Introducing: Frangaria

I haven’t posted here in a while because I am working on a new project at the moment: I’m creating a world as beautiful and complex as Middle Earth. At the moment, I have finished the creation story. The links to the three parts of that story are listed below.

The Age of Kolob

The Great Counsel

The Fall of Matremvita

I’m still working on making a map of the world. Frangaria is a lot bigger than I thought it would be. The funny thing about creation, especially when creating a world, is the fact that there comes a point where you are no longer in control of the story. It takes on a life of its own and starts growing in directions you never thought it would, and it’s at this point that, rather than creating a world, You’re really just discovering it. Or at least that’s how it went for me. This world took on a life of its own and started filling itself with life and evolving into the world it is now. There are eight different races of intelligent beings in Frangaria. I can’t yet say if any of them are more or less dominant, but this is the results: Eight races that shatter the stereotypes of popular fantasy. Listed below are all eight of them.

ElvesGiants and DwarfsMer People, Humans, Night Folk, and Wizards, Sprites

I openly acknowledge that not all of my work is done. As you saw as you were reading those, there are still big gaping holes in some of the plot lines. But I’m working on it. I also have the anatomy of these eight races written down, but it isn’t finished. I’ll make sure to get that posted to here as soon as I’m finished with it. There are two sides to me: The scientist and the artist. This world is the result when both of them work together. In the meantime, I will continue exploring this world. There will be a map eventually.

Until then, Continue Rising!

Out of the Ashes

Far away, a forest of pines stands tall. It has existed for centuries. It began from a single seed and grew into a mighty tree, which produced more seeds and spread its kind all across the land, creating the centuries old forest we know today.

It is at this moment that something terrible happens to this proud, old forest. In a mighty storm, lightning strikes. A fire ignites. As the trees pitch in the howling wind, the fire grows in strength. With hungry fingers it wraps around everything within reach. The rain pours, but the flame rages on, destroying everything in its path. When the storm clears, and the sun rises in the following morn, it reveals a scene of destruction and despair. No tree is left standing. A thick blanket of ashes covers the face of the land. Is there hope for this forest? Will life ever return to this valley?

There is hope.

The trees have a secret weapon against fires. When the intense heat of a wildfire catches hold of a pine cone, the cone opens and releases the seeds within. And though some of the seeds burn, most of them survive. And in the ashes of their parents, new trees emerge. Wood ash is the best fertilizer nature has to offer, so the original trees fall knowing that the forest will survive. And it does. With the boost of energy from the ashes of their parents, the seeds take root and grow, restoring the forest, and becoming even better than it was before.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

A poem by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.