by Taj McCoy El
Ruins of Majesta
Day One
1.1 Hard Knocks
1.2 Game Time
1.3 Painful Lessons
Day Two
2.1 Of Books and Beasts
2.2 Mana and Monsters
Day Three
3.1 Sew Amazing
3.2 Waiting to Die
3.3 Awwww… Grandma
3.4 Things Go Boom
Day Four
4.1 The Snake and The Cupcake
4.2 Acid, Spike, Shield, Doom
4.3 A Swing and A Miss
4.4 The Trending and The Tracking
4.5 The Weight of Happiness
Day Five
5.1 Preppin’ and Weapons
5.2 Happiness and Spirit
5.3 The Calm of Enchanting Trees
5.4 Sword and Hammer
5.5 Booms and Bad Guys
5.6 The Stench of Avarice
5.7 Storytellers of Earth
Day Six
6.1 Of Knives and Newtons
6.2 Gold From Crystals
6.3 Something Rotten…
6.4 An Enchanting Evening
Day Seven
7.1 A Name…???
7.2 Fuel the Fire
7.3 A Tree Grows In Majesta
7.4 The Final Countdown
Day Eight
8.1 Dungeons, Rewards, and Relief
Ruins of Majesta
Vol 1 – Blood And Cupcakes
By Taj McCoy El
Edited By:
Laura Phillips
Cover Illustration By:
Isaboe Hollis
https://isadeux.wixsite.com/portfolio
[email protected]
Ruins of Majesta Vol 1 – Blood And Cupcakes
©2018 by Taj McCoy El
All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Dedication
I would like to dedicate this book to those who came before: Willie, Agnes, William, and Doris.
Those who gave me life and helped shape me: Oscar, Yvonne, Dawn, and Lara
And those who come after: Diyah, Ahsana, Mosadi, and the inspiration for this book, Ayah.
I love you all so much and will carry your love and determination with me through every tribulation that I face, for we are far stronger together.
I love you all so very much.
Thank you for believing in me.
Taj
Foreword
This book has taken over a year of my life to write. In fact, this is the first thing I’ve ever written longer than a 25-page term paper. I’ve been a poet for years and I hope that this doesn’t make the language within too flowery for your tastes. But even if it is this story has everything a die-hard Sci-Fi Fantasy geek like me has to offer. Bringing the characters to life has pulled from the depths of my being and they have taken on a life of their own.
The concept for this story came from a conversation with my youngest daughter. We were chatting about her being stuck in a videogame and since she was eleven I was concerned about all of the gore prevalent in so many video games. I came up with the idea of using parental filters to limit her exposure.
This brought me a plethora of humorous ideas to play with. My son helped me to greatly expand this idea just by always talking about video games. I hope this book makes you laugh, cry, and cheer on our little cupcake.
Special thanks to the ladies who helped make this possible. Isaboe Hollis for wonderful cover Art and graphic design, Jai Simone for helping with some of the math for a crucial bit of backstory setup, Feya Sterling for the help with the sewing info and teaching me what a running stitch is, Tannur Ali for being my first Patreon supporter and always believing in me, and a soulbond of infinite proportions to express the gratitude I feel towards my amazing editor, Laura Phillips. Thank you for asking me to clarify, over and over again. I really needed that. Sorry for my horrible grammar. I promise to do better next time.
I send a standing ovation to my Beta-readers: Ian Mitchell, Jake Goodrich, Bobby Bjurstrom, Dimka Mati Braswell, Kellie Bowman, Jadyn Burbano, Omowale B. Anthony, Loreal Chrisp-Seels, Joshua Mason, Aaron Eyekahn Anderson, Satchel Gonzales, Kip Terrington, Gabriel Rathweg and my sisters, Dawn and Lara
Big shout out to the LitRPG and GameLit crowds. Your support was EPIC!!! Ramon Mejia your reviews and interviews are an enlightening source of information. Charles Dean thanks for harshing my mellow and never mincing words about writing. Jeff Hays, thanks for reading my story on Soundbooth Theater Live. Big Dave “BWAHAHA” Willmarth thanks for being a voice of reason and keeping me sane when Bobby is around.
To anyone I forgot, I’m sorry. You can yell at me later and I’ll make it up to you somehow.
You all have my eternal gratitude for making my dreams come true, and I hope you receive 100 free stat points and find rare drops daily in return for your kindness,
Taj
*****
This book is considered to be LitRPG (Litererary Role Playing Game) a subdivision of GameLit (books involving games as a main focus i.e. Ready Player One). If you like this story, there are a ton of these books available. Resources can be found here: https://majestaweb.com/links There is also a list of resources and age appropriate books at the end of the story.
