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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in
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| Wednesday, November 18th, 2009 | | 11:01 pm |
OOC: Next Novel (with poll)
So, I'm poking at the next novel. Some particular goals:
- A small story: about a manageable number of characters, keeping the
world-shattering events down to a modest number. (Marriage of
Insects and Sythyry's Vacation are small stories.)
- Something that has some chance of being saleable. Specific
desiderata:
- Recognizably fantasy instead of the fantasy/sf blend I seem to
indulge in usually. At least, as much fantasy as World Tree is.
- Not so much emphasis on potentially-disturbing stuff.
- Minimal sex. (Yeah, I know that sex sells, but not the way I
write it)
- Minimal war. (Yeah, I know that war sells too, but war isn't a small story.)
-
Totally in my style, and playing to my strengths.
-
Specific influences currently in mind: Cordwainer Smith's Instrumentality
of Man; Roger Zelazny's Amber (first series); Alan Dean
Foster's The Tar-Aiym Krang. The first two are among my
favorites. Krang is not; I read it once in the mid-70's, and found it
adequate.
The backstory of the setting concerns two species from different worlds. The
first is the couatl, winged feathered serpents, who learned how to slither
delicately between worlds (which few species can do). They were clever and
friendly and gentle, and were explorers and traders, and learned much in their
travels and became very civilized. In time they came to the world of the
lammasu, mighty winged lions. The lammasu were not gentle. They
learned the power of throwing open the gates between worlds, and they went
forth and conquered a thousand worlds. Including the coatls, of course.
I'm kind of thinking of the coatls as very loosely like classical Greece, and
the lammasu as very loosely like classical Rome at its peak -- and like the
Instrumentality of Man from Cordwainer Smith. The domain of the
lammasu is run with ruthless benevolence. The lammasu try to make it a decent
place to live, for nearly everyone. This is a strategic point: it cuts way
down on rebellions and other troubles. And the lammasu intend their empire to
last forever. (As of the start of the story, it has been around for centuries
and is quite robust.)
So here's the fussing of the day: vocabulary.
I am thinking that the vocabulary of inter-world travel will come from the
coatls, since they did it first, and the vocabulary of empire will come from
the lammasu. I have a modest number of technical terms in mind. I could
just use "gate" or "portal" as the way you leave one world and come to the
next, but that's so overworked I dunno. Anyways, I am considering
trying to abuse the Nahuatl language for couatl words and the Sumerian
language for lammasu ones.
I'm making some attempt to pay attention to actual Nahuatl and Sumerian. I'm
ultimately more concerned with literary use than linguistic purity.
"š" is pronounced "sh". There are a few other odd letters that scholars use
for Sumerian (ģ for an ng sound); I might use some of them too.
So here's my core vocabulary.
| Word |
Language |
Short |
Definition |
| calac |
couatl |
gate |
Portal between tlalli. A calac leads from one tlalli to the next. |
| coatl |
coatl |
winged serpent |
One of the older, more powerful, and more civilized species |
| Ensi |
lammasu |
governor |
Nešgeš-appointed governor of a tlalli |
| gi-nun |
lammasu |
slave |
Subject of Nešgeš, but without the priveleges of a mašda. (About 5%) |
| lugal |
lammasu |
lord |
One of the most important people of the Nešgeš. (80% of lugals are lammasu) |
| mašda |
lammasu |
commoner |
Citizen of the Nešgeš. (About 95% of the subjects of the Nešgeš are mašda) |
| Nešgeš |
lammasu |
empire; instrumentality |
The empire of the lammasu, controlling dozens of ohtli and thousands of tlalli |
| ohtli |
couatl |
road |
A string of tlalli connected by calacs |
| tlalli |
couatl |
land; worldlet |
The region readily reachable by a calac.
Usually a populated country some 50-100
miles in diameter. Generally much smaller than a whole world. |
And here're some specific questions. I'm doing this as a LJ-quiz because it's
all scales.
Poll #1487398
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 27 What do you think of the vocabulary? (1 = hate; 10 = like) What do you think of the assertion
"Familiar standard terms ("gate", "realm") are better than flavorful esoteric
ones ("calac", "tlalli")."
(1 = disagree = go for the flavorful ones
;
10 = agree = use standard ones.
) What do you think of the assertion
""coatl" and "lammasu" sound like D+D monsters. Don't use those words."
(1 = disagree = the words are fine
;
10 = agree = the words are too gamey
) What do you think of the assertion
""
(1 = disagree =
;
10 = agree =
) What do you think of the assertion
"Trying to keep linguistically honest with respect to a dead language
and a fairly obscure one is silly, and of no value to the reader."
(1 = disagree = Sumerian and Nahuatl are cool and flavorful
;
10 = agree = There's no point to using Sumerian and Nahuatl
) What do you think of the assertion
"Accent marks should be avoided at all cost! Write 'sh' instead of 'š'!"
(1 = disagree = 'š' makes it look all foreign and exotic!
;
10 = agree = Don't make it randomly harder on the reader!
) What do you think of the assertion
"Having the history echoed in the vocabulary is kind of cool"
(1 = disagree = Do you really expect readers to care about that sort of detail?
;
10 = agree = The more intellectual consistency, the better!
) | | Tuesday, November 17th, 2009 | | 11:33 am |
| | Monday, November 16th, 2009 | | 11:50 am |
Picnic Boat [17 Thory 4385; Eigrach, Srineia]
Originally published at Sythyry. Please leave any comments there. Two hours before noon, several wrongfolk were prepared for a picnic by the Zonsmi Oak. These preparations included:
- A bottle of Sgwarnog o Fryn 4308. Not the best brandy that we brought from home, but not the worst, either. Eigrach was barely civilized eighty years ago. They produce some decent brandies now, but nothing particularly well-aged, which this has been. So this should be a treat for our foreign, which is to say native, guests.
- A jar of very strong healing salve. Not quite from 4308, but from some time ago … 4380? 4379? I’m not sure. Adventuring-grade stuff, certainly. Not well-aged, but vintage eyebright is not so valuable as vintage brandy. Not to suggest that I’m terribly worried that Rehit will stab me through the heart again.
- Mr. Snootloose (Quendry’s rag doll). This was a compromise arranged in the kitchen. Somewhat thus: thus:
Quendry:“I want to go on the picnic!”
Arfaen:“Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous. “
Quendry:“Mr. Snootloose wants to go on the picnic!”
Arfaen:“It’s still too dangerous.”
Quendry:“Mr. Snootloose can go without me!”
Arfaen:“… I suppose he can. If he’s very very good.”
Mr. Snootloose has been instructed to remain strictly inside a picnic basket, and, like the rest of us, has been protected by the precautions taken by a wizard and a nendrai who are being determinedly cautious and a little bit worried.
- Sandwiches, pickles, grain balls stuffed with things (or perhaps with other things, they weren’t marked), sauces, small composed salads in packages woven from big edible leaves, and other food items, prepared by Arfaen.
- Swords, shields, armor, and bows for those who like such things.
Me:“They aren’t really all that useful here.”
Yerenthax:“Yet, if other beasts come, shall we be defenseless?”
Me:“We’ll still have the nendrai.”
Yerenthax:“Bah! Vae is dangerous enough, but she lacks the hero’s spirit!”
Fair enough, I suppose. I don’t really know. I too lack the hero’s spirit. Unless a bottle of Sgwarnog o Fryn 4308 counts.
- A jar of our very best burn ointment. No particular stories here.
The wrongfolk who finally decided to go were: me, Vae, Grinwipey, Windigar, Phaniet (who worked quite hard persuading Kantele that she could single-handedly keep the doom away from me), Este (to rescue Phaniet), Jyondre, and Yerenthax.
