Ten Years

So ten years ago, I was still actively serving in the US Navy.  Stationed in Atsugi, Japan, I had been out of the United States since leaving in very early 1999.  During the later half of 2001, I was planning to take some leave (military's word for vacation) back in the states.  Though I'd taken leave multiple times before since enlisting, this was to be my first return to the country itself.  I planned on visiting my friends, catching up on things, relaxing and then heading back to Japan.

The trip itself was problematic from the start; my card was declined and I had to convince Bnak of America that I was indeed the one who had tried to make such a purchase, and then as I headed for the airport a typhoon threatened to shut down all air travel.  It was fun, though, to walk through the streets to the airport through powerful winds and rain.  However, as I'm sure anyone reading this can guess, the true significance of this trip was yet to occur.

I boarded my plane without any real incident, and everything was on course to land in Seattle as scheduled.  The majority of the flight was completely without incident.  Then as we neared the end of the flight however, and in fact had already been informed by our pilot that we would not be landing in Seattle but would instead be rerouted to land in Canada.  His voice was casual, and his words were carefully chosen, but only an idiot wouldn't see that something was very wrong.  Flights, to my knowledge, do not get rerouted to other countries entirely, they just get rerouted to other nearby airports.  The only reason, I could see, that an incoming international flight would be rerouted out of the country entirely would be if all air traffic in the country had been completely shut down.

Being that air traffic in the entire country was apparently shut down, it was easy to deduce that something was extremely wrong.  Like on a national scale, kind of wrong.  Perhaps I jumped the gun, I can at least admit that, but at the time I realized that anything on a national scale for which they would shut down air traffic meant that all military personnel on leave were likely to be recalled.  Which meant, if I didn't want to get charged with dereliction of duty or worse, I needed to get in touch with someone who could tell me about whether or not I needed to return early.

Over the course of the next while, how long exactly I don't remember, I watched the landscape change considerably.  By the time the flight ended, we were in Yellowknife, Canada; a town so small that at one point during my stay I walked around the entire downtown area at a leisurely pace.  For the time being however, I knew that I was in an airport and might be able to find some form of communication to anyone else in the Navy.  Again, I may have jumped the gun, but to me it was quite obvious that this situation was likely to be rather urgent.  So with that in mind, I flagged down a passing stewardess.

"I'm in the US Navy," I said as calmly and quietly as I could, "and I think I might need to get in touch with them as soon as possible.  Do you know if I'll be able to do that?"  In hindsight, I understand that the poor woman had likely already been informed of what was happening in New York and why we had been rerouted.  She was likely, as were many people that day, extremely emotionally distressed.  I doubt she even really heard what I said.  With a brief few words she brushed me off, but mere moments later she returned and asked me to follow her.

At the front of the plane, just near the exit, waited a Canadian fireman.  The stewardess brought me to him, and I repeated my statement that I was in the US Navy and wanted to get in touch with someone in that branch.  He listened to me speak and yet, just like the stewardess, I don't think he heard a single word I said.  His response was to hold out a steadying hand and, with a concerned expression, inform me that I should calm down and return to my seat.  This set off at least fifteen warning bells in my head.  The stewardess and fireman were both clearly shaken to their cores and they were informing me, a person not prone to outbursts of any sort at that period of my life, to calm down.  I had specifically kept my voice quiet and calm to avoid exciting the other passengers on board the plane, yet they were informing me that I needed to calm down.  This, more than anything, confirmed to me that something was very wrong.

Once I returned to my seat (unescorted, if  I remember correctly; the stewardess remained up front with the fireman), I waited with the other people for them to let us off the plane.  As they did, it was unsurprisingly in groups since this little airport was never intended to support a plane the size of the one in which we arrived.  When my group of the plane was finally allowed to disembark, we filed out in lines to board a bus at the base of the plane's stairs, which took us on a very brief ride to the other side of the airport.  Our bus pulled up near a row of collapsible tables, where waited a row of customs officers.

Two local policemen boarded the bus, looked over the crowd, and asked that everyone please file one by one off the bus.  Then he pointed at me and said "sir, I'd like you to remain on the bus."  Everyone else left, filing past the two policemen who kept their eyes on me, and once I was the last person on the plane the two officers asked me to come with them.  Outside the bus, I found myself directed to a table set aside completely from those other tables to which the rest of the bus passengers were lining up.  My table, instead of a customs officer, was manned by two more police officers.

