#Short Stories of Eonera

[dungeonmastersconsortium]

Deeks: A Short Story of Eonera

Deeks sat on the park bench, wiping the sweat from his brow with a gloved hand. It was not particularly warm, but he had been trying to complete his route early, and his final delivery for the day had been in one of a few production facilities on the outskirts of Druwa. He could still taste the acrid metal tang of the air that was ever-present in arcane production buildings. He coughed and spat on the ground before taking a swig of water from the bottle he kept slung over his shoulder, before pouring it over his face to scrub some of the gray soot away.

Looking up at the sky, he saw the beautiful blue that was interrupted almost imperceptibly by the shimmer of Druwa’s defenses. Most people in the city, when they saw that shimmer, felt safe… protected. It helped them feel better. Deeks, though, only saw a sign of how far the beautiful world he lived in had fallen. With the rise of existential threats all around them, the Matriarch had decided to put the barrier in place. Now the city’s arcane batteries, once only a precautionary measure in case of a major disruption, powered the rippling dome over the city.

Matters like this were no longer Deeks’ concern, though. He was a simple courier now, and he cherished the simple joy of the job. He picked up the rod containing the day’s deliveries with a list of corresponding locations, summoned the parcel, and moved on. He got to go home to his partner when he was done, something he had only been able to do every now and again before. On a day like today, that meant everything to him. 

Deeks, you there? The voice in his head was dull, the unmistakable smoky tone of the goblin dispatcher who assigned routes with the courier service. She spoke to him through the band clipped to his upper left ear. How many stops do you have left?

Hey, Valya, he replied mentally. Wouldn’t you believe it? I’m all booked up for today. He looked down at the steel rod in his free hand, dull from the lack of illuminated runes. 

Bullshit, came the reply. You do know I can tell which rods have empty spots, don’t you? He did know that, of course. He replied with a mental eye-roll, which couldn’t be send, but the idea was transmitted over the telepathic link.

Yeah. I meant that I’m done for the day, he thought, dully. I’ve got stuff to do tonight. He received the mental equivalent of a shrug in response.

Late arrival. Paid extra for same day delivery.

I said no.

It’s close by. Sort of. Just get it done, and you’ll get the usual same-day bonus.

Does Corna understand the meaning of no?

He does. He also understands how time works. And coin. No other couriers are in your area. It’s an hour, tops. 

I have to go home and- His mental retort was cut short.

You’ve got a nameday party to prepare. We know. Corna says there’s something extra in the pocket for tonight. A token of his appreciation.

If it’s another “One free half day” token, you can tell Corna to shove it up- Valya cut him off, probably saving his job.

It’s a couple bottles of that Uakruth vintage you like.

Fine. Last delivery. Sighing, he activated the first of the two glowing runes on the rod. Out popped a tightly rolled scrap of paper with an address. He groaned and stood up, shaking his head to get rid of some of the water and sweat that remained. He pulled the hood on his cloak up and got moving. He regretted not riding a skimmer today, but his current route wasn’t friendly to the hovering vehicles, given the haphazard alignment of the buildings. He hustled through the roads, sidestepping the occasional pedestrian as he hurried about his business. On the outskirts this was much easier, but the occasional “merchant” tried to flag him down to browse their wares, and even a Vidarian broker, blue-skinned and four-armed, tried to get him to take a job. He didn’t stop moving, even as the amphibious humanoid tried to flag him down with reassurances that it was easy, quick money for a courier. He kept his mind focused on his task, driven by his need to get home. He barely noticed the sky darkening… If he had, it may have struck him as odd, given that it was still early in the afternoon.

After a half hour or so of walking at the brisk pace he insisted on maintaining, he arrived at the designated address. He knocked on the door absentmindedly, already thinking of the preparations he’d still have to take care of when he got back. He had already paid a few street cooks to prepare food for the party, but decorating and rearranging the furniture still needed doing. He was about to knock again when he noticed the signboard on the wall next to the door.

BYLLERA HAS LEFT THE CITY

IF YOU NEED HER, INQUIRE AT

THE SILVERHOLD IN LEWELLYRA

Deeks sighed. A waste of his time. He pulled his hood back as if he were about to speak to someone face-to-face, more out of habit than actual necessity. He hated telepathic communication.

Valya. I don’t know who paid you for same day delivery, but they’re late, it seems. Recipient is long gone. 

Odd, came the reply. 

You’re telling me, he replied, tilting his head back to scrub his face with his hands. Refinery soot itched like a bitch. He then saw the darkening sky, and he narrowed his eyes, as though trying to solve a complex equation. 

Well, assuming you’re not about to track her down, just - 

Deeks’ senses were immediately overloaded. The first thing he registered after losing his sight was an intense, high pitched whine followed shortly by a blinding white light that replaced the darkness. The air tasted like burning metal, but not like it had at the refinery. This was more pure… more sinister. He fell to his knees as his flesh felt like someone was slowly pressing needles into him all over. Was it the ground shaking beneath him, or was that his body, wracked and shaking with sobs? 

