Slacker

Yep, I'm a slacker. I didn't post anything this Wednesday. I might as well hang up the towel after that.

Anyway, here's (unedited) chapter 3 of Lifebringer, because in all honesty I have nothing new to say about anything this week.

Hell, it's not even a long chapter. I'm the worst content creator this side of Treyarch.

Slacker indeed.

Chapter 3

Admissions

     This corridor was much like the first, only shorter and festooned with twice as many banners. In a way, it was like a concentrated version of the other one. It wasn't what Wrin had expected, but then when he thought about it he wasn't sure quite what he had expected.

     The corridor ended in an archway like every other in the Cathedral, but the room beyond was nothing like the rest of the building. It was still wrought from stone, but it was simple, utilitarian. There were no banners, no frescoes, no stained glass. The only decoration was a single brazier burning in the centre of the room. At the far end of the room was a table with three men sat behind it. A fourth, the one who had fetched Wrin from the chapel, joined them now. The room was very different indeed, but it matched exactly the floor plans Wrin had studied.

     "Wrinlett Leeve. Who is your father?" said the leftmost Clergyman.

     "His name was Tijun." Wrin replied, voice clear but quiet. He didn't exactly want the Priests to pity him, but the less they thought of him the easier he would slip about unnoticed.

     "Mother?" he continued.

     "Gloria." said Wrin.

     "Were either Blessed? asked the man.

     "No."

     That seemed to be all his questions. He scribbled in a ledger that sat in front of him, then turned to the man beside him.

     If Wrin thought he was nervous before, he'd been dead wrong. All at once a wave of nausea washed over him. Here he was, after all these years, standing in the interview room for admissions. He'd made all his plans, and everything should be perfect, but there was always that shadow of doubt. For a split second, that shadow consumed him, made him dizzy and blurred his vision.

     But he didn't show it. Oh no, Wrinlett Leeve was too good at what he did to slip up like that. It would work, everything had always worked, because Wrin was hard working and smart. That put him ahead of most, and his easy charm put him ahead of the rest. He could handle admissions. He'd made the plan, it would work.

     "Wrinlett." said the second man along the table. His head was balding, and what hair was left had long since gone white, but there was a youthful wiliness about him.

     Wrinlett kept his attention on the man, as he had from the moment the first man stopped.

     "As you should know, this is not a place for those chasing fanciful notions of wielding secret magics. Here you might learn to heal the sick and wounded, should you work at it. This is more a school of medicine than a school of the arcane. That said, in learning here you will be taught the ways of the Hymns, which you will use in the service of the Priesthood to heal, and not for personal gain."

     Wrin started to sweat, but not on his face. He never seemed to sweat where others could see. A useful trait, as one could imagine. The plan should have been in action long ago, though. Where was his interruption?

     "Wrin, I will now have you recite the words, given to you by the Protector himself, and you will sing his First Hymn."

     This was it, the crux of the con. Here planning blended with luck and lies, and in a few seconds he would be running on fumes. But he had timed it, it should happen any minute now...

     Wrin opened his mouth. He spoke the first word, a word he had no business knowing. A word he had stolen from an unwilling tongue.

     Then it happened. A crash, a cry, an almighty boom. The four men at the table stood up in alarm. One spared him a momentary glance, but said nothing as they all ran from the room. Their bodies spoke of urgency and practiced calm, of a rise to the call of duty.

     And Wrin was alone.

     It had worked.

Don't Think That I Forgot

About Dre

Or the sequel to Maiden Voyage. Here's the first chapter of Beyond the Horizon, for those who are interested. I likely have some news coming out soon about Maiden Voyage, so keep your eyes peeled.

Weird saying...

Here's Chapter 1 of Book 2 in The New Age of Steam series. Enjoy it less than I did but more than my parents did.

Also happy mother's day, if you're into that sort of thing (mothers).

Chapter 1

Edge

                Spring barely made its way this far up the mountains. Were it not for the sparse spring blooms among the still snow-coated rocks one could mistake it for a slightly warmer winter. Only the gardens of the Yao Monastery were filled with the luscious, vibrant colours of the world below, and it was Jeong-Long's duty to tend to them this morning. The thin air did not sting the young monk's strong lungs as it once had and now, in his 7th year at the monastery, he had come to appreciate even the winters. It was with the slightest sadness that he saw this year's one off. As he scattered the first seeds of the season into the wind in the hope that they would find purchase and create life on the harsh slopes, he felt as though he were waving off and old friend and greeting another in the same sweeping motion.

                The Yao Monastery lay up in the Jiexian Mountains. It was the final building that marked the border where the Sinian States met whatever lay in old Europe. The monks here lived to honour that boundary between regions, and so they were all the smartest, strongest and wisest of their religion. Tradition was acknowledged here, but not followed. They were mavericks that understood their faith and its practices were not static things. The world changed and moved, sometimes slowly and sometimes all at once, and their faith had to change and move with it. Here, at the top of the world, one could see such things with absolute clarity.

                Jeong-Long would spend the morning, like he did all mornings, tending to his chores until the time came to pray and eat. There was not a strict daily schedule here like there had been in the monastery he had grown up in, but he liked the simplicity offered by structure and the way it interacted with freedom's complexity of choice. After tending the gardens he would sweep the corridors, finishing when he reached the doors to the Yao Library. He would then fetch the ladder and polish the giant gold dragons on the doors that twisted about each other in frozen motion toward a distant sun at the top. Every movement was well-rehearsed and he would take no longer to work than he had the day before and would tomorrow. He would finish as it came time for the monks to convene and pray before breakfast. Repetition, that was what controlled his morning and eased him into the day.