At the appointed hour, Thenel, Rehit, and their Herethroy colleague Sabatario flew up to Strayway in a specially-designed air-pinnace. The boat was a heavy wooden barrel some five yards long and three high. Quite heavy: the wood was a good fifteen inches thick. Everyone else found it cramped when we got into it, and I would have too if I had been biped-sized.
The hull of the pinnace was utterly invisible. It is a wonderfully viewsome sort of pinnace.
The Eigrachters opened an invisible hatch and hopped out, and we greeted at each other politely for a while. The only notable exchange, which I hope to Hren Tzen that Rehit did not notice, was this:
Thenel:“Phaniet, I believe you have an Orren shipmate named Bluelark. I do not see her here. She will not be attending, I believe?”
Phaniet:“She has pressing other engagements, and errands that must be performed. If I see so much as the tip of her tail, or the echo of her favorite spell, I shall give her such a scolding as will remove all the fur from her body.”
(Which is true: if I got caught as Bluelark on this event, and Phaniet scolded me thusly, I would surely turn back to Zi Ri and stay that way for quite a long time.)
Thenel:“I see. Very well, it is no great concern; I simply wished to know if I might see her again today.”
Phaniet:“You might, but I rather hope not. She is not the sort of person one would wish to bring along on a sightseeing tour such as this. She causes excitement, you know, and we will have plenty of that without her.”
Thenel:“I believe I understand.”
| | Wednesday, November 11th, 2009 | | 1:06 pm |
The Subsidiary Conversations [16 Thory 4385; Eigrach, Srineia]
Originally published at Sythyry. Please leave any comments there. My friends and associates were not particularly helpful afterwards. Which I should have expected, since they were not particularly helpful beforwards either.
Phaniet
Phaniet:“How did the breakup go?”
Me:“Were you expecting a breakup?”
Phaniet:“After hearing you talk about who it is moral and who it is not moral for you to sleep with for decades, yes. After hearing the stories about your first boyfriend, who refused to actually admit that he was traff, and how much you hated that, yes. After discovering that your playmate was engaged, and to a gentleman who has already stuck a sword all the way through you, yes.”
Me:“You do have a peculiar view of reality, don’t you? Anyhow, the breakup went about as badly as possible, if one were expecting a breakup. “
Phaniet:“I’m sorry to hear that it went badly. What happened?”
Me:“After I told him I was breaking up with him, we spent the next two and a half hours enjoying each others’ bodies.”
Phaniet:“Oh, Sythyry!”
Me:“It’s OK. I found a way to make it fit inside the rules of his engagement.”
Phaniet:“Do tell.”
Me:“Well, he likes something specific that Rehit refuses to do, so he’s allowed to hire professionals to provide services not available at home.”
Phaniet: [tugging her ears] “So … Sythyry? Are you seriously telling me that you’re demanding that he pay you?”
Me:“… yes …”
Phaniet:“Well, may I tell you why that’s a bad idea because, if people hear about it, you’re not going to live it down for a thousand years?”
Me:“No.”
Phaniet:“May I tell you why that’s a bad idea because Rehit won’t believe it for a moment?”
Me:“No.”
Phaniet:“May I tell you why that’s a bad idea because you don’t believe it, either?”
Me:“No.”
Phaniet:“May I tell you why that’s a bad idea because you’re surely violating Eigrach guild law?”
Me:“… I … hadn’t thought of that one.”
Phaniet:“If you seriously want to take a new profession, even as a sort of part-time thing, you’d better join the relevant guild. I’m pretty sure there is a prostitute’s guild. How are you going to manage that?”
Me:“I am going to ask my assistant to investigate the relevant laws and customs. After we’re done here, you will go find out.”
Phaniet:“Nope. I am your wizard’s assistant. You need to ask your prostitute’s assistant about that.”
She had a bit of a point. Actually she had lots of points.
Me:“Back to work, wizard’s assistant.”
Grinwipey
So, later on, I asked my couturier’s assistant. Which is pretty close to a whore’s assistant, wouldn’t you say?
Me:“Grinwipey, next time you go into Eigrach, could you find out for me what the prostitutes’ guild is like? Rates, admission policies, and such?”
Grinwipey:“They don’t do drammos like you, boss. Strictly same-species, at the houses at least.”
Me:“I’m not trying to hire one. I’m just picking up another career. Quietly. I don’t want people to hear about this one.”
Grinwipey:“You’ve got menkers in your head, boss.”
Me:“It’s part of a plot.”
Grinwipey:“What kind of a gribbulating plot needs for you to be a ceiling? Are you simply planning to join the guild, or are you gonna spend your nights in some rukky spatch-shack dancing with anyone who stops by with a terch and a third?” (I guess: “ceiling and floor” = “whore”.)
Me:“High-priced call girl with exclusive clientele.”
Grinwipey:“You’ve got menkers in your head, boss. Big blue-green menkers with flappy, flappy wingies.”
Me:“… never mind. Don’t ask.”
Grinwipey:“Boss, you should be the one renting those high-priced call girls. You’ve got the the hexagons for it. Maybe I can track one down who rousts the bean of another species.”
Me:“Fair enough. See what you can do.”
Grinwipey:“Easier up in Vheshrame, y’know, boss. Back home there’s lurvles what works for the aristocrats and does whatever squee’s their breeze. Down here the prostitutes got their honor, they do, and they don’t moffer the breakfast even if it’s lunchtime. Can’t you keep it tucked under for another year or two, since you’ve waited so long anyhow?”
Me:“Just finish the embroidery, Grinwipey.”
After such resounding successes, I was not about to discuss the matter any further with anyone but (perhaps) Kantele. I bravely put off that conversation for a few more days.
Vae
After dinner, Vae flew up to me in the form of a winged basket with huge goggle eyes.
Vae:“The we are going to the Zonsmi Oak! And are you coming with us?”
Me:“That’s the tree whose wandering caused the latest round of diplomatic unpleasantness between Eigrach and Heleshario, right? And lead to my best offer of employment in several weeks … or maybe second-best, I’m not quite sure.”
Vae:“The oak tree is that one! Not quite an oak tree is it, but a good tourist place. Come with us! The thing that should be seen with your own eyes it is!”
Me:“I haven’t seen it with anyone else’s eyes, even. I will come … when are you going?”
Vae:“The Rehit and Thenel are coming here two hours before noon tomorrow, and then from here we depart to the Zonsmi Oak. The noontime eruptions are the spectacular eruptions!”
Me:“Wait, Rehit and Thenel are coming?” (The ensuing eruptions might not come from the oak.)
Vae:“The they are. The Jyondre and Yerenthax invited them first, at the celebration the other day.”
Me:“… oh, my …”
Vae:“Not so likely is Rehit to stab you again! More likely he will stab me first. I will be sure not to hurt him very badly.”
Me:“Who’s coming, all in all?”
Vae:“Not sure am I. The inviting-you is what Jyondre asked of me, and Phaniet too. The invitation from Yerenthax is going to Windigar and to Grinwipey. And will anyone else from Eigrach come? And will anyone else from Strayway get their inviting? Not so well do I know these things!”
Me:“This is a very strange ship, if the passengers are asking the nendrai to carry messages for them.”
Phaniet:“Almost as strange as if the wizard were charging two lozens a toss in a back alley.”
Vae:“And what?”
Me:“Never mind. I’ll come on the picnic.”
Vae’s lid popped open, and miniature blue and green fireworks spouted forth enthusiastically. Today I think she’s the sane and sensible one, though.
| | Friday, November 6th, 2009 | | 7:16 am |
The Conversation [16 Thory 4385; Eigrach, Srineia]
Originally published at Sythyry. Please leave any comments there. “I’m sorry, Songuth, but this is a matter of some delicacy and I will need to speak with Magister oa Iretario in private,” I said.
