Sparring

"Again."

For a moment, as my vision swirled, I thought that I saw three copies of the man, standing over me.  All three copies wore the same identical scowl as they glared down at me.

"Come on," I heard his voice through woolen ears.  "Get up.  We're going again."

Writing Prompt: Meeting the Author

I kept on running.  My heart was pounding in my chest, my legs were aching, but I couldn't stop.  I couldn't even spare the second it would take to glance behind me.

Besides, I knew that they were getting closer.

I sucked in a deep breath, trying to control the precious oxygen.  Focus, Jack, I told myself.  You need to focus.  Running will only keep you alive for a little while longer.

You need to think.

I glanced back and forth as I took another corner.  I was on a street, both sides lined with small shops.  I could feel the sun shining down on me, warming my wind-ruffled hair.  If not for my pounding heart and screaming inner voice, it could almost have been peaceful.

Up ahead of me, I saw one of them come sweeping into the intersection in front of me.  They were getting smarter, trying to cut me off.  The shadowy mass, at least a dozen feet tall, rippled with the suggestion of bones, sinews, strange and abhorrent limbs hidden beneath the almost merciful blackness that ate all light.

I didn't even slow as I turned.  A shop came in front of me, and I hit the door with a lowered shoulder.  It yielded, and I came flying inside.

I skidded, but stayed on my feet, staring around the shop.  It looked to be some sort of coffee shop, someplace filled with tables and students on computers.  No one looked up, of course.  They couldn't even see me, couldn't perceive that I was even there.

Except one young man.

For a moment, we made eye contact, and I saw him freeze.  His eyes widened, and his hand, halfway to the coffee cup beside his laptop, froze in mid-grasp.

I rushed forward, slamming both my hands down in front of the man, making him jerk in surprise.  "You!" I growled, my voice halfway between a roar and a pant.  "You're him, aren't you?"

"Oh my god," the young man in front of me stammered, staring up at me.  "Oh god, I'm having a stroke."

Outside the shop, a loud thud echoed through the room as one of the Unspeakables slammed into the door.  The wood held for the moment, but I could already see tendrils of blackness sneaking in through the cracks.  I had a minute, maybe two.

"Set take me, I don't have time for this!" I snarled down at the confused young man in front of me.  Up close, he was anything but intimidating.  He looked soft and weak.  I doubted he'd last ten minutes in my world.

But it wasn't my world - not really.

It was his, wasn't it?  He had made it.

The young man was currently staring past me, his eyes locked on the shaking, sweating doors.  "What the hell are-" he began, but I was already moving around behind him.

"Hunters," I said, snapping my fingers in front of the man's face to break his spell.  "Now, write them away!"

"What?"

I shook my head back and forth.  "Ugh, I don't have- look, you made them!" I shouted, stabbing my finger towards the door.  The wood was slowly splintering, and I could see the entire frame starting to give way.  "So you can write them out of existence!"

"I - I mean, I imagined them, but I didn't create anything," the young man in front of me stammered.  He really was useless.  And soon, we'd both be dead.

"Write!" I shouted again, stabbing my fingers down at the slim laptop in front of the man.  And, his fingers trembling, he started to type.

The Unspeakable howled in rage.  All it knew was blind rage.  It had no concept of satisfaction, even of itself.  All it knew was blind anger, hunger for the destruction of its target, hidden behind this puny and fragile defense.

"What - insight?" I snarled, staring over the young man's shoulder at the words on the screen.  "That won't help us!"  The door had almost broken away from its frame.

"Just give me a second!" the man snapped back, and his fingers kept moving.

The Unspeakable pulled back, about to throw its entire weight into the flimsy barrier.  But even as it charged forward, the whole building shimmered, fading away.

The Unspeakable didn't have eyes.  It perceived what was truly there, seeing through any illusions.

But a moment later, the building truly was not there.  It had faded, not just from sight, but out of the entire plane of existence.  The Unspeakable's quarry had escaped, and its howls of impotent rage threatened to tear its entire being asunder as it searched helplessly for a trail that was no longer there.

I lifted my head, staring out the windows of the building.  The loud cracking of the door slowly splintering had stopped.  So had all other noise from outside.  I could hear nothing, and all that swirled outside the windows was mist.

"But, I- what just happened?" stammered the young man in front of me.  "I mean, my writing isn't real!"

I reached down and slowly patted him on the shoulder.  "It is here," I told him.  "Now, come on - they'll figure out our trick soon enough and be after us again."

Listening intently, I slowly advanced towards the door.  "Come on, Author!" I shouted over my shoulder.

Behind me, the young man stood up, tucked his laptop under one arm, and then hesitated.  "I mean, I bet there won't be a good coffee shop for miles," he muttered to himself, looking down at the table.  "Maybe I can grab a to go cup?"

"Author!"

"Coming, coming!" the young man yelled back, tossing back the rest of his coffee as he scurried towards the door, following the protagonist he created years ago.

"We are just simple farmers."

Of course, we didn't put up much resistance as the raiders came rolling into our little town.  They didn't even need to fire off a shot, although they did so anyways.  One of those idiots was leaning out the side of their stripped-down Jeep, firing an AK-47 up into the air like he was Rambo or something.

What an idiot.

We, of course, instantly had our hands up.  What are we going to do, fight back?  We're farmers, not mercenaries!  And it might be the Wild West out here, society collapsed and every man for himself, but we have a healthy respect for many things still.

For example, none of us is much inclined to replace our internal organs with chunks of hot lead...

Radioactive, Part I

Author's note: What's that you're asking?  Does this piece have a soundtrack?  Of course it does!

The oddest thing about waking up, Protis mused, is that he never expected it to happen.

For a while he simply lay in place, savoring the feeling of sensation as his arms and legs regained their functions.  He could feel his cells moving, growing, emerging from the stasis in which they had been imprisoned.  He gazed at the cracked concrete ceiling above him and, slowly, his thin lips grew into a smile.

He could feel it.  The world was different, now, much different than when he had last been forced to sleep.  But some things would always be the same.  He would always find a place for himself.

Protis began to lift himself up, rising out of the coffin in which he lay, but paused, momentarily concerned.  He was feeling exceptionally weak; there was something that he was forgetting.  Something important.  Ah yes, breathing.  He drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs for the first time in far, far too long.  His smile widened as new oxygen rushed to his tissues.

Still half-sitting, half-reclining, he tasted the air as he took another breath.  The levels of fluorocarbons and exotic pollutants were far lower than what he last remembered, although the sulfide and carbon dioxide levels were higher.  So, the high-tech machines were gone, replaced by the old-fashioned fallback of fire and coal.  This was perfectly suitable to him.  Protis was, if anything, adaptable.