My plan is to take this book and donate as many copies as I can to programs that increase literacy and writing for the youth. If you would like to support me as I write, share, and if you would like to get early access to future chapters please follow me on my Patreon account. https://www.patreon.com/RuinsofMajesta
Follow me here on Facebook:
Author page
https://www.facebook.com/Ruins.of.Majesta/
Book Page
https://www.facebook.com/RoyalDeathClaws/
Guild Chat so you can meet other fans of this story.
https://www.facebook.com/groups/Majesta.Royal.Death.Claws.Guild/?fref=mentions
Day One
Pocolum Libum ex Machina
(The Cupcake from the Machine)
“Cupcakes are muffins that believed in miracles”
- Unknown
1.1 Hard Knocks
Mayah trudged forward, the press of bodies in the hallway stifled and irritated her. Her black combat boots clomped mutedly beneath the high school ruckus that formed between classes. As she strode ahead, guided to her next destination through the cattle chutes of lockers, she dodged a few elbows that threatened to add injury to the many insults of being eleven years old in high school.
God this sucks, is how she normally summed it up. As she dodged and clomped along, her thoughts roiled like the throng of giants moving her closer to her favorite class of the day.
Mayah deftly swung her face out of the way of a backpack that wanted to slap her as a “Becky” turned around without noticing her. At four-foot eight, being around masses of teenagers was fraught with its own physical perils. At the moment, the halls were brimming with those in the weird and tiring throes of puberty. Being a genius, eleven, and a senior in one of the most intellectually prestigious high schools in the area came with its own set of problems.
Today is Majesta, Mayah repeated under her breath. Like a mantra, it kept her calm and focused. Her thoughts buoyed as her panacea was administered and she forgave the “Becky,” but she did not forget.
Just g
otta get home, Majesta’s loaded and ready to go. Mayah wanted to flee from her normal school day. She muttered, “If it weren’t for the parentals, I’d run out of these doors even if it means missing Ms. Hobson’s class. So, I won’t, …And I really like my Advanced Engineering Design class.” Those words, she thought, soul atremble, Advanced, Engineering, Design… they sound so amazing together!
Even in a school for specials, Mayah stood out. At least that was her own opinion. She examined the glares that were always present when she walked through the halls. She used to read their lips and translate the slurs to her character, but she stopped when she realized it was just their own inferiority complexes.
As for Mayah’s complex, it was more along the lines of, I'm a freak with enough empathy to know why I don't fit in. God, this sucks.
Her father's expressive eyes peered through a younger version of her mother’s alluring face. On her mother, the look was supermodel gorgeous. On Mayah, it looked like a dour chipmunk. Mayah’s slightly hooded eyes darted tirelessly about, seeking clues to the world’s untold secrets.
The lockers corralled her into the flow of the “giant walking pheromone factories.” She was a Halfling, awash in a sea of pubescent humanity. Her arms, legs, and neck were slightly longer than proportionate. Making her feel “all gangly.” When the giants saw her—if they saw her, the teenagers gave her as comfortable a berth as possible. While her diminutive stature did not impress fear into anyone, her aura was another story.
A behemoth of a “Barry,” towering somewhere around six feet tall, almost ran her over. After dodging with a straight-arm against his lineman-sized midsection, she shot him a look that threatened to wither his soul. The “Barry” raised his hands in surrender and quickly walked off. She returned her attention to her obstacle course of a path.
“God, I can’t wait for this day to be over,” she muttered under her breath. She ran a hand over her hair, making sure her mohawk was still in place. The three, large cornrows hadn’t come undone, so she ran her fingers through the micro-braids that cascaded over her nape, finger combing them to lay over her left shoulder.
Why does being around teenagers have to suck? They always bring out the dark in me.
With that thought catching her attention, Mayah lifted her chin, striding purposefully down the hall. She had learned that walking as if you owned the place would make people move out of her way, most times.
"...Ooof!?!?" The world spun. She was propelled sideways and halted her strange trajectory by the means of an outstretched hand and now crushed knee on the floor.
"I’m sorry, I didn't see you there." A dark-skinned man leaned over her with a smile that hinted at something predatory. Mayah noted his closely cropped salt and pepper hair, a rumpled jacket, the kind with patches on the elbows, a checkered shirt, and blue tie. He looked like forty years of old scruffy fashion. She shunned the outstretched hand he offered.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
“Yeah... I'm okay,” Mayah said, rubbing her knee through her jeans. She examined the tear that was previously there to make sure it hadn’t ripped too much further. Her purple and black tights underneath were still intact as well. Then she begrudgingly accepted the offered hand. Stupid lumbering giant, she thought as she noticed the difference in their skin tones, hers almond against his mocha. It was just a shade darker than her father's.
"Sorry about that.” He tried to offer an innocent smile.
Total fail.
“What are you doing up here, young lady?” He pulled her up. She gave him a look and with a sniff, deciding she didn't like him. She straightened her black hooded aviator’s jacket and her faded, black t-shirt. She inspected the faded remnants of the rainbow U-N-I Kitty logo lettering.
“Aren't freshman classes on the first floor?" His creepy smile never left his face. Most people would assume he was happy and carefree, but she felt something amiss in it.
"I'm here because I'm late for class," Mayah replied sardonically, her manners forgotten. Picking up her long architect’s tube that had fallen from her shoulder she said, "Scuse me."