“La, those wizards can get righty pissy, can’t they?” she said, and clopped off.
“I’m very sorry, miss…”, began Thenel.
“I think we could do well to be a bit quieter about this. Perhaps in a time bubble?” I asked.
Thenel nodded, and said, “I would be much happer of that. I didn’t want to ask for it, you know.” The familiar ripples of a bit too much Tempador magic filled the room, and any Songuth eavesdropping on us would hear only incomprehensible chirping. “Thank you, Bluelark. I treasure your discretion.”
I put my hands on my hips, because bipeds usually do that when they’re scolding me and I was trying to look all scoldy. “I am afraid I do not fully reciprocate. Indeed, you were discreet about your own engagement to Rehit: too discreet by half.”
His ears and tail drooped. “We’ve been engaged for years and years; we’ve been living together for nearly that long. If I thought about it, it’s obvious that you wouldn’t have heard about it up in Ketheria. But everybody I know here knows all about it, everybody. So I didn’t think to tell you — I haven’t needed to tell anybody in so long. I’m quite sorry.”
I thought about that for nine seconds. “In that light, it does seem a natural mistake. I quite accept your apology.” (Naturally he can’t be attracted to both his own species and other ones, so, well, no wonder the engagement was so long and nonmarital. Poor Rehit. But that is a matter for later.)
So he ruined it by saying, “And of course whatever we were doing has to be secret from Rehit and everyone else. It’s not a real love affair.”
I snapped, “I will accept the secrecy, but I’ve got a quite real infatuation running all the way from my crotch to my crest … when I have a crest … and it’s all your fault.”
He chewed his tailtip a bit before he managed to say, “I will admit to feeling something of the same sort of … feeling … thing … at the moment” Which is quite an admission from a guarded-tongued Eigrachter.
“Well, can we continue on with our … I don’t know what to call it?” I asked, quite eagerly. Downright wagging my tail like a Cani, if you must know. I am so useless at irritated vengance wizard.
“I am still engaged,” he noted.
I didn’t quite start crying, but I rather whined a bit.
Thenel stomped his foot. “I am not cheating on my fiancé. What do you take me for?”
“You have the high honor of being both the most appealing and the most perplexing person I have welcomed into my …” (How did I want to complete that? heart? vulva? imagination?) “… home.” (Not quite honest — I have had some astoundingly perplexing guests — but close enough.)
He bowed a bit. “You are too kind, madam.”
“Could you explain to me just how it is that you are not cheating on your fiancé?” I had to ask. (This sort of thing matters to me. If I wanted a morally-questionable affair, I’d call Inconnu to my bed. He’s not only amazingly cute and amazingly traff, he’s trying to collect all seven other species.)
Thenel looked miserable. Since I am a terrible agent of interrogation, I nuzzled his cheek and curled my tail around his waist, and eventually coaxed him to talk.
“I have certain … if I may be so bold … certain amatory tastes that do not meet with general approval,” he said.
“I believe I know to what you are referring. For that matter, I believe that yon couch still bears the marks of my buttocks from such amatory tastes,” I said.
“Actually, no, you don’t. I refer to … certain activities … which we did not do. I would never request them of you. It is not dignified or polite, even to the very limited extent that a cross-species entanglement is dignified or polite,” he said, looking hideously embarrassed.
“My dear Thenel, I have been a patron of wrongfolk for well over a century, in a rather libertinous city. If there is any sort of body-play that primes engage in, I have heard of it; I have seen it; I have done it.”
He told me what it was. I had heard of it. I had not seen it, and I had most certainly never done it. I tried not to look surprised and disgusted, but I don’t think I succeeded very well.
Thenel saw my expression. “Rehit tried it once … I shouldn’t say that … but … he doesn’t much like it. Can’t say as I blame him. I wish I didn’t want it, but sometimes I need it. So he agreed that I could, well, hire professionals to provide certain services which he is unwilling or unable to provide himself. Once in a while.”
“I suppose that’s reasonable,” I said. I didn’t really mean to, and didn’t really realize it until afterwards, but I uncoiled my tail from his waist. “And that Orren woman who blackmails you?”
“Well, she’s blackmailing me. I don’t really have that much choice in the matter,” said Thenel.
“So, you’re (1) engaged to another Rassimel; (2) cheating on your fiancé and justifying it to yourself on the grounds of being blackmailed; (3) like that enough to regularly hire prostitutes to do it.”
“That’s … basically true,” he had to admit. His ears were miserably flat.
“And you really can’t have any sort of honest relationship with me. Unless I blackmail you and you want to pretend that that’s honest.”
“That’s the sum of it,” he said.
“I’m not going to blackmail you, and I’m not going to cheat with you, and I’m not sure you’re really even traff,” I said.
“So you’re breaking up with me?” he asked.
“I suppose I am,” I said. “If one can break up with someone with whom one has had two sexual encounters, leavened by only the smallest and most marginal of social and friendly chatter before and after.” Which was harsher than it needed to be, but breaking up is best done cruelly.
“I deserve nothing better,” he said. “Indeed, I deserve nothing at all … but … may I have one more kiss?”
“You most certainly may,” I said.
…
Nine minutes later, I had rather lost count of that one more kiss, and I was helping Thenel undo one of the knottier knots on my belt.
…
Nine minutes later, I was on my back, trying to tug his cloak out from under my rump when he wasn’t pinning me to it. We were giggling like a pair of mad things. The “one more kiss” had gotten quite out of hand.
…
Nine minutes later, I grabbed him by a convenient handle to stop him. “We can do more, but enough with the freebies. I’m gonna have to charge.”
“… charge? …”
“Ten lozens, or my pants go right back on ‘n I walk out the door,” I said. He sort of stared. I laughed. “What? You get a rent-a-girl, you better pay the rent!”
He stared at me, then laughed. “I knew that you were a nendrai-wrangler, a wizard, and an enchanter. I did not know you were also a courtesan!”
“I have many skills!” I said. “But honestly there’s not much difference between nendrai-wrangler and hooker, if you must know. Hey! You’re not going in there ’til you pay up!”
He got up and hunted around in his scattered clothes, and handed me a ten-lozen coin. “There you are.”
I grinned as lasciviously as any Orren can, which is a lot. “OK, I’m rented for as long as you want ’til the time bubble is over. But not for anything. Don’t expect any joy from my hands or mouth. You’ve got a fiancé for that kind of thing.”
“Ah, you’ll only do things which he is unwilling or unable to provide. Thereby satisfying the letter of Rehit’s permission, and not all that far off the spirit, I guess,” said Thenel. “So we’re not breaking up after all?”
“Not ’til your bank account is empty!” I said. I am a practical sort of whore.
With a practical sort of ethics, now and then.
| | Thursday, November 5th, 2009 | | 12:24 pm |
Road to a Conversation [16 Thory 4385; Eigrach, Srineia]
Originally published at Sythyry. Please leave any comments there. I — by which I mean Bluelark, not Sythyry — knocked rather fearfully on the door of the Tree-Shaping of Thenel oa Iretario. A tall and very rose-colored Herethroy woman wearing a pale green leafy suit answered it. “Oh, good morning. Are you from the Ketherian skyboat?”
“I am, indeed. Is the tree-mage Thenel around and free, for me to talk with him?”, I said, in slightly awkward Srineian.
“La, you speak our language like a preffly!” she exclaimed delightedly. I obviously don’t, in some part because I have no idea what a preffly is. “I’m afraid he’s stepped out for kathia. He should be back within a third or two-thirds of an hour. Would you like to come in and have a seat in the parlor? Or shall I simply leave him a message if you wish to come back later.”
“I’ll wait, think you very much,” I said. She giggled just a bit. “Oh, I mean ‘thank’, don’t I?”
