Fractured Eras (The Time Walkers)

This was a write-up for a faux-MMO concept I was challenged to make by a friend. His proposal was to "make an MMO where every server was in a different time period of the world, and major events happening in one server would have a ripple effect in others."

This was the second of three concepts I came up with, and while he said I way missed the mark with this one, I still think it was by far the best of the ideas. In hindsight, this would work much better as a Table Top RPG. In fact, I recall I took some influenced from Mage: The Ascension for the magic mechanics and the idea of Paradoxi.

FRACTURED ERAS

Some theorize that time is ultimately just another dimension, akin to distance, depth, and length, that humans interpret as an irreversible linear progression. However, if it were possible to shift one’s perception and see time as merely another measurement of distance, one could theoretically “walk” from one second to the next. Each moment of time would essentially be its own separate reality; in order to time travel, one need only “step” into another dimension. In short: time is an illusion.

Sustra and the Glimpse of Dangling Wires

“Whoever invented Fall deserves to be shot!” proclaimed Dogoro, attempting to spit another errant bit of floral debris out of his face. Being merely a hat, he found the task difficult. However, his dutiful sacrifice at least spared his wearer the inconvenience of tumbling leaves and falling tree nuts smacking into her face.

Sustra said nothing, continuing down the forest path. She rather liked the scenic view of acres of trees splashing autumn colors over the rolling hills.

“Our next mission will be to find the God of Fall, and string her up by her ankles! Try Falling then, you harvest-haired trollop!”

Sustra glanced up at the vocal cloth adorning her head. “Your puns are slacking again.”

Dogoro scoffed. “You’re give me nothing to work with, damn you! Must you always be so silent? This is why everyone says you have no personality!”

Tabitha's Prologue

My early life was one of adventure. You might think it was worthy of a whole series of exciting memoirs, detailing my many, many adventures battling monsters and demons and dark gods, of helping my fellow champions save the universe time and again. But honestly, looking back, it all blurs together for me. Not to say I’ve forgotten the details, or that I confuse events; not at all. Each adventure is as clear to me as if it happened yesterday.

Bird Girl

1

CRACK!

Hmm. Just past second base.

Toss up… wind back… CRACK!

Bounced on the short-stop position.

Toss up… wind back… CRACK!

Past second again. Much farther this time. Still too low.

Toss up… wind back… CRACK!

What the…? Where did it… THUNK!

“Ow!” I said, more startled than hurt as the baseball whacked me squarely on top of my helmet, knocking it a bit askew. How had I even managed that hit? Must have bounced off the very top of the bat, with the right amount of spin to make it arc back.

I adjusted my helmet and sighed a bit, watching the ball roll off. I reached for another from the wire frame basket, only to realize that was my last one anyway. I sighed again and picked up the basket, walking first to the ball that had just beaned me on the head, then doing a zig-zagging loop across the field to fetch the twenty-nine other balls I’d been hitting back and forth for the past hour. I was really off my game today.

Live With It

She glides over the city like an angel, looking benevolently down on her flock. Nothing seems to be going wrong today, so she’s just doing a few lazy circles overhead, reassuring people with her presence. Despite all the warnings, despite what’s happened to so many other costumed heroes lately, she insists on making herself seen.

I would go on a little inner rant about what a stupid, narcissistic bitch she must be, but I know it isn’t true. She thinks she’s helping. She thinks she’s inspiring hope. She saw some show on television, or read a comic book, or one of those insipid hero vlogs, or god forbid, watched one of the old Team’s press releases, and got inspired. She woke up with powers one day, and because she was already a fan girl for the lifestyle, knew how to get one of those crazy outfits, and that put it in her head that this was meant to be.

I did the research. Flight, laser-beams, x-ray vision, can create force fields, but has to concentrate on it. When she puts up the shield, it creates opaque fields of hard light. That’s how I know she has her guard down right now.

Stupid kid.

Pretend

Ryoko sat calmly, listening to the rhythmic, muffled clack of the rails. Her eyes skimmed across the page of her book, but she had more attention on the peripherals of her vision than the words on the page. She took note as a man with a blue longcoat and black hair entered the car. She glanced up as he passed, noting the grey hue of his eyes, and the light stride of his walk, despite his height.

He wasn’t the oddest person to enter the car, but the way he scanned the room and paused for a moment to think of his choice of seat stood out to her. She was mildly surprised when he sat down on the same bench as her, just within arms reach. She kept “reading” her book, turning the page despite failing to remember half the words she’d seen on the previous one. It was one of those nostalgic romance novels, set in the time before the world went away. She wasn’t really a fan of them, but it had been the only choices on the spin rack at the station. This one, at least, had a shirtless hunk on the cover to appreciate.

“Long trip, this.” The man in blue leaned back, crossed one leg at the knee, and draped his arms on the back of the bench, till his hand was almost touching her shoulder.

The Leaping Warriors Final Duel

Long had they awaited this day, the time of their fated final duel. Across the follicle forests and fleshy plains, the two had battled for the Right to Prime Blood. For days, they leaped and kicked and speared at one another, neither able to pierce the other’s armor and inflict the decisive blow. They would fight until exhausted, retreat, and sup on the blood of their Great Host from less desirable wells.

Today, however, would be their final clash. Already, they felt the age in their joints. Their legs held less spring. Their armor plate felt a bit looser. Their tusks had dulled. Prime Blood thrummed through the Great Host right beneath their feet, the most delicious well to be had, stirring their hunger to near madness. But they were not the type to share. Only one could claim this well, and only might could determine that right. And their might was already failing in their age.

Even if neither could strike a true killing blow, they would strike and strike and strike, until one or both could no longer move, their life burned away in one last push to prove their dominance. Whoever could still move enough to pierce the skin of the well could die knowing they were the strongest.

If neither could manage the feat, they could be satisfied knowing that there was only one other who could be their equal. In a way, there would be a comfort in that, a companionship. If only such companionship could have been enjoyed in the sharing of a meal, rather than needing to deprive the other of one. If only they had met before finding this most cherished well, perhaps they could have…

But no. Such was not their way. Such was not their fate. They were what they were, and in the end, only the truly strongest deserved the Right. They tensed their legs, ready to spring. They rasped their claws along their great tusks, preparing the dull blades for a final stabbing. They gave one another a final bow of respect, and then—

And then, the Great Host dragged its claws through the patch. Neither warrior was fast enough to evade their Host’s wrath. This, too, was the risk of their way of life. To eek out a living on a world that by its very nature tried daily to destroy them.

The warriors tried to flee, but they were not fast enough. They leaped, but the Great Host’s claw caught them in the air, slashing with such speed and strength as the dash them clear away. The impact rattled and broke their insides, and they were tossed to the alien landscape of false follicles, too far away to see where each other landed.

A final duel, cut short before they could determine who was strongest. As the life fled from their bodies, they contented themselves with the idea that perhaps this was a sign. That the duel had been unnecessary, for they had proved time and again to be one another’s equal. Perhaps, then, this was a lesson. They should have put aside their pride and split the feed. Surely, the well held enough Prime Blood for them both to have enjoyed.

Ah, well. Perhaps, some day, their children, or their children’s children, would overcome the foolishness of their elders. Provided, of course, that the Great Host did not manage to scour them off itself.

The Great Host, meanwhile, shook itself after its vigorous scratching, and went to pester its own Great Hosts for a walk.