So as I may or may not have mentioned somewhere on the older iteration of the boards, I’m an aspiring writer. I’ve finished a book (currently seeking an agent), and in the meantime, before I take a serious dive into my next one, I’ve been amusing myself by writing short stories.
I’ve tried this once or twice before, to no real success. In addition to drawing questionable reactions from others, I’ve also never been very satisfied with the results myself. But I’ve never been able to shake the particular desire to write a series of short stories which, taken together, tell a larger tale. That’s recently changed. Which brings us to the matter at hand:
Children of a Savage God.
So, first things first: What I’m looking for is any feedback that you all may be willing to provide. There are currently two stories extant thus far. I’ve submitted both (though I need to look for some other places to try to send the second one), and they have both been rejected. Still, I’d like to get them into publishable shape for some point in the future, and also would appreciate general feedback about them that I can use to inform the writing of any more stories going forward.
The stories so far, in order of writing:
1. The Dead City (about 10,000 words)
2. The Cult of the Viper (about 15,000 words)
These are two self-contained stories, and may not be in chronological order; I’m still on the fence about it.
If people are interested, I’ll post more stories as I write them, which I expect I’ll be doing on and off for who knows how long. I have a third story percolating, and I expect, because I tend to go long, that there is a book-length tale in here somewhere.
A major part of the purpose with these stories, for me, is honestly just to cut loose and have fun. These aren’t meant to be deep or insightful – or at least, I’m not going out of my way to find those aspects in them. These are meant to be sword and sorcery fantasy adventures for the most part. My one request is that you be kind in criticism, but above all, honest. That probably doesn't need to be mentioned in a place like Talking Time, but I feel the need anyway, probably out of my own shyness about sharing my writing.
I’m putting additional information on the personal background for writing these stories, characters, and broader setting behind a spoiler-pop for whoever wants it, so this doesn’t become a sea of text to drown in.
I’ve tried this once or twice before, to no real success. In addition to drawing questionable reactions from others, I’ve also never been very satisfied with the results myself. But I’ve never been able to shake the particular desire to write a series of short stories which, taken together, tell a larger tale. That’s recently changed. Which brings us to the matter at hand:
Children of a Savage God.
So, first things first: What I’m looking for is any feedback that you all may be willing to provide. There are currently two stories extant thus far. I’ve submitted both (though I need to look for some other places to try to send the second one), and they have both been rejected. Still, I’d like to get them into publishable shape for some point in the future, and also would appreciate general feedback about them that I can use to inform the writing of any more stories going forward.
The stories so far, in order of writing:
1. The Dead City (about 10,000 words)
2. The Cult of the Viper (about 15,000 words)
These are two self-contained stories, and may not be in chronological order; I’m still on the fence about it.
If people are interested, I’ll post more stories as I write them, which I expect I’ll be doing on and off for who knows how long. I have a third story percolating, and I expect, because I tend to go long, that there is a book-length tale in here somewhere.
A major part of the purpose with these stories, for me, is honestly just to cut loose and have fun. These aren’t meant to be deep or insightful – or at least, I’m not going out of my way to find those aspects in them. These are meant to be sword and sorcery fantasy adventures for the most part. My one request is that you be kind in criticism, but above all, honest. That probably doesn't need to be mentioned in a place like Talking Time, but I feel the need anyway, probably out of my own shyness about sharing my writing.
I’m putting additional information on the personal background for writing these stories, characters, and broader setting behind a spoiler-pop for whoever wants it, so this doesn’t become a sea of text to drown in.
My model for writing in this mode is maybe a little limited – mainly the heroic fantasy works of Robert E. Howard (leaning more toward Kull than Conan), and… well, hell, that’s about it, really. But there’s an energy and intensity to the best of his work that I like, and it’s something I want to capture for my own, minus all the deeply problematic business about sex and race, and maybe a touch less purple prose.
But that’s only part of my drive for this.
In an odd way, the other main inspiration for this came from the Ys series, but not in the direct way you may be thinking.