Waiting was a bit harder than usual. Ordinarily Zi Ri wait with elegance and grace: after all, in theory, we can outwait you for almost any value of you. But this was the parlor with the heavy drapes and tapestries, the parlor with the substantial and lockable door. The parlor where I had, a week and a half ago, quite happily given over a half-century’s chastity to the gentleRassy I was here to interrogate, or whatever I was here doing.
I waited seven weeks — or perhaps a third of an hour, though I certainly wasn’t fiddling with the flow of time. (Oh, and why did I not fiddle with the flow of time? Because I do not have a device to make time pass more quickly. I have spells for it of course. But I am very busy with enchanting, sometimes in sneaky ways, and I have actually been running short of cley and needing to scramble to get extra, which is troublesome for Phaniet and/or me. So I have been trying to avoid using spells.)
The Herethroy woman came back in. “I’m sorry, but Thenel isn’t back yet. Could I bring you a refreshment, a local cider or dried eel perhaps? Or maybe a selection of periodicals on technical topics, imported at a delay of only three or four months from countries which you probably visit regularly?”
“I should be grateful with some cider,” I said.
“Certainly! It is made from local apples and cherries,” she said, and filled two arkenwood chalices with cider from a two-gallon cask in the cupboard. One was for me. “I-low am Songuth, Thenel’s butler and general assistant.”
“I-low am Bluelark … I perform a variety of undefinable and generally unglamorous services for Sythyry. I tie ribbons around zir tail at need, and brush and tint zir feathers, and fetch books off of high shelves for zir, and am generally the one to run about when zie’s forgotten something.” (This is all true, incidentally. I also brush zir teeth, chew zir food, and take zir naps, but that would be too confusing to mention.)
“La, isn’t it true all up and down the tree, how lazy the masters are when there are servants about! Yet they’ve all the money and they’ve all the titles, and they wear the fancy clothes while you and I must go about in livery and wait on them hand and hand-foot and foot if they’ve anything they want us to do!” She lapped at her cider, so I lapped at mine. Sweet little bubbles went up my snout. It was delicious and crisp, and about as strong as beer.
“Oh, and what’s the most annoying thing Thenel has you doing?”
“I’ve got to dust the wicker walls! Any other house in Eigrach, and the wind will blow the walls clean and the rain wash them off. But for Grand Magister Thenel oa Iretario, that’s not clean enough! I’ve got to get a great big feather mop on a bamboo stick and climb about on ladders and swish them clean, thrice a year like clockwork. And then there’s all the sweeping and brushing, there’s no end of it.”
So we chatted — I used the Mystical Special Trick of asking about her opinions whenever the conversation flagged — and lapped cider, and waited for the Doom. Who took nearly two hours to show up.
Songuth popped up. “Thenel, Thenel, you’ve got a customer!”
Thenel looked at me. “Oh, no!”
| | Monday, November 2nd, 2009 | | 12:20 pm |
Prelude to The Conversation [15 Thory 4385; Eigrach, Srineia]
Originally published at Sythyry. Please leave any comments there. After discovering that my supposed Vacation Fling, Thenel, actually had a same-species fiancé, I resolved to wait for three days to see if the situation would become clearer and/or more coherent. On the fourth of those three days, my friends and associates felt entitled to question me.
Phaniet:“How are you doing with Thenel?”
Me:“I am, evidently, not doing with Thenel. I have not seen the gentleRassy for several days now.”
Phaniet:“And when did you say that you were going to go chat with him?”
Me:“After a period of time which need not be contemplated by fur-heads like yourself!”
She turned and left, wagging her tail, rather as if I had amused her rather than delivered a devastating and undeniable species-based insult to her.
Of course, it is harder to defend myself against Vae, even if she’s not using any actual magic.
Vae:“And have you seen Thenel lately?”
Me:“No.”
Vae:“Not have I seen him either, for no further work has been done upon your skyboat.”
Me:“No, I’m not terribly happy about that either.”
Vae:“And for which crimes are you making a punishment to me, that I must live in a broken candelabra? Is it my breaking of the pirate’s city, or my ripping of the world open as we fled, or some lesser but still heinous deed?”
Me:“Oh, dear. It’s not a punishment, it’s a slowishness due to the incompetence and inertia of the workers of Eigrach. Does it gripe you so very much?”
Vae:“The sorrow to me it is. But the sorrows to me belong quite properly.”
Vae treasures beautiful things that primes have made, even if they don’t quite belong to her. Strayway was once beautiful, when Vae first saw her. And she will be beautiful again, even if I have to rebuild her with my own cley and paw: but I hope she becomes so sooner and with less effort of mine.
Rather later, while sewing the images of blood-spattered rhododendrons on a cummerbund, Grinwipey somehow chanced on the same topic.
Grinwipey:“Hey, feather-brain, didja ever get your yanabloonie poddled any more? Or was that Rassie-boy some kind of leaf-covered twiffish ffeff who rather dradger his melts with the sunlight than gramble out the mettages in your back yard?”
I actually understood one word of that; Lithia had mentioned it to me. “Sunlight” = “Light of the day” rhymes with and thus means “fiancé”. (Or, if it is more convenient, it might mean “segue” or “moray” or something elsé, if that were convenient.)
Me:“No.”
Grinwipey:“I though you finally remembered that you like having a bit of a twirl of the old boy-and-girl. Or was you a hermaphrodite with him, you little vopter?”
Me:“No.”
Grinwipey:“Well, gosh gobble-gobble gormidge, aren’t you just the chaste little pile of stammers nowadays?”
Me:“No.”
Grinwipey:“Then you’re go to go and tell Thenel where he can go felk his smickers ’til the slippery cheese jumps. Viz., in you.”
Me:“No.”
Grinwipey:“So why are you being a vomhork about it?”
Me:“Shut up and finish that embroidery.” I am, at times, a marvel of patience and eloquence.
So I waited another day. Not out of cowardice! Never that! Out of wanting to spite my friends and associates.
| | Sunday, November 1st, 2009 | | 11:23 am |
OOC: Character Test
Originally published at Sythyry. Please leave any comments there. [OOC: This is a test. I like to use characters with my characters. So I can say fiancé, naïve, ?-globulin, ?þé?, and F-?. Does WordPress like these sayings? Does my WordPress ? LiveJournal propagator? We shall ?!]
| | 7:21 am |
Affan in Safety [15 Thory 4385; Eigrach, Srineia]
Originally published at Sythyry. Please leave any comments there. Deep in the corridors and passageways of Strayway, unknown to me, is the Solarium of the Geese and Pines. (Technically it is known to me. I didn’t know about it yesterday, and I still haven’t seen it.) The geese (of which there are four) are made of oak and feathers, and stuffed with wool. They are broad and flat of back. They paddle around in a shallow pool of steaming water scented with balsam. The balsam comes from the trees, which are seven in number, and living, and not much bigger than me, and planted in oversized oak chalices. And rather drippy, I think, if they are making the pool balsamic. The solarium, water, geese, trees, and all formed near the edge of one of the larger and earlier crystals I used to build the interior of Strayway. Some century I hope I understand how that worked. Vae has been exploring Strayway lately. I’m afraid she is bored.
Into this solarium teleported Vae (who did the actual teleporting), Arfaen, Quendry, and Lithia in Orren phase. I shall make up their dialog, for they did not record everything they said, and I wasn’t spying on them despite three of them wearing scrying insignia.
Quendry:“It’s swans in the water! They are couches and chairs! They are floating and floating!” He climbed onto the nearest swan and kicked it away from the shore with his foot.
Arfaen:“Be careful, Quendry! Don’t fall in!”
Lithia: “It’s not very deep, is it? Under three feet.” (Lithia was in Orren phase.)
Arfaen:“A child can drown in that shallow a pool, or less. If his heavy towelcloth bathrobe which he insisted on wearing to the picnic gets waterlogged and heavy.”
