The World of Terra

He reigned in his mount, stood in the saddle, and studied the trail ahead. Something didn’t look right.

Before he could speak or identify the problem, a mounted figure raced past him.

With a squeal of delight, the young priness urged her mount faster.

“Eirny,” he shouted after her.

Too late. Part of the hill thundered down across the trail in front of the horse and rider. The horse screamed and reared.

He screamed again as she flew from the saddle and slammed her head against a rock.

A sickening crack echoed through the trees.

His stomach turned and his heart dropped. He slid from the saddle and sprinted forward.

She lay still. Too still. A dark puddle pooled around her head.

He dropped to his knees and cradled her in his arms. An unearthly wail slipped from his lips as tears streamed down his face.

After several long minutes, he scooped her up and strode back to his mount. Gently, he draped her form over the creature’s neck. With a single, fluid move, he swung up behind her and pulled her against his chest.

The ride back to Castle Beorgar seemed to take an eternity.

The castle guards greeted him at the gates. One tried to take Princess Eirny from him.

“No,” he protested, and urged the steed to the palace steps where the king and queen greeted him.

“What happened?” the queen demanded, as the royal healer took the princess’ body from him.

He shook his head frantically. “There was a mudslide. Her horse reared. I couldn’t stop her. I couldn’t save her.”

The king enfolded his son in a reassuring embrace. “It’s alright, my boy. You did what you could.”

Tears streamed down his face. He sobbed into his father’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” 

Artwork by Rachelillustrates

She stood there, at her mother’s bedside, stone-faced. Dainty hands clenched in tight fists as she watched the cleric of Lucian, god of justice, draw a white sheet up over the queen’s ashen features. As a strong, reassuring hand fell on her shoulder, she spun on her heels and sprinted from the room.

“Isadora,” King Darius called after her.

Golden curls bounced wildly as she shook her head and raced down one corridor after another. At last, she skidded to a stop in front of the bubbling fountain at the center of the royal gardens. She dropped onto the cool stone edge, her delicate frame trembling. With every fiber of her being, she willed herself not to cry.

A lean figure entered the garden and stood in the shadow of the archway. He folded his arms over his chest and studied the princess.

“What would you have of my, my prince?” a voice behind him questioned.

The prince waved him off. “We leave for the Titans’ Guard immediately after Mother’s funeral.”

“Yes, my prince.”

Once certain his man was gone, the prince strode toward the fountain and plunked down beside his sister. He guided her head to rest against his shoulder. “We have to be strong, now. For father, and for our people.”

“I know,” she sniffed, still refusing to allow herself any tears. “When are you leaving?” Her steady gaze cut into him.

“I want to leave for the Titans’ Guard after the funeral,” he answered evenly.

Her head shot up and she glared at him fiercely. “Gordon, how could you?”

The prince held up his hands defensively. “I’ll be old enough within a fortnight. Father doesn’t need me getting under foot while he’s trying to help the kingdom recover from this loss. You’re far stronger than I am in this arena.”

She folded her arms over her chest and continued to glare. “Just because you’re the prince and heir to the kingdom doesn’t mean you should be running off when Father needs us both at his side.”

His eyebrows shot up. His hands raised defensively.

Isadora jumped to her feet and stomped from the gardens. She stalked to her rooms and made ready for the evening meal.

That night, the royal children sat flanking their father. Both wore dark garments.

The overall move was somber. There was little conversation. The bard strummed softly on his lute but did not sing along. No one danced after the meal. The nobles simply filtered out with nods and murmured condolences to the royal family.

Long after the staff had come and cleared the tables, Isadora sat beside her father. Straight-backed and silent, she stared off into nothingness and listened to him weep.

As the torches burned low and the magical lighting subsided, she placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Father, we should go.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

King Darius cleared his throat, straightened his robes, and stood. He offered his daughter his arm and the two departed the great hall.

Artwork by Rachelillustrates

Which way did the little rat go?” demanded the biggest of the street boys.

The shop owner motioned down the street toward the river. “Get out of here, Misha. You’ve tormented that poor halfling and his sister enough.”

He shoved his fists on his hips, stuck out his chest, and lifted his chin. “Who do you think you are telling me what to do?”

The shop owner raised a heavy fist and shook it at the band of boys. “I’m the man who’s going to thrash you if you lay a hand on him one more time.” Faster than they thought possible, his hand shot out and caught Misha by the ear.

A shout of surprise exploded from the boy’s lips. He struggled to pull free of the iron grip, to no avail. “Lemme go!”

He shoved the boy down the street. Misha stumbled off toward the river with his companions scrambling behind him.

“Thank you,” squeaked a small voice from just inside the doorway.

The big man turned back to stare the small boy squarely in the dark eyes. “You and your sister are welcome to stay with me as long as you need. I have an empty spare room that’s just your size.”

He rang his small hands together and dipped a bow. “I’m eternally grateful, Mr. Epham. What do you expect in return?”

