    Alex recognizes a vision, and decides it would be too risky to attempt to "wake" Nick; he prepares to wait it out and stay the night. He wakes at about two, to find the older vagrant strangling an already-unconscious Nick. Alex beats the vagrant off and decides that Nick needs immediate medical attention; without a cell phone or decent transportation, that means Khrennad. He is not sure he can pull it off, but the situation is life-or-death. He is very nearly successful. The vagrant returns and jumps him at the critical moment. Alex arrives in Khrennad (in the Tower Gardens, no less!), cradling half of Nick in his arms.
  • Chapter Ten
    Tarin, crossing the street to the coffeeshop, hears a bloodcurdling scream and spins to find half of a youth lying in the street behind him. He tries to talk the boy through the process of Diffraction, thinking that this is a reckless student, but the boy loses consciousness. Desperate now, Tarin calls on all his limited skills to regather the kid. Just as the other half fades into existence, Tarin's head explodes into agony and he passes out. Iola runs out and finds the two, and has them carried inside, where Tarin slowly comes to; the kid is still unconscious and shivering, but at least he's in one piece. They call for the doctor, but it turns out he is out of town and there is no replacement available. The kid eventually comes to. Iola gives him water and (once he's somewhat recovered) offers coffee; he shudders violently and declines. "I...really don't like coffee," he explains. "But if you have hot tea...?"
  • Chapter Eleven
    Riots are breaking out all over Khrennad, headed by Lee's (now known as Denegar) followers. The man himself is exhausted, and his face shows it; he is lean and pale, and his eyes are sunken. He has become snappish and moody. He has retreated to a (comparatively) ancient mansion far distant from any major center of civilization, where he and a core group of his followers reside in near-secrecy. They are clothed in pure black. He sends out orders to "draft the men" and "prepare for the first assault"; he recieves encoded letters from a source within the Towers, and sends out equally cryptic replies. He and his advisor draw up a plan of battle and distribute it to their allies, along with orders to "report to the Grounds in precisely one week."
  • Chapter Twelve
    Men hooded and cloaked in black amass on the Tower Grounds, bearing a written message addressed to Markandov. The Head of Counsel tries to speak to the cloaked men's leader, but halfway across the courtyard he is struck down by a Masked zealot; a Tower guard retaliates, and chaos reigns. Alex looks out his window just in time to see William Shakespeare take a blow, and runs out to help, gathering fellow students as he goes; their small untrained but determined force rips through the enemy line and forms a circle around Markandov, protecting him. The fight rages on; three of Alex's friends fall, but not before taking out several cloaked men each. Finally, Alex falls.
  • Chapter Thirteen
    A year and a half passes. The attacks on the Tower continue, and grow more bloody; men of all ages pour in from the countryside to lend a hand where they can. Slowly but surely both sides amass full armies. The Tower men wear an assortment of old bits and pieces for the most part, while their opponents are outfitted with black-lacquered armor. Alex has become the Captain of an elite fighting force comprised mainly of former Academy students - former, in that they were students when the Towers were first attacked. Because of the fighting, the Academy has been temporarily closed, but the students who remained continue to take informal lessons with their surviving teachers. He is taking lunch in the cafeteria when two men, one young and one older, and a young woman walk in. The woman asks him for directions to the hospital wing; she wants to volunteer. When Alex asks the other two where they are headed, the older man replies, "Home. We're just an escort. This isn't our problem." Thus ensues an argument in which Alex claims that it is their problem, seeing as how it's their world that this Denegar character wants to destroy, to which the younger man replies that the world is going to end sooner or later anyway and he'd rather be alive up to that point. Alex's face turns white. He knows that voice.
  • Chapter Fourteen
    The two men go to the food line and pick up trays, then find seats together near the exit. The younger man feels uncomfortable. That captain is staring at him. When the captain starts to walk (rather unsteadily) towards them, he gets up and starts walking to the exit. As he puts his hand on the doorhandle an alarm sounds. He finds himself shoved against the wall as a veritable flood of men rush out into the suddenly swarming hallways. The captain dashes past, face grim. The young man grabs his arm and shouts, "What's going on?" The captain explains in a bark that the Towers are under attack again, and tells him to get somewhere safe and stay out of the way. Another youth, short and wiry, runs up and reports to the captain that the hospital wing has been breached. The captain takes off down the hall, and the young man chases after him. The captain yells that he thought all this wasn't his problem, and the young man replies that the