Ages and ages ago (1999 or thereabouts), when I heard about the games, they were largely a mystery to me. I had no way to get the only versions that had been commercially released where I lived, and even piracy at that point, over dial-up, was impractical. But I was intrigued, based on screenshots and what little I got of descriptions, and on a soundtrack CD I’d picked up titled “Very Best of Ys”, which featured orchestral arrangements of songs from the first two games (some of which show up in the anime based on same).
A few of those tracks really grabbed me. I mean, all of them were good. But a few really pulled at my imagination. I knew it was a mistake to do this, but it was hard not to let my imagination run away with it all and envision what I thought the games were like. I was wrong on the tone, and some of the content, but the games were perfectly fine anyway, so that was a relief.
But as for what I’d imagined...
I envisioned a setting built on the ruins of long-dead civilizations, mostly forgotten, with what little that was remembered being barely understood. But well-remembered or not, there was the allure of something ancient, powerful, and mysterious buried beneath the rolling hills and wide plains and the crashing waves... but not too deep to be forgotten. To let itself be forgotten. I pictured ruined palaces and tumbledown temples which still, somehow, retained a glimmering fragment of their ancient grandeur. Busy port cities whose safety extended little farther than their walls, and dangerous wilderness encroaching everywhere, albeit slowly and with reluctance on the grounds of the temples, where some remnant of holy power still lingered. Ancient ruins of the palaces of long-gone kings and queens whose names had been forgotten, but whose deeds lived on, whispered in the darkness, tales to be told around the fire. There was the warm sun and the sea breeze and the cool, still air of the dungeons and caverns and abandoned mines that had to be traversed on the way. And though the ruins were home to all manner of hostile creatures, they also contained the relics and weapons imbued with the ancient power to turn back the forces of the growing dark. And through it all, the mystery: What had happened, exactly, to the ancient civilization known as Ys? Why was it gone? What terrible secret lay at the heart of its disappearance?
There was a hint of something dangerous and truly sinister lurking beneath all of this, some thread of grim peril that lay under the sense of wonder and adventure that drew the characters on.
Time passed in my life. As this imagery came uncoupled from Ys specifically, I started playing around with it, trying to figure out what world it did describe, if not the world of Adol and Dogi and all the many distressed damsels they meet along the way. I started wondering what story these feelings and ideas belonged to, what tale they told. Because the basic idea was not going away.
Around this time, I began falling into a kind of fascination with a particular strain of sword-and-sorcery aesthetic that I think of as being particular to Japanese games (RPGs in particular) and anime – stuff like the Ys games of course, or The Weathering Continent – a particular look and feel and style that mostly didn’t make it across the pond for one reason or another.
So you put all that together, let it simmer for a few years, and then at the very end, add in my finally shaking off the notion that I have to do something Big And Important with my writing. And there you have it: Children of a Savage God.
But that’s only part of my drive for this.
In an odd way, the other main inspiration for this came from the Ys series, but not in the direct way you may be thinking.
Ages and ages ago (1999 or thereabouts), when I heard about the games, they were largely a mystery to me. I had no way to get the only versions that had been commercially released where I lived, and even piracy at that point, over dial-up, was impractical. But I was intrigued, based on screenshots and what little I got of descriptions, and on a soundtrack CD I’d picked up titled “Very Best of Ys”, which featured orchestral arrangements of songs from the first two games (some of which show up in the anime based on same).
A few of those tracks really grabbed me. I mean, all of them were good. But a few really pulled at my imagination. I knew it was a mistake to do this, but it was hard not to let my imagination run away with it all and envision what I thought the games were like. I was wrong on the tone, and some of the content, but the games were perfectly fine anyway, so that was a relief.
But as for what I’d imagined...