Quendry:“I can’t drown in a pool! I am on a swan! The swan can drown in a pool! I am not in a pool!”
Arfaen:“You’re on a swan in a pool. Stay on the swan please, Quendry.”
Vae:“And how can the swan drown? The head of the swan is not in the water!”
Arfaen:“Don’t say that, Vae!”
Vae:“And why not? The saying is true. The head is not in any water.”
Arfaen:“Watch. Just watch.”
And indeed, Quendry grabbed the swan next to his by the neck, and attempted to push its head into the water. This involved leaning most of the way off of his swan, and wrestling with another swan larger than he was, with three-quarters of his body arching over the water, and the flaps of his bathrobe getting soaked.
Arfaen:“Quendry! Stop that!”
Quendry: wrestle wrestle wrestle
Arfaen:“Quendry, stop that at once!”
Quendry: wrestle wrestle wrestle
Arfaen:“Quendry! Do I need to come there and pull your tail?”
Quendry: [still wrestling the swan] “I was stopping! I was stopping and stopping and stopping!”
Arfaen:“Stopping means stopping. It does not mean continuing to wrestle the swan.”
Quendry:“I was very very stopping!”
So Arfaen growled at Quendry, and he growled back, and that made a little choof.
Arfaen:“Throwing sticks at the nendrai. Safe or not safe?”
Quendry:“Safe! Vae will catch them and turn them into meat candies and throw them back!”
Arfaen:“Not safe. You might catch her unawares, and she might do something devastating and magical in alarm.”
Vae:“Not that! The I try to be a careful and good monster to my friends!”
Arfaen:“And you often succeed, Vae. We wouldn’t bring you to a picnic otherwise. But always, if someone sneaks up on you and surprises you?”
Vae:“Not always.”
Arfaen:“Thank you. Next question. Jumping off a chair: safe or not safe?”
Quendry:“Safe! I can hop and jump off a chair!”
Arfaen:“Lithia, care to judge that one? Jumping off a chair — even the back of a tall chair?”
Lithia:“Well, not safe, for the back of tall chair.”
Quendry:“Oh! It is the back of a tall chair? That is sneaky!”
Arfaen:“And that’s two out of three, so I have affain.”
Quendry:“Yay, mommy’s got affan in safety!” He pounced into her arms, wagging his tail, and getting greatly licked.
While they were cuddling, Lithia curled up and mewled in pain.
Quendry:“Lithia, are you all right?”
Lithia:“Fine! Just my hourlies.”
Quendry:“Are you sure?”
Lithia:“Well, yes. I’ve been doing it all my life, I know how it goes.”
Quendry:“But you’re still Orren! How can you still be Orren if you turned into a Rassimel when you were Orren?”
Vae:“Not so Orren is she, and very Rassimel.”
Quendry:“No! She is Orren! She always is Orren these days! I think she got better maybe!”
Vae:“Not so Orren does she look, save to the sight and the feel and the scent and the sounding of her voice.”
Lithia:“Which is all of Quendry’s senses, more or less.”
Vae:“… the yes …”
Lithia:“I didn’t get better. It’s not something anyone can get better from. I’m just wearing a disguise.”
Quendry:“Oh, a disguise? Are you sneaking and spying on the Mayor? Are you sneaking and sneaking?”
Lithia:“Well, I suppose so, sort of. Not really spying though. I’m just trying to look always the same species. It’s easier not to have to explain my hourlies to all sorts of people in Eigrach.”
Vae:“And you started before we got to Eigrach, did you not, Lithia?”
Lithia:“I didn’t want to explain my hourlies to Eager-Eyes and Dorze, either.”
Arfaen:“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Eager-Eyes.”
(I am not particularly happy that she is spending a lot of time with Eager-Eyes. This is not because I think that Lithia should be traff. (I don’t think anyone needs to be traff — it’s not actually valuable or even convenient — though of course my closest friends are all traff.) It’s because I wish Lithia had better prospects than being the spare sweetie of a former stowaway. But she does not; and she only has those prospects due to being disguised, I think.)
Lithia:“Oh, right. Quendry, do you know that nobody’s supposed to talk about my problem? Especially not to Eager-Eyes … or Dorze … or anyone who didn’t come from Vheshrame with us?”
Quendry:“I’ll be quiet! I’ll be quiet and quiet and quiet!”
Lithia:“Better than you were stopping and stopping and stopping, before?”
Quendry had the grace to tuck his tail between his legs, at least. I hope he remembers.
The actual picnic was eaten on the backs of floating swans. I believe that the menu was: mutton sandwiches with sweet pickles and lots of butter; applesauce in little crocks; steamed carrots with offirrah (a pungent and spicy condiment made from fermented chilis, garlic, and snakes); cold wheat tea sweetened with sugar and honey. Which probably doesn’t sound terribly sophisticated given that it’s our best chef making it, but she made it to meet Quendry’s tastes more than anything else.
| | Friday, October 30th, 2009 | | 11:13 pm |
| | Wednesday, October 28th, 2009 | | 8:43 am |
Taking Care of Jyondre [14 Thory 4385; Eigrach, Srineia]
Originally published at Sythyry. Please leave any comments there. Back in Strayway, in the parlor with the dismal couch, and a party which we had prepared in honor of Jyondre and Yerenthax before we set out, and felt obliged to have anyhow so as to avoid insulting the cooks and/or skipping treats.
Denial
Yerenthax:“False family fled, each foetid fang / bruised by bells that ’round them rang!”"
Jyondre:“What on wood are you talking about? I didn’t see any bells!”
Yerenthax:“Forgive me, my love. Though this be the hour of your gravest distress, I, too, am rattled, and my normally peerless staves are, while still peerless, not strictly correct anymore!”
Jyondre:“It’s quite all right. I love you for many reasons, of which staves are not the first, nor the second, nor even the third.”
Wrongfolk:“How sweet!”
Yerenthax:“My staves are not so bad!”
Couch:“Your staves are harbingers of the emptiness of all things!”
Anger
Me:“I’m so sorry, Jyondre. That’s a horrible way for family to behave.”
Jyondre:“I’m rather used to it, actually. I guess you’ve never seen me particularly upset — I do it too.”
Me:“You resort to execrations?”
Jyondre:“I say very rude things when I’m upset, anyhow.”
Me:“You’re quite polite now.”
Bargaining
Jyondre:“Well, I’m not very upset now. One thing though — could you check and see if that curse actually was the kind of cursing that does things, or just a nasty poem?”
Me:“Of course, Jyondre.” I inspected him with all the means at my disposal. “There’s no magical or physical force behind it that I can detect. Any twigs that find their way into your boots are probably just due to carelessness or squirrels the usual way.”
Jyondre:“Well, that’s not the only force. I don’t know how my old friends will react to me any more. Or my banker, for that matter… I may be relying on my girlfriend for support for a while.”
Phaniet:“Well, seventy lozens a month from Eigrach isn’t shabby either.”
Me:“And Castle Wrong, wherein you will always have a home if you want one.”
At which point Jyondre started crying. So a dozen assorted wrongfolk climbed onto him and hugged and petted him ’til he stopped, .
Depression
Inconnu:“What did you think would happen, going and kissing Yerenthax in front of everyone like that?”
Jyondre:“Why do you think I kissed her with the whole Eigrach city guard between me and my parents? I picked my moment most carefully!”
Inconnu:“Oh! You were expecting it!”
Jyondre:“Can you imagine the slaughter if it was just Yerenthax and me and them, and they discovered the awful truth? They would have mobbed me, and Yerenthax would have scattered them like chaff and flensed them fur from flesh as a falcon flattens a flaccid flounder! I was being nice to my family, actually. “
Acceptance
Inconnu:“Your ex-family! And does a falcon flatten … what you said …?”
