Memoirs of a God

By Richard Clarke

A lone band of newly minted Demi-Gods, known in ancient times as Solars, rise from the ranks of mortals to defend the borders of their world, a land surrounded on all sides by ancient horrors, demons, undead, and fantastic creatures from beyond reality. Reborn into a world weary from centuries of decay, atrocities, and war, Viridian Brill is powerless to oppose the forces arrayed against the world alone. He joins together with an itinerant swordsman, a mysterious spy, and an indomitable priest and his squirrel companion to overcome seemingly endless hurdles to save their world. Their journey takes them across Terrene, a world forged by the Primevals from the primordial energies of the universe. There they meet greedy Gods, mad Fae, dark sorcerers, demons, the walking dead, and many more, each with their own designs for the Solars or all of Terrene itself. With so many enemies, can this stalwart band of heroes overcome all odds to save their beloved Terrene?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329212046

Richard Clarke

Richard Clarke was born in 1969, a proud Bradfordian. A trained PE teacher at Carnegie College, Leeds, he spent nearly 30 years in the education sector. The majority of his experience was as Head of Pastoral at a large secondary school in Halifax.

Book preview

Memoirs of a God

Author’s Bio

Memoirs of a God

Memoirs of a God represents Richard Clarke's first foray into the world of writing.  With a background in Classics, Richard has always been drawn to stories of epic heroism and mighty deeds. This in turn helped to inform his decision to dive into writing high fantasy and adventure.  Richard spends his time gaming, table-top role-playing, and building huge structures in Minecraft.  He is currently spending his fourth year in China with his wife Sarah, where they are both teachers at an international school.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my mother, Wendy.  Without the love of books that you passed on to me, I wouldn't be the man I am today.  Thank you for being everything that you are, and thank you for everything you did to raise me.

I love you.

July 30th, 1962 - March 12th, 2015

----Special Thanks----

I would like to offer special thanks to my friends Alex, Benjamin, and Drew, for being my companions during a hard time in my life, and helping me find friendship and adventure when I needed it the most. 

A big thank you has to be given to my beta-readers, both for giving me amazing feedback and for sharing in this special occasion.  Holly, Roy, Nate, Jasmine, Brittan, Matt, and Evan, thank you so much!

I also need to thank Kevin for supplying the rich world we found ourselves in, and for being as excited about running game as we were about playing it.  Without you the adventures of Viridian, Gabriel, Brabe, and Marcus would never have happened.

Finally I would like to thank my wife, Sarah, for supporting me despite the ridiculous hours I put into this book.  Thank you for indulging my passion, and for bringing me meals and making sure I took a rest every once in a while.  Thank you for your patience and your love.

Memoirs of a God

Richard Clarke

Illustrations by Evan Lewis

Characters

Viridian Brill - Party Leader, Solar Demi-God

Marcus Penfold - Party Scout, Solar Demi-God

Brabe Schwinn - Party Priest, Solar Demi-God

Gabriel Lawless - Party Sword-Saint, Solar Demi-God

Bibo - Animal Companion to Brabe

Ocean Vengeance - Erstwhile Assassin, Water-Aspect Demi-God

The Gods

The Unconquered Sun - Creator of the Solar Chosen

Luna - Creator of the Lunar Chosen

The Five Maidens - Arbiters of Fate, Creators of the Weavers

The Elemental Dragon of Water - Ruler of the Water-Aspect Chosen

The Elemental Dragon of Fire - Ruler of the Fire-Aspect Chosen

The Elemental Dragon of Earth - Ruler of the Earth-Aspect Chosen

The Elemental Dragon of Air - Ruler of the Air-Aspect Chosen

The Elemental Dragon of Wood - Ruler of the Wood-Aspect Chosen

Chapter 1

A teacup that small has no place in the hands of a man that big.

I'm not saying he's a hulk, not really.  He is big though.  Broad across the shoulders, and stands a head and then some taller than most.  He has the arms of someone who lifts rocks for a living.  If he were a mountain, he'd be the one all the youth would clamor to climb while all the elders gave each other knowing looks before telling the children that some things were not meant to be climbed; that some things are just too big for mere mortals to attempt.  Some things you give a nod of respect to, whisper a prayer to your chosen god that you never have reason to face the thing, and then walk away.