I envisioned a setting built on the ruins of long-dead civilizations, mostly forgotten, with what little that was remembered being barely understood. But well-remembered or not, there was the allure of something ancient, powerful, and mysterious buried beneath the rolling hills and wide plains and the crashing waves... but not too deep to be forgotten. To let itself be forgotten. I pictured ruined palaces and tumbledown temples which still, somehow, retained a glimmering fragment of their ancient grandeur. Busy port cities whose safety extended little farther than their walls, and dangerous wilderness encroaching everywhere, albeit slowly and with reluctance on the grounds of the temples, where some remnant of holy power still lingered. Ancient ruins of the palaces of long-gone kings and queens whose names had been forgotten, but whose deeds lived on, whispered in the darkness, tales to be told around the fire. There was the warm sun and the sea breeze and the cool, still air of the dungeons and caverns and abandoned mines that had to be traversed on the way. And though the ruins were home to all manner of hostile creatures, they also contained the relics and weapons imbued with the ancient power to turn back the forces of the growing dark. And through it all, the mystery: What had happened, exactly, to the ancient civilization known as Ys? Why was it gone? What terrible secret lay at the heart of its disappearance?
There was a hint of something dangerous and truly sinister lurking beneath all of this, some thread of grim peril that lay under the sense of wonder and adventure that drew the characters on.
Time passed in my life. As this imagery came uncoupled from Ys specifically, I started playing around with it, trying to figure out what world it did describe, if not the world of Adol and Dogi and all the many distressed damsels they meet along the way. I started wondering what story these feelings and ideas belonged to, what tale they told. Because the basic idea was not going away.
Around this time, I began falling into a kind of fascination with a particular strain of sword-and-sorcery aesthetic that I think of as being particular to Japanese games (RPGs in particular) and anime – stuff like the Ys games of course, or The Weathering Continent – a particular look and feel and style that mostly didn’t make it across the pond for one reason or another.
So you put all that together, let it simmer for a few years, and then at the very end, add in my finally shaking off the notion that I have to do something Big And Important with my writing. And there you have it: Children of a Savage God.
Kairos: The ever-so-slightly younger twin brother of the current king of Anduria. Anduria is peopled mainly by a group of clans who each claim some part of the kingdom. Representatives from each clan convene upon the death of the king or queen to choose the next one from all the eligible heirs; generally speaking, the chosen heir of the deceased king or queen tends to be favored for this. In the case of Kairos and his brother, Marcos, they could not make a confident choice. The result is that the succession was left up to a contest between Kairos and Marcos – a duel, in this case. Kairos lost.
Surprisingly, Marcos exiled him, for reasons Kairos does not understand. He was sincerely willing to serve his brother in any of a number of roles, in the event that he lost. His exile is all the more shocking because he bears the Royal Gift.
Hasan: Kairos’s closest friend since childhood, and the wizard to Kairos’s warrior – literally, although it’s perhaps worth pointing out that Hasan is more of an accomplished dabbler than a full magus. He was being groomed to take over his father’s position as the royal loremaster, and as a result is well-versed in a wide variety of subjects. However, he rejected this path in favor of following his friend into exile, partly because – although he would be unlikely to admit it – he would be lost without his friend, and partly also because fuck Marcos, that’s why. Despite making this particular decision partly out of spite, he tends to be more pragmatic than Kairos. At the same time, he tends to follow the exiled prince’s lead, because Kairos is the one with the motive force in their relationship.
Hasan lost his right arm in an accident when he and Kairos were younger, one for which Kairos rightly bears at least some, probably most, of the blame. The result was that Kairos was thrown into military training by his father at a younger age than normal. Hasan’s father, however, delved deep into his store of knowledge, and was able to create a functioning brass arm for his son. He barely knows how it works. Hasan usually keeps it covered, as it draws attention and can identify him, and therefore Kairos, immediately, and this is not always a good thing.
Surprisingly, Marcos exiled him, for reasons Kairos does not understand. He was sincerely willing to serve his brother in any of a number of roles, in the event that he lost. His exile is all the more shocking because he bears the Royal Gift.
Hasan: Kairos’s closest friend since childhood, and the wizard to Kairos’s warrior – literally, although it’s perhaps worth pointing out that Hasan is more of an accomplished dabbler than a full magus. He was being groomed to take over his father’s position as the royal loremaster, and as a result is well-versed in a wide variety of subjects. However, he rejected this path in favor of following his friend into exile, partly because – although he would be unlikely to admit it – he would be lost without his friend, and partly also because fuck Marcos, that’s why. Despite making this particular decision partly out of spite, he tends to be more pragmatic than Kairos. At the same time, he tends to follow the exiled prince’s lead, because Kairos is the one with the motive force in their relationship.
