Today, we’re going to be spending time in Lakmari.  It’s a city that was introduced in the first Tales of Tellest with Remembered in Gold, and it actually preceded Versali-Virai as the first city we introduced on the continent of Lustra.  While gold is certainly the precious item that the city is most known for recently, that’s not all that Lakmari was known for in the past.  In the mountains near Lakmari, there is an abundance of jade.

Certainly, the city still uses jade in trade agreements with other cities on Lustra and beyond, and they use it in jewelry and in their magic use.  But gold is still king, and since Prince Sazim has taken hold of Lakmari, he hasn’t really needed the stuff.  It’s still mined to some extent, but not as fervently as it was in the past—at least, not by the people of Lakmari, as far as they know.  Still, the symbol of the jade crystal has been a part of their culture for years.

Now here’s the interesting thing.  Lakmari itself is celebrated as a bit of a haven.  Most people don’t leave the city except in very rare instances, with one of them being the lottery system that allegedly sends people out into the wonderful, wider world.  To that extent, it’s only in the cases of those pilgrims that you would expect to see the sigil go out into the greater world, whether in painted form, or flowing atop a ship or a carriage or the like.

Now, that’s not technically to say that it’s always been that way.  In the past, and maybe in the future, we’ll see the jade crystal fly again.  It’s just that at this case in time, they’re very protective (perhaps for more nefarious reasons than you might guess).  All that said, you’d still see the banner of Lakmari flying from the city’s palace, and perhaps at the odd shop or inn present in the city.

As always, we close with a look at Lakmari’s sigil, sized for phone backgrounds.

We certainly haven’t seen the last of Lakmari.  With the second set of the Tales stories upon us, you’ll see the second story in Kunal’s journey.  And who knows, maybe there’s more to come from him and his family.

While we leave Lakmari here today, we’re going to be back in three weeks with another city that we’ll be seeing more of in the future.  In fact, as of my time scheduling this, Sergei is working on character art involving that sigil.  Stay tuned!

The post City Sigil – Lakmari appeared first on Tellest.

Right off the bat, we were given some possible poses to choose from.  We thought the flexing idea was the one to go with, especially considering Kunal’s new lease on life.

Then, we move on, as we usually do, to a sketch of the character.  With Kunal, we knew that we were exploring the idea of him growing to be able to control his power.  As such, he has a little bit of fun with it.  Here, Kunal flexes and poses, turning to gold in this form.

Dennis moved forward into the next step, showing us an awesome, cleaned up version of Kunal that demonstrates all the details we would see in the final piece.  You still can’t quite see where the gold is going to go, making the anticipation palpable.

Whoops.  Our poor Lakmari resident up and lost his head.  Dennis goes through a lot of iterations to make our characters as good as they can be, and in this case, he really went some extra steps with Kunal!

Still a bit bottom-heavy thanks to his missing cranium, Dennis moved us onto some color schemes.  I like Kunal because he takes us a bit out of our familiar landscapes.  Lakmari and Lustra as a whole lets us explore new environments, new attire, and more.

Here you can see the final look of our gold-transforming hero.  Here, we can see the gold in place, finally showing off Kunal’s awesome power.

We also have a neat depiction of how the piece progressed. Click on the image below to see the stages of Kunal Johar being brought to life.

We’ll be back in a few weeks with another piece from Dennis that is truly near and dear to me.  Until then, enjoy whatever fantasies come your way!

The post Character Art – Kunal Johar appeared first on Tellest.

Note: it is recommended that you read the first story in this series, Remembered in Gold, for context.

It felt like weightlessness and immensity all at once, as though he were caught somewhere between a calm pond and a raging river that forced him down deeper with every passing moment.  That concept was deeply engrained in his mind.  Just like sinking to the bottom of a lake or riverbed, Kunal knew he couldn’t draw breath, lest he die.  No, it was not that he should not try to draw breath, he thought intently—for that was all he could do in his present state.  He was simply unable to pull fresh air into his lungs.  He was unable to speak, blink, or even flatulate should he need to.  And yet, with all he did without, he was still cognizant.  He was still aware.

But only mostly.

Trapped in his own body as he was, a fog hung over him.  Concentration was difficult, and he could only bring it to a focus under unusual circumstances.  Standing immobile in the garden, facing a strange topiary before him had grown old and wearisome.  Unable to look away or close his eyes, the permanent sight of everything before him felt like a blank canvas.

What was life if it never truly changed?

As his thoughts grew muddled and the golden veil darkened over his eyes, the heaviness took hold of him.  His limbs, fixed in their positions, had long ago changed from feeling sore to feeling nonexistent, as though he were only a mind floating in the aether.  And if his appendages had grown stiff and numb with atrophy, how long would it be before his mind followed them?

He couldn’t blink, but it felt like he did when day turned to night and back into day.  If a bird flew into the garden or perched atop the topiary across the path, he felt a tingling somewhere in his golden-shrouded body.  More than once, he tried to speak to the bird, though he had long ago lost his voice.  In fact, it had been so long that he no longer remembered what his voice sounded like.  Words themselves carried no weight, no meaning.  When he heard chatter from beyond the garden walls, he could swear the speakers made soft, guttural noises in another language altogether.

Kunal thought in pictures and abstract ideas in those days—or were they weeks?  Months?  It was impossible to tell.

Everything drew to a focus again, for a bird that ventured into Lakmari flew into the garden.  Kunal was aware of it, and with it, he was also aware of the rain that had fallen the night before, though he had been ignorant of it then.  The ground was damp still, and dew hung off the leaves of the topiary.

The bird didn’t perch upon that animal-shaped hedge, though.  It flew about the area and finally landed upon his upraised hand.

Kunal couldn’t point his eyes there, nor tilt his neck.  He only saw it out of his periphery, the bird prodding at its blue tailfeathers with its beak.  He realized he didn’t feel anything there on his fingers.  He wondered if it was because of how light the bird was or because of the magic that kept him entombed in his golden shell.

As he struggled to glimpse the bird, locked in place as he was, he heard chatter nearby.  Whether it was because he had been roused from his trance-like state or because whoever spoke was close, their words weren’t lost to him like so many others.

“The gardens are feeling crowded,” he heard.  “We’re moving too fast.”

“Shyamal decides what is too fast,” another familiar voice replied.

“The people of my city will uncover the truth of what is happening here.  The ruse will be ended, and they’ll see what we’ve done.  Perhaps that is for the best.”

The other man growled, and heavy footsteps drew nearer to where Kunal stood.  “There’s plenty of room in the palace,” he called out.  “And your subjects only attend you there when they are invited.”

Out of his peripheral vision, Kunal watched the bird fly away.  A moment later, a muscular, fair-skinned fellow was there.  Kunal searched the boundaries of his mind, trying to recall his name.  Ronin?  Rhodin?  Rohan.  He was one of Prince Sazim’s so-called advisors—a visitor to the city who seemed to never leave the prince’s side.  Kunal recalled the fierce grip the man had, and just thinking of it had his hand hurting.

Rohan didn’t pause to assess anything.  He didn’t look at Kunal with any compassion or sympathy.  He just grabbed Kunal by the waist and lifted into the air, draping him over his shoulder like a rolled-up carpet being sold at the bazaar.

“We’ll put this one inside, and if anyone questions why, you can say you’ve heard tales of his adventuring spirit and of the great things he’s accomplished.  You wanted his statue closer so you could celebrate his achievements.”

“I don’t want him closer,” Sazim said.  It wasn’t said with as much petulance as Kunal would have expected.  Instead, he sensed remorse there in that quiet reflection.  “I don’t want to be reminded of what I’ve done.”

“Find another route through the palace then,” Rohan suggested.

As Kunal bobbled there on the man’s shoulder, he faced down toward the stone path.  Where time usually moved through the hourglass one grain at a time, it raced while he studied every change in his surroundings.  Though it felt foolish, he was invigorated by any variation of the world around him.  He looked at the stones and the blades of grass that surrounded them, and he tried to remember their sharp yet gentle touch whenever he would play as a child in the fields not far from his house.  How much had he taken for granted as something he could experience whenever he wanted?

He saw his shadow, affixed to Rohan’s, though he teetered like a sack of goods being brought to market.  That movement—none he provided himself, he knew—still felt amazing, as though stretching his muscles for the first time in ages.

In his mind, he thanked Rohan for the changing scenery.  He scolded him for treating him like an object and not a person.  He planned scorching insults and barbed soliloquys, knowing they remained trapped within his mind, never to be heard.  Even when he tried to shake his head to dismiss those thoughts of grandeur—limited so much from the dreams he had when he was younger—he was fixed in his position.

