My Favorite Street:
Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to visit my favorite street in order to map it. But I did my best.
In my memory, the Alley is always bustling. Wizards of every color crowd the pavement, and the windows to the stores reveal just as large of a crowd inside. The tightly packed buildings are comfortably claustrophobic and squeeze together with architecture only magic could allow. The cobbled ground clicks and clacks under the trod of hundreds of wizards, and the cracks of magic can be heard faintly in the ruckus of the crowd. Whizzing sparks crisscross the air around the shoppers and children chase them, laughing and leaping. The smell of fresh fruits and cold creams hang in the air around the Parlor, and the stark smell of herbs drifts from the apothecary.
The sun shines bright on the Alley.
What if I drank an ocean.
“I awaken to the thunderous crash of mortar and brick. Debris pushes hard on me, and dust and dirt cake my face. I haven’t a clue what’s happened, so I shake my head vigorously to either side, trying to dislodge the gritty sand from my eyes. As painful tears well up as the dust cuts my eyes, I begin looking around to find I’m no longer in my eighth floor bedroom. Instead, I’m level with the ground staring straight at the bright sky. All around me, the walls of North Commons lie crushed beneath my massive frame. My encompassing fat rolls undulate beneath the ruins of my fallen residence. Gelatinous and soft, my engorged belly reaches almost thirty feet into the sky, swaying in the breeze. My arms and legs lie pinned to the ground, entirely nonfunctional with so much girth restricting their movement.
I lie there pondering what brought me to this point in my life. Was it lack of ambition? Was I too caught up in my career? Was I too demanding? Did I truly appreciate my family, my friends, and my colleagues? Or was it because Jared dared me to drink an ocean?
He said it couldn’t be done. He said I was crazy. He said I wasn’t in the right state of mind–that I should go home.
That was before I drank the Atlantic.”
Being an avid fiction reader, I’m consistently asked to learn new words and associate bizarre meanings to them.
Here are a few words I’ve found that really stuck with me.
Chaumas: To be poisoned with food.
Musky: To be poisoned with drink.
Kanly: A formal feud between two people or groups.
Melange: Spice from the world of Arrakis that, while addictive, grants precognitive powers.
Lich: An evil being, typically a wizard, that cannot be killed without first destroying his phylactery.
Phylactery: An object imbued with the soul of a lich, granting him eternal life. Essentially a horcrux.
-nomicon: A suffix typically denoting a very powerful magical book (ie: Necronomicon, Draconomicon..)
Bantha: Massive, lumbering beasts native to Tatooine. They are around the size of elephants, covered in thick hair,
and adorned with long, thick horns spiralling from their heads towards the ground. They also have long,
almost human-like, faces. And long tongues.
Spannungsbogen:Hesitance between noticing a prize and grasping it.
Craghammer: Really, really big hammers. For battle.
Even fundamental words can have changed meanings:
Red:A two-handed weapon.
Blue: A one-handed weapon.
Green: A stabbing weapon.
Yellow: A bow and arrow.
See!? Fantasy either innovates or renovates. Creates something new, or changes the old.
And that’s why I love it.
I decided to map out the table at our weekly D&D night. As you can see, everyone’s name and role is provided. We meet every Saturday for some good ‘ole fashioned table-top roleplaying. It’s been a defining past-time for me, and easily warrants some mental-mappage.
The monologue for the dungeon was read aloud to dimmed lights.
“The nights grow colder. The skies grow darker. Those trained to hear the will of the World foretell of an impending war, as the drums of battle echo on the horizon. Something is happening.
Something is changing. The world would soon call to its strongest to fight back against the impending darkness. Only through strength: of heart, of mind, that which comes through the persistence of will, can humanity have any hope of survival. It is through these champions that our race will survive. Ages have brought the most wicked against us, and yet we live. These feats of strength will hammer our names in the halls of time. These men and women will carve our place as the world’s true masters.
And yet, these men and women are not you. You are but the bystander of the epics. You are but a grain of sand in a desert of change.
Your group has come to call itself the Order of the Camoranth, and you are but another group of adventurers in a world of heroes. You walk not down the halls of Godhelm, or through the palaces of Amul’Adar. You have yet to see the peaks of the Stormcrest Mountains or plumb the ancient holds of Ghan-Magghast. Your duty lies not in the grand or epic.
You have not the strength or power to slay the unslayable, but what you have is the will and the resolve to fight until you can. That is what sets you and your men apart. That, you will see, is what allows you to save the world.”