#project: falcrux

[homesteadchronicles]

Original Writing Excerpt: “To Me”

Hello, my homies! I have an unexpected piece of writing to share with you all today, one not related to my known WIPs. Instead, this comes from the world I detailed here, one I’ve now been given permission to flesh out into a full-fledged story.

You don’t need to know the world in order to read, but I’ve provided the necessary context below in order to dive on in!

CHARACTERS:

Ero “Del’Gris” Idess: An intergalactic music idol in service to her agent, Kiladian Wellthane, who enlists her help in exposing his enemies’ corruption. Yoselle of the Starsea (”Ghost”): Ero’s bodyguard and long-time employee of Kiladian Wellthane whose unspoken feelings for Ero grieve him.

CONTEXT:

Ero and Yoselle have been dispatched by Kiladian to the Polaris Nightclub in order to secure information on the corrupt CEO of a pharmaceutical empire. When Ero botches her mission, she seeks comfort from a source both she and her target know can only lead to complications.

THE EXCERPT:

You are a specter: ethereal, immaterial, insignificant. She is a spotlight: illuminating, enticing, unyielding. These two halves cannot hold one another. These pieces fit different puzzles. But she needs something to elucidate and you did not hallucinate her invitation to centerstage. Still you skirt around the sidelines, flirting with shadows, fearful of exposure. She stands, a beacon in the clubhouse, awaiting your answer.

You refuse to reply.

Polaris, you convince yourself, requires better surveillance than the shoddy bodyguards provide it. Expensive liquor, lavish decor, and a distinct lack of security – the omen of emergencies. It was everything you loathed and Ero loved.

She didn’t seem to mind now, not that she ever had before. Why would she? She has you. Needs you. Wants you, a part of you thinks, hopes, refutes. Ero plays her role without shame. Flattery reserved a permanent space in her mouth and her lips make use of their eternal inhabitant to elicit information even when her hips were in motion.

Your place lies elsewhere. Astride. Afar. Procurer and protector both had their parts to play. Separately.

Then why does she keep staring at me?

It is your fifth circuit around the dance floor when you notice her attraction attention. Her gaze ought to be on your target, on Gentarou Hongou, on the mastermind of a corrupt pharmaceutical company. Her hand would bat his chest as her lashes bat her cheeks and he would indulge her as everyone always did. Their mission depended on his entanglement. Did she expect to seduce him with a half-given gaze?

Either Ero or Gentarou comes to the same conclusion, as she discreetly excuses herself to evacuate the floor and he does not even bother watching as she goes. You give chase, coming to a heel behind her as she reaches the dancing’s edge. Stress tugs her brows together. She has disappointed her target. Disappointed herself. Worse, you realize, she has disappointed Kiladian.

“You’re off your game,” you note. A comment and a question intermingle therein, indiscernible.

Ero maneuvers through the crowd with angered grace. Each foot falls just shy of stepping on another’s toes, the click of her heels on the metal beneath like a tongue snapping against bared teeth. “Hongou’s harder than I thought,” she mumbles, “and not in the way I need him to be.”

The bar comes quickly into focus as you follow her. It’s going to be a long night.

Ero glides into the shaky comfort of a barstool. Before you can intercept, she has the bartender concocting something with a name you won’t remember for a price you cannot fathom. Ero’s erratic when inebriated and adamant when infuriated – not a winning combo for their cause.

She beckons you over with a caress of the empty seat beside her and you stiffen. Your place is beneath behind her. But, for a moment, weariness cracks her mask and the lonely soul inside creeps out. “Ghost,” she drawls. Her fingers walk up your chestplate, eyes unblinking in unspoken expectation, and you will indulge her as you always have. “To me.”

The seat is filled before you can stop yourself.

Two drinks slide along the countertop and stop in front of them, one a glittering gray encrusted with crystal and the other a dusty yellow clouded by rising mist. Ero cradles the latter before acknowledging the former. “Oops. Looks like I ordered one too many.” Her tone holds no remorse, only mischief. She nudges the glass towards you. “Guess someone ought to keep me sober.”

You can’t deny that. Deny her. You drink.

Each sip is a burning kiss to your lips, searing all the way down until the sweetness kicks in thereafter. It’s easier to forget the sting when the aftertaste settles in. You swallow again. Again. Again, until you learn to love the flames, too.

Ero only toys with her order. It’s not her usual selection, not her Nightfire. The glass in front of her holds Del’Gris’ favorite - all flash and fruitiness - but no bite. Which means she believes the show must go on. Which means Del’Gris gets an encore.

You need to navigate this delicately. “Hongou gave you the slip?”

“He may as well have. Kiladian’s information was off – Hongou’s not involved.”

“You’re sure?”