A sigh couldn’t leave his lungs, but he felt the sensation all the same as he focused on the ground once more.  Another shadow joined them, following behind Rohan.  As the advisor’s footsteps echoed off the wooden steps leading to the palace, Kunal was afforded a better vantage of the person.

Prince Sazim followed Rohan as though the advisor were leading, and the prince was commanded to fall in line behind him.

When he was carried into the palace proper, Kunal watched the shadows fade away, only to return by the light of the sconces that hung along the walls.  He studied the floor, almost admiring the exquisite long rugs that lined the corridors.  Lakmari was known for many fine goods, like gold and jade, but textiles like those and the tapestries that hung beside windows in the palace had to be imported—or custom-designed and made.  Every now and again as Rohan walked on, Kunal glimpsed the bottom of a wall hanging.

If nothing else, the change of venue could ignite a spark in his mind once more.  Then again, the outside world was far more dynamic than the inside of the palace.

Kunal could only hope they didn’t stash him away in some storage room in the dark, where his mind would atrophy and fade to nothingness.

“No, don’t take him that way,” he heard Sazim say.  “Rohan, stop.”

“There’s room for him down this corridor.  You won’t have a view out of the garden anymore, but he can sit right across from the other statue.”

“That other statue is…”

Sazim’s words drifted off, but it didn’t take long for Kunal to understand the prince’s reservations.  As Rohan turned and set the golden statue into place, Kunal could see who he would share that short stretch of corridor with.

It was his father, Johal.

Kunal thought back to when he had first won Lakmari’s lottery and thought he was being selected to go on a grand pilgrimage for his city—to bring it honor and glory and make the harsh world around them safer.  He remembered believing that winning the Gathering meant there was a chance he could someday reconnect with his father, who had been selected years before.

He never thought for a moment the golden statue of his father was a shroud that kept him trapped inside.

As Kunal looked across the way, he spotted details he missed when he first saw the golden statue of Johal.  What he thought was a heroic pose looked instead like a desperate protest—no doubt against Sazim’s magic, or perhaps his white witch’s entrancing gaze.  He gazed across the way and looked at his father’s golden-coated eyes and wondered if Johal could see him too.

Were all Sazim’s golden prisoners still aware within their gilded tombs?

As he considered that, he was surprised to see Sazim appear along his periphery.  He inched forward, slow and uneasy like a scolded child.  Kunal realized he stood slightly taller than the prince—though it could have been due to the way the prince’s shoulders sagged or he bowed his head.  Sazim’s lips parted as though he wished to say something, but he couldn’t produce a sound.

Good, Kunal thought.  If I can no longer speak, you shouldn’t either.

Sazim shook his head, forgoing any snide remark or self-important revelation he had been preparing.  He turned about, walking back down the way they came, his footsteps echoing for a few moments before he walked atop a plush carpet once more.  Before long, it grew silent in that corridor, only the quiet crackle of a dancing flame in a sconce along the adjacent hallway reminding Kunal there was more to the world than just a still picture of his father across the way.

Kunal soon realized he preferred the prince’s attendance.  Alone with his father, all he could think of was how he had failed him for not asking questions or thinking to pursue him into the harsh Lustran wilderness with hopes of finding him.  How soon would he have realized that Johal—along with all the other winners of the Gathering—had never truly left Lakmari?  Instead, he was trapped closer than anyone could have suspected, unable to call for help or raise a flag to indicate the prince’s nefarious deeds.

As night came along and darkness crept into the building, Kunal understood that he faced the same limitations.  He could never warn the other citizens or fight against Sazim’s clandestine tyranny.  He couldn’t even part his lips to apologize to his father for thinking the worst of him when he and his family never received so much as a letter when he departed so many years ago.

Emotion welled up inside him as he considered that.  Just as they had thought about their father, his mother and sister were sure to think the same of him.

*          *          *

Another night fell in the palace of Lakmari, and to Kunal, it felt like another lifetime of torture.  With every sunrise, the gold across the way sparkled, as though life was bound to resume there.  The first few nights Kunal was there, trapped in his standing tomb, he thought he saw light dancing in his father’s eyes.  If Johal looked at his son, though, it was in the same state as Kunal: neither could do anything.

For nearly a month, Kunal struggled to spring out with muscles he couldn’t feel and to scream with lips that wouldn’t budge.  It was no use.  There wasn’t even a rattle of his golden boots in one direction or another.

As bothersome as the mornings were, when he saw the sunlight creep up his father’s body through unblinking eyes, the nights were harder.  It was then that he watched darkness engulf Johal and, reminded of his failures, pressed against his unyielding depression with vigor and rage that couldn’t escape the golden shroud.

Though his thoughts never manifested as words or actions, he railed against his mind in a litany of screams and shouts.  His indignation came so frequently and lasted for so long that he wondered how the stress of it all had not come and simply claimed him.

And then the real curse of his entrapment became clear to him: perhaps there was no escape—not even in death.  Was Johal just across the carpet, slowly and constantly wishing for his own expiration?

After countless days—no, months, it had to be—the light outside changed.  Summer had come to Lakmari, and despite his circumstances, Kunal couldn’t help but think about the reprieve he would have from the Lustran summer heat.  Then again, it was not as though he could feel it, he reminded himself.

Of course, he also said a silent prayer every morning when he saw his shadow form across the way.

Let this be the day the sun beats down so hard upon Lakmari that I melt against the window.

More than once, he thought of stopping the ritual.  Who was to say that even if he were reduced to a small golden puddle, he wouldn’t still be conscious of his terrible predicament?

Instead, Kunal did his best to let his mind wander.

It was not as easy as it seemed, unfortunately.  Over the months that passed, he’d seen his fair share of happenings within the palace—perhaps he was just more aware of it, for so little changed during each of his days compared to out in the garden.

When Sazim led another of the Lakmari residents through the halls—a lout and a drunkard who did very little with his life by the name of Yesh, if Kunal remembered right—the prince made a point to show off both statues, the father and the son, and indicated that perhaps they had found each other again after their Gatherings.

Kunal detected a shudder in Sazim’s voice, as though he truly did have regrets for what he did.  It mattered not, though.  Kunal was sure of why Yesh was called to the palace.  He thought back to the dizzyingly dull days that came before and wondered if perhaps he had ignored the frenzy of cheers and applause when Yesh’s name was called for his own Gathering.  Sooner than later, another citizen was to be turned to gold, and a new lie would be told to the people of Lakmari that he had gone on some wonderful, grand adventure.

Kunal wished Sazim’s regrets would turn to poison in his mouth and that they would be the thing he choked on.

By the time he let his angry thoughts lapse from his mind, Sazim and Yesh were gone, and the light of day had changed.  New shadows crept into the building, and it became obvious that his rage swelled in him over the course of hours, blinding him to the passage of time.

As it subsided and the adrenaline passed, Kunal felt as though he were packed too tightly within the golden shell.  He felt more uncomfortable than before—a thought he’d never considered possible prior to then.

He tried to shake his head before recalling he’d be unable to for all eternity.  Another silent scream pierced through him but couldn’t penetrate his gilded shroud.

Before long, the dark of night engulfed the hallway, allowing him some form of respite, as he let his mind drift, aimless in his own abyss.

Kunal dreamed though he was in that perpetually conscious state.  He remembered running through the city streets, playing with his sister and his friend, climbing the blossom trees in the western forest.  He recalled the times before his father left, when Johal would carry him on his shoulders while his mother cradled his sister against her chest.  Once, Johal was the greatest part of Kunal’s life.  But that was so many years ago.  How much time had they lost because of Sazim’s awful curse?

Kunal’s mind wandered still, but it was along one meandering path rather than the series of crossroads it had been set upon before.  He saw images along the way: him racing his father up a hill just outside Lakmari’s city walls; an arm-wrestling contest where Johal displayed incredible acting skills while he feigned a defeat against his son; the day his father, with tears in his eyes, kneeled near the door of their humble abode and placed a hand on both of his children’s shoulders.  Once again, he leaned on those fine performing arts, promising that, though he would miss Kunal and Sesha terribly, he felt great pride in them and knew they were destined for great things.

In his dream state, Kunal walked past the distant memory, nearing the palace on a quiet night where no one was around, and the gates were open.

A whisper crept into his mind, reminding him of what he truly wanted to know:

Why would Sazim do this to the people of Lakmari?

