"...When Most I Play the Devil" (Updated 2/18/2019)

I like the second part better, however there are few things that concern me. Mainly, it’s the word building. The names are very bland, generic even and they seem to bare no specific linguistic rules - I suggest looking into a SINGLE Language for the naming - using two or more might be risky also make sure that the names sound appealing. Now, don’t get me wrong - the character names are okey, given the fact that most of them already exist but things like [quote=“John_Smith, post:14, topic:29213”]
Syrochii
[/quote]

All have different origin and are insanely hard to relate to.

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Looks good!

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I admit, I was quite haphazard with the names. This story is something of a hodgepodge of ideas and rewrites going back to about 2009, and the names reflect that–the earliest ones are just things I thought sounded cool, others are English words spelled backwards or made into anagrams, and the ones added for this version are Welsh. I fully intend to replace most of them if I ever publish this for realsies; I also have a (much shorter) movie script version which uses mostly Egyptian names. :stuck_out_tongue:

Thanks!

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I think that’d be a change for the better. :stuck_out_tongue:

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I like where the story’s going, but I can’t help but take issue with this general tendency of telling over showing with the narration, and just a lack of trust in what the audience is capable of inferring. It was a lot worse in the first chapter, with things like Eberhard’s skill and his duel, or the general legend and how it’s just kinda dumped on the audience. The latter really should’ve been simplified into more vague terms and used as a prologue.

The second chapter benefits from being less omniscient and letting us get into a single character, though there are still things like that rather blunt symbolism with the trees that you just kinda spelled out for us.

All in all, I still wanna see where this is going, but I hope to see more trust on your part on just what your readers of capable of picking up on. I’d also prefer more atmospheric environmental details, but that’s a lot more subjective, and it’s not a sin to stick to character thoughts instead.

Keep it up bro.

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I think you’re onto something. In the script version I made, I was more careful about not dumping exposition out, and showing the skill of the warriors rather than explicitly stating it. Though I’m not really the biggest fan of prologues–they’re usually not very dramatic. My preferred fix would probably be to expand the early part of the story and include scenes where the critical info comes out naturally in dialogue.

That’s a good point. I think I put that in there because this section (these two chapters plus the next two or three) was originally done as a creative writing assignment, and I was required to use symbolism, so I made it as obvious as possible. XD I’ll think about ways to improve that.

I’ll definitely keep this in mind as I edit upcoming installments.

Interestingly, the friends I’ve shown this story to have said they felt very immersed in the environment. But maybe I can take that farther. XD

Will do!

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Update ahoy!

Chapter Three
Eberhard rose early the next morning and made the short journey into Favauoc. The village was thinly spread out, with no two huts nearer than fifty feet from each other. At the center of the village was a huge, gnarled tree with three trunks and outermost branches descending to the ground. The tree served as the village’s temple. As Eberhard approached, he saw that several others had already congregated there. Among them was Llwelyn, dressed in his finest armor, fashioned from leather embedded with bits of metal. Upon seeing Eberhard, he approached him, a pensive look in his eye.

“How fare you?” he inquired.

“Fine,” Eberhard replied.

“I see,” answered Llwelyn, unconvinced by Eberhard’s terse response. “May Agomnan look favorably upon you.”

“And may he do the same to you.”

Unwilling to face his friend any longer, Eberhard moved away, his eyes fixed on the ground. He was troubled enough without having to speak with his friend and rival just before the fight that might determine the course of his life. Then again, at least Llwelyn was a noble warrior. No matter the outcome of the match, they would surely remain friends.

After a few minutes, all the residents of the village had gathered. The two priests of Agomnan appeared in the distance, chanting, their dark robes flowing magnificently as they moved toward the congregation. When they reached the tree, utter silence fell.

“Gathered friends, let us to the great Agomnan our Minaru proffer,” said the first priest in a slow, commanding voice. “Thus shall be at bay kept the One Who Is Nameless.”

Slowly, everyone passed their Minaru forward to the priests, who piled the offerings around the base of the tree. When everyone was finished, there was a great flash of light, and when it passed, the Minaru was gone.

“Now certain is our safety from the One Who Is Nameless,” said the second priest, in a voice similar to the first’s. “Let us now await the words of Agomnan, that his will might be ascertained.”

Suddenly, a vivid red glow began to emanate from the tree. It resembled a fire, but a fire that had only red and no other colors. Though it seemed to come from the tree, its flame-like projections passed through it as if it were a specter. Nothing like this had ever been seen by the villagers before. Agomnan merely spoke, without manifesting himself, when acknowledging their offering. They froze where they were standing and beheld the tree.

“People of Ileway, in the town of Favauoc,” came a deep, sonorous voice from the light. “Ye must needs know of a threat that, unless action swift is taken, spells the doom of ye and yours. The vile Atukam, in his connivery rampant, has a means implemented to render impotent all Minaru. Were I to elaborate on this scheme, ye wouldst not comprehend. Ye have but a hope single: to from Atukam wrest the Tyrup, the only device by which the process reversed may be. There can be but one man, in all the world, who can this mighty deed accomplish; by combat shall he be chosen, and upon fate shall depend his quest. Ye may give him what help ye may, but know this: if the deed is not wrought before passed three Offerings have, no choice will I have but to my protection from Atukam remove.

“But who among you is of such an imperative charge worthy and capable? There is but one means by which selected such a one may be. Two great champions must in lethal combat engage. This, then, is why you were instructed as you were. Proven themselves have the ones known as Eberhard and Llwelyn. Worthy of song shall their match be. Now let commence the battle!”

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Man I’m gonna have a hard time reading this. All these weird names distract me from understanding everything. :stuck_out_tongue:

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Pretty solid and swift plot-thickening.

My only real issue is this one bit of narration:

I just feel like there should a better way to say this IMO

Also, just a smaller nitpick:

I feel like something along the lines of “People of Favauoc, and Illeway beyond” or something like that would be better. “In the town of Favauoc” just feels…weirdly casual-sounding in comparison to the formal, old-fashioned speech the rest of Agomnan’s dialogue uses.

Again, just a nitpick.

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Hehe, I added that bit in last night when I realized my existing description was underwhelming. I’ll add that to the list of things to fix. XD

I dunno, it sounds alright to me. Maybe it depends on the intonation you imagine it being said with? Perhaps there’s some way I can make that clearer.

