Crocodilopolis

You know that most Wanderers who go hunting in the Eastern ranges are amateurs. Tourists, on guided tours with retired hunters. They do it for the thrill. So they can go back to their Grand Hall tearooms and exchange embellished tales of danger and excitement with their peers.

In reality, the stretches of shelves they nervously wander down are extremely safe, dangers cleared in years past by other hunters. Any ‘rare finds’ they might locate on the way are typically planted in advance by their escorts. Perhaps a noteworthy Powik Burnsworth novel, 2nd Edition. Or a ‘rare’ tantra, written down by a Yogi of the Cascading Ridge.

Tat, really.

It’s a lucrative retirement strategy for injured hunters who can’t make the long trips to the wilder edges of the Library. The books they plant are rarely expensive enough to cover the price of their escort, but then word will spread out of the ‘lucky’ find and the section will be swarming with day-trippers eager for a roll of the dice.

This has led most experienced hunters to ignore the first dozen miles of the Eastern ranges. They assume that anything worth finding has been picked clean long ago. But therein lies the rub.

Because it’s not actually matter of where you look.

It’s a matter of how.

You once spent a dozen or so years as a Page. Whilst the tedium has been unpleasant, the experience was enlightening. For example, you were surprised to discover that Pages identify unsorted books by smell. Books have a vivid scent to them, if you know what you're smelling for. A tragedy might have notes of vivid elderflower and dark chocolate. Sweet, but sharp and bitter. A comedy, on the other hand, always reeks of bananas. You don’t know why this is the case. But you made sure to note every single stench, scent and odour you came across.

And of course, the higher the quality of the work, the more vivid the smell.

That’s why you’re wandering the tourist stretches of the Eastern ranges. Something on the wind. A whiff of grasses and reeds.

You follow the smell, rewinding it like string through a labyrinth. Pushing through a man-sized stack of mildewed reference books that lean against a shelf, you find an open doorway. Inside, the air is dry and cool. Cold stone meets your palm as you lean against the wall.

On the centre of the room, laid upon a dais, is a reptilian creature. Long dead, wrapped in tight cloth. Undisturbed, maybe for a century? The sandstone walls are carved into shelves, upon them resting several tomes, sheaves and scrolls of papyrus.

You raise your hand to the first one that catches your eye.

Concrete, Steel and Sodium

Commentary

My second work on the Library, written as part of the Debate Club Contest (Another contest that I would love to see return.) As of writing, this is still the best thing I’ve written, and will likely remain that way for some time.

This, as people have pointed out, is heavily inspired by Disco Elysium. (Most of my work is, in some form or another.) I was thinking about Common (the theme for the contest) and what things were common. Death was the first thing that jumped to my mind. (A lot of my writing is about death. Not sure whether to be concerned about that or not.) Having lived in big cities my whole life, I found myself wondering about how frequently people around me passed away. People I had never met. Entire lives, stories and families that I was near - but not connected to. The only thing that knew every death was the City itself. So I wrote about that. This is also about my own experiences with depression. I’ve been that person on that roof. Those words are things I’ve said to myself.

The songs I was listening to whilst writing this were Cleaning out the Rooms by Sea Power and A Day in the Life by the Beatles.

Slain in Ailech, without Blemish

Commentary

My first work on the Wanderer’s Library, and the first piece of fiction I’d finished since I started university. This was an entry into PicturePalooza, which was a great contest idea and should be done again!

Reflecting on this, I see things I like and things that need work. I thought the opening scene was dead cool at the time, but looking back, I think it’s a bit unnecessary. Most of the content is superfluous, and if I ever re-write this, I expect to cut it out. I still think the latter two-thirds of this are decent, and you can see the beginnings of my preferred writing style coming through, so its not a total wash as a first piece.

I had plans to continue the Story of Nemain and the world she’s found herself in, but other ideas for series have taken up that space in my mind (and schedule). I don’t expect this to be continued, but miracles can happen.

I can’t remember what I was listening to when I wrote this.

A Gravedigger in the Ten-Tongue Empire

Commentary

Gravedigger was written as a conscious effort to
A) Get better at dialogue.
B)Post something outside of a contest.

I’m pretty pleased with the result. People seem to like it. The world-building here is something I’m particularly happy with, and hope to reveal further details of as the story continues. (And yes I do intend to continue this one.) I wrote this too recently to really reflect further on, so can’t say much more.

The songs I was listening to whilst writing this were Tierras De Azafran by Carlos Viola and Chop Suey! by System of a Down.

Frame by Frame

Commentary soon

If you wanna get in contact with me for whatever reason, shoot me a wikidot PM or message praisesobek on discord.

+Translations