Now that oxygen was flowing through his system once again, Protis sat up in the coffin, looking around the room where he had lay for many years.  A thick layer of dust covered everything beneath the heavy cement ceiling, and most of the computer equipment along the walls was no longer active.  Smashed displays and dark instruments were everywhere.

It looked like the facility had been abandoned for some time, Protis mused, but they had kept the power on; all the machines had still been running, and he had still been forced to sleep.  However, some sort of natural disaster must have struck after that.  Large sections of the ceiling had caved in, smashing several important-looking machines to pieces.

A foggy and unpleasant memory drifted past Protis's eyes, and he turned around in the raised coffin to look behind where his head had lain.  Several thick tubes and cables spiraled down from the container, running off to some of the larger machines around the room.  A single chunk of concrete had fallen onto this bundle of tubes, neatly severing the entire cluster.  Protis grinned happily at the sight.

Swinging his legs up over the lip of the coffin, Protis dropped heavily down onto the dusty floor.  "Ugh," he groaned, with vocal cords similarly dusty from disuse.  He patiently waited for his muscles to fully reboot.  After several minutes, he climbed easily to his feet, his movements now fluid and confident.  He lifted a hand, flexing and relaxing the fingers in experimentation.  Ah, it was good to be alive again.

Protis raised one hand to his temple, squinting as he tried to collect his jumbled thoughts.  He knew that they had poked around in his head.  They hadn't been gentle with their probes, either; their goal had been to rip out every enhancement he had installed.  They had been fairly successful.  The sheer fogginess of his brain was indication enough of that.  But had they gotten everything?

The door to the chamber, a heavy piece of reinforced steel, sat crooked in its track but still blocked the exit.  Protis eyed the door, sizing up the slab of metal, and then cocked back his fist.  Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he hit the center of the door with a light jab.

He watched with a surge of pleasure as the steel crumpled and the entire frame pinwheeled backwards across the floor, literally torn from its hinges.  He inspected his unharmed fingers.  No, they certainly hadn't gotten everything.  And there was always more room for enhancements.

Without a glance back over his shoulder, Protis lightly strolled down the newly opened corridor, leaving the chamber behind.  However, he paused about halfway down the hallway.

Turning on one heel, he sprinted back into the chamber, back to the coffin where he had lain for countless years.  One kick split the coffin in half.  More attacks reduced the computers and machinery around the room down to balls of torn and splintered metal.  Protis didn't stop his strikes, circling the room in a blur of destruction, until there wasn't a single control panel or display left intact in the entire room.

He glared around the room, his prison for so many unfelt years.  Standing atop the pieces of the coffin, he mentally checked his pulse.  Low and stable.  With a deep breath, he forced the anger and rage to drain away, leaving him cool and composed once more.

Once again, he began walking down the hallway, away from the chamber, seeking enjoyment in the simple freedom of moving his limbs.  "Ah, tabula rasa," he said aloud with happiness, seeing the glow of sunlight up ahead.  "Let's see what my children have been up to."

Outworld, A Primer - Chapter 2, Geography

Continued from Chapter 1.

Okay, here's an overview of navigating around in Outworld, summed up in two words:

Good luck.

Oh, you want more detail than just a sarcastic remark?  Fine, I'll do my best, but I warn you that Outworld has a tendency to . . . shift. Although the immediate geography (aka the location of your neighbor Dan's barn, or the outhouse) tends to remain the same, the background is much more variable. I once spent two weeks hiking towards an especially tall range of mountains, only to find that, by the time I reached the foothills, they had become a small inland sea. Be ready for disappointment and abrupt course changed.

Descartes, one of the most brilliant and well-known philosophers of Outworld, once tried to track these shifts, by planting long lines of coded stakes in hopes of tracking their movement. As he was creating his ninth set of replacement stakes, he realized that the landscape was staying the same, and only his measuring tools were vanishing. This experiment eventually became a footnote in his larger announcement: "The gods of Outworld are total dicks."

Now, to make matters worse: the biomes of Outworld tend to be fairly patchwork and haphazardly scattered, due to these shifts. This means that a tropical rainforest can abruptly become a desert with no explanation.

There is one useful fact for measuring biome shifts, however. Over time, the borders between these shifted areas become less and less distinguishable, and the physical climate equalizes. Deserts in warm, humid areas are reclaimed by foliage, mountaintop lakes freeze or drain away, and lush forests that have the misfortune of appearing in cold and inhospitable climates are rapidly reduced to dead skeletons, crumbling trees with twisted, leafless branches.

On a larger scale, just how large is Outworld?  Nobody has quite ascertained this fact, and the answer will likely remain undiscovered. Some measures of curvature suggest that the world is spherical, although guesses at diameter have varied from less than 10,000 miles to greater than 50,000 miles. The High Priest of the Light, Sanctis, claims that the gods informed him that Outworld is an island, adrift in an endless sea. "It is no one size - it grows," he informed his gospel. While this theory is hotly contested, it does also lend some explanation to the constantly shifting biomes. However, it is unclear where this land is being added, as travel times between the larger cities remains fairly constant.

A whole new set of splits, shifts, and general chaos was opened up by the Ascension, but I'll get to that in a later chapter.

Finally, a few words on demographics. The population of Outworld is constantly in flux, but the majority of sapiens tend to be humanoids of various forms. There are also smaller but significant populations of androids, sentient animal races, and other consciousnesses that don't fit into other categories.

Most of the stable inhabitants of Outworld reside in small, self-sufficient towns. Most towns are rural communities, relying on some combination of farming and/or trade. Peddlers travel between towns, carrying goods and news of the larger world. Most peddlers tend to have prescribed routes, often passed down through generations, in an attempt to avoid the many dangers that lurk off the beaten path.

Several larger cities do exist, producing intricate goods, serving as bases for manufacturing. Governments exist, usually dictatorships, but they have little power. Most of their limited military forces are required to defend against the onslaught of monsters. Few leaders bother to waste time with dreams of conquest.

[Outworld] In the Heart of the Slaver Queen's Hive

Finally, we were in the main chamber of the hive.  The tunnel suddenly opened up into a vast, open room, and I stared at the pulsing monstrosity of the slaver queen before me.

Above us, countless thousands of drones zipped back and forth, the buzzing of their wings melding together to create a constant hum that vibrated through the underground maze.  They paid us no attention.  Only the queen, bloated and reposed upon her disturbingly organic throne, bothered to spare us a glance.

"So, you've come to me," she hissed, shifting her bulk slightly so her face could stare down at us.  "A wise choice.  Many do not willingly come to serve."

Behind me, I heard Cain grunt, but I didn't hold back my anger.  "We aren't here to serve - we're here to destroy you!" I shouted.  I hoped that the undercurrent of fear didn't show in my bravado.