Imposing is probably a word for him, although even it sits small on his person.  Like the teacup. 

Nothing about the man makes sense to me.  He looks like a force of nature that someone dressed up in an oversized person suit, but he drinks tea from little glass cups, and he wears the clothes of a simple farmer.  Well, the style of clothes.  He doesn't seem constrained to wearing rough spun wool or anything like that.  His tunic is made of the finest Wood Spider silk.  What would otherwise be simple leather pants appear to be made from the hide of an albino Tyrant Lizard, the most notable of the predators that stalk the deserts of the south.

He sees me regarding him and drags a wooden stool over to sit in front of me, tea still in hand.  It's only now I really notice the little details.  From afar I would have easily pegged him as a man in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, filled with the vigor of youth.  That he still possesses an energy - a sense of purpose - that sustains him is obvious.  Equally apparent now are the lines around his eyes, the furrow of his brow, made all the more prominent by his shaved head.  His face betrays not an ounce of youthful plumpness.  I can see a lifetime of effort gathering around his eyes, and settling into his shadowed cheeks. 

His emerald eyes bore into mine, like he is searching for something; a sign, or a clue, maybe a reflection.  I, in turn, see into his.  Belying his immense proportions I see kindness, concern, and more than a hint of determination.  He seems satisfied by what he sees, and relaxes.  Seeing tension I hadn't even realized was there drain out of him was like seeing the coiled spring of a jack-in-the-box learn it didn't need to launch its child-frightening payload soon, but remain prepared nonetheless.

How are you feeling?

His voice carries a weight of emotions that I don't feel I've earned.  His words were asked with a need for information, but his voice sang with the concern of a father for a sick child.  Who was this man to me, a man with the strength to wear the skin of the rarest of alpha predators but the gentleness to hold a fragile teacup with arms that would look right at home crushing skulls and heaving boulders?

Before I can answer, he seems to pluck my question from my mind.

My name is Viridian Brill, and you're safe here. 

Chapter 2

The bright noonday sun shone down heavily on the resplendent forces gathered at the foot of a towering, active volcano.  Smoke rose, but fat machines floated through the air sucking in the darkness to make room for the light.  The hum of machinery shook the ground and processing tubes emerged from the body of the mountain, carrying vital reagents into the belly of the molten beast.

How long will it remain operational? The tallest of those assembled asked, folding mighty muscled arms across a broad, armor plated chest.  Two massive swords, each easily the size of a full grown man, floated around him lazily.  The sun reflected off of their golden surfaces, sending dazzling light splaying across the faces of the soldiers arrayed in neat rows behind him.  He tapped his foot impatiently, regarding the face of the mountain with an unconcerned eye.  I'll be late for the banquet, artificer.

I'm not sure, my Lord High General, stammered the man beside him.  Thin wisps of smoke rose from his hair; a side effect of his terrestrial nature as a Fire-Aspect of the Elemental Dragons - Aspect for short.  Only those attuned to that specific elemental nature could hope to work the forges contained inside the volcano, and this servant had laboured eighty long years to be named Grand Artificer of the Invictus Forge, the greatest forge in all of Terrene and the primary source of Orichalcum for the endless Legions of the Solar Deliberative.

Be sure, Aspect.  Scorn flickered across the General's face.  I require a sustained influx of my metal, my Orichalcum, in order to forge the wonders my army needs.  He gestured at the swords that floated around him.  Did you change the process?  Is there not enough sunlight to purify the metal?  I tore wealth from the heart of the Wyld to provide the coin necessary to maintain this facility, and this is how you repay me?

The Grand Artificer bowed low.  The problem only became apparent once Cutting Blade arrived, Lord High General!  He assured us he would take care of it before he went in!

Well now we have two problems, don't we, Aspect?  A nod towards the thousand troops standing in unwavering lines prompted a thunderous stomp and a swift salute.  Not only have you allowed my forge to be compromised by your inability, you've given unauthorized access to a Weaver without my express permission? 