Hasan lost his right arm in an accident when he and Kairos were younger, one for which Kairos rightly bears at least some, probably most, of the blame. The result was that Kairos was thrown into military training by his father at a younger age than normal. Hasan’s father, however, delved deep into his store of knowledge, and was able to create a functioning brass arm for his son. He barely knows how it works. Hasan usually keeps it covered, as it draws attention and can identify him, and therefore Kairos, immediately, and this is not always a good thing.
The action takes place (at least mostly) on the continent of Thyria. Its western coastal regions are dry and sere hills in the northwest, which is where Anduria, Kairos’s homeland, is located. South is a savanna and a wide desert. East are hills and plains, and some jungle (the geography isn’t totally nailed down yet). To the farthest east stand the Skywall Mountains, beyond which little is known, or even rumored, though the first written story takes place just the other side of that range.
To the north are also mountains, less sheer but in many ways more treacherous. Beyond these mountains lies a wasteland where it’s said the dark spirit Andeg-Ra dwells. Andeg once had dominion over much of Thyria, but was driven into the waste after the coming of the Idurans.
About them…
Far to the west, there once lay an island nation where (it is said) the gods dwelled on earth. Indeed, it was thought of by those in Thyria as half-mythical, at the border between the realms of the mortal and the divine. To some extent this is true, or rather was. Ages ago, several clans of Thyrians were, according to the histories, “called westward to settle in Idura, there to mingle with the gods”. The nature of this mingling is somewhat ambiguous, though older versions of the legend tend to be a little more lurid. The versions most commonly known in Thyria have the people becoming “anointed” by the gods, as the suggestion of any kind of more direct liaison between the mortals and the gods borders on blasphemy in modern times.
At any rate, Idura was largely a peaceful place, ruled by a collection of clans, each of which held one of the members of the wider pantheon as their particular patron deity. From this deity, they were given a particular Gift, according to the nature and domain of that god or goddess. Indeed, it was thought that the cultivation of these Gifts was the entire purpose of bringing these peoples to Idura in the first place, to create champions who might return to Thyria and stand against Andeg-Ra.
Over all of the clans ruled the Piroi, worshippers of Andu, goddess of justice and judgment, and their territory was at the base of the holy mountain at the center of the island. What gift she bestowed is no longer quite remembered, though it was likely some form of ability to tell when someone was telling the truth or lying, or else some means to command others to do their bidding. But nothing lasts forever, and corruption entered Idura. About 1,300 years before the present, the Piroi were overthrown and their lands taken. They became a wandering, vagabond folk, and their three centuries of wandering houseless and friendless in the wild and unsettled wastes of Idura made them hard, bitter, and occasionally cruel.
It also saved them. At the end of that three centuries of wandering, the isle of Idura was destroyed when the holy mountain exploded (yes, this is an Atlantis allegory). Because they lacked the anchoring influence of a homeland of any kind, when they saw the signs, they had no reluctance to build ships and take to the sea, heading east. The disaster that struck shortly after their departure destroyed the island, and only fragments of it remain above the waves. If there are still, somehow, people there, I hesitate to imagine the lives they lead.
In Thyria, the Piroi found much of the land in the grip of Andeg-Ra, though this was not their item of first concern. Indeed, that they or any others of the Idurans had been intended as weapons against the might of Andeg was a notion all but forgotten, especially in the extremity of the times. Of primary concern to the Piroi was the establishment of a new homeland.
They were not allowed to settle, even as vassals by any of the coastal nations (though such an arrangement would have rankled, it was not out of the question), being expelled wherever they landed. This saw them shunted gradually northward, until they came to the hill country of northwestern Thyria. This region was inhabited by a scattered and disunited people known only as the Children of the Flame. They were split into various clanholdings, largely made up of the escaped thralls of Andeg-Ra and their descendants. Because they had once lived under the rule of that dark spirit, they were mistrusted and unwanted by the rulers of other lands, who feared they might secretly be agents of Andeg posing as escaped slaves, sent to undermine them.
