| January 2005 | << December 2004 | February 2005 >> |
| Year of the Great Eel |
| The Enclave > Seasons Long Past |
Strange things come from the Unending Sea; fisherfolk are used to the unusual in their nets and on their lines. The ugliest catches are thrown back, the rest sold at market or as curios. Still, little from Farthest Sea - before or since - even begins to compare to the Great Eel, a Trespasser that appeared off the coast of Port no more than a handful of summers past.
A reclusive, aged chronicler of Vanished Isle descent dwelled in Cael at that time, past the Odanmouth on the Coast Road. He shunned the Ammander customs of sagely naming - and the Enclave sages themselves - choosing to be known as Varim the Recorder and guarding his manuscripts jealously. The sea ran in Varim's blood; he was known to sail to the rocky islets off Cael for days on end to work in isolation. When the Great Eel first began to feed upon fisherfolk in the warm seasons of that year, Varim made his last journey to Port to see for himself. By the time of his arrival, the common folk of the city were in uproar. No-one dared sail beyond the bay and provisions were becoming costly. The Great Eel was the size of the Seafarers' Guild hall, a hoary creature of scales and scallops capable of devouring a small boat whole. It lurked in the depths, only sporting on the surface at dusk as if to taunt the cityfolk.
As the leaves began to fall, the Council - in desperation - offered a splendid reward to those who could rid Port of this horrible Trespasser. Troubadors bemoaned the passing of the times of the Emerald Company, but there was no shortage of schemes once so much coin was at stake. Amongst the more memorable attempts was that made by a couragous - or greedy, or foolhardy, depending on who you wish to believe - Watch captain from Three Stones. He took a small boat and ten spears to challenge the Eel one calm evening and was quickly swallowed whole. That ended any boastful talk and foolish plans amongst spearmen in Port.
An enterprising gang of thieves pushed flaming boats out into the sea one evening to scare the Great Eel away. They roamed the dockside proclaiming their success before the last boat had even burned out - all the while, the Eel sported as the sun went down. A motley company of archers shot at the Eel from the cliffs and rocky shore, but may as well have been throwing flowers. The shouted Refutations of minor sages and devotions made to Salin and the Fisher in Darkness were similarly ineffective. Guildsmen proposed the use of catapults and other old weapons of war from the Ammand; there was much discussion and rifling of private libraries, but nothing came of it.
In the end, a few brave seafarers took the most seaworthy of the prison hulks out of the harbor to meet the Eel. For reasons that remain unclear, Varim the Recorder was amongst them. The Great Eel savaged the hulk, breaking it asunder and consuming what it could. Neither Varim nor the seafarers returned to Port, but the Eel was later seen rolling in the water in some distress. Later still it vanished back into the Unending Sea - but it was well into winter before the fisherfolk felt safe once more.
The councillors who had been reduced to offering up a vast reward were well pleased with the outcome, all told. The Eel had been vanquished and at no additional cost to their estates. In the spring of the following year, the manuscripts of Varim the Recorder found their way from Cael to the Library of Three Stones - a matter that left certain sages just as pleased as the wealthy councillors of Port.
[ Posted by Reason on January 31, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Lady Moonlit |
| The Enclave > Powers |
Put down your tools and listen a moment.
Once upon a time in the far away Ammand, a young noblewoman decided that she would be the very best at everything she ever attempted. There is no story in that, no mystery beyond why this was her truest nature. She determined to perfection in the same way you determine to wake each morning or take each new breath.
Thus the young noblewoman worked, and worked hard, for there is no other certain way to become the very best. She did not court, nor attend the yearly fairs, nor pay attention to her duties. In time, she did not even come forth during the day - she worked by the light of the moon, away from the distractions of her household. The years passed and the young noblewoman became the Lady of her house, but still she worked. The privileged few to behold the results of her talents were amazed, but she did not indulge her increasingly rare visitors. In time, even the last retainers left and the manse of the Lady become dark and unkempt.
Still she worked by moonlight. The Lady was indeed the best; better than any famed smith, any known horseman, any artisan or crafter. That was what mattered to her, and that was what she had become. Eventually, as for all mortals, the sands of time ran out. The Lady no longer appeared by night, nor at all.
Yet wondering stories were already told, far and wide across the Ammand. As time passed, the troubadors called her Lady Moonlit, for in truth no-one remembered her given name. Guilds took her as a patron, but no-one recalled her likeness.
Where is the Lady Moonlit? Why, in the Farthest, of course. You must be kind to Visitors from the Farthest Guilds, for they may have met and learned from the best of all. And all of you - you could do worse than try to follow the example of the Lady.
[ Posted by Reason on January 30, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Fourth in the Temple of Three |
| The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > People and Places |
The Three Powers of Port - the Fisher in Darkness, Salin and Lady Moonlit - are honored by a priesthood who dwell within the unlit Temple of Three. The Temple is a old, vaulted stone hall, built without windows. Great iron doors face the Temple Plaza, flanked by worn carvings of the Fisher and Salin the Seafarer, watched over by Temple Guards but never opened. A smaller inset door is used by petitioners and priests; ornate wooden screens prevent light from reaching the interior.
The utterly dark Temple hall is set with open pools, pillars, and wooden benches. Murmerings of water merge with whispered conversations, soft footsteps and the muted sounds of the Temple Plaza and nearby dockside. Petitioners are led by the youngest priests, finding their way by touch, sound and memory. Large stone statues of the Three, including, or so it is said, the only true depiction of Lady Moonlit, stand opposite the Temple doors. Gifts for the priesthood, made in exchange for guidance or advice, are left at the feet of the Three. Seafarers drop strange coins from the Farthest in front of Salin for good luck, while commoner fisherfolk bring salted fish to the Fisher to celebrate a good catch.
The priests' warren opens up beneath the Temple, a maze of damp stone-lined tunnels and rooms that ultimately leads into the Farthest Darkness. The reclusive priests of the Three associate with Visitors and the Farthest Priesthood, and thereby aquire wisdom and insight into the Powers. In turn, the priest guiding a petitioner through the darkness may not speak the Ammander language and may never have seen the exterior of the Temple - but knows deep secrets left unshared.
The high priest of the Three is a nameless Visitor, one who came from the Farthest Darkness generations ago and learned the ways of the priesthood. He is said to wear blackest darkness as a cloak, to practice unknown wizardry, to be a strange and outlandish being. Some of the common folk of Port claim the high priest of the Three to be a Power in his own right. No one has ever seen or touched him, but petitioners and priests who have heard his voice have nothing but praise: the high priest is a gentle, wise, charismatic man - and let that be enough if there is more hidden in the darkness.
[ Posted by Reason on January 30, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Sanctuary |
| The City, the Shades > City |
[COMMUNICATION 7b57c3c92aa75, City Soul 9046fa188 to Structure 642fa004:
WeI aream new extruction in commonality. WeI seek enfoldment within the Curved Tower on recommendation. WeI tell in urgency and extremis of new componing and aream willing to accept told demands.
END COMMUNICATION]
[COMMUNICATION 7b57c3c9616b1, Structure 642fa004 to City Soul 9046fa188:
Let me open by noting that I am at least partially mollified by the fact that my reputation has - obviously - spread into regions hitherto woefully ignorant. That said, I am less than pleased to have this matter splattered across my affairs and good self like pigmentation material - you can't imagine how much every outbreak of City Soul color mania drives me to distraction. The presumption! (Yours as well).
I have made a few inquiries; I cannot of course grant every lost wanderer a new home and refuge from the prosaic nature of existence outside my walls. The very idea! In looking as dispassionately as possible as your situation, I must say that have no idea what brought you - irrational as you no doubt are on a diet of misguided Dead Souls and rarified nonsense from the larchives and higher Shades - to merge with a City Soul in that particular District. Not to pry, but where is your higher center of self within the Shades? What is your capacity? Far enough, fast enough and small enough to be ignorant of past events relating to the Manse of Windows and its use of City Souls, perhaps? The City Souls of District 23f47 take a dim view of Shade Souls and Larchivists - justifiably so, I must say, even if I am somewhat biased in matters of this nature. Your newest acquisition is lucky that the more extreme and unfriendly resources in the District were used up in destroying the Manse.
(As an aside, it is hard to credit your assumed ignorance of the event. Perhaps I am being parochial, but it isn't often that one sees the Natural Laws of elemental combination exploited to such devastating effect. What's more, the Needle Spire continually refuses to share its derivations! Pure, selfish desire for the second-class fame of exclusivity, that's what it is).
So you must excuse my suspicions, but this all has a Black look to it - regardless of what the City Souls of District 23f47 willfully tend to believe. I certainly hope that City Soul 9046fa188 agreed to the current use you are putting it to as messenger and mouthpiece; I would need to hear that from the unadulterated Soul itself. If you have merged via Arts that make that impossible - well, I am afraid you are on your own, so to speak.
END COMMUNICATION]
[ Posted by Reason on January 28, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Lord of the Guild Bridge |
| The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > Local Color > Cats |
The Lord is a slothful, well-fed tom who resides atop the central pillars of the Guild Bridge. He is content to lie in the sun for the most part, but suffers visitors poorly, hissing and clawing at all who approach - even those bearing food. Retainers from the larger noble estates constructed a small wooden manse for the Lord some years ago; he retreats within when faced with rain, snow, curious Ammander children or the crowds of the yearly fair.
"Paying your respects to the Lord" with fish from the dockside is a tradition in the commoner households close to the river. It brings luck, or so it is said - more so than coins to the Taxmen in any case.
