Excerpts · Writing

Lexicon Calopa Excerpt#2

Happy Friday, all! Couple of things before I round out the morning with another offering from my upcoming Lexicon Calopa collection:

Doctor Strange was FANTASTIC. I’m well and truly pleased with the cinematic treatment of one of my all time favorite comic book characters. Seriously. GO SEE IT.

Two, I’m off to engage in homebrew geekery this morning, as a couple of friends have the livestream of Blizzcon awaiting us, alongside a WoW-themed meal, and a short game of the WoW RPG. We’re calling it “Blizzcon Houston”. It’s going to be rad, and full of win and yay and completely impervious to your judgment. So there.

With that, I leave you with this selection from the Tuning the Orchestra section of the Lexicon Calopa. Enjoy!

Tales of Calopa: Tuning the Orchestra
Excerpt from Chapter Two

Woods fully seized the probability-altering magic, and it was glorious. All his life, he and other burgeoning Arithnomancers had been warned against trying to take on too much of the power at once. Ridiculous. It was the bed-time stories of an older generation trying to keep the younger scared, and compliant, lest their own powers eat them up, or drag them into the dark unknown.

Woods knew better. This wasn’t to be feared. This power was to be wielded and savored. Every tendon in his body hummed as if being plucked for music. Fire and honey and cool water all tumbled and flowed through muscles and bone, and the world was so utterly clear and waiting to be ordered! Why anyone would stop short of this kind of mastery—this kind of ecstasy—was not so much a mystery, but a waste. Woods was considered a coward, but now he walked tall across the charnel fields with his head held high, and his hands calmly clasped at his back, because he alone had the courage to truly test the limits of creation.

He was made for this. He was a God among dull fauna. This is surely how the Vizier had felt when they used their power to subjugate all creation! Their weakness was the fact that their power was serving only themselves. Woods relished in his power, yet bent it towards something even greater.

As he walked away from the tent, more cries of alarm and orders to take up arms erupted here and there. The power of the Yathir swirled and eddied around Woods, though it, and its wielder, were completely overlooked in the din. To another Arithnomancer, the sight of Woods walking so would have looked as terrifying as the old tales of the dread phoenix, and of those that had fought in its name with wings of sharpened steel and the blinding light of vengeful fire. Woods would have looked no different than the sun made flesh, with solar flares of magic-laced will flicking out from him, and twisting the odds of the natural world to devastating effect.

Here an unattended small keg of black powder exploded, knocking two nearby sailors off of their feet and showering nearby tents in flaming debris. There, a Chanlaroian sergeant that had run around the tent for a clear shot at the enemy took aim at Woods, and instead shot one of the Prince’s fleeing retainers through the neck. That retainer in turn collapsed into a rack of rifles that stood ready. They all clattered to the ground, and every single one of them discharged; a haphazard firing squad that killed five Admiralty sailors instantly. The death throes of one of the doomed victims tripped up the charge of Chanlaroi riflemen, who inexplicably managed to skewer one another with their bayonets. Woods walked, and passed unfolding scenes of bloody misfortune with each measured step.

A thousand little accidents, a thousand little coins landing on heads when they should have landed tails up.


That’s all from me for now.
Until next time, Horns Up.

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