                He turned back to the plants now, his seeds cast off into the empty air, and reached down for the watering pale. As he came upright he noticed something in the corner of his vision, a cloud that had not been there before. He turned his head to it, realising that it was no cloud. It was a giant white tube hanging in the air, though just barely it seemed. The object moved with some speed, more than any cloud he knew of, and looked to be falling as it went. He continued to study it as it passed through the mountains a few hundred metres to the monastery's south. It fell on and on until it finally disappeared behind a low peak. Jeong-Long was certain it would soon reach the ground and deep down he knew it was never meant to do such a thing.

                He stood for several more moments while conflict rose inside him. One part of his mind imagined occupants and stirred in him the panic they must have been feeling. Another part argued that there was no-one inside and he had no cause to be worried. The two sides hurled questions and answers at one another, arguing like men of the law. It began to overwhelm him. Jeong-Long closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath through his nose and out his mouth, seeking calmness. His thoughts may be men of the law, but he was the judge, and they would present their arguments to him. He let them speak now, as voices with substance within his head.

                "It had to have been manufactured, and to manufacture something so vast so that it may fly with no-one on board seems absurd." stated the first voice. "It came from the west, so it flew over the mountains and couldn't have made it this far over them unpiloted."

                "How can we know what inventions the west has? Perhaps this is the first of many airborne vehicles and this one was simply an un-manned test." the second responded.

                "Why send an un-manned test somewhere so dangerous?" said one.

                "Perhaps it was blown off-course." said the other.

                "This is a long way away from anywhere, nothing comes here by accident." said one.

                "We cannot know how close by it was manufactured." said the other.

                Already Jeong-Long felt he had heard enough. The monks had taught him this way of dealing with wars within the mind, but it was exhausting to control ones internal voices in such a way. He would make his judgement now.

                There may have been people inside, and they may be in trouble. Assuming no-one else knew about this thing in the sky, Jeong-Long was the only man in a position to help. He might journey down the mountains and find nothing, but if he stayed here he was certain to find nothing. Standing there alone in the gardens, Jeong-Long made up his mind. He would seek this thing in the sky, knowing that somewhere, someone was in trouble.

#

                Jeong-Long wandered through the halls of the Yao monastery in long strides, his robes twisting and flaring in his wake. The halls were wide, wider than at any other monastery, but the ceilings were just as low as the rest. The builders had anticipated more monks would make the pilgrimage to Yao, so all the corridors could fit 3 men abreast. They'd had the decency to avoid grandiose designs, shying from the vaulted ceilings and cavernous buildings of the Last Light monks, but still the place was vast. The monks all lived in the central buildings, needing only the amenities of the beds and kitchen held in that section of the monastery. Often they would walk to the eastern temple to pray with the sun, but that was only on summer mornings. The north and south sections sprawled their way along ledges, ending nearly two kilometres apart from one another. Out to the west was the entrance, where the corridors and buildings snaked their way around peaks until they reached the monastery's entrance. The monks often joked that a dozen people could live in the monastery with them and they would never know. No-one else lived there though, the journey was too hard and the passages were too hidden.

                As he walked, Jeong-Long felt urgency. It was a feeling that had not existed within him since his teenage years. His chores were still completed thoroughly, but with a haste that deprived him of enjoyment. He'd hurried to the central temple to pray, waiting for the monks to assemble. Normally, they would all arrive at the same time, but today Jeong-Long was first. It felt strange to be there well before the others. At last the rest ambled toward the temple, and together they entered. He held his composure, not rushing to sit and speak like he longed. They all sat together in a circle, against the traditions of their faith, and closed their eyes.

                "Before we pray, I need to say something." said Jeong-Long.

                Tan, a middle-aged monk that had been the third to arrive at the monastery, was the one who replied first.

                "We knew." he said.

                "You haven't been this hurried in all your years here." said Yuri, smirking with his eyes still closed.

                The others all nodded.

                "I saw something this morning at the gardens." explained Jeong-Long, "It was like a cloud that moved of its own accord. There were tales about ships of the sky from before the End of All Days. I think this was a recreation of one. It came from Europe, and it looked to be falling from the sky."

                "Your curiosity has caught you. You have to find out what this thing was, don't you?" said Yuri.

                "There might have been people on board. What if they need help?" Jeong-Long replied.

                "Jeong-Long, you tell us this so you might justify it. The fact that we have all journeyed to this monastery should tell you that actions need never be justified to us. We look forward to your return." said Tan, one eye opening as he smiled at Jeong-Long.

                Jeong-Long sat with them and prayed, barely able to overcome the distraction of the day ahead. He found a peaceful state of mind, and was pleased that he was strong enough to achieve such a state in spite of his anticipation. As he got up to eat he couldn't help but feel it was the last true peace he would feel for some time. At the eating hall he tore through his food, thankful that today was not his day to clean up. He packed his few belongings, bringing what healing herbs they could spare and as much food as he could carry, and made for the Eastern Gate. If he found people, he would be prepared to help them.