Jyondre: [sighing] “My ex-family. I don’t know. Trying to keep the Gormormor happy; she’s all that’s left to me now.”
The Gormoror looked rather happy, at least at the moment.
| | Tuesday, October 27th, 2009 | | 8:21 am |
Family Reaction [14 Thory 4385; Eigrach, Srineia]
Originally published at Sythyry. Please leave any comments there. After the execration, Jyondre’s family stomped up to the door of the Tall Guardhall. “We demand further opportunities to harangue Jyondre and cast aspersions upon him, for he has cast hideous aspersions upon us and promulgated vileness in public against our name!”
Rehit met them at the door. “I do not believe that Jyondre wishes to speak with you. He is within; he knows of your presence and your opinions; he may come without if he wishes. Instead, I believe, he is listening to words of comfort from the Mayor of Eigrach.”
“Just so, just so! He is a traitor to Heleshario! We must speak with him immediately and correct this improper behavior and many others! Perhaps we will use willow switches, or perhaps thorn sticks!”
“If simply speaking to the Mayor of Eigrach is treason in Heleshario, I do believe that the Mayor of Heleshario is a traitor a dozen times over this year,” said Rehit.
“How dare you accuse our Mayor of betraying himself? He has done no such thing!” spluttered some uncle sort of Orren.
“I do not believe that Jyondre has betrayed himself either,” said Rehit.
“If anything, rather the opposite! By accepting this stipend, he is slowly but surely draining the treasuries of Eigrach,” shouted Zascalle, who is my accountant and knows all about such things. (Very slowly, of course. Seventy lozens, or even twice that for both Jyondre and Yerenthax, is hardly a matter for a city’s finances to notice.)
“You! You have perverted him! You have sundered him from his honorable behavior and from his vows!” yowled an aunt or cousin or some such.
“Actually, I would say that saving a village full of peasants is an archetypically honorable act,” I remarked.
“No, no! Nothing of the sort! Nothing of the sort is what I am talking about!” cried the aunt or cousin.
Jyondre’s mother menaced Rehit with a picnic basket. “Sir-of-the-Guard, I demand that you allow me to see my son at once!”
“Madam of Heleshario, if I am not mistaken, you disinherited him and cast him out of your family not three minutes ago,” said Rehit. “You have no son in the Tall Guardhall any more.”
She hit him with the basket, ruining his formal clothes with eels in oil and pickled leeks. A wine bottle broke, gashing the side of his head.
“An assault, an assault, an undeclared war upon Eigrach!” cried a dozen Eigrachters, and went after the visitors from Heleshario with sticks and claws and teeth.
Fortunately nearly the whole city guard was there, and fortunately it was well in order. Jyondre’s family and friends from Heleshario were (a) defended from the nascent mob of Eigrach, and (b) evicted from the city as quickly as possible. Jyondre never got to say farewell to them. Though I am not sure that he wanted to.
| | Tuesday, October 20th, 2009 | | 9:10 am |
Heroes’ Cup, part II. [14 Thory 4385; Eigrach, Srineia]
Originally published at Sythyry. Please leave any comments there. Not everyone was cheering when Yerenthax and Jyondre kissed on the balcony. A dozen Orren were particularly deep in their scowls and frowns — though they had been cheering as loudly as anyone else beforehand.
“What were you doing up there?” bellowed a titanic Orren woman. “You looked like you were kissing that Gormoror!”
“I was kissing her, Mother,” said Jyondre calmly. “This is Yerenthax, my intended. Yerenthax, this is my family.” He started trying to introduce them.
“Jyondre! You are avoiding the issue!” proclaimed his father or maybe uncle. I am not sure because the gentleman started roaring before Jyondre managed his introductions.
“Not in the slightest. I am confronting it directly,” said Jyondre.
Another Orren wailed, “But you have passed through the jivu! You have taken the vows of purity!”
Jyondre shrugged. “I wouldn’t be the first one to scant the jivu’s vows.”
“But — a foreign city! Even — Eigrach!”
“Should I let children die, because they are children of Eigrach?” asked Jyondre.
Jyondre’s mother climbed on a bench, and broke a walking-staff over her knee, and crashed the halves together seven and twelve times, proclaiming, “A nithe, a nithe, a nithe!”
(On the balcony, Rehit asked the Mayor, “An execration? We should stop her!” But the Mayor slashed with his hand, as if to say, “No; it must be done.”)
Jyondre’s mother howled as awful a poem as ever I have heard:
The roof that gives you shelter shall die with termites,
And the floor that upholds you shall break with shame,
The rollward wind shall blow you stenches
And the roll’gainst wind shall carry your own stench as a warning to all
When you request music, the hooting of owls shall answer you,
And when you request silence, it shall redouble,
The sunlight shall reveal your shame,
And the darkness shall never give you hiding,
The rain shall whisper as it falls on your head: Traitor, Traitor, Traitor
And the hail in your eyes shall answer it: Vile One, Vile One, Vile One
The cushion for your head shall be stuffed with thistles
And in the boots for your feet, small twigs
Bones of the fish shall pierce your tongue as you eat
And the wine served you with lees shall be bitter
In your path always, the dung of the perdithorne and the hyena
But compared to you, even the dung shall be proud.
At times, the heroes’ cup is full of gall and poison.
| | Monday, October 19th, 2009 | | 7:28 pm |
OOC: Visit or Visitation?
Originally published at Sythyry. Please leave any comments there. I — Bard, not Sythyry — am going to be in Orlando for OOPSLA (a big conference in my research area) next week, and I’m going a couple days early to hang out with friends. If you’d like to see me, Saturday daytime is best (noonish – sixish or so). Send me email or a comment, and let’s arrange things.
| | 12:36 pm |
Heroes’ Cup, part I. [14 Thory 4385; Eigrach, Srineia]
Originally published at Sythyry. Please leave any comments there. Mmixamk and Rehit invited us — everyprime on Strayway, leaving only our terrifying ophidian defense grid to keep the ship safe — to a little ceremony for Yerenthax and Jyondre, at the Tall Guardhall at noon.
Getting there was more troublesome than we expected. We asked for directions to the Guardhall, and got sent to a tall wicker spire by the outward gate, where a pair of guardfolk laughed at us and told us that we were at the Useful Guardhall, and we needed to go to the Tall Guardhall, most of the way across town. Fortunately, the actual ceremony couldn’t start until Yerenthax and Jyondre got there. Rehit rushed them up to the balcony, and the rest of us — and some dozens of locals and semi-locals — gathered in the plaza in front of it to listen. By “semi-locals” in particular I mean Jyondre’s family and some friends, come in from Heleshario for the occasion.
Harulse read a short mayoral speech in very pompous tones. (Mmixamk presumably can’t give his own speeches, but he obviously wrote it not Harulse, since I understood every word.) It was all pretty basic, and basically pretty, things like Our honorable guests from ancient Ketheria and rescuing Pwishika with no thought for their own safety and They didn’t have to do it.
And finally, officially proclaimed to be heroes according to the eyes and the laws of Eigrach.
Jyondre — who is a native of Srineia, if not of Eigrach — gasped at one. For it is quite significant.
It’s even grammatically significant. Jyondre is now allowed to use a new set of historical status markers — he can call himself “I-hero”. He had undergone the jivu ceremony earlier so he could get up to “I-jivu”, so he obviously cares a lot about status markers. Now he’s up to “-hero”. He’ll never be able to get the top one there, “-colo”, since that’s only for children of the original colonists, and he can’t change his parents.
Then Rehit gave a little speech too. Rehit isn’t the orator that the Mayor is, but a couple of points were worthy of note:
- If Yerenthax and Jyondre ever want a job in Eigrach, they are welcome in the City Guard. This is rather a throwaway.