The slaver queen blinked, for a moment appearing disturbingly human.  "To destroy?" she repeated.  "You have come to the seat of my power, the very heart of my hive, and you make threats?"

I was worried that she would attack us right then, and I could hear the almost imperceptible creak as Cain shifted his stance, moving to get a better grip on his weapon.  I knew that he was a fraction away from attacking.  But the queen was rising up, towering above her twisted throne.

There was nothing to do but continue, to press onward with my speech.  "You've stolen the people of the neighboring towns!" I yelled out.  "You've corrupted them, turned them into mindless drones!  This isn't right!  For what you've done to them, you must be punished!"

"Ah, humans," the queen spat, gazing down at us.  "So torn, so frustrated by life.  You speak of the freedoms you seek, of the horrors of being a 'mindless drone', trapped here."  She raised one long arm, encased in plates of chitin, and a squadron of drones changed course overhead, buzzing down to land alongside the throne.

I stared at the drones that had landed, wondering if they had come from the nearby town.  The enslavement process was acting rapidly, twisting their limbs, rupturing their spine as wings burst from their backs, and stimulating the formation of chitinous plates that grew across any exposed skin.  However, one of the drones still seemed slighter than her male cohorts, and strands of thick, lustrous reddish hair poked from between the armored plates.  My breath caught.  Sue.  The barmaid, who had graced me with a dimpled smile before bustling off with her tray of drinks.

"And despite your insistence on freedom," the queen continued, swaying back and forth as her many legs wriggled back and forth, "you humans are so quick to embrace order.  You insist on choice, but you are happiest, at peace, when you have orders to blindly follow."  She smiled.  "And now, this is my order.  Die."

At this command, the drones leapt forward, their arms rising to brandish claws and spines.  My draw was only a millisecond behind Cain's, and our bullets stitched holes across heads and chests.  I felt a brief but deeply penetrating pang of regret as the drone that had once been Sue fell back, her wounds gushing ichor.

The queen was already calling down more of the drones, and the hissing sound that filled the chamber was rising in intensity.  I turned my pistol on the queen, but her armor was thicker, and the bullets failed to penetrate.

Cain had a different idea.  "Hold them off!" he shouted, closing his eyes as he focused.  I didn't know what weapon he was magically calling into existence, but I kept my eyes skyward, carefully placing my shots to keep the drones at bay.

Through the hum I could hear a lower pitched sound, growing steadily closer.  The guards, larger than the drones and outfitted with ranged, shooting spines, were drawing near.  "Cain?" I called over one shoulder as I slammed another clip into my pistol.

The only sound I heard in return was a brief, mirthless chuckle.  I turned, just in time to see the four rockets streak past me in tandem.  Cain was standing in a brace position, the smoking quad-launcher still on his shoulder, grinning slightly as he watched the missiles tear holes in the slaver queen.

As she fell, the queen let out a high, keening scream, picked up and amplified by the drones.  As her massive body hit the floor of the chamber, sending a shock wave through the floor, the drones dropped as one, like marionettes with cut strings.  With the queen dead, there was no central mind, nothing to control the drones, and they would all cease to function.  Staring around at the insectoid corpses, I felt a rush of melancholy, mingled sadness and frustration.  We had avenged those people, stolen from the nearby towns by the slavers, but we had not been able to save them.

Cain punched me in the shoulder, interrupting my reflection.  "We better get out," he said.  "No telling how these tunnels will hold up without the queen."

I nodded, following my companion as he picked his way through the cracked and shattered bodies littering the floor.  I spared only a single glance at the massive remains of the dead slaver queen.  Cain had seen hives like these before.  I made a mental note to ask Selene about the origin of these slavers.  For now, however, I focused on escaping from this gigantic underground hive before it became our tomb.

Outworld, a Primer - Chapter 1

So, if you're reading this, welcome to Outworld.  My apologies in advance.  You probably won't like it here.

Assuming you aren't having your face gnawed off by some monstrosity with more tentacles and eyes than a giant squid convention, you're probably wondering what sort of place this is.  By the way, if you are fighting a monstrosity out of nightmare, by the gods, put down this journal and focus on staying alive!

Anyway.

The best description I've ever heard of Outworld goes like this: "[Outworld is] a temporal garbage pit for a thousand other, failed Earths - a place where all the wreckage eventually washes up."  This description was uttered by a sentient robot, who was drunk off its ass at the time on electrified ether laced with jet fuel, but it's still an apt way of summing up this whole, wretched place.

In the next few chapters, I'll do my best to cover the population, landscape and geography, history, religion, and the economy of Outworld.  As such.  This place is incredibly fragmented, and it's tough to really put together facts about history when, outside the tavern, a guy with stone-tipped spears is dueling a cyborg with laser pistols.  And, if previous fights are any indication, Johnny Caveman is going to be the one who comes back in for another drink in a few minutes.

I know you're going to ask.  No, Johnny Caveman isn't his name.  We all call him Ugg, since that's about all he says.  Yet despite his limited vocabulary, he can be quite expressive with his hand gestures.  Which is how he got himself into this duel, by the way.  Implied that the cyborg's father was running Linux, I think.

Now that you're in Outworld, please take your time to enjoy the sights.  Meet the people, although you'll probably want to keep a healthy distance from most of them.  Healthy, in some cases, is measured in miles.  Admire the views, solitary and undisturbed by tourists.  Although keep in mind that the reason these views are so undisturbed is because the tourists are usually torn apart, devoured, and digested before they can make too much of a mess.

After reading this primer, you may be thinking to yourself, "Outworld doesn't quite sound like my cup of tea. (Or motor oil, or plasma, or whatever you prefer to drink.)   How do I get out of here?"

If you have just asked this, let me congratulate you.  You have asked the most common question in Outworld.  More common than "What is that thing!?", more widespread than "What's this place gonna throw at me next?", heard more often than "Help!", "I'm dying!", and "I hate this place!".  Although, to be fair, those last three are statements, not questions.

Unfortunately, that's one question that I can't answer.  You see, I'm still stuck here too.  Everybody's searching for a way out.  As far as we know, nobody's found one yet.

Well, maybe one person knows.  But he carved out the largest empire Outworld has ever seen and ascended to become a god, so it's not exactly an easy solution.  But I'll get to that soon.

On that note, settle in for an informative read, stranger.  You've got the time.

Continued in Chapter 2.

[Outworld] The New Age

Author's note: Unrelated to the Outworld saga, simply set in the same universe.

The drone was confused. And this was a problem, because it wasn't programmed to be confused.