Insight

I got a very interesting message last week. Someone asked me about my worldbuilding process and how I keep track of everything. Truth is, a lot of it is in my head. But there's also a lot that isn't. So by way of answering that person's questions, here's the notes I'm using for Lifebringer. This, of course, excludes my roadmap, as that would spoil the plot quite completely. Aside from 1-2 changes for the sake of spoilers, this is totally unedited; a direct copy/paste from the word documents I refer to in my writing.

I've also added at the very bottom the 5 parts of the novel and their names. It's insignificant information in a way, but some might find it interesting to know that structural things like dividing into parts is planned out like this.

Notes:

14 boys, 10 girls, oldest 25 (male), youngest 13 (female)

Characters:

·         Wrinlett Leeve

·         Khol (name) (Fork/Knife/Orvin/Gerry/Purzhy/Jurd/Kim/Maggie)

·         Lorsem (Lor) Brith

·         Jaeval (Jae) Brith

·         Karla Deern

·         Tiasi Jay

·         Yawmer (High Cleric)

Academy Subjects - Instructors:

·         Language - Yawmer

·         Anatomy - Jhia

·         Worship - Teff

·         Biology - Warsothet

·         Healing and Hymns - Leorlai

·         Apothecarial Arts - Briwr

Academy Buildings

·         Cathedral (Chapel of Admission/Chapel of Induction/Main Chapel/Basement Levels/Administratorium)

·         Clericum

·         Dormitory (Mess Hall/Common Room/Study Hall/Dorm Floor/Bathroom/Practice Room)

·         Lecture Halls

·         Medicum

·         Library

·         Apothecarium

·         Apothercarial Gardens

Nations/Peoples/Capitol/God/Magic/Arcanists/Art

·         Ægien/Argin/Ægis/Protector/Healing/Priests+Paladins+Inqisitors/Healing

·         Tence/Tencish/Pilor/Former/Elements/Mages+Elementalists/Conjuring

·         Cardis/Cardish/Sandsedge/Maker/Construction/Enchanters/Enchantry

·         Verdis/Verdish/Alchus/Impeller/Energy/Sorcerers/Sorcery

·         Heivar/Heivalar/Godtree/Nurturer/Life/Shamans/Alteration

·         Chronis/Chronists/Drift/Watcher/Time/Chronists/Chronistry

Saints

·         Pice (Alive.)

·         Nomi (Alive. Paladin.)

·         Kiyfall (Dead)

·         Requi (Dead)

·         Cliwth (Dead. First Inquisitor.)

·         Obitus (Dead. First Paladin.)

·         Vaia (Dead. First Priest after the Binding.)

1 Year as students

5 Years in a Clericum OR 3 Years Paladin training OR Inquisitor apprenticeship

After Clericum may live outside Clerica and even stop working as a healer, most stay on. May also pursue Paladinship or Inquisitorial training, though these are subject to recruitment. May pursue Administratorium positions subject to availability.

After 20 years serving in Clerica, may found a Clericum and preside over it as Chaplain.

Lord Cleric (1) - High Cleric (3) - Head Cleric (each capital) - Chaplain (other Clerica) - Priest

Order Father/Mother (Krayw Gror) (1) - Paladin - Initiate (Priest)

Lord Inquisitor (Jekker Promaire) - Inquisitor - Apprentice (Priest)

Characters:

Wrinlett Leeve:

18, black hair, green eyes, average height. Conman, with traits of psychopathy and narcissism. Born to traders, mother (Gloria) died by drowning, father (Tijun) killed 3 weeks later by a highwayman. Lived for 12 years on the streets of Aegis, met Khol within a month. No magical ability, but has bluffed his way into the Academy.

Lorsem Brith:

17, sandy blonde hair, brown eyes, taller than Wrin, well-built but a little lacking from his years on the streets. Student, having lived two years on the streets saving to travel to Aegis for admissions. Thrown out at 15 by his father when he was given the Gift, mother died when Lorsem was 3. Honest and upstanding, but emotional and not above anger. Confident, but not in the presence of Jaeval.

Jaeval Brith:

Lorsem's twin brother, but a little more muscular and well-fed. Left his father at 17 when the Gift was given to him, but left with his father's blessing. Received word during his journey to Aegis of his father's passing. The 'confident' twin, who is naturally more outgoing. Prodigal in terms of healing ability, and admitted a day late because of this.

Karla Deern:

17, brown hair that falls in curls, blue eyes, short, curvy. Born to merchants of medium wealth in Aegis. Given the Gift and can already heal broken bones. Pleasant enough, but secretive and hides a great intellect and confidence behind an outward 'girlish naivety'.

Tiasi Jay:

19, pale blonde hair cut short, brown eyes, Wrin's height, thin. Born to a prostitute mother in Aegis. Mostly independent from a young age, worked in taverns and began to learn arts of brewing. Clever, but a little arrogant and aloof. Kind-hearted and not unlikable, if a little reserved and judgemental.

The six gods created the world, the product of all their talents

The Shaper, God of the elements, gave the world pieces of substance

The Maker, God of construction, bound these things together

The Nurturer, God of nature, gave the world biological creations

The Impeller, God of energy, gave these creations life

The Protector, God of vitality, gave living things the ability to heal and mend

The Watcher, God of time, gave the world the only thing he could; the ability to die

And so the world was. As time went by, men began to favour one God over all others, and began to group themselves with those who were like-minded. The Gods rewarded their followers with a further gift: the gift of magic.