Ero dips her head as if to nod before it droops in defeat. “Honestly? I don’t know. Making heads or tails of the man is more complicated than making eyes at him.” She retrieves the cherry inside her drink and rips it clean off the stem. “I’m not myself tonight.”

“That’s not true.” The words slip out before you can subdue them. An unfortunate error, but Ero appraises you with wide-eyed surprise and you wonder whether it was a blessing in disguise. “You were not Del’Gris tonight, true. Del’Gris holds every man captive in her grasp. But you were Ero tonight – and any glimpse behind the curtain is enough to fluster a lesser man like Hongou.”

Ero twists your words around in her mind like the stem she knots in her mouth. When she pulls the stem free, her answer spills out too. “You know me too well.”

Not as much as I’d like, you think. Still not enough to keep you safe. It is an unbidden - but honest - admission. Not one Ero would adhere to half-plastered and wholly penitent. You settle for “well enough to know when you’re not well.”

She scoffs into her cup, a bitter laugh against sweet liquor. “Can’t get any worse”. Ero raises her hand and requests another round of liquid courage: Nighfire on the rocks. It’s a slow burn, she told you once, reeking of booze and other bodies, just the way I like it.

You hadn’t liked it. Hadn’t liked the way her hair ensnared your shoulders, encircling you in her scent as you scraped her offstage. Hadn’t liked the lingering kindling of body heat. Hadn’t liked how much you dreamt of her touch afterwards.

The bartender brings her his poison and she tips it back in one go. Tipsy, but standing, Ero advances towards the dance floor. “Well, if our mission’s botched, must as well bust a move.” Half-lidded eyes hone in on you. “Don’t make me do it alone.”

There’s a plea beneath that tease, but the implications complicate your reaction. To stay would be wise. To go would be wine, a gradual inebriation, a delight today and a mistake tomorrow. A slow burn.

Noticing your hesitance, knowing your heart’s a mess, she approaches. “I’m not the only one unwell,” Ero whispers. Her tender denouncement strangles your judgment. “But we both have to choose health.”

She steps away. The crowd begins to swallow her, enclosing on all sides. Ero extends her hand to you. “Ghost,” she calls out. Her fingers curl inwards, a gambler clutching their stake. “To me.”

Your hand finds hers before you can stop yourself.

Polaris’ patrons shove you deeper into the throng of hedonism. Writhing bodies surround you on all sides, ushering you and Ero closer, closer, closer along to the beat of a song. You can’t make it out – not over the beat of your heart. 

But Ero can. She leans into you, giggles sending shockwaves against your skin, and it’s then you realize: the woman on the soundtrack is Del’Gris, but the one in your arms is Ero.

In my arms. The thought locks into place before you can register that your arms are, in fact, around her. Mechanically? Yes. Uncomfortably? Undoubtedly. Neither of you seem to mind, if the way she slides her hands around your neck and nuzzles into its crook is any evidence. 

Then again, you always were the problem. After all, what right have you to hold her after haunting her for so long?

“You’re overthinking it,” Ero says. You’re not the only one who knows the other too well. “Maybe I ought to take the lead.”

You both laugh at that, at yourselves, at everything that your twisted lives have led to because if you don’t laugh, you might both break. Then again, at least you’d crumble into one another.

Ero only leans back and leads on. Your hands keep her feet aloft, her back aligned. This imperfect rhythm, this imbalancing act, leaves you both in synchronized breathlessness.

Neon lights illuminate your mingling skin in a patchwork of discordant colors. They rise to wreath Ero in a heathen’s halo: green envy, violet ire, scarlet lust. The crowd around exalts her alias - “Del’Gris! Del’Gris! Del’Gris” - but Ero has only ever worshipped you.

Always the star, you muse, and I am but the planet trapped in orbit.

“They’re calling for their queen,” you tease.

“They’re calling for Del’Gris,” she clarifies, “but I believe someone requested Ero.”

“You must have heard a ghost.”

Whatever impish inclinations Ero might otherwise maintain were exorcised in an instant. Seriousness seats itself in place of playfulness, mouth thin and eyes taut. Her hand rises to graze his cheek. “Ghost you may be to everyone else, but you’re always Yoselle to me.”

You have been brutalized by mobsters, held for ransom by hitmen, and crushed by an atmospheric crucible more times than you can count, but nothing has ever taken hold of your heart half as hard as that. “I never mind playing the specter if it means shadowing you.” And it’s true. You would spend the rest of your days in obscurity if it meant skirting around her radiance.

But Ero has never been one to settle for second best.

“Oh, is that so?” That ruinous mischief reclaims her lilting smile as she presses herself inward, upward. “In that case,” she whispers and her breath is a phantom promise against your lips. “Ghost, to me.”

