So I have been told that I should start writing a book and see where it gets me. In truth, I have tried my hand at comics and short stories but they never really end up to my liking and I end up scrapping the idea. Most recently, I have tried my hand at this again and ended up with a concept that I really like. I am still unsure of the writing of it and how I should go about it so please let me know what you think of it in the comments and if you want to find out more of the story. At present, the story is called Turpitude (the word of the day on my time of writing this) which means depraved or wicked behaviour or character. If this ever does make it into a book the below is the opening page, the forward, the precursor to the main story. Read on good people of the world and enjoy.
To the Literate and the World Eaters – Find Me
I write this letter to you so that you understand what you are getting into before you delve in too deep. Some fool in an alternate dimension has decided to detail the events of my life. No, I am not the hero of this story. I am what you would call the ‘villain’.
The fool whose name appears on the spine of this text has done nothing special, he has done what you can all do – look into a world and detail the story that you see. He does not see this telling of my undoing as a novel worthy of the iconic heroes that save the day and get the girl, nor the masterful heroine who defies all expectations – this is not that kind of story. In fact, the closest thing to a hero that you will find within these pages is that bloodthirsty wench that I call my daughter and the fool of a narrator decided not to follow her life. No, the one holding the leading rains to this telling is a man by the name of Dante, a tainted, grey winged angel with a morbid fascination of death and a ‘slight’ obsession with blades.
These ‘adventures’ take place in my realm, yes MY realm, for I am its creator the one whose willpower gave birth to the nationwide forest of Leihandria, the Dreaded Mire, the House of the Gods and all the life that exists in between the floating isles of Grix and Frostfire Ridge. I created it all. The land of Martas is a plane spawned out of my own will. I am its creator and on that land, I was worshipped as a god.
By the time you read this, my world would have collapsed due to my inability to sustain its core. I had achieved enlightenment beyond mere mortal comprehension, I was the only being in the history of the multiverse who managed to reach the pinnacle of chronomancy. The laws of time were mine and they would obey me. During my ascension I traversed the multiverse and saw more things than even I could recall, I have seen the barren fields of Ghuul ma’Dra, the silicon-based life on your Pluto 80 something thousand years in one of your futures. I can look into the eye of Odin and speak with Jupiter, but now, I can never go there again. For in my ascent to mastering the weave of time, I have lost all ability to walk across the planes. I can never become a truly godlike creature. But even I was not completely immortal. Confused yet? Pah, so petty you are. I will give you all you need to work out how I was only partially immortal but do not expect yourself to be able to piece it all together. I do not expect your pathetic little human brains to be able to comprehend my elven superiority, I am God after all. I shall tell you this much for even a god can be afraid being completely forgotten. All worlds are connected by what I knew as the weave. The weave is that which allows us spellcasters to do our job. We create and manipulate fractures in the weave that allows us to perform miraculous deeds. These fractures are also the same things that allow for intelligent life – so if you are able to read this, then there is something special about you.
One question you may be wondering is how even if I know all of this, could I know that you are all humans there on Miiden? Answer; well why don’t you just try find me?