Each God gave their followers a form of magic. The Shaper gave her followers command over the elements, the Maker gave his followers the ability to bind objects together, the Nurturer gave his followers the ability to shape the plants and wildlife, the Impeller gave her followers the ability to transfer energy, the Protector gave his followers the ability to heal, and the Watcher gave its followers the ability to control the flow of time. For a while, things were good this way. But all the Gods knew the truth; That this would be short-lived. They had made men too powerful, and so they began to hurt the world. First it was small things, new lakes made to support settlements, giant walls to keep their lands safe. Then the most powerful began to disrupt the lives of thousands, creating constructs of war, turning cities to stone that crumbled at the wind. Then a powerful Chronist stopped time itself.

His intentions were good. He gathered the Gods and brought them out of their growing denial. The world could not continue this way, and the powers of men had to be curbed. But the Gods saw the danger of such a powerful Chronist, and soon they struck him down.

Still, his words worked, and the Gods agreed to limit the magic in the world. Each God must select the men who would wield their magic, and each must lock it in an art of casting that would take time to learn. The world was repaired as best as could be done, and the passage of time was restored. In among this, though, the Watcher fled the world. No-one has seen or heard of them since. No-one even remembers what they looked or sounded like. With them, the Chronists disappeared.

So that's the mythos, and it leaves me with a lot of freedoms and just as many limitations. The net effect is that I have a world with magic, practiced my Arcanists, divided into 6 distinct systems. These systems are roughly as follows:

The Shaper's magic is practiced by Mages, and a Mage will learn one element at a time with only the most powerful ever learning more than 3, let alone all of them. They are able to use these elements at their will.

The Maker's magic is practiced by Enchanters, and they can bind objects in various ways through the use of glyphs and sigils inscribed onto objects. They are able to construct things like unbreakable buildings.

The Nurturer's magic is practiced by Shamans, and they can alter the biology of new lifeforms. They are able to do things like grow fruit trees that are harvested year-round.

The Impeller's magic is practiced by Sorcerers, and they are able to transfer energy from one thing to another, or create and destroy energy through the use of complicated diagrams imbued with magic. They would be able to take the heat from a fire and boil a body of water.

The Protector's magic is practiced by Priests, and they are able to heal lifeforms through the use of Hymns. They would be able to heal a cut, cure a cancer and prolong a life, but the Hymns get more complicated as the healed becomes older.

The Watcher's magic is practiced by Chronists. No-one knows what they are able to do, and no-one knows how.

Protector:

System - Hymns (Healing).

Rules - Sung in a magical language, with different Hymns for different ailments and subtle differences depending on area injured, severity, etc. Grammatically complex language.

Penalties/Limitations - Time. The older a patient or the more complex the illness, the more complex and long the Hymn.

Maker:

System - Glyphs and Sigils (Enchantry).

Rules - Each must be inscribed onto a certain material and written with absolute accuracy in order to imbue the object with the intended property.

Penalties/Limitations - Material availability. If a certain Glyph or Sigil requires a rare material then its use will be limited. Also due to the accuracy required in writing Glyphs and Sigils it may take time for more complex constructions.

Impeller:

System - Alchemical Diagrams (Sorcery).

Rules - Through the use of these diagrams Sorcerers may transfer energy in complex ways, using commands similar to programming logic.

Penalties/Limitations - Despite perfect transfer, inequivalent exchange is still impossible and energy may not be created or destroyed.

Nurturer:

System - Imbued Intention (Alteration).

Rules - By imbuing a seed or sapling with intentions of eventual properties and use, a Shaman may produce genetically altered plants to serve a variety of purposes.

Penalties/Limitations - Time. Even though the growing process may be accelerated, it still takes some time for a plant to grow, meaning the results of the magic are far from immediate.

Shaper:

System - Channelling (Conjuring).

Rules - A practiser of the magic can call up the element they have control over and produce it with some effort. Often in the form of literally 'shooting' ice/fire/water/what have you from their hands or perhaps an object. Alternatively, a chosen person may become one with the element, forgoing the ability to wield it and instead becoming a living manifestation of that element. These people live on Vane, and have a largely separate society.

Penalties/Limitations - Largely God-imposed. The Shaper will only select someone absolutely capable of wielding the massive power, leaving the number of magic-users incredibly small.

Chronist:

System - Travelling (Chronistry).

Rules - A Chronist may only move a certain distance through time with the help of one or more other Chronists. The further travelled, the more people required.

Penalties/Limitations - Manpower and Equivalent Exchange of Time. For every second moved forward, and area around the Chronist is moved equally back in time, and vice versa. The more Chronists used, the smaller the affected area, however this creates a manpower limitation.

PART 1 - THE BLESSED

PART 2 - THE DISCIPLED

PART 3 - THE RELINQUISHED

PART 4 - THE CONCEALED

PART 5 - THE ASCENDED

A Little More Life

Or rather, a little more Lifebringer. This is still the first draft, but I figured after posting the first chapter a while back it would be a disservice to not post more. Here's the second chapter. Check the 'Lifebringer' tag to find the first one if you haven't read it.

Chapter 2

Holy Spaces

            Wrin squeezed out of the hole in the wall at Alleyend, emerging into a dark and damp crawlspace of an alleyway. It was one of the advantages of Alleyend that it was so far from the street. Even Wrin wasn't sure exactly where it lay in the city, but it was deep into a block of wide shops with oddly-shaped floor plans. It was through no small amount of luck that Wrin found it when he'd first arrived in Aegis, and as the weeks went by he began to wonder why no-one else had snapped up such prime real estate. The answer became clear when he started bringing the other kids he'd pickpocket with back to his secret place. Few had ever even gone that far down the alley, and those that did assumed the place was already taken. In that sense, Wrin was lucky he'd been so naive back when he spent his first nights on the streets.

