RSC LORE – Mythos entry 1 – Kiah

Need I apologise?

Forgive me for another short entry. The one I intended to release today, “RSC LORE – Excerpt 2 – The Pale Torturer,” has become a project in itself, and I do not want to rush it.

RSC LORE – Mythos entry 1 – Kiah

Where is Kiah, and what relevance has she to Anwar and the events of RSC? This I might never answer.

The following entry was adapted from my giant offline wiki (which I currently refer to as my “mythos wiki,” if you were questioning the significance of the title). It is a glance at my writing process, a description of one of my planets that I never intended to show.

Kiah was a frenzied world of a thousand islands and few veritable continents. Her greatest landmasses persisted near her poles, while densely vegetated islands mottled her from her knees and shoulders to her waist. Volcanoes spilt from these islands’ centres, forming fresh peninsulas and merging them into an igneous lattice.

Two small moons orbited Kiah and each other, creating irregular and hostile tides, and through her thick atmosphere sometimes pierced the rays of distant and dead stars.

Wild and mighty storms slashed at her, bloating her twisted jungles and sprawling fens. And such tempests grew and fizzled like the rage of the Ancients that once pressed rock and root into her clay.

But more feral than Kiah’s tides and weather were her occupants.

Each of her islands hosted a unique food chain, often ruled by an apex predator incapable of satiation, whose gluttony razed its home and self and ushered in new chains and new predators. Her oceans too were rich with life, and its species were no less glabrous than those of the land. Those of Kiah’s creatures that were furred or feathered supplemented for her great monsoons with oils and arboreal hidings… or expired and added to her their proteins.

“Spiralling towers of cloud whip up the skin of a blue sphere, and for as many clouds as I can see, there are equally as many shards and piles of green. Each is a jungle on shores steep, battered by wind and wave.

To the poles recede caps of ice and snow, vast and deep enough to be worlds of their own. And beyond them is the dark of space, the terrain in which we slept for a million years.

Yes, Kiah is angry this day. But breaks in the deluge let in shapes of light, and I grow impatient for the feel of real sun upon my skin.”

— Alexander Breaker (printed on a piece of glass found by a caster dark and old)

RSC LORE – Excerpt 1 – Anwar’s Oddity

For more information on RSC, visit the RSC page.

An introduction to the RSC LORE series

Most of the work I have done for RSC will never be seen. My current compendium to the work takes the form of a giant offline wiki. While the wiki is brimming with information, much of it I’ve compressed into bullets points.

The RSC LORE series is my attempt to translate parts of the wiki into interesting excerpts, short stories, and more (there are almost no limits to what this “more” can mean). Once I have posted three or four entries, I’ll create a section in the RSC page that acts a node for all the RSC LORE series.

This first entry is very short. Expect the subsequent to be longer.

RSC LORE – Excerpt 1 – Anwar’s Oddity

The following is an excerpt from the introduction of Draena Hil Kaen’s “Anwar’s Oddity,” 0305DT.

I do not ween phasmid nor lumvine curious.

The beggar against the cascade in Midstwood, the Red Flower macerating skulls neath her Red Hall, the Cliffer braving the Traders’ Sea — these are inhabitants queer.

We obtrude from good soil.

We are Anwar’s oddity.

Draena of Bulwark

Comprehend that I am no objective being, no cosmic watcher. Comprehend that this tome is merely the narrative of my mortal travels, ‘tween all her curves and corners.

I was born in an inkstool shack but a shout south of the magnificent Storm Wall. As was the method of my forebearers, I tended each day to the culture, my hands black and dreams sodden, my yearning a subdued and secret thing.

Came to Bulwark one stygian morn a sportive minstrel. Through the pinewood streets of the lower district, he warbled, painting into my itching mind the tale of his adventure.

I’d never have learnt to read and write if I hadn’t — while the minstrel kept the dressmake’s attention — pilfered that sack of palisc fifths. I’d never have danced and broken clay with the savages of Khag, freed slaves from the quarries of Pit, gutted rustspine on the rocks of the Eye, nor found tenderness in the silence of these greenwoods…

I fled alone, with but the helt and fur on my back. I fled alone, an exile of fourteen.

I’ve helped when I could bear to help and taken help fervently.

I’ve fought and I’ve flown.

I’ve learnt more than most exiles ever will. And I sit here with a scrap of paper and the ink I once bottled to share it with you.

Feature image font credit — MORIA CITADEL by Russ Herschler © 2002 – DragonFang

Blog reactivated and news on RSC

This blog is officially reactivated!

But in more exciting news, I am starting to promote my work of choice-based interactive fiction, RSC (I shall soon reveal the true title of the work).

It has been a quest. I have laughed and cried. I have worked with clarity and madness. The latter is required to create any work of art.

For more information on RSC, see the RSC page (be sure to scroll down some and check out the art).

I shall try to post regularly, on RSC, and other topics too.

“One must possess a combination of qualities if one aspires to survive.

Swiftness, to elude a fortuitous collapse.
Vigour, to cleave the writhing dead.
Wit, to cheat an insurmountable demon.
Heart, to purge cowardice from the soul.”