As I stood, flanked by two police behind me, the two police officers across the table went through each and every item in my carry-on luggage.  They flipped through my D&D books, one of the officers even mentioning to the other officer "note the name inside the cover."  Which means, to my continued amusement, that the name J.L. V'Tar exists somewhere in a police report in Yellowknife, Canada.  They rifled through my clothing, my bathroom items, absolutely everything I had with me.  I will give that they were very polite (they were Canadian, after all), but that didn't make me feel any less insulted.  Still, I do understand now, and I suspected then, that they were acting out of considerable fear.

Once I had been properly identified as Not A Terrorist (though I do understand that with my heavy black boots, black pants & long black shirt, coffin-ridden belt, strange ankh necklace, and long black trench coat I stood out among the other passengers), I was allowed to rejoin the others filing into the airport.  We were put on another bus, which brought us to a building that felt to me like a newly constructed, possibly even unfinished, hotel or conference building or something.  I still feel bad for the people working in that building, who had to deal with this massive influx of jet-lagged, confused, frightened passengers.  As I don't remember anything particularly significant about it, I can only assume those workers did a wonderful job.  I don't remember the room that I was given, which also indicates it was in no way problematic.

What I remember most vividly, of course, is the footage of the attack.  I first saw it at a local bar in Yellowknife, crowded and noisy as it was with locals as well as passengers from the plane, on a large television set against the back wall.  People crowded around the television, but they also clustered in little groups around the bar.  I don't remember much of the people or what they were saying--my disconnect and eventual implosion were beginning around that period of my life--but I do remember the general sensation of fear.

When I approached the bar, before I could even ask for a drink, the nice young man behind that bar plunked a very large drink in front of me.  "It's on the house," he said with a look of concern, and quickly moved on to one of his other considerable number of customers.  A tiny gesture, sure, but it's one of many similar gestures I remember around that period, as people simply felt bad and wanted to do something, anything, even if it didn't really seem to matter.  I thanked the lovely bartender, but then as per my usual I didn't interact with the people around me.  Instead I nursed my drink, and a couple others as the night wore on, just watching the footage on the television.  I have vague memories that the bar had internet access, and I believe I may have done something on the livejournal account that I kept back then.

I don't remember exactly how long I stayed in Yellowknife.  I believe it was at least two days, though it may have been three.  Again, as usual, I didn't interact with anyone during my stay there.  In hindsight this was likely one of the things that bothered those around me.  Ignorant and frustrating though I may find it, most human beings apparently find it strange that I don't want to interact with everyone around me at all times.  So they found it odd that, while they were running around in a near panic discussing, spreading, and exacerbating rumors or all different colors, I remained aloof from all of them.  I remained quiet, I caused no trouble, I simply read the copy of Alice in Wonderland that I had in my coat pocket.  Which again, given its incongruity, was likely something that aggravated the people around me.

Yet once the stay was over, I had my first genuine offense in the post-9/11 world.  As we all waited in the airport for the bus that would take us back to our plane, I was pulled aside by either a policeman or a security officer, I don't remember which.  What I do remember is where they took me.  Off to a little area out of view of the other passengers, I was met by a man wearing a pilot's uniform.  He identified himself by name, though I don't remember it, and informed me that he was the co-pilot of the plane on which I had arrived and would be leaving.  Though most of the conversation is lost to me, I clearly remember a few certain images.  He looked like a ridiculous 60's caricature by his uniform, his stance, and his glasses, as he informed me "I'm an officer in the Air Force reserve.  I've heard reports that you've been disruptive on our stay here."  Disruptive?  I read a book!

I informed this member of the reserve that I was a member of the active, and that I had been in no way disruptive.  He pretty much ignored me, except by acknowledging my status as active military to say "I'm giving you a direct order to behave for the remainder of our journey.  Is that understood?"  I was, and still am, exceedingly confused and aggravated by this.  Yet given the mood of people, and the circumstances, I didn't doubt for one single instant that this ridiculous man would make good his threat to leave me behind.  So I bit my tongue, I figuratively bowed my head, and I said "yes, sir."  I still had been given no opportunity to contact the Navy.