Normally, one advantage robots hold over people is that they never need to seek out their purpose. While people must find their reason for existence in life, a robot needs only consult its programming. And the drone knew its purpose. It existed to destroy, to pursue and hunt down its target, not stopping until said target had been annihilated. It would then be recalled to its metal berth until the next target was selected.

To most people, this would not be a fulfilling life. But the drone was satisfied. It had been given a devastating array of instruments for inflicting damage and pain, and it was very good at its job. The drone knew this, just as it knew that its purpose was to destroy its target.

One problem, though.

The drone didn't know what its target was.

Normally in these circumstances, the drone would contact its mothership for new instructions. Unfortunately, the drone wasn't able to reach its mothership either. It was, as far as it could determine, alone.

The drone deployed itself, unrolling from its compact ball to reveal six jointed legs, a small "head" loaded with sensory apparatuses, and three arms, each equipped with a unique method for wreaking destruction. It extended its head, scanning the surroundings.

It was located in a lush river valley. The drone could sense a small settlement of humans off to the southwest, the traces of carbon unmistakable in the air. Oddly enough, there was no sign of the drone's ballistic trajectory, no scars in the earth to indicate how it had arrived in this place.

Robots aren't programmed to be confused, which is fortunate, because otherwise that is exactly what the drone would be feeling. It searched its memory banks for its next action.

No answers were forthcoming. The drone waited patiently while its processors churned. Predictive algorithms suggested potential solutions, each of which was plotted against known capabilities and data. Finally, the best scoring solution was selected.

With the new decision tree active, the drone began lumbering through the undergrowth towards the human settlement. As it crashed through the brush, it began warming up its laser array. It fired a few rounds from its autocannon, making sure the chamber was rotating smoothly.

The algorithms had made clear the best course of action.

Interrogation.

[Outworld] Spirits

The first chapter in the Outworld saga.  The previous chapter in the Outworld saga.

Music:

Why are we brought to Outworld?  What is our purpose?  These questions plague many adventurers, arising in the dead of night to deprive them of sleep.  Some seek out places of power or influence, while others want to merely find an escape, a place where they can live out their days in peace, free of the bizarre.  Still others are driven by their search for answers, desperate to fill in the holes in their memory.  Nearly every adventurer has some quest.  Few of them find the answers they seek.

*

I stared at the rock rising from the center of the lake. “That's a hand in there,” I said, staring.

Cain slowly lowered his rifle. “Yeah,” he replied. “Doesn't seem to be doing much, though. We'll leave it alone, dodge this encounter.”

His speech concluded, Cain turned away from the oasis, dropping his pack and grabbing some dry branches for a fire. I couldn't turn away from the trapped hand, however. Only reluctantly did I tear my eyes away, joining my companion in opening a few cans of food to heat over the fire for dinner.

With our meal concluded, I continued to gaze out at the center of the shallow pool. “It's a girl's hand,” I said finally.

“So?”

“What if she's trapped? What if she isn't some sort of monster?” I pressed.

Cain shrugged one shoulder. “Doesn't matter. Not worth the risk of finding out.”

I turned to glare at him. “You know, you make out to be this experienced, well-traveled explorer,” I snapped at him. “But despite that, you don't seem to care about anything that's out there! Don't you feel curious?”

Despite my outrage, Cain didn't seem too put off. “Curiosity tends to lead to trouble,” he replied cryptically. “I've seen a lot, and most of it I'd walk right past if I could go back and do it again. I'm not set on searching out trouble. And things like that,” he nodded towards the crystal, “are trouble.”

I sat and considered this for a long moment, but finally dragged myself to my feet. “Well, I'm not going to walk past it,” I said, my mind made up. Picking up a heavy branch, I began wading into the pool, heading for the center. Behind me, Cain growled in frustration, but when I glanced back I saw that he had picked up his rifle and was covering me.

As I had suspected, the pool was fairly shallow – the water had barely reached my armpits by the time I stood at the center, next to the crystal and its enclosed prisoner. Now that I was closer, I could see that the hand was definitely feminine, and seemed to be stretching out as if trying to escape. “Here goes nothing,” I muttered to myself, and raised the branch over my head in an overhead blow.

The heavy impact of the branch left a spidery crack in the clear, smooth surface of the rock. I raised the branch again, slamming it down again and again on the rock. Finally, as I paused for a moment to catch my breath, I cocked my arms back for one more blow. By now, the crystal was entirely covered with thin cracks, distorting the view of the arm within. I brought the splintery branch down once more.

The crystal shattered, sounding like breaking glass. From the interior came a dazzling blue light, shining up like a beacon into the sky. Caught by surprise and half-blinded from the intensity, I staggered back a few steps in the water. As I blinked to adjust my eyes to the sudden brightness, I stared in awe at the pillar of illumination rising up from the ruins of the crystal.

Over a few seconds, the light began to coalesce, condensing inward to form some sort of shape. I raised one hand to shield my eyes, still holding the branch off to one side. As I watched, the light condensed and dimmed slightly, revealing a luminous female humanoid hovering above the water in front of me.

“Oh god,” I whispered, as the figure gazed down at me.

Behind me, I heard another groan from Cain. “Couldn't leave well enough alone,” he complained. “Now we've got a spirit to deal with.”

I stared up at the girl, still slowly edging back out of the pool towards the dry sand of the shore. Her gaze turned to follow me, her pupil-less eyes glowing white. I wondered whether I should have heeded Cain's advice and never touched the crystal.

[Outworld] Chapter openings

Author's note: This is not a chapter in the Outworld saga, per se; instead, it's a series of small bits of information that will precede each chapter, as an opener.  They are only tangentially related to the voyage of our narrator and Cain, but do pertain to the same world.  


Salvation was built on hope.  In earlier days, when Outworld seemed smaller, tamer, there was a push to civilize the wilderness, to construct a line of cities and roads stretching across the territories.  At one point, some visionaries even dreamed of a railroad, linking the ends of Outworld.  Salvation was built as a rest stop, conveniently located near a water source, a railroad train.  But construction of the railroad never made it out to Salvation, and the town built on hope began to wither away.

*

The territory of Outworld is patchwork.  The landscape shifts abruptly, changing from forest to desert to ocean within miles.  Sir Charles Raymond, one of the best-known explorers of Outworld, claims that each biome came from a different world, dropped like a puzzle piece into the landscape.  As evidence, he points to the City of Dis, a square mile of ruined towers with no surrounding buildings.

*

Many gods in Outworld are feared, but even the Godsends themselves shy away from confrontation with Furor.  The self-proclaimed "god of madness," he is known for entering thriving towns and slowly infecting the landscape, subtly shifting reality until the minds of the citizens can no longer handle the strain.  Furor is followed by a trail of twisted impossibilities and gibbering husks, capable only of carrying out his commands.  Only Hastur's name commands more respect.