A sly smile cracked the man’s lips. “You’re more clever than you look. I actually have a business proposition for you. My employer could use a man like you. All I ask is that you hear him out.”

The halfling boy studied the big man for several long minues. At last, he nodded his consent.

“Good lad,” Epham praised. “I’ll make sure it’s all taken care of. Now, why don’t you and Lila go on upstairs and get settled in.”

After a moment of hesitation, the halfling boy hurried around the corner and behind a stack of crates. “Come on, Lila. Mr. Epham is going to help us out.”

Round dark eyes stared up at him. She nodded slowly and allowed him to lead her into the shop and up the stairs. “What do you have to do?” Lila asked as he closed the room door behind them.

He turned back to meet her gaze. “Don’t worry about it. You’re too young to trouble yourself with such things.”

She shoved her fists on her hips and studied him carefully. “That’s nonsense. You promised you’d be honest with me, all the time, Jamien.”

He threw his hands in the air in surrender. “He just wants me to meet his boss.”

“You’re going to join a guild, aren’t you?” Her tone was acusitory.

“If that’s what I have to do to keep you safe and fed,” he left the statement unfinished.

Her big eyes grew bright with moisture. “But . . .”

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “No arguements on this one, Lila.”

She threw her hands in the air in surrender.

Artwork by Rachelillustrates

Absolutely no,” the elf king bellowed. “I refuse to allow my daughter, any of my daughters to hold a weapon.” He slammed his fist on the table to emphasize his point.

All heads turned toward the head of the table where King Sylvanus Zephyr, Queen Aelrindel, the three princess, and two prines. The look on the elf king’s face brooked no questions.

A response formed on the girl’s lips as a figure strode into the great hall with a a bawl of laughter. “Such a somber reception for the returning prince.”

“Tarak,” the youngest princess breath, a look of relief swept over her delicate and dainty features.

King Sylvanus rose to greet his son, embracing his forearm and thumping his back.

“Queen mother,” the prince of the blood took her delicate hand and raised it to his lips as he spoke.

The queen withdrew it quickly and inclined her head slightly.

“Brothers,” Tarak stated as he turned his attention on his siblings, “sisters. Whatever is the shouting about?”

All eyes turned on the auburn-haired youngest princess.

“Father won’t let me learn to dance,” she protested and shoved her fists on her hips. “Master Murial has already offered to teach me.”

Another roar of laughter errupted from deep in the prince’s chest. “You can’t be serious? You want to learn to fight, little one?”

She stomped a fist. “Why not? I’ll never rule this kingdom. And when I’m sold off to one of our allies, it’s only practical that I know how to use a weapon.”

Tarak rasied an eyebrow. After a moment, he folded his arms over his chest and studied the halfbreed child. “The girl makes a convincing arguement, my king. Why not give her a pair of daggers and let Master Muiel see what he can do with her?”

The elf king threw his hands in the air in surrender. “Ardole preserve us.” He leveled his scowl at his eldest son. “Well, at least you’ve learned more than swordplay and bedplay in your time with the Titans’ Guard. Very wel, you take the girl to Master Muriel. I wash my hands of this entire business.”

“You’ll start a war with Debash if something happens to her,” the elf queen scolded as the half-elf girl skipped past.

“Not likely,” the girl shot back. “I’m the youngest of both houses. No one will care of if something happens to the halfbreed bastard of a lecherous nobleman and an ignorant human.”

“Kaylin,” Tarak scolded half-heartedly.

She shrugged and virtually sprinted down the corridor toward the royal armory.

Artwork by Rachelillustrates

It’s about time everyone heard the actual story about the time Blythe Evenstar saved Princess Isadora Whitehart for the very first time. This takes place in the capital city of Debash fourteen years before our tale begins.

The midsummer sun shone bright overhead. A petite figure sat with their feet dangling in the cool water of the river running through the center of the city. They lounged comfortably on the steps of a ladder off one of the many warfs. Overhead, half a dozen small sets of feet pounded on the wooden boards of the dock. The figure shrank back, making themself as small as possible. Slowly, they crept down the wooden rail until they were neck deep in the cool water. They watched the shadows and refecltions as the bigger children searched. At last, with a deep breath, they sank below the surface, pushed off, and struck out toward the center.

As the child neared the center of the bridge, they broke the surface. Only their head, nose, and mouth were visible. They treaded water and sucked in another breath.

Overhead, a horse screamed. A shout and a girl’s scream followed.

Something splashed into the river right beside the child. With a deep breath, they dove beneath the surface and opened their eyes.

A flailing figure in layers of skirts sank rapidly.

The child kicked and pulled. At last, they caught a hand, pushed off the muddy riverbed, and kicked with all their strength. They looked up to see the surface within reach.

As their passenger broke the surface, there was no sound. The child looked back to see an unconscious figure. They turned onto their back, held the girl against their chest, and kicked toward the nearest docks.

Many hands grabbed the unconscious form from the child. As others reached for the child, they paddled just out of reach. They watched as the girl woke, sputtering and coughing up water.

