This is not a book as such. Instead, let it be both a plan and a description of how that plan failed. It is here that I will describe the world I created and simultaneously describe how the adventurers ruined it. Be warned: it may be hard to follow some parts without some rudimentary knowledge of the role-playing game Dungeons and Dragons. Also be warned: the official history that people who have D&D as their jobs (how great would that be?) have put out is warped and twisted for my own nefarious purposes, so if you know too much about D&D try to forget as much as possible while reading.

I am primarily creating this so that I have a space to organize all of my ideas, but please feel free to enjoy it! I look forward to hearing any comments or questions you may have. And with that, please be welcome to Sirla. Have fun!

Update: While this series is on hold, I feel obligated to mention that I am also writing a story based on the adventures of my wonderful players as they traverse the lands of Sirla. It can be found on my bookshelf here on Prose. I hope you enjoy!

Yes, the name I have chosen to give this world is Sirla. That does not mean that anyone else calls it that. In fact, every corner of the planet is crammed with countless accents, dialects, and languages that disagree on everything from the exact pronunciation of the word to the fundamental meaning of the name. To resolve this difficulty I have employed the method of satisfying absolutely no one but myself, so Sirla is the only name by which the planet is not known, the least accurate of the thousands of words I could have used. You’re welcome.

Sirla is a medium sized planet, for comparison’s sake rather smaller than Earth. There are five main regions, four of which are continents and one of which is a large grouping of islands. Articles about each of the five regions will be upcoming.

No less than eight moons circle Sirla, contributing weird and wayward tides to the already muddled equation. Sirla in turn circles a central sun at 312 days per annum. From the surface of the planet the sun looks slightly bigger than ours but it is generally slightly cooler on the planet. It has a number of active tectonic plates, and a large amount of biodiversity largely due to the fluctuation in temperature.

The sapient inhabitants of Sirla vary in size, shape, color, biology, and pretty much everything else far more than the boring homo sapiens inhabitants of Earth. From dwarves to elves to bird-people, Sirla contains many of our wildest dreams - and our worst nightmares. The non-sapient life forms are also diverse and unconventional, redefining the thing we refer to as ‘life’. They walk, crawl, ooze, and fly utilizing energy gained by anything from life force consumption to photosynthesis. Sometimes hostile, sometimes ambivalent and sometimes friendly they are always interesting.

I hope this sparks your interest and I look forward to writing more about this fascinating planet, its fascinating inhabitants and their fascinating adventures. Have a good one!

Dearest,

A young girl fell into my custody today. I think you would like her. She is closed down, spiky and unyielding but I see things in her eyes that speak to unimaginable pain. In so many ways, she reminds me of myself. That’s why I started this journal, I think. You were always the best with children, especially those with scars that reach below the surface. Rasa has scars - her name is Rasa - and they tell me everything I need to know without her having to say a word.

The circumstances of our chance meeting are rather peculiar as well. I live in Širdi now, the capital of a tiny province in Morgul. I make a living fighting. I know you hate that, I’m sorry. It’s been eight hundred and twelve years, six months, three weeks, six days and eighteen hours since you died and I am losing touch with who you were. But I have retained some of what you taught me - I am an expert in fighting demons, aboleths, and mind flayers because of you. You were so focused, so determined to eradicate evil - how could I not?

I digress. My reputation for fighting demons caused a party of hunters to knock on my door last night (it was eight hundred and twelve years, six months, three weeks, six days and nine hours since you died). A demon - a Balor no less - was destroying a village. They had come as fast as they could, but it was already a day after they had encountered the destruction and Balors work fast. It was without a doubt too late.

Why did I go? I’ve been asking myself that for the last seven hours as I bandage her wounds, give her soup she will not eat, and ask her questions she doesn’t answer. I knew it was too late, I knew all I would find was death and destruction. But you would have gone. You would seek out death and destruction, and replace it with beauty and love.

That’s probably why I went.

I arrived less than twenty minutes later, using the methods I have perfected in many lifetimes of living up to what you would expect. As I expected, death and destruction reigned. What I didn’t expect was that they were active. Screams cut the air and fires burned that I thought had long ago gone out. I picked my way closer, cautious now. I am not what I used to be, dearest. I have to treat this body with care lest it fail me. Ahead was the demon, darkness crowned in flame and surrounded by a large pearly luminescent orb. I was confused for a moment, but the buzzing in the air told me that magic was at work. This Balor was not acting on its own - it had friends.

As I edged around a burned, broken shell of a building I noticed that there were people inside the luminescent orb. People running, people cowering, people lying at odd angles on the flagstones of the village. Faces don’t register through the shiny skin of the bubble, but expressions of fear and pain and desperation can be clearly seen. That is when I first caught sight of Rasa. Not in the mass of people but above, struggling in the shadowy grip of the Balor. So small she was barely visible in its huge fist.

I don’t need to get into details about the fight. I don’t want you to be even more ashamed of me than you already are. But I killed it, and it killed the people in the magical sphere. Every last one save Rasa, who I was able to shield and spirit to safety. And there you have it. Eight hundred and twelve years, six months, three weeks, six days and eleven hours after you died I followed your lead and rescued someone, only to find that person was as much like me as it is possible to be. I might keep writing in this.

I miss you.