Creative Writing: World Building

I wanted to flex my storytelling muscles a bit, and had an idea for a… thing? Not a story, not a setting, just a fun element of a bigger idea. But in order for that to make any sense outside of my own head, I felt I needed to set up the world, even just in very broad strokes. So this post is a World Building exercise for a fantasty setting. I hope it’s even vaguely interesting.  

***

Massive creatures roam the land and seas, magic is wielded by those who can and those who can’t seek to survive through cooperation or corruption. 

But that is now. This is After. 

In the Before, the world was order.  Mother Earth slept and the planet was calm. The Wardens could not access magics and creatures were hunted for mundane resources. The largest animals on land were of the likes of elk or elephant, while the seas were rich with whales and massive schools of fish. Few people ever travelled further than the horizon around where they were born.

Then there was the Between. Over a millennia ago, the stories tell of a time when the stars fell from the skies day and night. The land was reformed and reshaped, and parts of the ocean bubbled and boiled. New monstrous creatures arrived in the wilds, and over a short few generations, the Wardens were awoken by Mother Earth to protect the people from the new, magical threats. The planet cooled for a time, and weather grew more erratic. But as the stars came back to the night skies and the day skies returned to blue, the planet calmed and settled into it’s new normal. 

That was generations ago. Since the Between, truth has mixed with tale, becoming legend, myth and religion. Mother Earth has worked to bring balance to all once again, but while it is no longer the chaos of the Between, neither is it the order of the Before. 

The After is a time of agriculture and adventure. Humanity has settled across the globe, guided by the knowledge and gifts of the Wardens. They thrive and have adapted to living in any climate or territory. A few regions are controlled by some of the larger wild creatures, such as certain species of pyrvians or the swarming and burrowing cicabras. Those are generally respected as off limits by anyone nearby, but brave or foolhardy adventurers sometimes quest for resources unique to these creatures.  

But creatures migrate and expand and seek out new homes for any number of reasons. The Wardens help to influence them away from large settlements when possible, and when not, assist in relocating the population affected. 

Occasionally, this results in ghost towns. Even more occasionally, it can result in a ghost city. Our heroes live in one such city. The once great city of Grand Port Cove is now more pirate than politician, brigand than baker, mercenary than merchant. Those who live there live in relative peace through mutual understanding that everyone else doesn’t want to be here too. 

That, and the issue with the krakataur. But that’s for another day. 

Short Story With Time Travel

This is another short story, and I usually post these without preamble or context, hoping the story will be enough to hold itself for as much as I want to tell. But I feel like this one does need a bit of context. For one thing, normally when I write a short piece of fiction for my blog, it’s a random moment, or the very first few paragraphs to a story. This time, it’s the very last page. It all started when a friend I know through Twitter posted the following exchange a few nights ago:

My 6 yo son: I want to go to your wedding.
Me: Which wedding? Mommy and my wedding?
Him: Yes
Me: But you weren’t born yet. You couldn’t go. You didn’t exist then.
Him: But I exist now.

This instantly sparked a story in my head of a kid somehow getting a time machine just to go back and be there for his parents wedding, but getting into all sorts of trouble along the way.

I responded to her at the time:

This is the start of a ripping great YA sci-fi book involving time travel, dinosaurs and the Temporal Enforcement Division, TED. "Sorry kid. TED talks, you listen. That's just how it is. I won't be taking questions at this time..."

And that was that. Or so I thought. In fact, my brain was running it over and over, imagining scenes and moments and set pieces, and I said so.

[Bleep]. I'm now writing the entire book in my head just to get that one gag into it. I have an ending... I [should] write it down before I go to sleep...

By this time, it was past 11pm. So I went to bed, turned out the lights and shut my eyes.

Then I got up again and got my keyboard for my iPad and sat up in bed and knocked out the following in about 30 minutes. It’s rough, it needs editing, but it was fun to write, and that’s all I care for. Enjoy.

***

He held the Time Piece in front of Connor’s face as it faded out of existence.

“Sorry kid. The adventure’s over for now.” Michael put one hand on his own Time Piece, and held the other out to Connor. “As an officer of the Temporal Enforcement Division, I am authorized to return you to your time of origin.”

