Serial fiction (rpg based-fantasy) From: pbem@aol.com Date: Tue, 10 Dec 1996 00:00:00 +0000 Dear Netters, I have a new hobby project. I am writing a story in serial fashion, and emailing it to friends on the net. It is NOT interactive (a game.) I have run a couple of those. Now I am taking a break from that, and just writing a novel, one piece at a time, just for fun. The scenerio is that of an elder/shaman from a primitive, tribal society venturing out for the first time into a fantasy, medieval world. Below, I have posted the first segment of the story. I know that not everyone likes to read fantasy fiction. But if you do, and and you want me to put you on the list, just let me know. Mark PBEM@aol.com -------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------ Q1:The story begins.... %%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% The Ritual of Rope and Rock was very simple, with no chants, litanies, or detailed customs. It was the ritual that marked the transition of a tribesman to the rank of Elder. A few days before a tribesman's (or tribeswoman's) one-hundredth birthday, he or she would begin packing for a long journey. Any possessions accumulated over a lifetime that could not be carried on such a journey were given away to friends or family members. On the morning of a tribe members one-hundredth birthday, his mate and all his descendents would gather at his home. A tribal leader from the Dragon Clan would also arrive, as witness and as drumbeater. The person and his or her family would be tied by the wrist with a long, thin rope in the order of their birth, youngest last. They would then walk in a slow solemn procession, to the beat of the Leader's drum. They would march to the mouth of the Upper Valley, where they would be met by the Keepers. The Keepers and the family would then stand still and wait staring at each other. This would continue until the Keepers initiated their portion of the ritual. This wait was sometimes short, but not always. Stories were told amongst children of occasions in which the Keepers would stand waiting until nightfall. The Keepers would perform their portion of the ritual by walking forward, and grasping the rope between the candidate for Eldership and his family. They would sever the rope at that point, and then tie each loose end around a skull-sized rock. The Elder (since the candidate was considered an Elder the moment the rope was cut) would then take and carry the rock to which he or she was tied. The eldest member of the family would take the other, to which the entire procession was tied. Then the procession would march back, again to the beat of the Leader's drum. They would take the stone to the Great Mound, where all such stones had always been taken. %%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% QuickSilver stood still and alone. The winds whipped past him from behind, pulling forward the edges of the heavy wool blanket he wore about his upper torso. The winds were cold, hungry for the warmth to be found in man and beast. He had dreamed of this day many times in his century of life. It was the day of his passing into Eldership, that phase of life in which each member of his tribe left all that he had known before, and sought a new life marked by spiritual wisdom, spiritual growth, spiritual understanding, spiritual power. He had often dreamed of the joy of walking a spiritual path, had longed for the inner peace spoken of in his tribes tales of greater internal insight and awareness. But within him brewed a storm of undefined emotions. Contrary to all he had imagined, he was anything but calm and peaceful as he set out on the Upper Path. Externally all was as he had been taught. He and his family had performed the Ritual of the Rope and Rock as was the custom. They had been met at the mouth of the Upper Valley by the Keepers, a wordless race of short, furry, child-like beings who lived in the Upper Valley and guarded the Upper Path. His family had departed, to complete the Ritual of the Rope and Rock at the Great Mound near Dragon Clan Hall. The Keepers escorted him, pointing and leading, but never speaking. They guided him to a place he had been told of since youth, a place called by the young the Pit of Terror, and by the old the Pit of Hope. It was larger than he had imagined, perhaps fifty paces across and circular. He stared down into the pit, and was hit with a wave of fear. The sides were smooth, and simply disappeared into the darkness a long way down. He untied the rope from his wrist, closed his eyes and waited for the time to feel right, then pitched the rope and stone into the pit. He listened for a sound, but none came, none at least that he could hear above the wind. Legend said that the pit was bottomless, but the words of Legend were seldom as impressive as was the substance and the experience. The Keepers then urged him back along the same path for a moment, then onward and upward. The wind grew ever stronger. As they walked this way and that, the valley grew more broken, more rocky, and steeper. It became a network of steep, deep ravines. After several hours of walking and scrambling the keepers finally came to a halt. Ahead of them was the last part for which he had been prepared; this was the last part of the events that were to come of which Legend spoke. Ahead of him were two rows of stone columns, reaching up as if to support a roof, but finding none. Each was about three men high, and too big around for three men to join hands and form a circle. The two rows of columns were about one hundred paces apart, and each column was about fifty paces from its neighbor. The rows each contained twenty-one columns. The two rows extended forward, coming to an end at a smooth cliff wall. Between the last two columns was a hole in the ground about ten paces across. From the hole rose an eerie sight, a whirlwind of flames that spun and twisted furiously. QuickSilver stared at the whirlwind of flames. It appeared at first as if the flames rose from the hole. However, as he studied the flames, he decided that they were being drawn down into the hole, rather than originating from the hole. He stood still and alone. The winds whipped past him from behind, pulling forward the edges of the heavy wool blanket he wore about his upper torso. The winds were cold, hungry for the warmth to be found in man and beast. Up