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I suppose it’s time to move things forward a bit…

Chapter Four
The crowd gasped. No one had expected the duel to be to the death. Still, the townsfolk spread apart, forming a large circle encompassing Eberhard, Llwelyn, and the tree.

Within the circle, Eberhard and Llwelyn stared at each other in shock. After a long moment, Llwelyn spoke.

“We must execute the will of Agomnan, Eberhard. However abominable it may seem.”

“I can say nothing against that.”

They began to slowly pace each other. After a electrifying moment, the tension that was building up in Eberhard reached a breaking point. He drew his sword and charged at Llwelyn. He wanted this fight to be over as quickly as possible; there was no point in delaying the inevitable. Even defeat would be better than uncertainty.


Llwelyn held his ground and parried Eberhard’s blow with ease. He took no joy in fighting his friend, but he was determined to follow the will of Agomnan. He lunged at Eberhard, who parried and riposted. Not to be outdone, Llwelyn dodged the blow and struck Eberhard’s leg. Doing so heightened his sense of discomfort, but he was not going to hold himself back out of some misplaced sense of empathy. Eberhard lunged again. Llwelyn sidestepped, grabbed ahold of Eberhard’s arm and swatted his sword out of his grasp. He then landed a blow to Eberhard’s face, knocking him over. Lost in the heat of battle, Llwelyn raised his sword above his head, as if to strike a killing blow.


Eberhard watched, stunned, as Llwelyn lifted his blade. There was little else he could do, for his sword was out of his reach. Surely his friend would not kill him? They had been so close for so long. He knew Llwelyn. Or did he?


Llwelyn stood for a moment with his sword suspended above him, then drew a sharp breath. What was he doing? He’d nearly allowed his violent instincts to control him. Disgusted, he cast his blade upon the ground, and knelt before the great tree. “O mighty Agomnan,” he said, “I have done as you have bid. I shall humbly serve you as your champion.”

“Well you have fought, brave Llwelyn,” boomed Agomnan. “But mercy you have shown to your foe. Never shall any champion of mine such weakness display. Only by might will my ends accomplished be. True spirit Eberhard did display. Champion shall he be. You as his retainer shall languish. A lesson let this be, to clemency eschew.”

With that, the red glow vanished from the tree. One could not say things returned to normal, however: in stunned silence, all of those gathered turned to look at Eberhard, and he, most stunned of all, looked back. Llwelyn stood slumped by the tree, stupefied. After a moment, the first priest spoke.

“O Eberhard, thou hast heard thine commandment divine. Dost thou accept thine quest?”

Eberhard’s breath froze, and his body stiffened. He was little more than an ordinary apprentice, he told himself. Llwelyn had trounced him. What special quality could he possess that would make the mighty Agomnan single him out? What power was it that would make him more important than all the villagers surrounding him, let alone Llwelyn? Still, the word of Agomnan was not to be taken lightly. Still shocked, Eberhard stammered out the words, “I accept.”

“So be it. Are there any present who will consenteth to aid in this task most imperative?”

“I will,” came a strong voice from near the back of the crowd. “He will need my guidance if he is to succeed,” said Tirem, Eberhard’s master. “Furthermore, if Llwelyn is to accompany him, I shall feel obliged to give what aid I can, for he is as a son to me.”

“Thank you, Master,” stammered Llwelyn.

“So be it. We shall, with Eberhard’s consent, depart on the morrow.”

“Art thou not rather hasty, Master Tirem?” asked the second priest. “One does not simply walketh into Suratis. There are terrors of sundry kinds scattered for leagues around it, and within are such things as of which are nightmares made.”

“Indeed, much hardship awaits us. But what choice is there? A large band would
surely be too easily noticed. We must proceed as I have said.”

“So be it, Master Tirem,” said the first priest. “On the morrow, we shall mark your departure with much festivity. Until then, hwyl fawr.”

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Woo I have like 2 readers left :stuck_out_tongue:

Chapter Five
With that, the assembly was over. Those present each went their separate ways, eventually becoming, to an observer, lost amongst the trees. Eberhard, who had remained silent for some time now, stayed behind, contemplating his fate. Did this mean he would, indeed, become a great warrior? Or was he merely a tool, a vessel through which Agomnan would act?

Tirem remained behind also, seemingly lost in thought. Eberhard wondered if his master was about to speak to him. Sure enough, after a moment, Tirem approached him.

“This has been a most unusual day,” began the master. “I imagine there is much that troubles you.”

“As much as there are terrors in Suratis.”

“Have you any in particular you wish to discuss?”

“What will become of Llwelyn? He must be outraged that I would be named champion.”

“Llwelyn will come to terms with Agomnan’s decree. Though it is a most puzzling one; ought not a true warrior show mercy to his foes?”

“Perhaps such things are not for mortals to ponder. Who can fathom the will of Agomnan?”

“Few indeed, if any. Still, I am left thoroughly perplexed.”

The conversation continued well into the day, when Eberhard realized he needed to prepare for the journey. He thus returned to his abode, all the way taking note of the familiar sights he would not again behold for some time. Even the most pathetically withered trees and dry creekbeds seemed not so different from old acquaintances he must now part with. When he at last reached his home, he could not stop wondering how long it would be before he returned, if he ever did.


After the duel, Llwelyn slunk into the forest. His world was shaken to the core, and he could not bring himself to face anyone until he had come to terms with what had happened. He bore no grudge against Eberhard; it was not his fault. Agomnan alone was responsible. How could the object of his worship betray him in so jaded a manner? Were not Agomnan’s commands the very foundation of life on Ileway? If Agomnan’s commands could not be trusted, who or what could? For the first time, he thought to question the word of Agomnan. It was still possible that Agomnan was in the right, but no longer would he accept that freely. Dazed, he meandered back home.


That night, Eberhard packed some wild fruits, spare clothes, and an array of weapons into his satchel. As he drifted off to sleep, he could not stop thinking that his death, for all he knew, could come in a matter of days. The only thing that calmed him was the chance that he was not doomed to become merely another faceless warrior. Even if his life would soon be cut short, at least it would be for the most noble cause imaginable. He dreamt of fond memories, and of everything he would miss in the coming weeks.