Connor didn’t move. He looked down at the thick moss on the jungle floor. “It’s not fair! I just wanted to see my mom and dad’s wedding day. I wasn’t going to change anything, I promise!”

“I know that. Why do you think TED just sent a single officer, me, to deal with you? We keep the big teams for the big bads, the ones trying to rewrite history.”

“Then why did you stop me?” Connor asked, with maybe a little more poutiness in his voice than he had intended.

“Delay” the officer said calmly.

“What?” Connor looked up and saw, really for the first time, not the terrifying figure that had been chasing him since he first got the Time Piece, but a person, a regular other person that had a warmth in his voice.

“Delay. Not stop. You’re just 6 years old.” Michael placed one knee on the moss and a hand on Connors shoulder. “You’re too young to really appreciate this moment. Besides, if we’d let you go now, there would have been two of you there, and that actually would have caused problems for the timeline.”

Connor was silent for a long moment. “So I will get to see it?”

“Yes. And a TED officer will escort you. In fact, I put in a request for the job.” Michael thumbed the Time Piece and Connor saw that now familiar swirling of stars and streaks of purple, and suddenly he was back home. Michael stood up and took two steps back.

“Wait!” Connor said. “What if I tell people about this?”

“They’ll just chalk it up to a six year olds imagination. But you probably won’t. This is a secret that’s worth treasuring for yourself. See you in fifteen years, kid.”

“Fifteen years?!? That’s so long! Will I recognize you?”

“Sure.” Michael looked at his watch. “It’s 3:20 on a Friday afternoon by my timeline. I’ll hopfully be assigned your escort mission before the department shuts down for the weekend. I’ll see you Monday, personally speaking.”

Connor smiled. “That’s nice that you get weekends off.”

Michael shrugged. “Union rules. Nine to five, Monday to Friday. No overtime.”

The officer touched the control on his Time Piece and faded from existence.

***

There are things I’d certainly keep if I ever wrote more. I love the “TED talks, kid. You listen” gag, so the Temporal Enforcement Division would have to stay. I also love the idea that they run a strict Monday to Friday, 9 to 5 work week. Because they time travel, there’s no deadline you have to meet relative to your own time. You can take a break and drop in after a night’s sleep at almost the exact moment you left. I’d put in moments into the story where the officer shows up and seems a little forgetful of specific details of what exactly is happening, despite having been there moments before, because for him, it’s been a whole weekend.

Of course, there are things I think I’d have to change if I ever wrote more. I think the protagonist would have to be a bit older. For the short piece I wrote, I left the reference to him being 6 because my friend’s son is 6. But 6 is very young to be getting into adventures across time. I mean, it’s not impossible to imagine that for a kids book, it would just be a very diffferent story than I’m thinking of.

Anyway, thanks for reading. Sorry about the blog post title. I couldn’t think of anything better. If you liked it, that’s awesome! I like it too. If you didn’t, my friend responded to my initial story seed with “I love it!” so I blame her entirely for all of this and you can too. Either way, you’ll probably never see any more of this story from me.

Because that’s just how I roll! Peace out! [Attempts to leap dramatically out of view, catches foot on lighting rig, falls flat on face and dislocates a shoulder] 

You've Been Hacked

You've Been Hacked.

I never imagined it would take so little to strike fear right to my core. Just three words on a black background. I opened my eyes and blinked twice.

You've Been Hacked.

It was still displayed on my Message Center, on a red banner, scrolling across my eyes. It took a few seconds before I realised I was shivering, and a few more before I realised why. I stumbled out of the freezing shower, gasping for breath, and fell painfully onto the bathroom mat. You've Been Hacked floated above the back of my hands.

I shook my head, willing my Message Center to close, and had to approve the standard confirmation request in the event of an unread priority message. I looked around, grabbing the towel I kept on the back of the door and wrapping it around myself, without actually standing up yet. Once I felt I had regained enough control of my shaking legs, I tried supporting myself on the toilet and pushed to a standing posture.

My heart skipped half a beat when I opened the door. I could hear low voices from the living area. I didn't remember inviting a guest to stay, let alone enough to hold a conversation without my involvement. My apartment just wasn't big enough for that many people. I inched into the hall, trying to be quiet, but every splash of water from my clothing sounded like a waterfall in my head. I was soaked through. I must have been in the shower for a while.