He blinked repeatedly, only to see through the haze of spots in his vision what looked like huge, metallic debris falling over the city. Not a lot… but before he could figure out what it was, the barrier that surrounded most of the city sparked and became opaque. The barrier that he, now, was outside. He was still paralyzed with pain, blinded by the sparkling lights that plagued his eyes. He gasped for breath, but the air tasted foul. He felt odd, something he hadn’t felt… Then he realized that he had subconsciously engaged a personal, transparent barrier around himself. As he gasped, looking around he saw the pedestrians around him. It was a scene straight out of his nightmares.As if in slow motion, he saw people dissolving around him… Their flesh turning to dust, followed by muscles… then bone. He screamed in pain and horror, unsure what was happening around him. 

Looking toward the city, Deeks saw that people inside the barrier were looking just as horrified, but seemed unharmed. Then, with increasing dread, he realized that the shuddering he thought was his own body was, in fact, the ground beneath him. As the ringing subsided, he heard what sounded like the earth being torn apart. When he saw the city within the barrier list slightly, he stood up and tried to sprint toward the barrier. He defied the pain coursing through him, protesting every movement. He pounded a fist on the barrier, which did nothing but cause a searing pain that radiated up his arm, leaving black, cracked skin in its wake, and threw him backward. 

As he regained his senses, he saw the city… his city, sinking in the ground. 

VALYA. VALYA, WHAT’S HAPPENING? No response. He tapped the cuff on his ear. He took it off and examined it. It still carried the enchantment… But it wasn’t reaching its counterpart. He reached out to the barrier and screamed, a sound that tore through his throat with an anguish that couldn’t be put into words. Deeks was educated, and he knew what was happening, in part. The barrier had reacted to a threat, and was closed to outsiders. He was trapped on the wrong side. He lay on the ground, pounding the stone impotently with his fists, tears running unchecked down his cheeks. The city surely couldn’t survive if it continued to sink. He was aware of the massive cavern that lay below the city. Far below, not close to the surface enough to warrant concern about building a capital above it. But at the rate the city was sinking, it’d plummet to the bottom. 

Deeks was just a courier, trapped outside an impenetrable barrier, screaming, crying, and flailing in anguish. He heard a deep thrumming sound, and internally winced, though he was able to make peace with it. Though his sobbing didn’t stop, he laid on his back, arms spread wide to the sky above him. At least this second wave of whatever danger had killed those around him wouldn’t be stopped by his contingency barrier… He would perish with all the rest.

*************

Deeks coughed as he awoke, his mouth and throat felt covered with dust. He rolled over, taking a drink from the bottle he always carried with him on the job. He choked, spat, and tried again, more slowly. He rolled over weakly, looking toward his home. Then he remembered what had transpired. He got to his feet shakily, then felt a surge of fear, pain, and rage, propelling him to sprint toward the barrier… Or where it had been. He was able to pass through the area, which was now a shallow crater in the earth. He sped down the incline, nearly falling multiple times. 

Running for… He didn’t know how long… he reached the spot. He knew it should be here. He pounded the earth with his fists, to no avail. He dug at the soil with his hands, as if he could simply unearth his home. 

He did not know how long he knelt there, digging, crying, and wailing, but eventually his arms refused to move, and he could no longer hold himself up. He crumpled, and embraced the darkness that overcame him once again.

*************

He guessed it had been two, perhaps three weeks since the city sank. He had been able to scavenge food and water from some of the buildings on the outskirts, and had been keeping himself alive more out of habit than any desire to see the next day. He wandered without purpose, eventually finding himself, quite by accident, in the same spot he had fallen when the city was forced below. He sat there, staring at where his city had been. He had contemplated the possibilities of seeking the city, and fully intended to do so… but he knew it was futile, deep down. He was currently considering more… dark possibilities. The only people he cared about had plunged beneath the surface… miles beneath the surface. He wasn’t far away from other bastions of civilization, but what was the point? The only person he loved was likely dead. He had no one, no job, no purpose…

He saw a glimmer in the dust nearby. He tilted his head quizzically, then walked over to the pinprick of light. Brushing the dirt away, he saw his transport rod, which hadn’t quite been buried by the dirt that blew all around the area for days after the sinking. He remembered what it contained, and the tears began to flow again. He hardly noticed them any more, they already felt like old friends. He considered opening the dimensional pocket, then looked up.

If you need her, inquire at the Silverhold in Lewellyra.  He hefted the pack he had assembled over the last few days, stuffing the rod inside. Last delivery, he thought, even as he scrubbed at his dusty, tear-streaked face. Putting aside all thoughts of his own end, he began to walk. Last delivery.

[dungeonmastersconsortium]

I liked your short story, but I feel like I wanted to know more about the place that got destroyed? Like, why should we care? I want to know about the world

I've gotten a couple critiques that mention this. It's a conscious choice I made (and will continue to make if I continue to do the series) to inform the readers about the world through the experiences of the people that live in the world.

I LOVE technical worldbuilding. (Some of my players might say it's one of my stronger traits as a GM: If you ask me how magic works or whatever I can tell you in Eonera. Don't ask me about textiles or geology.) Technical worldbuilding is often my favorite part of fantasy.