attack isn't - Iola, who went to the hospital wing, is. The two pound onward. They meet Shakespeare, headed in the same direction, and the three arrive at the hospital wing together. One wall is down and the place is flooded with men in black armor. Shakespeare leaps into the attack and the captain sets about organizing his men. The young man dashes through the lines, avoiding hits by luck alone, and plants himself in front of a door; a black-armored man attacks, and leaves his left arm nearly useless after the first blow, but the young man holds his ground. Shakespeare dispatches the black warrior and tells him to get out of there immediately. The young man refuses. Shakespeare uses Diffraction to throw up a wall, knocking two more of the black warriors on their backs. The young man frowns, then gestures; an identical wall springs up between Shakespeare and the warrior that is about to put a sword through his back. Shakespeare throws a piece of the shattered wall which turns into a flaming fireball as it flies; the young man follows suit, but his explodes on impact, taking out three for Shakespeare's one. The fight continues in this manner for some time, until finally reinforcements arrive and the black warriors are driven off. The young man immediately turns and marches into the room he's been single-handedly guarding, where he finds Iola ready; the (thankfully empty) bedpan takes him squarely on the side of the head, and he falls.
  • Chapter Fifteen
    The young man wakes slowly, and finds Tarin grinning down at him. "Done in by a bedpan, eh?" The captain comes over. He seems uncomfortable, but he says he wants to thank the young man for his invaluable assistance. He claims they would not have held out had he not been there. Then, with tears in his eyes, he says, "Welcome back, Nick," and proceeds to hug the young man quite tightly. The young man, meanwhile, is very confused, and shoves this emotional young captain away before chewing him out. "My name is Viserys Stark," he snaps, and stalks off. Alex, stupefied, watches him go. Iola returns to what is left of the hospital wing; Viserys and Tarin go out to the Grounds. Viserys wheels on Tarin and demands to know what all that was about. Tarin thinks he is talking about the captain, but it turns out Viserys is terrified by what he was doing during the fight. To think about a thing being, and having it be; it sounds great in theory, he says, but when people are dying because I think they should, there's something wrong. Tarin explains the basics of Differentiation and says that Viserys is extremely gifted in that area. Few people, he claim, can master even such a rudimentary skill as creating a wall without weeks of instruction and practice (he himself still cannot do more than swirl the dust about a bit); that Viserys was able to do that and more perfectly just by seeing it done is incredible. The two decide to leave immediately.
  • Chapter Sixteen
    Half a day's march from the Towers, the pair is found and captured by a handful of the black warriors. They are held for three days, blindfolded the entire time; then they are separated, and Tarin is released. Into a river. Fortunately, he has always been a strong swimmer, and after allowing himself to drift a sufficient distance he crosses to the opposite shore and makes his way back to the Towers, where he begs a lieutenant for help. The officer does not seem disposed to lift a finger, but he does report the request to his superior...who cares even less. Tarin, weak, famished, depressed, and half-convinced that his friend is already dead, turns to leave. The young captain walks up to him, and after some coaxing, Tarin tells him the problem. Alex immediately summons over one of his men and tells him to pass the word: "We leave on the hour. On one condition." In payment for the rescue, Alex says, he demands only one thing in return: That Tarin tell him everything he knows of this Viserys character. Tarin is confused, but agrees. As they leave, Tarin asks why Alex is so willing to help; Alex replies that Viserys is immensely strong, and if nothing else the enemy cannot be allowed to use his power. They approach the camp cautiously, then attack; seven minutes, and everything is over.
  • Chapter Seventeen
    Viserys was not poorly treated by the black warriors - or at least, no worse than any prisoner, kept on short rations and marched unceasingly - but his injured arm has gone untreated for nearly five days now, and completely aside from considerable blood loss the wound has become infected. He is feverish, shivering, and delirious. Alex and Tarin stay on either side of the pallette as he is carried back to the Towers. At one point he begins to babble, and speaks at length about Demora, Mr. Coaltin, and other names from home. Alex looks devastated, and can hardly keep himself from crying openly; he settles for brushing Viserys' hair away from his forehead. Viserys looks at him and asks, "Alex?" He tries to sit up, but can't, too weak. Tarin tries to calm him as panic sets in; finally he puts his hands on the younger man's shoulders and presses him down against the pallette, but that only makes matters worse. Viserys screams for Alex to help him and leaps to his feet. He runs about ten steps before collapsing, unconscious. Alex kneels beside him, and weeps.

