Worlds of Paul Jessup

In the method of Vance, Harrison, Wolfe and Smith, I bring you this->

Red circle, red sun, lain flat on the horizon of the Glass God Sea. Even from here, down here, down on UrsaUrth, you could see the cracks in the sun. Long black fissures, and every once and awhile a cold blue light that dances across the surface.

On this green and gold waters crawled the junk boat, bobbing on the churning waves, the sun naked in the distance, calling out to them, tempting the sailors with a warmth that it could no longer provide. The junk boat itself was a massive barge, as large as the largest city that Tarel had ever seen.

It was composed of bric-a-brac thrown and cemented together, relic world pieces pushed into odd and new formations. Pyramids, glass walls, domed ceilings, each part and piece crawling with vine and grass, living things with green leaves outstretched and seeking the failing nourishment of light.

Tarel stood on deck, hand on his sword, Dama, Durhalla, the singing sword of the root world ruins. Naked sun outlined his body as he watched the waves, and saw beneath the green of water the singing silver bodies of the glass gods. The gods parted, swuming aside, letting the barge through their sacred lands.

Once, Tarel had been sick of sea and water. Once he had claimed that land under foot was the only way to travel. That was a long time ago. Before the drowning of the great city of B’nair, and the rising of the ancient shell fish Toji. Many things changed his mind. Many things changed his fear of water into a love of all things aquatic.