Blue eyes met emerald orbs. “You saved me,” the girl declared.

The child glanced to the gathering crowd, lead by a growing group of large boys. They started back toward the center of the river.

“Wait,” the girl called and threw something at the child as she was pulled into the saddle behind a royal guard.

With practiced ease, the child caught the shiny object and struck out for the safety of the bridge.

As the child watched the crowd slowly disperse, they glanced to the object clutched tightly in their hand. Slowly they turned it over to examine it. Carefully engraved in the platinum was the symbol of the royal house of Whitehart. A sound of surprise slipped from the child’s lips.

Overhead, the bridge began to raise.

Quickly, the child swam to the nearest warf and pulled themself from the water. They retrieved a length of fishing line and strung the ring. Carefully, they tucked it under their dirty tunic. As the sun began its descent, the child made their way through the streets to the abandoned hovel where they slept.

Artwork by Rachelillustrates

is an ancient tradition that dates back thousands of years, to the founding of the countries on the continent of Solbrek. As the various academies were established and improved the city and country.

As the world expanded, other countries were invited to join in the competition. It also allowed the kingdom of Krezdiv to divide the competition into armed and unarmed warriors. As bards became more famous, they also added the music festival before the tournament. Eventually, the festival became a combat of sorts as well.

Terra continued to develop and evolve. The Corelon Zepheroth tournament came with more prestige, renown, and reward. Some of the combatants had their own bards who heralded their mighty deeds.

As women’s right become recognized throughout Terra, they are gradually accepted by most, as combatants. There are still individuals who disapprove of women in the tournament. Despite one of the neighboring countries being ruled and dominated by women, some individuals and groups remain ignorant and set in their ways.

With increased popularity in martial arts, the unarmed half of the tournament is accumulating more participants. More styles of unarmed combat are represented by more skilled combatants.

Despite all that, the fever plague and regional conflicts have reduced the overall numbers of participants. This has also decreased the number of individuals in attendance. This decline has not gone unnoticed.

is as important in the world of Terra, as it is in ours. It is also a source of constant controversy.

Healers from the academy in Cynsely spend nearly two years learning to tend to those with mental illnesses and traumas. Many of the goodly clergy spend extensive amounts of time learning to care for them as well.

While not necessarily referred to as such, especially those is the less “developed” countries suffer from PTSD. Also, often times the aristocracy (specifically those who accept incest as normal and acceptable) suffer from other mental illnesses such as bipolar disorder, narcissism, and others. The impoverished areas are more susceptible as well.

The teachers of Argenon find themselves needing to step up their education of mental illness and trauma. As the Monster War and elven civil war ends, there are other conflicts that force them to extend their knowledge in how to treat and care for those especially with PTSD.

Therapy and counseling are new areas that require more education and application. They are, however, new and developing methods coming out of the medical academy.

Several of the characters in the books suffer trauma and their care is mentioned. As the books continue, it will be addressed more and with other characters.

For all those who read this regularly, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. It has to do with Morgath and the monsters that weren’t killed in the war with Iskenderun. Of course, nothing that follows has any bearing on the remaining books of this series.

All the orcs, goblins, and ogres on Acleron weren’t killed in the Monster War. Several intelligent, resourceful, charismatic, powerful individuals arose from each race. Their seat of power lies in the citadel their oppressor once used as his. They call it Torgar, and their country Brachvalla.

After Roan Wolfoak was destroyed and the monster horde defeated, what remained of the creatures sought refuge in the only place they knew would be safe. The citadel, abandoned and unused, became the center of a burgeoning monster nation. The three dominant monster groups: orcs, ogres, and goblins, divided the eastern third of the recovering country of Morgath.

The goblins rule the western section of the rising country. The orcs established themselves along the coast. The ogres control the remainder of the land. Three powerful beings from each race have arisen. One from each resides in the “capital” as part of the ruling triumvirate. One from each rules their respective nations. And the third rules the military of their respective nations.

After having spent their lives as the pariahs of society, they are fighting to build a society where they can all feel comfortable. Even the halfbreeds of their race are welcome in the new nation.

are celebrated differently in various countries throughout Terra. Commoners seldom have large and extravagant parties. Few give gifts or consume sweets to commemorate the occasion. For most it’s just another day. Meanwhile, the wealthy and nobles throw lavish parties with elaborate feasts and (often) outlandish gifts.

Most of those on Acleron celebrate their natality on the day of their birth. As do those in Ni-Shan and Cynsely.

Those on Solbrek celebrate everyone turning a year older on the winter solstice. The Corelon Zepheroth is the primary source of festivities on the continent. However, many other countries host their own, less elaborate, events.

Those of Fraylon celebrate the same thing, only during the summer solstice. They have lavish and elaborate parties to herald the longest night of the year and all citizens turn a year older.

Individuals and families who immigrate to other countries or continents where different customs are observed, tend to hold to the traditions of their homeland.