Miscellaneous Note: "Not S. Ereston!"
Names to Remember: Main

Monday, March 28, 2005

Chapter One

Alex Dumon had been a boy like any other, once. He’d had friends and family, gone to school during the week, movies on Saturdays and church on Sundays, read fantasy stories about legendary heroes and watched television shows about everyday men. He’d even deigned to do math homework and mow the lawn once in a while. Then his father had called him into the kitchen one summer night and told him the Domun family’s deepest secret, the reason their family reunions were so small even though both his parents came from large families. The reason his sister Kate never came home for holidays. His father had explained, and Alex had listened. And when the school bus had pulled up to his corner the following September, Alex Dumon watched it leave from his bedroom window. That afternoon he left behind the only life he’d ever known and begun a new one in Khrennad.

Life as a Towers student was difficult – endless lessons, followed by equally wearying chores, then a few minutes to study, eat and sleep before the morning started the cycle again – but he’d adapted to it well enough, and if he perpetually had bags under his eyes, well, so did all of his peers. There had been plenty of occasions when the continuous stress of managing his time and energy had become overwhelming, and more than once he’d wished he could just run away and leave it all behind, but at no time in the past three years had he ever truly regretted his decision.

Until now.

The desk chair’s wooden legs snapped as they met the bare white wall of his somewhat cramped quarters, and the student in the next room over gave an indignant shout that Alex didn’t hear. His right fist followed the chair. The agony that erupted in his knuckles made no more impact on his mind than the sickening crunch of bones had; indignant cries cut off suddenly and Britni blinked in shock at the arm that protruded through the wall. Before she could say anything, though, Alex had withdrawn his hand, slung his white-trimmed cloak around his shoulders, and slammed the door behind him. The printed letter in his other hand was paler in color than the knuckles of the hand in which it was clenched, but not by much.

Alex had to work to keep back the scream that kept trying to bubble up in his throat. The effort that took left no room to concentrate on keeping back tears as well, and they spilled over his face in a silent deluge, as unnoticed as the ache in his broken hand. Nicholas Black had been his closest friend, back in Mandreka. They’d all but grown up together, and when Alex’s older brother had vanished without a trace, Nick had stepped up to fill the empty space. He’d become a part of the Dumon family in all but name. And now, this.

The letter itself said little. It was from Nick’s mother, a short curt note with a single tearstain smudging the bottom near her shaky signature. Details came in the form of a newspaper article clipped behind the letter as if its inclusion had been an afterthought. It didn’t say much either, but enough. More than enough. Nick had been found huddled in an alley, shivering and delirious but with no sign of a fever; a week-long stay in the hospital had ended with his transfer to the mental ward, where he had been treated for multi-personality disorder. No one knew what had brought about this change. Three months had seen some improvement, and the fourth his complete and traceless disappearance. The doctors that had treated him in the mental ward claimed that he would be unable to survive long on his own, seeing as how only a complicated mix of medications was keeping both his mind and body functional, and two days ago he had been publicly pronounced dead.