*

Where does godliness begin?  The Godsends don't have an answer, but they know that it ends at the tip of a blade.  Although the founding of their order is shrouded in mystery, the details known only to the highest members of the order, they task themselves with hunting down the gods that roam across Outworld, slaying them so that balance might be maintained.  It is unclear whether their efforts are having any effect.

*

What is human?  The pervasive magic of Outworld has a tendency to creep into and infect those who visit its plane, leaving them changed in some way.  Some discover new abilities, while others find that they have been irreversibly altered in some way.  Some accept their changes as gifts, but most denizens of Outworld do their best to ignore the footprint left on them by their world.

[Outworld] Welcome To The Desert, We've Got Death And Games

The first chapter in the Outworld saga.  Previous chapter in the Outworld saga.

Music:

As Salvation faded into the dust behind us and the desert stretched out endlessly in front of us, I couldn't help but wonder about my traveling companion. “So, they knew you back there,” I ventured, trying to cautiously broach the subject.

All I received in response was a wordless grunt, but I decided to press my luck. “Did you do something against them in the past?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light and nonthreatening.

Cain grunted a second time, but he slowed his pace slightly, falling back to walk alongside me as we trudged through the sand. “This place, Outworld, it changes a man,” he said. I fell silent, waiting for him to continue. “Or maybe it doesn't, and we were all this broken before we got sent here. But the gods would have to search a long time to find a good, honest man here. Everyone's got an agenda. Everybody's after something.”

I didn't speak, but I could feel the unspoken question hanging palpably in the air. Cain must have sensed it too. “These days, I'm just out to survive,” he said with a bitter, cynical laugh. “But back then, I was after answers. I was a fool, thought that if I just learned enough, I could make sense of this whole place. Get a handle on it.” Staring down at his feet, he shook his head. “But Outworld doesn't have answers, just more questions. Everybody's spirit is broken eventually. Now, I'd probably settle for just some refuge, someplace safe.”

“An oasis,” I said.

“Yeah, exactly. An oasis from the insanity of this place.”

“No,” I interjected. “Look, over there. I think that's an oasis.”

Cain followed my pointing finger. “Looks like it,” he agreed.

As we changed course towards the small clump of green that I had spotted, I watched him ready his rifle with trepidation. “Are we in danger?”

“Never hurts to be cautious,” he replied, his tone barely above a whisper. As we drew closer, he changed his gait to a predatory stalk. “Around here, if you're not cautious, you're a dead man walking.”

As the sand beneath our feet turned to clumps of grass, however, the oasis continued to appear serene and peaceful. A small pool shimmered in the twilight, surrounded by several tropical palm trees. Thick clumps of grass blades were crushed beneath our feet, only to spring erect after our passing. A cricket, hidden somewhere in the tall grass on the edges of the pool, chirped softly.

I stopped at the water's edge, lowering the pistol in my hand. “Wow, this is really calm,” I said. “I was expecting a monster or something, but this is just relaxing.”

Cain glared around at the deepening shadows, still clutching his weapon. I watched with some bemusement as he kicked at the trunks of the palm trees. “It's never this easy,” he insisted. “There's something here, something hiding. The razor blade's hidden somewhere.”

When I knew that his back was turned and he couldn't see my expression, I allowed my eyes to roll theatrically. “You know, maybe you just need to unwind, let out some of that tension,” I said. “I'm looking around, and I don't see anything out of the ordinary at-”

My companion spun around as my sentence ended abruptly, his rifle rising into a firing stance. He followed my gaze into the center of the pool, where a pointed shape jutted up from the water. In the long shadows of the setting sun, I had assumed that there was a rock at the center of the pond. Now, with the moon's rays starting to shine down upon us, we could see that the protrusion was clear, like ice. We could also see the unmistakable shape of a hand, trapped inside the frozen prison.

Although the muzzle of his weapon didn't move an inch, Cain let out a low chuckle. “Rule of Outworld,” he commented. “If there's one thing you can count on, it's a surprise waiting somewhere.”

What waits inside the crystal? Find out in the next chapter!

[Outworld] Old Friends . . . Can Kill You

The first chapter in the Outworld saga.  Previous chapter in the Outworld saga.

Music:

As the dark figure in the entrance to the saloon raised his gun, Cain moved so fast that he blurred. Spinning around and sweeping his rifle up from the counter, he pointed it at the doorway, firing one-handed as he threw himself sideways out of the path of the bullet.

With a cry of pain, the figure at the front door fell forward into the room, the pistol sliding from his hand to rest near my feet. The other patrons of the bar, however, had seized the opportunity to draw their own weapons, and I felt Cain's hand grab my shirt and yank me back towards the bar as shots flew overhead to shatter bottles above us. As I was hauled bodily backward, I had just enough presence of mind to grab onto the pistol, bringing it with me.

I winced as glass rained down on us. “What do we do now?” I yelled to Cain over the ringing gunfire.

Cain glared back at me as he reloaded his rifle with a fresh cartridge. “We fight back, of course!” he replied. “You've got a weapon, now use it!” With that sage bit of advice dispensed, he popped up over the top of the bar, blasting away at the other bar patrons.

I looked down at the gun in my hand. The pistol was large and silver-plated, with a six-round revolving chamber. A logo stamped into the handle read “Tet Corporation.” Hoisting the gun in my hand, it felt unusually heavy. “I don't know if I can actually shoot somebody!” I called out.

Instead of responding, I felt the sharp pain of Cain's boot connecting with my backside, shoving me out from behind the relative safety of the bar. I rolled across the floor and found myself staring up at an equally surprised man attempting to reload his own pistol. He frantically tried to snap his gun together, but without thinking I whipped around my hand and squeezed the trigger.

I stared in horror as the man's chest exploded in a shower of red and he collapsed forward. I could have remained on the floor, transfixed, but another round dug itself into the rough wooden floor only inches from my ear, and I pulled myself up behind one of the flipped tables.

Peeking over the top of the tabletop, I saw that the last two patrons had emerged from behind their shelters and were approaching the bar. I could hear Cain cursing, and guessed that something had happened to his gun. I took a deep breath.

Standing up, I leveled my pistol at the two men. I pulled the trigger four times in quick succession, putting two rounds in each man.

As my revolver clicked empty, a silence fell over the ruined bar. Cain rose cautiously to his feet on the far side of the bar, yanking a jammed round loose from the rifle's chamber with a grunt of frustration. His expression shifted towards grim pride as he surveyed the dead bodies. “Not bad,” he nodded. “Gather up the bullets and anything else that looks useful. We're leaving Salvation.”

Don't stop reading! Click here for the next chapter of the Outworld saga.