The next morning, Eberhard awoke early. Despite his worries, he felt strangely calm. His fate was sealed; what more could he do? He chose to spend his remaining time at home wandering in the forest, drinking in every sight and sound, from the shapes of withered, dry leaves, to the atonal songs of the local birds. After a time, Llwelyn appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

“The priests have summoned us for a farewell ceremony. I trust you’re prepared?”

“As prepared as I can be. Though it is you who should be entrusted to retrieve the Tyrup, not I.”

“Perhaps the task requires something more than the prowess of a warrior to complete.”

“That’s not what Agomnan said.”

“I know. But I can do nothing but hope it was what he meant.”

Eberhard, in no mood to accuse Llwelyn of deluding himself, headed off for the village. When he got there, he found all the people arrayed in their best garb. The majority wore tunics made from the bark of the tyrgoryn trees, with leafy crowns on their heads; some of the more prosperous citizens also wore dark flowers, as there were no other plants that looked the least bit decorative. Various activities were under way, such as a game of yweov, a sport which involved jumping from tree to tree in order to place a rock into the opponent’s goal. All Eberhard noticed, however, was the priests and Tirem beckoning him toward the tree at the center of the village.

“Silenceth,” said the first priest. “The time now hath come for us to recognize our prospective saviors. Let us hail to Eberhard, Llwelyn, and Master Tirem, for we shall not again behold their likenesses until their quest its course has run.”

The crowd cheered for several minutes. Eventually, the three travelers said their farewells to the group, and, determination in their eyes, strode away from their home, past the two withered, dead trees that marked the boundary of Favauoc.

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Lots of newly created words, yet they don’t bog down the story.

kind of like bio G1 in the beggining

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Lol, glad you think so! G2 could take a lesson from me amirite

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Welp, I’ve been having some issues with using the Boards, but now that I’m back, it’s time to start part 2. Get ready for flashbacks, a heavier focus on Llwelyn, and more lame-sounding names!

#Part Two

Chapter One
Llwelyn leapt aside as the Retnom creature swung its jagged blade at him. He landed squarely on both feet and used his momentum to swing his sword in a great arc. It sliced cleanly through the Retnom’s midsection. The beast’s scaled form convulsed, dropping its sword from its clawed hand and flapping its mottled wings as if to escape. As it collapsed, it let out a terrible wail, the sound of which burrowed its way into Llwelyn’s ears, reverberating in his mind, blocking out all thought but the desire to be rid of the noise. Then it was gone, and Llwelyn cast his gaze about and saw that Eberhard and Tirem had slain their opponents as well. The last rays of sunlight hid beneath the horizon, as peace came over the forest once more.

“This attack bodes ill for our mission,” said Tirem. “I think it unwise to continue in our present state.”

“What in Agomnan’s name do you mean?” cut in Eberhard. “Are we to simply capitulate at the first sign of danger?”

“Not at all, my rash apprentice. Rather, we must seek out an advantage before we continue. I had hoped we would not have to do so; it will greatly hinder the progress of our quest. Still, better to take a large allotment of time to finish than to be vanquished in a swift attempt.”

Llwelyn, off-put by the suggestion of inadequacy, asked, “What advantage can we gain that we do not possess? We are among the greatest warriors in Ileway. We have the prowess and wits to best a thousand Retnom, and the fortitude to carry us through the most dire of circumstances. What more
could we have need of?”

“We have need of a means by which we may be assured of victory,” answered Tirem. “We have prevailed against three Retnom. Good! But there are myriad others waiting to strike at us when they see fit. And what shall we do when we reach the lair of Atukam, in the depths of Suratis? If it
transpires that we must fight him, how can we hope to perform such a feat with our modest weapons?”

“You articulate your point well, master. What do you propose we do?”

“We must seek out the Blade of Erifurt, the most powerful weapon known to exist in Ileway.”

Immediately, Llwelyn’s attention was drawn to his memories of a fateful day when he was but a small child…


Llwelyn awoke early. Most of the denizens of Favauoc were still asleep, but Llwelyn was unconcerned with such a triviality. His elder brother, Gruffydd, was mere hours away from being made a full-fledged warrior. No longer would he be one of Tirem’s apprentices, training to increase his prowess. After he completed whatever quest was mandated, he would be free to do as he wished, to take on what quests he might, and to live where and how he pleased. Few days in any warrior’s life were more important than this, the day of ascension.

In utter silence, Llwelyn crept through the forest to his sibling’s favorite clearing. Sure enough, there stood Gruffydd, his blade decimating a horde of immaterial foes. Knowing better than to interrupt, Llwelyn kept his distance until his brother noticed him.

“I see an ally has arrived to help me slay the pernicious monsters!” said Gruffydd. “A ally who by all means ought to still be asleep.”

“I couldn’t fall asleep again after I woke up. I’m too excited about today!”

“I suppose there are worse ills in Ileway. Come, help me slay the ferocious oncoming horde!”

And so the two brothers practiced the Tabocim through the morning. Around noon, Tirem paid them a visit.

“I see the fury of Atukam stands no chance against your might!”

“Suratis surely has no fury we cannot overcome,” proclaimed Gruffydd.

“So it would be, if resolve alone could overcome evil. But such ruminations are ill-suited to a day such as this. It is a time to rejoice! Come, it is time to prepare for your ascension ceremony.”

“If I may, master, what is the task I shall be assigned once the ceremony is complete? The anticipation is difficult to bear.”

“You have been a worthy apprentice, Gruffydd. I suppose the rules can be bent on this one occasion. You shall be sent to recover a certain map.”

“And what does this map show?”

“It shows the location of the Blade of Erifurt, the mightiest weapon known to our people.”

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Welp

I completely forgot to update this for over two weeks

I guess I should post the next part. :stuck_out_tongue:


Chapter Two

“The Blade…” gasped Llwelyn. “The one that Gruffydd…”

“Yes, the same,” said Tirem. “Gruffydd showed me the map before…before it happened.”

“Before what happened?” inquired Eberhard. “Who is this Gruffydd?”

Llwelyn and Tirem hung their heads in silence for a moment, unable to find the words they needed. At last, Llwelyn broke the silence.