The barely-supressed cry came bursting forth in a fury. By the time it faded, Alex had seized the coarse fabric of space-time that was Khrennad and jerked at it, tugging one thread out of alignment, forcing it into a strange twisted knot that joined the coarse fabric with a slightly more refined fabric at that one place. For the merest of instants the hallway remained, the city street just a superimposed image, but then the hallway melted and disappeared entirely. For the first time in three years, Alex stood in the center of Demora City. His hometown.

A car honked, and he scrambled to the side of the road. Strange. Only three years, and he’d already all but forgotten about so many of the things that were commonplace in Mandreka’dan life. No time for that now. Thoughts chased each other through his head, each more frantic than the last, but his feet moved as if of their own accord.

His anger spent, and his grief held at bay for an instant by the intense concentration necessary to make the crossing from Khrennad to Mandreka, Alex had had time to remember that he had an edge the rest of the world didn’t when it came to Nick. It was not something his friend knew about; it had only made its appearance sometime last year, and he had never seen any point in telling anyone. In fact, he hadn’t realized that it had to do with his friend at all until he’d read the newspaper clipping. He’d thought his dreams had just been brought on by the stresses of Tower life, or maybe the cafeteria food. Now, though, the recurring dreams of an empty construction site under the clear sky, running in place or huddling next to an earthmover’s engine for warmth, while his fingers and toes turned numb and his stomach clenched in ever-tighter knots, suddenly took on a clearer meaning.

Unfortunately, nothing in any of those dreams had said where this construction site might be. He wasn’t in the clear yet. A likely-looking gas station on the corner caught his eye, and he made his way quickly towards it. The bell dinged as he opened the door. The blonde behind the counter raised an eyebrow and leaned forward; at the very last second he remembered that the Mandreka’dan’i here didn’t bow their greetings. Apparently, I’ve forgotten more than I thought, he told himself wryly.

"Uh, hi," he said, shifting his feet nervously. He gestured at his cloak, and the student uniform underneath. "I’m...ah...helping my friend make a movie here in Demora, but I’ve lost the map he gave me. I know it’s by a big construction site. Do you know of any around here?"

She nodded, accepting his quick lie, and furrowed her brow in thought. "They’re clearing ground for a new subdivision a few miles that way," she said, pointing somewhere in the general vicinity of north. "It’s about seven miles back into the woods, on a service road. That’s the only big construction site around right now."

"That must be it then. Thank you, mistress, and good fortune go with you." He was straightening back up when he realized his error, too late. He forced a shrug that he hoped looked lighthearted. "Sorry. Just trying to get into character." The woman laughed and waved him out the door.

Seven miles was no short hike, especially with the two miles’ distance to where the service road met the main road, and particularly in the thick Tower uniform and cloak, but he made decent time anyway. He’d been in good shape before leaving Mandreka, and three years of trotting up and down the Tower staircases had increased his endurance considerably. Even so, darkness was beginning to gather under the trees when he finally came to the edge of the construction site.

All of the numerous doubts he’d begun to have during the course of his long walk faded. This was the place, all right. He cast a nervous glance at the sky; he believed he could have found his way around well enough even in pitch-black, but finding his friend was a different matter altogether.

"Nick!" he shouted. "Nick! Where are you?"

Silence.

He stood motionless for a moment, unsure; if Nick had heard, then he would be coming toward him now, and Alex should stay where he would be easy to find. But at the same time, if Nick hadn’t heard, then standing still would be worse than useless. A moment’s listening made his decision. Nothing at all was moving in the construction site.

It took fifteen minutes for Alex to cover the entire clearing, stumbling in the growing darkness at a half-run, and another fifteen to fumble his way in the darkness to the side of a bulldozer. He sank to the ground, panting. This was getting him nothing but bruised shinbones.

He ground his teeth in frustration, and started to ball his fist; a sharp pain made him hiss, and he remembered his broken knuckles with a mental slap to the forehead. Punching the wall had definitely not been one of his better decisions. Coming here wasn’t turning out to be such a great idea, either, it seemed. "Nick, buddy, where are you?" he almost moaned.