            That naivety left him pretty fast though. It was his second month in Aegis, and he took another boy he'd been pickpocketing with back to Alleyend. So far Wrin had befriended exceptions, but this boy, as Wrin learned over the years, was the rule. He'd pulled a knife on Wrin the moment he knew the way to Alleyend, and had it not been for the intervention of Knife himself Wrin would've bled to death in a back alley at the age of six. Knife had been a good sort, Wrin thought, but the truth was he just had an immense talent for violence. Knife saw an opportunity there at Alleyend. He could stay there and kill anyone who sought to take it for themselves. He and Wrin had shaken hands on the deal, and neither said a word to the other for the next five years.

            The crawlspace ended, and Wrin emerged into the more forgiving part of the alley. He used to be able to walk upright here, but the years of growth spurts meant he now had to hunch, even if only slightly. As he walked he caught himself thinking about Khol's words. In truth, he absolutely was nervous, but not for the reason Khol thought. Khol could read his emotions like a book, but he was thick as a brick when it came to understanding their source. It was only sheer respect for the lad that had made Wrin explain his thoughts so many times over the years. That was the reality of things here on the streets of Aegis, there was no trust, just respect and good deals. People weren't ever against you, they were just for themselves.

            Wrin stepped out into the street now, enjoying the fresh river air. The wind was coming down from the north and blowing out to sea, which wasn't a common occurrence in Aegis. Wrin enjoyed the refreshing change from the smell of brine and damp wood. He turned inward to the city centre, taking the route he had planned for himself. Some of the others would have taken less direct routes, again to avoid suspicion. The net effect was they should all be reaching the location at the same time. Of the seven that were going inside, four were taking the front door. The other three were the greasemen, who would climb in through pipes and forgotten passageways. Once the heist was underway, each of them had somewhere to be. According to Wrin, each movement was planned to avoid the men on watch inside the labyrinthine Cathedral.

            It was this Cathedral that Wrin now stood before. It was one of the city's three attractions, the others being the arena and the palace. It was normally busy in the square out front, but today, admissions day, was even busier. Wrin squeezed his way through crowds, forcing his way to the front door. A few years ago he would have been surprised at how forcefully he could brush people aside, but these days he had become used to his innate strength.

            There was a queue at the door, but looking ahead Wrin could see a sign with two arrows pointing in opposite directions. One read Observers, the other read Admissions. Once a year, that sign was put out and half the city would queue on the right hand side to watch the young hopefuls say their pre-admissions prayers. The families would then stay to watch for their beloved children, ready to cheer if they saw them saying their vows of induction or console if they saw them back in the prayer room. Wrin was one of the few dozen who would turn left at the sign, and that meant he didn't have to queue.

            The Cathedral was made up of two main sections. One was the small prayer room, which the public could enter and use at any time. The other was the Clericum, where the sick would go to be treated. There were two other doors at the Cathedral's entrance, doors which today were open. These led to the Academy and to a small viewing ring around the two chapels where would-be Priests could be viewed on admissions day.

            Wrin strode past the line of people, some of whom turned to look at him as he marched past them headed for admissions. Most kept their eyes ahead as the line shuffled forward inch by inch. Reaching the sign, Wrin turned left through the usually-closed door and down a long, tall corridor. He slowed his pace here, letting himself revel in the easy summer breeze that followed him down the hall. The walls were bare stone, but along them was a series of white tapestries adorned with the red crest of the Protector. Wrin slowed to look at the first few, expecting some form of scripture to be woven into the fabric. But alas, they were all bare. It was a shame, he thought, but it didn't dull the sense of boyish excitement growing in his stomach.

            At the end of the hall was a large open arch on his right. He stepped through it into the first chapel, where the Priests-to-be knelt to pray before admissions. Wrin walked to the door on the far wall, trying not to feel embarrassed at the loud sound of his shoes against the floor. Once there, he scribbled his name in the ledger. Wrinlett Leeve. Taking a quick glance at the half dozen names before his, he couldn't help but feel intimidated by how neat all their handwriting was. Wrin's looked like that of a child. Then again, he'd only been a child when he was taught to write.

            Walking back to the pews, Wrin caught a glance of the crowds above. The second story, some ten feet above the ground, was full of Aegis' citizens pressing their faces to the glass to watch Wrin and his silent companions pray. Wrin did his best to ignore them and took a seat, bowing his head in the semblance of prayer. Again his doubts in his plan surfaced.

            'You don't even know the words of prayer! You'll never get in. Remember what your dad told you about the Priests? They know magic before they come here, not after. You've got nothing, you're just the urchin Wrin.'

            He pushed the thoughts aside, even if they were right. He'd made the plan, there was no good reason for it not to work. And if it didn't, he lost nothing. He had his excuses prepared, none of the boys would suspect a thing.

            "Parsons, Krayner" came a voice from the far door.

            Wrin looked up, then ducked his head back down when he noticed no-one else had raised their head. There was the sound of footsteps growing distant, then there was silence again. During his brief glance, Wrin had seen a tall, thin middle-aged man with a well-trimmed beard. He'd been dressed in bright white robes adorned with red markings and the rose crest of the Protector.