“Gruffydd was—is—my brother. What happened to him is…well, we’re unsure precisely what happened. Suffice it to say he’s not been seen since before you joined us.”

“I…I knew not,” said Eberhard. “My sympathies are with you. But may I inquire why you never saw fit to divulge this to me?”

This time it was Tirem who answered. “So great was the loss that he has been missed every day since we last saw him. We did not wish to burden you with our own sorrows.”

Eberhard glanced down, pondering what to say. He considered further questioning the motives of his companions, but quickly decided against this. They had his unwavering loyalty, without condition. After all, they would need each other’s support if they were to succeed in fulfilling Agomnan’s mandate to find the Tyrup.

“I understand, master.”

“Your consideration is well taken,” said Tirem. “Now, let us consider less gloomy matters. The Blade of Erifurt is far to the north, in the frozen wasteland of Kowahi. It is hidden in the center of a labyrinth, and guarded fiercely. Though it is well out of our way, it is said that one of the many traps in the maze is a portal to Suratis. If we can find it, we ought to be able to complete our quest before three Offerings have passed.”

“Then let us make our way there come morning. I, for one, am exhausted,” remarked Llwelyn.

So it came to pass that the three companions swiftly cooked the remains of the defeated Retnom, ate them, and went to sleep. As Llwelyn lay beneath his blanket, staring up at the sky so full of glistening
diamonds and effervescent rivers of milk, he could not help but think of his brother. It had been so many years since last he saw him, it caused his chest to burn with excitement at the prospect of finding an object connected to his disappearance. Who knew? Perhaps Agomnan was not as
merciless as he seemed. Perhaps it was he who had whisked away Gruffydd. Perhaps, since he had proven his worth by finding the map, Agomnan had simply given him a head start finding the Blade. Maybe he had become lost in the labyrinth, and was waiting to be found by Llwelyn and his companions. He knew such hopes were wild, but he could not help having them. He would give anything to know that his brother was safe. As he thought about these things, his mind slowly wandered into the realm of dreams, and grey clouds slowly rolled in, obscuring the sky from view.
Once Llwelyn was fully unconscious, his dreams turned to the last he saw of his brother.


After the ascension ceremony, Gruffydd had immediately left to find the map, only stopping to say his farewells to his friends and brother. After five months, he had not been seen or heard from. Everyone in Favauoc thought him dead. Then, one day, he appeared, carrying the map. There was much rejoicing throughout the village; a lavish party was thrown in the center of town, complete with a yweov tournament. That evening, the festivities moved toward the sacred tree that served as Favauoc’s temple, for it had been decided that the amp would be offered to Agomnan as a token of loyalty. The priests, after a rambling ceremonial speech, placed the map before the tree, and spoke an incantation. As expected, there was a great flash of light, and the map was gone. But after a
moment passed, a vivid, ethereal glow began to envelop Gruffydd. At first, he was simply taken aback. But then the glow intensified, and he cried out in pain, shock, horror, or some combination of those sentiments. He gazed about for his brother. When he spotted him, he gasped his name, “Llwelyn,” in the most contorted, pained, breathless voice anyone had ever heard. Then he vanished.

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I should probably remember to update this more often…anyway, this is where things start really getting intense. :smiling_imp:


Chapter Three

Llwelyn awoke with a gasp. Long ago he had banished the torturous dreams of that night. He had hoped they were gone forever. But now they had returned, and he would have to make the best of it. He rolled over onto his side, not daring to fall asleep again; he was fit only to rest.

The next few weeks passed with little excitement. As the companions traveled north, the weather grew colder, and the nights grew longer. Eventually, they stopped encountering any form of life—not even the Retnom monsters that had seemed to be hunting them. When at last they rounded what seemed like their hundredth snow-drenched mountain, they were relieved to see the entrance to the labyrinth, as much because it was a sign of human life as because it marked the first tangible
progress on their quest. A frightening array of runes wound about the circular entrance, which threatened to crush the portal in their callous embrace. One by one, the three warriors marched through the portal. Tirem, the most knowledgeable and experienced, lead the way. Eberhard,
the chosen hero, followed. Llwelyn, still hoping to meet his long-lost brother, brought up the rear. Once they had all crossed the threshold, a stone rose up from the ground and sealed the entrance. The only light came from an inexplicable green glow that threatened to poison the soul of anyone who beheld it too long.

“How much further?” asked Eberhard. “This maze can’t go on forever.”

“I believe we are near the center,” said Tirem. “But be wary. We have yet to encounter any traps, which means we are almost certain to come upon one soon.”

They continued to follow Tirem’s lead. After a turn into a particularly cramped passageway, they found themselves in a large chamber. The green light changed from poisonous to eerie. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, threatening to impale anyone foolish enough to pass beneath them. In the center of the chamber stood a figure wearing black, metallic armor that seemed to have been forged out of the very notion of evil itself. The figure was hunched, as if supporting a great weight. In its right hand was a sword that burned with a fire borne of truth, striking a stark contrast against the insidious armor. Immediately, the three comrades knew it to be the Blade of Erifurt.

“Why have you come here?” asked the figure. The words issued forth in a voice that seemed to have once been noble, but had been enveloped in darkness and foul things for so long that its former state was all but a memory. “If you mean to wrest the sword from me, though you may succeed, the deed will be fraught with regret and shame for you all. Leave now, and no harm shall come to you. I have focused my will to bring you here in safety, without encountering any of the snares with which this place is filled. I will do the same if you depart in peace.” Quietly, Tirem nudged Eberhard. Agomnan’s chosen hero should be the one to answer in these circumstances.

“We appreciate your…hospitality,” said Eberhard. “But we must refuse it. We cannot complete our quest without the Blade of Erifurt, and we have spent many weeks traveling here to claim it. We cannot turn back now.”

The figure turned around and stepped toward them. When he was but a few feet away, he lifted his visor. Though his face was sunken and decayed, it was still recognizable to Tirem and, especially, Llwelyn. He would know his brother anywhere, in any condition.

“Gruffydd!” exclaimed Llwelyn in shock, horror, and joy all at once. He found himself incapable of forming further words.

“It is I, brother,” said Gruffydd. “Now I must implore you again: leave now, and tragedy shall be averted.”