Shuffling on the other side of the bulldozer made the back of his neck tingle, and he was spinning around even before he heard a voice say, “This who you’re looking for?”

The voice belonged to a rail-thin, dirty-faced bearded man in clothes that hadn’t seen soap or water in weeks. Neither had his teeth, for that matter. He was squatting, balanced on his toes, and his lips parted in an almost feral grin as Alex stepped around the front of the bulldozer. A long bony finger pointed at a shapeless bundle lying at his feet in the gloom. It was Nick. His chest barely moved as impossibly shallow breath fluttered in and out of his lungs.

"Ain’t moved since this afternoon," the bearded man nearly cackled. "Laid down over ‘ere after the workmen left, ‘round about four o’clock, and ain’t twitched a hair since. I ‘spect ‘e’s 'bout dead." The skinny finger reached down, touched Nick’s jacket collar almost reverently. The scratchy voice grew distant. "Don’t figger ‘e’ll be needing this much longer, old Billy can always use a better coat, yes... Won’t need that watch, either, where ‘e’s goin’. Or those shoes. Not my size, but there’s money in shoes, there’s always someone needs shoes, there’s good money in shoes." A gnarled hand moved towards Nick’s feet, and Alex kicked it away.

"He’s not dead, and you’re not taking anything of his," he snarled. "Now get out of here."

The bearded man bared his teeth. His voice became a growl; suddenly, he seemed more like a rabid dog than anything else. A tiny corner of Alex’s mind realized that he’d seen the man’s face before; not clearly, but it had swum once or twice across the foggy confusion of the construction-site dreams. "I found ‘im! I been waiting for ‘im to die for four days, you ain’t takin’ none of Billy’s shoes!"

It took a moment for the full import of the man’s words to sink into Alex’s mind.

"You’ve been waiting for him to die." His voice was soft, quiet. It carried the sound of steel being bared.

Billy, if that really was his name, didn’t seem to notice the threat; his full attention was back on Nick, and hungry eyes glittered in the darkness. "Think maybe I’ll ‘elp ‘im along a bit," he muttered to himself. "Should have done that days ago, yes, but old Billy was patient, old Billy was nice, old Billy kept his hands to himself, and now old Billy’s gonna ‘elp the poor sot out of ‘is misery, yes..." Before Alex could move, the bearded man had somehow managed to make a three-foot piece of thick twine appear in his hand and had it wrapped snugly around Nick’s throat. The unconscious teen hardly twitched as the twine pulled tight.

Alex launched himself at the bearded man with a cry and knocked him to the ground. He scrambled backwards and was halfway to his feet when the man locked his arms around his feet and pulled him back down; Alex landed on his broken hand and gasped. By the time he’d recovered enough to push himself back to his knees – using his left hand; his right was pressed to his stomach with as much pressure as he could bear, to keep it from getting in the way – the bearded man had fled into the night.

Alex hurried to his friend’s side and tossed the – thankfully loosened – twine as far away as he could. He could feel Nick shivering under his hands, not enough to be visible but far more than the night’s tiny chill could account for. Alex was suddenly glad he’d kept his Tower cloak. He wrapped it around Nick’s shoulders as gently as he could, then rocked back on his heels and tried to think.

He didn’t have time to go back to Demora for help, and even if he did, he couldn’t carry Nick. He was taller than Alex by nearly a head. That left taking him to Khrennad, to the Tower hospitals. The only problem with that was, Khrennad’an’i didn’t take very well to Mandreka’dan’i outsiders being brought in. They didn’t mind people who were related to Khrennad’an’i, or the rare few who transported themselves to the other world on accident, but for the most part they didn’t like Mandreka’dan’i to learn of Khrennad. Perhaps "didn’t like" was a mild term; they absolutely hated it, and went to great lengths to avoid it.

But...there really wasn’t a choice. Nick needed medical attention, badly. They were just going to have to make an exception. Alex placed his left hand on Nick’s shoulder, trying to ignore the way it shook under his touch, and concentrated.

