Welcome to the Shared World writing project where authors
contribute to a common setting or milieu, on the planet
Odessa, a fantasy world, where anything and everything can
happen and usually does. It is here that your heroes and/or
villains vie for power and glory. You will receive recognition
for your participation in these shared-world stories, and
perhaps, upon publication, financial remuneration will be
forthcoming, but for now you will have the wonderful experience
of writing with others in the creation of a legend and seeing
your work published. I extend to you an invitation to participate.
Please read the Rules and Regulations page to discover
the criteria to becoming a member of this exciting writing
project. The age of untold adventures awaits you.
|
Map | Rules
& Regulations |
Here are the featured stories for the Shared World Project.
A short teaser follows each heading. Click on the title
to read the whole story.
Amazon Woman under Volante by
Joel Weichs
Chapter 1
The sign above the door read, “Authentic Treasure Maps for Sale Satisfaction guaranteed or some of your gold back.” Smaller letters on the front window read, “Marcus Exeter adventurer ret. Proprietor.”
A Necromancer in Exile by Joel Levy, December 2007
In the cemetery outside of Brocalinde Port a body lay upon its back as though staring at the almost full moon. The dead woman was an acolyte priestess of the Goddess Hel, ruler of the land of death and enemy of all undead. A man and a woman, both hidden in cloaks of green and black that blended with the trees and shadows, collected her blood in a grail of iron. Out of sight of the watchmen upon the walls, a small charcoal fire glowed. The man was Arkruel Strond, younger brother of the lord of the city, Marquis Brian Strond.
Love and Revenge Brocalinde Style by
Joel Levy, June 2007
“Gentlefolk of all degree, merchants, soldiers and street urchins not all tales end tragically .I Redveldt the Bard give you a tale of murder and love with a happy ending.
“Jonnie and Carola were brother and sister; serfs born upon and tied to the lands of Archduke Rodolfo Von Mechlund , city lord of Lothian . Many nights they went to bed hungry after working all day for the Archduke. One hot summer afternoon they watched the Archduke' s daughter and younger son ride out to cast falcons. It was a scene they had witnessed many times before. This afternoon they turned to each other and said simultaneously, ‘Why do we labor with red necks in the sun while the Duke' s children get to play all day?'
The Valkyrie and the Ninja by Joel Levy, February 2007
The Valkyrie and the ninja girl rode south in companionable silence. The 2 hyanadons traveling with them as guards talked together in the birdlike clicks of their own language. They were on their way to the Talos Valley but in no particular hurry to get there. Even this far to the south of Volante the trees were bare and the midwinter weather clear and cold. Along the King's Highway camping sites had been carved out of the adjourning woods at intervals of roughly 25 miles. Thoughtful travelers kept these sites clean and restocked the wood they burned. It was a pleasure to be assured of at least minimal comforts each night. Sometimes they shared the campsite with other travelers, passing around a bottle of wine or whiskey, singing songs and telling tales of adventures on the road.
A Stranger at the Black Dragon Inn by Janice Jackson, December 2006
"Shadow Walker, I believe it is time we returned to the Talos Valley, the ones we seek have been there recently. I can smell their scent on the winds." The tall red headed woman spoke as she rubbed the white wolf's head.
The beast looked up at her and whined, not in fear, for he feared few things alive in the world, this time he sensed something different about their hunt. Something was going to happen. For good or evil he could not tell.
When the Black Woods Live series
When the Black Woods Live: Part 3 by Peter Welmerink, December 2006
An eerie howl sounded outside the coach house. It was followed by another, and then another. Something clambered and clawed up atop the roof, running the entire length from front to end.
“Shadow beasts, like the ones that assailed us on our trip here,” Eirik said pulling his sword from its sheath at his hip. An ice blue crystal in the weapon's pommel twinkling, the magical blade of Frostfire glow a dull blue and the air fogged up along its edges, streaming upward like tiny phantoms.