“What—how—why are you here? What’s happened to you?” said Llwelyn, struggling to think of the right words.

“Agomnan wanted to keep the Blade of Erifurt away from Atukam at all costs,” said Gruffydd. “Such power can belong to the mighty Agomnan alone. Because I discovered the map, I knew where to find it. Thus, I jeopardized the safety of the Blade. This was unacceptable to Agomnan. In his wisdom and mercy, instead of killing me, as would have been his right, he appointed me to guard the Blade. Thus Agomnan, in his infinite wisdom, solved two problems with one solution—knowledge of the Blade’s
location was safe, and it was guarded by one loyal to Agomnan.”

“I also saw the map,” pointed out Tirem, a noticeable wavering in his voice. “Why did Agomnan do nothing to me?”

“You were necessary to train new warriors in Agomnan’s ways,” said Gruffydd. “You could not be removed.”

“Gruffydd—why must you continue to guard the Blade? Surely, after all this time, Agomnan can find someone else to do the task,” said Llwelyn. “You could swear an oath never to speak of the Blade as long as you live.”

“Ours is not to question Agomnan’s will, brother. I am content to obey him in all circumstances, for he knows all.”

“How are you certain of that? He holds mercy in low regard; he punished me for my mercy! Surely there’s at least a possibility he hasn’t knowledge of all things.”

“I am certain Agomnan knows all because he says so. Do not question the words of Agomnan.”

Llwelyn was stunned. Though he had only recently begun to have his doubts about Agomnan’s benevolence, how could his own brother be so close-minded? Tirem’s words interrupted his thoughts.

“It is clear that you wish to follow the will of Agomnan. We do as well. Our quest was given to us by Agomnan. To complete it, we must have the Blade of Erifurt; we will surely be defeated otherwise. Surely it is Agomnan’s will that you give us the Blade?”

“He has not said that it is, so it is not,” replied Gruffydd. “Furthermore, your sly attempt to trick me into surrendering the Blade can only mean that you intend to take it at any cost. So be it.”

Gruffydd reached for his visor to lower it, but as he did so, Eberhard drew his sword in a furious blaze of movement. He thrust it into Gruffydd, blood splattering everywhere. With a thunderous cry, Llwelyn knocked the blade from his grasp, but it was too late. Llwelyn shoved Eberhard down and turned to kneel by his fallen brother. Gruffydd looked different now, as if he had been released from his task. His face once more appeared youthful, just as Llwelyn remembered it. He placed his hand in Llwelyn’s, and for a moment, the two were in their own microcosm. Then the inevitable happened. Llwelyn bent over his dead brother’s corpse, weeping profusely, trying to block out Eberhard’s apologies and explanations: he didn’t want a fight; one of them could have been killed; Gruffydd had to be killed for the blade to be theirs. But Llwelyn only knew two things. He could not forgive Eberhard, but more importantly, he could not forgive Agomnan.

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On behest of @Cordak_the_Cynical_Makuta, I’m finally updating this

I’m just gonna post everything that’s left without breaking it into smaller bits

#Part Three

Eberhard stood with his head hung low, unsure of what to do next. His impassioned diatribe explaining his motives seemed to have rebounded off of Llewelyn and faded into oblivion. For what seemed a brief eternity, the sound of Llwelyn tearfully lamenting his fallen brother filled the chamber. The Blade of Erifurt, so important mere moments before, lay forgotten on the ground. In that small epoch of time, all that mattered was the sight of Eberhard’s closest friend hunched upon the stone floor, trembling profusely, wailing as if he wished the world were no more. Then, as suddenly as Eberhard had slain Gruffydd, Llwelyn fell silent and stood up, as still and silent as a blade at
rest. He proceeded to walk towards the exit, each step as cold and stilted as his demeanor. Before he could go too far, Tirem approached him and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“Leave your grief and wrath here. You cannot return from Suratis if you take them with you.”

“Perhaps that is for the best.”

“Then perhaps you should remain behind. If we are to return alive, we must not be burdened with your distraction.”

“’Distraction,’ you name it, as if it could simply be ignored. I will not dishonor Gruffydd by doing so.”

“If you think it a matter of honor, would it not be a greater dishonor to fail to complete your mission to deliver our people from the Nameless One?”

Another silent moment passed before Llwelyn spoke. “Your words are wise, master,” he said with
submission in his voice. “I will put my feelings behind me until our quest is complete.”

Tirem glanced down for a moment before replying. “Let us hope you can do so. Now, let us seek the portal to Suratis. Eberhard, take the Blade. As Agomnan’s chosen hero, you should be the one to carry it.” With that, he walked out of the chamber. Llwelyn spared a final glance back at his fallen brother, but wasted little time in following. Eberhard took a moment to recover the Blade from its resting place on the ground, exiting the chamber several moments after Llwelyn. When he caught up, he noticed that Llwelyn never glanced back.


After a few minutes of wandering through the labyrinth, Eberhard abruptly stopped. When Tirem looked back, Eberhard motioned for him to do likewise. He frowned for a moment, and then asked, “Do you hear that?”

“No,” said Tirem. “What is it?”

“I hear a faint hum coming from up ahead. It sounds unlike anything I have heard. It’s hollow, as if darkness were a sound.”

“That may be meaningful. It is said the portal to Suratis emits a strange noise. Since you alone can hear it, lead on.”

“I hear it as well,” said Llwelyn. “I will find it.” With that, he brushed past Tirem and swiftly marched in the direction of the sound. Tirem shot a pointed glance at Eberhard before following. After a few moments, the sound grew loud enough for Tirem to hear.

“I believe that is indeed the sound of the portal. We must be drawing near.”

“Why have we encountered no resistance?” asked Eberhard. “With Gruffydd gone, surely we should have triggered some trap or alerted some beast to our presence.”

“I do not know for certain. It could be that the maze is designed to let whomever wins the Blade leave freely. What snares it may hold would be little more than an annoyance to one who wields it. Or perhaps Agomnan himself has intervened so that we may finish our task with haste. Who can say?”

By this time, the hum was growing very loud. Talking ceased, as the minds of the three companions became filled with the sound of utter blackness, making it challenging to form coherent thoughts. Though their thoughts had been clear moments before, gradually everything started to blend into one great jumble, as if time itself were an illusion. When the throbbing nothingness was becoming too much to bear, they thought they beheld a large black orb blocking their path, though they could not be sure; they were scarcely aware that they were moving anymore. Then they walked into the orb, and all was silent.