As they were not organized into a proper nation, the Children of the Flame lacked the coordination to bring a large force to bear quickly, and so were unable to prevent the Piroi from making landfall and establishing themselves. By the time the Children of the Flame united enough for this purpose, the Piroi were already dug in. They had built settlements for themselves, burned their ships, and in any case there was nowhere for them to go back to. The price in blood for evicting them would be steep indeed, and to destroy the Piroi might also entail the destruction of the Children of the Flame in the process.
Instead, the two groups came to an arrangement: They would merge their peoples into one.
The cultural blending involved (among other things) the Piroi formally leaving the worship of Andu. Having by this point endured (in order) three centuries of exile, the utter destruction of their homeland, and the unwavering hostility of every people they encountered thereafter, they might well have considered that this was fairly unjust treatment from a deity devoted to justice, and determined that they had been forsaken anyway. Instead, they turned to the worship of the patron deity of the Children of the Flame, Tondros, the savage god of war (whom they knew in their own language as Tonod-Ro). He was a hard god, but perhaps ideal for a hardened people in hard times. Nevertheless, they called themselves Andurians in memory of what they had been before their exile, and of the goddess who had governed them in their prosperity, whose ideals of virtue, justice, and wise discernment were still of obvious value.
With Tondros as their patron, the rulers of the Andurians gained access to his Royal Gift: a divine arsenal, a collection of hallowed weapons of all kinds which could be called to hand by the bearer of the Gift at will. One person in every generation possessed this ability, frequently born into one of the ruling houses of the clans… or one destined shortly to become so.
What the newly minted Andurians lacked in numbers they made up for in sheer ferocity and tenacity. The descendants of two exiled peoples with all hands raised against them, they often dealt harshly with their enemies. They forged an empire through alliances and, when that failed, conquest, and this empire they then brought to bear against Andeg-Ra and his forces, breaking his hold on Thyria and driving him north beyond the mountains and into the wide wastes.
Almost a thousand years have passed since then. Boundaries and names of nations have shifted. The Andurians’ empire is no more. Though their kingdom is large, it contains only the territory inhabited by actual Andurians. The nations that were once forged into that empire have broken off into a loose commonwealth, united by shared history rather than formal treaties.
In my own mind – this isn’t really a thing that comes up at all in the stories written thus far – there is a looming threat of the imminent return of Andeg-Ra, and the problem of a world that is not ready for it, but that’s an idea to be explored at a later time, and in a later tale.
Our story begins in the Year of Liberation 987, with two wanderers making their way across a vast desert...
To the north are also mountains, less sheer but in many ways more treacherous. Beyond these mountains lies a wasteland where it’s said the dark spirit Andeg-Ra dwells. Andeg once had dominion over much of Thyria, but was driven into the waste after the coming of the Idurans.
About them…
Far to the west, there once lay an island nation where (it is said) the gods dwelled on earth. Indeed, it was thought of by those in Thyria as half-mythical, at the border between the realms of the mortal and the divine. To some extent this is true, or rather was. Ages ago, several clans of Thyrians were, according to the histories, “called westward to settle in Idura, there to mingle with the gods”. The nature of this mingling is somewhat ambiguous, though older versions of the legend tend to be a little more lurid. The versions most commonly known in Thyria have the people becoming “anointed” by the gods, as the suggestion of any kind of more direct liaison between the mortals and the gods borders on blasphemy in modern times.
At any rate, Idura was largely a peaceful place, ruled by a collection of clans, each of which held one of the members of the wider pantheon as their particular patron deity. From this deity, they were given a particular Gift, according to the nature and domain of that god or goddess. Indeed, it was thought that the cultivation of these Gifts was the entire purpose of bringing these peoples to Idura in the first place, to create champions who might return to Thyria and stand against Andeg-Ra.
Over all of the clans ruled the Piroi, worshippers of Andu, goddess of justice and judgment, and their territory was at the base of the holy mountain at the center of the island. What gift she bestowed is no longer quite remembered, though it was likely some form of ability to tell when someone was telling the truth or lying, or else some means to command others to do their bidding. But nothing lasts forever, and corruption entered Idura. About 1,300 years before the present, the Piroi were overthrown and their lands taken. They became a wandering, vagabond folk, and their three centuries of wandering houseless and friendless in the wild and unsettled wastes of Idura made them hard, bitter, and occasionally cruel.