When the Black Woods Live: Part 2 by Peter Welmerink, October 2006
The landscape spun. The blue sky seesawed. Treetops and grassy open fields, roadway, Krollian city off in the distance: all swirled round and round. I gripped the collective trying to maintain power while it violently shook in my left hand, convulsing with the rest of the doomed Ebon Hawk skycraft . The cyclic quivered in my right hand, jerking one way while I struggled to move it in the opposite. Even minor success meant keeping the aircraft from turning into a giant spinning top.
When the Black Woods Live: Part 1 by Peter Welmerink, October 2006
Part One: New Prospects
Eirik checked himself as he approached the inn. From the battle in the forest, the loose fitting edges of his garments, torn and bloody, made him look a dirty beggar. No wonder the farmer pointed me to this inn, Eirik thought.
Moribund Valley by Janice Jackson and Daniel Olarnick, October 2006
"Ah that was refreshing!" said Karl Strange to his adopted son Pytre.
"We should have constructed this years ago, instead of washing ourselves in those frigid river water."
Steam rose from the dragon-scaled natural hot pool, covering Karl's well-muscled body as he exited the hot pool that he and Pytre had just constructed. It had taken them more than a year to gather enough dragon scales to build the steam bath and surround the natural hot pool with heavy stones and mortar. They had diverted the natural cold stream from the mountains to run into the pool, mixing the elements, making the hot pool's natural mineral waters healing and refreshing.
Lords of Darkness Series
Lords of Darkness: The Final Chapter by
Joel Levy, December 2006
A year ago, the province of Brocalinde was afflicted by an outbreak of vampirism that mainly attacked the young. The civil and military authorities alike were unable to stop this plague; Paladins of the Sif and Hel orders, dedicated to defense of the Goddesses and annihilation of the worshippers of unclean gods and demons, were called upon for help.
Lords of Darkness Chapter 3,
The Valkyrie by
Joel Levy, October 2006
A citizen living in one of Brocalinde 's major towns might very well live out his life and die without ever seeing a sword drawn in anger. Dueling was restricted to quarterstaff bouts in the exercise grounds outside of town. “Take it outside boys” was the rule, and ruinous fines and weeks in the stocks enforced the rule. Life in a town was hardly the stuff of sagas. We have therefore focused upon the Morthelm / Alpein family, whose life in exile was never dull. We shall now branch out and follow the fortunes of the Paladins of Sif, more traditional heroic good girls as they hunt vampires and other unsavory denizens of the Forest of Brocalinde.
Lords of Darkness Chapter 2, The Vampyre's Challenge by
Joel Levy, July 2006
Horror from beyond the grave spread slowly throughout the Province of Brocalinde.
Tales were told of lonely farmsteads and rural villages attacked by tribes of savage cannibals. The raiders were lead by three gaunt figures with bat wings, white faces and claws instead of fingers. Rumors spread of virgins kidnapped from castles and the homes of wealthy merchants. A creature at least nine feet tall and skeletally thin invaded nurseries. This bat faced undead easily killed guards and paladins alike and bit children gently upon the throat. He then walked away slowly, disdaining flight. Behind he left children who crawled about the floor trying to lick up drops of blood and brains. These children slept beneath their beds during the daylight. Sometimes at night they drifted out open windows to visit other children in the town. The contagion spread slowly but inexorably.
Lords of Darkness Chapter 1 by Joel Levy, May 2006
It is recorded in the Book of Judgments that Marquis Strond of Brocalinde province accused his cousin Argruel Morthelm of practicing Necromancy and subversion.
Before the matter could be adjudicated, Argruel Morthelm fled within the forest of
Brocalinde, which shelters many a felon. Along with him, he took his daughter and her
husband, a knight who thereby broke his oath of fealty to the Marquis.
Hellbore Reid by
Janice Jackson, July 2006
"Hellbore! Hellbore Reid, get into this house right now!!!" Martha Reid hollered out the back door of their crofter's cottage outside the walls of Northumbria, located in the far northern reaches of Volante. The ice covered mountains of the Ice Dragons towered above the small village of leather and metal workers.
Come Die with Me by Janice Jackson, May 2006
The mysterious old man threw down the last of his ragged garb, as he raced through the heavily wooded area beyond the Black Dragon Inn. His speed belied any sign of a wasted leper that he so recently appeared to Dora the head cook at the Inn.