The rest of my brief leave is pretty much just a collage of short memories.  I think my cousin James picked me up and drove me to stay with my friend Kenneth.  I remember I stayed overnight in Ken and Nathan's apartment, and to no surprise I learned in the morning that I was being recalled.  There was a brief moment of stupidity perpetrated by Ken, Nathan and me that morning, but that's another story.  The next bit I remember is being at Christelle's place, where she graciously allowed me to stay until my plane back to Japan left in the morning.

I do, however, vividly remember one bit that happened that night.  There was a couple who lived above a couple floors above Christelle somewhere, I was never certain where.  At one point I remember I was outside, and one of those two young men was collapsed on the sidewalk outside the building, wracked with sobs from which no one could apparently calm him.  To my understanding not only were a number of his friends on one of the planes that hit the buildings in New York, not only were they on that plane specifically to come visit him, but he had paid for their tickets.  I remember that well.  I sometimes wonder what happened to him after that.

The next morning, my flight left the states, and I returned to Japan.  I learned many things during that strange little adventure.  Among them I learned how disconnected I had become from those around me.  I also learned that I simply do not fit with most people; by simply doing nothing, I can be accused of being disruptive.  Most importantly however, I learned just how ruled by fear people really are.

So yeah.  No point to this post, really.  I was planning on restarting my blog anyway, and here we are on the tenth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks.  Why not tell my part of the story?  So there it is.

Content - Janon Alvar

Download stats for Janon Alvar right here!

I'm not dead!  I'm just lazy!  As usual.

Although I didn't actually miss last week's update due to sheer laziness.  I honestly lost track of the days, given that I'm busy with simultaneously job- and apartment-hunting that involves 8-hour round trips between here and Seattle.  So yeah, I lost track of some time.

Either way, here I am with another Thursday update!  As noted above, you can now download stats for our brave paladin Janon Alvar.  As the star of the second chapter of Beginnings: Part I (which you can and should buy here or here), Janon is a hero of the bravest order.  Servant of the goddess Elissah, and representative of the place that champions of the gods serve in the world of Esaria.  Hope you like!

Download Janon here.

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Content - Desen

You should buy my book!  Either here or here, and you should also tell people about it.  G'head.  Do it.  You'll feel good about yourself, trust me.  It's science.

You should also, since you're here, download the stats for Desen!

So E3 is in high gear at the moment and I, as a dedicated gamer, cannot pay much attention to things that aren't E3.  However, despite the near-intravenous game feed that is currently sustaining me, I was nice enough to turn my head away from the images of Mass Effect 3, Skyrim, Uncharted 3, and The Old Republic to finish building the stats of Desen.  At least it was a good reason to cease my life-sustaining game input.  But still, I hope you appreciate my sacrifice.

Download Desen here!

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Content - Mechises

Have you read Beginnings: Part I yet?  Why the hell not?  You should!  Go buy it here or here, you won't regret it.  It's only $2, and you get three great stories!

Should you do so, you'll get to meet this lovely young lady.  Mechises, a dark gnome who very much lives up to the title.  Trained in the ancient, deadly, and highly misunderstood art of wizardry, Mechises is a force to be reckoned with on any field of battle.  Her spells can obliterate whole groups of enemies, send her victims screaming into the night, or debilitate them so they cannot escape her allies.  Though her heart is cold and her mind cruelly calculating, Mechises is a fascinating character.  As such, I provide for you here a collection of stats; three complete builds of this interesting mage for you to use at your game table.  Whether you're a player or a DM, playing 4th Edition or 3rd Edition, you'll find a version of Mechises' stats for you.

Download Mechises' stats here!

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Fiction - Master of Past

Note: This piece is set in the Dragonlance fantasy setting, which is not my own world.  I'm not sure who owns the copyrights these days, but it sure as shit isn't me.  The character Fistandantilus is quite thoroughly copyrighted, and I use him here in the hopes of not being sued.  This work is of particular value to me, as I have long wanted to write stories about Fistandantilus, just as much as I want to write stories about Palpatine.  I just felt like sitting down and writing out at least one scene.  Enjoy.

Dust and the corpses of insects drifted from the ceiling, as another shuddering thud rippled through the deep chamber of the ancient castle.  Another powerful spell had been cast, or perhaps the carcass of another dragon had thundered its way through the roof of a building.  It mattered little to the two mages, protected as they were by their spells.

