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The world had, for the past six months, largely condensed itself into the soft glow of a nightlight, the rhythmic hum of a white noise machine, and the reassuring weight of Elana in my arms. My days were a ballet of feeds, changes, and endless, adoring gazes at her impossibly perfect face. It was beautiful, all-consuming, and sometimes, a little claustrophobic. I loved every second of being a…
The scent of drying desert herbs, a faint undercurrent of surgical spirits, and the earthy tang of Gorean clay permeated my healing chambers. It was a familiar symphony, the backdrop to a life I had chosen, a life I loved. Yet, even amidst the comfort of my work, a hollow echo persisted, a silent testament to the absence of one man. Alexander. My Alexander. The Builder. The midday sun, cast l…
I found myself in the near-lawless city of Port Kar, on the shores of the shallow Tamber Gulf where a promise of long ago was to be fulfilled. My oath was to heal life itself, regardless of who bore it. The clinic I was given for my temporary stay of check ups, was by request of a Merchant friend of mine, it was a modest affair of sun-baked mud brick and woven mats, which stood a little…
The heat of Gor pressed down, a thick, suffocating blanket that shimmered above the swamplands near the city of Ar. My boots, made from the hide of some unfortunate kaiila, soft and water proof, as I carefully waded through the muck and mire, was far from civilized settlements, on a fool's errand perhaps, searching for a rare luminescent fungus rumored to possess potent healing properties – a…
The beginning of fall in Ar is a wondrous time, the colors starting to percolate, the crispness in the air all a wonderful reminder of living life. And with that being said, before the weather turns too cold I decided it was time for the children of the Tri-Moons Orphanage to have some fun before the grey days ahead. …
The last rays of the tarnished sun, painted the rough-hewn timbers of my cottage in hues of bruised purple and angry orange. Inside, the air was warm with the scent of dried herbs and simmering broth, a comforting cocoon against the encroaching chill of the Gorean night. I was meticulously grinding roots for a poultice, the rhythmic scrape of pestle against mortar a familiar lullaby to my fo…