Learning from February

I am still thinking over the February work done, and I've determined the following items

1.) I need to get an outline working.
2.) I know I want the novella (or novel) to be a series of short stories stretched together
3.) I know I want the stories to have a Robert E. Howard feel of adventure.
4.) Also, I know I want to start the first story at Part 6 of the story, rather than Part 1


More news soon.

Notes for February - summary of my progress

Here's a summary of my progress for February


February 6th - setting a really wimpy goal is 100 words of month is pure genius. I really don't write only a 100 words ever, but because I surpass my goal every day I feel really good about the momentum! I should think about doing something similar with my exercise goals...

February 7th - Request for more details on the main characters - who are they? what do they look like? What's the nature of the relationship? Probably need to get into that immediately in the next part published.

February 8th - good god, there are so many typos and tense-issues! I keep screwing that up. Maybe I *shouldn't* update daily. I'm looking like a fool....

February 9th - I received a complaint about too many proper nouns thrown out there (City of Arl, Ragusian steel, Chet-qan Empire, etc.)  I probably need to set aside a weekend and hammer out the full history and the names, places, races, towns, etc. so that I don't mix up the nature.

February 12 - I missed two days so far. Not too bad.

Feb 15th - got some interesting feedback about the world. Basically, one of my friends said I shouldn't try to re-gloss old history but build my own. Interesting point. May need to re-factor the setting.

Feb 16th - I got to stop with the typos.

Feb 17th - There is a holocaust-event in the middle of the story, and I'm trying to figure out the psychological implications as they go. I think i'll need to research some more.

Feb 20th - the holocaust needs to be different. Perhaps instead of mass death it's mass-rape and sterilization. Julie doesn't like the idea whatsoever.

Feb 28th - I am one third through this current story. I think it'll probably be a good long one. Julie promises/threatens to edit my work out of sheer embarrassment.

Total word-count of the month - 3014 words.
Goal -  2800 words.
Missed days: I missed 3 days of writing

The Heretic's Journey pt.6

Espectro pressed his head against the cell bars. After surrendering to the pathetic guards of the city, he and Father Halo were marched to the city's prison, stripped of their weapons and property, and left in a dank cell. The humiliation of the capture was powerful. Espectro shut his eyes, trying to use his breathing techniques to calm down his anger.

Espectro opened his and looked at his companion. Father Halo was slumped in the corner of the room, his heard drooped and breathing heavy. The exertion of the battle, and the long  ride, tired out his friend more than Espectro expected. He felt a knotted emotion for the man - pity, mixed with regret for bringing along to this trip, and anger. This was supposed to be an ally and a friend. He surrendered so quickly, so suddenly, when faced with odds that years ago would have made him laugh. His sullen attitude to the adventure, to the promise of glory, it was surprising. What happened to the fiery priest that fought with sword and word?

Espectro looked at the fellow inmates. Thieves, beggars, and drunks mostly - the same riff-raft in any city. He heard a few passing insults to one bored inmate to the next. Oddly enough, there seemed to be some sort of energy in the room; a tension that is uncommon for low-level thugs.

"They're scared", Espectro thought. But why would dregs be frighten in a city like this? Surely they'll be let go after their friends and family post the nominal bribe to the right guard or judge.

Just as the thought passed his mind, several guards came in full livery. Immediately the tension in the room heightened and all conversations ceased. Eyes lulling to sleep immediately opened upon the arrival of the city's men. One guard opened the cell, and two rushed in, whisking past Espectro and a few other inmates. The two guards grabbed a nearby drunk, who started blabbering prayers until one of the guards clubbed him into silence. No one moved to helped the drunk and the two guards dragged him away.

"Why are you taking him? What is his crime?" shouted Espectro. The guards, long used to their activities, merely grunted and shuffled the man along. A hand fell on Espectro's shoulders. Espectro whirled around, readying a choke maneuver. His fingers brushed the neck of the stranger who laid hands on him, trembling from stayed strength to command indomitable sleep forever on its foe. The stranger gulped from fear. Clearly, as an innocent, he had no idea he touched an acolyte of the New Gods.

"Sir, er, he is summoned by the will of the great Duke of Arl. The Pretender-Prince, you see."

Espectro relaxed his stance.

"I thought the Duke already took his throne. What is this Pretender-Prince nonsense?"

The bedraggled man panted, and looked away from Espectro's gaze. Esparto noticed burn marks on the man's cheeks, and his nose slit. Defacement of officials was a deep mark of shame in these lands, and clearly this man was once important. No longer, though.