            A pang of nerves hit him then, the quiet shock interrupting his mouthed bluff of a prayer. He was already nervous about his plan, so what was this? He was nervous, he realised, about being caught. But no, there was no reason he would be caught. He hadn't deviated from the plan he'd given the boys, and by the time he did it would be too late for them to find out. In any case, each of them should have bigger things to worry about right now, and none of them should be here.

            "Trim, Hareld." came the voice again. This time Wrin didn't look up. The sound of Hareld's footsteps echoed away down the hall and once again the room was silent.

            There'd been six on the list before Wrin, so there were still four more to go. The admissions were held in a different room than the ones the public could see or enter. Wrin had only the tiniest of ideas of what happened in that room. Still, that didn't matter. He'd been planning this for years, had gone to great lengths to find the blueprints they'd used. He knew all the details, and it was going to work. It had to work.

            Two more people entered the room, walking over to the ledger beside the far wall and signing their names on it. There would be more of them throughout the next hour, the last hour in which admissions were open. No sooner had the boys left the ledger and taken their seats did the Priest re-enter the chapel.

            "Beleren, Jarvis." said the man. It made Wrin jump a little this time, but he managed not to show it. He could have sworn the voice had been softer the first two times...

            It had been maybe five minutes between each name being called out, so Wrin's timing couldn't have been more perfect. Right now, the greasemen would have let Khol's crew in and together they would have cleared out all the necessary halls and rooms. Khol himself would have split off to find the Paladin's quarters so that he was in position when Wrin made his move.

            The man came in and called out another name, then another, then another. Wrin's stomach tumbled and lurched in excitement as he waited those last few minutes, and for some reason he couldn't help but feel like he desperately needed to pee. It was nerves though, all nerves. He knew that much. Khol would be well in position by now, expecting Wrin to start a fire in the chapel. But Wrin did no such thing. Instead, the man walked into the room and called out the next name on the list.

            "Leeve, Wrinlett."

            Wrin stood up, keeping his eyes off the crowds above, and strode over to the door, following the priest through it and into the hallway beyond.

Setting The Scene

So Beyond the Horizon has sat quiet for a little while now, seeing as I've been pouring all my efforts into Lifebringer. I didn't want it to stagnate as a project though, so I gave myself a little challenge. I have the roadmap of Beyond the Horizon fully fleshed out, which includes all the places the characters will end up visiting during the story. I decided to bring a bit more life into those places by writing a short piece (around 500 words) describing each.

I started with a place called Brambletown, built around the wreck of some enormous vehicle that crashed into an icy spire in a time long since passed. The town itself is kept a stunning secret from the Francs, a situation which they take full advantage of. The city has managed to become the hub of a trade empire, and as with all such places someone at the top wants to leverage that influence. But then that's intrigue for another story. For now, here's an introduction to the icy jewel of the Baltic.

Brambletown

"Welcome to Brambletown" the sign reads. And what a welcome it is. Maybe you've taken the stairs, all 1072 sleeted death traps, or you've just stepped out of the elevator that groans and shakes every 30 or so metres. Either way, the first thing you see is the metal cavern of the first floor and a sad old sign saying 'Welcome to Brambletown'.

                This floor, if you're a business owner or street urchin, is where all the magic happens. The first elevator load arrives at 6 AM sharp and the first carts and truckstalls come rolling out of it. In a matter of minutes, they've parked at the far end of the floor and are open for business. The people come flooding down from the half dozen stairwells and buzz about the first few stalls like bees on tight schedules. By 6 30 the second elevator load has arrived. The chefs of Brambletown have all bought the day's fresh foods and the market starts to fill with the merchants, who will spend the rest of the day wandering about the floor speaking with the roaming truck vendors. They buy from one and sell to another, with a tidy cut in between. When the more scarce goods arrive, like petrol, apples or wool, they buy up the whole lot and sell it slowly over the coming weeks, having monopolised the supply. With their silver tongues and golden watches they quietly raid and plunder the marketplace.

                It will be 8 AM when the rest of the Brambletonians arrive. The tempo of the market reaches fever pitch, and it rattles and shakes the floor for the rest of the day. The pickpockets dart about in the shadows of the stalls, trying to make up what they lost by failing to pick a merchant. Meanwhile on the floor above, the merchants all stand on soapboxes calling out across the metal halls for the best deals in Brambletown. Their gift of the gab shines through here as they work in pairs, one auctioneer riling up the buyers and one dealer raking in money hand over fist. Between the two floors enough noise is made to shake the icy spires on which the wreck of the Bramble sits, but the ice has held for 500 years, and it'll hold for as long as Frost is harvested. It is that Frost that has driven everything that has happened here. From the settlement of Brambletown, to the construction of the elevator, to the invention of the cloudskimmer.

                The newcomers climb to the upper levels, where the walkways weave in and out of the ice through great steel caverns. Some will come for the restaurants, some for the shops, some for the mechanics. Only a few of them will bother looking up at the clouds. They seem to stretch out for miles, and never once have they abated to show the blue sky behind them. Endless grey, like mud-mixed snow. These people stop looking, before the misery of the sight consumes them. Grumbles about how they could never stand to live here escape their lips as they shuffle away from the sky. All the more's the pity for them. If they could stand to look those crucial moments longer, they would notice something. They'd see the way the clouds don't curl and drift, the way they sit stagnant in the sky. The clouds are no clouds, they are Frost. The best kept secret of Europe.

