Novels

Sen turned the corner, when a sudden sound made him stop in his tracks.

“Hey!” the call was from deep in the bunker. “Hey, is anyone here?”

Reinforcements!

Sen tried to run, but could only shamble forward like a broken toy. He wanted to shout and cry for help. He wanted to scream and bring his fellow soldiers running to his side. Safety! Warmth! Life!

No!

His legs wouldn’t listen, so with a surge of desperation, Sen pulled his body aside, crashing into the wall to stop his shambling run. They were dreams he shouted at his spasming body. Illusions. Hallucinations of a past or future that never happened.

The voice called from nearby, “my name is Captain Bellon of the Hyan Heavy Infantry, Third Echelon. We won’t hurt you.”

Perhaps unique among the people of the Myriad Worlds, Ogres are massive forms of metal and muscle, awkwardly shaped according the standards of most myriad folk.

While many folk have varying standards in regards to shape and size, Ogres are almost exacting in their similarities to each other. There are unavoidable differences, of course — differing numbers of eyes, fingers, or similar — but in other ways they are precisely the same. For example, I have studied the many Ogres who reside near my domicile, and have not found half a span of difference in their heights: a full nine feet tall to a one of them.

Another land frequented by tourism, the Principality of Gramphank on the world of Wepsanik houses one of the most oft traveled to regions in the entire Velvet, the City of Speer.

I will not, however, advise first-time-travelers to visit the City of Speer. Not for any practical or pragmatic reason, simply because everyone travels to the City of Speer at some point in their lives, and as such it has become a city devoted to the cloying and pleading services of tourism.

Instead, first-time-travelers should consider traveling to a small province on the edge of the Principality called Hellebrach Hills.

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.