Casualties of Thought

When I was in college, Campbellā€™s Monomyth was my jam. It presented me with this idea that every story is part of some larger narrative that we, as a race, carry on our backs across a sea of time.

Now imagine someone gave you the ability, if your will was strong enough, to pull all these unshared fictions into the real world. How awesome could that be?

Moreover, how terrifying?

Just think of it, weaponized imagination! Who would you be if you possessed such a thing?


When the last glyph burned away, you could see something inside him tremble. But the training held, keeping his feet steady in the catacomb chamber’s loose dirt.

Nobody runs from their barter.

Your resolve had to be iron when the Agrippa came to life. His wasn’t. It rose toward him, accelerating abruptly until the chain that bound it went taut. Wondering if the blood offering was enough, forgetting everything, he reached out to it, cooing like it was some stray cat he was desperate to tame. Burning away glyphs was one thing but binding the Book of Creation to a single Taleweaver was entirely another.

“Nobody runs from their Barter!”

Incanting again, the arcane words came out softly at first. In response, the book opened slowly, splaying wide its grimy pages. The room grew suddenly, eerily still. It was awake now, scrutinizing everything with inky wet eyes.

Something was wrong.

He tried pulling away, but his limbs no longer obeyed his commands. Words began appearing on his flesh, stripping life away with every oily letter. Blood boiled. Skin fractured and tore. Sigils etched their black curves deep into his bones until the screams became deafening. We watched his life forming ancient words on turning pages until he was dust.

Another failure.


Taleweavers are the ultimate creators. With a little control and a bit of their life’s energy, they can use the Book of Creation to do many miraculous things. Most notably, drawing any creature or weapon from their mind’s eye into the world. But be wary; there is a trade-off. If a ‘weaver gives too much life to the book, it’ll consume them. For the intensely ambitious, that threat is easy to ignore. If the price is right, someone is always willing to take a chance on oblivion.


May your fingers never lose their cunning.

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