Table of Contents

Thursday, March 24, 2005

Prologue

The air was dry, and thick with dust; this small room tucked away in the depths of the Greystone Palace had obviously not been disturbed in years. And, if the unordered stacks of books tottering haphazardly on the solid uncarved table and the open volumes still waiting on solid bookstands scattered around the room were any indication, the room's last occupant had fully intended to return. Evan Tyllern tried not to wonder why that was. Considering the number of well-hidden secrets he'd already run across, there were things tied up with this that he probably didn't want to know.

"This" had started as simple curiosity, and escalated almost overnight into a full-scale, intensive research project. It appeared that for all the connection between Mandreka and Khrennad was what allowed the second world - this world - to exist at all, no one had ever bothered to study the nature of the bond. Oh, sure, they had long since decided that the two shared the same physical space, and that the former preceded the latter in time by the tiniest fraction of a second, but no one had ever figured out how the two entirely different worlds could coexist or - more importantly - how exactly they were held together. Why it was that a certain amount of energy handled in a very precise way could move any object, living or not, instantaneously from one world to the other. Why natural events, like storms or earthquakes, that occured in one were mirrored in the other, but anything caused by a man might or might not be reflected at all, much less in its entirety. A forest cleared in Mandreka, the "modern man's world", might suddenly die in Khrennad, or it may simply thin, or it might show no change at all. The pattern was impossible to predict.

Tyllern had been working towards an understanding for seventeen years now, and to tell the truth, he felt no closer to his goal than he had at first. His mind contained enough state secrets to bring down every Khrennad'an country ten times over, and most of those in Mandreka as well, but as far as the connection between the two worlds went not a single puzzle piece fit. It was enough to drive a man mad! If one text speculated this, the next claimed the opposite; both supported their positions perfectly with the most accurate of facts, but no theory he had yet seen held up under extended probing. Something always fell through. The laws of physics were no different in Khrennad than they were in Mandreka, and every explanation violated at least one as thoroughly as could be conceived. Utter madness.

Holding a thin handkerchief over his nose and mouth, Tyllern made his way through the thick blankets of dust to stand by the book-strewn table. Maybe his predecessor, hurrying out, had marked an important page, or even forgotten a sheet of notes...? No such luck. He picked up one of the topmost volumes and leafed through it. It would be in Aarkendi, of course. All the eight ancient tongues to choose from, and he would have to pick up a book in the one he couldn't read two words of.

"It's a good thing I don't believe in omens," he muttered darkly. He pulled a thick notebook and a Mandreka'dan-style pen from his shoulderbag and settled in to work.

The Greystone Palace was a fancy name for a library, but it fit. The walls of the building were an unrelieved grey stone that, despite its textureless surface, still managed to give a soft shimmer in even the faintest light. Tiny flecks too small to be seen normally caught the tiniest gleam and flashed like so many diamonds. Where the current caretakers had deigned to add decoration, the tapestries that hung from the walls could have made a king envious, and any one of the fine vases perched on pedestals set into the wall could have financed the creation and settling of an entire town - with some left over. Not just any library, Greystone: It was the single most comprehensive archive in Khrennad, and the best-endowed. Few remembered that it had started life as a humble personal collection in a tiny, poorly-ventilated room tucked away in the depths of the Palace.

All this flashed through Tyllern's head and his lips twitched with the beginnings of a small smile, but it fled as quickly as it came, leaving only a deepening frown in its place. The puzzle had finally clicked together, and he wasn't sure he liked the picture it showed. He quickened his pace.

The front hall was empty of the usual crowd, a mix of pinched-looking old historians on their way to the center of their world and bright young people with dazzled looks in their eyes and easy laughter on their tongues. It took a moment for Tyllern to realize that the torches along the walls were unlit. He blinked; the Palace foyer was never unoccupied! Why...? Nervous now, irrational fears of his news already spreading through the world and turning into a pit of chaos, he ignored the grand heavy entrance doors and hurried down a short narrow passage instead. It led to an unobtrusive servants' door, not far from the main doors but almost impossible to see from the outside. He wasn't trying to be secret; he just didn't want to waste thirty minutes getting the solid wooden twenty-foot main doors open and shut again.