The chamber was old and cluttered; the sheer amount of shelves, book cases, chests, work tables, and piles of ancient tomes made the room feel much smaller than its considerable size.  Here a work table filled with beakers and vials, standing next to a shelf filled with jars containing all manner of items that would horrify those not familiar with such things.  There a pile of ancient books, bound in black leather cracked with time, written so long ago even the preservative spells cast upon them had faded.  Near the back of the chamber stood a chest rarely opened, now pried wide to reveal its contents.

Terimon rifled through the ancient chest, quickly but carefully, his hands rapidly sorting through the nonessential contents of the chest for those few precious items he could take with him.  The young man’s bright blue eyes scanned each item briefly, and his sharp mind easily deduced whether an item could be brought along.  There would precious little space on their journey, and each item taken must be of the utmost value.  Fishing out the last of a handful of small items, Terimon stood and moved quickly along the chamber wall.

Across the chamber, Terimon’s companion did not move so quickly.  Supporting himself on his staff with one hand, Fistandantilus pulled several scrolls from a shelf with his free hand.  Ancient and withered, the old man’s body moved by will alone.  His eyes, once dark blue now faded and bloodshot, scanned each item on the shelf.  Though his mind was as quick as Terimon’s, and his encyclopedic knowledge staggering, the hands with which he gathered the important items were simply too slow.  Cursing to himself quietly, Fistandantilus tucked the scrolls away in his ebony robes and turned around.

For several long moments, he stood and watched Terimon.  Focused and determined, the young man did not notice that his master had stopped his own searching.  Another thundering vibration shook the chamber, and Fistandantilus was amused to see the young man vainly brush more dust and insects from his velvety black robes.  He was extremely vain, even now, as he had always been.  Gifted with handsome features in proportion equal to his magic, Terimon would likely be vain until the day he realized just how much time had taken from him.  Fistandantilus’ face twisted in a scowl of frustrated disgust.

To even think of a gifted mage such as Terimon losing his ability was anathema to him.  Silently he looked down at his own hand.  For long moments, it seemed, he stared at the swollen knuckles, the skin stretched thin like parchment.  Blue veins coursing their way along the back of his hand seemed to mock him.  Once his hands had been supple and dexterous; with them he had wielded the most powerful spells yet seen on the face of Krynn.  Now he could barely carry a spellbook without Terimon’s assistance.  He looked up at his apprentice again.

“That shelf contains only histories, leave them,” he commanded when he saw Terimon’s gaze.  The young man nodded silently and moved past the shelf he had been about to search, beginning to rifle through the items atop an old research table.  Fistandantilus continued to watch him.  He thought again about what time would do to the young man.  In his mind’s eye he saw his clear blue eyes faded and dull, his strong youthful body shrivel and give way.  He shuddered to think of the young man’s mind atrophying.  It was unacceptable.

Surely he would be saving him from such a fate, would he not?  He had been there when Terimon took his Test.  Fistandantilus himself had witnessed what Terimon thought was real, as his body withered and his ability faded.  The man’s pride and his vanity were seated firmly in his own superiority.  In both intellect and physicality Terimon was a marvel of the gods’ creation.  He had already been forced to witness the loss of these things in his Test.  Would it not be cruel to make him live through them in reality as well?

Fistandantilus scoffed at himself.  This was nothing more than rationalization, pure and simple.  He was not considering this course of action for any idealistic reason of saving Terimon from suffering.  This course of action was for Fistandantilus alone.  Again he looked down at his hand.  He could not carry a spellbook, and he would most certainly never survive the inevitable course that this war must take.  Gazing down at his hand, Fistandantilus’ eyes flicked to his chest, where he could feel the weight of the bloodstone pendant under his robes.  He could feel her laughter, as if it were audible in the room.

He looked up at the ceiling, the muscles of his jaw tightening in anger.  She mocked him, he could feel it.  Coward, she had called him.  She though him too weak to ever accept the gift she had given him.  This, he had come to suspect, was one reason Takhisis had given him the pendant in the first place.  She did not think he would ever have the will to use it.  In the back of Fistandantilus’ mind, he suspected that she might be correct.  He wondered if he had the strength of will to do this.  To kill was one thing, but this…

“Master?”  Terimon’s questioning voice broke Fistandantilus’ frustrated thoughts.  He looked back down at his apprentice, who stood waiting, his arms loaded with books and bags.  “Should we be leaving?”  The young man was eager to be gone, and with good reason.  Though their defenses were strong, the invading force above would likely come with mages of their own.  Working together, those mages would likely be able to strip this chamber’s protective spells and make entry.  Fistandantilus was too old to fight anymore, and Terimon too inexperienced.

