Insultingly close to the Mish Mash lie the evergreen plains in which the wealthiest families of Skymoore had built their estates. There you could find the Windblown Manor, home of the Windomere family, Progress Point, home of the Stonesoul family, and the creatively-named Dufton Estate, home of the Dufton family, to which Lawrence Dufton belonged. Continue reading “Bad Faith, Part Two”
A long time ago, sometime after Seamoore became Skymoore and sometime before the present, a number of disabled, sick, pretentious, and otherwise undesirable people were deemed unfit for proper society, and they were quarantined in a crowded district to live in misery together. (Today it is generally agreed that this was an awful thing to do, though that doesn’t do much for the people who languished there.) The resulting region was forced to expand upward, rather than outward, and to become its own self-sustaining ecosystem, containing a little bit of everything if you knew where to look. This jungle of wood and rust, known today as the Mish Mash, was almost a city unto itself, with its own politics, its own culture, and its own leaders. Continue reading “Bad Faith, Part One”
“No! No. You can’t do this!” Teyla Eastwind sobbed, pathetically, on all fours in the abandoned art museum she called home. “You have to stay!” Continue reading “Bad Faith, Prologue”
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”
It was still dark when Karessa woke, and Donovan still slept. She set some water to boil. He was awake when she returned, sitting in a comfortable rocking chair. It wasn’t rocking, and he was staring. Rain pattered outside. Continue reading “Hamartia, Part Two”
Programming Note: Despite the title, this is a direct continuation of Extracurricular, so it’s highly recommended that you read that story before this one. Continue reading “Hamartia, Part One”
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”
Of all the humanoid races of Solkin, avayla had the shortest lifespan. They lived, on average, to be about forty-five. At fifty, they were truly ancient. Some speculated that this resulted in a stronger inclination toward caution and self-preservation than other species; if they were only getting at most fifty years, they were going to get as many as possible, darn it. Continue reading “Recursion, Epilogue”
Linda Arterford hated sweeping, something she was presently doing, and found herself doing often in recent days. One of the few things she hated more than sweeping was being angry at her dearest friend, something she was presently doing, and found herself doing often in recent days. Continue reading “Recursion, Part Seven”
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”