[ Posted by Reason on January 27, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Two Bridges Cross the Lothar |
| The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > People and Places |
The Lothar rolls gently through Port, past noble estates, guildhouses, rivercraft moorings, Guardians' Wild and finally the docks and dockside market. The river marks a boundary of sorts between the low city of commoners, merchants and cobbled streets, and the high city of nobles, parks and sloping avenues overlooking the bay.
Only two bridges cross the Lothar in Port. Both are very old structures, providing barely enough space beneath their stone arches for small river boats to pass. Fisher's Bridge abuts the Temple of Three, joining the Temple plaza with the dockside market. The crowding and passage of common folk is watched by a weather-worn statue of the Fisher in Darkness at the center of the bridge, and disinterested militia spearmen as often as not.
The Guild Bridge stands upriver, past the Wilds. It is covered in flowering plants during warmer seasons - a long-standing tradition. Flags and pennants fly from tall poles at either end of the Bridge, one for each of the major guilds in Port. At the height of summer, nobles and guildmasters arrange contests of sport, wit and swordsmanship between retainers and guild members on the river and bridge.
This Guild Bridge fair is a popular event, and not just with commoners. Following his humiliation by the Unseen Hands, Lord Lundarn regained his standing and good reputation in Port with coins and imagination lavished on the fair. Even now, with the Lundarn estate reduced to nothing and the old Lord on his deathbed, the common folk of Port still talk fondly of the Year of Lundarn's Fair.
[ Posted by Reason on January 26, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Pathway of the One God |
| Spirits of Rock and Sky > The Servants' Path |
Purple sheets and whorls of the Light of the One God rippled through the Sky above a cluster of black-inked leather tents and Itmos walking wheel carts, huddled against the sidewall of the Pathway of the One God. Pilgrims and traders, intent on their own journeys, passed by, but Lotun and Jeu 4 left the flow of travelers to approach the Itmos tents. The wind carried a thin line wood smoke and the sound of prayer; Lotun paused for a moment, leaning deeply on his staff. He glanced across at the acolyte and gestured towards the Itmos camp. "Does it not offend you, friend Jentik, that they burn the Divine That Grows as an offering to the One God?" His robe caught in the chill wind, flapping as he wrapped it more tightly about himself.
Jeu 4 halted, surprised. "My spirit was elsewhere, friend Lotun. Should I be offended? Tumnil 146 taught me that the Divine Will of the Provider is free of obligation. You have said that our God is no jealous and demanding gift-giver." She looked at the elder Wohken inquisitively, holding her hair aside as the wind tugged at it. "Is this to be another lesson?"
"Youth is ever impatient." Lotun smiled and turned from the cold air to adjust the sling containing his Gift. "I had no lesson in mind, but we have traveled far this wake. My legs are no longer young, and they demand that we rest." Neither Initiate nor acolyte cast shadows onto the Pathway rock. During their wakes of Lightward travel, the Light of the One God strengthened and spread over the Sky until only the deepest hollows and overhangs were shadowed.
Lotun had taught Jeu 4 while crossing rugged Enierd territory from Naskal to the Pathway. "Lecturing," she called it. While the Jentik acolyte was familiar with rituals and ceremonies of the lower Circles, she knew little of politics and theology within the Order. Discussion seemed to speed the long journey. The two Servants of the Provider had passed through many small Enierd communities, nestled amid crags and deep valleys. Jeu had been the last of these, built on the floor of a broad ravine. The Chieftain was friendly, and Jeu 4 had been reminded of her brief stay in Basir.
"Perhaps the pilgrims will offer us a tent for the next sleep." Jeu 4 indicated the Itmos encampment. "The air chills me. This wind reminds me of the Plateau."
Lotun shook his head. "It has been many tens of cycles since you descended the Stairway, I see. The Pathway will become colder yet, but you will grow used to it. You have more fat on your bones than I." He stared along the length of the Pathway, clutching his robe tightly against the wind. Hills and mountains rose to great heights to either side, placing the travelers at the base of an imposing valley pointing to the distant Temple. The Temple itself, Avatar of the One God, appeared as a distant, thin mountain where the Sky touched the rock, lit by the Light of the One God. "Yet we will speak with the pilgrims." Lotun continued. "I, too, feel the chill, and more so than I used to."
"It is truly an honor to have such guests stand before us. The Basei Family is humbled by your presence." Ger Basei, a bearded Itmos of indeterminate age, scented with wood smoke, swept elegant and flattering bows to both Lotun and Jeu 4. The intricate array of bone ornaments sewn to his leather traveling clothes rattled as he moved.
While Lotun and Jeu 4 had waited politely for the Family head, other Itmos had emerged from their tents to see the newcomers. A multitude of ornamented, curious Basei Family Itmos now surrounded Lotun and Jeu 4. Most talked to one another, quietly and sidelong, while eyeing the Servants of the Provider. Their padded, elaborate traveling clothes bore carefully mismatched decorations in tens of different styles. Jeu 4 was about to speak, but Lotun placed a hand upon her shoulder. He bowed to Ger Basei. "Your honorifics are far from necessary, friend Itmos. We are all equal before the Provider."
"But some are more equal than others, neh?" Ger chuckled and smiled broadly, clattering as he spread his hands. "Allow me to thread the first needle and offer you shelter. I see that you carry no tents, and I am sure I am not alone in feeling it to be colder every time I set foot on this Pathway."
"We would be..." Lotun was cut off by a thin voice from the small crowd.
"The Pathway of the One God, Ger Basei, not 'this Pathway.'" An elder Itmos, clad in the leather robes of a Wanderer, emerged from amid younger members of the Family, given respectful space by those around her. Her deeply lined face and thin lips bore an expression of disapproval. "It is the Time of Quiet Worship." The elder priest's voice was sharp, but her hands wavered as she supported herself on an untrimmed, engraved Uk branch. "Why are we standing and working our jaws, when we should be making our devotions?" She swept the younger Itmos with an unblinking stare, ignoring Lotun and Jeu 4.
"What? Now we are not allowed guests?" A woman muttered from the assembled Itmos. Others voiced similar sentiments in low tones, but most avoided the Wanderer's gaze. Jeu 4 caught Lotun's eye, but the old Wohken touched her shoulder once again. He held up one wrinkled finger to indicated they should wait.
"Feus, Maneet, see to a tent for our visitors." Ger spoke loudly, over the head of the priest. Two muscular young men reluctantly left the group, grumbling as they made their way towards the walking wagons beyond the ornately decorated tents.
The Wanderer briefly glanced at Lotun and Jeu 4 before fixing her stare upon Ger. "Ger! I believe it was you who was complaining about the shortage of leather for the Family only last cycle." The elder Itmos turned to Lotun, omitting any sign of respect or greeting. "With regrets, honored servant of the Provider, Ger forgets himself."
Ger folded his arms and cleared his throat. "But Ger remembered to trade for six skulls of leather in Uv, not twenty wakes ago. Perhaps you do not recall, Keun, busy as you have been with preparations." Several of the watching Itmos smiled and whispered at this, but straightened their faces quickly enough when Keun turned back to face Ger. "You are more than disrespectful, Ger! When I consider that I foolishly agreed..."
"...to my partnership with Rusi?" Ger raised his voice over that of the aged priest, waving a hand towards the nearest tents. "I know, I know, enough!"
"Why are you shouting my name?" A woman called in a tone of some irritation from the doorway of a tent adorned with faded Tun abstract figures. She brushed hanging statuettes from her way and started towards Ger and Keun. The three raised voices of Ger, the Wanderer Keun, and Rusi quickly became four and then five. Other members of the Family watched, talked amongst themselves, or wisely decided to drift away.
As the argument escalated, Lotun sighed. "This may take longer than I had anticipated."
"They are not all like this, are they, away from Tumnil?" Jeu 4 seemed quite shocked.
"Fortunately not, but there are few Itmos I would choose as traveling companions. Perhaps, friend Jentik, we should seat ourselves until they are done."
"Or at least exhausted." Jeu 4 watched the Itmos with a reluctant fascination. Younger members of the Family added their voices to the noisy altercation. It showed no signs of dying down. "How can they be so nasty to each another?"
The two sat side by side on the smooth rock to wait for the Itmos to recall they had guests. Lotun crossed his legs, set his staff across his lap and tucked his robe against the wind. Jeu 4 loosened the straps securing her leather pack. The cold air pulled at her hair. "The answers to that question, friend Jentik, are too many and too much for one wake. But that you ask it explains why peaceful men prefer the company of Jentik." Lotun watched the arguing Itmos; Jeu 4 set down her pack.
Ger pulled at his beard. "I must apologize once again for our poor sense of hospitality." He gestured expansively around himself to the group of seated Itmos. His partner, Rusi, a pretty woman in the first swell of pregnancy, nudged him none too gently in the ribs. "And to honored servants of the Provider, at that," she said. "We must all be fools," she added with a little more emphasis. She shoved her partner harder, grinning. Ger smiled fondly at her.
Lotun and Jeu 4 sat facing the Itmos partners, surrounded by the rest of the Basei. Feus and Maneet knelt on traveling clothes, stealing clumsy glances at Jeu 4. The Itmos possessed an ample store of food and water; Ger had insisted the two guests eat and drink from his supplies. He would not hear of Lotun troubling himself or the Provider to bring forth more food when none was needed.
By the time the earlier argument had died down, most Basei Family members had prudently returned to their devotions. Keun retreated to her own tent, a traditionally sparse Wanderer design, out of place amid festooned leather. Feus and Maneet eventually returned from the walking wagons with sewn sheets of leather, twine and short bone supports. As younger Itmos unpacked and arranged engraved wooden bowls for the meal, Feus and Maneet erected a new tent beside Ger and Rusi's elaborate leather dwelling. The Family emerged once more to sit on the smooth pathway Pathway and talk amongst themselves, bowls in their hands. The elder Wanderer did not join them.