A moment of brief relief passed over me when I saw that the wall monitor was set to a station, broadcasting a report with someone talking from a studio to a woman standing outside, the honeycomb dome barely visible in the night sky behind her. The sound was turned low, such that, even standing at the doorway, I couldn't make out what was being discussed.

I shuffled, shivering uncontrollably, into the bedroom. I was just pulling on a warm, dry pair of cargo pants when my Message Center flashed up again.

1 Priority Message. 4 Messages. 16 Missed Calls.

I willed my Message Center to display my messages. Two were marked Where are you? One CALL ME, in all caps, and one Have you seen the news feeds? I walked into the living area, expecting it before I saw it.

My face stared, dead-eyed, back at me from the wall monitor. Well, it was almost my face. No amount of rendered pores, blood vessels or muscles could hide the uncanny valley effect of a 3D generated model mask, despite the cost of the police software behind it. But it was definitely me, or my evil, plastic twin.

The woman reporter reappeared, mumbling something just below comfortable hearing level. Lights flashed behind her, reds and blues casting odd shadows across her perfectly retexture features, ruining the effect of a very expensive procedure. Below her, a ticker scrolled past.

16 Confirmed Dead In Terrorist Attack On El-Rail Car

Time to read that Priority Message.

Pulp, Fantasy & Oh So Very British

Six months ago role-playing games didn't even factor in my social calendar, either as a regular or irregular event. I hadn't played in anything for months, and my GMing experiences could be counted on one hand, despite the fact that I really wanted to let people play in some of the fantastical worlds that swam in my head!

But things have started to change in the last few months. I got in on a regular Monday night gaming session with Gar that started off as Spirit of the Century (SotC), in which I played a Gadgeteer. Once it was officially announced that Gar was writing the new edition of Traveller for Mongoose, we started play-testing the mechanics he was working on within the Firefly setting, as none of our group had much experience with Traveller, and were far more keen on playing space-cowboys anyway! In Firefly, I started off as a Rogue, before dieing, apparently completely forgettably, and returning as a Core-Worlds doctor, secretly under the employ of Blue Sun to investigate the origins or Reavers. That wrapped up all too fast before Christmas, and we moved on to something else in the New Year.

Now we're play-testing the upcoming Doctor Who RPG, which is fun, though admittedly, I'm playing it as an SotC game! I play a 1944 RAF pilot accidentally caught up in wacky time-travel shenanigans! Even though I'm not a fan of the Doctor Who series, Gar was careful to gauge our interests and play towards that! Plus, although I dislike the show, I love the concept. I love the time-travel, action adventure, the pulp-styled gadgets and over-the-top fun, the lovable ridiculousness of the TARDIS and the odd creepiness of the Daleks. What I don't like are the cheesy villains (pet hate: living plastic! Whiskey! Tango! Foxtrot!!) and the over use of low budget effects or props. There isn't an excuse for them anymore. The show has both a sizable budget and an endlessly creative crew. Episodes such as Blink, Sound of Drums and Family of Blood illustrate the inventiveness and ingenuity of the crew at all stages of an episodes production, yet despite these few shining moments, we still have to put up with living plastic and gas mask-faced zombies!! If you haven't already seen it, do yourself a favour and watch Blink. It is incredible, and due to the nature of the episode, everything you need to know about the Doctor is explained within the episode, so you could watch it without ever having seen another one!

Sorry... that got a bit rantish there. Well, I guess this is my blog, and I can talk about what interests me, but still. I've gone way off track!! Back to RPGs and the current situation I find myself in.

Um... actually, where was I? *blah, blah, blah* Play-test... *blah, blah* Doctor Who... Oh yes! Now I'm up to my own game! After months of trying to get a group together to play my own SotC game, I finally struck gold and pieced together a stunning and enthusiastic group for a Tuesday night ongoing story. As SotC is supposed to be a "pick-up-and-play" game, I've designed each episode to run within a single night, and there is very little of an over-arcing plot. It's fun, fast and pulpy. Last week was all character generation, which ran longer than expected as three of the five players were new to the system. However, while it officially starts tomorrow, I've spent the last week adjusting some of my stories to fit into characters backgrounds. Instead of Professor Bob, madman extraordinaire, they'll now fight Doctor Eternity, nemesis of Sir Alistair, inventor to His Majesty King George V. Honestly, I've never looked forward to a game more than this one!