Eberhard awoke first. He found himself sprawled on a rough, burnt surface. He opened his eyes and sat up. He and the others were atop a great cliff overlooking an endless expanse of charred, dead trees. Here and there the occasional smoldering fire or rock formation broke up the lifeless monotony. The frigid wind rustled the bare branches, a sound which made Eberhard feel as if his spirit had been petrified. He turned around to see a great twisted fortress in the distance made of the same shadowy material as the ground, but enveloped in flame. Instinctively, he knew this must be where Atukam kept the Tyrup. Inside, he felt a rush of relief that he had survived this far. He hoped slaying Gruffydd had not been too high a price to ensure that. Sobered by the thought, he turned to awaken Tirem and Llwelyn.

“So this is Suratis,” remarked Tirem upon gaining full consciousness. “It is as foul as the legends say, and more. Let us make haste to wrest the Tyrup from the Nameless One and leave this wretched place behind us.”

“How will we find the Tyrup? The Nameless One’s fortress is colossal.”

“Quite simple. We march up to the gate and demand a fair and honorable duel with him. He will be obliged to accept, for we come not of our own initiative but of Agomnan’s.”

“How can any of us hope to defeat him? Even with the Blade—“

But Llwelyn was cut short. Out of the smoky sky a winged creature of shadow swooped down, knocked him off of the cliff, and dissipated into smoke. Eberhard and Tirem, stunned as they were, didn’t even think to wonder why his screams were cut short long before he could have reached the bottom.


Llwelyn found himself plummeting to his doom. He had always expected to die fighting, in the company of comrades, not alone in the depths of Suratis. At least he would now be in the company of his brother. If only he had survived, he might have been able to spread his tale of the iniquities Agomnan had inflicted on him and Gruffydd. But it was just as well; they would have rejected him for denouncing the object of their worship.

His thoughts were cut short as the creature of shadow re-formed around him. Before he knew what to think, it was carrying him through the air at an incredible pace. It rose high into the air, so high that he could hardly see the ground, and swerved about. For several minutes it continued in a straight line, heading for an unknown destination. Suddenly, it plummeted straight down. It deposited him atop a
tower. Gushing flames largely obscured his view beyond, but he could tell that this was the fortress he had seen in the distance shortly before. He looked behind him. Standing there was a tall figure, clad in a black cloak and chain mail. If the figure had a face beneath its hood, Llwelyn could not discern it. When it spoke, its voice was like a shouted, ashen whisper.

“You are Llwelyn, apprentice of Tirem. You have come from Favauoc with your master and Agomnan’s
elected champion to wrest from me the Tyrup. But you have seen much along your way. Cruelty. Unfairness. The death of your brother. All because of Agomnan’s actions. Tell me, child, why do you continue in your service to him?”

Restraining his terror, Llwelyn replied. “Because I know no better way. The ways Master Tirem has taught me are ways of wisdom, dispensing mercy when possible and justice when no other course is available. Only recently have I found Agomnan, the purported originator of those ways, to be unworthy.” He paused, summoning up the courage to name the figure who stood before him. “And you, Atukam, for that is who you must be, can surely offer me no better way to live.”

“You have never encountered me before, child. You know of me only through hearsay, just as you knew of Agomnan. Now that you have encountered Agomnan, he is not at all what you were told he was. Perhaps I, too, am not what my reputation amongst your people would suggest.”

“You rule over an endless realm of shadow and fire. You command terrible winged beasts, and no doubt others I have yet to encounter. Your appearance and voice are terrifying. You are evil, and I shall have nothing to do with you, no matter how corrupt Agomnan may be, or how deep my grudge against Eberhard may run.”

“Ah, but you do not consider all the possibilities. Think, child. Perhaps I live here not out of
choice, but out of necessity. Once, I lived in a palace of light that teemed with life. But then Agomnan arose. He desired nothing but power. Since Power was what I had, he took it from me. He stole the power of the Kelbyaji and banished me to this place. I can go nowhere else.”

“But the legends say you ruled as a tyrant, and imprisoned the other Kelbyaji purely to enhance your own powers.”

“And you believe the legends told to you by Agomnan? It was the other Kelbyaji who were the tyrants. I imprisoned them and siphoned their power so that I could instigate a perfect world, where men were free. While I ruled, the peoples of the world could live as they see fit. Strife was all but unknown, for there were no obstructions to cause it. But Agomnan destroyed my paradise that he might rule. Destruction is his nature, child.”

“If what you say is true, perhaps I should join you. But I have no reason to believe everything you’ve said hasn’t been a self-serving prevarication. You have no proof.”

“Indeed, I have none, child. But consider who you would rather serve. Your first option is a being you know to be malicious, who has done everything in his power to spite you, from denying you an honor because you showed mercy to enslaving your brother, and who controls the world. Your second is a being who might be evil, but can help you overthrow the one you know to be evil, enabling you to replace his tyranny with justice. Which is the wiser choice?”

“Your argument is eloquent. But what if you are evil? I will simply replace one evil with another. There is no point in that.”

“If reason will not convince you, then I must appeal to your emotions. Serve me, and I shall return your brother to the realm of the living.”

“You bluff. Such a thing is impossible.”

“Is it, child? Behold!”

Llwelyn looked to his side. Standing there, in perfect health, was Gruffydd.

“Hello, Llwelyn,” he said. “Perhaps we can start anew, on better terms than in the labyrinth.”

“He can be here for but a moment,” said Atukam. “While Agomnan possesses my powers, there are great limits on my capabilities.”

“You must aid Atukam, brother,” said Gruffydd. “You must do it to avenge my years of slavery at the hands of Agomnan. You must do it because it is the right and proper thing to do.”

Llwelyn bowed his head in resignation. He could not refuse his brother, nor the chance to be reunited with him. Turning back to Atukam, he asked, “What must I do?”


Eberhard and Tirem had been walking for hours, but they were finally approaching the fortress. It appeared much more frightening now than it had from afar; not only could they better perceive its coiled towers, but they could discern ethereal gargoyles, much like the beast that had flung Llwelyn off the cliff, crawling all across its infernal surface. But the pain of Llwelyn’s loss overshadowed any feelings of fear they might have had.