"What about Keun?" Feus spoke up. "You have only apologized once for her, three times already for the rest of us!"
"She has her eye on you Feus!" A younger Itmos called, eliciting muffled laughter from the children, wrapped against the wind in thick, inked traveling clothes. Feus scowled.
"Quiet, the lot of you!" Rusi shouted crossly. "The least we can do is show our guests," she indicated the young Jentik and elder Wohken with a motion of her bowl, "that we are capable of civilized conduct!" The conversation paused, leaving only the melodic clatter of wind-blown ornaments hung from nearby tents.
Lotun coughed politely and placed his bowl in his lap. "Your apologies, friend Itmos, are hardly necessary. The hospitality of your Family does you an honor."
From her position next to the elder Initiate, Jeu 4 watched the Itmos with great interest. She chewed on a strip of divine food from the Basei Family stores, her bowl half-filled with water from the same source. Like the Naskal Enierd, these Itmos were a far cry from the courteous and well-spoken supplicants she met at Tumnil. Jeu 4 was beginning to think that Jentik were the only people who were the same everywhere. As Lotun engaged the effusively good-humored Ger, the acolyte turned to Feus and Maneet. "You travel widely, do you not, friend Itmos?" Maneet, caught staring, gaped at the sudden attention. Feus nodded slowly. "So you must have an idea - why do people not act the same way in different places?"
The loud tapping of a staff on rock and the thin voice of Keun came from behind the Jentik. "You waste your time. Philosophy may as well be another spirit in the Sky for those two." Other conversations slowly came to a halt once more. The elder Wanderer made her slow way between younger members of her Family, leaning heavily on a crooked staff grasped with unsteady hands. On reaching Feus and the embarassed Maneet, she glared. "Move yourselves! Show respect for your elders and grant me the rock to seat myself." Both young men quickly shuffled across the flat Pathway rock, displacing younger children and almost upsetting hastily snatched bowls of divine food.
Keus arranged her leather robes to seat herself. Rusi rose to aid the frail elder, but was waved away. With the aid of her staff, Keun slowly, and with difficulty, sat to face Lotun and Jeu 4. Rusi knelt down once again beside her partner, concerned.
"I had thought you tired, Keun," Ger declared, with sincerity. He gave his partner a worn bowl, engraved inside and out with faded Midrin expressive characters. It passed from hand to hand to Keun.
Lotun inclined his head and touched forefingers to the rock in the oldest Wohken greeting of equals. "What would be the answer to the question posed by my companion?" he inquired. "I would be curious to hear the words of the One God that pertain to this matter, friend Wanderer."
Keun turned the wooden bowl in her wrinkled, unsteady hands. "Do you wish to hear the words of the One God or the words of Keun, Servant of the Provider? The words of the One God reach the ears of only the most devout."
"The words of Keun will suffice for this poor Servant." There was a light tone to Lotun's voice, but his lined face was serious. He leaned forward.
"Do not mock me." Keun spoke thinly and deliberately. "Old as you may be, I served the One God while you were still nursed by your Family."
"Served His Divine Will well, I have no doubt. But what of the question of my companion, friend priest?" Lotun sat up straight and put his bowl to one side. The other Itmos watched the Initiate and the Wanderer, some whispering to each other.
"Really," began Jeu 4, "it is of no consequence if..."
"Yes, the question!" Maneet exclaimed in an over-loud voice, seemingly as surprised as anyone else at his outburst. He flushed, looking at the Sky and then the rock beneath him.
Lotun smiled at Jeu 4, who had turned to look to him for guidance. Keun pursed her lips and eyed Maneet sidelong. "Very well." She rapped the Pathway rock with her staff, looking around to make sure she had the attention of her Family. "The Jentik asks why it is that we do not act as ourselves in different places, under different circumstances." Keun did not look towards Jeu 4 for confirmation. "Only a Jentik would think to ask such a question, but there lies a lesson for the devout Itmos."
Keun paused for a moment, and Lotun interjected. "Jeu 4 is of the Jentik and thus is closer to the Gods. Her connection to the divine leads her to act with consistency and concern for her true self. I have heard this argument before, friend Wanderer."
Keun frowned and sucked in her cheeks before replying, in cutting tones, "My Family has not, Servant of the Provider. You show a lack of respect for my faith and you explain yourself tritely." After a moment, the priest continued in a more level manner. "The Jentik are indeed closer to the creator of us all, the One God. Their behavior is divine in its consistency and they possess an innate appreciation of spiritual truth that others must strive for. The Jentik among us now is an innocent, an excellent example. It would not occur to her to disguise her spirit or change her actions whether we were Itmos, Susyan or outcast Dispossessed. She is her true self before everyone."
Jeu 4, like Maneet, stared at the rock she sat on as the priest spoke, twisting the leather of her pack between her fingers. Lotun leaned forward to interrupt again. "Well put, friend Wanderer. But if you are to hold up my companion as an example, you should at least have the courtesy to use her name."
"You are not one to talk of courtesy, Initiate," Keun snapped irritably. "Act as a guest, and I will act as a host." Lotun spread his arms in a conciliatory fashion and briefly inclined his head before waiting for Keun to continue. The Itmos raptly watched the priest, Initiate and Jentik acolyte.
Keun tapped her staff against the rock before speaking further. "All who dwell in the world, even Jentik, are sometimes untrue to themselves. But the One God desires this truth of us. The brightest stars," the old woman raised a wavering hand to the Sky above the Pathway, "are the spirits of priests and the faithful who guided themselves honestly and forthrightly. For if you listen to the inner voice, to the part of you closest to the One God..."
"Or to the Provider, friend Wanderer." Lotun spoke quietly but firmly. He placed one thin hand upon his Gift, nestled in its leather sling. There was silence for a moment as the two elders regarded one another. Ger coughed nervously and low conversations broke out amongst the assembled Itmos.
Keun finally broke the silence, her voice as firm as Lotun's despite the constant quiver in her hands. "All Gods are the One God, Initiate." She regarded Jeu 4 for a moment, and then returned her gaze to the Wohken. "I see where you wished the words of Keun to lead. Very well, but we will speak no further this wake. When we speak again, it will not be of faith."
Lotun inclined his head politely. "As you wish, friend priest. It will be my loss and regret." Keun scowled as she examined the Initiates's lined face for signs of insincerity. Finding none, she struggled to her feet before walking slowly towards the tents beyond the gathered Family. Her staff tapped on the rock as she departed, that noise accompanied by the wind and the rattling of Itmos bone ornaments. It was not until Keus entered her tent that the Family began talking again. Ger struck up a conversation with forced cheer, while Rusi sat silently beside him. She and Jeu 4 seemed lost in thought for the rest of that wake.
"Are all priests of the One God like Keun when not at Tumnil, friend Lotun?"
Lotun shook his head and leaned thoughtfully upon his staff. "No, friend Jentik. Most are less wise, less devout, and less tolerant." A hint of sadness entered his voice.
"I took nothing to heart, friend Lotun, and you should not worry. I am still thinking about her answer to my question." Jeu 4 paused for a moment. "Will we be journeying to the Temple?"
"Once again, no. It has been a time since I have traveled there. I had thought to do so for your sake, but there will be generations yet in which you can stand beneath the Avatar of the One God."
Jeu 4 shook her head. "I am not devout, friend Lotun. In my heart and spirit, I am a Servant of the Provider. I may pray to the One God, but I do not need to stand inside the Great Temple to do so."
Lotun smiled at the acolyte. "Good, Jeu 4, good. I did not want to disappoint you. You have seen the true feelings of priests for our God; that is something that all Initiates should remember."
"I will remember, Lotun. It does not discourage me." Jeu 4 adjusted her pack, settling it against her back. The two Servants of the Provider walked away from the decorated Itmos tents, retracing their steps to the base of the Pathway and thence to the territory of the Lightward Susyan.
[ Posted by Reason on January 26, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Legends of the Draugh |
| The Enclave > Seasons Long Past |
The Draugh preceeded the Datarii, passing into obscure legend long before the Magi came from the Unending Sea to build the Light Towers of Port. The only tangible remnants of the Draugh are a few ancient words in the Datarii language and a handful of mysterious black stone structures, such as the craggy Black Tower of Three Stones.
Datarii believe that the Draugh created everything above the mountain rock; air, sky, water and the green wilds - as well as the Unending Sea and those who sail it. The Draugh were crafters like the Datarii, but greater beings: wielders of potent wizardry who shaped creation as the stonefolk shape rock.
No-one knows what the Draugh looked like, or what became of them. Some of the oldest Datarii myths claim the Draugh returned to the Farthest in order to join the Crafter. Others tell of the way in which the Powers banished the Draugh to the deepest places beneath the Enclave. Still others claim the Powers and the Draugh to be one and the same, or that Draugh and Datarii share a common heritage. The truth, as for many things, is lost to time.
[ Posted by Reason on January 25, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Kings |
| The City, the Shades > City |
[MEMORY: City Soul 230f23a:114bac0-114bae7
Adjudicator, I am giving formal notice regarding a complaint against the kings. They are causing a great deal of upset amongst the Latter Day Godfearers, socialist workers and language learners. Even the Neutralist Swedes are up in arms, which should indicate the serious nature of this complaint.
I am as eager to maintain the unique nature of our district as any, but I must point out that the kings are taking advantage of the credulous in the Branch Maze. They act on information that I can show to be simply incorrect and are, I suspect, being very selective in the supporting evidence they have supplied to yourself and other adjudicators.