Thoughts kept pervading his recollection, like memories of a time long ago.  But it couldn’t have been that long, could it?  His time in the garden was mere days ago—or had months already passed?

Kunal heard a voice in his mind and struggled to place who it had belonged to.  The name Shyamal fluttered in the dark corners of his awareness, and he tried to remember who had spoken that name.  All he knew was that it was spoken with a rotten taste—he knew at once that Shyamal was as corrupt and wicked as the rest of them.

As he searched within himself, he was surprised by a sudden movement in front of him.  Rohan—the one who had mentioned Shyamal, Kunal recalled then—had also suggested Sazim avoid his hallway in the palace if he didn’t want to see Kunal and Johal.  The prince had taken that advice to heart and only ventured down the corridor when he absolutely had to.

But it was not Sazim who ventured before Kunal then.  He remembered the woman’s fair skin and golden hair.  He recalled that, even though she was not of Lakmari, she dressed the part, wearing fancy silks and sashes, vibrant bangles and earrings.  But what Kunal most remembered about Cascadia was her haunting gaze.

She had passed him by, almost lost in the darkness, but something had brought her back.  Though shadows danced upon her, she still seemed to sparkle.  Her hair, nearly the same color as the statues she helped to turn the citizens into, looked vivid even under the cover of night.  While Sazim was the prince, there was something about that golden crown that made Kunal wonder if she was perhaps the one in control.

Cascadia stopped in front of him, studying his features and recalling what he had looked like when he was not trapped behind his golden pall.  She brought a glass to her mouth, and Kunal could see she drank wine as red as her lips.

Though his eyes were locked in place, as they were when she once gazed into them, he felt as though he could move about and truly see her for the first time.

“It was Kunal, wasn’t it?” she spoke then.

If he could have gasped, he would have.

“You’re still in there, aren’t you?” she went on.  “There’s something there that’s still alive.”

As she took a step closer, he could feel his heart beating faster.  Cascadia lifted her hand and caressed it against his face.  Though a layer of gold separated them, he imagined the touch and swore to himself that he could feel it.

“There’s something in you still, buzzing—thriving.”

She drew closer, until her lips were nearly upon his.  He heard her soft breaths and saw as her eyes danced to his various features.

A quiet, teasing laugh left her mouth as she drew away.  “I’m certain this is not the last we’ve seen of each other,” she said.  Her gaze lingered for a moment longer before she continued the way she had gone before.

Somehow, the darkness of the place seemed even gloomier in her absence.

It took some time for Kunal to shake the memory of the woman from his mind.  Cascadia was enchanting, even if he was aware of the part she played in his fate.

As his heartbeat steadied and the vibrant color of the world seemed to fade into a dismal mix of blacks and greys once more, he realized there was a reason for the woman’s presence.

Yesh walked into the palace of his own accord, but he wouldn’t be walking out.

*          *          *

Summer gave way to autumn, and the light shifted through the window at his back in such a way that the sun’s rays never quite reached Johal’s eyes at any point throughout the day.

Kunal latched onto the words Cascadia had shared with him weeks—no, months—ago.  She called him alive, as though it were a surprise.  Perhaps that meant none of the others who had been cursed by Sazim’s magic were left to rot in their golden sarcophagi.

Or perhaps there was something within Kunal that fought still, when everyone else had more easily given up.

He stared across the way, wondering if his father had immediately been severed from existence, or if he slowly fought against maddening thoughts until he was cut off from the verve of life.  Did he think about his children till the end?  Or did his mind atrophy until he couldn’t make sense of anything beyond the minutiae of the world around him?

Kunal still felt connected to everything.  Time was a strange construct he couldn’t make sense of, for his days, weeks, and months blended together.  But he hadn’t lost anything beyond that.  He remembered his time in the gardens.  Though he couldn’t smell anything in his state, he imagined the aroma of the rain every time it beat down on the ground behind him.  Even the taste of his last meal before Cascadia froze him in place and Sazim began his transformation was still in his mind.

Every day it was as though he relived the entirety of his life leading up to his announcement as winner of the Gathering and the dull days of his imprisonment afterward.

He replayed the most recent bitter memories in his mind every day: After Cascadia had left him alone, Sazim’s other fair-skinned associate, the burly Rohan, carried Yesh in his golden shroud toward a palace’s exit.  Despite Yesh’s considerable size, Rohan looked as though he could have carried the entrapped man beneath one arm.

Did Yesh’s statue sit in the same spot Kunal once did, he wondered.  They had to celebrate the man, even if he had no family and few friends to speak of.  The ruse had to seem real—the Gathering had to be a victory rather than a foul curse.  And what better way to keep the citizens of Lakmari content than to heroize even the lowliest scoundrel among them?

Across the way, Kunal saw disturbances in the light cast in from the window.  Though none of his features shifted, it felt as though he were curling his lips up in a smile.  The ryza blossom trees’ summer petals were falling, and he remembered how even in his perpetual immobile state, there was something calming and soothing about seeing that.  That late in the year, the petals would have been a vibrant orange or a striking red.  He remembered they would cover the stone paths that meandered through the common until a gardener swept them this way or that.

If Johal did still see, at least he was treated to a brilliant view.

Kunal tried to press out a sigh that would neither fill nor empty his lungs or leave his lips.  Trapped as he was, he was at the mercy of whatever servants were at Sazim’s beck and call.  Perhaps that would be where he spent the rest of eternity: looking at the lifeless body of his father, who so long ago left them, yet stayed close all the same.

He remembered that Johal hadn’t always been there in the palace’s corridor.  The prince and his strange helpers moved things about at their own pace and perhaps with their own strategies.  Yesh’s statue would have had to be at the forefront of the Lakmarian citizens’ minds.  He was the latest winner of the Gathering, after all.  He was to be celebrated.

Kunal wondered if anyone still remembered him.  His mind drifted to thoughts of his mother and his sister, to their neighbors…  He wondered if his friend, Param, had made new connections since he’d been gone.  They were inseparable once—his friend had even claimed he would leave Lakmari and look for him.  Was Param out on the road, looking for someone who never left?

How long would Sazim’s cruel sorcery go on, Kunal wondered.  How long had it been in effect?  The Gatherings had gone on for many years—for as long as Kunal had been alive.  And the prince was only several years older than he.

Some distant chatter in the palace shook him from his thoughts then.  Before long, a shadow crept down the hall, and Kunal could discern that Sazim was talking.

It was too soon for another Gathering, wasn’t it?  His days blended together, but it surely hadn’t been as long as usual for a second victim to be walking into the dangers of the palace, and he hadn’t heard the usual distant buzz of Lakmari’s people to celebrate the victor.

Sazim walked down the hall, a wide smile upon his face.  Kunal, unable to steer his gaze away, studied his look intently.  The prince wore a veneer of excitement and glee, but there were cracks beneath it all.  A keen eye could see the weak yet swift flash of a frown as he considered all the wretched things he’d done.

Still, he pointed toward Kunal, saying something about his heroism and his bravery at venturing into the Lustran wilderness.  So fixated on his mannerisms, Kunal lost sense of the words for a moment.  He forced himself to pay more attention, for Sazim heaped praise upon Johal then as well.

“I’d like to think they found one another out there,” the prince said with a hopeful charm in his voice.  He sounded more pleasant than Kunal had ever heard, despite all the weariness he’d seen in him since his transformation.  “We send letters out to the Lakmari outposts we’ve established, of course, but the life of adventurers can be unexpected.  We’ve not heard back yet, but I’m hopeful that when we do hear from them, it will be exceptional news.  Perhaps their quests will even see them back here one day.”

Though he knew his statue wouldn’t reflect it, Kunal felt as though he furrowed his brow.  There was something unsettling about the way Sazim talked to his guest, and more, that he lingered there between the two gilded men.

“It’s…disconcerting,” he heard a womanly voice say then.  “They look so much like they did when I knew them.  They’re lifelike, and yet, it doesn’t appear they’ve aged a day.”

A shiver ran up Kunal’s spine.  The voice felt familiar, yet time had warped the pitch or the timbre and changed it into something peculiar.

“It is an important event, being picked for the Gathering.  Their absence is not lost to us, and I will spare no expense to ensure their sacrifice is remembered.”  He held out his hand, enticing his guest closer.  “Kunal and Johal left to see Lakmari made a better place.  They went to drive off bandits, or to secure an alliance with a distant nation, or perhaps to find some great treasure that has been lost to time.  But in any case, it seems they left the jewel of Lakmari here.”