Without waiting for an answer, the General waved a hand and summoned a dozen more golden blades from thin air.  Each floated around him, a cascade of golden implements of war.  Lieutenant, take the Grand Artificer by the arms and hold him.  I'm going to go in and find out why a Weaver is interfering in the operations of the Solar Deliberative without orders.  When I return I expect the artificer to expound on his failures and the steps he plans to recommend to his successor so that such an arbitrary failure never occurs again.

A rumble shook the ground and the volcano growled as the General approached it.  While he walked golden light poured from his forehead, coalescing into vibrant armor that gripped his entire body, expanding from his breastplate into a full set of fearsome, radiant full-plate.  His footfalls crushed rock and left indents in the earth. 

Ascending the steps to the forge would have taken some time, as Orichalcum smelting must be done in direct sight of the sun with the heat of an active volcano.  Ten thousand steps to reach the point where the true forge could be entered.  The General crouched at the base of the volcano and sprang upwards, the force of the jump pulverizing nearby rocks into dust.

On the way up, many smaller forges could be seen.  Many of them worked with Jade, the most common of the magical metals.  Jade came in five varieties, but all were equally useful in mass producing the gear required of the foot soldiers of the Solar Deliberative, the political and military body that governed all Terrene.  Every common soldier was an Aspect of the Elemental Dragons, a Chosen gifted with their blood, and they too came in five varieties; a match to the elements of Fire, Earth, Water, Air, and Wood.

The Invictus Forge was lucky to have not one but three Moon-Silver forges.  Blessed by Luna and tended by her Chosen, the Shifters, Moon-silver was a chaotic and malleable metal, capable of tremendous flexibility and shape.  Normally these forges would be hidden in shadowy glades deep in forests, but these had been installed at the behest of the General's late wife, a Shifter sorceress who desired an unending supply of the metal.

The General frowned that he had not been able to include a Star-Metal forge, to make a complete package.  The Weavers still resisted sharing the secrets of the metal of their makers, the Five Maidens, and it rubbed the Deliberative the wrong way.  The Weavers were advisors, viziers, and it was not their business to keep secrets from their masters.  This made it doubly interesting that a Chosen of the Maidens had visited at such an inopportune time, when they had no connection to the forge.

A grand set of double doors marked the entrance of the Orichalcum forges, and it was before these that the General landed.  Carved with graven images of the Unconquered Sun, the king of the Gods and the creator of the Solar Chosen, the doors were marvels of engineering and art combined.  As they were locked from the inside, the General was forced to turn the edges of his lips down as he ripped the fifty foot high doors off their hinges and flung each exactly six miles distant.  Perhaps he would make the Grand Artificer drag them back with his teeth.

Inside, a dozen pools of lava quivered and belched, splattering searing magma all around.  Above each was a forge, and inside each forge was a pool of liquid gold.  Sunlight was reflected off great mirrors set high above, a cutting beam of light aimed into each pool.  The gold was boiled down until only the most perfect parts of it remained, and this was turned into the Orichalcum used in the miraculous artifacts of the Solars. 

Cutting Blade! The booming voice cut through the massive complex, shaking the walls and causing several of the automated process to skip a beat.  Silence reigned, except for the bubbling of molten liquids.  The General marched into the complex, twelve and two mighty wonders of war circling him like children around a maypole. 

There was no answer.

The volcano rumbled - a deep, hungry sound.

The finest part of the forge was in the center, and it was there that Cutting Blade was finally found.  The violet silk clad man was hunched over a control panel, flipping switches and turning knobs.  It was a credit to his martial training that he was able to deflect the first six swords that came for him.  The rest pinned him painfully to the floor like a particularly naughty butterfly.  It was a further credit to his will that he didn't scream, despite the ruined limbs he now possessed.

General, the immobile man spat.  Ever the consummate negotiator, I see.

I have a way with words, vizier.

The two men glared at each other, before Cutting Blade coughed up some blood and his body was wracked with shakes.

I'm waiting, servant, the General started.  I would like an explanation for this trespass on the property of the Deliberative.  I'm sure the High Hierophant would be interested to learn of your sabotage?

Heh, the Weaver coughed out.  What reason would I have to sabotage your forge, High General?

