I've always been a fan of books like Douglas Adam's Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy or Terry Pratchett's Discworld series. Fiction that takes place in vibrant, living worlds, but also incorporates a silly, clever sense of humor. I've always found the comedy of those books to be very reminiscent of Monty Python, which is likely why I dig them so much. Both authors were British, which makes sense. So I guess 'Spellsmith' was kind of my unintentional homage to that.
The stories I emailed started to grow longer and more complex as it went on. And while random weirdness was always present, it became a little more subdued and the descriptions became more elaborate as the chapters progressed. You can check out the originals HERE.
I always wanted to reboot this series, because I see the potential in it. But I always considered most of the original series as too off-the-wall and erratic. The randomness factor needed to be turned down a bit. Granted, when I first started writing them, I had absolutely no intention of turning this into anything substantial. So today, I was visited by inspiration and ended up writing a prologue for a reboot of this series. It ended up being pretty meta, but I kind of like that about it. I was trying to mold the story in a way where it makes sense that Alabaster can break the fourth wall and toss references about our Earth and pop culture. I'm not sure where it will go from here, but it may somehow incorporate (probably altered) plot points from the originals. If you can even consider the originals as having plot. Anyway, here's what I have so far.
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'Spellsmith' (Prologue)
Greetings, denizen of Earth. It is an absolute delight to know that you have received this message, whether in book form, or on your magical pocket box. Is that what you call those things you carry? The scrying tool you people spend most of your days staring at? You know, you really should start paying more attention to the world around you. Look. That nice person over there would like to talk to you, but you keep gawking at that thing in your hand instead of socializing. I mean, I don’t walk around carrying my scrying bowl wherever I go. Oh dear. I’m digressing, aren’t I? Apologies, stranger.
I must let you know this. What you are reading marks an incredible feat, achieved by none other than yours truly. My name is Alabaster Spellsmith, sorcerer extraordinaire. I am not of your world...or universe even. You may believe that this text is a simple work of fiction. That this is a novel, written by an imaginative (or at the very least, mentally disturbed) author. It is not. I have managed to cast a mind-control spell upon this hapless Earthling in order to tell you my story.
So allow me to take a moment and apologize to the writer of my words. I am sorry, Mr. Jameson. But I had to take control of someone in order to send my message to Earth. You just so happened to fit the bill. Your mental fortitude is, shall we say, lacking. Perhaps you should invest in bolstering it. Like taking a meditation course...or even going back to school to further your education. Let me put it in terms you may understand, Forrest: You botched your saving throw. It was an epic fail. I know it might seem like I have violated your personal space by temporarily hijacking your brain, my friend. But you should take joy in the distinct privilege of being my narrator, for this is a monumental day in the history of inter-universal communications. I do, however, apologize if your peers now believe you have dissociative identity disorder. My bad.
It is immensely difficult to directly interact with alternate universes, particularly Universe Two-Twenty, the universe in which your incredible solar system and myriad galaxies float. In fact, magic practitioners from my world believed it to be impossible. Oh, talented magicians have long had the ability to observe alternate universes. I, for instance, have been inspecting Earth for quite some time now. You'd be amazed what a scrying glass, a pinch of Divination magic, and a lot of time on your hands can reveal. But to break the Fourth Wall (the barrier between universes) and cast a spell that influences another world in this manner? Inconceivable. Many Maestrans have attempted fruitlessly over the millennia and all of them have failed. Except for me. That should clue you in to how incredibly talented (and undoubtedly humble) I am.
Let me tell you a little bit about where I’m from. My universe, Universe Eleventy-Two, is a bit different from your universe. And by "a bit different", I actually mean “completely out of left field.” That is a phrase from your world, yes? Am I using it correctly? Anyway, perhaps you will find all of this easier to digest if I keep things somewhat simple. Not that I think you are stupid, dear reader. Please don’t take it that way.
Imagine a snow globe; one of those amusing little diversions you Earthlings love so much. In essence, my world, the world of Maestra, from the towering peaks of the Vaultavar Mountains to my humble abode on Ebonlocke Island, is literally contained inside of a tiny cosmic snow globe. It is a single, brilliant blue marble amongst countless others, in all colors of the spectrum...each marble containing its own unique world. These worldspheres, Maestra included, are the property of an all-powerful entity referred to as the Scribe of Time. None of us are quite clear about the Scribe's origins; how long he has been around, what his hobbies are, what his marital status is, or if he's really even a "he" in the first place.