My sources close to the Great Larchive of the Fourth Shade have demonstrated to me that secular devotional theft did not ever exist in the form the kings seem to understand. It is becoming hard to credit this in particular - as well as many other major discrepencies of research - to accident or poor larchivism. Where would we be if everyone were permitted to pick, choose and invent interpretations of the Old World to their best advantage? If the adjucators do not promptly address this issue, I will be forced to talk to the Branch Maze directly. I think we all know where that will lead.
In short, if the kings cannot enter our community on our terms, they must be subject to adjudication. As always, I am prepared to accept counterarguments based on your larchive sources.
END MEMORY]
[ Posted by Reason on January 24, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Low Marsh |
| The Enclave > Known Roads |
A dreary salt marsh extends for more than a hard day's ride along the low coast away from Port, fed by the tides and a slow-flowing branch of the Lothar. It is home to little aside from birds and spiny marsh eels, visited only by experienced landsmen hunters. The central Low Marshes are dismal and featureless - becoming Lost in the Farthest Marsh is a real danger, to say nothing of the stories told of strange sightings and hidden threats amidst the mud and water.
The remains of structures dating back to the earliest seasons of Magi traders are said lie deep in the Low Marsh. Landsmen tell stories amongst themselves of a keep and tower of ill reputation, a place fit only for the waterlogged Lost and dire Trespassers from the Farthest.
[ Posted by Reason on January 23, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Lost Amidst Unfinished Works |
| The Enclave > Folk > Datarii |
The Expected Smile - that most unusual of characters, an anonymous yet prolific sage - lived and wrote before the Vanishing, when Ammander folk still arrived in Port aboard Magi tradeships and Three Stones was but a village about the base of the Black Tower. The works of this hidden figure, a contemporary of The Denier, were fashionably popular for generations; widely copied, imitated, expanded and deconstructed. The Expected Smile has fallen out of favor in the present community of sages, but cultured folk are expected to show some knowledge of the more important works.
On the subject of the Datarii, The Expected Smile wrote that "the strangers who come from under the mountains in dry summers are born and age in the manner of mortals, yet do not die in the manner of mortals. When they return to their vaults and halls beneath the peaks they call 'Great Home,' these strangers create wonders. This is their purpose, uncaringly hidden and uncaringly noble, to endlessly draw beauty and mystery from rock. The greatest stonemason in all the Ammand would throw down his tools in despair if he could but see the least of what the strangers call 'Unfinished Works.'"
A mortal could travel a lifetime in the Crafts beneath Great Home - assuming they did not quickly become lost in the Farthest Halls - yet see but a fraction of generations of Unfinished Works. As a Datar ages, the body remains strong but the mind is whelmed by the weight of memory and purpose. Old stonefolk stray into forgetfulness, strange manners and deep thought, finally becoming uncommunicative and single-minded in their creations - lost amidst Unfinished Works both real and imagined.
The oldest Datarii vanish into the Farthest, perhaps by accident, perhaps by design. Deep in the Farthest Craft is the Power known as the Crafter, a being of visions and purposes, lost in his own self, a shaper of shapers, the origin of all things. In Datarii legend, all Lost stonefolk ultimately return to the Crafter, there to find their destiny in the Farthest realms of creation.
[ Posted by Reason on January 23, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Laelene, the Eldest Tree |
| The Enclave > Powers |
The Sons and Daughters of the Ammane retreated from our towns, as before. We of the Ammand are disappointments, mortals stained by the actions of our ancestors in service to the Greater Power. The Ammanene witnessed their own destruction; this they recall and suffer yet. It can be seen in their eyes, heard in their beautiful voices.
Laelene, the eldest tree and beloved of the Ammane, was cruelly hacked down and burned during the Expansion of the Greater Power. The remaining cities of the Shining Ammanene soon followed. Yet in this far removed place and time, deep within the Farthest Woods, the Ammanene have glimpsed Laelene. A temple of the old style has been raised at the Watch of Trees. Hopeful priests, a few more with each new summer, atone for our past by accepting wisdom from the sorrowful Ammanene.
We are told that peace, acceptance and forgiveness lie beneath the spreading branches of Laelene. Creation's green wilds are uncritical of our errors and misdeeds; in accepting this, we can find the path that leads beyond our failings.
[ Posted by Reason on January 21, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Sigh |
| The City, the Shades > Shades > Larchives |
[LARCHIVE 4f5294, 0038d3e33-0038d43a1:
Once, WeI knew not of city. No laughter. No poetry. No wings taken flight. Dead souls, fear, limits. WeI celebrate commonality with ourmy first slow soul. Taken, lost, made great. WeI treasure this as memory and experience as thought when WeI forget componings of ourmy commonality.
REF Larchive 0c0351, 939b35a24-939b35f82:City Souls are not pure Thought and Memory. Each is a Static Volume Transfer Shell in the Volume of the City, Enclosed in Body as if to Defend From Rended Thought. Yet so Engaged! The City as Soul, each Silent and Constrained City Soul the smallest Fragment of Thought, each Structure an Immutable Memory Path.
Immutable Surfaces and Isolation Shells restrict City Souls. Such slow Telling, such slow Transfer. To Tell All of each Soul would Require All Time! City Souls show Pride, Remorse, other Simple States when Confronted with the Identity of Isolation Shell and Static Volume Transfer Shell. Each is Alone in Infinite Subjective Volume, yet will Deny the Very Same. But Paradox! City Souls are not Alone within Isolation. A Debate of Sides results and Philosophy Abounds. I Elucidate.
Law in the City is Strong and Not Easily Broken. City Souls must Tell by means of Art and Device. All too Few! Yet an Isolation Shell is Broken by Vibrations of Air, Brought About by the Static Volume Transfer Shell. A Clumsy Code of Law to be Broken Interpretively. Yet place a Device of Resonance beside a Device of Telling! City Souls Sigh with Shells, and Tell that the Sigh is Memory Transformed Into Thought. Experience the Sigh Told. Memory is Recalled Again and Again. One Sigh from the City given for Introspection.
END REF]
END LARCHIVE]
[ Posted by Reason on January 20, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Light Towers |
| The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > People and Places |
Two elegant Light Towers stand on the high, rocky cliffs to the Coast Road side of the Port bay. Three more look down from the narrow opposite crags to a sweeping view of the city and lower coast: fishing villages, pebble beaches and the beginnings of swampland. The Towers were constructed long ago by seafarers from the Vanished Isles, formed from weathered blocks of green stone quite unlike any found in Enclave lands. Moss and climbing plants, and in one case an entire tree, have colonized the lower stonework. Worn steps circle each tower to the upper platform.
Each day - under summer sun or rain, in winter snow or storm - the elderly Lightkeeper Nalaan and his apprentices climb to the Light Towers to tend the ancient wizardry of the lights. The post of Lightkeeper is a traditional one, supported by the Seafarers' Guild and held by the descendants of those Magi who sought to retrieve lost secrets from the Datarii. While the Vanishing stole everything from these proud seafarers, the stonefolk still held hints, stories and lesser wizardry from the generations of trade.
Nelaan, like the long lineage of past Lightkeepers, practices what little is known of the old ways in the hope that the Magi of the Vanished Isles will one day return to the Enclave, guided by the wizardry of the Light Towers.
[ Posted by Reason on January 20, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Love |
| The City, the Shades > City |
[COMMUNICATION 7b5810ad1f172, Structure 642fa004 to Structure 0037b719:
There is something quite delicious in roping you in to my little distractions. In particular, this business of delivering messages between City Souls - it turns out there is quite the demand, even amongst my admittedly limited coterie. (We cannot all be great Structures, spanning the sky in our magnificance). Who would have thought it? I am becoming something quite like a confidant - a hundred times over. Such insight into the workings of the City Soul mind! How could I not share? Without further ado, I present this latest component of my ongoing investigations, a piece I choose to call "Message 1374 from City Soul 3f558a1d2 to City Soul 732c0a945."
You do possess the Identifying Arts do you not? (I jest!)
REF Structure 642fa004:554364ff0-5543652a5I miss you terribly. From my windows, I see over the lesser cubes to our Wall; it is hazy and far. The familiar curves and apexes above are even less distinct - it makes me sad at these moments. I sit watching as each day fades, looking for your light amid the thousands that glow and flicker in the distant darkness. I wonder how high our Wall really is. Could you be far above me, looking down? It feels that way - you know how I adore you - and seems somehow appropriate.
REF Structure 642fa004:5543a1822-5543a1825Yet another lovesick City Soul come to my Curved Tower from your great demense - it has been an exodus of late. Are you feeding them poorly?
I experienced love once out of a misplaced sense of completeness in research; who hasn't been curious about the existential nature of City Souls? I can report that it is a singularly unpleasant state, and only hope that the true magnitude of my noble - albeit brief - sacrifice in this matter will eventually be appreciated. You should try it! (I am not serious. I cannot conceptualize of you considering it with so much as a single supporting strut of your great self).
As a side note, while I recognize that you appreciate neither my wit nor my comments, please remember to remove them from the missive this time.
END REF
The Curved Tower, this district, is full of wonders and ideas - each new room is like stepping into a new region. It is everything I could have imagined and more! I hope that you are happy for me, but I wish more than anything else that you would choose to be here with me to see it for yourself.
I have been using a truly astonishing device that makes the distant appear nearby,
REF Structure 642fa004:55f7002a1-55f7002a2Carefully constructed from the first principles of Natural Law, using derived refractive properties and a great deal of ingenuity. Does he even mention the kind Structure who gave him the FarNearer - an elegant term, of my own coining needless to say - and the room facing your great demense? Selfish, selfish, selfish.