Feeling a pounding in his chest, Kunal lashed out against his thoughts.  It couldn’t be what he thought it was.  He was wrong—his mind was devastated from his entrapment, and it wove cruel fantasies for him.  It was torture, to be sure, but welcome compared to if it was truly…

When the young lady took the prince’s hand, it was as though each moment slowed to a crawl, each grain of sand in the glass separately fell one by one through the ampoule, leaving a distinct signal upon the bottom of the bulb.

As Sazim pulled his visitor closer, the horrifying truth was laid bare.

The prince had called Johal, the father.

He had called Kunal, the son.

And now, he called Sesha.  His sister.

Kunal felt as though he railed against his golden tomb, slamming his fists and kicking at walls that were so near to him that he could gain no momentum.  He shook about as though he were a man possessed by a tempest, the storm welling within him so fiercely that he thought that certainly the gilded shroud could not contain him.

Yet he heard not so much as a rattle as Sazim brought his sister’s hand toward his lips.  A nonexistent gasp struck the frozen man, but the prince’s touch did not seem to affect the young woman as it had her brother so long ago.

Kunal looked at Sazim and saw that his features were more striking than he recalled in the past.  His manner of garb had changed as well, as the prince seemed to go for bolder colors and patterns.

He wasn’t planning on using his curse on her, Kunal realized.  He was simply smitten by her.

For several moments, a feeling of relief washed over the trapped man.  He wouldn’t wish his predicament on his worst enemy, let alone his own sister.

He reflected for a moment and realized that Sazim, in fact, was his worst enemy at that time, and he reconsidered his stance.  If the prince could be turned to gold, Kunal would make peace with it.  That he could do the terrible things he did to Johal and his son—and still pursue Sesha—was unthinkable and despicable.

Kunal merely traded one type of anger for another.

Sazim spun about, ready to show his special guest more of the palace.  His voice resonated from farther down the hall as he made his way from there, but Sesha lingered between her father and her brother, oblivious to the fact they were anything other than statues.  She looked to her father, whispering something only Kunal, in that proximity, could hear.

“You look just like I remember you, Appa,” Sesha said.  “Like not a day has passed.”

She turned her head then and looked at her brother’s statue instead.  She remained there for some time, looking into his golden-coated eyes.  Sesha had grown into a beautiful young woman, with dark, shadowy makeup lining her eyes and luxurious locks of coffee-colored hair that cascaded down her shoulders.  She had new attention to detail, it seemed, as she grew older—older than Kunal had been when he was selected at the Gathering so long ago.

Sesha tilted her head as she looked at her brother, and he wondered if perhaps she sensed his yearning for freedom within.  The only other person who seemed to understand he was more than an effigy of the man she remembered was Cascadia, and she looked at him the same way Sesha did now.

She hummed a short note to herself before she went on her way, leaving her imprisoned family there in the corridor.

Kunal wondered if she turned to look over her shoulder as she went, but try as he might, he couldn’t croon his neck in that direction to verify it.

As time passed and the shadows of night closed in, it felt as though the palace grew darker than it ever had before.

*          *          *

Kunal prayed each and every day.  Though it had felt as though his life could not have grown worse than it was, the thought of his sister spending time with the dastardly prince made him feel like his skin crawled, even though it was trapped beneath a layer of gold.

And each day, as dejected as it left him, he hoped it would be the last day he’d see Sesha walking through the palace.  Many times, days went by when he had remembered seeing her last, and he wondered if Sazim had grown bored with his sister.  He could only wish he’d let her walk away rather than use his foul magic on her.

But would he really risk a citizen going missing without calling for the Gathering?

Such thoughts were pointless anyway and easy to dismiss, for Sesha didn’t seem to go longer than half a fortnight without returning to see Sazim.

The screams trapped within Kunal’s mind grew louder with every passing day, for there was no interaction between the two of them he could accept.  The only positivity he could reach for was that Sazim seemed increasingly desperate for the young woman to stay the night at the palace, and she staved off his advances thus far.  Kunal could sense the prince’s desires plainly—as well as his frustrations.

As winter came to Lakmari, the light of day faded faster.  Kunal lost sight of his father quicker and hoped he had already lost his perception, that if he was still in there, trapped as his son was, that his mind wandered aimlessly, and he didn’t see Sesha spending time there.

Sesha continued to show at the palace, though, and before long, she came and went as she pleased.  Sazim didn’t summon for her, it seemed, but neither did his guards keep her from the place.  In fact, with her newfound liberty in moving about the palace, she tended to spend the earlier parts of the day there.

Kunal realized he had forced his mind to wander.  Madness was overtaking him, surely, for it had been far too long that he’d been trapped in that husk.  But when he stood there, staring ahead one morning and saw Sesha before him, he realized she spoke to him.

“I will find a way to get you back,” she insisted.  “Sazim knows I won’t lay with him until I’m sure you’re safe.  He makes promises he’ll send letters out to you and Father, but…”

Kunal focused on her as Sesha’s words trailed off.  If she only knew the truth.

A quiet noise from down the corridor resonated then, and Sesha glanced there for a moment.  Her gaze didn’t linger, and she didn’t look back to her brother before she began away, down the opposite way toward the palace exit.

It only took a few moments for the other visitor to arrive before the two statues then.  Cascadia stopped and stared down the corridor, and Kunal could hear a subtle, introspective hum hit the back of her throat.

She looked to the man who remained trapped behind the layer of gold and raised her eyebrow, unable to shield her intrigue.  It didn’t keep her there, though, and before long, Cascadia moved along, disappearing into the shadows of the palace.

In what felt like the flutter of an unblinkable eye, days turned to night and back again.  For some time, the corridor remained empty except for the two golden statues, even the servants absent.  Kunal cared not for that peculiarity, but as winter pressed on, he could not ignore every strange sensation.

The light of morning always seemed to bring some odd happening.  A strange shadow danced on the opposite wall, sometimes landing upon his father’s statue as well.  And each time it did, Kunal thought he’d felt a chill upon his body.  He struggled to think back to when he’d spent time in the gardens.  It had been years, he was sure, but he never remembered the heat of the sun or the crisp air of winter cooling his body.  Within the gold shroud, he was lost to every sensation of touch or feeling, only sound and sight permeating his pall.

Every time, as the day went on, the phenomenon would pass, but he would be left wondering what it was.  Could it be that he was losing his grasp on the world?  Would it be possible for him to finally let go of his mortality and find peaceful oblivion?

If it was to be so, it would not happen on his latest day, he realized.  Someone rounded the corner, their heavy footfalls reporting even on the plush carpet.  Sazim was there in front of him only a few moments later, a disheveled look upon him, his chiseled features hiding behind a bedraggled beard.  Still, Kunal could see the prince lock his jaw in an almost pronounced underbite.

Sazim looked to his old victim, staring at him with bloodshot eyes and an agitated frown.  Without warning, the prince reached up and swung out with his fist, connecting it against Kunal’s face.

Though he couldn’t feel the sensation of being struck, Kunal’s vision wobbled a bit.  Sazim had knocked him off balance, even if just for a moment.

Kunal didn’t focus on that peculiarity for long, though, struck instead by the sight of Sazim wincing and cradling his hand.  He seethed, a quiet growl growing inside him as a trail of spit caught in his beard.

Though of course no sound erupted from within him, laughter welled up inside him.  There he was, trapped for eternity it seemed, yet he still claimed some small victory on Sazim, for whatever reason.

The prince was the first to hear the approach of someone else, and he reached up to wipe his face with his wrist.  He corrected his posture and held his head high as he focused on whoever entered the corridor then.

“My liege, Master Rohan is here to speak with you.  Shall I let him in?”

Kunal watched as Sazim’s nostrils flared.  He took a moment to compose himself, but lifted his hand with an air of authority, as though it were his idea to have his servant find him there.

“Of course,” the prince said.  “Have him meet me in the throne room.  I shall attend him shortly.”

Sazim waited for a moment while his servant tended to his duty.  When he was alone, he let fly a quiet groan and rubbed his sore hand once more.  He paid no further heed to Kunal then, turning about and heading back the way he came.

A feeling of contentment washed over Kunal.  He had earned no further reprieve and gained no further standing, but the thought that Sazim was furious enough to do something foolish filled him with fleeting feelings of joy.  It didn’t take long for Kunal to realize just why the prince had flown into such a rage.  After all, it had been some time since Sesha had been there, he reminded himself.

And there it was: the truth of the situation was laid bare.