"The Duke of Arl is in charge, but not the original duke, you see. Duke Casper IV was captured and tortured. This Duke - Prince Johan - claims to be the same lineage from the Kings of the old Kingdom of Arl. He's resurrected the Kingdom's banners and has the support of most of the city and surrounding lands. The Senate of course, opposed this claim, commanded the garrison to resist, and we did. Oh, we did. But in less than a week the city was betrayed by loyalists within our ranks, and now the city is left to this madman and his whims. He intends to raise the armies, the navies, and seize back all the ancestral lands."

Espectro nodded, and glanced at Father Halo. The old cleric appeared to be sleeping, but Espectro could tell it was just a ruse and he was grasping every words. How much of the addled visionary was a mere act, Espectro wondered.

Espectro fixed his eyes on the bedraggled man.

"Well, Duke Casper IV, are you willing to take back your city?"

The bedraggled man sighed, "how did you know it was me?"

"You nose is slit, your cheeks burned with iron. Who else could you be?"

The duke looked up at Espectro.

"If I should die, let it not be in this cage. I will die fighting for my land," spoke the Duke.

The Heretic's Journey pt.5

Espectro and Father Halo rode for several days. Conversation was focused on speculation of war, traffic on the road, and crop estimates. The two were wrapped up in working a case like decades ago that catching up seemed pointless. They are as they always were - friends. Compatriots. Partners. What matter was it that neither talked to the other for over a decade? Of Espectro's mysterious past or Father Halo's religious epiphany?  All that faded from the friendship that felt like it started right where it left off as if only a day past. At the end of the summer they arrived at Lespos, when they encountered their first troubles on the trip.

The city's skyline shone. A band of horsemen  road out to meet them. Their banners indicated Lespos municipality; soldiers sworn to protect the region.

As they approached, Espectro's horse reared. Father Halo pulled his horse alongside Espectro. The warrior saw something the priest did not, but both men's instincts were tingling with danger.

"Tell me, Father, have you kept up your exercises with the staff or the sword?"

Father Halo grunted. "I'm as good as I ever was."

Espectro unbuckled a sword from the saddle and passed it along to Father Halo. He took the sword with ease. The worn leather pommel felt good in the priest's hand. Though it's been years since he fought in any danger, Father Halo kept his training, if only for the exercise it gave him every morning.

Espectro pulled put another sword and rested it along the collar of his horse. He leaned forward, peering at the horsemen. They were much closer now - five in all. Two had crossbows drawn laxly at their sides. The leader, a broad shouldered lad dressed in red and black, road in front of his men several yards and stopped.

"Hail and welcome, travelers. I kindly ask that you two allow my men to search your provisions. Please dismount and step aside from your steads," ordered the leader.

Espectro leaned forward in his saddle.

"By who's authority do we forego our mounts? We have travel sanctions in this realm by the Duke of Arl. Feel free to see my papers." Espectro produced a scroll with a deep-set wax seal from within his robes.

The leader grunted. "Good to know the Duke still cares for his people, and that he has time to scribe notes for his friends. Leave your mounts. Now."

Espectro cast a glance to Father Halo. The priest looked relaxed in his perch on the stead, but a trained eye could see that he was gripping the sword nervously.

"And to what purpose do you detain me and my friend? Are you searching for something specific? Perhaps we can aid you in your investigations."

"Enough stalling! Men, move forward," the leader ordered.

Two of the men moved to encircle the two travelers while the two with crossbows hung back, providing cover. Espectro's horse reared as one of the men grabbed at his reins with his free hand. Espectro slashed at the man's hand swiftly. The blood flew, and the man pulled back a mangled hand, missing several fingers.

The crossbowmen did not hesitate. Two bolts flew swiftly at the warrior, one hitting his shoulder, the impact spun him off his mount. The horse buckled and slammed its hooves on the ground.

Father Halo's sword was out in a flash. He slashed at his adversary, a swarthy recruit a bit green for this line of business. Father Halo maneuvered his horse in front of his fallen comrade and pushed back his foes with jerky lunges with his weapon.

"This does not have to be painful, honored priest," bellowed the horsemen's leader.  Sword crossed against sword as Father Halo deflected the slashes of the two attackers.

"I'm under no illusions on the fate of my soul or yours," gasped Father Halo. In desperate maneuver, he feinted at one swordsman and knicked the horse's neck on the downswing. The horse veered and bucked out of range, knocking the horseman off his saddle. He fell with a resounding thud to the ground. Only one of the horsemen remained in melee with him.

The two crossbowmen reloaded their weapons and aimed at Father Halo. Father Halo cursed - his reflexes were too slow, and his instincts kicking too late. He should have taken off, along with Espectro, the moment trouble was on the horizon. Now it was too late. Espectro, downed by a bolt, and himself surrounded.

