ChrayvulGlyth – Dlalth Citdel – #DarkFantasy #WorldBuilding

World building is crucial in any fantasy worth it’s salt, and I’ve put a deal of effort into creating a dark and foreboding realm for the Dark Fey Trilogy.  Pronounced with a gutteral CH as in the composer’s name Bach.   Chray…Vool…Gleeth

This is a city in the Uunglarda, the Realm of the Reviled in my Dark Fantasy series, The Dark Fey Trilogy

A Snippet from Standing in Shadows-Book Two of the Dark Fey Trilogy

Darkness lay thick and unyielding like a heavy mantle that smothered from every direction at once. Pungent and prodding, the intense murk was sooty with the condensing smoke of a thousand fires, which was the only source of light permitted in the, otherwise, bleak city. As it curled in the streets and avenues, turning frequented ways into misleading paths that made even those most familiar with them turn about more than once to reorient themselves, layers of damp mist leached downward from the leaden sky. Out of the dimness that poured from the ashen buildings and sank from above, voices of discontent and misery echoed among the shadows. Unmistakable cries of torment serrated the dense atmosphere; yet, from those same environs, delirious laughter also careened into the brooding night. The opposing sounds confused the ear and twisted the heart with uncertainty and dread.

The city was rank with a foul odor that was sour and reeked of sulfur. It was the city’s chief source of kindling that burned in grates and braziers. Drawing close to these fires in order to escape the permeating cold and extract some meager warmth or to find any sense of direction also meant breathing in the malodorous stench that twisted the stomach until it could be born no longer and chased the one seeking momentary solace back into the shadows. There was little warmth in the darkness. An unshakable, seeking chill melted through clothes regardless of the protection of layers. In the ominous gloom, buildings seemed to press together to stay warm, their misaligned, shoddy workmanship betraying their untended state. Some leaned precariously, some were half fallen over in tatters, some were little more than a collapsed hovel and on every street raucous taverns and brothels tainted the air with lascivious noise and drunken abandon.

Through the curling shadows and dusky fog, a willowy, silent figure moved. Draped in an obscuring confusion of shadow that it seemed to carry along with it, the figure stole silently down the street. Muffled by the thick smog that twisted in the air, the form made no sound whatsoever, but drifted past the raucous taverns and foul brothels like a ghost brazenly wandering through the haze. None who passed this cloaked figure took notice of it. No heads turned as it paused at the corner beneath a spluttering lamp of burning, sulfurous, gas. Not a single bystander gazed in its direction as it moved silently down the narrow street towards the edge of town and when it turned the corner, disappearing into the blackness like a shadow melting into graying twilight, no trace of its passage was left behind.

Turning the darkened corner, the ebon shadow paused, the silhouette of its garments contracting as if the figure were doubling over and a muffled sound, like that of despair, slipped outward into the murk. Silence greeted this hushed cry, but as if in echo, a child’s wail pierced the heavy gloom. The keening sound was not close by, yet it pealed through the dismal atmosphere like the sharp clangor of a tolling bell and all who heard it shrank from the sound, stifling the evidence of such misery in whatever escape lay close at hand. The amber liquid contained within a bottle, the glittering secret injected directly into veins, or the fleeting, wanton embrace that left a deeper yearning than what it satisfied were momentary releases from the anguish of everyday life.

As the half seen figure stood motionless, the piteous sounds of the city gathered around it like moths drawn to an open flame demanding to be noticed in spite of the listener’s desire for deafness. Reality in the Uunglarda was caustic as acid and burned just as deeply and it compelled the figure to move hastily onward.

 

 

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