A Terrifying Purpose

Some things take a while. Trees do not grow overnight. Canyons do not carve themselves. It was also some time before I made the move from Denmark to Charleston. Lots of resumes went out, interviews were conducted, and names were shared in the interest of networking. Eventually, though, I made it down here. And while my current situation still leaves much to be desired, few would disagree that I'm better off than I was.

Other things, though, spring to life as if they've been waiting for the chance. I ordered the book "The Well-Fed Writer" about a month and a half ago and decided to start billing myself as an up-and-coming freelance commercial writer. As it stands today, I have three articles pending with various people, the potential for doing several paid press releases about local businesses for Dorchester County, and an initial article about the port for a development organization's new newsletter in addition to ongoing work with them.

Excuse me while I try to stop my head from spinning.

Not a single word of mine has been published, nor has a single check been made out to me, but I feel as if success is creeping up behind me, giggling with a foreign mirth. This is good! I'm making waves, as it were.

This hasn't stopped me from looking for a full-time job, of course. There's a certain comfort in having a paycheck. Health coverage is also particularly important for me since I take medication. For all the complaints that can be leveled against office work, at least its dependable.

That's what scares me about this success-in-the-wings. If I struck out on my own, I'd have to do my own marketing to find work. I'd have to regiment myself. I'd have to buy and manage my own health insurance. It almost makes me want to crawl into a cubicle for cover.

Almost.

While talking to one of my new 'clients' today, I realized that she was treating me as a full-fledged professional writer. I only had a draft of an unpublished article and a copy of my newsletter that takes little more than cut-and-paste! It was a potent moment, but I knew I couldn't turn back or look to someone else to tell me what to do.

I've been saying that I'm a writer, and people have believed me. I shouldn't be so shocked. A writer, of all people, should know the power of words.

I don't know how long its going to take to develop an income, so I'm still going to keep an eye out for a full-time job. Should the opportunity present itself, though, I'll strike out on my own. Its certainly intimidating, but with job upon job presenting itself, I think it has merit. It is a terrifying purpose far too promising to ignore.


Twilight out.

The Fall of Avannan

For those of you not in Charleston, what follows requires some preamble. Since I moved here, I have become involed in a monthly D&D game hosted by my friend Dave. My other friends here join in, such as Hope, Arnold, Beth, and Roger (it was Arnold who brought me in the first place). I needed a character to play, obviously, so I decided to be a cleric. As the cleric is the healer and D&D involves no small amount of combat, he is an essential position to fill.

That was my initial reason. I like stories, though, and characters with substance, so I wanted my cleric to have more than (what I consider) a cool name. So I pondered for a bit, and came up with a backstory. In doing so, I ended up creating a civilization. So as not to spoil too much for the fellow players who are reading, I'll only post here the legend I wrote.

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"There are many myths that float through the barbarous lands past the
eastern mountains. Most tell of the gods and the coming of
the mortal races, but there is one story that has persisted
in the lore of every race for as long as there have been people to
share it.

It tells of the ancient land of Avannan, the first great kingdom in
this land. The capital, Avannis, was built upon the Lonely Island
located in the center of the Inland Sea. The ruins still stand, and
are old beyond reckoning. It is impossible to say where the kingdom-
builders came from. Some legends say that the gods brought the
favored children of great races from afar and taught them of building
and ruling. Other stories say the people were of the gods
themselves; demigods subduing the land for their glory. Still others
say that the dragons once came in disguise among primitive men and
beget offspring from the fairest, wisest, and strongest they found.
Overall, descriptions of the kingdom conflict in all regards but one:
that there was a great power held by its people, protected deep
within the island capital.

This history of Avannan is the story of its fall. It first
tells of the great prosperity of the Avann under their king,
Rodinnar. He had made peace with the barbarian tribes and
eventually sought an alliance with the dwarves of the mountains, so
he sent an envoy to the dwarven king, Thronil. The Avann
emissaries were unfamiliar with dwarven ways, however, and a grave
insult was innocently uttered in Thronil's hall. Thronil cast the
envoy from the mountains and declared war on Avannan.

Thronil was no fool, however. He knew of the strength of Avannan and
had heard rumors of the hidden power in their capital. Some said it
was this power, a gift of the gods perhaps, that gave the Avann their
strength and protected them. He sent for Viridian, a mercenary sorcerer
who wandered the lands. Viridian had seen much of the world and knew
something of the powers that dwelt where mortal eyes could not see.
He confessed to having as little knowledge of the Avann as Thronil but
offered his services to the dwarf king.