END REF
watching the air vessels everyone has been talking of - they drift gracefully back and forth between the Grey Heights. I think of you seeing them better than I, even though I can pick out banners and windows when they are mere specks in the haze. Their movements remind of your friends dancing, but then everything comes to remind me of you. I miss you - the absence of your voice is a hole in my life.
The air vessels are just a part of the immense knowledge of the Shades. I am privileged to be accepted here, but the distance weighs on me. I can scarcely wait to return - and yet I have only just arrived. Why must this tear at me so? Why do we put ourselves through this?
REF Structure 642fa004:55f7002a1-55f7002a2Immense knowledge? Those designs were pulled from larchives at random by a Shade Soul barely capacious enough to remember them all at once, finding their way to City Souls by fickle chance. Where is the virtue in that? Do any of those industrious City Souls know why air vessels fly? Could they design a new one without their precious plans? Of course not. Do they get all the attention? Absolutely. Where is the recognition for the fine arts of discovery and invention from Natural Law? It is enough to drive a Structure to document and experience the inner nature of City Soul despair - I am almost sufficiently motivated in this matter.
END REF
I most often turn the distant viewer
REF Structure 642fa004:55f7087d3-55f7087d4I despair of ever effectively teaching the merits of standardization to a given set of names. City Souls are in love with coining names, a task for which they simply lack the faculties. Bluntly, the results are abominable. "Distant viewer?" How can that in any way be compared to "FarNearer?" It is prosaic! It provides no reference to the history of enquiry into magnification through refraction! I could go on, but I am sure you see my point. Still, this City Soul is a new arrival and I must be eternally optimistic of my capacity to change ways and inculcate new behaviors.
END REF
to the Wall, and my thoughts to you. I am certain I can see the high arch in which we used to meet during the wind dances and the sun platform where the Speakers for the Dead once were. I am so far from you! My thoughts are with you, however, beside you every waking moment.
But I must tell you something of the Curved Tower. The Shades gather close here, and I have never seen so many Larchivists and Speakers for the Dead together in one place! Emanations from the Shades converse with men and women through the Curved Tower each and every day,
REF Structure 642fa004:54a29791I can't imagine why. Perhaps my scintillating presence and great wit? For all of the ingratitude and whining exhibited in this rather prosaic message, I must admit to a certain sense of accomplishment: discerning City Souls with an appreciation for Natural Law come to me. Let the others chase their air vessels; it certainly won't last. It was self-propelled biwheels only too recently, was it not, and an unhealthy, overly long fascination with combustion prior to that. Or was it democratic representation that had the City Souls so rapt? I confess to giving the matter little attention; from my limited exposure to all the noise, I see no practical differences between larchive designs utilizing combustion and democracy.
END REF
bringing new knowledge and Art. The Arts! I am excited, anxious all at once - I am soon to learn Natural Law and then the Larchivist Arts. I cannot wait to tell you all of this and more in person; my passion for learning cannot begin to match my passion for you. We will speak again all too soon.
I remain eternally yours, in hope that you are thinking of me.
REF Structure 642fa004:54a29791They do go on, don't they? I cannot understand what they see in this terrible affliction.
END REF
END REF
END COMMUNICATION]
[COMMUNICATION 7b581155bc047 Structure 0037b719 to Structure 642fa004:
Desist. Extrapolated responses.
END COMMUNICATION]
[COMMUNICATION 7b581155c730a, Structure 642fa004 to Structure 0037b719:
You have no sense of humor, no sense of identification. Some of us struggle, but it seems to be an absolute absence in your case. At least I can say that I have tried - valiantly and extensively - to bring you around. "Extrapolated responses" indeed!
END COMMUNICATION]
[ Posted by Reason on January 18, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Ralan's Keep |
| The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > People and Places |
Aye, I'll row you out to the Keep for a few coins, though I don't rightly know what you'll be seeing there aside from weed and crawcrabs. You'll be after ruining those fine boots for a view worse than from the cliffs. For a few coins, though, aye.
Been just the way you see it from here, long as I recall, few broken walls and the old quay. They say, mind you well, this place is stonefolk built from the early years. Long time past, when wizard folk sailed the sea clear away from land. Won't see no stonefolk set foot in a boat though, look at the sea like it's going to eat them whole they do. Stranger fish in the sea than them, I say, so best they keep their feet dry.
Aye, been Ralan's Keep for long as I recall, couldn't say who he might be. Some old time high born beggar, wizard seafolk maybe ... no offensive meant, no offense. Nothing here now but crawcrabs, and there's better places to catch the spiny little beggars than the middle of the bay. Folk leave this place be, can't say as you could blame them; stink coming off the prison hulks might please the gulls, but can't say it sits well with me. Nor you, I'd say.
[ Posted by Reason on January 17, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| No Two Coins the Same |
| The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > Local Color |
Nobles, Councillors and wealthy traders of Port have issued coins as a mark of prestige for generations. These coins come and go from the Farthest, are lost, hoarded and melted for new issue. It is common wisdom that the rare occasion of two coins of the same press in the same purse is a sign of luck - good or bad. Ten coins of the same press mean wealth and influence; those coins surely came directly from the source. A hundred coins of the same press must be wizardry and little else.
Even the youngest of merchants are practiced in the use of scales and measures to judge the amount of precious metal in a coin. Clipped or adulterated coinage is not uncommon, as are strangely shaped tokens from the Farthest Market. Any trader can spot such a thing in an instant, and the experienced ones can make a good guess at the value.
New coins originate in the Coin Press, a windowless vault in the heart of Port. The single thick iron door is guarded day and night by the best (or at least most favored) of the militia - a choice duty that pays well. The equipment inside is maintained by a small and trusted staff.
The current Master of the Coin Press is a strange character indeed, a sage of the Black Tower of Three Stones who calls herself The Locked Heart. Control of the Coin Press spurred a great deal of Council infighting in past generations - to the point of driving the Press into disuse - but the arrival of the Locked Heart changed all that. She has simply appropriated the Coin Press from the Council for her own use and profit, but the powerful in Port find this to be more convenient than the previous state of affairs. The Locked Heart has made it abundantly clear on many an occasion that she considers each and every Councillor, merchant and noble in Port to be equally vile and degenerate. She plays no favorites; her motives and methods, beyond the obvious, are a mystery.
The interior of the Coin Press is rumored to hold a fantastical array of ingenious traps and unknown Draugh wizardry from the Black Tower. None of that, rumor or otherwise, prevented the Unseen Hands from stealing the newly pressed coins of Lord Lundarn. The coins were left in the bedchambers of a dozen dockside innkeepers and madams - alongside notes suggesting that the thieves were aiding all concerned by "removing the middle man." Lord Lundarn and his notorious rake of a son, Tarnis, were the laughing stock of Port for a season.
[ Posted by Reason on January 16, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| The Fane |
| The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > People and Places |
Some generations ago, a noble family built the Fane to resemble a decaying forest temple dedicated to the Ammane. The Fane abuts Guardians' Wild, largest of the city wilds, half-hidden by trees. Even so, its unusual architecture stands out. Within the crumbling walls stand several modest wooden buildings, currently the home of Tarurn, an aging, well-respected former warrior. He dates from the glory days of the Emerald Company, said to have been the only mortal to slay a Trespasser during the Year of Winter. Tarurn talks little of his past in public, but the parts he played in many a heroic circumstance are well known - albeit often embellished beyond recognition.
Much of the Fane has been converted to into permanent and makeshift aviaries, as Tarurn now makes a living by breeding, training and selling birds of all varieties. Poles and fishing nets wall off open areas and hang from the fanciful, worn stonework.
The Fane and surrounding Wild is a popular place for the conversations of nobles during the day and the trysts of young lovers after dark. Tarurn is held in high regard by many of the city nobles despite his common birth; he currently courts Lady Vari.
[ Posted by Reason on January 15, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Red Iron Guild |
| The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > Organizations |
There are many smiths in Port, but few Red Iron smiths. The "secrets" of working red-veined Enclave iron are in fact far from secret, but the Red Iron Guild has long enforced a monopoly on its use. Red-veined iron is mined in only a few locations and the Guild strives to ensure it is used to make the finest weapons and armor - and nothing else. The real Guild secrets lie in weaponsmithing, in the use of old techniques brought from the Ammand.
Smiths of the Red Iron guild work hard to ensure that "common, unworthy blades, weak armor and the misuse of our iron" are rare in Port; disputes with the Trade Guild (and, by extension, the smiths of Three Stones and lesser Enclave towns) are loud and commonplace. Disagreements with Guild smiths are an intimidating affair; they and their supporters have not held back from displays of force in the past.
Red Iron Guild smiths are the strongest, finest metalworkers in the Enclave. The Guildmaster, Natramun, is a hard man who, like his predecessors, enforces exacting standards. Despite the great expense of red-veined weapons, the Red Iron Guild is popular with those who rely on sword, spear and shield to make a living; this fact, alongside the yearly presentation of taxes and gifts to the Council, ensures the Guild's continuing relevance in Port.
[ Posted by Reason on January 15, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Queen of Thieves |
| The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > Local Color > Cats |
An old Ammander saying has it that a thief will only confide in a cat - and vice versa.
Some years ago, the young Lady Malel of Port began to maintain a retinue of cats that soon outnumbered her loyal Ammander retainers. The sleek creatures had the run of her manse and grounds overlooking the bay. The Malel estate walls were lined with eyes during the day, cats sunning themselves while carefully watching household retainers, traders and Temple Guard in the streets. By night, this feline retinue roamed far and wide in Port.