- Yerenthax and Jyondre each are granted a stipend of seventy lozens a month [several hundred dollars a month -bb] as long as they return to Eigrach Mene each month to collect it. This is not a throwaway, since it costs Eigrach something.
Actually, the stipend is quite unusual, at least by Ketherian standards. Sometimes rescuers are given money as a reward, several hundred lozens even, but usually just as a purse of amber. The stipend … I wonder if they usually give a larger purse, and they’re planning to save money since Yerenthax and Jyondre are leaving with me in a few months?
Anyhow, Yerenthax and Jyondre were absolutely — and deservedly — delighted, and embraced and kissed on the balcony. The rest of us wrongfolk cheered for them,
At times, the heroes’ cup is full of honeyed brandy.
| | Sunday, October 18th, 2009 | | 8:37 pm |
OOC - - Test Poll Poll Test Test Test Poll
I -- Bard - am fussing with polls and crosslinking and stuff.
Poll #1473024
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 42 This is a(n): If "1" = "Respects eaters of tofu", and "10" = "Juggles harpoons", you are: What should Sythyry eat for dinner? And, finally: | | Friday, October 16th, 2009 | | 12:18 pm |
Conlee [13 Thory 4385; Eigrach, Srineia]
Originally published at Sythyry. Please leave any comments there. We didn’t investigate why serious monsters were so uncharacteristically attacking a village. We have no legal and minimal moral authority in Srineia, after all.
The people with the actual legal and moral authority did investigate. And Rehit made a special trip to Strayway to tell us — by “us” I mean mainly Yerenthax and Jyondre — since they had been so helpful.
So: Beetheart was the wife of the baron of Pwishika (the old man killed by the skagganerax last night). They are quite old people. Their mari had died over the last few months, and Beetheart knew she didn’t have many more days left. So she decided to do something memorable and valuable for her village with the last of her life. She negotiated with some conlee to get seeds and live plants of the herb tapepy, so the village could cultivate it.
Tapepy is a culinary herb — we had it at Gutrumy House on one of the poisonous mushrooms. It’s sort of a mustard, and sort of a pepper, and very aromatic. It grows underneath the world-branch: not even on the Verticals, but all the way underneath, in the least safe places available. Adventurers sometimes bring back a sackful of it, and sell it for a lot, to expensive restaurants who then use it in miniscule amounts and sell it for even more.
So, Beetheart thought that it would make a wonderful legacy for her village.
The conlee flew down to the Underneaths, which was a very hard voyage, even for some monsters. They brought back a nice bushy tapepy plant … which was obviously dead when they put it in Beetheart’s hands. It didn’t like the change of venue very much. Beetheart healed it, but it did not survive very long.
“Well, that won’t do,” she said, and sent them back.
The conlee made the hard voyage under the branch again, and brought back a little cage of crawling tapepy seeds. They’re very odd things: they’ve got four little spiky tentacles, sort of like a miniature and very limber starfish, with which they crawl around hunting for a good place to grow.
Beetheart died the night that the conlee set out, though.
When the birds came back to deliver the seeds, the Pwishika villagers explained that Beetheart was sick; they took the seeds, and sent the birds off. The details of who exactly did what are very confused, for there is blame to be had there, and nobody who wants to either claim it for themself, or to give it to anyone dead. Also, only a couple of people in the village actually knew about the conlee or about the precise deal that Beetheart made.
Anyhow, the conlee came back the next day, and the next, and were turned away, and turned away.
So they talked a skagganerax into being their collection agency. Skagganerax are usually glad to think poorly of primes, and, in this case, certain primes arguably deserved it. I daresay they had an easy time persuading the monster to help them.
Skirret unarguably did not deserve it, but she was killed nonetheless.
This, in case you are wondering, is why we don’t much like or trust monsters.
| | Thursday, October 15th, 2009 | | 8:17 pm |
Conlee and Yuldakai [12 Thory 4385; Eigrach, Srineia]
Originally published at Sythyry. Please leave any comments there. I didn’t have much to do with this, except bring the people to it and give them weapons, so I’m going to report on it and make up some dialog.
Bestiarylet
Conlee: Conlee are little intelligent songbirds, gifted with moderate magical powers, and all the physical abilities of songbirds. They come in three sexes, like Herethroy. They live for about four years … except that, if they get some of a prime’s vitality, they can live for longer. They have two ways to do that: either a voluntary gift from a prime, or by killing a prime. I have met many conlee; they are, quite often, decent people who wouldn’t dream of killing someone else.
Skagganerax: Scagganerax are small graceful pretty fluffy-tailed goaty unicorns. They are exceedingly tough, and generally think quite poorly of primes. When they are angry, vicious flames surround them. They are quite dangerous.
Prelude and Fugue
Jyondre and Yerenthax were sitting on a balcony of the skyboat very late one night, enjoying keeping each other warm in the cool air, when they saw a tall cone of red light appear off in the distance, drifting upwards. Jyondre yelped and extracted himself from his love’s arms. “A call for help, that is!”
Yerenthax leapt to her feet. “Heros hailed by hapless heart / Speed we swift and soonest start!” (The staves are accurate transcriptions of what was reported to me. I can’t compose Gormoror staves.)
So they thundered down into my workroom, where I was busy with something. “Weneedtogetweaponsandthings!” explained Jyondre.
“And the teleport arrow,” said Yerenthax. “Don’t worry, not on the ship.”
“Well, OK,” I said, without even looking at them because I was Very Busy.
So they grabbed some useful devices, which I had given them permission before to use if there was an emergency. The teleport arrow generally only carries one person, so Jyondre dumped my pitcher over his head, and shrank to water form so that Yerenthax could pick him up. Then they headed off, pop-pop-pop.
Pwishika Village
Pwishika Village is a medium-to-big Herethroy farming village, a nice, clean four miles in-branch from the Verticals edge. In the ordinary course of events, it would be a reasonably safe place, or so you’d think.
Not tonight, though. Jyondre and Yerenthax found one of the domed wood halls — no wicker houses in the countryside — all burning with fire. The villagers weren’t trying to put it out though. They all had their spears and shields and staves — in these less-than-civilzied lands, farmers all learn to fight with the traditional weapons of their kind — and stood in a prickly defensive circle, with the children inside.
A single monster glared at them: a skagganerax. Its body was that of a small and graceful antelope; its tail was long and fluffy; its single horn was short and glittery, like an icicle lit by internal flames. It had come with its own circle: a fence of roaring harsh red-violet clawy flames that surrounded it, their tips snapping at the farmers’ spears.
I don’t blame the farmers for being scared. Skagganerax aren’t quite nendrai or chromodons, but they are fairly imposing beasts.
(I do blame the farmers for poor tactics, with some excuses. They didn’t know what they were facing when the monster woke them up in the middle of the night, and that is a very good arrangement against most creatures.)
“Where is the woman Beetheart?” demanded the skagganerax.
“There’s no Beetheart in Pwishika village,” snarled an old Herethroy man. He was the only one with more than farmer’s weapons: he had an old three-handed metal sword, and a glass shield.
“There is no truth in that!” neighed the skagganerax. “My friends have told me all about Beetheart and her betrayals! Now, bring her to me, or the flames shall take you!”
“We’ve told you, no Beetheart here,” said the Herethroy man.
The skagganerax threw a lightning bolt at him. A cursed impressive lightning bolt, from the telling of it: power comparable to a wizard’s spell. The Herethroy man reeled, fell, and was saved by a bound spell. A trio of lesser spells struck him then, and not from the skagganerax: a tangle of crawly sparks, a straightforward consuming flame, and a hail of wooden arrows. He fell again.
