Years ago, I wrote the following dreck: "Encrusted beneath the embittered reality of a world with no creative spirit is a barely divisible zygote of free thinking, maybe even intellect. Welcome to Lagedorre," reads the sign in front of an imposing building constructed of pig iron, glass, and stone. Chiselled carefully into the granite façade of the structure is the title, "Lagedorre, Ltd.," but this does not seem to be any ordinary conglomerate. In fact, one may ascertain the feeling that the mission statement is more of a warning than empty words. The atmosphere seems charged with anticipatory energy, portending a trek that will draw one away ... away from the stereotypical, the comfortable, and the pallid understanding of the universe once lifted tremulously into the light of wan-perfection. Awaiting any daring paces into the unknown is a realm of vibrant colors delicately accented with the quill of luminosity, as well as the danger that accompanies any thought striving to be and remain free. Such things make life worth living, and such mysteries are the call within Mankind, urging themselves to be solved. Within, the building is unabashedly tranquil. Utterly silent. The burnished walls coruscate beneath the radiance of an undisclosed light source; the air is crisp and revitalizing. Absent from this chamber are the physical manifestations of those pesky, nuance-driven creatures, obsessed with what they lack and unsatisfied with what they possess; you know who they are and what they stand for. Such simplicity, leaving one alone with thoughts, and unaided in the decisions waiting to be made. Anxiously, the vital first step is taken. Revealed is an archive, rife with documentation -- be it written, illustrated, or gushed forth without any decipherable form. It isn't the sundry nature of the hall's annals that is so imposing, but the dauntless and unashamed presentation here given. Then comes the crushing realization of what the world is; not a location reached after traversing the finite reaches of space, but a kingdom blossoming within the quietude of one's soul. Those foreboding choices had nothing to do with where to start or go, but what one does with what is already found. Perhaps dismissing the prose above as rubbish is cynical and heavy-handed. What is it those overtly saccharine words attempted to convey? The gist is that Lagedorre was intended to be a place that fostered imagination without bureaucracy: to dredge immersive worlds from the madness of minds and establish within them relatable characters. To tell stories in, primarily, a collaborative fashion. At the present, I have no desire for collaboration; moreover, I feel past attempts at such only served to pollute my creative well. I choose now to dream in solitude. That said, I do wish to clean up some old stories and publish new ones. Existing in the "Lagedorre" story universe, these will orient around three star systems with habitable worlds, namely, Sol, with all the homespun familiarity of Earth, Venus, and Mars; Gnaritas, science fiction-focused and domiciled within Verismilitude, Veritas, and Fides; and Lett, star of the fantasy-themed planets Ahridihm and Kah'myros.