Your mouth finds hers before you can stop yourself.

[homesteadchronicles]

Omg omg omg how do you always write such good blurbs?! I’d love to hear more about the races in the solar systems! Also, I would highly suggest using worldanvil for this worldbuilding project! It can help you keep track of all sorts of things, and even gives templates!

Oops. I absolutely thought I had responded to this already. Well, whatever I would have said has been long since lost to the sands of time, but I'll try my best to respond just as well this time around! Sorry for the wait, my friend.

If anyone is wondering what post this refers to, you can read the blurb for Project: Falcrux (otherwise known as Heart of Matter) here!

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You are FAR too kind to me! Honestly, I feel like my pitches are always subpar, so that's reassuring to hear. I've certainly invested time and practice into perfecting them! Thank God for those who've gone before us and teach the next generation how the heck do anything.

There are fourteen races in this universe, each drawing inspiration from different creatures - beyond humans, of course. But we're close enough to cryptids as is. Each of the twelve primary solar systems housed one of these races (although they are, at this point, well spread throughout the universe). The Falcrux at the center of these systems resembles a massive, mechanical version of the animal that inspired their system's corresponding race. Each Falcrux, and those within them, correspond with an element as well.

Of course, for those of you gifted at math, that would leave two more races unaccounted for. Good eye!

In this universe, the human's solar system has been swallowed by the abyss. Thus, humanity lives as universal vagabonds that dwell on planet-sized ships known as Arks.

And the other race? Well, only legends still speak of them: the Illucin. Rumor has it that they disappeared soon after the Falcrux came into existence. But for what reason? And to where?

As this universe is still very much under construction, I have not finalized the names of these races. However, I can share the fourteen races and the elements they manipulate.

1. Star-Nosed Mole (Earth) 2. Fire Salamander (Fire) 3. Alligator Snapping Turtle (Water) 4. Woolly Mammoth (Ice) 5. Bald Eagle (Wind) 6. Electric Eel (Lightning) 7. Anglerfish (Light) 8. Panther (Darkness) 9. Cattle (Healing) 10. Scorpion (Disease) 11. Butterfly (Time) 12. Spider (Dimensions) 13. Humanity (Gravity) 14. [REDACTED] (???)

Once this project is on its feet in full, I very well may tap into all that WorldAnvil has to offer! But honestly? I've used it before and it just didn't jive with me. It's super cool, just not something that offered me more than what my already administratively-minded self could create on his own...also, I'm a cheapskate lol so I don't wanna pay

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Feel free to ask me questions about these races individually, or about any other part of this universe! I'm always happy to discuss it (and I promise it won't take as long as this response is...probably)

[homesteadchronicles]

Would you like to tell us anything about the universe you’ve been creating? 👀

Boy, would I! I’m so glad you asked 😏

I don’t have a definitive name for the universe itself, nor the project it would belong to yet, but I assign each one a temporary codename. For now, I refer to it as “Project: Falcrux”. 

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What is the concept for Project: Falcrux’s universe?

In millennia past, humanity fled from their home solar system in fear of a supermassive black hole that had begun to swallow it whole. The twelve neighboring solar systems assumed their pleas to be nothing more than deception...until their planets vanished from space itself, absorbed into the abyss. Their belated belief proved to be their folly, as these black holes appeared both at the heart of every solar system and at the center - the Crux - of the galaxy itself. All planets, all people, cried out for salvation.

And so the gods answered. Thirteen gargantuan machines plunged themselves into the black holes to stop their inarguable tug on the surrounding celestial bodies. These beings called themselves the Falcrux, an order of creatures that could satisfy the hunger of the void by channeling aether - the energy of life itself - into it. The universe rejoiced at their unexpected saviors...

...until they emptied of aether. The gods, soon left without enough essence to satiate the black holes’ appetite, demanded that those whose planets they protected gather aether for them, lest they all be devoured. And so the Falcrux appointed Pilgrims, groups of people on a sacred mission to gather the required aether through any means necessary. The method of aetherial acquisition differed with each Pilgrim’s Falcrux - some harvested it from the earth itself, others traded aether as currency, while some reaped it from lives lost at the hands of the wars they waged - but the mission always remained the same.

Now, the universe stands in competition against itself. A competition over an increasingly-limited resource. A competition that, for the first time, people are starting to reject - come what may.

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That’s the basis of the setting! I have begun working on the twelve alien races, one for each solar system, as well as the Falcrux that correspond to each of them. I’m always willing to talk more about them, if anyone would be interested in me doing so! As this was inspired by the Uncharted Worlds TTRPG (which you should check out, if you play tabletops), I have considered converting these into playable races, planets players can visit, etc. Let me know what you want to see!