It's not the story I want to tell right now.

If I continue to write short stories, the idea is to frame them around an apocalyptic event. In my head, I'm going to crib some formatting from some of my favorite books. It's going to be a series of short stories told from various characters' viewpoints. Sometimes the stories may intersect. There may be repeat POV's.

IF I continue, the goal is to tell the personal stories of people who lived (or didn't) through the end of days. The people that worked in some way to help or harm others, that took advantage of the apocalypse for their own gain or that worked selflessly to help rebuild.

See, in my campaigns, this event (or series of events) is in the distant past. Characters occasionally come across ruins or stories, or sometimes fully intact locations, but rarely get definitive answers. I don't want to write the full technical worldbuilding. I'll get there, but that's for games.

Also, the character of Deeks is very interesting to me, and maybe we'll get to why. He's been kicking around in my head for a while.

[dungeonmastersconsortium]

Stories of Eonera, Pt. 1

The first very short story from my custom campaign world! This time featuring a well-known character from my world!

Dieron took a moment to run his hand across his forehead. A thin, red mixture of sweat and blood coated the palm of his leather gauntlet. The harsh screeches of metal striking and scraping against metal surrounded the cleric, but he needed a moment, and these momentary respites were all too rare in the middle of a battle. The goblin horde was relentless, but this would be the last battle with them, one way or the other. Both sides had overcommitted, and retreat was likely to end in slaughter. 

A groan, almost a gurgle. A hand raised toward him.

Well, so much for a rest. Dieron reached out, taking the soldier’s hand. The cleric’s golden eyes flashed slightly, and the soldier briefly glowed as a similar light radiated from him. Pulling the soldier to his feet, Dieron nodded wordlessly. Sweat poured from his forehead. 

Well, I’m not much more help than a common soldier now, Dieron thought morosely. That’s the last of my power. He had done very little in the way of actual fighting, which was the way he preferred it, if he were honest with himself. Healing had a purity about it that couldn’t be matched. Killing was distasteful.

Dieron surveyed the battlefield, catching the glance of a familiar pair of brown eyes a little ways away. He smiled, and Thurid smirked back. The strong-jawed orcish face of the cleric’s husband was exhilarated. Though they both found killing distasteful, Thurid enjoyed a good fight. When he saw the exhaustion on Dieron’s face, Thurid moved to run to Dieron, but the cleric waved him off. Thurid shrugged, and turned to engage a number of hobgoblins. 

Dieron sighed and moved as quickly as he could around the battlefield. Though he could not heal any wounds, he could prevent others from dying, potentially allowing them to survive otherwise mortal wounds. The blessings of Anthaeron were certainly a welcome addition to the battlefield. It pained him to not be able to help any more, but he did what he could, occasionally raising shield or sword to defend a standing soldier. 

Dieron took a moment to run his hand across his forehead. A thin, red mixture of sweat and blood coated the palm of his leather gauntlet. He looked for those familiar brown eyes. That rough grin. Instead, he saw those eyes closed in a grimace of pain, and steel. Steel that had entered Thurid’s chest. 

The scream that escaped Dieron’s lips seemed to momentarily silence the battlefield. His long golden hair fluttered momentarily in a nonexistent breeze, and golden wings of light sprouted from his shoulders, revealing his celestial heritage. 

The heavy boots of the cleric pounded across the ground. A gauntleted hand outstretched, and golden fire enveloped the hobgoblin captain responsible. The creature yelled in pain and frustration, but charged at the cleric, brandishing his own sword and shield. With yells of rage and determination, the captain and the cleric crashed into each other. 

The captain snarled something in a language that Dieron didnt understand, and Dieron responded in kind. “ETH HOC DU PRESERVARIAT. URA MORETARI OS INFERTORNI AT SEPTA!” This will not last long. You will burn and die for this. 

The hobgoblin snarled again, and lashed out with the sword. Dieron didn’t bother to block, dodging the worst of the blow. The tip grazed his cheek, but the cleric didn’t notice the wound. Stepping forward, he lashed out with the shield, driving the steel into the hobgoblin’s face. Falling back, the captain cried out as Dieron fell onto him, dropping his sword to securely hold onto the neck of the offending captain. Blow after blow from the shield rained down upon the hobgoblin, until what was once a head was a bloody mass of flesh and bone. 

Panting, Dieron crawled over to Thurid, not even noticing the hobgoblins that fled his wrath. He didn’t look at the wound, which he knew was fatal. He could see it on Thurid’s face. “I want to go home... I want breakfast.” Breakfast? Is that what you have to say at a time like this? Dieron winced, chiding himself for not being able to say the right thing. What was the right thing to say? 

“We will again, someday.” Thurid’s voice was even lower than normal. A hoarse croak. He held his hand out to Dieron, offering a golden locket. Dieron took it, the tears running down his cheeks. It had been a marriage gift, and held images of both of them. Thurid smiled a last, rough grin at the top of the hill as Dieron knelt beside him.

“I just wanted everything to be okay. I just wanted it to be enough,” Dieron said. 

“It was.”