Unable to prove that Kunal and Johal were alive and well, Sazim’s words could only placate Sesha for so long.  Now a prideful, strong, clever woman, she would not be swayed by mere rumor or hearsay.

Sazim longed for something he would never receive, much like his victims.

More importantly, Sesha was safe from the mad prince and could live out the rest of her days free of his corruption and his influence.

Kunal was sure that as darkness covered the palace that night, he would find a way to rest easy.

As the shadows crept in, the servants set lights within the sconces.  Flickers of radiance danced along the way, and the statue across from him seemed to shimmer as though starlight was caught along its surface.  It almost looked as though his father were smiling as well, taking solace in the same relief his son had.

In the distance, though, down many corners, Kunal could hear angry discourse.  Struggling as he did, he tried to remember his way around the palace by memory.  He counted how many corners and corridors separated his passage from the throne room, as he was sure that was where the commotion erupted from.

It was no use, Kunal figured.  He had only followed Rohan through the building once, and then when he was carried out to the garden, his attention was hazy, left in tatters by the shock of being a prisoner within his own body.

It mattered not, though.  None of his wishes had come to pass thus far, and being a fly on the wall of the throne room was a menial desire compared to his greater aspirations.  Instead, he let the faraway shouting buzz in his ear, lulling him into a tranquil fog.

The fire-warmed twilight and the remote voices gave him peace.  But it was not to last.

Kunal heard the approach before he noticed torchlight.  Sazim shouted loud enough that the gold-imprisoned fellow was surprised he hadn’t heard him earlier—and he wondered if the angry voice carried beyond the palace walls, into the greater city of Lakmari.

“What he’s asking offends me to my very core.  We’ve done what he asked at every turn.  Now he asks for too much.”

“What he wants is not unreasonable,” another voice spoke, and Kunal searched his memory once more to try and place it.  He knew it was the broad, fair-skinned advisor who sometimes came to the palace—the same one who carried him to and from the garden after he had been transformed.  “At the next Gathering, we’ll choose two winners.  He isn’t even collecting yet.  But he does need to see some progress.  A favorable pledge would be most…appreciated.”

It was Sazim who carried the torch then, and he stopped, once again, just between the father and son who had been turned to gold.  The prince looked to Kunal for a moment, a loathsome look in his eyes.

“This one,” he said, pointing to Johal.  “Take him away.  Give him to Shyamal as my tribute.”

Rohan appeared there a moment later, seeming to tower over the troubled prince.  He looked to the statue and tilted his head, as though there were a strangeness in Sazim’s request.  The burly advisor took Johal’s hand as if he was preparing to shake it, holding it tightly between his fingers.

Time seemed to slow to Kunal.  Something wasn’t right, and it permeated his golden shroud and left him with a feeling of unease.  The torchlight flickered across the faces of the three men before him.  Sazim looked full of wickedness that Kunal was just seeing for the first time.  Whatever decision he had made was meant to punish Kunal and his sister.  Rohan, meanwhile, demonstrated no animosity.  Still, his eyebrows furrowed as he prepared for his task.

Johal’s features were frozen, as they always were.  But there was something in the way the flames danced in his still eyes that left him looking as though he knew of the troubles to come.

Kunal felt as though his own eyes widened as Rohan lifted his arm high above his head.  At once, time moved swift again, and the sturdy fellow came down with all his strength.  A strange sound echoed out, but Rohan’s body blocked Kunal’s view.

“There,” the advisor said.  “You don’t need to send the whole thing.  Just a small toll will show Shyamal that you are still true to your word.”

He turned and walked on, gone before Kunal could see what he had done.  Sazim remained there, though, his angry gaze settling once more after witnessing what Rohan had done.

“She should have taken my offer,” he muttered then.  “I would have made her a princess.  She would have lived like royalty.”  He looked to Kunal, staring into his eyes as though he knew he still sensed the things going on around him.  “Now who is to say?  Perhaps Sesha will be chosen by the upcoming Gathering.  Before long, I’ll have all three of you standing here.”  Sazim started away, back to his chambers or the throne room, but his voice continued to echo as he took his leave.  “Of course, that’s not to say you’ll all be in one piece.”

It was as though a wave of emotions had washed over Kunal, sending his vision pulsing.  All he could think about was his hatred for the wicked prince and his desires to see him fall.

But as adrenaline ebbed away, Kunal faced a new sight before him.

Johal’s statue was no longer whole; where his right hand had been, a golden stump remained.  The distant flickering from the sconces still seemed to catch in Johal’s eyes, but then it looked as though he felt the horrors enacted upon him.  Though nothing had changed in his stance, Kunal thought he could hear his father’s scream echoing through the corridor.

And if Sazim’s words were anything more than an empty promise, another of their family could join them there, sooner than later.

Kunal fell within himself, lost in the swell of emotions that were his reprieve and his endless punishment.

Some evils could still find their way to a statue.

The post Tellest Short Story – Forgotten Gold appeared first on Tellest.

Recently, we tried looking at the idea of putting the individual shorts up on Amazon, but we were worried that alongside the existing stories, the sepia toned covers just didn’t look right.  Thus, we asked Kimirra to try a hand at recoloring the original two works that we had commissioned.

First up, let’s show what she did with The Littlest Kobold.

Originally, they were in a forest, but you couldn’t really tell what time of year it was, the quality of their dresses, and so forth.

In a slightly updated version, you could see that we were looking at autumn.  The colors were a bit more crisp, and you could see that their dresses were a bit more colorful.

The final version was a lot bolder, and the characters almost seem to pop right off the page.  Kimirra did a really cool job with this variant of the cover.

Our Russian artist also did a second cover for us for a story called Remembered in Gold about a man who wins the lottery and gets more than he bargained for.  Here was the original cover:

As you can see, the sepia tone leaves you wanting a little bit more again, since you can’t really tell what exactly that goop is at the bottom there.  You also can’t really tell the difference between their garb… Cascadia, the woman in back, should look much more luxurious than our hero.

This variant showed the gold a lot better, as well as the difference in their clothing.  It was just a much richer cover, and Kimirra did an awesome job with it.

Hope you like what you saw of Kimirra’s work.  We know we’re happy to have worked with her again!

The post Art: Cover Recolors by Kimirra appeared first on Tellest.

I found Kimirra’s work on DeviantArt, and I really enjoyed the sepia-toned work that she was known for.  I thought it worked really well for short stories.  And to test that theory, we commissioned the “cover” for Remembered in Gold.

We started off, as always, with a sketch:

I knew that we were going to end up with something spectacular at this point.  She managed to make both the hero, Kunal, and one of the villains look so full of life and emotion.  But the finished version was even better than that.

You can’t really account for the awesome choice in clothing or style in the lineart, but Kimirra did a phenomenal job with the finished piece here.  She takes direction really well, and gave us our own ill-fated Prince of Persia-esque character.  Poor guy.  Although… is that the last time we’ll ever see Kunal?

Perhaps not.

The post Art: Remembered in Gold Cover appeared first on Tellest.

Anyway, before I so rudely interrupted myself, we were working on the story Remembered in Gold.  I’d like to leave you off with the final part today, and I hope that you enjoy it.  Looking back, the story came out of nowhere for me, but I’m happy it did.  It let me venture away from the tried and true locales that I’ve already explored and gave me insights into other places in Tellest.  Cheers!

Remembered in Gold
Part Three

The pale gardens were hauntingly still in the setting sunlight.  No longer filled to the brim with people, Kunal’s journey back to the palace was quiet and lonesome.  It seemed that not a soul was awake, only the distant silhouettes of the palace guards clashing against that notion.

Kunal, dressed in black, walked ahead at his leisure.  In the darkness, the golden trim of his shirt was unperceivable.  As he drew closer toward the massive gates, he looked himself over again and again.

His heart beat furiously, and he found the only thing that steadied his breathing was the sight of the wildflowers, just illuminated by the multicolored abdomens of Lakmari’s lumibugs.  They danced about, leaving beacons of blue and violet in the air.  Some rested peacefully upon the statue of King Drupad, scattered halos of yellow upon his marble flesh.

The young man smiled as he considered that perch, where his life had been set to change.  Taking a deep breath, Kunal strode forward.

At the gate, two burly guards held firm grasps on their spears.  They said nothing as the visitor arrived, merely stepping aside to let him pass.  He hesitated for a moment there, observing the silent guardians.  Swallowing away his apprehension, he stepped inside the courtyard.

