March 2005 << February 2005 | April 2005 >>

The Gossip of Dem Breesa
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Itmos and the Unwalked Way

It happened that the Jonor were leaving after only a handful of wakes as our Worshippers - but anyone who knew old Ede Jonor would recall her restless feet. Timar, Gesin, and Masari all inherited something of that from their mother, although Gesin Jonor wasted her gift in partnering with that Meten boy.

Where was I? Yes, but who should come striding into Feisa, just as the Jonor Family were preparing to depart, but the Wesa! Yes, I see your expressions, and I assure you that they were just as bad when Tani Wesa was still in the World. She had a way of looking at you to make your blood stand still, and her poor children! Ah! But you don't want to hear me tell of the Wesa Family partnerships; another time, another time.

I digress. The Wesa strode into Feisa and immediately demanded to be appointed as Worshippers of the community! Bold as priests they were, bursting with pride in their lineage and ten times as insufferable. Ah! But I could tell you a thing or two about certain partnerships with the Besi and the Tren...

Patience! What could Ede Jonor say? She shrugged - just like this, as she always did - and agreed. Oh, but why would she want to suffer the company of the Wesa Family through any argument? Would you? So away Tani Wesa went, back to her inked, layered, hair-lined tent to sleep. But what happened next? The Jonor quickly chose the Umai as the new Worshippers of Feisa and up and left, all while the Wesa Family slept! Tani Wesa awoke to find the Hall of Worshippers occupied by Mam Umai's Family and the Jonor gone. Believe me when I tell you that none of my Family had ever heard a rage like it!

[ Posted by Reason on March 30, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Esula of the Conclave Confers With Her Followers
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Teachings of the One God

That is where you are wrong, Odi. To cry heresy would bring disaster, even though the words of Innis Mei are strong and contrary. She is respected in the Sect of Crafters and has won many friends amongst the honored Sectless; even the Touched look favorably on her work.

No. I shall speak with others of the Conclave, and we shall approach her privately. Perhaps she has simply slipped from the true pathway of the Cult.

Yet again, perhaps we simply need to wait; I hear the rumors of Innis Mei and Asan, a partnership in all but name. Recall the stories of Vulos of the Stronmar Sect - she spoke greatly and often in the Conclave of her generation, and her words were heeded for tens of cycles. Then the One God showed His displeasure with His servant; her child was stillborn and her voice was heard no more in the Hall of the Conclave.

[ Posted by Reason on March 29, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

The Words of Capnen Fasu Ui of the Brotherhood of Knowledge
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Wohken Family and Brotherhood Lore > Of the Cult of the One God

Listen closely, Brother Lutnen, Unranked Sister, for I may have a meritous suggestion. It would mean the taking up of staff and pack, a journey of cycles away from our library and your Families - I will not order, merely tell.

During the last two Generations of Accord, many of our Brotherhood became priests at the Great Temple of the One God. Scrolls and knowledge were exchanged even as the Darkness took hold of the World, and even as the Susyan Lords and Councils declared war upon our Tribe. That bond of blood and ink between our Brotherhood and the Sect of Recorders still exists, so it is to the Great Temple that you should turn. Seek there for the missing scrolls of the History of Meten Veun; speak first to my Brother Fasu Jerut, Master of the Tall Vault.

[ Posted by Reason on March 29, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

The Most Copied Fragment of Se Zan's Beginnings
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Teachings of the One God

His Will created the World from dark Void, but He looked upon His work and saw it empty. Thus, He placed the first people into the World and the first spirits into the Sky.

He saw the World was yet dark for people and spirits. Thus, He sent His Avatar to the World to sustain the people. Thus, His Divine Will covered the Sky to sustain the spirits.

Thereafter the Light of the One God illuminated all. Spirits honored Him, shining forth in aid of His Light. People honored Him, becoming His trusted servants, dwelling within His Avatar.

[ Posted by Reason on March 28, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Nadrea the Bonecrafter Tells of the Valley of Screaming Air
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Tales Told by the Enierd

It is in Reti territory, between two mountains high and frost-covered at the very edge of the World. All of Clan Reti have the blood of Frost Gatherers, not just those who dwell on hoarfrost and war with the high air of mountain peaks to see into the World Beyond.

