Sworded Tales

Broken Iris

Excerpt from the journal of Iris Craven, 18-Aug-2009:

I exist across realities.

There’s really no better way to explain it, as best as I can understand, and believe me, I have front row seats.

When the portal flared to life, the world just…shattered.  As I flew backward through the air, something visceral broke loose in my mind’s eye.  I was suddenly inside a house of mirrors, but all of my reflections were different somehow, unique.  Infinite variations of myself, nested within a single instant.

But I was the only one screaming. Continue reading

Originally from West Bend, Ohio, Andrew Deturck grew up in a stable yet disciplined dysfunctional household.  An abusive father and submissive mother lead to many sleepless nights, some of which were spent in the emergency room.  Andy’s parents did not support his musical interests and did not approve of the crowd to which he had attached himself.

Shortly after his sixteenth birthday, Andy ran away with several friends and headed toward New York City.  For several months he and his friends struggled with their music and finding odd jobs to put food on the table.  Andy began to experiment with drugs and found himself in the employ of some rather seedy individuals in the neighborhood.  Sharp of mind and quick of tongue, Andy managed to survive in this world of darkness.  Moving up through the ranks his choice of drugs became heroin, fueling his inner musician better than any other high. Continue reading

High amidst the peaks of the Lost Emerald mountain range, the sight of winged beasts circling the cloud striations is a common one indeed.  Plentiful enough are the common birds of prey, the black-beaked eagle, the shrieking falcon, and the much prized war shrikes of the renowned Thurillion Air Guard which trains in a nearby principality, but unquestionably the chief among these aerial lords is the Silverglint Wyvern.  So named for the near reflective quality of their abdominal scales, these poisonous predators soar through the frigid skies with almost complete invisibility from below, picking and choosing their prey with calculating ease.

Atop the mountain cluster known as the Skyreach Palisades, a single culture of people, simply referred to as the Martor by their subterranean Dwarven neighbors, exist in unison with the cliffs and aeries of the ancient geography.  A hearty and versatile stock, they are the sole hunters of the mighty Silverglint Wyverns and regale in the challenge provided by felling one of the mighty menaces. Continue reading

What would heroism be without villainy to serve as foil?  The signature characters in City of Villains resonated with me more than their do-gooding counterparts.  Ghost Widow especially, but I have a soft spot for the strong female lead.  So no surprise there.  Heroes break the laws of physics.  Villains just break laws.  The primal appeal of walking the dark side is often reflected in the evil-doers I chose to play.

Widow Palm

With this open handed striking technique, the masters of Widow Palm are able to convey such concussive force, that they can liquefy internal organs with a single impact.  Primarily an art directed against a single target, the art was largely taught to the practitioners of Ninjitsu and those who specialized in assassination.

Origins of the art have been lost to the combination of secrecy and the passage of time, though the naming of the technique is said to be rooted in the number of husbands that were dispatched by the ruthless fighting style.

Speed Load

“Wanna see that again?” the thin figure chuckled menacingly. Continue reading

The young Falleen boy sighed with contentment.  Looking down over the rim of the plateau on which he was perched permitted him the dazzling and disorienting view of the sun cracked plains below.  The cool night air raced up the cliff face and whipped his thin scalp lock out behind him in an erratic dance.  How he loved the Arkadian Steppes and the serenity they induced.  He often dreamed of leaving behind his heritage and running free amidst the outcroppings and wildlife of the arid Steppes.

“They are moving away,” came a firm voice from directly behind the boy.  The timbre of those words carried authority and confidence, and well they should.  This rugged Falleen man was S’Ranas Issquau, teacher and protector to the young charge crouching before him.  Lowering the binoculars from his face, the pale orange eyes of S’Ranas fell upon the young countenance as it turned to face him, and the man marveled at the peace this place brought to such a troubled mind.

“I thought you said we wouldn’t see another soul tonight,” mocked the boy mildly. Continue reading

Liam “Tray” Traymoore aka Operative Grimm

Memory’s a funny thing.  Slippery and veiled one minute, crystal and haunting the next.

I have perfect recollection of my hands on the detonator just before the explosion shredded them into extinction.  Seventeen months ago that was.  This morning, I couldn’t remember what coffee was called.  Chopper I called it.  “Give me a cup of mother crackin’ CHOPPER!”  I screamed at the Sullustan behind the counter for the fourth time.  It didn’t elicit any improved recollection from the misfiring brain cells or a better response from the paling java jockey.

Memory.  It dances a tango of its own free will when you experience a detonite explosion at ground zero and survive. Continue reading

Sharrock

“Our primal instincts are what has allowed us to survive this far.  Suppress them long enough, and you will evolve into extinction.”