And to top it all off, I'm now playing in Claire's D&D game on Sunday nights!! So far, there isn't much to say about this one. We're investigating the spread of a plague that doesn't kill anyone, we have no-one in the party that can heal, and I'm playing a customised version of a WarForged, essentially based exclusively off of RoboCop! This one's gonna be fun.

That brings my weekly gaming experiences up from zip, to three games a week, running Sunday, Monday and Tuesday! Not bad for someone that had lost all interest in gaming not so long ago. I'll try to add various bits of short fiction based on the games as I go along. I enjoy the three settings I'm playing in at the moment, and I love adding to the backgrounds or just general bits and pieces. Keep me bookmarked, and feel free to comment on things, or add your own ideas to my stories!

Personal Diary: Stg. Valentine "Val" McDonald, RAF

May 28th, 1944
By goodness, this house is odd. The upstairs lavatory flushes entirely of its' own accord, and the piano in the dining hall randomly bangs out notes as if a tone-deaf child were playing on it. Worse, the new wing that we were using to bunk in is constantly cold at night. Even with a fire in the hearth it was too cold for a night's sleep. Today we spent the morning moving the bunks into the room we were using for storage, and moving the equipment into that hellish icebox. The storage room is smaller, but at least we'll be able to rest at night. Minor annoyances, but annoyances none-the-less.

Yesterday I was busy helping the lads set up some of the perimeter flak cannons. I've flown through fire from those things quite a few times now, and let me tell you, they're as impressive up there as they are on the ground. With enough firing into the night sky, the law of averages says you'll hit something. We now have the manor surrounded with flaks and two further anti-aircraft guns in the drive. Nothing to stop a tank rumbling up to say hello, but this far into the British countryside, I doubt those krauts will make it here on the ground. We should be fine.

June 1st, 1944
A new month. The boys and I have been here three weeks now, waiting for orders and monitoring the situation on the continent. Reports from command suggests that there is something big going to happen very soon. Thompson has been telling me that he's heard through the grapevine that we're going to assault France, but as usual, the boys here have been left out of the loop. I can't imagine we'll have anything to do. This manor has been under RAF use for four years now and it's the dead-zone assignment. Anyone who gets stationed here just sits on the ground for their term of duty scratching their hind quarters and praying for a scrap.

That is something that still unnerves me. The war is raging across Europe, yet we're here with four Spitfires, three American Hurricanes, our own Lankie and far too much anti-aircraft support for such a small area so far inland. I've seen the command centre in the study. It certainly looks the business, but I can't help feel that it's too far away from anywhere it can do any good. And why have a fully manned bomber here? The Spitfires and Hurricanes I can understand. They're here in case we do end up getting hit. But what would our target be? There's nothing for miles around this manor, and I know even our Lankie would need to refuel before carrying out a mission over the Channel. Sitting in my safe on board the bird is a sealed set of orders. I wish I knew what they said, but I'll have to wait for an attack to open them.

Honestly, I hope I never do.

June 13th, 1944
Reports on the radio say that D-Day was quite the jolly good success. Now that the smoke has cleared and a fair chunk of occupied France is no longed occupied, it looks like this war might finally be coming to an end. The boys around the manor are claiming intelligence has word that Hitler thoughtNormandy was all a decoy! Never underestimate us Brits. Best damned military in the world, despite what the Americans claim. Gretzky loves to get the boys blood boiling, talking about all the great things America has done in the war already. I know he's just having fun, and I try not to rise to the challenge, but he isn't making any friends among the lads, and we've been here long enough now.

Too long for some. Wilkinson worries me. He's gotten used to constantly being on the move, never in one place for more than a few days. Last night he told me that he's been seeing ghosts. He claims to see them moving on the back stairs, but I use that all the time and have never seen anything. If this were any other of the lads, I'd send them packing and restrict rations for a few days for trying to pull such a pathetic prank. But Wilkinson is not like that. I don't think I've ever heard him tell a joke or try something funny. He gets so focused on the task at hand, and he keeps that focus. I think it might be that. He's been focused for five weeks now. Everyone's getting on edge. We've been here too long.