Outside, he blinked. Night had fallen while he was lost in his research. Well, at least that explains the emptiness, he thought, relieved. And my stomach. Some ravenous beast was ripping away at his insides, pausing only to give the occasional growl. He grimaced in its general direction and turned towards home.

Three miles later, he suddenly realized that in his hurry to tell someone - anyone - what he'd worked out, he'd left his notebook sitting on the corner of the table nearest the door. Its elaborate diagrams and detailed explanations would convince even the most skeptical; the servants' door had locked behind him with a hardly audible click. Fat lot of good the thing would do him now. But the world had survived this long - surely, it could wait one more day.

Table of Contents

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Once More - Notes

Names to Remember:
Kayl Donnalt

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Bob, a Mandrekadan'i by birth, has taken up permanent residence in Khrennad and believes it to be the "purified" Mandreka. Thus, he plans to protect it from all further Mandrekan-caused harm by severing the ties that bind the two worlds. (Mandreka lies a fraction of a second "ahead" of Khrennad. This results in, essentially, two parallel worlds tied together for all eternity; minor events in the one are not always reflected in the other, but all major natural phenomena [such as weather, natural disasters, seasons, etc.] are. Anything created by man, however, shows no reflection. Mandreka is the "man's world", overly populated and being destroyed from the inside out by pollution; no one knows exactly how the Khrennadan'i appeared, but it is certain that they came considerably later and have kept a much smaller presence; where Mandreka is slowly decaying thanks to its inhabitants, Khrennad flourishes under their touch. See the Histories for more information.) Unfortunately, what Bob does not know - what few save the Council of the Tower know - is that when those bonds are destroyed, both world will be thrown into chaos like none ever seen before. It is more probable than possible that they will be completely, entirely, utterly demolished.

The Tower Council summons Bob before them with the intent of persuading him to see the light, but by the time he arrives his zeal has overwhelmed his mind; he is beyond sanity, seeing only lies and daggers in the Towers' earnest truths. He flees the Towers in a rage. Quickly he assembles his own massive army in the darkest corners of the world and prepares to move against the Three Towers.

The Council, of course, has not been idle. They too have amassed their armies and readied for full-scale war. Khrennad trembles, balanced upon the razor-edge knife of civil war - an atrocity it has never before seen.

And as if that weren't enough, the skies open.

It has been prophecied since the beginning of recorded time - in Khrennad, at least - that when the world cries, one will come to save her from the very jaws of death. [He shall be of a world, but not this one.]

To Be Continued

Table of Contents

Sunday, February 06, 2005

Chapter One

Onaedo was best described as a sooty town. Everything, even the newest buildings, were weather-worn and darkened with age; half of the streetlights were dead, and the other half dying. At dusk the sidewalks were already hidden in black shadow. Men feared to pass their front porch; women and children locked the doors and stayed away from windows. Not a soul would mention the black figures that flitted down the street all night. It simply wasn't done.

The Masked Men expected no trouble that night. It was an easy run this evening, one simple robbery. Nothing elaborate. Force the door, or if that didn't work maybe break the window, and then take what they wanted. The fact that the target apartment was inhabited by a man who had just moved into the city only lulled their sense of security further. He wouldn't have had time yet to learn to keep everything he owned under lock and key; it would be easy pickings.

They were sorely mistaken.

Arlo Tarin was sitting quietly on his ancient couch, nose buried in a book, when he heard the scraping at the keyhole. He remained absolutely still for a moment, listening to the thieves work the lock, then marked his page and stood.

The door opened. Five men, not a one of them small, walked nonchalantly into the room and fanned out, confident, practiced. The lockpicker made the first move.

The fight lasted three minutes.

