《The Collected Short Stories of Necrontyr525》The man and and the Box
Advertisement
He sat cross-legged and alone amidst a blasted wasteland of destruction. What that place had been no longer had a name, thus by the reckoning of the world it no longer mattered. It would gain a new name in time, but in this moment it was as nameless as the sitting man. He drew in a breath, redolent with the smells of the nameless place, held it for a count of seven, let it out, and began again. In his mind he fashioned a box and put in that box such things as needed to be hidden away from all things, most importantly from himself. He closed the box and tied it with a scrap of string.
Both the box and the string were terribly fragile things, save for in the most important ways. They could be broken into, they could be pried apart, could be forced open to reveal the things within. But they were of the man, and thus could not be disturbed without his knowing. And they were about the things that needed hiding, and thus the things that needed hiding would be hidden from all.
The man breathed out, put the box in a darkened space within his thoughts, stood up, and walked away from that blasted wasteland to find a new name for himself. He no longer recalled who he had been or what he had done, only that he judged the world a better place for that knowledge being lost.
But the world abhorred a nameless vacuum and thus a new name for the nameless place was already being whispered on fearful lips: The Deadlands, the place from which nothing returned alive. How it had come to be would be the subject of endless conjecture and debate. Scores of expeditions would venture forth to search for answers, and none who went onto The Deadlands would return except as the mindless, moving dead. The man would be spoken of in hushed whispers in the quiet places of the night, his name never spoken lest it hall him, spawning rumor that there was one who had walked away from The Deadlands. That perhaps he had been its creator, its architect, its origin. Others would seek for the man, desiring to find the box and pry it open, to re-learn that which had been forgotten.
Advertisement
For now, the nameless man new nothing of this as he stepped across the razor-sharp divide between blasted wasteland and healthy, living ground. He walked out in search of a name, both for others to call him by, and so that he would know himself.
But as the man walked and pondered these things, he came to the conclusion that in order to know his new self he would have to name himself. Any name given to him by another could only be a mask for him to wear and a mold for him to fill.
“I am Kaore he Ingoa. Here in this place and time my story begins.”
Only the living ground was there as witness to Kaore’s pronouncement, but that was enough. A name had been spoken to the world, and the world would judge its worth.
Some days of walking later...
Kaore he Ingoa walked across the grassland in search of a tree. He carried neither tools nor clothes, and would need shelter before the oncoming night fell. A tree to climb up in would have to serve, risky as it may be. There were few big cats on these grasslands, but the trees were even fewer. Kaore found a lone Joshua tree just before the sun set below the horizon. It was old and somewhat battered, with a windowmaker hooked on a dying branch. Kaore knocked the branch and the windowmaker free on general principles, curled up in the nook between a healthy branch and the trunk, and drifted off to sleep.
He woke with the dawn, climbed down to the ground, and considered the windowmaker and the branch. The windowmaker had been sun-bleached and showed signs of dry rot. It was only good for firewood, if Kaore wanted to risk setting the whole grasslands aflame. He shook his head. Hot food would be nice, but not worth the risk of a wildfire. The branch was only mostly dead, which made it only partially useful. Kaore's stomach growled hungrily, reminding him that he had not eaten for several days at this point. Kaore looked about the grasslands and sighed. There was no readily edible plant-life visible. The grasses as far as his eyes could see were dotted with clumps of seed- or grain- bearing plants, but he had no way to cook the seeds into a more edible form. Meat was likewise out, as it would need a fire to cook, and a fire amidst a dry grassland was a very bad idea.
Advertisement
Kaore heaved his shoulders and strained his ears for the sound of flowing water. Its portability would be dubious at best, but it would keep him going. Kaore followed the sound of running water to a wild, slow river. He knelt and drank before following it upstream. There were fish in the river, not many and not large, but protein was protein. Even better, the riverbank had an outcropping of flint. Stone hand-tools were no good for hunting, but a hand-ax would cut wood. Kaore kept watch for another tree. Even a large-ish sapling would do for an improvised fishing-spear, and the mud-and-stone riverbank held all of the materials he would need for a fire-pit.
it was not much, but it was enough for Kaore to subsist upon. the river would lead to a village at least, perhaps a town. there Kaore could find other people and begin his new life.