What we do know is that he resides in a divine plane of existence known as the Yonder. It is there that the Scribe of Time keeps his vast collection of shining worlds. You can think of the Yonder as my universe's version of your "outer space", though it is fundamentally quite different. Your "outer space" is a black void of nothingness inhabited by an endless mess of rocks and gas. The Yonder is an infinitely huge library at the edge of reality. Yes, an actual library. It is here that the Scribe eternally writes out each world's history, as they occur, into the Sovereign Scripture. Which brings us to the burning questions that have been at the heart of religious debates on Maestra for thousands of years:
Do we as individuals make our own decisions, or is it simply the Scribe making our decisions for us?
Are we nothing more than fictitious characters in the Scribe's giant celestial novel? If so, why doesn't he write a million gold coins into my bank account?
If the Scribe is in complete control of our lives, why did he make me get drunk last week and drive my horse-drawn carriage into the pond? What was the purpose of that? Is he a sadist?
Yet again, I digress. In truth, the theological discussions in Maestra are far more colorful and diverse, depending on who you're talking to.
Maestran magic users have been aware of the Yonder for quite some time, through Divination magic. But it was the Azure Alchemists of Cerulean Terrace who first attempted to actually go there. Emeritus Penultimo, a powerful member of the Emeriti (the Alchemists' ruling council), managed to break through the surface of Maestra's worldsphere and stepped foot into the Yonder itself. Penultimo was able to establish a communication spell with his colleagues back home. But there was one itty bitty problem. Time passes unfathomably slow in the Yonder, compared to Maestra. To the other Emeriti, his image appeared to be frozen. To this very day, over 300 years later, poor Penultimo's enchanted apparition still stands in the heart of the Azure Conclave, his voice a constant bassy hum as he slowly finishes his first words of contact, "Umm, hello." The Alchemists predict that he will complete his first full sentence in the next few millennia.
It's a bit depressing, really; knowing that your world is one of many mantelpieces in the collection of some sick celestial librarian. You should feel privileged that you have such a liberated universe where you can shuttle about at will...with real stars...and real asteroids that threaten to smash into your planet. Maestra's stars are merely the Scribe's complex illusion, the Veil, cast upon the surface of our worldsphere at the beginning of time. In fact, if a Maestran looks very intently on a cloudless night, he or she may see the faint bookshelves of the Yonder behind the artificial star-spangled sky. And if you're lucky, you might even see the Scribe's massive head as he peers into the sphere of Maestra like a creepy stalker.
So now you know a little more about my world. I hope the information was satisfying...and perhaps it has made you pity us Maestrans in some paltry fashion. But I suppose right about now, you are wondering the true reason why I have contacted you. You are wondering if there is some great significance to all of this; like I am about to declare you the Chosen One and teleport you to Maestra for some great quest. Well, to be honest with you, this colossal effort was simply an experiment to see if I am actually as awesome as I think I am. Clearly, the answer is a resounding yes. And now that I have your attention, perhaps I could tell you a little tale. A tale about the incredible odyssey that is my life.
I must let you know this. What you are reading marks an incredible feat, achieved by none other than yours truly. My name is Alabaster Spellsmith, sorcerer extraordinaire. I am not of your world...or universe even. You may believe that this text is a simple work of fiction. That this is a novel, written by an imaginative (or at the very least, mentally disturbed) author. It is not. I have managed to cast a mind-control spell upon this hapless Earthling in order to tell you my story.
So allow me to take a moment and apologize to the writer of my words. I am sorry, Mr. Jameson. But I had to take control of someone in order to send my message to Earth. You just so happened to fit the bill. Your mental fortitude is, shall we say, lacking. Perhaps you should invest in bolstering it. Like taking a meditation course...or even going back to school to further your education. Let me put it in terms you may understand, Forrest: You botched your saving throw. It was an epic fail. I know it might seem like I have violated your personal space by temporarily hijacking your brain, my friend. But you should take joy in the distinct privilege of being my narrator, for this is a monumental day in the history of inter-universal communications. I do, however, apologize if your peers now believe you have dissociative identity disorder. My bad.