Jealousy.  You, the Shifters, the Aspects.  You're all jealous of us.  Greatest among the Chosen, we rightfully rule Terrene.  So it was decreed at the end of the war, and so shall it be.

So very full of yourself, General.

I control the greatest army existence has ever seen.  I have a hundred thousand troops under my personal command, and I possess artifacts whose power has not been rivaled since the Primeval war, when Maghanon himself crafted our weapons of war.  I cast down defenses with my bare hands, and I wrestle monsters for fun, Weaver, while your kind scampers about in Heaven filing paperwork.  The last word dripped venom fit to kill a Tyrant Lizard.

I'll ask you again, before I kill you for the offense.  Why are you here?

The first explosion rocked the forge, and groaning metal started jutting from cracks that appeared all throughout the facility. 

To see you dead, General.  Give my regards to your companions at the banquet...  Whatever else Cutting Blade might have said was lost when his body got sucked into a fissure that opened beneath him.  The swords flew free and returned to their place around the General.

Rude. 

The General coughed once as strange fumes billowed from the cracks, and something inside of him stirred.  He brushed the noxious gasses away with a dismissive gesture.

A single mighty leap carried the Solar warrior out of the volcano's caldera.  The fresh light of day cascaded off of his glittering armor as he flew through the air towards his Legion.  The volcano erupted behind him, destroying his precious forge and scattering rock and ash into the air.  There was time to consider the sabotage while he arced high above the devastation, although it was foregone what would have to be done.  After the banquet, a feast celebrating the defeat of the Primevals during the war, the Weavers would have to be purged and the forge reconstructed.  He had sorcery to restore the forge, and weapons and soldiers enough to eliminate the Weaver host.

When the General landed, he pushed essence through his anima, and the great golden wings of a dragon appeared above him, a signal to his army and recognizable across the whole of Terrene.  The army turned and marched towards the Imperial City.  First, revel - then, war.

Chapter 3

I awoke to the sound of howling, and a slamming door.  A gleaming golden monster stood before me.  Covered in plates of radiant sunlight, the beast towered above me even as blood ran down the length of its massive golden sword.  A cloak, as red as the blood the demon was drenched in snapped and flowed in response to a breeze that didn't exist in this place.  Upon its brow lay a crown, blazing with light so bright I had to look away.  If this was truly how I was to meet my end, laid low by such terrible majesty, I would endeavour to welcome it. 

The sound of heavy footfalls approached me, and I felt a firm hand upon my head.  The whole room seemed to shake in anticipation.  Where I expected a shadow to fall over me as my life was extinguished, there was only a single point of bright light.  It reached out and took me even as the howling in my ears faded away. 

I dreamed while I was dead.  A world lay before me, filled with verdant forests.  To the north and west endless fields of ice and snow, all covering a fearsome stretch of desolate rock thick with the dark veins of slinking, burrowing creatures.  South from there, a stretch of ocean separating the north from a great island.  At the center of the island was a great mountain, so deep its roots passed into another realm and so tall it seemed as though the sky rested upon it.  Angling west the world becomes an endless ocean, dotted here and there with scraps of island.  Returning, south-east, finds a fetid bog soggily stuck to the side of a great mountain range, and beyond that desert stretching all the way back to the east where life begins to pick up again, turning into endless, ageless forests.

Turning my eyes away from the world, I looked out rather than in.  Surrounding the world was a vast expanse of pure energy, unformed and bursting with potential.  In this raw chaos things formed and melted away, creatures and monsters and other things stranger still.  Beyond that, although words relating to distance no longer felt like they had any meaning here, beyond that lurked things that shook my soul to even glimpse them.  I saw wonders and terrors that would swallow the world without noticing, like a whale might swallow a minnow.  My vision recoiled from the revelations that lived there, that thrived there.  The whole of the world was doomed, for who was there to save us from the things that lurk beyond the glass?

I felt a firm hand on my shoulder, and a gentle shake, followed by a familiar voice calling me back from the dark. 

Follow my voice.  Return from where you are.  You're safe here.