[Outworld] Salvation's Danger

Previous chapter in the Outworld saga.  First chapter in the Outworld saga.

Song:

After the first of the two moons reached the horizon, I woke Cain for his guard shift, albeit with great difficulty. The man was a very sound sleeper. I was forced to roll him off his makeshift bed platform onto the cold sand.

Despite borrowing Cain's blanket, the night was long and cold, and I awoke feeling miserable. From the depths of his pack, my companion managed to scrounge up two bars of some unidentifiable protein, disguised in a shiny plastic wrapping with language I didn't recognize. “Everything ends up in Outworld,” was the only response I received when I inquired as to their origin.

We resumed walking through the desert, past the abandoned ships. After several hours of plodding through thick sand, I finally asked where we were going.

“Salvation,” Cain replied over his shoulder. I paused to consider this response. As a newcomer to Outworld, I hadn't given up on hope that all this wilderness had an edge, that civilization waited just around the corner. “It's a dump, of course,” Cain continued, dashing my meager hopes. “Desert town, mainly just folks drinking away their days out here. But it's better than the wilds, at least.”

The next couple of days passed in a blur. The days were spent hiking, keeping our eyes open for game, and the nights were spent shivering in the shadows of ruined ships. Soon, dust still swirling around our boots, we stood at the outskirts of Salvation.

I stared in dismay at the collection of ramshackle wooden buildings, seeing walls made from salvaged plates of corrugated steel and wooden roofs sagging inward. “It looks abandoned to me. It looks like it has been abandoned for years.”

Cain merely grunted. I watched him unshoulder his rifle with apprehension. I followed closely behind him as we entered the town, scanning the boarded windows for any signs of life or movement. I saw nothing.

The largest building, at the center of the town, was the first to show signs of life. The shutters on the doorway swung slightly in the dry breeze, and the wind bore the faint sound of an out-of-tune piano to our ears. Still holding his weapon in one hand, Cain pushed through the shutters. I hurried to stay near him, hiding in his shadow.

Inside, I had to blink several times before my eyes adjusted to the dim interior. A long bar ran the length of the room, across from us. Behind it, a wiry man in a dirty apron polished the stains on the bar with a rag in one hand, while the other hand gripped something hidden below the bar. I had little doubt that it was a weapon of some sort. Several other grizzled men, seated at the bar on wooden stools, had also turned to watch us. Their hands rested on the pistols in their belts. In the corner, the small fellow seated at the upright piano had stopped plinking the keys and was eyeing us over the lid.

Cain only gave the spectators a passing glance, his eyes sliding over them without pause as he headed for an open bar stool. He nodded to the barman, who didn't change his suspicious glare. “Drink?” Cain said quietly.

The other didn't move. “What brings you back to Salvation, Cain?” he asked. “Last time you were here, you made your intentions plain. We weren't sad to see your backside.”

Cain nodded over to me as I pulled myself onto a stool with difficulty. “Newbie. Just looking to get him on his feet.”

The barman's judging glance pinned me to my seat. “Doesn't look like much. Bill's gonna be here soon.”

In response, Cain merely hefted his rifle, placing it sideways across the bar. He also reached down and removed his sidearm, placing it on the bar in front of me. He opened his mouth to say something more, but was interrupted by a loud bang as the shutters on the front door were thrown violently open.

“Cain, you son-of-a-bitch!” came a yell from the entrance, as the outline of a man filled the doorway. “I warned you what would happen if you showed your face around here again!”

I watched as my companion's fingers tightened on his rifle. “Our score is even,” he replied. I could hear the undercurrent of tightness in his voice. “I'm just bringing in a newcomer. Nothing to do with you.”

“P'ah, it's too late for that!” came the cry from the door, and the shadowy figure in the doorway raised the outline of a gun and pulled the trigger.

Next chapter in the Outworld saga.

[Outworld] Food in the Dry Ocean

First chapter of Outworld.  Previous chapter of Outworld.

Song:

I picked my way through the sand of the dry ocean after Cain, sweating and staring up at the rusted wrecks that littered the sands. I had to ask. “How did they come here?” I wondered.

Ahead of me, Cain merely responded with another shrug. I had discovered that a shrug was his default, and indeed preferred, method of answering. “The same way everything gets here,” he replied. “Magic.” I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. “They've been here ages, though. You can tell by how they've settled. Picked clean, too, unfortunately for you.”

I had another question, but Cain suddenly held up his hand, a universal sign for quiet. I obediently shut my mouth, watching as he unslung his rifle and raised it to his shoulder. He fired a single shot, and I saw something small jerk in the sand, maybe sixty or seventy feet ahead.

Cain lowered the rifle, a rare smile passing briefly across his scruffy features. He hurried forward, with me close behind. He reached down and scooped the carcass of a desert hare up off the sand. “Dinner,” he said triumphantly.

That evening, camped in the shadow of a battered derelict that might have once been a battleship, we built a fire from salvaged scrap wood and cooked our meal. Cain had bagged two other hares during the afternoon, and the smell of them roasting made my mouth water uncontrollably. We eagerly devoured the meal; my first food since arriving in Outworld.

The sun had nearly vanished beneath the horizon when we finished. Cain dragged a couple long stringers of wood over, laying shorter cross pieces on top. Platform complete, he stretched out on top, somehow looking comfortable. “You've got first watch,” he said, passing me his rifle. “Wake me up when the first moon hits the horizon.”

“First moon?” I asked, confused, but he merely waved a hand at me dismissively – his second favorite gesture, I would soon learn. He closed his eyes, and I was astonished to hear the faint but unmistakable sound of snoring within minutes.

I looked up at the sky. Sure enough, I could see two moons rising against a backdrop of twinkling stars, one of them decidedly larger than the other and moving more rapidly across the sky. That must have been what Cain was talking about. Something about the two moons didn't seem right, but I couldn't remember what was off.

Picking up the rifle, I examined it, locating the safety and figuring out how to position it against my shoulder. Clutching it to my chest, I crept closer to the guttering fire, staring out into the darkness of Outland.  

Next chapter.

[Outworld] Cain's Primer on Outworld, Lesson 1

Author's note: Previous Chapter.  First Chapter.  And, of course, your musical accompaniment: 

After this lovely introduction to Outworld, the other man turned and began making his way back into the forest, away from the clearing. I considered letting him leave, but he seemed to have a vague idea of where we were. That was more than I had. Ignoring the growls now coming from my stomach, I began hiking after him.

We proceeded a couple hundred feet before he turned to look back at me. His expression was unreadable, but he seemed to be waiting for me to get closer. I made my way to his side, trying to keep down my panting. The man moved surprisingly fast for his bulk and load of weapons.