It is immensely difficult to directly interact with alternate universes, particularly Universe Two-Twenty, the universe in which your incredible solar system and myriad galaxies float. In fact, magic practitioners from my world believed it to be impossible. Oh, talented magicians have long had the ability to observe alternate universes. I, for instance, have been inspecting Earth for quite some time now. You'd be amazed what a scrying glass, a pinch of Divination magic, and a lot of time on your hands can reveal. But to break the Fourth Wall (the barrier between universes) and cast a spell that influences another world in this manner? Inconceivable. Many Maestrans have attempted fruitlessly over the millennia and all of them have failed. Except for me. That should clue you in to how incredibly talented (and undoubtedly humble) I am.
Let me tell you a little bit about where I’m from. My universe, Universe Eleventy-Two, is a bit different from your universe. And by "a bit different", I actually mean “completely out of left field.” That is a phrase from your world, yes? Am I using it correctly? Anyway, perhaps you will find all of this easier to digest if I keep things somewhat simple. Not that I think you are stupid, dear reader. Please don’t take it that way.
Imagine a snow globe; one of those amusing little diversions you Earthlings love so much. In essence, my world, the world of Maestra, from the towering peaks of the Vaultavar Mountains to my humble abode on Ebonlocke Island, is literally contained inside of a tiny cosmic snow globe. It is a single, brilliant blue marble amongst countless others, in all colors of the spectrum...each marble containing its own unique world. These worldspheres, Maestra included, are the property of an all-powerful entity referred to as the Scribe of Time. None of us are quite clear about the Scribe's origins; how long he has been around, what his hobbies are, what his marital status is, or if he's really even a "he" in the first place.
What we do know is that he resides in a divine plane of existence known as the Yonder. It is there that the Scribe of Time keeps his vast collection of shining worlds. You can think of the Yonder as my universe's version of your "outer space", though it is fundamentally quite different. Your "outer space" is a black void of nothingness inhabited by an endless mess of rocks and gas. The Yonder is an infinitely huge library at the edge of reality. Yes, an actual library. It is here that the Scribe eternally writes out each world's history, as they occur, into the Sovereign Scripture. Which brings us to the burning questions that have been at the heart of religious debates on Maestra for thousands of years:
Do we as individuals make our own decisions, or is it simply the Scribe making our decisions for us?
Are we nothing more than fictitious characters in the Scribe's giant celestial novel? If so, why doesn't he write a million gold coins into my bank account?
If the Scribe is in complete control of our lives, why did he make me get drunk last week and drive my horse-drawn carriage into the pond? What was the purpose of that? Is he a sadist?
Yet again, I digress. In truth, the theological discussions in Maestra are far more colorful and diverse, depending on who you're talking to.
Maestran magic users have been aware of the Yonder for quite some time, through Divination magic. But it was the Azure Alchemists of Cerulean Terrace who first attempted to actually go there. Emeritus Penultimo, a powerful member of the Emeriti (the Alchemists' ruling council), managed to break through the surface of Maestra's worldsphere and stepped foot into the Yonder itself. Penultimo was able to establish a communication spell with his colleagues back home. But there was one itty bitty problem. Time passes unfathomably slow in the Yonder, compared to Maestra. To the other Emeriti, his image appeared to be frozen. To this very day, over 300 years later, poor Penultimo's enchanted apparition still stands in the heart of the Azure Conclave, his voice a constant bassy hum as he slowly finishes his first words of contact, "Umm, hello." The Alchemists predict that he will complete his first full sentence in the next few millennia.
It's a bit depressing, really; knowing that your world is one of many mantelpieces in the collection of some sick celestial librarian. You should feel privileged that you have such a liberated universe where you can shuttle about at will...with real stars...and real asteroids that threaten to smash into your planet. Maestra's stars are merely the Scribe's complex illusion, the Veil, cast upon the surface of our worldsphere at the beginning of time. In fact, if a Maestran looks very intently on a cloudless night, he or she may see the faint bookshelves of the Yonder behind the artificial star-spangled sky. And if you're lucky, you might even see the Scribe's massive head as he peers into the sphere of Maestra like a creepy stalker.
So now you know a little more about my world. I hope the information was satisfying...and perhaps it has made you pity us Maestrans in some paltry fashion. But I suppose right about now, you are wondering the true reason why I have contacted you. You are wondering if there is some great significance to all of this; like I am about to declare you the Chosen One and teleport you to Maestra for some great quest. Well, to be honest with you, this colossal effort was simply an experiment to see if I am actually as awesome as I think I am. Clearly, the answer is a resounding yes. And now that I have your attention, perhaps I could tell you a little tale. A tale about the incredible odyssey that is my life.
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