Echoes of the Past - Part 1 by Darin Dion Hunt, February 2006
The water was crisp, cool and crystal clear as it came over the edge of the mountainside and poured down on top of him.
Miland silenced his mind and concentrated on the water as it roared past him. The tears that had ruled his eyes and face disappeared as the sadness drifted away with the river.
Chronology of The Dragon King - a glossary for Echoes of the Past by Darin Dion Hunt, February 2006
The Fattening Spell by Janice Jackson, February 2006
Dora had already spent five hours baking in her kitchen at the Black Dragon Inn by the time the first kitchen worker appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. She had allowed them a days rest before the frantic baking that was needed for the harvest feast Karl Strange held for all the villagers and people who worked for the inn itself.
Dragons Will Be Dragons by Janice Jackson, January 2006
The golden sun of morning turned the ice covered peaks of the Fyre Storm Mountains into shimmering treasure for the eyes, as if the Dragon gold was daring hunters to climb up and help themselves. Legends of the dragon gold were well known to the humans of the valley below. A fortune in gold and jewels was to be had if the hunter was brave enough and sly enough to gather up the golden coins and glittering jewels that comprised a dragon's bed. Now of course that hunter had to make it back down the mountain to the safety of the valley before the dragon discovered some of his bedding was missing. Dragons were very jealous of their treasures for those treasures not only made a comfortable place to sleep upon, the gold soothed the dragons muscles after flying and jewels cleaned any mites and nits from the dragon scales.
Strangers to the Valley
by Janice Jackson, November 2005
"Wolf, come here." The huntress called to her
white companion. The day had been hot and the large wolf
had decided to swim in a river eddy to cool off. He shook
the excess water from his thick fur and padded silently
up to his alpha female.
"Waaa!" The woman laughed as he finished shaking
out the water from his fur. The wolf curled his upper lip
in a canine grin as the huntress dried the last of the water
from her hunting furs.
Return
of the Nightstalkers by Janice Jackson, July 2005
Morning at the Black Dragon Inn was always hectic and this
morning was no different. The laundry maids were scurrying
around gathering up all the laundry the guests had used
the night before; the laundry room was fragrant with the
soaps the mineral crofter league made for the inn's uses;
the hall ways were heady with the scents of cannula oil
and bee's wax the inside maids were using on the hard woods
that comprised the interior of the Black Dragon Inn. Outside,
the men and boys, charged with the care of the grounds and
livestock, were just as busy. Barns were cleaned daily,
cattle and sheep turned out into the fields for grazing;
cows were milked and the hot milk processed in the dairy,
then they joined the other animals in the pastures; all
the poultry was cared for by the youngest members of the
inn. The sight of the children running after hens and ducks
brought a chuckle to any observers who watched them. No
one who worked at the inn was idle, they took pride in their
work. The praise given by Karl Strange meant something to
the employees and the pay was very good.
Dallan the Blind
by G.C. Dillon, July 2005
The Dwarf tugged steadily at the halter of the grey mule.
Still the draft animal refused to move along the muddy road.
Rain fell heavily from the night sky.
"Come on now, Shearaigh. We've been out in worst storms
than this." With one final heave by the Dwarf, the
mule brayed loudly and began to move. The Dwarf fell backward
into the mud. He swore steadily, condemning the beast to
the various misfortunes inflicted by a multitude of demi-gods.
Slowly he rose, and followed his mount toward the inn. Wisely
the animal strode toward the dry confines of the stables.
A stable hand, a horse blanket shielding him from the downpour,
took the mule's bit and began to rub behind its right ear.
The hand looked up as he approached.
A Stranger's Tale
By Darin Dion Hunt, January 2005
"Please, don't leave…" The young woman asked.
Travis still backed away, but then he stopped and walked
back up to her. She was a beautiful lady, but she was hurt
badly. His parents had warned him about speaking with people
that he did not know, but for some reason he felt drawn
to her. And, she did have the Mark of the Elders on her
breast. His father had always told him that when he saw
that mark, he was to obey the one who wore it.