He halted again once inside, casting his gaze across the square.  Though the palace was close to his home, he had never seen beyond the walls.  Rows of golden statues lined the perimeter, their lustrous bodies catching the faint moonlight.  Those ranks of effigies led past the courtyard to the palace proper, which Kunal stood in awe of.

“Impressive, is it not?” he heard.  From the lighted entrance to the building, a tall broad silhouette gained clarity.  A lighter-skinned man with a full beard approached, his physique nothing less than imposing.  “When I first came to Lakmari, it left me with that same wide-eyed stare.”

As the man drew near, Kunal recalled where he recognized him from.  This man was one of the prince’s advisors, who stood beside him during the Gathering.

“I’ve lived in the city all my life,” Kunalsaid.  “But this is my first time seeing it this close.”

“It’s even more impressive on the inside.  Come, I am to lead you to Sazim.”  The man offered no time to reflect on that command.  He pivoted on his heel and began back into the palace proper.

Kunal fell into step beside the fellow and entered the building with him.  Despite the grandeur of the place, there were no guards beyond the pair at the main gates.  Kunal looked this way and that, attempting to discern if any sentinels lurked where the chandeliers’ lights could not reach.

“Something the matter?”

Shaking his head, Kunal cleared his throat.  “It’s very quiet in here.”

The stranger nodded.  “Prince Sazim prefers it that way.  Most days it’s just his highness, Cascadia, and me.  Ah, forgive me.  This lack of human contact has me forgetting to make my introductions.  I am Rohan.”  Though he kept walking, he held his hand out.  Kunal hesitated for a moment before returning the gesture.  The man squeezed, and the visitor nearly winced in reply.  Rohan’s grip was fierce, but he released it after only a moment.

They proceeded, passing by many tapestries and portraits and beneath ornate archways that all seemed different than the last.  To Kunal, it seemed they had walked for miles and in circles.  Finally, they arrived at a large feasting room, a long table filled with food before them.  From that distance, the room seemed otherwise empty, but as the two men approached, the chair on the far side of the table pressed out.  Sazim rose and clapped his hands together.

“Ah, you’ve arrived,” he exclaimed.  “I was worried Rohan had lost his way and we wouldn’t have a chance to give you a proper sendoff.”

The large man furled his brow at that notion but continued leading the young winner to the table.  He pulled a chair out for Kunal and walked along the length of the furniture until he reached the prince, who looked somewhat smaller standing directly beside his advisor.  Rohan leaned down and forward, speaking in hushed tones Kunal could not discern.  Finally, Sazim nodded, dismissing his companion.  In his absence, the prince took his seat once more.

“Let us proceed,” the prince bade.  He reached forward, grasping a glass goblet filled to the brim with crimson liquid.  “But first, a toast.  To the many adventures you’ve yet to go on, and the safety and prosperity you will bring to Lakmari.”  The prince spoke quickly, forcing Kunal to be prompt in finding his glass and lifting it before the toast ended.  He noticed his glass was considerably emptier than that of his host’s.  Despite that shift in the balance, Sazim finished the contents of his goblet before he placed it back upon the table.

His lips smacked together, and he brought his hands together in a hasty clap.  “Let’s get to it, shall we?” he asked.  Kunal nodded but nearly leapt from his seat when a pair of servants passed him on either side.  They carried silver trays that remained covered, but the overwhelming aromas snuck out beneath those shells.  “You’ve lived here all your life, haven’t you, Kunal?” the prince asked, much less interested in the food than his guest.

After a brief pause, the young man cleared his throat and shook his attention from the trays of mystery food.  “Yes, my prince.  Since birth.”  As he spoke, another servant approached from one of the side chambers and brought a swollen wineskin to Sazim’s side.  Once again, his goblet was filled to the brim.

“Then you have likely been made blissfully unaware of the outside world,” the prince said.  “Lakmari is such a wonderful place because we have no worries.  Not a care in the world.  There is no fear of poverty.  We are one of the safest places on Tellest.  We never even have to worry about a shortage of food.”

At that, the servants who delivered the food returned and removed the covers from the trays.  The aroma nearly knocked Kunal from his chair.  Succulent white meats were stacked high on the largest trays, while exotic spices and vegetables lined the table’s perimeters.  Plates of rice and curry and fruits were placed between the main courses.  Kunal’s mouth watered at the sight of the spread.

Sazim flashed a weary grin.  “Eat, my friend.  Your task is not one I would want to endure on an empty stomach.”

The young man did not take that permission lightly.  At once, he reached forward, scooping the various delicacies onto his tray.  He reached as far as his seat would allow him.  Even then, heaps of food found their way to his plate.  He looked up at his host, who had accepted his servants’ offer to acquire his food for him.  Kunal swallowed, and as the scent of the fowl wafted into his nostrils, he swore he could taste the tender flesh.

“What many of the Lakmari people do not know,” Sazim said, peering past his servants, “is that we are not as safe as we appear.  There are bandits out on the roads.  Not some worriless rabble like you might expect, but experienced highwaymen that could easily topple an entire town.  This would cause great problems for our city, you understand.”

His mouth already full of food, Kunal could only nod in reply.  A loud, satisfied sigh escaped him, and he leaned back in his chair as if that could disguise it.  Though Sazim’s plate of delicacies was similarly arranged, he yet relied on his wine and nothing else.

“What if I told you we’ve found a way to keep the bandits content with their own territory?  What if I said we could stay their unruly tendencies and keep them at bay?”

Kunal took a moment and swallowed all his food at once, leaning forward to accommodate the large task.  “My lord, I am no great master of diplomacy or politics, but I would say that is a good path to tread upon.”

“Right you are, Kunal,” the prince said.  “The answer to our problems lies in the hands of a group of sellswords we’ve worked with for some time.  When one of our citizens leaves, it is to seek out these mercenaries.  They protect our borders, enforce our way of life outside the walls of Lakmari, and in a way, keep the peace.”

“Our people are joining the sellswords?” Kunal surmised.

After a brief pause, Sazim took a last swig of his wine.  “In a manner of speaking,” he finally said after a satisfied smack of his lips.  He rose from his seat, the chair pressing out so fast it nearly tipped.  The prince leaned upon the table with both hands, his eyes seeming to glare upon something quite distant.  “Please, allow me to show you something.”

As he lifted himself off the table, he moved with a renewed vigor.  Before Kunal rose from his seat to follow, Sazim was already on his way under one of the side arches.  It was quiet but for their footsteps and dancing flames upon the candles in the many chandeliers overhead.

Before long, the two men arrived at the throne room of the palace.  A darkselection of colors affronted Kunal, who was surprised to see the browns, auburns, and blacks about the room.  The throne was significantly brighter, with golden trim beneath a plush red fabric.

Just at the bottom of the steps leading to the throne, another golden statue, like those Kunal had seen outside, stood sentry.  Sazim turned to his guest with a wry grin upon his face.  For the first time, Kunal could see how young the prince was.  His highness must have only been several years his senior.

“Today you join among the ranks of all the men and women who have preceded you, including your father.”

As Kunal followed his prince, he neared that golden effigy and nearly tipped from his feet by the sight of it.

“Then this is your father, Johal?”

After steadying himself, Kunal took a deep breath and approached the statue.  He reached out and touched the effigy’s broad shoulder.  “In my mind, he’s so much older and greyer,” he laughed.  “It’s good to see him as he was when he left.”

“How long has it been?” Sazim asked.

A quiet chortle escaped Kunal’s lips.  “Sesha and I were much younger then.”

“Sesha?”

“My apologies, Your Highness.  Sesha is my sister,” Kunal said, looking back to the statue of his father.  “If what you say is true and I am to see these sellswords my father was sent to, he and I will be reunited soon.”

“Sooner than you might think.”

Both men turned to the throne then, and the antechamber behind it.  The fair blonde woman sauntered forward with grace and confidence.  She met eyes with Kunal, who found himself as entranced with her as before.

“Priestess Cascadia,” Sazim spoke, agitation clear in his throat.  “You are early.”

“The night grows long, my prince,” she returned.  “Perhaps you discussed things while you supped on dinner that you could have left aside.”

Cascadia passed behind Sazim, and Kunal could feel the tension in the room.  He looked again to the effigy of his father.

“We needn’t waste time here,” the priestess went on.  “Shyamal is not known for patience.  Neither are the rest of his men, including the one you call advisor.”

Their conversation went on in quiet, tense tones.  Kunal ignored it as best he could, focusing instead on the golden figure of Johal.  It looked so like his father, every nuance just as he remembered all those years ago.  The only thing that seemed at odds with the man he remembered was his eyes.  They appeared so full of concern, so wide and apprehensive.