“Why did the beast take Llwelyn?” pondered Eberhard. “Why not me? I am Agomnan’s chosen one; it should have slain me! It would have been a just punishment for slaying Gruffydd dishonorably. Why did it not take me?”

“Do not worry yourself about such things. Death must come to all in time; it comes to many earlier than it should, and there is nothing to be done about it. Neither life nor death comes with any assurance of justice.”

“That may be so, but it makes the loss no less painful.”

“It was not meant to. Nothing can do that but time. But now you understand, and some good may come from that.”

“I hope so.”

They continued on in silence. Though only a short distance remained, to Eberhard, in his contemplation, it seemed like miles. When they reached the foot of the steps to the fortress’s gate, they stopped.

“Now that we have arrived, what must we do?” Eberhard inquired.

“We must summon the Nameless One,” answered Tirem. He bellowed out, “You-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! Come forth, that we might negotiate the terms of an honorable duel for the Tyrup!”

The massive ebony gates flew open impossibly fast. Behind them stood Atukam, his pose menacing despite the fact that he was simply standing upright. He walked down the steps as if they were a sheet of ice and he was sliding on it. He came face-to-face with Tirem, and said, “I have been watching you, my child. I know your desires. Your apprentice, Eberhard, is to duel me. The winner shall possess the Tyrup.”

“You are correct,” said Tirem, as firmly as he could despite being taken aback at Atukam’s knowledge.

“But you know it will not be a fair fight. Even with the Blade of Erifurt, he stands little chance of emerging victorious. However, if you so desire, I shall allow a champion of my own to fight in my place.”

“Who is this champion? How can I be assured that he will be a more even match for the Champion of Agomnan?”

“He is a Human, a Syrochii, who is possessed of similar abilities to Eberhard’s. This I swear by the Flame of Lanret.”

“Then I accept your offer. Let your Champion come forth.”

Atukam snapped his fingers. The echo resounded across the blasted landscape. A figure emerged from the fortress gates and descended the steps. He was resplendent in shimmering sable armor, replete with jagged edges and great spikes on his pauldrons. He stopped in front of Eberhard, to the right of Atukam and Tirem. He lifted his visor. Eberhard inhaled sharply and turned deathly pale.

“Llwelyn!” Tirem exclaimed. “What lunacy is this?”

“It is not lunacy, master. It is lucidity. You do not see the truth, for you have been deceived by Agomnan.”

“No. the Nameless One has imposed falsehoods upon your mind. How do you not recognize this?”

“Because I am capable of discerning what is veracious. Consider: You follow the ways of the Tabocim, allegedly laid down by Agomnan. But has Agomnan adhered to any sort of morality of late? He punished me for showing mercy. He abducted Gruffydd needlessly, for his own gain, and corrupted his mind. And when his Champion slew Gruffydd unjustly, he did nothing. Agomnan knows not the meaning of morality, and thus is unfit for worship, unfit for rule, and unfit to continue unchallenged. Thus, though I do not wish to slay my former friend, I must take on Agomnan’s Champion in combat, for the Tyrup must remain with Atukam if sanity is to remain in the world.”

“It is true that Agomnan has done some things that appear unsavory to us,” said Tirem. “But that does not make him a force to be despised. Everything he has done has been to ensure that the Nameless One shall remain ensnared in this place. In a position such as his, there is no room for
blunders, for even the slightest one could mean the Nameless One’s escape. And you forget: even if Agomnan is less than worthy, he still is far worthier than the One I do not name.”

“So you believe that such petty things as rules need not adhere to Agomnan. Then he can do anything, if it is deemed ‘necessary.’ That cannot be right. If he is to be considered worthy, he must act in a befitting manner. There are some deeds that never can be justified, for they are wrong. I shall follow my conscience, not what I am told to think. And how do you know that Atukam is less worthy than Agomnan? All you have heard of him comes ultimately from Agomnan. It might well be all untrue. At worst, Atukam is no fouler than Agomnan.”

“You delude yourself, Llwelyn! Come back to us, to what you know to be right! You can justify your service to the Nameless One all you desire, but in your soul you know it to be wrongful. Renounce the Nameless One now, before tragedy ensues.”

“I cannot do that. I must do as my conscience dictates.”

“Then there is nothing more that can be said.”

“Yes, there, is,” interjected Eberhard. “Llwelyn, I will let you inflict on me any punishment you think just when we have completed our quest. But you must abandon the Nameless One.”

“It is not my place to deliver justice to you. It is Agomnan’s. Let him deal out punishment, if he will.”

“You cannot be serious! All your life, you’ve trained in the service of Agomnan. All your life, we’ve been as brothers. And now you turn your back on all of that. You are a traitor, Llwelyn.”

“Perhaps I am. But I have explained my reasons. And do not tell me that we were as brothers! You destroyed that bond when you slew Gruffydd. Prepare to fight.”

With that, Llwelyn drew his sword. Eberhard, seeing no other choice, did likewise.

“When I snap my fingers, you may commence,” said Atukam. Eberhard and Llwelyn stared into each other’s eyes for a long, tense moment. Both saw equal amounts of doubt and resolve in the other’s gaze. Then came Atukam’s snap. Eberhard swung his blade at Llwelyn, who parried with ease. The clanging of swords continued for what seemed an hour. Both were more determined to win than they had been in their previous match, for the cost of losing was far greater than it had been. The Blade of Erifurt ensured that Eberhard had the upper hand for much of the contest. But eventually, the inevitable occurred. Llwelyn, the more skilled warrior, landed a blow across Eberhard’s thighs. Eberhard fell to his knees. He screamed in pain and dropped his sword. Reluctantly, Llwelyn lifted up his sword for a finishing blow. He could not afford to show mercy this time. But just as he was about to slay his old companion, he felt a peculiar sensation in his stomach. He looked down. A blade was sticking out from his midsection. He turned around. Tirem stood there, his face contorted by his resolve not to weep for what he had just done.

“Forgive me, Llwelyn,” he said.

“I shall, not because you have commanded it, but because it is right.”