“Bring everything to the ritual circle,” Fistandantilus said absently.  “Ensure the runes of the circle are intact, while I begin preparations for casting the spell.”

Terimon obeyed swiftly and silently, moving to the ritual circle so he could place the collected items in the center.  Almost without thought, Fistandantilus waved his hand and issued a mental command.  It was so swift, and so complete, that even the old mage was somehow caught by surprise.  By the time he even realized he had done anything, Terimon was already sprawled face first on the floor halfway to the ritual circle.  The items the young man had been carrying were strewn across the floor, including several shattered vials of wasted potions.

Though the spell had been pure magical force, doing no external damage, Terimon was effectively out of commission.  He gasped and groaned, struggling feebly to put his arms underneath him and stand up.  As if in a daze, his eyes only barely registering the sight he himself had caused, Fistandantilus cast a spell of holding on his apprentice.

* * * * * *
Terimon lay upon the stone cold slap in the far corner of the laboratory.  He could not move.  Fistandantilus’ magic was far too powerful, even if the young man hadn’t already been dazed by the surprise attack.  Breathing came more easily with each moment, and the thudding in his head was gradually receding, but the spell that bound him still might well have been made of the strongest steel.  Struggling to view his surroundings, he saw his master standing at the foot of the table.

“What are you doing?” he asked weakly.

Fistandantilus stared without reply for some time.  Many emotions roiled beneath the placid surface of his face, and Terimon only caught the barest hint of them because he had spent so many years learning from the man.  He saw anger in the set of his master’s jaw, frustration in the white-knuckled grip of the man’s gnarled hand on his staff, and he couldn’t tell whether the old man’s trembling was due to fear or excitement.  Yet it was his master’s eyes which began to frighten him the most.  All the emotion he could see, though barely visible, was completely gone from Fistandantilus’ old eyes.  The stare was vacant, absent, unfocused and unaware.

“Master…” Terimon said, struggling to speak loudly within the confines of the holding spell.  Slowly, Fistandantilus’ eyes focused on what he was looking at.  The old man took a deep breath as if to steady himself.

“Your curse, my apprentice, has always been your considerable superiority to those around you,” Fistandantilus began.  At Terimon’s confused look, the old man only gave the barest hint of a shrug.  “I chose you simply because you were the best.  None of the students in your classes ever mastered the speed or ease with which you learned.  In your Test they sought to teach you humility through the knowledge that you would inevitably lose your edge, yet you failed to learn that lesson.  In your arrogance you only continued to excel.

“You might be interested to know, the council tried to stop me from taking you as my apprentice.  I had only recently taken the black robes as you know, and they are as terrified of my new course in life as they are of your potential.  They fought quite hard to keep us from joining forces...” something about that statement caught in Fistandantilus’ throat, and he trailed off again.  His eyes started to go distant.

“Master please,” Terimon began, “I don’t know what this is about, but we can—”

“There is nothing to do but what must be done!” Fistandantilus snapped.  His eyes focused on the young mage’s face, and in them Terimon saw a determination that frightened him to the core of his being.

“Please,” the young man whispered.  He had no idea what was about to happen, but he didn’t have to guess very hard.  His stomach turned in fear as Fistandantilus walked slowly to the side of the table, and his entire body began to tremble as he went cold with sheer terror.  This had to be a nightmare, a test, a hallucination; it had to be anything at all besides cold, hard, terrible reality.

Fistandantilus rested a hand on the young man’s chest, and Terimon jumped within the holding spell.  His breath came in short, terrified gasps as he struggled for all he was worth to absolutely no avail.  Never had he been close to Fistandantilus, but there had always been respect, a brotherhood in the art, a kind of friendship shared between like minds.  This wasn’t possible.  It couldn’t be happening!  His eyes, wild and terrified, caught his master’s distant gaze, and the old man regained some focus.