The leader looked on, peeved at the reticence of his trespassers.

"I don't intend to kill you both. If you would just allow us to levy the appropriate taxes, which is by right all your belongings we deem due to pay for your passage, we can all move along correctly. This is the law of the land, sires. It is right, just, and exceedingly due."

Father Halo spat and tossed his sword to the ground. Slowly he put his hands up. Espectro rallied to his feet, but seeing the odds and his friend's immediate capitulation, followed suit.

Espectro muttered, "It's a fine way to start an adventure, eh friend?"

Father Halo looked straight ahead, "I wasn't seeking an adventure when you came for me. I was seeking a cell."

Espectro grinned, "Well, it looks like one of us is going to get what they want."

The soldiers encircled the men, and bound them both.

The Heretic ' s Journey pt. 4

The ride out of the city was a slow process. Gathering provisions for a years' long trip is no easy matter,  but Father Halo took immediately to his quartermaster duties. He haggled for  several strong lowland mares, a sturdy packmule, multiple redundancies of tents, canteens, lamps, dry provisions, fortified wine, medical supplies and all the other necessary equipment for the journey. Espectro ' s funds seemed limitless - no doubt there is a story on how the warrior earned the coin. Father Halo's list was exhaustive and the experience of planning campaigns came back to him easily. He was in his element when he was the human hand to the divine mission.

And this clearly was his divine mission. He thought long on his psalms and counted the literature he needed to scribe down. All day he dedicated to securing supplies and in the evening he wrote pages upon pages of revelation.

One such night, after a very powerful epitome, Father Halo put down the quill and rubbed his aching hands. He looked at the vellum scroll and sighed. Looking up he stared off to his compatriot Espectro.  The warrior looked good for his age. His bald pate was smooth and only his eyes held a few wrinkles. He took to wearing the long dark robes, fashionable among the Cheq people, but the effect gave him a commanding presence.

"So how are you, friend?"

The Heretic's Journey pt. 3

Espectro stopped in his paces and looked at Father Halo. The man was gaunt, feverish, probably malnourished in his time of confinement. Long ago were the days of the barrel-chested fire-breathing cleric that would preach the Orthodoxy of the New Gods.  This did not sit well with Espectro.

“Father, I need to know if you’re able to travel a long journey.”

“Eh? How long is long? I can probably make to Pemberton and back by saddle. If you’re asking me to skip down to western mountains as fast as you’re prancing, I’ll probably wear out. Yeah, I’ll wear out. Why?”

Espectro sighed. “I’m afraid our journey is going to be a long one. We’re looking to head to the city of Hannon.  Now come, let’s hurry up. We need to get to the stables before word gets out to the local bishop that we’ve sprung their fugitive priest.”

With that Espectro proceeded his brisk pace to the center of town, with Father Halo scrambling to keep up.

“I’m coming, by the New Gods, I’m coming!”

They quickly passed the marketplace of the town. The stalls were filling up slowly, but it was clear the marketplace had seen better days. Gone were the rare spices from the east and the valued silks of Cheq-tan. Now there were only the artists hawking local staples – pewtersmiths, glass-blowers, local cheese mongers and millers of rough cloth. At special prices one could see a rarity of  the Age – an ivory set of knightsgame from Arl,  astrolabes from Isaria, or  even Ragusan steel. Few buyers nowadays flocked to fewer rarities, and so the treasures became less and less  seen on the streets of the city.  Espectro moved through the crowds like an eel in water, and Father Halo had nearly lost him several times.

Finally, at the edges of the marketplace, Father caught up with Espectro. "

Hannon? Well, it’s not only across the continent, it’s under water! Drowned years ago from a powerful tsunami. What’s the use?”

“ I have it on good authority it not only is intact, but its residents are in need of help.”

Father Halo chuckled. “I’m sure they are. They’ll need gills and plenty of towels and a new place to dry out. Look, Espectro, I appreciate you releasing me from my prison, but my imprisonment was just. I deserved to be locked away as a heretic. I am working on something important, something celestially brilliant, and I need to keep at it. Prison’s not a bad place for a old priest to wile away on his theocracy.”

“And I will gladly let you rot there when we’re done!” snapped Espectro.

Father Halo opened his mouth to say something, but then stopped. Was it ever useful to argue with Espectro? He sighed and looked around the city skyline. Banners of ships from the Ragusa, Imperial Chet, and the Duchy of Arl hung limply in the distant city harbor.

“It is said that it took Father Capathius  five years to travel from Arl to the city of Hannon, and that was when the Imperial Cheq-tan Empire was at peace from internal strife and the Spice Roads lined with their outposts. Nowadays, travel between the Ragusa and Arl can take the better half of a season.  The only way to get to your drowned city within our lifetime is to avoid the roads and take to the seas. We’ll need a ship.”