The following morning, citizens of a town seven miles downriver were greeted with the headline, "Five Men Found Dead on Riverbank."

The Masked Men left Tarin's apartment building alone for years to come.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

"So, who's the guy in the corner?"

"Mark? The cute one in the red shirt?"

"Actually, no, I meant the other corner. The guy that just walked in."

Iola followed the new waitress' pointing finger to a particularly shadowed booth tucked into a tight corner located equally distant from the counter and the door. It was inhabited by its usual occupant, the rough-faced man who had come in one afternoon seven years ago and returned every day since.

"He's here all the time," Iola said. "Always sits in the same place, orders the same thing. No one knows his name; in all the time he's been coming here, he's never really spoken to anyone."

The trim blonde raised an eyebrow. "Never?"

"Never. He's something of an enigma in town. No one knows what he does, where he came from, who he is, why he's here. He just...showed up, and apparently he decided he liked it. But he's our best customer, so we don't bother him about it. Just take him his drink and leave him alone. There are plenty of other guys to flirt with." Iola's eyes sparkled at the last.

The younger waitress let out a laugh. "I'd agree to that," she giggled.

Iola grinned. "By the way, I don't know that I asked your name yet."

"Oh!" the blonde said, surprised. She held out her hand. "I'm Elinor, but please, call me Ellie."

"Well, Ellie," Iola smiled, "welcome to your first day at Seventh Street Coffee."

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Character Development: Arlo Malory Tarin

Physical Description

Tarin is an average-sized man, not particularly tall but at the same time not exactly short. His body is lean and tough, but he hides it under loose-fitting pants and long-sleeved shirts. (This arrangement also serves to hide the myriad of small scars all across his body, as he does not like answering questions about them - the vast majority are from normal accidents, but there are a few with darker histories.) Also, he is rarely seen without a worn leather jacket. He is not particularly skinny, but at the same time he isn't exactly broad-shouldered. He keeps himself in excellent physical condition by spending a lot of time outdoors. He particularly enjoys climbing and hiking, but does not care for swimming. His hair is slightly long and cut so that it can fall over his eyes, and seems to shift from blonde to brown in certain lights. His face, though weather-beaten and somewhat rugged, it not particularly notable; he fades into crowds easily. His only truly striking features are his eyes. They are cool but piercing; their color does not change, but it is impossible to place. He generally refuses to meet peoples' gaze, because he cannot hide the depths of sorrow and agony that dwell in his own.

Attitude

Many say this could use a serious adjustment. Outwardly he is extremely surly and the words he does speak are generally little better than insults. He likes to watch society, but can't stand being a part of it. Those who truly know him, however, also know that he is actually very caring, and would do anything for anybody. He is overly secretive and avoids telling others about himself at all costs.

Miscellaneous

Tarin has a strong dislike for coffee - as a matter of fact, he can't stand the stuff. But his favorite hangout is a dark little coffeehouse a few blocks away from his apartment. (He orders hot tea instead.) The place actually looks rather more like a bar than a coffeehouse due to its dark wood paneling and insufficient lighting. No one is really sure where the man works; he holds very irregular hours, and no one has ever seen him "working." While he is not extravagant in his expenses, he does not spend like a miser; no one knows the source of his income. He lives alone in a small apartment. Though he is fairly good with technology, he dislikes computers almost as much as he does coffee. He has a cell phone, but generally leaves it in his truck, as no one ever has reason to call. His truck looks like it shouldn't turn on, much less actually run, but even though the outside is scratched and rusted the motor runs as smoothly as anyone could wish. Tarin does almost all of the maintenance himself. He hates the name "Arlo" almost as much as "Malory," so on the rare occasion that he gives out his name he prefers to go by "Tarin".

Friday, January 28, 2005

Something Else Entirely

I'm working on a completely new plot idea now, so expect the one below *points down* to disappear for a while. I really don't have any inspiration for it anyway. I will try to post more details and possibly the first chapter or two before the end of the weekend, if I have time.