Summer Camp Pledge
The scribe sat within the confines of his library. He was surrounded by books, pages upon pages of story and history, yet he ignored them all. Before him sat blank page and pen, everything he needed to add to the vast collection, yet he ignored them too. His mind and eyes alike focused on the window, the clear blue sky with its golden yellow orb rising high above the earth. A warm breeze blew into his library. He felt it on his skin and knew then that the one he had awaited and dreaded equally was finally here. "Summer has come." The Voice was powerful but held no malice. Nor did the Scribe sense any danger from it. "Indeed it has", the Scribe replied. "And I do not know if I am ready for it yet.", he added after a moment of contemplation. "Summer has come.", the Voice repeated. "It does not care wherever you feel ready, Builder of Worlds.", it added. The Scribe let out a long sigh at the utterance. "A Builder of Worlds I am. That much is true.", he spoke. "But one with so little time. And Summer can be quite the harsh master.", the Scribe spoke into the room. "Time is only an issue if you make it one.", the Voice said. "It matters not if it is a month, a week, a day, an hour, a minute or only a few seconds. They may differ in length, but each allows for a world to emerge or grow. Even if it is just by a single word." The Voice held no emotion. No encouragement or passion, yet the Scribe felt invigorated by it. "Tis true that even a single moment holds possibility.", the Scribe conceded. "And even if I may finish only a single text, if I fall so utterly behind the ranks of finest metal and gems, it would be worth a hundred times more than had I done nothing at all." Confidence filled his utterance, and the Scribe imaged for a second that the Voice had nodded along. But as quickly as it had appeared, the notion was gone. "Is there a world for you to grow? Or an idea to nurture?" The Voice filled the room once again. "There is a world, many in fact.", the Scribe replied, his eyes wandering along the many shelves of the library. His mind seemed to drift. "A Shattered Empire - Vardania. Where ancient hatred grows amongst the ruins of a bygone age." "Aeteria - The Shattered World. The lands high up in the sky, where man sails on seas made of clouds." "Hyperdrive. A world of magical technology that can even best light." "The Great Library. The land of stone and iron and magic and song. "Paradigm. Land of mages and monsters and mysteries." "Each a world in need of attention.", the Voice boomed. "And attention each shall receive.", the Scribe replied. He was confident now in both posture and voice. "Be it a word, a phrase, a sentence or even a page, each shall get its due this summer.", he added. "Their people, histories, cultures, tools, lands and animals, I will try my best to make them real." "And if you fail?", the Voice asked, its tone turning cold and harsh. The Scribe turned towards it, eyes set and confident. "As long as I write anything there is no failure. One way or another, I will try.", he said. The Voice paused for a moment as if to take the Scribe's words in. "Very well. Do you swear so upon the name of Summer?", it asked. Without waiting for an answer, the Voice turned and left, a warm breeze announcing its movement once again. There was no need for any further talk. It had seen the answer in the Scribe's eyes and mind. It had been without any fear or doubt.