Hereford Eye
February 10th, 2003, 07:21 PM
It will not be the first time that writers have banded together to tell a story. I remember with great fondness Thieves World and Merovingian Nights and The Man-Kzin War. What follows is a world for fantasists, untouched, ready for molding. I propose stories set in this world, as you imagine them, and we share what we devise by posting them in the short story library.
Picture a water hole, more than a well but less than a lake, its source a mystery, a gift of the gods, the only sure source of water for 40 miles in any direction. The surrounds are populated by vegetation and life common to the desert.
The trade routes across the desert angle to this place, one from the northwest coming down from the mountains; one from the east heading west to an ocean four hundred miles and two mountain ranges away; one heading south further into the desert and then to mountains rumored to be waiting 500 miles that direction. To the east, across 100 miles of desert is civilization whatever that may look like.
There was a clan that discovered the water. They were replaced by a tribe replaced by a mob to control the water. Then came an army – well, a 100 men with arms – and they took the well but fell to squabbling over the very few women that survived their assault. They were easy pickings for the remnants of a real army, albeit a losing army, that fled their direction. The commander of that army sent raiding parties east and northwest and supplied themselves with women.
So, there was a town and the town attracted civilization so it could become a city. Women walk the streets in comparative safety, the police force patrols and enforces the law constructed in the town hall by the elders and judged by the Magistrate, three judges who handle trials by seriousness. Any crime against the well requires all three judges to hear the case with majority rule. One, two, or all three, depending on their whim handle any lesser crime. The police report to the Magistrate with each judge operating an investigative/enforcement arm of his own choosing.
Civilization requires more than water and eventually smiths took up residence and artisans and thieves and scavengers. The desert is fertile ground for the thieves and scavengers with parties ill prepared for the monstrous heat foundering, losing their way, dying. Sometimes, they are helped along to their destruction.
There is no controlling religion but the largest draws membership from artisans and smiths and focuses on water as the source of life. All tabus in the city are water-related.
The city grew to a thousand, to two thousand, to three. Engineers built aqueducts to move water around the city, farmers dug irrigation ditches, people, animals, crops drank the water yet, thus far it remains constant. As long as the water holds, the city lives.
There is a drainage ditch with many branches that was supposed to carry waste away from the city but the town grew and the drain didn’t. In the southeast, the city crowds the cess.
Homes are adobe with 3-foot walls to protect from heat and cold. There are a handful of two-story homes but the lumber for support must be imported and few have the time or wealth to entertain the diversion.
There are many hills in the city but the land generally slopes down to the water.
Technology is middle ages. No guns. Perhaps, there is gunpowder. Swords, knives, bows and arrows =although think of the import cost. The desert has no trees to support bow and arrow but then the mountains to the north must.
There is talk of magic but maybe it’s just talk, charlatans practicing the time honored trade of fleecing the gullible. Maybe.
There must be traditions, customs, laws based on water.
There must be rich and poor.
There must be governors and governed.
There must be caravans passing through, regulars and first timers.
There must be greed and ambition
There must also be family and love and things to keep a city together.
Call it Hell’s Fountain.
And tell its story.
.
Picture a water hole, more than a well but less than a lake, its source a mystery, a gift of the gods, the only sure source of water for 40 miles in any direction. The surrounds are populated by vegetation and life common to the desert.
The trade routes across the desert angle to this place, one from the northwest coming down from the mountains; one from the east heading west to an ocean four hundred miles and two mountain ranges away; one heading south further into the desert and then to mountains rumored to be waiting 500 miles that direction. To the east, across 100 miles of desert is civilization whatever that may look like.
There was a clan that discovered the water. They were replaced by a tribe replaced by a mob to control the water. Then came an army – well, a 100 men with arms – and they took the well but fell to squabbling over the very few women that survived their assault. They were easy pickings for the remnants of a real army, albeit a losing army, that fled their direction. The commander of that army sent raiding parties east and northwest and supplied themselves with women.
So, there was a town and the town attracted civilization so it could become a city. Women walk the streets in comparative safety, the police force patrols and enforces the law constructed in the town hall by the elders and judged by the Magistrate, three judges who handle trials by seriousness. Any crime against the well requires all three judges to hear the case with majority rule. One, two, or all three, depending on their whim handle any lesser crime. The police report to the Magistrate with each judge operating an investigative/enforcement arm of his own choosing.
Civilization requires more than water and eventually smiths took up residence and artisans and thieves and scavengers. The desert is fertile ground for the thieves and scavengers with parties ill prepared for the monstrous heat foundering, losing their way, dying. Sometimes, they are helped along to their destruction.
There is no controlling religion but the largest draws membership from artisans and smiths and focuses on water as the source of life. All tabus in the city are water-related.
The city grew to a thousand, to two thousand, to three. Engineers built aqueducts to move water around the city, farmers dug irrigation ditches, people, animals, crops drank the water yet, thus far it remains constant. As long as the water holds, the city lives.
There is a drainage ditch with many branches that was supposed to carry waste away from the city but the town grew and the drain didn’t. In the southeast, the city crowds the cess.
Homes are adobe with 3-foot walls to protect from heat and cold. There are a handful of two-story homes but the lumber for support must be imported and few have the time or wealth to entertain the diversion.
There are many hills in the city but the land generally slopes down to the water.
Technology is middle ages. No guns. Perhaps, there is gunpowder. Swords, knives, bows and arrows =although think of the import cost. The desert has no trees to support bow and arrow but then the mountains to the north must.
There is talk of magic but maybe it’s just talk, charlatans practicing the time honored trade of fleecing the gullible. Maybe.
There must be traditions, customs, laws based on water.
There must be rich and poor.
There must be governors and governed.
There must be caravans passing through, regulars and first timers.
There must be greed and ambition
There must also be family and love and things to keep a city together.
Call it Hell’s Fountain.
And tell its story.
.