It's Here!

It's been a good two weeks.

So first up, I'm now about 9,000 words into Beyond the Horizon, and I'm starting to come to terms with how much longer than Maiden Voyage it's going to be. Looking at what I've planned out plot-wise compared to how far through I am, I'm feeling this could easily hit some 120,000 words. Awesome, big numbers look good.

I also got down to business (to defeat the huns) and started writing a story in my new universe. The world is as-of-yet unnamed, but the story itself is called 'Lifebringer', and is based off the first of the three prompts I posted last week. Already it's at about 7,000 words, and I'm really enjoying it. It's a different beast to The New Age of Steam so far, but I won't go so far as to say it's better.

But then maybe you'd say otherwise, so here's the first chapter. I'd love to hear what you think, and if you leave a comment you can almost guarantee I'll respond.

Chapter 1

Among Thieves

     It was a sunny day in Aegis, not that the Priests cared. They were content to stay within the confines of their high walls and vaulted ceilings. It was well-lit in there, and one could feel the semblance of sunshine, but it just didn't quite feel the same as being outside.

     But the Priests weren't everyone, so everyone but the Priests was out enjoying the weather on their empire holiday. The streets surged with crowds as they wandered from park to park, searching for an empty spot of grass to lay down on and bask in the sun. Others made for the arena, queuing in their hundreds in the hopes that someone would leave and they could get in. Outside the palace a giant orkestra pounded drums and blasted trumpets, as though celebrating a great victory.

     Only a few stayed and watched. The sound could be heard almost all through the city, so most only passed by for a few minutes just to see the players. Which was convenient, as it took a good ten minutes to cross the palace square through the throngs of people.

     The shop owners that had chosen to stay open made money hand over fist. They would close after lunch and enjoy the afternoon, but for now the grocers laughed the morning away as their purses grew heavy. Even as their wares grew sparse people piled up to their counters to buy the freshest of foods.

     The quietest place was the docks. No cargo came in or left for the islands down south, but even then a hundred boats came downriver carrying tourists from further up the continent. They were the sorts of people that could take a week to celebrate a day, so most had arrived nights ago. Still, there was a near-constant stream of partygoers disembarking. Normally the empty boats would turn and head back upriver, but today even the ferrymen stepped onto dry land to join the celebrations in Aegis.

     The night would bring to life a thousand lantern-lit parties, the next morning being a workless holy day. Holidays then holy days, that's what the Argin people loved most. It was the perfect day for a celebration, the perfect day for admissions and the perfect day for Wrinlett Leeve to finally get what he wanted.

     The ten of them huddled around a cluster of crates that acted as a table. It was once dark down in Alleyend, but Wrin's boys had turned the place into a relative palace over the years and nowadays it was bathed in the light of a dozen ticker lanterns. It was Wrin who'd found Alleyend, of course. He was just a boy, scared and alone in the giant city, and all he'd wanted was a safe place to hide and sleep the night. When he crawled through the gap in the wall where a winding alley ended he'd hit the jackpot. In the years that followed, Wrin built the spacious hidey-hole into what could almost be called an apartment.

     The crates were covered with sheets of paper, which were in turn covered in diagrams and drawings. Wrin went over the plan one more time, readying himself for the third round of questions.

     "..and then we're out. The book comes to me, I take it across the river to our buyer in Jagiston and we walk away with heavy purses." he finished.

     They stood in silence. For a moment, Wrin thought they'd finally got it. Then one of the boys, the youngest, piped up.

     "Sounds awful convenient dunnit? How's we sure you're comin' back with the money?" said Fork. He was a weed of a boy, named for his three-fingered left hand.

     "By the Impeller, Fork, he's always paid us. When has he not bloody well paid us?" snapped Gerry, another boy about Wrin's age.

     "We'll be cursing no Gods here Gerry, even foreign ones." Wrin reminded. Gerry grumbled, but his point had been well made. No-one else spoke up.

     He could understand Gerry's frustration though. Fork had been the first to whinge each time he'd had the plan explained. At least the others had proper questions about the workings of the escapade, Fork was just a damned pain. Half the time he was more hindrance than help with his crippled hand. If he weren't the younger brother of Knife they'd have long since abandoned him on the streets. That was the sort of power Knife had here. Where Fork was skinny and weak, Knife was all meat and muscle. More than once someone had asked Knife where he got his name, and had been answered with the name itself thrust into their belly. He was a good one to have on your side, Wrin reckoned, but damn did Knife scare him sometimes. Still, he was useful, and so he and Fork stayed.

     "So we're clear? At long damn last we're all understood?" asked Wrin, meeting the eyes of everyone one by one. He was met with nods, some slower than others, but none hesitant. "Good. This'll be easier than the time we screwed the clothmonger, you'll see."

     That was met with more trepidation than he'd hoped. Normally the boys were thick as an oak trunk, but Wrin had misjudged them. The empty spot left by the clothmonger job where Trace normally stood was still obvious. None of the ten had quite filled that space around the table yet.

     "Look boys," Wrin began, trying to soften his face, "Trace knew the risks, and he'd always had the most dangerous job. There's no need for someone like Trace on this job, so none of yous'll be dying today. Besides, they're healers, not killers."

     That seemed to ease a few of them, but one or two of the older boys, the ones showing signs of beards and muscles, still looked at Wrin with caution.