“I tried to find another way, Terimon,” he said quietly.  Fistandantilus spoke calmly, his face unblemished by emotion now, as if he was giving his apprentice a lecture on the specific pronunciation of a new spell.   “I searched for years.  I scoured the oldest libraries, sought council with the most accomplished among our order, and even among those who refuse the laws of high sorcery.  Yet Gilean, in his wisdom, saw fit to keep from me that which I most desperately sought.”  The old man raised one of his hands between them, and they both looked at the gnarled, withered thing that had once wielded such power.

“So I went to the Queen of Darkness.  I offered her my eternal service, and she granted me at least a chance at what I want most in this universe; the one thing for which I ever began the study of magic in the first place; immortality.”  He barely whispered the last word, as if afraid that speaking it too loudly would destroy everything.  Terimon felt a cold shudder run down his spine, and felt like he was going to throw up from the sheer terror that gripped him.

“Master please, I—”

“She gave me this,” Fistandantilus did not seem to hear his apprentice’s plea.  Still speaking in the cold, detached manner he reached to his neck and drew forth a heavy chain bearing an odd pendant.  A single, oval bloodstone set in silver, twirling on the end of the chain, dangled from the grip of the arch mage.  “I have struggled with my desires ever since then.  It is a hunger that builds in me daily, fueled by my knowledge that with the use of this pendant I will achieve exactly what I want.

“But the knowledge of the cost of this desire stays my hand.  I would never have allowed myself to grow so old, were it not for the terrible cost.  You see I have no weakness of morality to stop me from killing.  What stops me is not murder, it is…obliteration.”  His gaze shifted from the slowly twirling pendant to Terimon and back again.  It seemed Fistandantilus was trying to see right into the center of the cold stone of the pendant, as if he sought answers within.

“Your potential is far too great for your own good, my apprentice.  I have no will to take on the life of anyone other than the greatest among our order, and it is only those individuals for whom I might ever develop a modicum of respect.  So it is that I must seek out those who would be most like me, and I must destroy them utterly.”  His gaze went back to Terimon’s face.

“My Test was like your own.”  Terimon’s brow furrowed in surprised confusion, and Fistandantilus almost chuckled.  “Yes, no one ever told you that.  Like you, the only thing I fear and loathe more than the idea of my own death is the withering of my body and the fading of my power.  I am the greatest mage living in the world.  Had you not met me, you might have grown to become the greatest mage in the world.”

The old man cocked his head, and a strange expression crossed his features.

“Then again, perhaps that is part of our destiny.  It is logical that the greatest wielders of magic in the world would inevitably seek each other out, even if only to seek the friendship of an equal.  Yet those of our ambition can never coexist; we are each a threat to each other.  At some point in the future I will come across another truly great mage, one who will be so like me that we must inevitably clash to determine the victor.  Just as now, I must destroy you lest you grow powerful enough to destroy me…and in destroying you I fulfill my great wish.”

His gaze focused now, and emotion returned to his features with such horrifying speed that Terimon wished he could sink into the stone of table.  He saw in his master’s eyes such fire and passion that it might burn the world.

“Now it comes to it!  Let it be done!”  With a furious cry, Fistandantilus slammed the bloodstone pendant down onto Terimon’s chest.  Almost immediately he began to chant the words of a spell, and Terimon could feel the magic course through his body.  The young man begged and pleaded, the words flowing from him with desperate speed as he tried to reason, to bargain, anything to save his own life.  Only moments later his words were lost and his thoughts were shattered as he was wracked by unimaginable pain.

Terimon’s body convulsed, his screams echoing through the laboratory.  With one final, lurching cry the man’s body went rigid, his screams ended in a gurgle, and finally he went limp.  Fistandantilus collapsed in a heap next to the table.

* * * * * *
Consciousness was slow to return to Fistandantilus.  He felt time and memory slip away, even as he grew to understand them further.  Thoughts of a distant land he had never seen, of sand and bright sun, vanished in the darkness.  Memories that were not his own slipped past in the rush of blood and life and power.  He saw each memory in its entirety, lived it, felt it, and then watched it slip away and disintegrate.  He felt the very core of Terimon’s soul erode, and fade, and vanish.

Opening his eyes, he first saw a hand; young, strong, with cinnamon skin and long supple fingers.  It was Terimon’s hand.  Fistandantilus made a fist and the hand he saw balled into a tight fist.  He felt his heart thudding in his chest, strong and healthy.  In a daze he flexed the fingers of his hand, watching as Terimon’s hand did the same.  Fistandantilus looked up, and he saw the desiccated husk that had been his apprentice; now barely recognizable as human.