“Do you mind if I accompany you?” I asked, once I had regained some semblance of breath. “Sorry to impose, but I don't have any real idea where I'm going.”

“No one does,” the man scoffed, but there didn't seem to be any malice behind the retort. “Yeah, try to keep up. I'll take it a little easier, maybe try to explain this place a little.” I nodded, and thus began my first primer on Outworld.

The man introduced himself offhandedly as Cain. When I asked if it was his real name, he smiled humorlessly.

“First rule of Outworld,” he said, sticking up a stubby finger. “Whatever you were before here, it doesn't matter. Not that anyone has a clue. None of us remember our past, or anything beyond this place. And knowing what I can do, I don't think I want to remember,” he added, looking down at the ground. I wisely didn't probe this topic.

“Us?” I asked instead. “Are there other people here?”

My newfound companion started to nod, changed it to a shake of his head, but ended with a shrug. “There's a few,” he said. “Outworld turns you into a survivor pretty fast. I bet there were probably more out there at first, but most of them don't survive the first encounter with the wildlife.” He winked sardonically at me, and I remembered the horror that had been disguised as a little girl.

“But there are some that manage to get by, fight them off,” he continued. “Take me. And a few of them have tried to settle down, make some sort of settlement, but those don't often last too long. A Stomper comes wandering by, that's the end of that.” I wondered what a Stomper was, but I was fairly sure I would be more distressed by the answer than by not knowing. “I come across newbies like you, occasionally. Most of the time, they're already face down in the dirt, though.”

“Well, thank you for saving me,” I responded automatically.

He shrugged one shoulder. “Just delaying the inevitable,” he said. “This place gets everyone, eventually. 'Outworld – where you're already on the way out.' But it does get lonely out here, with everything always being foreign. Sometimes it's nice to have someone to talk to.”

He sounded uncomfortable about expressing so much sentiment. I decided that it was time to change the subject. “So, where did you get those?” I asked, gesturing to the rifle slung over his shoulder and the automatic strapped to his leg.

Cain ran a hand over the butt of his pistol. “Found them,” he replied. “Salvage. There's a lot of that out here. Probably the best way to get your hands on things in Outworld, at least if you don't want strings attached.”

I was about to inquire what he meant by salvage, but then I remembered the half of the sailing ship where I had first awoken. I mentally kicked myself for not searching the wreckage for a weapon. “Are they all boats?” I asked instead.

“Boats?” Cain glanced back at me, surprised.

“Yeah. I woke up on a boat. Well, half of a boat. An old sailing ship, I think.”

To my surprise, Cain chuckled. “Man, you ain't seen nothin' yet,” he commented, his voice taking on a Western drawl. “Eventually, everything ends up here in Outworld. Most of it I don't remember until I've found it, but we get it all. In fact, you'll see in just a few minutes for yourself.”

What? I looked at him, puzzled, but he merely nodded forward. I pulled my gaze up from the path to look ahead. I had become accustomed to the sight of the gigantic trees, stretching on endlessly into the gloom in all directions, but in front of us they seemed thinner, and rays of light were shining through. We were reaching the edge of the forest.

We climbed one last ridge, stepping around the large boulders sunk deep into the mossy peat, and the landscape opened up in front of me. At the ridge's top, Cain paused, gazing forward expressionlessly. Hands on my knees and sucking in breaths of air, I blinked as I stared into the brightness, trying to understand.

On the far side of the ridge, the mossy earth gave way to sand, and rolling dunes stretched out towards the horizon. From where we stood, it looked almost like an ocean of sand, shimmering in the sunlight. Scattered among the dunes were the wrecks of dozens of ships of all sizes and types. Off to our right, I could see the stern of an aircraft carrier, rusting and half-buried in the sand. Atop another dune stood a lighthouse. It was listing alarmingly and the red barber-pole stripes painted on it were so faded as to be nearly indistinguishable, but the building was still unmistakable.

Beside me, Cain chuckled dryly. “Outworld,” he said simply. He waited a minute longer, and then began slowly descending into the dry ocean. I followed carefully, trying to keep my footing in the treacherous sand.

[Outworld] Others Are Out There

Author's Note: Previous Chapter.  Musical Accompaniment.

I stared up at my imminent death, the all-consuming fog of happiness still keeping me paralyzed. All I could see was the dark red of the creature's maw, surrounded by haphazardly placed fangs. A tiny voice in the back of my head shouted to run, to strike out, to do something, anything, but its cries were ineffectual. The long, twig-like arms, fingers spread and interlocked to form a loose cage, surrounded me and kept me from fleeing, even if I had the willpower to resist.

Suddenly, the creature jerked, once, twice, three times, as loud cracks rang out from behind me. As the body of the monster reeled, some small measure of sanity returned to me. Those sounds – were they gunshots? I railed at my muscles, sluggishly pulling myself to my feet.


Two more reports rang out, the sound seeming to come from the edge of the clearing. This time, I caught sight of the rounds tearing through the bestial creature, leaving splatters of dark ichor across the grass.


I didn't know how long my protector would stay, or how many shots he had. Turning to face the cage of branched fingers, I swung my foot around and was pleased to see the bars shatter like toothpicks. I kicked several more times, widening the hole and eliciting another roar of pain from the broken monster. The hole was now wide enough for me to duck through, and I wasted no time in escaping the trap. I half-ran, half-stumbled to the edge of the clearing as the last vestiges of the happy fog retreated from my mind.


As I reached the edge of the clearing, I scanned the shadows for my savior. Looking around, I saw one shadow that seemed deeper, more substantial, than the others around it. I stepped forward towards it, but pulled up short when the muzzle of a decidedly-nasty looking automatic weapon emerged to point back at me.


“Don't move if you value your brains,” came a raspy voice from the shadow. I was more than willing to remain where I stood as a burly, muscular man moved cautiously out of the shadow. He said nothing more, staring at me, rifle still raised to his shoulder. There was little for me to do but stare back, examining the man who would become the closest thing Outworld has to a friend.


I estimated that my mysterious protector was in his late thirties, although his face was obscured by stubble, a black eyepatch, and a filthy-looking handkerchief wrapped around his forehead to hold back a shock of unkempt black hair. He wore a vest of black combat armor, panels wrapped over his hefty shoulders to further add to his bulky appearance. He looked thoroughly imposing, especially with the scowl currently plastered across his features.


“So,” he said at length, biting off the end of the vowel. “Who are you?”


Once again, I strained to remember anything about myself, but once again came up empty. “I don't know,” I said honestly. The most common phrase in Outworld, it turns out.


“When did you get here?”