Rodinnar had no love of battle but knew that swords would have to be
drawn before a reconciliation could be made with Thronil. The
dwarves found the Avann to be as strong as Thronil thought while the
Avann themselves were impressed with the endurance of the dwarves.

Neither side gained ground, to the frustration of Viridian. As the
war drew on, he became ever more intrigued by the Avann he saw on the
battlefield. They seemed different to him than other humans he had
met, even from those whose blood was mingled with other races. A
hunger began to grow in his heart to learn what the secret they
guarded truly was.

He summoned other sorcerers to his service, as well as creatures from
other planes. He learned that the dwarves were planning to empty the
mountain with a great assault on Avannis, so Viridian offered to lead
a second charge and flank the city with his magical force.

The Avann met the dwarves before the walls of Avannis. Seeing such
a great host, and knowing how many would perish, Rodinnar rode toward
the dwarven army alone and called out for Thronil to talk with him.
Thronil was nothing if not proud, and strode out to meet the Avann king.
Rodinnar spoke earnestly of his desire for peace and how no insult was
meant by his envoy. Thronil answered that an insult was still heard
despite intentions, but it might be forgiven if Rodinnar could defeat
him in single combat. Rodinnar consented, and their forces watched as
their lords sqaured off. It was a long and hard fight, with equal shares
of blood being spilled. In the end, Thronil yielded and declared the
insult forgiven by valor.

Viridian, for his part, kept to the plan. He now knew nothing other
than finding the Power Within the Isle, as he called it. Instead of
a siege, he had his sorcerers create illusions to draw away the Avann
defenders so that he, alone, could infiltrate the city. Once inside,
he changed his form to match the Avann and slowly made his way toward
the heart of the city.

Their grievance settled, Thronil and Rodinnar began to talk of alliances
and rebuilding what had been lost in war. Thronil also told Rodinnar
about Viridian. The dwarf king was surprised, however, to find that his
soldiers could not find him among the ranks of sorcerers. It was then that
Rodinnar saw Viridian's desire, and raced back to the city.

The two of them, sorcerer and king, are said to have met in the
center of Avannis, in a great room called the Hall of Dreaming. No
description exists of the room and no record has been found that
tells what happened between Rodinnar and Viridian. The only
witnesses of these events were the dwarves, and what happened after
Rodinnar left the battlefield is this:

As the dwarven and Avann soldiers stood outside the city, a strange
glow surrounded them. It filled the sky and covered the ground with
an otherworldly light. Something then happened to the Avann. Their
expressions changed and they seemed to be staring at some distant
horizon. They turned away from the amazed dwarves to face their
capital. A soft voice started to sing from somewhere in the city in
an unknown tongue to a melody that was unrepeatable. It grew
stronger and the Avann soon joined in. At that moment, the forms of
the Avann standing before the dwarves began to change. The dwarven
soldiers each reported seeing something different; some saw the Avann
looking very dwarvish, others saw dragons or angels where men once
were, and still some saw things for which they had no words. The
Avann began to walk towards the city, and it seemed that the ground
itself stretched away from the dwarven army to draw the Avann in.
The song that had filled the air reached a crescendo, and the dwarves
covered their ears from its pounding and shut their eyes against the
Avann who were now shining too brightly to look at. When they could
look again, all was silent and still.

Thronil lead the dwarves into the city, but no Avann were to be
found. The doors to the Hall of Dreaming were shut and no arm could
move them nor any dwarven hammer break them. The dwarves soon left,
feeling that they should not linger in the city any longer. It
stands now as it did then. From time to time, a wanderer or forest
creature will find its way into the ancient streets, but they, like
the dwarves of legend before them, will never be able to stay long.

Some say the city is waiting for its people to return. You see, not
all the Avann disappeared that day. There were some who had
journeyed off to explore the world and eventually settled in distant
villages or cities, passing their bloodline down through the
generations. When they heard about what happened to Avannis, they
strangely didn't return. When asked why, their only answer would be
a smile and a far-off look. They never forgot their home, though,
and they passed this story to their children and all who would
listen. The Avann who had once lived in Avannis never embellished
the story or answered the many questions that would follow. If it
was cruelty, it was a solitary kind that was never elsewhere spoken
of them. Whatever their reason, it is now impossible to separate the
truth of Avannan from the fancies of storytellers. The dwarves, for
their part, have never spoken of any records or artifacts from the
ancient kindgom. All that remains is this legend. Those that have
heard it tell others still. I was one such listener, and now I have
told it to you."

-the cleric Vonnar Bandish, entertaining the crew of the Albers during a voyage

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I've thought of more since I wrote that, expanding on the mythos and the history. Most I'd like to keep between Dave and myself, but we'll see. I think it'll make for an interesting tale.


Twilight out.