It also saved them. At the end of that three centuries of wandering, the isle of Idura was destroyed when the holy mountain exploded (yes, this is an Atlantis allegory). Because they lacked the anchoring influence of a homeland of any kind, when they saw the signs, they had no reluctance to build ships and take to the sea, heading east. The disaster that struck shortly after their departure destroyed the island, and only fragments of it remain above the waves. If there are still, somehow, people there, I hesitate to imagine the lives they lead.
In Thyria, the Piroi found much of the land in the grip of Andeg-Ra, though this was not their item of first concern. Indeed, that they or any others of the Idurans had been intended as weapons against the might of Andeg was a notion all but forgotten, especially in the extremity of the times. Of primary concern to the Piroi was the establishment of a new homeland.
They were not allowed to settle, even as vassals by any of the coastal nations (though such an arrangement would have rankled, it was not out of the question), being expelled wherever they landed. This saw them shunted gradually northward, until they came to the hill country of northwestern Thyria. This region was inhabited by a scattered and disunited people known only as the Children of the Flame. They were split into various clanholdings, largely made up of the escaped thralls of Andeg-Ra and their descendants. Because they had once lived under the rule of that dark spirit, they were mistrusted and unwanted by the rulers of other lands, who feared they might secretly be agents of Andeg posing as escaped slaves, sent to undermine them.
As they were not organized into a proper nation, the Children of the Flame lacked the coordination to bring a large force to bear quickly, and so were unable to prevent the Piroi from making landfall and establishing themselves. By the time the Children of the Flame united enough for this purpose, the Piroi were already dug in. They had built settlements for themselves, burned their ships, and in any case there was nowhere for them to go back to. The price in blood for evicting them would be steep indeed, and to destroy the Piroi might also entail the destruction of the Children of the Flame in the process.
Instead, the two groups came to an arrangement: They would merge their peoples into one.
The cultural blending involved (among other things) the Piroi formally leaving the worship of Andu. Having by this point endured (in order) three centuries of exile, the utter destruction of their homeland, and the unwavering hostility of every people they encountered thereafter, they might well have considered that this was fairly unjust treatment from a deity devoted to justice, and determined that they had been forsaken anyway. Instead, they turned to the worship of the patron deity of the Children of the Flame, Tondros, the savage god of war (whom they knew in their own language as Tonod-Ro). He was a hard god, but perhaps ideal for a hardened people in hard times. Nevertheless, they called themselves Andurians in memory of what they had been before their exile, and of the goddess who had governed them in their prosperity, whose ideals of virtue, justice, and wise discernment were still of obvious value.
With Tondros as their patron, the rulers of the Andurians gained access to his Royal Gift: a divine arsenal, a collection of hallowed weapons of all kinds which could be called to hand by the bearer of the Gift at will. One person in every generation possessed this ability, frequently born into one of the ruling houses of the clans… or one destined shortly to become so.
What the newly minted Andurians lacked in numbers they made up for in sheer ferocity and tenacity. The descendants of two exiled peoples with all hands raised against them, they often dealt harshly with their enemies. They forged an empire through alliances and, when that failed, conquest, and this empire they then brought to bear against Andeg-Ra and his forces, breaking his hold on Thyria and driving him north beyond the mountains and into the wide wastes.
Almost a thousand years have passed since then. Boundaries and names of nations have shifted. The Andurians’ empire is no more. Though their kingdom is large, it contains only the territory inhabited by actual Andurians. The nations that were once forged into that empire have broken off into a loose commonwealth, united by shared history rather than formal treaties.
In my own mind – this isn’t really a thing that comes up at all in the stories written thus far – there is a looming threat of the imminent return of Andeg-Ra, and the problem of a world that is not ready for it, but that’s an idea to be explored at a later time, and in a later tale.
Our story begins in the Year of Liberation 987, with two wanderers making their way across a vast desert...
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