Seeks-Thunder's Party [12 Trandary 4261]
Seeks-Thunder Strenata had, shortly after I met her, acquired the Hear the Wind's Song spell, boxed. For the uneducated and the monsters, this is a Kennoc Airador spell, complexity fifteen, with which one may stand in a wind and tell it to bring one some particular sort of sound -- the whispers of one's husband to one's other husband, or the noises that cyarr make as they wait in ambush, or the scratching of a quill on yilliat leaves -- and one will hear the sound regardless of the other noises in the area, and from no matter how far off so long as it is in the same wind. It is a fairly sophisticated spell. It is a somewhat peculiar spell in certain regards, having few applications in ordinary or calm society -- one might almost suspect Seeks-Thunder of wishing to be an adventurer.
In any case, Seeks-Thunder, for reasons best known to herself, spent the fifteen hours and fifteen cley to graft that spell on her magerium, in very much of a hurry, two nights ago. Now she can cast it. This is not much of a surprise, since she is Orren and thus gifted at Kennoc, and she has that Airador flight spell which must be complexity 20 and thus she is surely good at Airador as well. Still, she was delighted.
Today, using this deed as an excuse, she acquired various friends by way of party. Since she did not want to invite Oonspath, and since she would rather have me pay Jarmiet to clean up afterwards than clean up afterwards herself, we had it at my home instead.
It wasn't a cake from Floosh's bakery; definitely not. Indeed, I consider this to be further evidence that Strenata is secretly an adventurer. She must surely have quested far indeed to find the Bakery of Unadulterated Doom -- surely situated in the deep Verticals and run by ulgrane -- wherein they produce cakes from which every bit of flavor, save only sweetness, has been extracted and ravaged and stolen.
I asked her about this. She explained that I was right in every particular; and that, in the Bakery of Unadulterated Doom, there were also for sale unmarked husks sealed with bands of lead and Cani-hide and marked with terrible seals, available for a substantial price in amber and in blood. She did not ask about them, and much to her sorrow, for they surely contained the flavor of the cake -- available separately for your convenience and safety! -- and it would have been much better if she had bought them, or at least snuck back in the dead of night and stolen them, or bought her cake from Flooosh.
Nonetheless, the cake was quite large, and covered with mystical runes in blue. A great deal of it is left over.
Half an hour along, five sets of guests had come. No two sets knew each other:
- Flooosh and Flounderbouncer and Iska.
Flounderbouncer is still troubled of Tlisket-which-is-to-say-Intliscindra, and has come to town briefly. I chatted with him briefly, quick encouraging words, and indicated that he might do well to speak to Tethezai and Dustweed. He did so, and looked very much in his sorrows about his low rank.
Flooosh looked as if she could perhaps have endured making her cake and eating it too.
Iska was looking lost and displaced as usual. She cornered me to chat about sequences and differences, and the theory of equations, and other bits of mathematical tedium. She has, in her spare time and through her own mighty intellect, discovered some bit of trivia about how the solution in whole numbers of an equation must evenly divide -- um -- something. Perhaps the Silver Moon, for all I understood. She was very proud of herself, so she mentioned it to a professor of mathematics, who told her that it was So-and-So's Theorem from two hundred years earlier and she should be (a) pleased with herself for coming up with it on her own and (b) studying some classic texts of mathematics. She looked rather in her despair and her self-doubt for this.
Which is all very well, but why does she pester me with it?
- Broon and Narngi. I should have learned that Hear the Wind's Song myself -- it is not an adventurer's spell after all, but a courtier's one, or even a partier's one. I am fairly sure that they were talking to Havune in low worried tones, and I caught the word "Teltheryan". If they're using Thery's full name, something is surely of concern. I would have given anything -- or at least one cley -- to be able to hear that full conversation. Havune didn't agree to give me a synopsis afterwards.
- A young Orren, a family friend of Strenata's, who will probably be attending Vheshrame nest term if all works well and the Great Baron providing money and influence actually provides money and influence.
- Valeriant, and her husband-to-be, and the co-lover who may at some point be their mari. I didn't talk to them very much, and not just because Valeriant is so hard to talk to.
- Three mismatched Rassimel. Two of them are carpenters. The third -- Paarhan -- used to work for the city guard, but doesn't now; he is built like a clenched fist, and when he comes into a living room full of people his eyes flicker across every weapon, every door and window, every possible threat. He spoke mainly to Strenata, and did not stay long, and when he opened the door to leave, nobody would have been surprised if five black-clad assassins were waiting for him with jagged venom-dripping copper swords in their hands -- least of all him.
After some minutes of sitting around dreading the cake and eating the other foods, it was discovered that, say, Narngi and the carpenters attended the same school as children, and that Flooooooosh can be pleasant to just about anyone, even a Yistreian or something, and a few more people arrived, and it turned more convivial.
Strenata, or we, is now richer by:
- A grey sweater, suitable in size for a rather small Rassimel.
- A small (one-inch) chalice made out of some light-grained wood, enchanted with a simple little spell that temporarily cures some defect of the lungs.
- A small red-and-purple confection of a hat, almost surely abandoned by reason of being hideous.
- A copy of The Tracts of Ghoon Ygvorsis, on the off chance that anyone wants to read moral philosophy of a previous and considerably more violent era.
- A meng eating-knife.
If anyone knows who any of these things belong to, please let them know where they are. They're none of them worth stealing.
(And yes, that's a remarkable amount of looting and leaving-behind for such a small party.)
(Bard is cleaning up from a baby shower for projectmothra. Pleasednesses to lapis_lazuli and hbergeron, who drove some long distance to attend, and who gave Mothra his first hand-crocheted blanket -- which, I think, is his first friendmade gift all of his own. We certainly appreciate friendmade gifts intensely, for the love and effort that goes into their making, as well as their skill; and this blanket has love and effort and skill aplenty in it. Many thanks!)