Excerpts from:
ARCHITECT
BOOK ONE OF CALAMITY’S WINDOW
La Isla
Across the Sea of Constance dwell the seafaring pirates of La Isla. In a culture built on cleverness, prowess in combat, and political gamesmanship, the Captain of the Electus and his First have climbed the ranks through brutality and wit. But the ever scheming Felix has his sights set on the top and will need all his faculties to navigate the ocean of power possessed by the other kingdoms of Halja.
Janere worried she was losing Nuntias, but Felix came to her aid as he was already becoming accustomed to doing.
“People have oftentimes told me convenience has played a large role in my success.” The man winked across the table. He was as handsome as he thought he was. “But I would much prefer to call it luck… However, luck only matters when you are positioned to take advantage of it. And that is where preparation enters the picture. So, I must ask, your majesty; what makes you think this course you have plotted will take us where you think it will?”
Fortiso
The barbaric viri forti, known as Snowborn throughout the other kingdoms, have built their fortress high in the northern mountains of Halja. Larger, stronger, and more militant than any other faction, the viri forti prize strength over everything. Jurgen, a young and talented warrior, can feel the blood of his ancestors within him but as his birthright strengthens him, it also threatens to dominate his will, turning him into a chaotic husk of destruction. He must find balance and control in order to save Fortiso, and perhaps even Halja.
“Strength. It is not given. It is earned. Every day. Every night. It is not easy to be strong. I will sweat for my strength. I will bleed for my strength. I will die for my strength. Taking this vow of my own free will, I embrace the fact that I will be strong forever. In this life and the life after, I will surrender nothing to any being, mortal or otherwise, for eternity lies not in them, but in my strength. I will cull all weakness and reject all fear. I will not bow. I will not bend. I will not break. From this day forward, I am stronger than anything that happens to me, for I am viri forti. Manere fortis.”
—Viri Forti Oath of Transcendence
Nuntias
Power, knowledge, and the thirst for more within the isolated walls of Nuntias have defined the magicians living there for over a thousand summers. Capable of miracles with a wave of their hand, the Acolytes argue passionately about the future of their kingdom. They must weigh risk and reward while they decide if exposing themselves to the violent world of Halja is worth the future it could secure for them.
Isn’t it tragic how we represent ourselves in writing. My hands achy and shaking, I scrawl words onto a page unintended for the eyes of anyone but me. The ideas in my mind made immortal not by magic but by lexes and ink. Day after day, I do this without reason or purpose. I lie to myself, hoping it will be of use to me someday. That when my fire is dying, I will reach back upon some lesson imparted upon me by someone more masterful than I and somehow understand why it all happened the way it did.
—Journal of Scitus, Acolyte of Nuntias
Mo-Duo
The checkered past of Mo-Duo and their age old alliance with the Church has isolated them even further from the other kingdoms of Halja. Deep within the southern jungles, their revered Queen Janere organizes a summit between the most powerful factions, suggesting the future of the world depends on their collective ability to conquer the Middle, a virtually unexplored region of danger and ancient power. With their incredible and intelligent beasts, the silvestris, the army of Mo-Duo is formidable, but will it be enough?
The Queen paused at the side of her silvestris and knelt, allowing the powerful animal to nuzzle her gently with is neck of armor and bones before she continued to her seat. When she finally did lean back in her extravagant throne, she twined her legs and surveyed the room. When her gaze came to him, Felix met it confidently without conceit and noted the extra time her eyes spent on him in comparison to the spokespeople of the other two kingdoms. Whether it was lust or doubt she had in him would be something the pirate captain would have to decipher as they went.
Her eyes were patient, but the rest of the room was not. Islanders, magicians, and viri forti all waited on the first words she would have with them. Questions and assumptions, wildly varying between the envoys of each kingdom, raced within the room. And then began the dialogue they were all there for, a bit too pleasantly given the angst that surrounded it.
“Welcome to Mo-Duo…”
—The Queen’s Throne Room
The Noiseless
The oldest faction of Halja next to the Church, the Noiseless are led by the beautiful and mysterious Mother. Their assassins and spies are positioned throughout Halja with the everlasting mission of maintaining neutrality within the world. But a great shift is beginning within all of the kingdoms and the number of unknowns has increased beyond understanding. Before chaos or death can overwhelm Halja, the Noiseless must intervene and uncover the puppetmaster behind it all.
Until recently, I fancied myself beyond the concept of vengeance, the always brutal, always fruitless endeavor that it is. What good can possibly come from revenge? From punishment? Should not penance be a form of rehabilitation? Of justice and maintenance of neutrality? When evil sins too greatly, good must rise to counter it. And when virtue oversteps its sun-soaked boundaries, evil will balance the scales with black.
So why have I whet my blades into points sharper than they have ever enjoyed? Is it because pure evil threatens our very existence? My own existence? Is it because a monster driven by naught but cruelty must be purged from this world lest he infect it with his madness? Is it because I am the force of good that rises unseen from beneath the surface to do battle with a devil?
The answer is no. For it is the devil inside me that has already won. And it is a wrathful devil indeed, my dear…
—Letter from Mother to Marcella of the Noiseless
The Church
A haven for the smallfolk of Halja, the Church has provided sanctuary for anyone willing to except God since the beginning of recorded history. They have meddled as much as they have remained silent, but their current leader is convinced the path to holiness lies in the Middle. Cornered, he must rely on a powerful dark force for protection from the Noiseless, who seem hellbent on destroying the beautiful, holy vision of the future he has. But the cost of his own morality may not be the only price he is forced to pay.
It worked out better this way, the Ashen Man staying underground. Away from all the other members of the Church and away from all the townspeople living on the surrounding grounds. God’s Word had agreed to check in with him at the same time every evening while he stayed there. Every time he entered the neglected sacristy, he prayed the monster wouldn’t be there. Most of the time, he wasn’t. This time, he was.
The room was completely dark except for the lighted candelabra God’s Word carried to help his struggling eyes. In the daylight, his eyes were as old as he was. In the night, they were older. Dusty ceremonial garb and unused goblets upon wooden tables were reduced to lonely black blurs within the forgotten room. Shoved alongside each wall, they hadn’t been touched for ages. And he could have been behind any of them. God’s Word took a step forward and cleared his throat, the wooden floor creaking under his foot.
“Hello?”
There was no answer from the shadows other than the anxious groan of another floorboard. He knew the Ashen Man was in the room, but he couldn’t see where. Heart pounding in his chest, he worried his fear was palpable on the air when he spoke. His stern words were shaky and did little to mask his true feelings.
“E-enough games. What news do you have?”
Again, the floor groaned, and God’s Word squinted from his position just in front of the entryway. The middle of the room was empty, and a small floorspace punctuated the clutter that had been pushed to the sides. Another groan from the floor. And then a voice. His voice.
“Sssshhhh… Lisssstttteeeennnn… It’s about to get fun!” he squealed.
—Below the Church