Elsewhere...
Beneath Kaore's feet's the world kept turning, news spreading as fast as lips could speak it, ears could hear it, and feet could carry it. The Deadlands, as it was now known, was already drawing tentative explorers. They would be its first victims, their disappearances the seeds of The Deadland's reputation.
In the heart of The Deadlands, where Kaore had closed up his box and where no feet had tread since he left, the ground cracked. it peeled back like the opening of a flower before five walls pushed upwards and curled back in. they formed a hexagonal structure with one side and one sixth of the spiral roof missing. they looked at first like simple stone walls, but closer inspection showed neither crack nor mortar nor seam. The walls were like a single piece of stone, carved to shape about the spiral stairway that dropped into the depths of the earth below.
With fresh blood spilt, The Deadlands Dungeon showed its face to the world for the first time. It was spotted by far-scrying spells almost at once, being the only structure standing for miles. It would be much, much longer before anyone reached its door.
Advertisement
Battling Records of the Chosen One
Author: In the vast and boundless continent Cangtu, there were ancient sects governing the Ten Old Domains, unworldly immortal clans beyond the Blue Density, and primordial demon gods dominating the dark abyss that together created an unknown number of brilliant chapters over the long course of the history. In this very world, there was a boy, named Lin Xun, who embarked on his journey to the pinnacle of strength alone through cultivation and spiritual tattoo inscribing. Translator: Escaping alone from the Mine Prison where he had been living since his adoption, Lin Xun knew nothing about his identity but the little information his adopter, Master Lu, had told him. With two ancient spiritual tools Master Lu gave to him before the destruction of the Mine Prison, Lin Xun started his journey to Ziyao Empire, where he is supposed to find out the truth of his lost Spiritual Vessel and the person who slaughtered his family, leaving him orphaned. Will he be able to unlock the mysteries of the two magic treasures, unveil the secrets of his identity and create a legend of his own?
8 719Chronicles of Ionathan Spellweaver [pending rewrite]
Ionathan lived an average life until he started to see glimpses of the life of an Archmage in his dreams… and decided to put this knowledge to use. Watch him walking on the path of mages, trying to uncover the secrets behind his visions. Will that what he saw become his destiny or is he risking a wrath of mages he might be unconsciously spying on? --- Set in a world heavily inspired by d&d rules and cosmology, albeit with many tweaks. Even if not written as a LitRPG, if someone's looking for it, he shall see that there is an evil GM rolling dices unseen in the background when characters are taking (some of) their actions to determine their results. Update 31.07 Pending rewrite.
8 104CHAOS: The Youth and The World of Wonders.
What had been forgotten, wasn't worth the memory. The youth woke up with no memories of his past. He didn't know his own name or his own origin, but he knew he wasn't alone, at least in this body. There was another one, and both of them didn't know much about each other. They had a conversation, but their conversation ended with a darkening world. The youth woke again, inside a chamber made of rocks. Two kids around- a twin of girl and a boy- told him that he fell from the upper world into the deepest place, where the sun could never reach and a single-season took all of the year. The youth didn't wait long until he voiced his desire of returning to the upper world, but for some reason, the humans here would prevent him and chase him away... and the little girl who only glared at him eventually told him that someone inside her was saying that youth was the worst being he had ever seen. Not to cause trouble to anyone, the youth decided to go away... but he didn't know that wherever he went trouble would always await.
8 217My best friends boyfriend
I'm not suppose to like him. Why? Because he's my best friends boyfriend.
8 89(Old) The Time of Night is Midnight
All she has known for all her life was to run, run from her problems. Until she ran into something that would be considered a wish granted. Midnight might have found someone who could love her for being the monster she is, a monster who was forced to kill. Sideswipe was one of the first to show her kindness and love her. Hopefully, his twin follows to or she'll be left heartbroken.
8 399My bully, My king, My mate
Danny has been feeling the abuse of his king for years. Everyday he has been bullied and tortured by the one who is supposed to protect him. Finally the moment he's been waiting for has come, the blood moon. His king will finally find his mate and get out of his hair. But what happens when he finds out that his bully and his king, is also his mate.
8 238