The flames that poured out of the hands of the adventurer served as part of the reason his opponents were weary. He had an ominous looking sheathe on his hip, one carrying the telltale symbol of the chief of the Pemon people. The symbol was so well-known and so easy to spot that it made even monsters take steps back and behave more cautiously. As evidenced by the fact that his opponents, “humans” created by Tuenkaron, the woman in the river, didn’t want to approach him. He raised his hands, and aimed them at the two “humans” who stood closest to where he was. “Back off impostors.” Said the warrior, unafraid and waiting to test out his abilities. But that made the “humans” angry. “Impostors” was considered derogatory slang by the “children” of Tuenkaron, who the woman in the river created using mud, and occasionally using wax. Only her most favored children were crafted from sandstone, the material that had once been used to craft Aromadapuen. When the women lunged, enraged by the lack of sensitivity shown by the young man, they were instantly defeated. The merciless warrior set forth a wave of flame from his palms which incinerated his opponents. “Weakling.” Said the young man, annoyed. And after stopping for a second and ensuring that his opponents were truly reduced to hollow piles of wax, and mud, he continued. Like the deity he believed to be his ancient ancestor, he’d approach Tuenkaron for a bride.

Another example might be the following:

As far as the eye could see stood battle-tested warriors. Some of them weren’t human, and were demons, minor deities, ancient monsters, and in some cases beings that looked like nightmarish fusions of cave-paintings and terrible animals. These were warriors and gods, monsters and demons, who had banded together to prevent a once minor deity from taking over the world. And together this army led by a human, had pushed back the end of the world by defeating human after human, and dominated deity after dominated deity. That human was accompanied by a small band of deities. Currently he sat atop a horse as he faced the final foe: the nameless deity who had attempted to take over the world. This deity, who looked like an unassuming and fairly harmless human but floated in the air, silently watched the mismatched army that stood before him. And then he began to laugh. The laugh could be heard by everyone who was participating or who would have participated, had they survived. And for many it’d be the last sound they ever heard. Because at that moment, the nameless god who was once posed to conquer the world decided to destroy it. Once he finished laughing, the sound empty and cruel, he clapped. The clap was but a fraction of his power, and the shock-wave it caused killed over 80% of the army that the human champion had gathered. Man, myth, and legend, none were sparred but the very strongest. “Do you want to continue?” The nameless one asked, his voice beautiful but filled with cruelty, similar to the sensation of touching a rose and suddenly feeling the tip of a thorn. Elal stepped forward, bow in hand and arrow aimed at the deity. “You don’t get to destroy everything just because people refuse to serve you.” He said, his voice powerful and restorative to those who survived the first strike of the nameless one. The survivors began to truly recover from the strike upon hearing Elal’s statement. “I suppose given that I could erase you from existence at anytime… I’ll humor your desire to fight to the death.” Said the nameless god, with that same beautiful yet cruel voice. “Till the world ends.” Said the human champion, amused yet tense. And with that he gathered ice in his hands, before hurling it at the nameless god, who responded by grabbing the ice, which had transformed midair into a harsh looking spear. “Pathetic.” He said, but despite that the god without a name couldn’t help but smile. And thus the fight to end the world or to save it began. 

If fantasy looked more diverse, there’d be more stories. Stories wherein a certain nameless deity is treated as the antagonist of life in general. Where the lords of ancient South America and Central America are known by name. And where heroes of Native America are treated with respect. It’d be cool to see stories in fantasy where good and evil are reversed. Or where characters from global mythology are incorporated (like Michael Scott’s The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel). What do you think?

This could also be known as: THA wanted an excuse to write some short sentences and call it a “story”. But I’d love to hear what sort of diverse fantasy you’d like to see!