The Feast of the Beast
by By Janice Jackson (In Collaboration with Daniel Olarnick),
October 2004
Karl Strange stood stoically before his new guests, observing
each one, wondering what had brought them to Talos Valley.
Some, no doubt, would turn out to be seekers of fortunes,
treasure hunters and adventurers, searchers of legendary
lost talismans, such as The Relic, buried fortunes and ancient
quests; some came fleeing their past, others looking for
their future destinies. Of course, there were those who
were merely passing through, seeking their fame and fortune
on their way to other towns and villages, outside of the
environs of Talos, where the living was not so dangerous
nor so rewarding.
The Inn of the Black
Dragon by Janice Jackson, June 2004
The sun had barely crested the far mountains, the long
shadows of night were pushed away by the warming rays of
the bright yellow sun. Already the warming air was filled
with the sounds of birds hunting for insects and the scent
of growing things wafted along on the rising breeze. Talos
Valley was awaking and preparing for another day.
Ebon Grupe, Chapter
2 by Daniel Olarnick,
May 2004
My first year as a camp follower passed quickly, but still
I had not found my calling as a member of the dragon-slayer's
group.
I found myself to be a poor archer, far worse with the
axe and sword than with the bow. I did have some proficiency
with knives, but an assassin's weapon held no honor or legend
among the hierarchy, even though all slayers carried a knife,
but it was considered as a weapon of last resort.
Ebon Grupe, Chapter
1 by Daniel Olarnick,
February 2004
Today, I have engaged one of Odan's scribal crystals. Of
course, it is without his consent or blessing. He is totally
without blame for this deed. There, I've said it. He is
to be exonerated. I have committed this deed in order to
record my life's saga, so that the true account of my existence
will not be confused with the many tales and half-truths
that are sure to circulate upon my demise. Those unsubstantiated
tales would be fables, at best. That is all they could be,
for no one would or could believe the truth of this saga
unless they were there to see the actual events unfold.
Torment Series
Torment, Chapter 6,
Silenced Souls, by Gabe Morales, July 2005
The wicked aura surrounding the Korgun priest filled
the flourishing grove with a venomous chill so sinister
that Valdor could feel the fine hairs on his arms and legs
tingle with uncontrollable excitement. As he circled the
priest, his body poised for attack, Valdor guardedly stepped
to his right side, his left foot crossing over the other,
cautiously gauging his dangerous opponent. He had been caught
off guard by the deceptive priest during the onset of his
attack, of which his tough and weathered leather vest had
paid the price. The potentially fatal gash that ran along
the side of his vest was a reminder to his lapse in judgment
of the Korgun's skills. Despite his vest taking the brunt
of the unsuspected thrust from the priest, the dark priest's
blade had met its mark and tasted the flesh of the former
assassin. The mystical Sun Dagger that the priest wielded
had sliced through the leather vest like an axe through
dead wood. As he pushed the stinging wound from his mind,
Valdor centered his thoughts on defeating the capable and
treacherous opponent. Every thrust of his sword had thus
far been blocked and every parry had missed its target.
Valdor knew very well that the battle would not last forever,
and eventually, either he would find a hole in the Korgun's
defense, or he would fall..
Torment, Chapter 5,
Moonlit Reflection by Gabe Morales, March 2005
Standing on the rocky cliff that stood atop of the mountain
fortress known as Khalidin's Keep, Sidria stared out towards
the town that bordered her forest, her eyes piercing through
the shadows of midnight as the dim lights of burning lanterns
emitted soft glows under the pale illumination of the dual
moons, Deloniuos and Tera. Despite the late hour, the Red
Gryphon Inn still bustled with activity as drunken patrons
stumbled in and out through its large double-doors. With
each opening of the Inn's massive oak doors, the quiet night
air was filled with the sounds of celebration and jubilee
that ran rampant within the Inn's stone walls. Sidria could
have sworn she heard a verse from the Mantra of the Elven
Maiden, but as the doors swung close, the joyful tune was
extinguished, leaving its incomplete melody to echo off
into the night, fading away as Sidria completed the verse
in her mind:
…her silvery hair shone through
the night
As rain drops glistened on the petals of Spring,
The Elven Queen gave to all new sight,
Of the glorious future she would bring.