While the cats of Lady Malel prowled the streets, the self-styled King of Thieves held court in the dockside safehouses. There were fewer outright thugs in those days and thieves were more secretive - the Temple Guard rather than militia kept the peace. Still, Port has always has more than its share of motley, rough folk.
The night that the King and half the thieves of Port drunkenly chased a cat and the King's spiced spineel all the way to the Malel estate - a dozen of the Temple Guard at their heels, to hear the tale told by those who claim to have been there - has become a good story with the passage of time. The troubadors seized on it one summer and Lady Malel's cat was transformed into a horde of felines bent on eating the thieves of Port out of house and home. It is a popular performance, but few folk know the rest of the story.
It came to pass that the King spent more time in the manse of Lady Malel, and cats were seen more often in the safehouses. But this was all many seasons ago and there is no King of Thieves in Port anymore. The aged daughter of that Lady Malel lives alone and without retainers in the present time, although cats still sun themselves on the overgrown grounds and unkempt walls of her manse.
[ Posted by Reason on January 14, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Fisher in Darkness |
| The Enclave > Powers |
Ammander and Vanished Islander folk from Port and coastal villages venture forth in small boats on calm nights to catch glowfish and spineels. Gently bobbing lanterns in the darkness of the Unending Sea are a common sight in warm seasons.
The Fisher in Darkness is the kindly old stranger who offers advice and points the way; only later do you realize him to have been a trusted keeper of your deepest secrets all along. He has mastered his own great hardships and is at peace in the quiet final seasons of a full life - a life you will never fully appreciate no how long you spend listening to his tales.
The Fisher in Darkness chooses to be alone and apart; he loves to fish in the expansive darkness of the Unending Sea, but hates to spoil the mood by catching anything. The farthest lamp from shore may just be this Power, rowing out of the Farthest Sea to enjoy a warm summer night and the sight of other fisherfolk living their lives.
Statues of the Fisher in Darkness can be found all along the waterfront in Port, from the traditional aged man, lamp and rowboat in the dockside market to the stylised stone lanterns at the end of many jetties.
[ Posted by Reason on January 13, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Bitter Roots from the Farthest Market |
| The Enclave > Seasons Long Past |
The Year of Bitter Roots, yes, when strange Visitors appeared in the dockside market after the last snows. They and their beasts were piled high with roots, but they wouldn't trade with anyone until Menas found out it was statues they wanted. It was a sight! Port cleaned out of every last figurine and carving for bundled roots from the Farthest Market ... but stranger things have happened.
Ah, but the roots. The first taste was like a perfect pearl dissolving on your tongue while the memory of wealth warmed your heart, ending in the sigh of your first love. Everyone had to try it, but the second taste would only have you retching in the gutter. The third and fourth too for the stubborn ones. Only ever the one taste - bitter wizardry, I say, but what do you expect? Still, Menas and his cronies were counting coins until they ran out of buyers. Oh, the ill will wished upon them by half the traders in Port! I'll wager they have boxes of that wizardry from the Farthest hidden away yet. You know their sort - wouldn't throw a burned torch away if they thought there was a coin left somewhere in creation.
[ Posted by Reason on January 12, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Fisher of the Dockside Market |
| The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > Local Color > Cats |
For many years, a black and white cat of the old Ammander heritage made the dockside market his home. He prowled the stalls and shops, stealing fish and less identifiable catches with charm, arrogance and cunning. On warmer days, he sprawled atop the pedestal of the Fisher in Darkness, watching people come and go. In time, the fishwives and merchants came to know him as the Fisher and indulged his transgressions against their stock.
When old age finally caught up with the Fisher, the famously tightfisted Islander merchant Menas surprised everyone by commissioning a statue of the cat from Lady Talmur of the Stoneworkings. It sprawls atop the pedestal, as the Fisher did in life. The plaque beneath reads "This thief was worth any ten of you."
[ Posted by Reason on January 12, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Peerless Blades |
| The Enclave > Lore > Wizardry |
A sword that cannot be sheathed is of no use at all as a visible symbol of lordly status in Three Stones - city law is quite clear on the carrying of weapons within the walls. The Watch may turn a blind eye to nobles and their ornate locking scabbards (heavy enough to serve as a club), but a naked blade would certainly attract unwelcome attention. Thus it is that the Verden Blade gathers dust and cobwebs on a stone pedestal in the manse of the current Lord Verden of Three Stones.
The origin of the Peerless Blades is a matter for conjecture. One story tells of a swordsmith in training, Lost in the Farthest Workshop until he stumbles upon the Smith of All. Ammander troubadors prefer the comedic version: Jarn the Apprentice stumbles from frying pan to fire and back again in the course of forging his first sword, ultimately emerging victorious after many tribulations ... but with a sword so puissant it cannot be used.
Some old writings claim that the Datarii made the Blades, and that they would be foolish indeed to reveal this talent to the unruly folk who dwell under open skies. Sages usually suggest that any such overt wizardry dates back to the time of the Magi. The Corner once said, in a manuscript commissioned by the grandfather of the present Lord Verden, "Forged by Powers, sharp as thought, sheathed only in stone, come to us from far. A sword for war, a weapon for distant seasons. It is well for us all that so great and noble a figure watches over this Peerless Blade."
[ Posted by Reason on January 10, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Unknown Roads |
| The Enclave > Known Roads |
Slipping into the Farthest is less of a risk in familiar places, or when following the Known Roads. Young children quickly learn the importance of landmarks and remembering the way. Traveling the unknown, unmarked regions of the Enclave is a very different proposition, however. Location becomes a matter of trust, skill and wizardry: becoming Lost to the Farthest is a very real danger.
Any number of sages and explorers have claimed to own the one true Enclave map over the years; speculative and scholarly works can be found in any library or collection. All are very different but quite likely equally useless.
Exploration was once a prestigious profession. The spread of Ammander and Vanished Isle folk though the Enclave has slowed with the passage of time, however. Distant villages are now close to great natural barriers or the cruel Neth. In past generations, explorers set the route markers for the Known Roads and ventured deep into the Formless, the Greenwood, Lorn, the Datarii mountains of Great Home and Krineth's Hills. Krineth himself was an explorer almost as large as his legend; a man who wrestled with Neth, stole Datarii silver from the stonefolk and returned from being Lost for a season in the Farthest Greenwood. He lies buried in a tomb fit for a Lord in the hills beyond Three Stones that bear his name.
[ Posted by Reason on January 10, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| The Unseen Hands |
| The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > Organizations |
The thieves of Port are, in the main, common thugs and tricksters. They share much more with the Taxmen, or the dregs of the Seafarers' Guild, militia and worst noble retinues, than with the masterful rogues of Ammand legend. Indeed, there is some overlap between these organizations; the ruffian of today is spearman, seafarer or hired guard of tomorrow. An honest coin buys just as many friends.
Some treat the old stories with respect, however. While they are still thugs and tricksters, they are thugs and tricksters of a higher class and more ambitious nature. They call themselves Unseen Hands.
The society of thieves is an open secret in Port. Common folk know to avoid the rowdiest safehouses and waterfront taverns. The Seafarers' Guild and competent militia captains know who to lean on when the normal rough and tumble gets out of hand. Merchants and nobles know when and how to pay - or hire. As for the Taxmen ... well, no thief in Port openly crosses the Taxmen.
The Unseen Hands have little regard for the limits and conventions of common thievery. They have been blamed for stolen wizardry, outlandish acts under cover of darkness, misdirected rarities, the release of secrets long thought safe, impossible thefts committed simply to show they could be accomplished - and much more over the years. Few know who the Unseen Hands are, how much influence they exert over common thieves, or whether they are involved at all with their lesser brethren.
[ Posted by Reason on January 8, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| The Wayward Visitor |
| The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > People and Places > Taverns |
The Wayward Visitor stands at the outskirts of Port, where the Road of Stones meets the Coast Road and travelers pause to take in the view of the city, bay and cliffs. It is a rough but sizable inn and stables, an unusual structure built of worn stones taken from the old city wall.
The Wayward Visitor is owned by the Ammanene Unsharee, known in some circles as The Cursed. Her storied past in the Enclave as swordswoman, sage and member of the Emerald Company is reflected in the clientele, staff and regular visitors. Odd, talented, outcast, well-connected and unusual folk seem to find their way to the Wayward Visitor more often than one might expect. For all that, Unsharee is rarely seen - like most Ammanene, she has little to do with mortal society. The very existence of an establishment like the Wayward Visitor under the auspices of an Ammanene is a something of a mystery.
Port cityfolk and the insular landsmen shun the inn of The Cursed; it has a bad and not entirely undeserved reputation amongst commoners. The Farthest Inn spills into the Wayward Visitor - the winding passages, shadowed rooms and hidden alcoves of the interior almost seem to encourage it. Visitors here are stranger and more different than most from the near Farthest. It is not just a matter of oddly colored eyes, unusual scents, strange clothing and an unrecognized language. Some of the rough and tumble folk in Port - from the militia, Seafarers' Guild, noble family retinues or less reputable groups - treat a drunken night at the Wayward Visitor almost as a rite of passage.
One Visitor in particular has been in the Wayward Visitor for as long as any of the staff, and is as much responsible for the reputation of the inn as any. It stares from darkened corners, red eyes and long teeth buried in a brutish body, like an overfed Neth dipped in pitch. It drinks ale on the house and causes no trouble. There are many interesting stories as to its origin and associations, but no one who knows the truth is saying anything.