The skagganerax then leapt up and galloped right over the Herethroy, his hooves equally supported by the bare air and the occasional farmer’s head. His flames fell all about the farmers, and burned them terribly. Most of the children died or nearly so, and their parents or guardians or anyone halfway competent and still alive scooped them up and trotted off with them and healed them as best they could.
(Hence the claim of bad tactics: against an enemy who can burn everyone near him, the best strategy is to keep your people widely scattered. Of course, that means that the skagganerax will just go slaughter some individual, but that’s probably better than having everyone get roasted at once. But the farmers didn’t know what was going on when they decided to hedgehog.)
And that’s when Jyondre and Yerenthax popped in.
The Battle
Yerenthax had teleported onto the top of one of the Herethroy houses. She set waterformed Jyondre down and drew the Distant Sabre (this one being freshly enchanted last week, and never before used in battle), and boomed, “Burning beast, thy bile belay / Lest stormy sword strike thee away!” in her most Gormulent voice.
The skagganerax looked at her, standing as she was quite some ways away and on a rooftop. “I will have justice for friends, wicked Gormoror guarding the wicked Herethroy!”
Yerenthax flicked her sabre, and opened a deep gash in the skagganerax’ flank from dozens of yards off. (Yay, new-made weapon does a good job!) “You will have justice — the justice that condemns the roasting of innocent children!”
The skagganerax can see powerful Locador magic as well as anyone can, and guessed, correctly, that Yerenthax could cut him to pieces from across the battlefield. He tossed a lightning bolt at her. The bolt splattered off her mystical protections. Yerenthax claims to have then chanted, “With wisest ward of wizard’s ware / I bash to bits your arms of air!”, but nobody else heard it. (So much for my product placement.)
So the skagganerax turned and dashed towards Yerenthax. This was good, since the skagganerax was no longer hunting Herethroy. It was also bad, since Jyondre wasn’t any tougher than a Herethroy, and didn’t even have their natural armor, and would get just as roasted as any of the insects. Also a skagganerax is rated as a match for four or five prime warriors.
So Yerenthax declaimed, “From roof to roof without remorse / Fleet shall be thy futile course!”, and teleported herself — sans Orren — to another rooftop across the village. The skagganerax gave itself wings of wind, and darted to her in a flash. The two of them fought fiercely on the soon-burning roof of what proved to be the schoolhouse.
In the meantime, the dozen-or-so Herethroy in plaza were under a separate assault. These were three parents there and more children than they could carry easily, and all of them badly hurt by and moderately healed from the skagganerax’s flames from before. I think the children had mostly been killed and saved, which is pretty troublesome for anyone, and more so for a young bug who doesn’t know what’s going on. Probably they were too weak to walk.
Anyhow, a mysterious person or persons unknown had conjured a wall of thorns imprisoning the Herethroy in the middle of the plaza, and were hailing them with Fire Flowers and Crawly Sparks and other minor-to-medium attack spells. Jyondre did not approve of this behavior. He sponted some Kennoc thing to let him see where the spells were coming from: three little tiny flying things circling the plaza.
Being an Orren in love with a Gormoror, or, perhaps, being an Orren in a Wild Rush, he decided to do something about it. He swatted one of the three with his best attack spell, which wasn’t much more than a Fire Flower itself, and cried a warning: “Conlee, conlee! Three conlee are trying to kill whichever of you they can!” But that was his last cley.
So, he jumped at the second one off the top of the house, caught it in his mouth — it was just a tiny yellow bird — and landed with a crunch of breaking bones (mostly his) on the cobble-blocks of the plaza. The bird threw pepper into his eyes with zir last cley, but Jyondre did not let zir go.
The other two birds tweeted and chirped furiously at him. They blasted the Herethroy farmers with another spell or two each, fire and sparks. By this time a few of the villagers outside the thorn-hedge had heard his warning and started tossing spears and fire spells at the flying birds, so they turned tail and left.
The farmers inside the hedge wailed. “Dead, dead! Skirret and Mintsie and Sroflia, all dead!”
(Of course they had tried to heal them. But they only had Heal Once, which, as you might expect, can only be used once per diem. I think the villagers carried a few useful bound spells: also exhausted.)
Jyondre wasn’t going to tolerate that. He picked himself up as best he could — on two broken legs, and with his fangs sunk deep in the wing of a still-thrashing, still-furious monster mage bird — and somehow shoved himself under the wall of thorns. He had two Heal the Awful Wound spells bound — we have been careful about that since the pirates — and he used them to rescue Mintsie and Sroflia.
Back on the rooftops, Yerenthax was leading the skagganerax on a merry chase. She’d teleport some long way off, and take a couple of remote whacks at the monster as it charged towards her. When it reached her, she’d allow it one pass at arms — she had two very nasty horn-gashes in her chest and belly — and then teleport away again. After the fourth of these, the skagganerax realized that Yerenthax had an unendurable strategic advantage, and that his allies were captured or fled. (Novel for it, surely, for swift air-walking skagganerax usually have the strategic advantage.) So he snarled something or other about justice, and darted off into the Verticals.
Yerenthax didn’t pursue him. She wasn’t actually in very good shape herself, with those big chest and belly wounds. A skagganerax is usually considered a match for four or five respectable prime warriors, and she was only one.
Then, of course, the actual official guardians showed up: Rehit and three other Eigrach city guard, racing their horses to exhaustion.
The Score
| The Monsters |
Two primes slain: The aged baron-defender of the village, and the child Skirret. |
| The Primes: |
One monster caught: the conlee co-lover that Jyondre bit and bit and held and would not let go of it. The guards tried to persuade zir to surrender, but zie would not (thinking, I presume, that the primes would kill zir soon enough in any case), so the guards killed zir. |
| The Wrongfolk: |
Yerenthax and Jyondre, with considerable help from the farmers and some from the city guard, drove off monsters which the usual ranking would recommend as taking ten primes or so. Without Jyondre, in particular, two more Herethroy children would be dead. |
| The City Guard: |
Better late than never, and the guard did a great deal towards setting Pwishika back together, putting out the fires, and so forth. (Honestly, they probably would have been able to save Mintsie and Sroflia if Jyondre hadn’t, and they might well have gotten there in time to save most of the Herethroy even if Yerenthax and Jyondre hadn’t gotten there earlier. But they did not begrudge the wrongfolk their glory.) |
| Me: |
My enchantments came off quite well here — in the hands of Yerenthax at least; Rehit didn’t get to use his. I, of course, was not there. Oh, and I did cast Knit the Broken Bone for Jyondre, since power matters more than medical skill for that and he was in exceedingly bad shape, but that barely counts. |
I have some very good people on my skyboat.
The Final Victory
I don’t think i have ever seen anything cuter than the wriggling of a Gormoror who has discovered that her beloved-but-wimpy Orren boyfriend is actually an all-but-suicidal hero, when push comes to shove.
| | 2:25 pm |
I interrupt this story in progress for exciting news...
Hi, this is Sythyry's technical support (otherwise known as ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) beetiger.) Sythyry's journal has a new home at www.sythyry.com! You can read there, or you can keep reading crossposts right here (though you'll have to click through to over there to comment). You can also read Sythyry in your favorite feed reader. The first time you comment there, your comment will be moderated, but after sythyry tells the comment filter that you aren't a spambot, you'll be able to comment freely. You won't be able to comment at LiveJournal anymore. There's also a Share This button at the bottom of each post, in case you want to send a link to Twitter, Facebook, or MySpace, or to your friends via email. Thanks for enjoying Sythyry! | | Monday, October 12th, 2009 | | 7:36 pm |
OOC: Worth of a Shell
Originally published at Sythyry. Please leave any comments there. [Maggie Hogarth wrote a novel a few years ago that impressed me a lot. It has more doom per unit world than I've ever been able to give to Sythyry. Now you can get a copy for yourself. And you should: it's quite good. -bb]
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