Novels

Sen’s eyes snapped open.

“Bad dream?” the Base Girl asked, her thick off-world accent tickling his ear. He curled up next to her, muttering platitudes as weeping wounds and bleeding eyes bubbled up from his nightmares.

She was cold; as cold as a corpse.

Struggling to surface from the torrent of dreams that pulled at him, Sen opened his eyes again.

His lungs hurt. They burned when he breathed in, they ached when he didn’t. His face was stuck to a metal floor, his mouth dry and cracked. He carefully tried to move, feeling his muscles resist, protesting in pain. With a sickening noise, he pulled his hands off the metal floor, feeling scraps of skin remaining behind. The pain cut through his confusion.

Pain. This was now.

Twice as tall as many people of the Myriad Worlds, the Uumphoun are an ancient culture. Historically, ancient texts and stories of the Uumphoun tell of an old Uumphounian empire called KuuThoorrDaaWoo, translated literally as “The Second Risen Place.” This is considered by most scholars to be evidence that the Uumphoun are either the second oldest people, or the first culture to rise after some previous dominant species collapsed.

They have short stubby trunks for noses, half the length of an arm. They are thick bodied, though short-legged, with four fingers on each hand. They have thick pads for feet, with four nails for toes. Small tusks jut outwards from both the top and lower jaws.

Travel through the Velvet has a long and rich history. While much is still unknown to us, the earliest travelers of the Velvet appear to be the Zyth, as some of the oldest ruins on multiple worlds appear to be Zyth in origin. As such, most histories of travel begin with the earliest constructs of Zyth origin. It is generally believed that if the Zyth were not the first travelers of the Velvet, those who were operated along similar principles.

“Sen?”

Sixty three, sixty-four, sixty five…

Sen of House Yebidesh, filial to House Hyan, burst into a sprint through the dark corridors of the underground bunker, his tiny bag tightly strapped to his back. Footfalls echoed like bullets, ricocheting through the metal halls and back to his ears. Stealth didn’t matter now; speed was what counted. If he was lucky, he would reach the other end of the hallway in time. He wouldn’t have to use the ChillPatch.

“Ho there, slow down! What’s going on?”

Frantically, Sen dodged the grasping hand. It wasn’t there. He kept moving, closing his eyes to the darkness, counting to himself in his head.

Without warning, his left leg, tired and worn from exertion, refused to clear the small lip through the central hatch.

Sen fell.

What is it that amazes me so about this marvelous Province of Wren Gallen? The truth is that this province holds no more grand parks of emerald greenery than any other duchy. The plants smell no sweeter nor the fauna move more gracefully. The people are perhaps as kind and cruel as you are likely to meet anywhere across the Myraid Worlds, and their festivities at once joyous and simple as any. The sky is no bluer, nor the water clearer. The trees do not whistle in the wind with any particularly delightful tone.

So what is it, I wonder, that makes the Province of Wren Gallen a wondrous world worthy of its place among this guide to the Myriad Worlds?

While the Myriad Worlds have birthed thousands of millions of cultures, scholars have noted there are several historical similarities that occur with curious regularity. Not the least of these is the legends of Manyfolk

Scholars debate whether this is an indication of an ancient race that has since died out, or a nod towards a universal fear or shared subconscious. Whatever it indicates, no existent Manyfolk has ever been recorded or studied by a reputable source.

The Six Bells of the Ever Palace rang out its final call, Eve’nbell had come. The Ever Palace, once as vibrant and active as any anthill, was still and silent.

Bulquis Renner Torvis, Strike Commander of the Seventh Vanguard of House Torvis and Bearer of the Waliken Standard, was not still.

Renner was walking as quietly and swiftly as he could, moving from shadow to shadow on the streets, keeping himself hidden from the Doorsmin’s attention. It was nothing difficult. While it had been many years since he had fought as a soldier on any front-lines, his years as Strike Commander had given him a respectful understanding of both the limits of any guards attention, and the boundaries of even holy vows.

Besides, he had a holier charge than even that of the Doorsmin.

I, well traveled as I am, have never stepped behind the door. Well traveled as I am, I have never met any who have done so.

Of all the known residences of Insect-folk, the Circumvexing Hill is perhaps the most notorious, and certainly the most confusing to outsiders. Hidden within its choking depths and dizzying heights, the Circumvexing Hill is known both for its complex and downright obtuse hierarchy, and its overly intricate design.

Perhaps the most interesting and enigmatic aspect of the Circumvexing Hill is its connection between prestige and location. Some may find this awkward or clumsy to maneuver, but rest assured that the Insect-folk of the Circumvexing Hill find the more common practice of wearing one’s honors, such as on a uniform, sash, head, or belt, no less confusing.

Excerpt from The Dreams of Harrison Peak, by Gomph Uspleki:

It hangs there, in the empty velvet, a chain wrapped around its ankle, hanging from an ice-crystal too far away to be seen. Its arm outstretched, its lipless mouth open in delight, or pain, or song. What once might have been wings now dangle uselessly. Its broiling corpus now full of a thousand souls, living or hoping to live as one does, full of shattered dreams and hopeless futures.