“THAT’S NOT ONLY BRILLIANT — IT’S ‘why-didn’t-I-think-of-that’ brilliant.”
Tag: WIP
Works In Progress. The “typing” part of Writing — and the most challenging.
Prosatio Silban and the Starving Survivor
A BUOPOTH IS A STRANGE beast: some say it is half-composed of dreams, others prefer not to speculate. But of the little that is known, one thing is certain: no matter what shape the beast takes, its eyes are the most soulful of any creature in all the Exilic Lands.
One of these eyes was fixed on Prosatio Silban as the cook approached with a bag of fatberry cakes. “Buopoths can lumber all day on a fatberry cake and a kind word” ran the proverb, and today had certainly proved it: a brisk sixteen-hour galleywagon pull along the Reaching Road through the light-forested countryside north of cosmopolitan Soharis. Prosatio Silban dug into the bag and surveyed his environs; a small clearing under a circle of maiden-oaks. A fine evening, and a good place to camp. He patted the beast, fed it, told it what a good buopoth it was, and made plans for his own dinner. Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Starving Survivor”
Prosatio Silban and the Visitor From The Sands
He was cleaning up his galleywagon late one night at the edge of one of cosmopolitan Soharis’ more workaday fish markets, making ready to fold down the ‘wagon’s canopy-awning, when the Siddis appeared.
Now, to understand this story, you must know that Soharis, a city perched where the Rimless Sea meets the Uulian Commonwell, is the sort of place where one may expect to meet almost anyone at almost any time. Continue reading “Prosatio Silban and the Visitor From The Sands”
Future Informal
“MY NAME IS 010180,” SAID the friendly robot. “But you can call me 0.”
Across The Rimless Sea: Folk
FOLLOWING ON THE INFORMATION REVEALED in “Who Is This Prosatio Silban, And What Does he Want?” here is a chart listing the Exilic Lands’ inhabitants. It’s meant as a quick reference rather than a last word.
Attentive readers will recognize some of what’s named herein but may or may not have light shed thereby, so: the Xao, Xai and Xax are, like the Aydnzmri and Mazei, descended from the “Antecedents” whose millennia-ago war broke the Exilic Lands (and first gave them that name); but unlike their more refined counterparts, reverted to barbarism. Continue reading “Across The Rimless Sea: Folk”
Punch-drunk Piety
WE ARE THE WRESTLERS-WITH-God,
the ones grabbing His lapels and hollering “Speak up, sonny!”
and don’t worry about staining the carpets.
And we like It that way.
You who put God on a shelf
Who pull Him out once or twice a year to look at and sigh over
Who wrap Him in chains of fear and “can’t”
Ought to be ashamed of yourselves
For not knowing all the Fun you’re missing.
Zen Spritzer
HOW DO YOU KNOW YOU are reading this?
Bromantic Disclaimer
ASTUTE READERS OF THE METAPHORAGER may have noted the default use of the masculine gender (e.g. he, him, his, man, etc.). This is due neither to a slight against the better-looking sex nor a political statement, but the love of such phrases as “MAN ON MOON” or “essential love of mankind” or “There are some things Man was not meant to know,” and as an XY kind of guy it just sort of comes natural to me.
My point is, if you’re hung up on a phrase, you’re missing the point.
And Now, A Moment of Silence
Who Is This Prosatio Silban, And What Does He Want?
The most addicting D&D element for me has always been “worldbuilding” – establishing an ecology of people, monsters and treasure within a self-consistent storytelling framework. It’s an excellent outlet for structured creativity, and one day, while at my day-job as an offset printer, I grabbed a pad, scrawled a coastline and bay, added some mountains and a river basin, and began describing those who lived there.
Some years later I had compiled several notebooks and folders full of maps and diagrams, charts and lists, races and religions, legends and monsters, mostly written in two-to-60 minute slices during and between offset jobs. It was a lot of fun. But it was also pretty lonely; at that point, I didn’t play D&D anymore, and I felt a bit … unrequited. And, to be honest, somewhat silly.
So in 2005, I decided to tell stories to answer the question, “What would it be like to actually make a living in one of these invented worlds?” After all, somebody has to clean up all those slain dragons (and, probably, buy groceries and pay rent). Thus was born Prosatio Silban, self-defrocked holyman and mercenary cook.
Worldbuilding and its fruits have brought me great joy (and occasional comfort) during the past several decades. I hope you have found some joy in it too.
Aside
“GOOD GOD, MAN — WHAT HAPPENED?”
“Well, I was on the freeway, and my car stalled right in front of a hurtling semi. Fortunately, the orchestra changed tunes at exactly that moment and distracted everyone.”
“What orchestra?”
“See?”
Five Summer Haiku
(THESE WERE WRITTEN JUNE 21 on the unnetworked “writing laptop,” which I only mention to explain the last verse and thank you for not skipping ahead. And now, this.)
So soon the heat comes
after long weeks of spring rain.
Sweat follows storm drops.
Summer’s popsicle
And a pool to eat it by.
What more do you need?
Dappling sunlight
dances on the patio:
cool green tree cavern.
Lemonade tinkles
in an ice-filled glass alive
with summer music.
Roll out the bandstand
and strike up the musicians:
It’s summer solstice!