Dale of Ruins, (Torment)
Chapter 4 by Gabe Morales, October 2004
The image of Valdor and Hadrian shimmered through the
Watching Orb as they made their way across the banks of
what had once been called the Dryer River. A flourishing
body of water in days long gone, the river had once been
alive with fish and varied forms of sea life, whose currents
had reached the far ends of the Southern Farmlands. Those
days had become nothing more than memories. The dry sand
of the riverbed had not tasted water in nine years, and
it seemed unlikely that it ever would again. Some said that
a curse had been placed on the region, which drove many
of its inhabitants away in search of fertile land. The devious
gnome knew better though. Watching them as he did, he could
see their boots slide with every step as the dry rocks and
sand slid around their heavy feet, as though it were trying
to swallow them. He wished that it would. He would be rid
of the two "champions" that stood in his way.
"What a grand ending to a futile task," he thought.
"Nonetheless," his mind wandered as he watched
them, "The priest will have at them." The small
globe fit easily into the palms of his hands as he cupped
the precious sphere. Running his fingers over the glass
surface, the orb turned black and he slide it into the side
pocket of his robe. The show was over for now and he had
much work to finish. He knew he had to be diligent and discreet,
for if the sorceress discovered his meddling, it would surely
be the end of him in this lifetime.
Torment, Chapter
3 by Gabe Morales, June 2004
With a sudden jerk, Valdor sprung from the makeshift
bed he had been laying on. A sound beyond the door brought
the weary warrior to his senses, his hand on the polished
hilt of Night's End. His eyes darted around the small room.
The wooden door was closed and locked, the once large wax
candle burned steadily, emitting a soft orange glow and
unbothered by the breeze that swept in from under the door.
As he scanned the room, his ears picked up the faint snoring
from his tiny companion. With his free hand he wiped the
sweat from his brow. He remembered when he used to sleep
with the peace and comfort that his halfling friend enjoyed.
Releasing his grasp off the mighty sword, he laid back down
on the small cot. His eyelids felt heavy, but they would
not close. In his mind's eye burned the image of the unfortunate
soul whose life he was to save in order to stop these dreams.
He could see her crystal blue eyes. He could feel her despair.
He even tasted her tears. He fought to put these thoughts
and images far from his mind, knowing very well that his
efforts were in vain. With a sigh, he turned on his side
and laid there, sleepy eyes starring at the flickering candle
flame. There would be no rest for him tonight. There never
was.
Torment, Chapter 2
by Gabe Morales, May 2004
As he sat in the loud and boisterous pub, the little
Dalimarnian bard thought back to the tiny village he used
to call home. The dark wooden stool creaked as he shifted
his weight on the unsteady seat, emptying his brown leather
purse onto the unsteady weathered table, sending gold coins
and small shiny stones scattering across the carved wooden
top. Counting the gold he had netted from his most recent
performance, he silently smiled, thinking to himself, "One
of my better performances, if I do say so myself."
The tiny Halfling reached for the metal mug that held his
drink, and as he gulped down a mouthful of the lukewarm
ale, he was reminded of the place he once called home.
Torment, Chapter 1
by Gabe Morales, March 2004
The mornings here are different than that of my homeland.
Not as cold as I remember them being when I was a child.
Here it is warmer. The birds sing praise to the newborn
day, the ground I sleep on is not hard and cold, but soft
and moist with the morning's dew.
Odan the Scribe Series
Odan the Scribe, Chapter 13, Fragments by Daniel Olarnick
“Rider coming through “shouted the watchman at the northern tower of the stronghold that had become the gateway for the Black Dragon Inn.
The rider, Brian Judd, was well known to the guard, a former lieutenant of the Red Cavalry, he had ridden alongside Captain Karl Strange throughout the Great Orc Uprising, commanding the left-flank of the Stallion Patrol.
Odan the Scribe, Chapter 12, The Tangled Web by Daniel Olarnick
From the top of the mountain, twin watchtowers jutted out, marking the entrance to the Black Dragon Inn, where their journey would end. A strange journey, indeed, thought Ebon, reflecting upon his good fortune, now that their destination loomed ahead of them -- less than three days travel, down the mountain's dwavern carved road, he thought, judging from the smoke rising behind the twin towers that jutted out directly ahead of them.