The air is harsh in the high terrority of our Tribe, racing to the World Beyond and laden with the spirits of the Passed, but it is harsh beyond measure in the narrow Valley of Screaming Air. With my hand on the tattoo inked by Fenas before he Passed, I tell you that the noise of it will make your ears bleed and the strongest of you fall to the rock.

The air screams for the Frost Gatherers of old, as it was there that they passed into the World Beyond to serve the Gods.

[ Posted by Reason on March 27, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Camnel Une Mefesa Inks Words of Tumnil
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Inked by Scholars and Scribes

I have heard the words each time I have come to this great, most divine place: "This shall be the Law of the Order, so listen well as I speak. There shall be no conflict, no theft and no violence upon the territory sacred to the Provider. The Words of the Order are as the Words of a God. Respect them and you shall prosper. It is forbidden for you to remain beyond the third cycle hence." The acolyte who conducted the Ritual of Welcome found my Brothers and I where Tumnil meets the World, shadows and open rock behind, seedgrass, trees and the haze of divine color ahead.

I have been in Tumnil for long wakes now, enough for my eyes to adjust to the bright and warming Lights of the Provider. So strange and divine are my surroundings that, even forwarned and experienced, I believe I will never become used to it. Each new journey to this, the center of the World, seems like the first. Yet the robed Initiates seem comfortable here, as do their acolytes. Authority comes naturally to the Servants of the Provider; it does not seem strange to take their orders in the fields or amongst the Supplicants' Shelters - even for one of my Rank in the Brotherhood.

The softness of the soil underfoot still troubles me; the Unranked and Lutnens of the Brotherhood complain of sore ankles and stretched muscles. My aches of age are a greater burden, but I have long passed the cycles in which I can work as a Supplicant; thus I remain silent. Let the Sons and Daughters of Families complain while they can yet run the open rock and trade their strength as Supplicants for wood and inkberries.

Fragments and dust from soil and the Divine That Grows cling to fingers and clothes; Supplicants' eyes are red from rubbing. But still - Tumnil! We wake and sleep within the Realm of a God, the Divine pressed close to us with each heartbeat. The Divine That Grows is everywhere; trees, bushes, seedgrass and a hundred other signs of the divinity of the Provider. To touch even the smallest leaf is to touch a divine creation and be reminded once again that this is truly the home of a God.

The colors are unforgettable. The Lights of the Provider give everything that I own and wear new shades and hues; I watch the Unranked turn our their leather packs in wonder when they wake or return from the work of Supplicants in the fields. All that is familiar - wood, leather, bone, flesh, the shape of faces and hair - is different here. The Divine Will of the Provider reaches out to touch everything in His Realm.

[ Posted by Reason on March 26, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Gean Speaks Candidly to an Initiate
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Oaths and Myths of the Susyan

They give you grudging understanding, Wohken, because you are an Initiate of the Order of the Provider, because the Lights of your God cast shadows on the open rock here beyond Tumnil, because I have traveled farther and longer and am known to their Lord. You in turn must understand that you have given offense to these Oathbound, to my traveling companions.

You have heard the tale of Tur and the Lord, perhaps? To give gifts is a responsibility in our Lightward communities, for great offense comes with a gift given in expectation.

Once it was that the Lord of Nadear wished something from Tur of the Divine. What is not said, and it is not important. Tur declined once, declined twice, for we are neither Wohken nor priests to be ordered here and there by those who bear great titles. The second asking was an insult, you must understand, but a Lord is a Lord and worthy of some respect regardless of his merits. Thus rebuffed, the Lord of Nedear brought six long ropes and twenty skulls of wood to the doorway of Tur of the Divine. For that great warrior, this false gift was too great a slur. He slew the Lord there and then with one deep spear-thrust, before demanding that the life-weighted rope and wood be taken from his sight.

There, and I have said what must be said.

[ Posted by Reason on March 25, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Ter of the Sectless on Lisat
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Teachings of the One God

The Treatise of Lisat argues that "Within the Realm of the World and Sky, it is manifestly observed that there is Spirit and there is Material. What else must we argue Material to be but the Spirit, the Divine Will, taken solid form? Once this fundamental equivalence is accepted, as accepted it must be, much that was mysterious will become clear to the thinker."