God. Let this war end soon, or let us back in the air for something more than test and maintenance runs. We have a lousy two hours scheduled for tomorrow in the air. We haven't spent more that a few hours among the clouds since we first got here five weeks ago. This is the longest most of us have been on solid ground since the war broke out.

June 15th, 1944
While I was dropping off yesterdays flight check reports to the command room I noticed the pins on the wall-map. Seems like the Luftwaffe is making pushes into the English countryside under the dead of night. I'm not sure what they're looking for, or why it's so important that they are willing to come this far into enemy territory, but if I didn't know better, I'd say those pins were coming here.

Damn this house. Damn this place. Damn this war.

Battle Of Bent River

The butt of the handgun smashed a small hole in the corner of the church window. Quaid pushed the barrel through the opening and fired twice into the thick cloud of dust and hooves. One of the riders fell.

Immediately two rifle-shots rang out. The one hit below the window, sending splinters of wood into the air, the other caused thick, warm fluid to run down Quaid's face. Recoiling in shock, Quaid rubbed the blood away from his eyes and felt for the wound. Instead, he saw the villager beside him slump to the floor, the right side of his face missing several vital components, first and foremost of which was his cheekbone.

Explosions went off overhead. A grenade exploded somewhere above, shattering the remains of the window on top of the few that could still shoot. Within seconds Quaid and the others in the church could see the old, dry wood of the roof begin to smolder. Firing twice more at the attackers, he spotted Anna being dragged across the graveyard by the bounty hunter.

"Ta Ma Duh. That ain't gonna end well."

Vaulting out the window, Quaid ducked a nearby handgun blast and returned the favour with pin-point results. The bounty hunter was gone, but there was only one place he could possibly be heading for. The Nirvana.

The streets were filled with dust kicked up from a dozen horses, and racing behind a nearby building was easy, even with his peg-leg. Quaid decided to bee-line for the General Store and from there, grab some guns and head for the ship. Rounding the first corner brought him face-to-face with one of the raiders. Arms full of looted goods from some locals home, even Quaid's less than stellar reflexes were fast enough to but a bullet cleanly between the opponents eyes, dropping the body before the goods could even hit the earth.

Across the main street was the store. From here, the high-tech holo-field windows and glistening polished steel of the store front stood in stark contrast to everything around it. Quaid looked up and down, considering his options. He had seen the weapons that the store sold earlier that day, and right now he knew he needed something more than his six-shooter. Pausing to reload, he darted across the empty street and ducked down below a window. Inside, the android sales assistant was repeating "Defense mode" over and over again in her soft, Chinese accent. He smiled for a moment, before kicking in the main doors.

"Chui se, ya wong ba duhn!" A lone raider standing firing at the android received a round to the temple. Quaid jumped sideways behind a counter as a shotgun blast juiced the hydrated apple stand. "Aw. Not the apples," Quaid exclaimed, as he took aim in the direction of the shotgun blast, squeezing tightly on the trigger. He never even saw the third raider.

For just a moment, everything stopped. The pellets seemed to freeze on his ribcage, and thoughts of Emily flooded his mind. Sweet Emily. His only love, his only reason. The sun rising through the upper layers of the gas giant. Even a billion miles away, it was still where he wished to be. On a colony station, orbiting a gas giant, wrapped in her arms.

Then everything started up again, and a blackness darker than anything the Verse could throw contain swallowed him whole.

Story Time, Kiddies

Ultimate Batman:
Issue 1 (Almost entirly without speech)
Pg 1- 6 letter box panels:
Panel 1- close up on Batmans eyes- just white lens- looking angry
Panel 2- close up on Bruce Waynes eyes, looking anxious
Panel 3- close up of Batmans hand holding a batarang sideways, mirroring...
Panel 4 - close up of Bruces hand, turned looking at his watch. The hands read 9:15
Panel 5 - close up of Batmans belt, retrieving a gadget from his belt
Panel 6 - close up of Bruces hand reaching for a glass of champaign.

Page 2 -Full page splash.
Batman holding a thug around the body from behind. One hand over the mouth, the other coming up underneath the thugs armpit and then around the back of the head. The thug is obviously shocked.