Sharrock struggles against civilized suffocation as she wreaks her own special brand of havoc across Paragon City.  Her strong moral compass guides her in her hunt against the seditious predators which abound, but her ferocity often paints her in a poor light in the public eye.

Every dawn brings with it new challenges for this warrior who sees herself as the next step in the evolutionary ladder.

Prismatic Hugh

“The rainbow is the real treasure.  There is no pot of gold.”  –Prismatic Hugh Continue reading

Brin Stolsom was born to a seafaring family along the western coast of the Sea of Fallen Stars in the year DR 1750.  Raised in a salty, transient household with little paternal influence, Brin looked to her two older brothers as the strong father figures needed to develop a healthy identity. Brin’s father, Caleb Stolsom, spent a great deal of his time at sea, and her mother, Alina, had her hands amply full caring for the six Stolsom children during Caleb’s absences.

Brin’s older brothers, Caleb and Ethen, were influenced away from the mariner’s life by their mother, but managed to assuage their seafaring genes by working for a merchant shipping business that ran regular transports across the sea.  In time, they were beckoned by the lucrative call of the adventurer’s life found in Raven’s Bluff.  It was only a few short months after their first wayward adventurers that the brothers disappeared while questing near the Dragon Falls.

The entire Stolsom family shattered.  Continue reading

Lillian Djorn was born in the frosty coastal town of Neverwinter along the Sword Coast of Faerun to a moderately wealthy wizard and his mistress.  Her father, Halmodar Zorath, was an arcane researcher for a small faction of a rather large wizard’s guild based in Waterdeep, who was enthralled with his work to an almost unhealthy level.  Jidae Djorn, Lillian’s mother, was a simple farm girl from a local family who had been sent to serve as a house maid to the group of researchers.  Were it not for the domestic ministrations of Jidae, Halmodar would have likely starved himself into unconsciousness with his work.  Their years of shared proximity and time eventually developed into a symbiotic form of love that would occasionally include sharing of the flesh when Halmodar was able to tear himself away from his studies. Continue reading

City of Heroes was my first foray into MMOs.  Seven years is a long time to participate in any endeavor, remarkably more so for a genre as transient as computer gaming.  Every minute was worth it, and I have met some of the most amazing spirits this species can put forth.

I’ve been ruminating around in old files lately when I came across a compilation of character background blurbs.  I’m going to share a few from time to time, both to honor them and to help show how those seven years in virtual spandex shaped the core themes of my creative engine.

Tara Volts

“I eat batteries.  So what?” the woman formerly known as Tara Hodge challenged, “Don’ look at me like that.  We all have our little quirks now, don’ we?”

Tara accidentally ate her first battery at the age of six.  Instead of the battery passing though, the young girl -digested- it.  She didn’t realize her ability to convert the stored energies into a more active form until later.  As a teenager, she swallowed a triple-A battery on a dare and was surprised at the levels of increased energy she experienced afterward.

Tara’s dabbling eventually turned into a full blown diet, and she now finds herself with huge surpluses of energy which she expends to right injustices.

“I consider eatin’ them old batteries recyclin’, and I like to–” she demurred, stifling an electrically charged belch, “–do my part.  Bustin’ heads is just a bonus.”

Spin

We all get our spin on the big wheel of life.  Some just get to ride a little bit longer than others.

How does one define immortality?  Through lineage?  Corporeal existence?  Maybe spiritual achievement?  I guess I’m going to get to find out, one way or the other.  You see, as soon as I was fused together from two existing souls, I reached a pinnacle of sorts.  A static level of existence that hasn’t changed in the years since I joined.

No matter what happens, I always come back to this.  And truthfully, I’m sick to death of it.  I don’t know if I can stay sane forever.  So in the meantime, I’m looking for a way to stop this endless merry-go-round…

Mother Slug

“I deal in truth and lead.”  –Mother Slug

Mother Slug’s arrival was heralded by the screeching of metal and the echoing reports of gunfire.  Careening out of an Atlas Park tunnel on a smoldering monstrocycle, one clip of a passing SUV sent rider and steed skittering across the pavement.  The metallic mount exploded into glittering fragments against a nearby cement pylon, and after a few seconds of road rash, Mother Slug rolled to her knees.

Two polished hand cannons extended from her knobby hands back the way she’d come, barrels still smoking from recent discharge.  The revolvers all but hummed in the brilliant daylight, but stayed level and steady for several long heartbeats.  Narrow eyes scanned thoroughly before she rose, first one gun, and then the other, dancing into worn holsters on her hips.

From that day forth, Mother Slug walked Paragon City with her unique brand of metal and machinery, serving justice to the lawless wherever she saw fit.