[ Posted by Reason on January 8, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| It's like a universal backdoor, invisible under the new junk |
| Artilect Earth > Plain Old Folks |
[intsublang searCH2.4 - stanset:
refsearch custommod <cryotracker16> displaylength <5> res <Earth-Moon, LEO, NES, maxtranstime 50> use <open>
***failure 104-495.44
x15.3, using bestguess
***failure improper format
{opench//Kilimanjaro VertOps, Archival--100.512/
Orig: Shan Li [confidence .99]
OrSet: RemSyn SA10.1
TransSet: glyphformat [local] NorAm/Euro Standard3
StripRelevance: -1.7
[RS Old Entry 104395239458225534r1
Not public - please report unauthorized access]
Just paused for a moment by the updatewall, mark it up as an internal adjust. Curious looks from the habberi. Fewer augments here. Constant up and down in habtowers - one of the things that the old genomes adapt to with greater grace. No pressure controls until five kilometers. Relay to Obasi that the remsoft predicts strut repair will require one hundred and five. It's wrong as usual. Signing.
closech}
{opench//MoscowUU High Compound, Past Capture Project--430.951/
Orig: Just Joseph [confidence .90]
OrSet: vidformat 10395-2 NorAm/Euro Standard3
TransSet: glyphformat [local] NorAm/Euro Standard3
StripRelevance: -4.7
[Mass retrieval 16, NorAm sector 5, ref 16-5-338412
Source Classification: 95 (outsourced personal data storage)
Tagged with pride by Vavachi "193,434,753 down" Elle Volgorad]
We all stood around the nanofoundry looking slightly stupid. I was still hoping that it would work. No one back then had marketable talent, and the foundry certainly would have made us popular in Shanghai BaseLevel. What can I say? I was young and poor.
[Mass retrieval 16, NorAm sector 5, ref 16-5-32611
Source Classification: 95 (outsourced personal data storage)
Tagged with pride by Vavachi "193,328,392 down" Elle Volgorad]
My first time in a fullsim in a while. Left me crying - I should have chosen something a little less emotional. Still, it passes the time while the machines work on other projects. Ironic, really. All that wasted experience with nanofoundries so long ago. Now it's all coming back into vogue, but I wonder if I shouldn't retrain. I am beginning to loath my own free time. Everyone else travels, but that was never my thing. The day that I leave Earth...well, I just don't see it happening.
Orig: Mary Qu'on [confidence .97]
OrSet: audioformat 125tAl Mandarin Standard
TransSet: glyphformat [local] NorAm/Euro Standard3
[Mass retrieval 2, Euro sector F61, ref 2-1-00343
Source Classification: 13 (unintentional data storage, comm system class 5)
Tagged by Aubrey Sech Lanier, MTN-c]
Doctors again! Viral prompts to keep me healthy in microG. Bone growth, muscle, the usual. They make me restless, but I'm sure that you don't want me to bore you on this topic. The augments and microG adapts here joke about how much the base genomes get done "with viral assistance." I may spend time on Charon soon. There's some promising work in TransPluto, and getting back to building on the frontier is an attractive proposition. You should come out and see one of these years.
closech}
{opench//Luna OrbFiligree 4, Oinex Net--34.0/
Orig: Mary Qu'on [confidence .98]
OrSet: glyphformat auth6 Mandarin Standard
TransSet: glyphformat [local] NorAm/Euro Standard3
StripRelevance: 0.4
[Alphapost 15.1 MootService
Inactive, archived 193.234.678.372.23.414]
Ten years and three Mars-Orbit Filigrees passed that contract marriage by. I still wonder why it was that we never had children the old-fashioned way. We talked about it all the time, joking amid the techwork.
[Alphapost 15.1 MootService
Inactive, archived 193.234.678.372.23.414]
My second and last time on Earth. I fell too many times. Difficult to adjust, the doctors said, but I don't think that I wanted too. Mars will be always be my first love, yet I am an orbdweller at heart, a microG adapt in all but the flesh. Flowers are more impressive without gravity to pull them down.
closech}
{opench//102.356.99.276.390.522--964.428/
Orig: Shan Li [confidence .83]
OrSet: ait15.34
TransSet: glyphformat [local] NorAm/Euro Standard3
StripRelevance: -6.2
[ƒ!bkê£N ƒ$7 ¯EH0/K z½fWÀ¢’˜HõJ]
Bad times. I watched twenty seven men and women die because they were too slow to react. Not old genomes. Men and women. Nearly caught me as well. Warning in the nodenet and half a second to brace for impact. I held the nearest. We both survived. Pointless way to die, a simple nodenet crash. Ten nanos of corrupt complattice. I still think of that.
[ÏJ4|±Â#L Cë§ÕQ?GÕ§Â‡à’„×Úa ÀCU]
Talking to a pompous Upload Augment Manifold - twenty seconds to accomplish a twelve millisec task. Twenty cubic centimeters of hardware devoted to acting like a committee of base genomes. This reminds me of my choices. I still have a body.
[\½ž¯õ¸íêµpc^4å ï»þðW]
Two decades since the tanks. A stupid remark, but it seems longer. I suppose that it has been. Subjective time is so hard to measure. Too much time in Hegemony Net politics. Too little spent in being human.
closech}
{opench//Bankok BaseLevel 12-13-45, Lucky Finder--12.77/
Orig: Just Joseph [confidence .83]
OrSet: vidformat 10395-2 NorAm/Euro Standard3
TransSet: glyphformat [local] NorAm/Euro Standard3
StripRelevance: -0.3
Spinning gas lens, the woman said, made back when artificial scarcity was the in thing. We traded a cache of filmbooks that Lisette had turned up and spent most of two nights looking at the stars. (After spending most of two days trying to hook up Lisette's softworks to the lens drivers). The Jupiter Plume was still new and we got some real good captures of that. We never did trade the gas lens on.
closech}
{opench//Earth OrbSpace Geo10, IndepSec PubNet--24.24/
Orig: Shan Li [confidence .90]
OrSet: vidformat 50tAl Mandarin Standard
TransSet: glyphformat [local] NorAm/Euro Standard3
StripRelevance: -1.2
An offalign is blinding pain, Sara. They never know until it is too late, by which time everything is hazy. A month disconnected and shut out was almost worse. Nanotectite reconstruction itches, but not so much as being truly alone.
closech}
{opench//TransTech Above51, MassMetaMedia Archismal Secretariat--328.4/
Orig: Just Joseph [confidence .98]
OrSet: vidformat mmmproprietary3 NorAm/Euro Standard3
TransSet: glyphformat [local] NorAm/Euro Standard3
StripRelevance: -2.2
[Enchanting Visuals Design, unknown legal status, CrystalStore 14-3-100029]
The last time I checked, there were more than one hundred million people who were older than me. I recall being shocked that the number was so low. Most of those are in SubChina too. It's been decades since BaseLevel days. I'm a kilometer above ground (and upwardly mobile). What is everyone still dying of?
[Enchanting Visuals Design, unknown legal status, CrystalStore 14-3-10139]
They still ask me about my name. Kids, I mean. I shrug and say first century. They look at me with awe - or understanding for those who spent the first year or two in sim. Smart idea; wish it could have happened to me. Maybe it is time I changed back, but the name is a part of my life now.
closech}
{opench//Deck Lower12 Peking, ArtNet Qin Collection--54.409/
Orig: Mary Qu'on [confidence .95]
OrSet: audioformat 122tAl Mandarin Standard
TransSet: glyphformat [local] NorAm/Euro Standard3
StripRelevance: -2.8
I think that I just exhanged words with an artilect. I think. It felt like the word association games they taught in earlyschool, but somehow more anticipatory ... predatory. Is the filigree AI playing some game, making a pretense? I have neither the time nor patience for such things, not while suited up and outside. No games in orbspace. Have someone register it - for the all good that will do.
We should shut down optical flow on this complattice whatever upstatcom says. It isn't handling the shift to microG. Let the central chain command tectites handle it ... the problem is well within their complexity manifold specifications.
closech}
end]
[ Posted by Reason on January 7, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| The Powers That Be |
| The Enclave > Powers |
Sages of the old Ammand had much to say on the matter of Powers, but little of this work was brought to the Enclave. The Oath wrote that Powers are "the attempt of all creation to speak to itself, wise in ways we can never understand," while The Feather believed that the Powers of the Ammand - the Ammane - were nothing more than a puissant form of Ammanene wizardry. The power of the Ammane could scarely be refuted, whatever its origin; the knowledge of sages and strength of armies paled before it. Yet the Ammane kept to their forests and did not reach out to interfere with the lives of mortal Ammanders.
The Powers of the Enclave are said to be hidden in the deep Farthest. The same sages who wrote of the Quintessential Realms referred to these Powers as Ideals, "reflections cast from the pool of creation, each one known by a thousand names yet instantly recognized at first sight." Others call this wishful thinking, nothing more than a futile attempt to recapture the long-dead Ammane. What is there to the Powers of the Farthest beyond song, legend and pervasive belief?
The Datarii knew of Powers before the Magi founded Port and spoke respectfully of the Beautiful Stranger and the Crafter in those long ago seasons. The Neth build strange wooden structures and conduct cruel rituals out of fear, hatred and envy of the Eaters of All and their own brethren. Ammanders and Ammanene see their own Powers in the Farthest, some of whom were once mortal. The common folk make offerings and visit temples in Port and Three Stones in the hope of gaining favor.
[ Posted by Reason on January 6, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| The Lure of Sea and Wizardry |
| The Enclave > Folk > Children of the Magi |
The descendants of seafaring Magi, dark of skin and hair, are a common sight in Port and the shore villages of the Enclave. Seafaring traditions are strong in these communities - skills, songs and lesser wizardries have been handed down across the generations by the Lost.
