Novels

“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.

Dworgs, also known as Earth-Children, Keepers of the Emerald Path, Twig-beards, Masons, and more derogatorily, Dogs, are an ancient people, perhaps the oldest beings among the Myriad Worlds.

The first mention of the Dworg people is carved into the Plinth of Uilyll, the seventh facet. There, the eponymous Uilyll comes across an ancient ruin who provides them with the secret of the enduring name. (It is presumed this is a perhaps metaphorical explanation for the carving of the Plinth itself. As a people, Dworgs are known for their reverence towards stonework and its enduring nature. The ‘Secret of the Enduring Name’ may simply be a reference to carving Uilyll’s story in stone.) While the debate over the age of the Plinth is ongoing, there are few who challenge the sentiment that Dworgs have existed since before travel between the Myriad Worlds was first attempted.

The cool night wind was refreshing after the heavily perfumed air of the ballroom. Navin breathed as deep as the tight clothing would allow. Pale fingers played along the edge of the stone balcony, tracing cracks and seams like a spider searching for a foothold.

The Viceroy’s Estate sat at the top of a great hill. From the balcony, the Port City of the Third World lay stretched out towards the horizon. In the distance, the giant Port Tower gleamed in the night, its marble walls glittering among hanging lanterns and guiding lights. Around the tower’s many docks and balconies hung both mighty and humble Velvet-ships of every shape and size. Each was built by the hand of their Ever Lord’s own engineers, by methods known only to the most secret of artisans.

The Eve’nbell had rung on the First World, and so too throughout the Empire. Lights were dim all throughout the Port City as trade, labor, and conversation ceased. Peasants and nobles alike returned to their homes to eat and rest.

A light flickered in some distant window, a single red crystal to mirror the thousand icy cousins that shone above. Navin watched as the faint glow burned brighter, a beacon in the darkness. A fitful child, perhaps, and their mother waking to comfort it. A merchant, returning late from the tavern. Perhaps a nightmare had plagued an old man, who now sat up to drink away the horror. A young maid, reading again the letters of her love, aching for the morning. A thousand possibilities, and Navin would never know which was true.

The Grand Junction is perhaps unique in that its origin is not only known to multiple different cultures and peoples across the Myriad Worlds, but also that this origin is agreed upon. There are few such structures across the Velvet, as most are either attended to by a single culture, or are hotly contested about their origins (e.g. the Sibilants, Orwltown, and The Dworgs)

Grand Junction was created by a unified force of Zyth, Dworgs, a single Aspanighoraji, and a team of Ogres bearing a symbol described as “A single sign” on their backs. Construction was completed centuries before the first Golden Howdah sailed the velvet, and as such, every people has a legend or record of discovering the Grand Junction. These records usually include an introduction to the Grand Junction’s history, as told by an ancient Zyth or discovered on the Mural of History.