“Hold on,” I interjected, momentarily forgetting the situation. “I don't even know where 'here' is!” In response, the man simply adjusted his grip conspicuously on the assault rifle in his arms. My burst of outrage deflated rapidly. “About two days ago,” I added. “I think. The whole day/night cycle seems to be kind of wonky here.”


The man lowered his weapon at this response, and I took the opportunity to grab a quick breath. “A newbie,” he said. I couldn't tell if the emotion in his voice was disgust, resignation, frustration, or some combination of the three. “Well, allow me to be the first to welcome you,” he said, briefly adopting a false air of jollity.


“Welcome to where?”


The man spread his arms wide, gesturing with the assault rifle at the trees around us. “Outworld,” he said simply. “A whole new world, going on forever, filled with all sorts of wonderful sights and unique creatures, like the one you just met. “ He dropped the act, and spoke the most honest words I have ever heard another human being utter.


“You're going to hate it here.”

Will he?  Perhaps the next chapter will be revealing . . .

[Outworld] No Longer Alone

Previous Chapter.  And of course, here's your musical accompaniment for this chapter.

So here I was, trapped in some oversized forest with no idea where or who I was. And what had I brilliantly decided to do?  Start walking away from my only landmark. Brilliant, I know.

I walked for a long time. I couldn't see the sun, and although there were periods of darkness, they didn't seem to be the same length. Sometimes the darkness would last for hours, other times it felt like mere minutes. Later on, 
I learned that different places in Outworld have different days. Just another bit of unfamiliarity in this place.

As best I can tell, I walked for about two days before anything changed. There were pools of water here and there at the roots of the massive trees, and my thirst quickly overcame my concerns about disease. The gnawing hunger was slowly growing, but I was able to ignore it.


I was struggling to make my way over the humped roots of an especially large tree when I spotted a small clearing just ahead. Finally, a change in the scenery!  Throwing one leg over the root, I hurried forward.  There was even sunlight entering the clearing through a hole in the trees above!  To my gloom-adjusted eyes, it seemed like a blinding heaven.

Arriving at the edge of the clearing, I paused for a moment before stepping forward into the tall, gently waving grass.  In the middle of the clearing, a figure was sitting atop a large rock.  The light was still overwhelming my eyes, but I squinted to see what details I could.

The figure appeared to be a young girl, clothed in a simple white dress.  Her blonde hair hung in waves, and she was smiling happily.  I guessed that she couldn't be older than six or seven years.  She was gazing off into the distance, looking towards the far side of the clearing.

I felt a wave of paternal instinct surge through me.  Who had abandoned this girl, this angel, out here in this empty forest?  Who would leave her behind?  As I stepped forward to comfort her, a small part of my mind wondered if I had perhaps been a father, before awaking that first day.  Perhaps that was from where my protective instinct arose.  Sorry, still no answers there.

But that day, I ran forward without concern into that clearing.  My arms were open.  What for?  Haven't the foggiest idea.  Maybe I was going to sweep her up in a hug, maybe I was going to protect her from all the horrors that I would eventually discover lurking out in Outworld.  But all I knew was that I was happy - no, that the child would make me happy.  That I would only be happy as long as I was with her, that I would do anything to protect her, to keep her happy, even if it meant my own demise.  

As I approached, she turned to smile at me.  Her smile was even brighter than the beams of sunlight.  There was no trace of fear in her expression, only serenity.  For that moment, as we were about to touch, I felt fulfilled.  For that moment, the last moment in a very long time, there was no trace of worry or confusion in my mind.

And then she reared up to strike.

Suddenly, through the haze of brilliant sunlight, she was growing taller, stretching, elongating, unfolding.  The folds of the white dress opened up, and the inside was blood red and lined with bladed fangs.  Her arms grew impossibly long and thin, wrapping around behind me like a cage.  Mind clouded with the fog of happiness, I couldn't fathom what was happening.  Her mouth stretched, the bottom jaw falling away to reveal a hole, dark and red, reaching out for me . . .

Don't stop now, go on to the next chapter!

[Outworld] Awakening

Author's note: I think a lot of stories could use some musical accompaniment, to listen to as you read.  Here's the song for this story.

There is one activity, I can guarantee you, that every person on earth does immediately after waking up.  That activity is checking their memory - trying to determine how they got there, what they were doing before they fell asleep, and what they need to do now.  Waking up and finding that memory missing, having no knowledge of where you are, how you got there, is one of the scariest feelings I know.

At least, I thought it was scary once upon a time.  I've seen much worse since then.  Welcome to Outworld.

I can still remember that first morning, waking up there.  Here.  I couldn't tell you how long ago it was, though.  Could've been a few weeks, more likely a lifetime.  Time and space are funny in Outworld.

I opened my eyes, and for a moment felt the brief sense of confusion that every person feels before they remember where they are.  But that time, for me, that confusion never faded.  At that moment, I couldn't tell you where I was, couldn't tell you the date, couldn't even tell you my name.  I still can't, for that matter.  There's still not much I can tell you about myself.

As I sat up and gazed around, still searching my head for something that wasn't there any longer, if it had been there at all, I realized that I was sitting on an old sailing ship.  Well, half of one, anyway.  The prow of an old three-masted frigate was nestled into the earth at the foot of a massive tree; a god's knife had cleanly sheared away the back half of the ship.  As I sat up, my movement sent a small barrel tumbling over the edge to land with a thump on the forest floor below.

Nothing made sense.  I climbed awkwardly to my feet.  I was dressed in a set of sturdy work boots, a pair of Levis, and wearing a North Face jacket.  That's what the labels said, at least.  The canopy of leaves, seemingly miles above my head, tinted the world in shades of green.  For as far as I could see, massive trees reached up into the gloom.  Looking at the nearest of these trunks, I guessed that twenty men could not wrap their arms around its girth.

Well, there were coils of rope still on the decks, and I threw one over the side, lowering myself down to the spongy moss below.  Once my feet were upon the ground, I sat for a while in the penumbra of shadow cast by the ship, trying in vain to remember.  Nothing.  Not even a name.  As I sat, the shadows shifted around me, but I couldn't tell what time it was.  The sun was obscured by the trees above, and only diffuse shafts of weak light filtered through to the forest floor.

Eventually, there was nothing left to it.  I stood up, stretching my limbs.  What direction?  I turned in a circle, but the woods all looked the same.  Eventually, I decided to head out in the opposite direction of the ship.  I figured maybe I'd find the other half, the stern, wherever it might have been left behind after being sliced in twain.  Just maybe there'd be some answers there.

Looking back now, I shouldn't have bothered trying to make sense of what had happened.  I've learned that there's darn little sense to be found in this place.  Just when you think you've seen the weirdest thing, something worse is waiting around the corner.  But that's life in Outworld.

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