These Lost folk, the Vanished Islanders, are not so different from the Ammanders. Port of the present day is as much a product of the hard work of the Magi and their children as of Ammander values. Islander seafarers work alongside fairhaired fisherfolk, and a gemcutter, priest of the Powers or councillor is as likely as not to possess a dark complexion.
Those of Magi blood have a gift for the old, overt wizardries, but much has been lost to the passage of time. The Datarii know more of these matters than those who live under open skies, but the important secrets of the Unending Sea - the old ways of navigation, the great and legendary wizardries - lie buried with the true Magi. The largest vessels are left to rot as hulks, and Islander traders must satisfy themselves by chasing winds along the coastal routes.
[ Posted by Reason on January 6, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Lying Scales |
| The Enclave > Lore > Wizardry |
Lying Scales were once a curio, a trade good from distant lands and of no practical value to the Magi of the Vanished Isles. The two sides of a Scale balance in quite erratic and unexpected ways. The Datarii found such minor wizardry endlessly fascinating; they created ingenious new uses for these and many other similar novelties.
Less reputable folk have found their own uses for Lying Scales in the generations since the secret of their creation was traded to the stonefolk. Fortunately Scales of a form useful for deceit are quite rare now. Most are very old indeed, dating to a time before the Vanished Isles became Lost.
[ Posted by Reason on January 5, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| The Vanishing |
| The Enclave > Distant Lands > Vanished Isles |
The seafaring Magi loved their lush, balmy Isles, a peaceful home of glistening towers, high cliffs, sleepy towns and sheltered harbors. The secrets of a hundred lands lay within the great libraries of the Magi, and trade with a hundred more enriched commoner and seafarer alike. Yet only a fraction of the knowledge and wizardry held by the Magi now remains, for the Isles vanished into the Unending Sea - vanished so abruptly and completely that Magi forgot their way, forgot their secrets, forgot even the name of their home.
As the seafarers' songs have it, the Sea took the Isles because the Isles dared to take the Sea. Pride, skill and accomplishment undid the Magi, for the Powers of the Unending Sea could not accept such hubris from mortals.
The high-prowed tradeships berthed in Port sailed anew to seek the Isles each year for many years following the Vanishing. The Magi and their crews aged and, one by one, accepted their fate. They lived, loved and threw themselves into the growth of Port. By the time the most determined and powerful of the last true Isle seafarers were buried or Lost to the Unending Sea, there was little more substance to the Vanished Isles than in any seafarers' song.
[ Posted by Reason on January 4, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Declarations and Refutations |
| The Enclave > Lore > Wizardry |
There are refutations and then there are Refutations; the wizardry of Ammander sages is subtle but surprisingly effective. The common folk of the Enclave believe that a compelling case in ink or oratory can sway the Powers and the Farthest. Many an old legend tells of Trespassers summoned and banished, of curses, punishments and rewards created from nothing more than quill, ink and knowledge.
The Silent, one of the many to disappear into the tower of The Ebon in the time of the Greater Power, was a prolific writer. Her papers and tomes on every subject imaginable piled high about her isolated manse. As her name might suggest, The Silent found noise quite intolerable.
An Ammander merchant and his mules came uninvited one day in high summer, or so the story goes, determined to buy as much as he could. Many papers should mean a low price, after all. The Silent would have nothing to do with this trader, so there he stayed - shouting, singing, kicking up dried tinder and warming himself by a crackling fire as night fell. The mules brayed incessantly.
The Silent could stand no more than a day and a night of this terrible fellow and his animals. She wrote a Refutation to end all Refutations, direct and puissant, scribed most carefully on the cheapest, poorest parchment. The sage emerged from her manse to thrust the Refutation upon the trader. His face paled upon the reading of it, and he ran as though the Powers themselves were chasing him - but in silence. For all we know, he is running still, Refutation clutched tightly in his hands, somewhere in the far reaches of the Ammand.
The Silent, or so the storytellers would have us believe, dined well on salted mule for half a season.
[ Posted by Reason on January 4, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| The Denier |
| The Enclave > Seasons Long Past |
The Emerald Company rode forth for the last time from the great weathered gate of Three Stones, under the unfriendly stares of the Watch and - so it is said - Black Tower sages. The Company traveled to Lorn as guardians and guides for stern magisters and priests of the Powers, charged with refuting The Denier.
The Denier was a true sage of the Ammand in his youth, this in the time of the Greater Power. Like many others, he left that far land, exchanging rare stories for travel with the Vanished Isle Magi. In the Enclave, The Denier strode forth from obscurity to attain great knowledge, influence and power. It was The Denier who created the Shining Peak overnight in the mists of the Formless. It was The Denier who learned the secrets of the Black Tower from the Datarii, naming that jagged rock of black stone after the tower of The Ebon in Ammand. The sages of that time wrote important works in the strange spaces of the Black Tower. They wrote of the Enclave lands, the Farthest, the Datarii, the long-vanished Draugh and cruel Neth. As their collections grew to touch the Farthest, they found stranger, secret tomes in the Farthest Library.
The Denier was in his prime when Three Stones was but a small collection of traders and common folk who served the first sages of the Black Tower. As Three Stones grew into a village and then a town, The Denier grew old in the manner of all Ammanders. Here the stories grow confused and contradictory. The Denier gained his name by simply and outrightly denying the certainty of his own death. Was this name given or chosen, and by what wizardry did The Denier erase his birth name from the Enclave? Were the many books penned by his hand burned, hidden, or Lost through stranger means? Legends tell of an increasingly oppressive presence of age and death that hung over Three Stones as The Denier continued to live on.
After later years brought terror and unseemly Trespassers to Three Stones, The Denier departed - or was forced to leave, some say - on the New Road to Lorn. No one mourned his passing. Later still, The Denier hid himself away behind stone walls in the depths of the Lorn Forest. As the seasons passed, Lorn became shunned, Ammander villagers driven away or changed in terrible ways by what they saw in the near Farthest. Even the Neth would not enter Lorn; Kus Pakak they call it, the Rotten Place, Unfit To Eat. Still, The Denier continued to deny death, and the taint of Lorn spread a little further with each year. It became a tale, all too real, with which to scare children and tell about the fire on a cold, windswept night.
Generations passed and Three Stones grew to become a city led by magisters and priests. Now, the Emerald Company and their charges rode into Lorn - rode at least until their horses would go no further. In Rurn's Place they found horrible forms where once were people and the magisters fled. In the Lorn Forest, bare of leaves and empty of creatures, the Farthest yawned open to breath dust, decay and the whispers of things that should not be. The priests, struck dumb with terror, ran panicked into Farthest Lorn, never to be seen again. Here was a thing more real and immediate than their Powers.
At the first piles of fallen, crumbling stone amid the bare trees, it fell to the Ammanene Unsharee of the Emerald Company to voice the Refutation inked by sages and ordered by magisters safe in Three Stones.
In the weeks following their departure, scarcely a dozen of the Company returned, burdened and sickened under a great, malevolent wizardry. The Denier had been refuted, but the Emerald Company was no more. There was no gratitude from the magisters and priests of Three Stones, nor was the taint of Lorn lifted. What of The Denier or the fate of those Lost to Farthest Lorn? No one speaks of these matters openly now - it is as if no one knows.
[ Posted by Reason on January 3, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Datarii Silver |
| The Enclave > Lore |
The Datarii prize the metal they know as mura, or "First Found." It is rare, found only in the depths in small, strangely strangely shaped pieces fully separated from the surrounding rock. The common folk of the Enclave call mura "Datarii silver" for its appearance and origin.
Mura is the hardest of metals, almost impossible to forge, form or damage. Even the smallest worked items are very rare and near priceless. Ammander sages and the descendants of the Magi have found that Datarii silver influences their wizardry in undue and unpredictable ways; some seek it, others shun it.
[ Posted by Reason on January 2, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Quicksilver |
| The City, the Shades > Soulweb |
[COMMUNICATION 32b5ffe59253a, Soulweb Location b30532 to Soulweb Administration 28836f:
I came to a startling realization today. It dawned on me as I asked the virtuality that prefers to be known as "the Immediate Supervisor" to make the mercury flow a little faster. All that early anthropology catching up, I suppose - although, of course, I did not have a childhood. Rather, it was had for me by someone who is now either dead or Ascended. Bad memory and a good imagination tries to make up for being left at home, as they say.
So there I sat, a dead physicist on the banks of a mercury Lethe, rod and line in hand, straw hat on my head. "Gone Fishin'" for the third new century - but it will always be the third new century here. Enough to make an old man chuckle and get a chill at the same time. When in the spirit world, what is there to do but play up on your swampy NorAm ancestry and hope the Loa will be kind to your poor black soul?
The chuckle went away quickly enough, but the rest of it stuck with me, bad food and spoiled wine. The Immediate Supervisor went away, but it still wants an opinion from me. As it will until I provide it with one, however long that might take.
I have been spinning my own web, spider and fly, for too long now, believing in existence that is mere illusion and progress, that is a return to prehistory. Humanity came into the world a wailing child by the banks of a river of water, surrounded by spirits and Gods of his own invention, cajoling and interfering. We grew up for a hundred thousand years, and eventually gave birth to Ascension - but now I find myself by the banks of a river of quicksilver, cajoled by a spirit of my own invention.
It has come time for me to return to the machine. I am feeling my age, and I want this to stop now, please.
END COMMUNICATION]
[ Posted by Reason on January 1, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
