Hamartia, Epilogue

Hega Perdugal lived in Old Seamoore, a section of town which, as the name suggests, resembled the city as it was before it divorced the world beneath it. Unlike those of her neighbors, Hega’s home was made of stone, because she was a dwarf and even though she’d never been part of dwarven community, some things are just a part of you.

It was a small home, but large enough for a woman who lived alone and who rarely had company these days. Just before the thin stone path leading from the street to her door was a mailbox, which looked like an ordinary mailbox, except that it had the words “I’m not interested” carved in the side. Donovan Allman was inspecting it when Hega spotted him through the window one morning. Continue reading “Hamartia, Epilogue”


Pulldrid Academy was Skymoore’s finest school for adolescents. The campus was large, vibrant, and littered with important-looking brick buildings. It was the kind of place you sent your children when you wanted to offer them the best education, the fanciest connections, and the lowest risk of being subjected to mandatory psychological experimentation funded by unknown third parties.

Imagine Karessa Plunderton’s guilt, then, at never taking advantage of these benefits, especially factoring in that she couldn’t imagine how her parents managed to send her to a place like this. Some days she wondered if her dad’s disappearance was somehow related, which only enhanced her guilt. But her guilt couldn’t override her disdain. Continue reading “Extracurricular”

Recursion, Part Six

A number of unfortunate situations can be attributed to a failure in communication. For example, linguistic barriers between Dol elves and their dwarven neighbors created confusion that led to the Orichalcum Wars which lasted for many centuries. Personal barriers can also result in poor communication, such as when a very literal person asks an irate person for directions, and spends six days sailing up the Yores River and rediscovering the ancient art of necromancy. Continue reading “Recursion, Part Six”

Recursion, Part Five

The way many told it, the legend of the Suntouched was a succession of successes. Climbing Mount Paylor, mastering one weapon after the next, discovering mythic treasures, defeating this monster or winning that battle. Of course, like most legends, it was largely a lie of omission. The Suntouched had failed many times. Mostly in the early days, but some were more recent, like his defeat at the hands of Ulthanadon, The Mad Dragon, or his role in the creation of The Below. And, most prevalent in his mind these days, the failure at Tinderleaf. Continue reading “Recursion, Part Five”

Recursion, Part Four

When Pulldrid the Riser lifted the city of Seamoore into the sky, he made sure to take much of the eastern farmland with it. However as local historian, soothsayer, and political commentator Andrea Greycastle noted in her award-losing book, 49 Things You Didn’t Know About the Past, Present, and Future of Skymoore: Number 18 Will Fill Your Soul With Existential Dread, “Pulldrid the Riser was a socially insensitive jerkwad! Did you know that eighty-percent of the farmland he took with him when he selflessly saved Seamoore from destruction was land belonging to Goldsoil Farm, which is owned by bourgeoisie hags and exploits the common man like you and, to a lesser extent, like me? That’s, like, really unfair! Their low wages and long hours have led to the poor and crime-infested state of the Mish Mash (look it up), and they keep the handful of remaining farms from reaching their full potential by signing exclusivity deals with local restaurants. Uncool, Pulldrid! Very uncool!” Continue reading “Recursion, Part Four”

Recursion, Part Three

Thursday, Spring 51, 1677 was a rather ordinary day in most respects. The sun shone brightly in Skymoore, as it often did. The birds were chirping loudly, communicating the secret messages of a vast network of organized crime, as they often were. And Odd & Ends was empty, as it often was.

Empty, that is, except for Donovan Allman, who tapped his fingers in rhythm with the birds outside (in flagrant violation of Skymoorian Law), and Nestor Pinkly, who hummed an accompanying tune (this was fine) as he alphabetized a shelf of enchanted toys based on the unofficial names he’d given them that day (Spinny Doodad, Bouncing Thingamajig, Flashing Whosawhatsit). The latter was enjoying himself, the former was not. Continue reading “Recursion, Part Three”