This past week or so I have been writing fragments about a world I made up. But instead of turning this into a setting for D&D or other TTRPG, I decided to share this fragment with you all.
This type of thing is called mosaic fiction. I didn't know it had a name until I did some research.
THE FRAGMENT OF WULFROG
Wulfrog is known for its high-quality wood, rich soil, and mountains full of minerals and gems. It holds a peaceful treaty with almost every neighboring region. The King is a kind man, respected by his court and his people. But Wulfrog was once a land of war and blood, back when the elves lived here. Sometimes, the gods wish to remind us of this — rain pours down, and blood drops from the sky.
One day, a group of three dwarves decided to leave their hometown of Bildur and wander the realm in search of a new place to settle. Forest, mountain, desert, swamp, and hills — they had seen them all, yet none of it felt like home.
Deep underground, in an old mining cavern turned into a goblin lair, two brave warriors take on the quest to slay the goblin king and his army, to reclaim the mine for the village nearby. Perhaps they will come out victorious, or perhaps they will perish — and no one will remember.
The monastery of Vrom stands at the top of a snowy hill, overlooking the small hamlet of Bildur — quiet and peaceful. Four monks still live there, spending their days writing or praying to the gods. The people of Bildur have always thought of the place as empty, for the monks never leave the monastery.
The sound of swords clashing echoes over the valley as the King and his knight-errant friend train in the art of the sword. They both enjoy training together. Time passes, until the bells ring, and the two friends stop to return to the castle in peace.
In the long, dark night, a fire can be seen in the distance near a little river — a small campfire. A merchant sits beside it with a pen and a notebook, writing about his day, or drawing what he saw. The night is warm.
On a bench near a tavern, a little kid sits dreaming about becoming a knight when he grows old — though his parents are more inclined to see him as a woodcarver or a butcher. So he dreams of riding a horse through a forest, wearing shining armor, on a quest for adventure.
A wizard traverses the vast mountains on the back of a griffin, looking for the ruins of a forgotten past, hoping to find the truth about this world. The only thing he saw was a group of giants carving a cavern into a mountain, to make a home for themselves.
In a deep, mossy, and dark dungeon, a goblin gathers mushrooms and herbs, slowly walking corridor to corridor, room after room. His linen sack is almost full — tonight's going to be a feast for him. He even finds a rusty dagger, strange-looking at last, slowly glowing with a blue tint.
In the middle of the hills lies a small village of peaceful hobbits. They live in small, semi-underground houses, each with a beautiful garden full of all sorts of flowers.
Somewhere, in a forgotten ruin — old and sad, for no one knows of it anymore — lives an old man. He has only one eye left; the other went blind from reading too many elven books and parchments. Nobody knows him, not even the King. It's strange, because a long time ago, this old, forgotten man was... the King.