Kunal felt the tender grasp on his hand and looked down.  Cascadia’s delicate fingers wrapped around his digits.  His eyes slowly lifted from her waist until he was caught in her hypnotic gaze once more.

Though he felt the shiver ripple down his spine, he could do nothing to shake it free.  The priestess had him locked in place, her eyes narrowed and a scowl set upon her face.

He tried to speak, but no words would come.  He tried to move but could not flex a muscle.  Cascadia lifted his arm, holding it out before him, and turned him toward the statue of his father.

“It is time,” the priestess said.

A regretful sigh escaped the prince as he approached his guest.  He set his hand upon Kunal’s outstretched arm.  “I’m sorry about this,” Sazim insisted.  “Truly I am.”

From his wrist, a burst of pain nearly shook Kunal to his core.  He could neither wince nor scold, only caught in Cascadia’s perpetual gaze.  But he could see, in his peripheral vision, the transformation that occurred.

His caramel-colored skin took on a new hue.  An inch at a time, Kunal turned to gold.  He could feel the pain coursing through his body and the change taking place.  As the enchantment surged up his arm, his body felt heavier.

Cascadia looked on with those spiteful eyes, but Sazim bowed his head as his power transformed his visitor.  The gold leeched past Kunal’s shoulder, festering in him like a plague.

He only wanted to howl out in pain, but his lips refused to budge.  Instead, as the magic moved up through his throat, he felt his breath slipping away.

Kunal saw his father in a new light then, even as he could feel his head growing heavy.

Johal had never left Lakmari.

And neither would he.

The post Remembered in Gold – Part Three appeared first on Tellest.

There are some potential links to follow-up material down the line if we find that people really dig Kunal’s story.

Remembered in Gold
Part Two

The journey back to his house was much more eventful than the one to the Gathering.  Countless citizens, even ones he was unfamiliar with, stopped Kunal in the streets to offer congratulations and advice.  All the while, Param was at his side.  When they finally did reach his home, the young men paused, hesitating to part.

“This is going to be the last time I see you, my friend,” Kunal said.

Param shrugged.  “It doesn’t have to be.  I’ve got nothing keeping me here.”

“I wouldn’t call your family nothing.”

“All older cousins who don’t even notice I’m around.  For all they know, I’m sleeping with the pigs.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Say no more,” Param insisted.  “I’ll even do the noble thing and leave them a letter.”

Kunal laughed and shook his head.  “You know much of this is kept in secrecy.  We’ve never seen one of the winners leave.  They’re always gone before sunrise.”

“And when the sun does rise, you can find me at Nordakai Falls.  I’ll be there all day tomorrow waiting for you.  Whatever mission the prince sends you on, you won’t be alone.”

A bright smile curled Kunal’s lips upward.  “Thank you, my friend.”  Both men stepped forward into a warm embrace for a moment.  “I shall see you in the light of the morning.”

Param clapped his friend on the shoulder and moved on.  Kunal watched his friend depart for a moment before pushing the door to his house open.

The sound of fitful sobbing was stifled abruptly.  When the young man closed the door behind him, he was surprised at the darkness of the abode.  The curtains had been drawn in the living area, and he could see the rest of the house had been similarly shrouded.  Still, dim shadows were cast upon the wall of the kitchen, their presence leading him there.

His mother sat upon one of the chairs surrounding their petite wooden table.  Her daughter had collapsed against her, buried within the folds of her sari.  Garati, his mother, looked up as Kunal entered the room, a weak grin appearing on her face.

“Why does Sesha cry, Mother?” he asked.

Garati shook her head.  “She knows you are leaving, child.”  The older woman gently patted her daughter’s head before allowing her hand to weave a gentle path through her dark hair.

“Sister,” Kunal said, “this is a great honor.  I go to follow in father’s footsteps – to find glory for our people.”

“You go to leave us alone,” Sesha cried.  She spun toward him, staring at her brother through tears.  The dark lines beneath her eyes had faded and run down her cheeks, and her mocha-colored skin was flushed.  She rose before her family realized and sped out of the room past her brother.

“What could be expected of me?” Kunal asked, sinking into a seat on the opposite side of the table from his mother.  “I am to tell the prince I decline?”

“Nonsense,” Garati said, waving her hand to dispel that notion.  “But your sister is right, you know.  Once you are gone, we two will have to fend for ourselves.  This house is too big for two women – too expensive.  Your father’s cousins will likely purchase it from us, and we’ll have to work their fields.”

“I won’t let that happen, Muhma.  I’ll send back whatever I can.”

“And your sister,” Garati went on.  “She is already an outcast.  With you gone, she will wither away in the shadows.”

“Sesha is growing up to be a beautiful woman,” Kunal contended.  “Why should she hide?”

The matriarch cast a sidelong glance toward her son.  “You know there is more to that girl than just a pretty face.  When the other children her age look into her eyes, they see the darkness there.”

“They’d be wise to steer clear of her then.”  Kunal stood again, placing his knuckles against the table.  “If Sesha doesn’t put them in their place, I’ll hear of it and return to exact my revenge.”

A sigh shook Garati’s weary frame.  “There’s no need for empty boasts, my son.  You and I both know none of the chosen have ever returned.”

Kunal circled the table and grasped his mother’s hand.  “I will, Muhma,” he said, lowering to his knees.  “I will do all in my power to make sure you are taken care of.  Sesha, too.”

Garati gave a gentle tug, pulling away from her son.  With her hand liberated, she tapped several times on his forearm.  “Better prepare yourself.  Wouldn’t want to show up to the prince in rags and smelling of sheep dung.  Go clean yourself in the river.”  She rose from her seat, tousling the boy’s hair as she followed in Sesha’s footsteps.

He could watch his mother depart for but a moment.  Kunal bowed his head.

Continue to Part Three

The post Remembered in Gold – Part Two appeared first on Tellest.

Today, we have a special treat for you.  This is the beginning of a new story, which is going to take us away from The Fall for a little bit.  This tale is a lot more personal, without any groundbreaking revelations or world-troubling conflicts.

No, this one follows a man from the pseudo-Indian city of Lakmari, a beautiful place where everyone is happy and healthy.  But surely no place like that could be without its secrets.  Read on to see what a new hero experiences in his time among the people.

Remembered in Gold
Part One

The commotion outside woke him well before he heard the distant silver bell.  Kunal rose to see his house had emptied, his mother and sister having already vacated their home.

The Gathering had come once more to the city of Lakmari.

Kunal rolled from his bed and scooped the discarded vest from the floor.  As he moved toward the exit, he brought it overhead and pressed his body through it, bumping into the doorway as he went.

He skittered down the steps, stumbling several times but managing to stay upright as he dismissed his waning stupor.  He only hesitated for a moment at the exit of his home.  There, a mirror revealed his disheveled appearance.  He licked his fingers and set to work on his dark, tousled hair.  He shrugged, finding himself acceptable.

When he opened the door, the commotion was already overwhelming.

“Did I already miss the selection?” he whispered.

The streets ran rampant with the fervor of those rushing toward the palace.  Lakmari was not known for being one of the biggest cities in Lustra, but when that silver bell rung, everyone paid heed.  Kunal turned to the north, looking at the distant, ornate instrument situated above the palace gates.

Even from his home, the young man could see the crowd converging on the white marble steps.  He brought his hand up to his dark eyebrows to stave off the morning sun.  While scanning his fair city, he was nearly slammed back into his home by an eager man’s broad shoulder.

“Hey!” he cried.

“Get to it, boy,” the man offered, spinning about briefly.  “Before long, you’ll be better off watching the ceremony from the roof of your house.”

As he ran off, Kunal was left to contemplate those words.  His brow furled as he watched the crowd filter through the streets.  They bounced against each other, led like sheep by a royal shepherd.  The man who had bumped into him was right.  Against that tide, he would never have a satisfactory vantage.

No, what he needed was a pair of wings.

While the people of Lakmari bleated and made their way toward the palace, Kunal slipped around to the side of his house.  That far north, each home sat tightly packed together.  The young man could nearly extend both arms out wide and have a hand on each abode.  But he was not content to merely touch the stone walls.

Without hesitation, he sprung against the side of his house and bounced off it.  He shifted in the air and mimicked the action on his neighbor’s home, rising with each hop.  Before long, he hoisted himself to his wooden roof.

Kunal took a moment to steady his arms and legs.  Though he had drawn no closer to the palace, the grand silver bell seemed somehow bigger.  He could almost read the etchings on its side.  As he scrutinized the oversized instrument, it rang out again, tilting forward toward the people that neared it.