     "If one of you sods dies I'll bloody kill you." Wrin said, a smirk twisting his mouth upwards. A few laughs slipped out, and the tension seemed to be dispelled. "We're good at what we do, this place is a testament to that. This could be the one boys. If it doesn't go off we lose nothing, if it does then we're out of this dump. We'll have a house, a real damn house here in Aegis. We'll have beds, and robes, and a pair of shoes for each day of the week. You want it all, boys? Then let's go and take it!"

     The room cheered, or at least cheered as loud as a clandestine gathering could. Everyone stepped away from the table, chatting among their teams of two or three. Some would talk about the job ahead, getting the tiny details hashed out. Some would talk about everything but the job, trying to keep the nerves down. The first team of two left, Knife and a lad in his mid-teens called Orvin. They were security for this job, as they so often were. Knife wasn't good with words, except for one; his name. The rest had to wait for a set number of minutes to avoid arousing suspicion; there was nothing normal about ten ragged boys leaving an alleyway together. It was Wrin's care and caution that had kept eyes off Alleyend for some 12 years, and in the last 2 when the crew had used it as a base of operations it was this same caution that had kept them safe.

     Wrin himself sat down on his mattress, tucked into a corner in the main room with the crates. There was only two other rooms in Alleyend, and one was really just a square with an open hole that led to the plumbing system so they could shit with privacy. Most of them slept here in the main room. The third room was storage, and it was where the crates were now being moved to by Alleyend's four other permanent occupants. Wrin watched the goings-on with a sense of achievement. This was it, this was what he had built. It wasn't much by the standards of most, but for kids like him it was more than most ever hoped for. It was one in a million that dragged themselves out of the streetside life, and now at 18 years Wrin was going to become that one.

     "You're impressed with yourself." came a voice from above him.

     It's owner, Khol, sat down beside Wrin on the mattress. Khol was almost the same age as Wrin, only a year younger, but they shared the same bushy black beard, long, hard jaw and forest-green eyes. At a glance some would call them brothers, and that uncanny likeness was something they'd used to their advantage over the years.

     "When am I not impressed with myself Khol?" Wrin replied with a wide grin.

     "Just because you're all well-spoken with a liking for theatrics doesn't make you the best of us." Said Khol, a tone of grandfatherly warning in his voice.

     "Sure it does." said Wrin, smile still wide as ever. Nothing could hurt his mood today. "If it weren't for this brain," he pointed to his head, "and these giant balls," he grabbed his gonads, "we wouldn't have half the cash we do now."

     "Aye, and don't I know it best..." said Khol. He paused for a moment, looking almost contemplative. Then he turned to Wrinlett and matched his confident smile.

     "Wrin." called someone from across the small room.

     "Aye Purzhy?" said Wrin, getting up and leaving his friend for the moment.

     "I can't find me daggers. Bloody Knife's got 'em again." said Purzhy.

     "That's a shame, maybe you could've used them to shave off that awful scruff." said Wrin, smiling at first, then levelling Purzhy with a hard expression. "I highly doubt Knife took your stuff. We don't operate that way here. Never have. Pull your fucking head in and look for them yourself. If you can't find them, I hope you throw a damn hard punch."

     Purzhy nodded slowly, eyes cast downward, then scurried off. Odds were he'd just left them in his own sleeping hole and was trying to scam Wrin out of a spare blade. Wrin wandered back over to where Khol still sat, rejoining him as the second team left. It was Fork, Gerry and another lad Gerry's age called Jurd. Jurd the turd they called him after he shat on the floor of Alleyend five years ago. The three of them were greasemen. Small, wiry, flexible. They made it in and out of passages most would get stuck in. They were invaluable.

     "What'd he want?" asked Khol as Wrin rejoined him.

     "I dunno, a sword or something."

     Khol studied Wrin's face for a moment. He knew Wrin better than anyone, they'd been scamming grocers since Wrin's first days in Aegis.

     "You're nervous." said Khol.

     "I'm always nervous, underneath it all." said Wrin in a hushed tone. He didn't want anyone to hear the slightest hint of weakness from him. Anyone but Khol, of course.

     "Not the last few times. After the clothmonger job you kept it together, you still had the confidence we all lost." said Khol. Wrin still didn't meet his eyes.

     "That was easy stuff. I kept the jobs simple. It was just basic lifts and four-man scams. This is the first big one we've done since the clothmonger." said Wrin. He was eager to end the discussion, but he knew his friend well. Khol wouldn't stand to be left in the dark when it came to Wrin's feelings.

     "This is something different. I'm guessing you don't have the words to say what you mean just yet, and that's fine. But don't for a second think you can convince me you're nervous about the heist." said Khol, standing to leave with Purzhy and Kim.

     Wrin smirked to himself as Khol left. His trio was on the set-up team. Khol was Wrin's lookalike, and that meant Wrin could have two of himself in one place. It was on this deception that most of their plans hinged. Khol had his part to play while Purzhy and Kim went off to do the dirty work, and Wrin would come in later. For now, Wrin was alone in Alleyend with Maggie, the drop-man. Though perhaps drop-woman was more correct. When the boys got out with the book, Maggie would be out on the streets moving it from one set of hands to another with lightning speed. It made them impossible to track, and even if one of them got caught by a city guard there'd be no stolen goods on him. She would leave last, long after everyone else was gone.

     At the centre of it all was Wrin. He would leave alone, work alone and come back alone. Only this time something was different. This time, Wrin didn't plan on coming back.