The shadows cleared, and my eyes focused on his face.  The lines around his eyes seemed deeper.  He was worried, and part of me felt a sense of shame for putting him through the pain.  Before I could apologize he stood up.  Limit your sight in the future.  I can't protect you if you stray beyond these walls, physically or otherwise.  Next time you might not come back.

His comments did nothing to assuage my confusion.  I wanted to tell him about the golden demon, about dying at its touch, and my dream.  He dragged his stool up, and sat down.  It was a practiced gesture.

Viridian relaxed and gestured wide.  You know, old friend, it's been a while since I told you a story.  I've got a few, you know.  It comes with walking the Yeddim to market as much as I have.  I daresay he almost smiled. 

Chapter 4

The distant rumble of thunder shook the bunkhouse, but the mercenaries inside were all sitting silently around the largest of the bunch.  He held a book in his hands, and several more were piled up at his feet.  He gestured through the lamp-light at another man. 

Call it blasphemy all you want, Illman, the Immaculate Order isn't interested in our barracks, and I don't see them paying our bills. 

Illman, an older man with more than his fair share of scars covering what once might have been a handsome face, spit on the floor.  Say what you want, Brill.  When the Temelsi spies take you in the night, I'll be sound asleep in my bed. 

You've been too drunk to make it to your bed for as long as I've known you, Illman.  I can't suspect you're going to start sleeping there now.  A chuckle swam through the assembled men and women.

Besides, Viridian Brill raised a hand, Aren't you always going on about me wasting my pay on books?  What's the good in me learning all this stuff if you won't even listen to what I have to say?

Illman spit again.  All your book learning is going to get you killed, boy.

And your drinking is going to get you killed, old man.  Let's call it even for now, and let me get on with it?

Pah.  The older man waved a hand and produced a battered hip flask from his pocket. 

As I was saying, the Ascendance is a funny thing.  One moment you're a man, or woman, going about your statistically awful life, and then suddenly you get metaphysically punched in the soul.  The lower soul; that is - the Po.  The soul has two parts: The Hun and the Po.  The Hun is the seat of the higher soul, where everything that makes us human lives.  The Po, however, is the lower soul, and is the seat of everything feral and monstrous about us, about humanity.  When you become an Aspect and the Ascendance arrives, it burrows into the Po, inflating it.  I suspect it has something to do with the Po being more raw, more filled with potential for growth.  There may have also been concern that the Ascendance might overwhelm the Hun soul, and eradicate what makes a person worthy of receiving the Ascendance in the first place.

A younger man, a new recruit, piped up from the back.  I'm not sure they are worthy of Ascendance!  He was speaking about the Aspects of the Elemental Dragons, of course.  Those souls who inherited an aspect of the five elements of Air, Wind, Water, Fire, and Wood, represented by the Elemental Dragons, were passed down through generations.  There were a couple laughs, but directly insulting an Aspect was a much better way to get dead than discussing the nature of the soul, and most knew it.

I'm not talking about them, Brill replied to the comment.  It's the others.

A hush fell over those assembled.  This conversation was treading dark waters, but it was the danger that kept the mercenaries here interested.  They lived for coin and adventure; if they weren't getting their thrills here they'd be getting them at the tavern, or in the beds of the local whores. 

When a potential Aspect finally realizes their power, it's an explosion of elemental power.  They are raised up, and their power is put on display for all to see.  We've all heard this, it is common knowledge.  I'm pretty sure Illman is old enough to have seen it, by now.  How old are you, anyway?  Must be hitting triple digits.

Go fuck your mother, Brill.

I was adopted, you warty old hag.

You should stop spending all your coin on books and tutors and get to jiggering the whores like we do then.  It'd be a shame if you never got a chance to stick it to your mum because you were busy taking it from that shriveled up beggar you got coming around to tutor you.

Brill didn't respond, as letting go of the give-and-take was the only way to get his story back on track.  Besides, Illman knew every insult in the book.  It was a losing battle to take him on in a prolonged verbal grudge match.

As I was saying, we've all at least heard about what an Aspected Ascendance looks like.  Now, the others, the Anathema...  A palpable hush fell over everyone.  "The Anathema, we've heard stories about them.  Those stories paint the same picture.  An Anathema shows up in town, blazing with golden light.  People claim