The young man rose to his feet.  It would not be long before the Gathering proceeded and the prince of Lakmari took to the stage to announce the selection.  Clapping his hands together, he rid himself of the dirt on his palms.

He burst forward, quickly reaching a full sprint atop the slight slant of the roof.  Before long, he reached the edge, though he did not begin to waver in his pace.  He leapt out, pulling his legs in close as he crossed the gap between that house and the next.  While the people below pressed against each other in a futile attempt to reach the palace, Kunal raced across rooftops, far outpacing them.  Swinging around chimneys, leaping over laundry lines, and balancing across slanted eaves, Kunal moved in haste.  Before long, he arrived at the last house before the pale gardens.

A sea of white marble stretched out before him, paths swirling this way and that toward the palace exterior.  Between the paths, vibrant wildflowers grew among a verdant expanse.  Leafy trees grew about here and there, offering some shade among the paths.  No one dared traipse upon the flowers, though.

Kunal landed upon bent knee on the marble rail below and hopped down to the path.  Briefly, he was among the crowd, sifting through them as they carried him like a tide toward their destination.  Fighting against that momentum, he clambered to the rail on the opposite side.  He could hear their concerned prattles.

“Not my fault none of you lot thought of this,” he mumbled.

The citizens of Lakmari were so densely packed that many were forced to a halt, standing on their toes to peer past the crowd.  The pale gardens opened up between two of the main paths, where a statue of their king, Drupad, stood embodied in marble upon a tall pedestal.  Lowering his head, Kunal raced across the railing.

That uncommon action drew murmurs from the crowd as he passed, but the bell rang again, drowning out their confused whispers.  The grand doors were opening.  The ceremony was beginning.

Far ahead, where the marble paths converged, the citizens crowded together like too many reeds in a bundle.  They began to rise from the throng, lifting themselves to the railing.  Kunal was too late to reach that northernmost area of the pale gardens.

The young man dipped his head and charged forth upon the railing, leaping out over the forbidden wildflowers.  Reaching up, he clung to one of the branches of the garden’s sturdy trees.  Kunal’s fingers worked into the grooves of the bark, but he did not allow himself time to consider the sensation.  Kicking forward, he flung himself over the flowers, landing upon the grass beyond.

As the adrenaline left his body at a gradual pace, a bright smile crept to his lips, framed neatly by his caramel-colored skin.  He strode forward at his leisure, the statue of Drupad in his sights.  A chorus of brass played in the distance upon the wall that housed the silver bell.  That music hastened Kunal’s step once more.

He reached the statue a moment later, clambering upon it.  The pedestal stood a mite higher than he expected, eliciting a small grunt from the extra exertion.  The trumpets and kombus ceased their song just as the young man rose to his feet, holding Drupad’s burly biceps for balance.

A great cheer rose up, followed by a wave of applause.  Ahead, the anticipated guest arrived upon the pavilion.  A quartet of young maidens, their faces veiled in silk, preceded him.  Those young, beautiful women seemed to float upon the marble pavilion, casting out handfuls of bright pink petals.  Even from afar, that floral aroma was intoxicating.

Kunal focused on the closest girl, narrowing his eyes to cross the distance.  She wore a jeweled headdress, a crystalline facet hanging just between her eyebrows.  Her dark brown irises only appeared more enticing surrounded by the dark lines of black highlights.  A single blink later, he was sure she had caught his stare.

Averting his eyes, Kunal instead looked upon the statue.  Drupad’s effigy was imposing, yet from his proximity, the young man felt it had lost some of its splendor.  Standing upon the pedestal with the king, Kunal was only shorter by several inches.  A glimmer upon the statue caught his eye then, and he focused on a golden fleck on Drupad’s otherwise marble skin.  Raising his arm, he extended his finger toward that queer flaw.

“Kunal!”

He abruptly stopped and turned to the east, where he saw a cheerful face.  Dark skin and round cheeks accentuated his friend’s smile, which remained even as he hoisted his stout body over the railing.  He landed upon the wildflowers, his sandals crushing a trio of them with no hope of survival.

“Param,” Kunal scolded.

Oblivious to those warnings, his friend traipsed over the flowers until he reached the grassy clearing.  He ran as fast as his sandals would allow him, the footwear clapping loudly.

“You’ve got the best vantage in Lakmari,” Param insisted.  He reached the statue of Drupad and leaned against the pedestal.  “Perhaps the king will bestow luck upon you and your family.”

“Perhaps,” Kunal muttered.  He barely registered his friend’s words, for the celebrated guest, Prince Sazim, neared the altar.  Two of his most trusted advisors followed behind him but ceased their advance as he took his first step upon the dais.  A hush fell over the extensive audience, the sea of citizens looking upon their ruler for the latest great reveal.

Sazim’s complexion was much lighter than many of his subjects.  The sun seemed to catch upon his olive skin tone, leaving a luster upon him.  A wide smile raised his thin beard and mustache, and he nodded at the few folk he made direct eye contact with.  Finally, he raised his hand and took a deep breath.

“People of Lakmari,” he called out, his voice deceptively low and loud.  “The time has come for another choosing!”

Zeal spread through the vast crowd.  Cheers and applause could be heard from anywhere in the city.  It went on for some time, hands clapping together like the fluttering of a bee’s wings.  The prince beamed and shook his head as he considered that excited response.  Following a laugh that went unheard, he raised his hand to silence the crowd once more.

“It has been –” He stopped, waiting for the final rambunctious citizens to quiet.  “It has been two hundred and sixteen days since the last choosing – two hundred and sixteen days since Tarak Taran left our great city to set out and find his glory.”  He raised his hand again, ceasing any interruption before it could start.  “This tradition has been in place for thirteen years, ever since my father, the great King Drupad, ventured to the far corners of the globe.”

He gestured to his right, where the fair-skinned blonde advisor behind him stood.  “The priestess Cascadia has seen the signs in the flames.  It is time for another of us to be chosen, to make our way into the world.  We follow in my father’s footsteps, leaving the safety and beauty of our city behind.  Out there, among the wilderness and foreign soil, life is waiting for us.  We need only to reach out and grab it.

“As has become part of the tradition, the priestess will provide me with the sacred stone – the sign of who was already chosen that night in the flames…”

Prince Sazim had a flair for the dramatic and an overly colorful way to describe a simple process, Kunal realized.  As those words rolled on, the young man found himself drawn to the priestess.  Her foreign graces captivated him.  Golden hair fell upon porcelain skin, both shining in the sun’s light.  She glanced up at that distant statue, and their eyes met.  Kunal attempted to avert his gaze but found he could not.

“… and that is why it is my great honor and privilege to announce our newest champion and ambassador,” Prince Sazim said, turning the stone over in his hand.  “Kunal Johar!”

Cascadia turned her attention to Lakmari’s prince, and Kunal finally found the power to look away.  The crowd burst into applause, and he felt Param’s hand tap against his shin.  With a furled brow, he watched as the people he lived beside turned about, looking upon him with great respect.  His eyes widened as the prince’s spoken words hit the correct resonance, landing softly in his ears.

“As is custom,” Sazim went on, “you shall have the afternoon to spend with your friends and your family.  At sunset, you will report to the palace.  We will feast in your honor and prepare you for the road ahead.

“People of Lakmari, you have learned the great silver bell indicates the upcoming Gathering.  It also indicates the loss of a citizen from our great city.  While the chosen is honored by all of us, their absence stings to precious few.  All who would remember Kunal and gaze upon his effigy can see him whenever they choose in the palace grounds.

“That concludes the twenty-third Gathering,” Sazim spoke.  “While it ends for you and me, it is just beginning for Kunal Johar.  If you see him in our streets, wish him well.  Thank you.”  The prince bowed following his speech, inviting another round of applause.

Sazim’s two advisors turned inward as he pivoted on his heel.  While the prince began his return to the palace, the rest of Lakmari turned their attention toward the Gathering’s chosen.  Kunal watched as they set their gazes upon him, and he suddenly felt the weight of his mission.

He also felt a firm tug on his pant leg.  Looking down, he saw Param there with a wide smile upon his face.  “Better get out of here,” he said.  “Otherwise you’ll spend your last day here listening to jealous folk say how happy they are for you.”

With a nod, Kunal leapt down from the pedestal, his vision settling on the road to the south.

Continue to Part Two

The post Remembered in Gold – Part One appeared first on Tellest.