The Legacy of Tra’Han (part 2)

Out…

Get out…

Get out Get out Get out!

Do you know how much time has passed??

DO YOU!?

 

 

(Continued in PART III)

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)

On My Vacation in Woot or How I Finished My Novel

My name is Percival Peabody, you probably better know me by my pen-name, W.R. Farnsworth. Yes, that W.R. Farnsworth. I am a writer. Like all writers at some time or another, I fell prey to writer's block.

I was hopeless. I would literally stare at the blinking cursor for hours a day producing nothing. I started asking around to my other friends on what they did when this inevitably happens. Some advice was better than others. One guy guy suggested I live with the Tibetan monks for a year. That was crazy, but perhaps the premise wasn't. I could use a change of scenery. Get out of the city. That might clear my head. Well, maybe clearing it wasn't what I needed, but you get my gist.

So, I called up Sandy, Sandy is my travel agent. I said that I wanted to go someplace secluded, someplace I could think and look at some great scenery while I'm at it. She suggested this recluse place called, Woot. "Woot?" I asked, "That is a stupid name." She promised that despite it's name it was gorgeous and just the place I was looking for. The next day I found myself on a plane to woot with nothing, but my clothes, a notebook, a camera, and something to write with.

This was the site that greeted me when I arrived.

 

It seemed like the accommodations would be more than appropriate, but I was surprised to find no staff present as I entered. It appeared as if I was going to be left to my own devices, which I had not accounted for. This means I was going to pretty much have to fend for myself. A detail Sandy left out. Thanks Sandy.

Hopefully those years in Boy Scouts would come in handy.  I decided to survey my home for the next 5 days.

There was this tower of dirt, which I imagine a very bored, very patient person built in their time here.

In the basement (full of useful supplies, kudos to the staff), there was this ominous sign that read "Closed due to Major Security Breach." Needless to say I heeded it's advice.

Woot was great, but it was all stone. It was the same as at home. I wanted scenery. I needed scenery. Maybe there was some kind of balcony or second floor that was safe from the wildlife and weather, but outdoors enough to get inspiration.

I noticed this. It appears as if someone had attempted, but failed to provide a sanctuary in the sky. As my dad always said, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself, which was exactly what I was going to have to do. I went to the basement and loaded up with the materials I believed necessary to construct my "fortress of solitude."

If it was going to be sturdy it needed to be stone and glass. I wanted to build it to blend and build it to last.

Even looking at this picture makes me queasy. I am not partial to heights with no enclosure. Maybe this wasn't the best idea I've had.

The floor was step one and thank goodness. Without the perils of falling to my certain doom this started to seem like a good idea again.

Out of materials, I was content on calling that "day one." Not too bad I thought.

 

Even though I was exhausted I wanted to have my materials in order for the morning, so I could finish the project and move onto the more pressing issue (the novel that still wasn't being written). Having been bred of city dwellers I had no knowledge on how to come up with more materials. Like so many bibles in hotel rooms across the United States there was a guide to help me through this (not saying the bible has guided me or anything I just couldn't think of a more apt metaphor, my writing chops are really off).

 

Did I mention I died? I did. At least for a moment. As I awoke ready and willing, I was greeted by a green gentleman who didn't look to friendly. Then he blew up. THE NERVE! I thought people in the country were supposed to be more friendly. Not only was I knocked to next Tuesday, but all my stuff was scattered everywhere. UGH. I managed to snap a picture of his friend. What a creep. I needed to finish this today to keep all these unwanted guests out.

 

 After much hassle, I did manage to finish it. Here is the entrance leading up to "The Lookout."

 

Not the prettiest, but it was functional. It also has great views of woot. Here are some shots.

 

You know what? After finishing this I did feel better. I felt invigorated. Just stopping and looking around filled my head with all sorts of ideas. This was exactly what I needed. The whole journey to this was fairly arduous, but Sandy was on the money. This is exactly what I needed. I sat for the next 3 days solid and wrote. I wrote night and day, I was entranced in my own writing. At the end of day 3 I had over 300 pages ready to send to my editor. It's my best work ever, too. I won't spoil anything, but I am incredibly happy with the results. This was the view I will remember as I wrote my magnum opus. Thank you woot.