Odan the Scribe, Chapter 11, Immortality by Daniel Olarnick
Ebon Grupe placed his hands over his ears, trying to drown out the soundless reverberations that echoed throughout the crystalline cavern, but he could not drown out the voices that filled his mind. “The voice of the mind.” He shivered at the thought of the mental powers displayed by the crystal skull.
Odan the Scribe, Chapter 10, Herein Lies the Stone of ... by Daniel Olarnick
Ebon Grupe closed his eyes and slept. Had he retained any memory of his dream he would vow that it had not been a dream at all, but reality in the guise of a nightmare.
It should be noted, according to scribal legend, that, "...Aulofu must first appear in the form of a dream..."
Odan the Scribe, Chapter 9, Beware and Be Foretold by Daniel Olarnick
The mongrel ran ahead of the scribe and Utre, circled the perimeter of the pillars that surrounded the top of the Tor. The pillars were made of the same sacred pink alabaster that the scribal priesthood was constructed of. Its color had always caused the scribe to think of the legend, that the alabaster had absorbed the blood of a mighty dragon, who sacrificed his life in order that the scribal priesthood might remain impenetrable. Oh, it was a legend, he knew, but one he believed in.
Odan the Scribe, Chapter 8, DaJoul – The One Eyed Demon by Daniel Olarnick
It is a long and difficult journey from the oasis. The underground cavern's waterways had ended; the Gorb slowed his steady pace to accommodate the trio he carried within his body, the wind, the heat, the deadly rays of the sun all combined to leave the travelers near exhaustion.
Odan the Scribe, Chapter 7, The Gorbs by Daniel Olarnick, July 2006
The desert is bleak, ominous, vast, its heat intense, the sun blinding, yet the unnamed scribe, the mongrel and the troll called Utre (a prince among trolls, by the way) trudged west by southwest, guided by instinct and ancient legends that demanded the quest begin at a town called Vashmak.
Odan the Scribe, Chapter 6, A Journey to a Town Called Vashmak by Daniel Olarnick, May 2006
The desert is bleak, ominous, vast, its heat intense, the sun blinding, yet the unnamed scribe, the mongrel and the troll called Utre (a prince among trolls, by the way) trudged west by southwest, guided by instinct and ancient legends that demanded the quest begin at a town called Vashmak.
Odan the Scribe, Chapter 5, The Law of Claw and Fang by Daniel Olarnick, February 2006
"I am the Stone of the Omniscient Voice. I am nameless, but at one time, I was called - I have forgotten, it has been too long - however, I am now free from the confines of the Cave of Forgetfulness - from that accursed Scribal Priesthood. Our tale continues."
To Give Aid and Succor, Chapter 4 by Daniel Olarnick, January 2006
"Eat you, I will enjoy," said Utre the Troll, his jaws making a cackling sound as he spoke in a series of gruff almost belligerent bgrunts.
"Assured and honored to be a fulfilling meal for the Trolls of Prince," replied the scribe-with-no-name, in perfect Trollish, emphasizing Utre's position amongst the trolls, the scribe's guttural intonation a perfection of troll-speak.
The Scribe
with No Name, Chapter 3 by Daniel
Olarnick, November 2005
"Is it that time, already?" asked Fallows, the
head scribal priest, of his second-in-command, Gazine.
"Yes, sadly it is," replied Gazine.
"And the accursed one, is he prepared?"
"Of course, your eminence. He has been groomed for
this quest since he was brought here," said Gazine,
reassuring Fallows.
The Pool of Life, Epilogue-Prologue by Daniel Olarnick , December 2003
Odan the Scribe walked confidently toward his terminus.
He paused for a moment to look at the beauty of this vast
and mystical valley, the dark blue waterfalls, the mysterious
brooding forest, the incomprehensible breeding grounds of
a simmering natatorium. He breathed in deeply, cherished
the fragrance of this unsullied world, smiled, and silently
thanked the gods of creation for their magnificent achievement.