He screamed.  He laughed, and screamed, and wept in a single, long expulsion of such joy and horror that he had never conceived, until there was no air in his body and he had nothing left to give.  For long moments he remained there, kneeling next to the stone slab on which rested the remains of the only person he might have called friend.  He laughed fiercely in exultant joy, even as he sobbed bitterly in revulsion.  The conflict of emotions felt like it would surely tear him apart.

From within, and above, he felt the weight of his goddess.  Takhisis reveled of his inner turmoil, even as she mocked his weakness for taking so long to use the pendant at all.  Fistandantilus paid her no heed.  She had given him what he wanted.  Now that most difficult of tasks, the first of many horrid steps, was complete.  In his mind, even as he brought his emotions slowly, very slowly under control, he saw the final step of his greatest goal.  He saw the end.  He saw his power.

Now, only time stood in his way.

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Content - Timeline and Glossary

Download the timeline here, and the glossary here!

In the course of developing the Divine Lands campaign setting, I have developed a rather significant timeline.  At one point, I also began the development of a glossary of nearly everything that exists in the setting.  Recently, both because I think it would be neat and because people have been interested in running game sessions in my setting, I thought I should provide these files to you, my adoring public.  However I cannot, due to particular secrets of the setting, just flat-out give you my full timeline and glossary.  That would just spoil a lot of the surprises.  As such, I am developing versions friendly for Everyone Who Is Not Me (you poor, poor souls).

The Age of Reawakening timeline is finished, and the Pre-Destruction timeline is under works.  The Age of Reawakening glossary is not yet finished, but I'm including it here today anyway because these are intended to be living documents regardless.  So...I might as well include its unfinished version, because why not.

Feel free to check back here regularly, because these documents (particularly the glossary) will be updated now and again.

You may have noticed there is now a list of tags to the side of my blog.  These exist because I felt it would be handy for people to negotiate my blog that way.  It's not all the labels I use, but they're the ones I feel would be most frequently checked.

Right below that, you'll also find direct links to both the timeline and the glossary.  These will always reflect the most current versions of each document.  Hope you enjoy!

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Content - Beginnings: Part I

I'm published!

The book is three short stories, costs $2.00, and I get a percentage of each book sold.

Two options for you:

• Buy it here on Kindle: Linkies for America, UK, and Deutschland!  Digital copy only, full functional and lovely on the Kindle reader or the Kindle for PC ap (follow this link, if you want the ap).
• The advantage of buying my book on the Kindle is, obviously, that you can read it on the Kindle.  Which means you can read it anywhere, easily, just like a regular book.  It's...kinda why the Kindle was invented, really.
• The disadvantage of buying my book on Kindle is that I can't discount the price.  You end up paying the full $2.00.  I have no say over that, sorry.

• Buy it here on Lulu: Linkie!  Digital copy only, PDF only.
• The advantage of buying my book on Lulu is that I can set discounts.  This discount will fluctuate, as I have periodic "sales" of a sort.  These periods of lower price will usually coincide with the release of new work, special events, or combinations.
• The disadvantage of buying my book on Lulu is that you can't read it on a Kindle.  You get a PDF version which looks very lovely I think, but the Kindle doesn't know what to do with PDF files.  So there's that.  If you don't mind reading on a computer...yeah.

There is one very, very important thing you have to do for me, however.  Whether or not you buy a copy is up to you but please tell other people about my work.  Tell everyone you know, and have them tell everyone you know.  That's the single most important aspect, and the single greatest favor you can ever do for me.  Seriously.  Tell everyone.  I will bear your children.

Also, if you're thinking to do me a favor by buying on the Kindle specifically because it's more money and you think I'll get more...don't.  If that's your intent, I genuinely appreciate the thought, I really do.  However, Lulu's numbers work better in my favor (at least for the low price range of this book).  At present, given the discount I've set on Lulu, Kindle is indeed better for me monetarily.  However as the Lulu discount goes away, each book sold there will net me more monies than each book sold for the Kindle.

Either way, I don't care really.  Just trying to say that you should buy whichever one suits you best, and don't worry about what you think would make me more money.  You're probably wrong.

Tell everyone about my book.  Do it.

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Like my words?  Please support my facebook page and follow me on Twitter!

More importantly?  Tell other people about my work!