Then Atukam snapped his fingers again, and the world abruptly went mad. Eberhard felt as if he’d been struck on the head with a blunt instrument. When he regained awareness, Tirem lay motionless, and Llwelyn was nowhere to be seen.

“The rules of the match have been violated,” declared Atukam. “The violator has been given the fate he deserves, and my Champion has been taken to a safe place to recover. Since he is unavailable to finish the duel, I shall take his place.”

Eberhard’s mind went blank. Too much had happened at once. Between his shock at Tirem’s sacrifice, Llwelyn’s disappearance, and Atukam’s announcement, he could not decide what to think or feel. Deciding that it was best to focus on the duel, he dragged himself to his feet and stumbled towards Atukam. He felt the Blade grow hot in his hand, but rather than burning his flesh, it gave him strength. One moment, he went from limping to walking; the next, he was running, charging at Atukam with the ferocity of a Retnom. Atukam had barely drawn his sword when Eberhard reached him. Their swords clashed, but it felt different for Eberhard this time. The Blade seemed to dance in his hands, guiding his movements and allowing him to swing impossibly quickly. Atukam, taken aback, was quick to blunder. He swung his weapon too far, allowing Eberhard to stab his chest before he could block.

“You may have won this day,” Atukam spat, “but Agomnan will fall. It is inevitable.” With that, he vanished. Where he had stood, a small object lay on the ground. It was made of shimmering metal, and shaped like a miniature bush with no leaves. Instinctively, Eberhard knew this to be the Tyrup. He sheathed the Blade and picked it up. It seemed to call out to him when he touched it, as if asking him what he wanted. Its shimmering appearance reminded him of Minaru. As he thought that, a massive slab of the substance appeared before him. Intrigued, he wondered how Atukam planned to use the Tyrup to make Agomnan’s Minaru useless. Immediately, the slab of Minaru lost its luster. It looked like an ordinary stone. He understood now what the Tyrup was: a device to manipulate, and even create, Minaru. Atukam’s plan had been to somehow use it to rob all Minaru of whatever properties Agomnan needed from it. But now, Agomnan would have a limitless source of it. Astounded, he turned around, not yet having thought about how he was going to leave. But it mattered not: he found another black orb facing him. It caused none of the disorientation the other orb had, perhaps because it was in its natural environment. Eberhard stepped through it.


He found himself on the outskirts of Favauoc. He immediately went to the hut of one of Agomnan’s priests. The priest led Eberhard to his counterpart, and had him recount the entire tale of what had transpired since he left Favauoc.

“For all time shall this be remembered,” said the first priest. “Delivered us, you have. Repaid, this cannot be.”

“Furthermore, once the Tyrup safely to Agomnan is given, no more must we gather Minaru, for he shall have a supply unlimited,” added the second priest. “Come, let us to the Temple hasten.”

When they arrived at the great tree, the priests uttered a strange incantation and placed the Tyrup on the altar. When they had finished, the Tyrup vanished, and the mysterious red glow once again appeared.

“Wherefore hast thou summoned me?” Agomnan’s voice boomed.

“Completed has the quest for the Tyrup been. The rest, we believe your Champion shouldst say.”

“So be it,” said Agomnan. “What have you to say, my Champion?”

“I have served you despite hardship and treachery of the worst kind. It is my honor to deliver to you the Tyrup, the device that can produce Minaru out of nothing. With it, you shall never be in need of it again, and we shall no longer have to gather it as an offering to you.”

“Your words speak volumes. You say you no longer shall gather Minaru. That is mine to decide, mortal! Why might thou desire to cease to collect Minaru? I see clearly the answer: Your words reveal in you a disrespect for my rule. No doubt by my sycophantic priests were you instructed to say
them. But that matters not. I now have, as you say, Minaru unlimited. I have also a Champion and priests of dubious loyalty.”

“I meant no disrespect!” interjected Eberhard. “I would give my life to serve you.”

“A hollow attempt to your impudence conceal. You deceive me not. But you, my priests, and your village now irrelevant are, for I am in no need of Minaru. Thus, for your disrespect, you shall be punished. What you know not is that Minaru is the most potent substance of destruction in the world. Why think you that Atukam in Suratis remained always? It was because he knew I could with Minaru destroy him if outside of the underworld he set foot. Now that all the Minaru I shall ever need, I have, I shall destroy you in retribution for your infidelity. Even if ye and your kind had in your hearts no treachery, ye could serve no purpose in my future plans. Ye shall meet the fate deserving of your antediluvian nature.”

With that, the glow vanished. Eberhard and the priests looked at each other, unable to believe that the object of their worship held them in such low regard that he would destroy them for an innocent remark. Then a loud hum came from behind them. It was another black portal. Seeing little other choice, they stepped through, prepared to face whatever they found on the other side.

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(Time to bring a little necromancy onto the scene)

(Sheesh, I was kinda mean back then, wasn’t I?)

So I’ve been coming and back and forth through this topic over the last few months to finally, finally, finish reading this.

Dunno if that says more about the writing, or just my severe procrastination issues, but hey, here we are.

So where did you originally plan to take this? Because it was clearly building towards… something, that I guess you’ve since moved on from.

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The answer is both disappointingly anticlimactic and surprisingly complex

On the one hand, I didn’t really have concrete plans when writing this particular version of the story. I think I wrote myself into a corner–I wasn’t sure how to resolve what I was trying to say without being anvilicious, and writing near-omnipotent characters gets old after awhile.

On the other hand…these stories are loosely based on a series of terrible no-budget videos I made in high school. The end of this story aligns with the end of the final, never-produced-because-I-got-too-ambitious script I wrote back then, but I had quite a bit more planned out, featuring a number of godlike beings and the divisions between them caused by the equivalent of Agomnan. At the time, I think I was going for an “order vs chaos” thing, and in hindsight, I might’ve also tied in something I was very concerned with back then (though I didn’t know all the fancy terminology): the old philosophical debate over whether the universe is contingent or necessary.

Anyway, obviously the story changed quite a bit from that plan, and I think/hope for the better. But now I think I’m going to take it back to the drawing board at some point, and make Agomnan and Atukam kings rather than gods. That way, I can still explore most of the same ideas, but without as much risk of becoming heavy-handed, or getting stuck with characters who are too powerful to write.

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