Well chosen as her words are, the obsessive arguments within the works of Lisat towards the equivalence of God and Material must be ignored if the truth within is to be seen. Previous generations have known her as a heretic, and justly so. Still, many of her words illustrate the Divine about us - too much is taken for granted in the communities of the World. Susyan and Wohken become inured to the teachings of priests, as though pretending to be Enierd!

[ Posted by Reason on March 25, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

The Heretic Stronmar and the Words of the God-King
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Inked by Scholars and Scribes

Dried and faded near to uselessness, not hidden but placed amidst the most common of records, I found the Transcribed Words of Meten Ulaar. Said he, "I, Meten Ulaar of the Recorders, state here that these are the thoughts of the God-King, transcribed from fragments collected in the farthest archives. Others of the Sect laugh at my convictions and words, but they shall yet eat theirs."

Beneath the broken seal of ancient Estin's Wood were the Words of the God-King, inked in finest Midrin Expressive on leather once most carefully prepared. This I have copied as best I am able in the quiet times of observance, far from the Great Temple:

Home is so far away. It will always be hard for me to accept that everything I knew is now gone, dust in the winds of time. As time passes and I age, even the tranquillity of Tumnil's woods do little to ease my mood. I had thought to achieve so much! By the standards of my youth, I have attained all I could desire. But, sweet irony, will I ever come to escape this rock? Whatever knowledge brought me here is clearly lost. I, cursed like most of my old friends, could not even build the tools I used in every waking moment of my life.

I force myself to write in this debased script for readers I will never meet. A hundred times I stop, desiring to ink a word that is unknown here. Time, objects, places, memories, and so much else…all lost. When I started to dream in Kinis, I knew I would eventually forget everything that was once important to me.

Why am I taking brush to leather? Will anyone ever come to read the words that I hide so well, I wonder? To you, my reader, know that there is much I cannot say aloud. I am a God to the Tribes, a worker of the divine, ruler of this small world. My voice inspires awe and dread, my every imagined wish sends a hundred servants scurrying. Armies form at my command and warriors die for my name. In this way I am trapped; I must live this lie I have built about myself. Oh if you only knew! There are secrets I must tell, a world I must explain to those who live their lives on barren rock and believe in Gods.

I have come to fear that I may die here. With my passing, my lies become your truth, further damning you all.

To you, my reader, I tell you to imagine Tumnil. But imagine Tumnil ten thousand times over, trees and seedgrass stretching as far as the eye can see. A single warming Light shines from on high. The Sky itself is the same shade of blue as flames in your communities. Imagine the fields of Tumnil and great dwellings many times the size of the Halls there. Imagine them stretched about the surface of a great sphere, a hundred times the span of the World from Great Temple to World Crafter. The sphere circles with other spheres in an endless void of stars, full of life. Ah, the towering communities of my home! It is you who should weep, never having witnessed the realm from which I was rudely taken. But only I can appreciate the loss, and only I shall shed tears. I cry for an entire world.

As you read my words, recall my life. I am the God-King. I rule the World. My word is Law, but I cannot have what I ultimately desire. My descendants, your ancestors, must truly have been Gods to come here and fashion this rock. They were closer to the divine than my own ancestors, I fear. The question that tears at me for wake after wake is "why?" If they could do this, why did they do this here? Why did they do it this way? What went so tragically wrong for these Gods you now worship? So much must have taken place, so much transpired while I slept the cold sleep.

So said the God-King. There was far more, once, but like so much of history, the leather has dried, cracked and crumbled, the ink faded.

"Spheres in an endless void." The phrase haunts me as would some dark spirit. I wholly believe that these are the words of the God-King, and yet why should He write these fantasies? The God-King must have known much and His words feel more than true to me. Yet they cannot be.