Espectro shook his head. “I’m afraid we need to collect one more comrade before we commence. Fortunately he is on the way. Unfortunately, he is deep within the continent, so sea travel will have to be done after we get him.”

Father Halo furrowed his bushy eyebrows. “ We’ll need native guides, guards, translators, a cook, quartermaster, at least a dozen or so slaves to handle the animals and prepare the way….” Father Halo petered out his list as he saw Espectro look at him silently. 

“Just us, eh? Oh, well that simplifies plenty then! And here I was worried this was going to be a long journey.”

“Just five years to get there, according to your Father Carpathius, "replied Espectro.

“Hardly! We’ll be dead long before we enter the western mountains by next winter!” Father Halo laughed.

The Heretic's Journey pt. 2

The release of the heretic priest was a nuisance for Espectro. The local patrician's requested a bond surity against his friend's fleeing the country, constable needed a bribe, and the guards needed dark words. The corruption of civilization battered Espectro's soul. He loved and feared for his countrymen, but centuries of inland peace made them lazy.

As Espectro and Father Halo walked past the two guards posted at the edge of the jail,  he saw that one was dozing while the other waved them past, his eyes locked on his dice bones rolling in his hands.

"Our forefathers would weep for the world their children despoil at whim," whispered Espectro. 

Father Halo squinted. The brightness outside his cage was more than he could adjust to so quickly.

"No use weeping for the dead. Dead is dead, and no use to anyone anymore," intoned Father Halo.

"What was that script on your cell wall? I've seen the alphabet before. Perhaps somewhere in the East..." Espectro ' s stepped quickly through the muddy city streets. He didn't spare a glance at as compatriot, who was gamely trying to match his pace.

Father Halo panted "It'll be the new, ah!, chronicles for the, heh, next age. If we live so long and the god-Empress slumbers!"

The Heretic's Journey pt. 1

Father Halo etched  into the marred walls of his prison cell. In his hands he held a piece of flint, worn dull from his years of usage. He dusted off his hands and stood back to admired his work. On the wall before him was another cantos of psalms, his crab-handwriting etched the letters of an ancient script from the times of the Anointed Age; when gods, angels and beasts communed on the same planes. 

Father Halo smiled as he breathed in the chalky air. As he traced the psalms with the tips of his bruised fingertips, he whispered the cantos, carefully annunciating each syllable in the foreign language of the script. He could feel the air vibrate with power. This was the creation of a new religion, born without prophets, unfettered by rites and rituals, unburdened from scholastic interpretation, and unsullied by schisms. This was a new message, without the wrinkles that age would bring it to eventually. He loved it as his own child. 

The bars of his cell creaked open. Father Halo tore his eyes from holy passages and looked to the origins of the sound. There in the doorway of his cell stood a tall man, wrapped dark robes.

"It is time we left, Father." 

The voice was like rusted iron. Father Halo peered at the man. 

"Espectro? Well, if you're here, I suppose it is time indeed."  Father Halo dropped the piece of flint and walked dully towards the doorway.

Espectro nodded and folded his arms within his cloak. Father Halo looked at him for a brief moment. He knew that the crimes committed by him condemned him to permanent isolation by the Church.  After all, he was too sacred and his blood too holy to be spilt. The Church of the Anointed Ezr would hate to set precedent that any of their order, no matter how wayward, could be treated with the same base contempt as ordinary humans.

Yet when he looked into Espectro's eyes, he didn't wonder how his old friend found him, or why he was allowed to leave his isolation. He knew that their journey, the one foretold to him years ago, twould transition this age into the New Age. And he was the Vessel. He was the Prophet. 

The Beginning, the End

Throughout the continent of Cicrynthia, petty dukes and barbarian clans squabble over the bones of ancient kingdoms while brigands plague the cities along valuable Spice Roads. Ancient citadels, holy monasteries, and revered ports - once glorious in the face of the New Gods - molder from richly sloth and worldly decadence. Meanwhile the god-empress of the Cheq-tan Empire stirs in her millennial slumber as her general-poets ride to her, to raise the banners of conquest for when she awakens.

In the far east, there is a legend spreading among the peoples of a powerful evil stirring. A kraken, foretold in the Age of Legends, that is destined to swallow the world.

Father Halo, a priest of Yed, is commanded to travel to find the lost city of Hannon in the far east. His compatriots - Jack Spearhand and Espectro - travel with him. They are cursed to bear witness of their people's demise from a god they do not know.

The Age of Man is passing, and its death will not go well.