She made a wide circle around the man, afraid to turn her back on him even though the hall still contained students shuffling into classrooms. She broke into a jogging pace while dodging giants to put some distance between their meeting and his creepy smile.
Total stranger danger, she shivered. She continued down the hallway and around the corner. She wasn’t running from him as much as running towards her drafting class. She clucked her tongue at herself as she knew she was going to be tardy. Stupid human swarm. Always making me late for my favorite class? And a special thanks to you, Mr. Creepy Crash Creepersteen.
She finally made it to the door of the classroom and looked around. Ms. Hobson, the teacher, wasn't there. At least no tardy demerits, today… She got to her desk and unrolled her senior project for review. She disliked having to carry the tube with the blueprints. She wished she could afford the newer, foldable blue screens. They could carry an almost limitless number of plans and sync to your MemCrystal for all of your files. It would've allowed her the freedom of folding it into a notebook-sized ledger, along with the ability of being able to physically draw on the page while storing all renditions of the work. As it was, she finished struggling with the corner clips to hold the papers and looked up. Where is Ms. Hobson?
The man from her unbalancing act entered the room, leading with his lupine smile. His voice rang out, "Good afternoon, class,"
Mayah raised her eyebrow. This is not Ms. Hobson, my favorite of all teachers.
"My name is Mr. Weathering. I'll be teaching your class to the end of the year. Unfortunately, or fortunately in her case, Ms. Hobson has been selected by the federal government to head a project in Washington D.C.”
What teacher gets picked to run government projects? Something doesn’t smell right here.
The class mumbled at this change in their routine. It was hard enough to remain in the most prestigious school in the Philadelphia area, what with keeping your grades on par. Now they were switching up teachers mid-year? This could be disastrous. A "C" grade could get someone remedial detentions to determine whether or not the student was fit to stay in the Academy. Most families could afford the credits for the extra classes, but she was not one of those families.
Thankfully, she had earned a scholarship placement in a city-wide science fair. It wasn’t hard to keep her grades from ever slipping into the "B" range. She could've been valedictorian in a few months if she hadn't purposely sabotaged herself with a few late assignments. She hated the attention it would have garnered her. As a matter of fact, she could have been In college already. MIT offered her a full scholarship two years ago.
Her mother just said, “We want you to grow on a more natural social development curve, cupcake.”
Good thinking mom, I'm sure your little cupcake will totally adjust to being a loner in high school just… fine...
Now, she wondered how her final project was going to stack up to her new teacher's criticism. She had worked on this since September when the assignments were given out, tailoring it to fit Ms. Hobson's expectations for a good grade. Making her project full of details that would engross the woman for hours. She was a wonderful mentor.
Mayah was pulled out of her split-second, nostalgic reverie by Mr. weathering's authoritative voice. "Your assignments for your final projects will not change."
Well, at least there was that.
"We will meet one by one starting tomorrow to discuss any alterations that may be needed to print your CadMod designs. As we don't have much to talk about today, you are all to report to the library and get your presentations for tomorrow together." Shushing the groans from the students, he continued. "I expect good things from you. And for those of you hoping to skip out, don't. I have informed the librarian of your coming and it’s waiting with the scanner. You are dismissed."
Students grumbled their dissent. Everyone gathered their things and made
to leave the room. Mayah studied her new teacher while she rolled up her blueprints, trying not to pass judgment on his shabby appearance. There was already enough about the man she didn't like. Seeing how she had to pass this teacher’s muster she wondered, what kind of teacher is he? He looked in her direction, seeing the class was already mostly empty, "You must be Ms. Butler?"
She felt a twitch in her cheek.
Time to go.
"Sorry about the collision earlier.”
There's that smile again. Some instinct was tickling her reptile brain, warning her of danger.
“Ms. Hobson mentioned you and it slipped my mind until I saw you walk into the class."
There’s the reason I don't like him. It was his focus; he was paying her too much attention. Time to leave, she thought. She grabbed her blueprints, putting them in her tube as she walked.
"...S'okay,” she mumbled over her shoulder, making for the door.
"Ms. Butler, I hope to see good things from you. Maybe you can teach this old engineer a few tricks." He smiled somewhat amiably. She didn't believe it for a second.
She nodded while hastening her steps out of the door as quickly as she could while not breaking into a full run. "The nerve of some people," she muttered. "Me teach him??? That's ironic coming from a teacher creeper."
The hallways seemed a bit eerie without the usual press of teenage bodies. It was too quiet for her liking. Echoes of her footsteps bounced oddly around the empty space. Slightly agoraphobic, the openness pressed on her. It pushed on her desire to be done in these halls, the desire to do anything else. It was like swimming in waters infested with sharks during mating season. Usually you could see them because there were so many, but if they all disappeared at once it would for sure freak you out. It made her anxious enough to look over her shoulder. She spied Mr. Weathering standing off to the side of the intersection where her class had been. Hands In his jacket pockets, light streaming in from the windows behind him. The glare off of the walls and polished floor obscured his face except for his creepy smile.