Page 3- Full page splash.
Bruce holding a very beautiful girl around the waist from behind. Both are dressed for a party and many others are in the background, enjoying the time. Bruce is young, 18 years old. He is dressed casual, shirt open, tie undone, resting around his neck. The girl is enjoying the embrace, and has her head inclined up and around looking for a kiss. Bruce is looking down her body at his watch. It reads 10:22.

The following pages jump from Batman on a night out, stopping evil, to Bruce at his 18th birthday. He's very distracted, evidently waiting for something, or some time. Some panels show him looking at his watch, others at the antique Grandfather clock against one wall. Every such panel shows time slipping by.

As the issue moves on Batmans fight with the thugs is set against Bruce's time at the party. The action in both sections should mirror each other to an extent, the darkness of the alley versus the bright party; the violent fight versus the gentle dance; the the flash of gunfire versus the flash of cameras.

Batman returns to the Batmobile. He has blood smeared across his lips, and wipes it off occasionally. It returns. The Batmobile is parked down another of Gothams many dark alleys. Batman stops for a moment, one foot inside the Batmobile as a number of GCPD police cars scream by the alley, lights flashing.

Bruces section has the party begin to wrap-up and the guests are hurried out. Some look annoyed at having the party stopped so early. Clocks in the background read 1:47. Bruces girl (Viki Vale) is very annoyed at not being let stay, but Alfred calmly forces her into the limo. Bruce stands in the doorway at the top of the steps, one foot inside the hall, as the last of the guests cars leave down the mansions drive.

The Batmobile is screaming along the roads. Bruce races through the mansion to the library. Batman activates a switch on a dashboard covered in little lights and switches. "Entrance Clear" flashes up on a screen. Bruce activates a hidden switch behind the Grandfather clock which now reads 1:53. The bookcase beside it slides open, revealing a rough staircase downwards. The Batmobile races through a hidden opening in a cliff face and along a narrow driveway inside. Bruce races down the stairs, Alfred following close behind.

Pulling off his shirt Bruce opens a locker. Inside are a number of Bat-Suits. He reaches for the first one. Bruce steps forward in full Batsuit, with just the mask in hand. He runs up to the Batmobile and runs his fingers along the paintwork. It's immaculate. As he turns around,

The Batmobile drives up and parks in a space beside the other one. Bruce leaps over the bonnets, landing with a slight acrobatic flair at the drivers-side door. It opens and Batman steps out, blood-marks colgealed on his lips.

Last panel on second last page:
Bruce: Alright, old man. I've kept my end of the bargain. Now you keep yours.
Batman is reaching to remove his mask in the same panel.

Last Page- Full page splash.
Bruce Wayne is standing on the left side of the page, a huge smile beaming across his face. A much older man is standing looking at him one the right side of the page. He looks every bit as tired and old as Bruce looks energetic and young. Think Dark Knight Returns Batman standing next to Batman from the current The Batman Warner Bros cartoon, only the older man isn't as crazily large as DKR Batman was. Both are looking each other in the eyes. In the background, between them on the page, and looking worried, stands Alfred. Behind him, above a wall of computer monitors a huge clock reads 2:00.

***

That's my opening shot. The premise is that Batman has been around for years before Bruce is old enough to do the job. The whole time, he's been played by Bruce's friend from after his parents were killed, Gotham City Police Department Officer James Gordon. Bruce has been using his family millions to finance the gadgets and tech, all on the condition that once he turns 18, Jim has to hand over the mantle of the Bat. He's spent all his life training for this time.

Batman is still an urban legend. Gordon is good at what he does, and uses his police connections and access to make some evidence dissappear that could support the rumours of this vigilante, while twisting other evidence to "prove" that these events have been the result of numerous individuals, empowered by the concept of this Batman figure, but ultimately working alone, and often only once.

Early issues have Bruce screw up a few times. Some villians immediately spot the difference, and he gets himself into the kind of trouble he has to use his brains to escape from. At least once he should loose the criminal entirely, but some quick detective work gets him back on the trail. This should be the focus. Bruce becomes the Dark Detective relying on brains as much as brawn, while Gordon was always just the Dark Knight, relying on his fists.

Well. That's it for the start. Hope you guys like it. That's actually an idea I've been playing with for over a year now, with help from my best buddy Noel. If I had any artistic skills I'd try actually drawing it out, but I don't, so... you know...