The Legacy of Tra’Han

 

What? What is this… Where am I? The spell…

The spell must have mutated in ways I could not anticipate. Someone – or something – must have interfered. I should be home, not… not here…

But where is here?

Clearly I am in some sort of primitive tower. It doesn’t have any discernable connection to the resonant currents inherent to the sky, but that can be corrected. First I need to find a way to get out of here. To get home. Home…

I am Tra’Han. I see the truth in everything. My perspective is skewed. I am a weaver of worlds. As such I see a purity of form in all that is around me. My skin reflects my position.

I have been Marked since birth. I move on pathways unknown. But something – I feel with some certainty that no someONE could have pulled me off my trajectory – has brought me here to some purpose.

Hmm. Religion. Fanaticism. And grass? A hovel by any standards. This will have to go.

And standing water. Were I not bound by the limitations of the currents of this place, I would fill this festering hole with the sweet songs of glitterfish, frolicking amongst the ripples of eddies of paradise. Instead, I will let it rot. For now.

A hole in the roof. Easily fixed. Why wasn’t it fixed before?

There is at least a storeroom, its organization making up for its content, which is severely lacking. There is also a leak, bringing the stinking, murky water from the floor above into this subsequently dank basement. Perhaps I was brought here out of pure misery – an unhappiness so great it could pull the very stars from the sky. Or one of them.

 

 

 

 

 

I am confused. To what purpose could these wooden steps, or this dirt pillar have served?

Something looms in the distance. Perhaps the resonant frequencies of this world would be more accessible from atop the distant peaks. A discovery for another time. I must continue investigating my immediate surroundings. I feel that… I feel… I must continue.

In the lower reaches of this slovenly outpost, I have found some unnatural tunnels. I assume they are mineshafts.

 

 

 

 

 

I even find who I assume to be some of the religious fanatics who left the wooden artifact on the main floor above (which I destroyed immediately). I leave them alone. They have enough to think about.

 

 

 

 

 

I climb back up the crude ladder to find yet another deranged individual with monotheic tendencies. This one I dispatch – he seems dangerous. Small orbs pop out of his quickly vanishing body – naturally they are absorbed by my superior aura. I can feel my inherent powers growing. Perhaps I could make myself comfortable here after all – albeit temporarily – as I attempt to find my way back home. I will need an enchantment room with sufficient elevation – the “lookout” will do – it needs only a few modifications.

But I will not walk on grass inside my… this… place. I find some similarly textured, differently colored material in the storeroom, which I install in the floor. So easy. So obvious. Why does it fall to Tra’Han?

Now I can work on my enchantment tower. I will need blackstone, and magma. And bluesto…

What is this? A fungus farm? This is an empty room. Breach? The ineptitude of the resident (who is nowhere to be found) only heightens my curiosity – how was someone so stupid able to draw me here? Or was it something else? Was I not drawn, but sent? To help?

But why? What service could I provide that would necessitate my unannounced, abrupt arrival? And why has no one welcomed me? I can only assume that the brain-dead fanatics I have run into thus far are not the builders of this place. But if not them, then who?

Who indeed…

Oh… it appears that during my musings, I managed to construct a small operational farm room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It even keeps out the fanatics. Oh, but they do try to be clever.

Wait. What? I am Tra’Han. I am not a grower of mushrooms! Why am I wasting so much time? I have work to do!

I must go up to the tower and…

And…

Well what’s that?

There is something atop that dirt obelisk. I feel drawn…

Hmm. It seems I have been drawn upwards by some kind of pastry. I am Tra’Han. I see the essence of the world! I see more of everything than everyone! I see… this cake is stale. I am Tra’Han! Time to build an enchantm…

Who surrounds their home with wood? Wood is nothing. Wood is weak. I must protect my new home if I am to leave myself vulnerable. Conducting spells requires every ounce of concentration – even those usually saved for defense and awareness. Iron!

And a fortified entrance!

…and…

…

…and…

…the moon…

 

 

 

(Continued in PART II)