Walking Under a Thousand Suns

[*Inlaa]

Walking Under a Thousand Suns

~by Khalim Hestadi, servant of the virtues





So read the first page of the massive, leather-bound book, the words penned tall and thin. Though it was old, no dust rose as the next page was turned, nor the next. Its pages, made of a thick, worn parchment, had the slightest tears at the edges. Care had been made in its design, and care had been taken in its treatment; for so large and thick was the book that constant use should have made the binding weak, perhaps even cause it to snap, yet by some work of magic or some meticulous motion, it did not.

On the second page, and for many following it, there were mostly pictures. Sketches in black ink showed tranquil gardens, a rolling desert, and a palace with twinkling towers. Their pages showed other things, too: The poverty of slums, the wealth of kings, the fleets of merchant princes with proud banners flying; they showed the inside of an infirmary, the greatest of libraries a heart could hope to see, and the sun as it rose from its slumber to grace the desert with its loving light.

Another turn of the page, and words began to appear. They detailed the things that had been seen. This is Meha, they would say, city of learning, in light and dark, home of people large and small. Measure them by their heart, their wealth, or their bodies, and you will find it so in every case. This is the way of worlds. And so, people were drawn: Elves and humans, natives and foreigners, beggars and kings. And so the pages went on for some time.

Then, the pages began to show something different. The desert was forgotten, and oceans began to be drawn. Islands found themselves recorded in the pages. Grasslands, followed, as did cities of stone, steel-clad knights, and more merchant ports. Words were penned alongside them, as well: Andaria, home of the Andars, the ancient conquerors of the northern continent; Gorvosa, home of the Garmen, raiders of distinct culture and cleanliness. The pages went on and on and on. New realms found their way onto the pages. New histories were recorded. Stories were retold.

Then, standing out from all of this, on the one hundredth and first page, a portal was sketched, its gate shimmering softly, light reflecting off the watery door. And beneath this page, four words were written:

To worlds beyond belief.

Another turn of the page, and a new chapter lay bare.

[*Inlaa]

Chapter Thirty - Gnolls

It is a strange thing, the page began, that my first gnoll to see in person is so un-gnolllike, even by his standards.

And so it was. The gnoll on the page before this one was an odd one by all accounts, dressed in finery that would be magnificent if not for its mismatched design. A crown that would have seemed regal on a prince or king sat lopsided on the creature's ill-fitting cranium, and its eyes were sketched with a certain light to them that seemed so unlike the bestial nature of gnolls. Below this odd, inked drawing stood two words: Gnolls Royce.

But, then again, this is Sigil, and it is a wonder anything can be called the norm here, and a wonder still that I still search for normality. This man I have met, for a man he is, is known as Gnolls Royce, and his history is perhaps as interesting as that of his people's origin, though I have yet to record either in full.

I approach him, and he smiles. Some would take it as a hungry grin, but I know better. He seems intrigued by the prospect of having his picture drawn, and I am intrigued by him; and so we both benefit from this work, and maybe even prosper from my new friend's story retold. He is eager to share his knowledge, and more eager still to talk about himself, the silly soul.

A few ink splotches dotted the page there, somewhere between the sketch and the words, as if the writer had moved his quill a bit too slowly. He says his people are descended from a demon-God, a creature known as Yeenoghu. The demon lord's name was preceded by a scratched out misspelling of the word. Yeenoghu was a demon, and he cast out the bodies of his minions to a pack of hyenas, spreading the fiendish blood through these animals. He made the gnolls this way, and they are a savage and mighty species because of it.

I do not know how much of this is true, but looking at the specimen before me, I sense none of that savagery or, indeed, might. I sense a curious, inquisitive soul, and Gnolls tells me this is because he was raised by a wizard.

I would have asked more of my good friend, here, but friends of his have arrived - humans, no less. I wonder if, perhaps, I should pry into his story further. He may be strange, this scholar thinks, but if his people are as brutal as I was led to believe, then perhaps the magic that is his upbringing is a lesson that could be learned from, no?

One final ink splotch, large and bulbous, rested at the bottom-right corner of the right page. There, Gnolls' story is cut off by another.

[*Inlaa]

Chapter Thirty-One - Jaishen: A Kobold Made Whole, Part 1.

((Coming soon.))

[*Inlaa]

Chapter Thirty-Two - The Rainbow Mage and the Orcish Way, Part 1.

((Coming soon.))