Mirrored from Sythyry.
[OOC: Yes, this is the start of a new and more homelike story arc. -bb]
After a larger-than-usual bribe (333 lozens) we paid a smaller-than-usual docking tax (nothing), we were allowed to wander about Barency. Really, that’s a very large bribe. There could be official concerns about us harboring several potentially dangerous monsters in close proximity to the city. Given that Vae has actually destroyed a city-state recently without needing to go through the walls, and that hCevian can slip into the city despite their quite good walls, I can’t entirely blame them. The Elfimel are harmless — even helpless.
Yerenthax: “I’m afraid you cannot come into the city, for you are not primes.”
Namie: “I howl in protest! I am creation of the goddess Mircannis, I am the greatest one from an entire universe!“
Yerenthax: “I explain to you, for the several-dozenth time, what primes are on the World Tree.”
Namie: “I refuse to listen!”
Octagons: “I explain why this concept is ridiculous and offensive. I was created long before the World Tree or the Rassimel, and for a different universe! I could not possibly have been designed to trouble you.”
Me: “Actually we don’t know who was created first, or even if the question makes sense.”
Yerenthax: “I am afraid I cannot indulge you and let you into Barency. But Jyondre and I will stay here with you.”
The Elfimel are not taking brilliantly to life aboard Strayway. They have been indignant about all sorts of ordinary things.
They complain that food is not available constantly, but only at certain times, and that only by the labor of some of our crew — it seems that Elfimel must eat a great deal, as much as three or four primes. Arfaen is trying to teach them how to cook, but is having minimal success; they do not seem aware that a ceramic cauldron that has been a-boil is hot enough to injure one. (Healing spells work fine on Elfimel; Mircannis has not chosen to deprive them of her magic simply for departing her Heaven.) They have little or no concept of working; after shelling a dozen peas, Octagons (who is the most sensible of the three) left off working, and argued for quite some time when asked to finish the chore.
They also have experienced a metabolic change that upsets them no end. In Heaven, they produced a single small pellet of solid waste every month or two, and that pellet was delicately scented and in no way offensive or noxious. They rarely produced liquid wastes; instead, they produce gaseous wastes, diffusing them off of their tail, and they, too, are delicately scented and in no way offensive or noxious. Here, fed on the honest foods and beverages of a less sublime universe, the Elfimel are subject to more frequent, more intense, and more fluidy necessities: still delicately scented and in no way offensive, or so I understand, but they must maintain the biological equilibria of our universe, in which one who drinks a quart of fluid must sooner or later void one quart of fluid. And our toilets are quite clean by World Tree standards, but nonetheless offensive to the delicate Elfimel nostril.
And on and on and on. They had never experienced an uncomfortable temperature before. They had never worn clothing before: it is forbidden to Elfimel in Heaven, because it does not change with them, and so can identify them from day to day. So they are chafed and tickled by even the simplest and softest of garments, and, when they do not wear them, they are chilled and drafted-upon.
I am considering dumping them off at some monastery of Mircannis, with a donation, where they can be cossetted and petted and carefully introduced to the world. Perhaps with Yerenthax and Jyondre, though I’d hate to lose Yerenthax and Jyondre. Even though it’s all their fault.
But that is a digression. We came to Barency for a purpose, intentionally, purposefully, and that was a purpose planned long before our accidental trip to Heaven.