The philosopher Tsen spoke much of cosmology in times before the ascendance of the God-King, but her great works say nothing of spheres. Would not everything fall from the underside? What was He trying to illustrate? From the words of Tsen, "the world is an imperfect plane under the perfect dome of the Sky. We, the imperfect, can only dwell here. The perfect Gods dwell above us." Of course, Tsen was of the Divine Susyan and accepted no Gods beyond those of the Sky. She did not believe in the Gods of the World Beyond. She held that it is our "imperfect nature" that prevents us from journeying beyond the hoarfrost and thin air at the edges of the world. The works of Tsen also make no mention of the Underworld below the World. Others have, believing it to extend beyond measure below our feet.

What lies beyond the Sky? The God-King would have us believe in many worlds, as bubbles in heated water. Fantasy! Yet it gnaws at me.

What of an entire world of trees and seedgrass? What of Tumnil a thousand kloms across, painful Lights and green Divine That Grows? It staggers my mind to think of it, so much of the divine in the World! It would be an upset of the natural order and harmony of a thousand kloms of rock, scarp and chasm. Where then would we see beauty in the Light of the One God reflected from the substance of the World? Could this have been the design of the God-King? Did He desire to bring the Order of the Provider to such ascendance in the world that all became Tumnil? What need for the Light of the One God then, I wonder? But such heresy could never come about. The Provider is a weak God, if He is a God at all. The One God is the Divine Will of the world, ascendant over all.

[ Posted by Reason on March 25, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

The Words of Eruse, Told to the Divine Susyan
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Inked by Scholars and Scribes

You say that history is as water flowing from a Gift of the Provider - unbroken and smooth. Your brother tells us that history is as the dwellings in a community; discrete events and separate people. I say that neither of you are right. History is this: old words and aging scrolls. Give me your ears and eyes, give me ink and leather, and I will give you any history you desire. But the truth of it ... ah, now there is the question.

[ Posted by Reason on March 24, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Inked by the Thirty-Ninth Congress of Lawmakers
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Law and Ritual of the Dispossessed

In this, the Thirty-Ninth Congress of Lawmakers, we set before our people, those of the worthy communities above the Great Scarp, the Tribal Laws that our deliberations have brought forth. The rulings and Laws made by the Lawmakers of this Congress shall be subject to the scrutiny of their peers and crafted with the support of the Tribe.

That most ancient and cherished of all Laws shall once more remain unchanged. In the words of Erias: "Let not one among us take away the faith, ceremony, or freedom of another for fear of difference. Let not one among us forcibly and falsely impose upon another. For have we not all fought side by side?" May his words guide our descendants as they have guided us.

Duseet's Clarification: the people of our Tribe shall be free to worship as they please, even should their Gods be detested and false. They may descend into the Underworld and worship there should they so desire! For to rule otherwise would be to betray the spirit and intent of Erias. Let them be punished for their worship only if they break the Laws of Tribe or Community, but otherwise not at all.

Any agreement between any number of Dispossessed, set out in ink and approved by a Lawmaker, shall be considered binding in the manner of a Law. Such agreements may last for as long as is outlined within the record, or until death. Punishments for a breach of agreement may be allotted within an agreement, or as decreed by a Lawmaker.

No Dispossessed life shall be taken and nor shall injury be caused to any Dispossessed unless death or injury are punishment allowed by the Laws and rightfully allotted by a Lawmaker.

No possession shall be taken or claimed when it belongs to another. If ownership is in doubt, the possession should return to the crafter or the inhabitant of the dwelling from which it came.

To refuse to carry out, or to elude in part or in whole, a punishment given by a Lawmaker shall, in and of itself, be an unlawful action. To speak anything but the truth before a Lawmaker, or to falsely accuse another of breaking a Law shall, in and of itself, be an unlawful action.

Hais' Clarification: when those who break Laws are brought before a Lawmaker, the burden of proof will rest upon those injured or inconvenienced by the lawbreakers. It is the responsibility of the Lawmaker to seek the truth.

Jariad's Clarification: an ignorance of Community Laws shall absolve a lawbreaker of any blame. It is commanded by this, the Thirty-Ninth Congress, that Lawmakers make every reasonable effort to set their Laws before those who arrive in their communities.

Oran Medi's Amendment: from this, the Thirty-Ninth Congress, onwards, travelers in our territory are to be viewed and judged by the Laws of Tribe and Community as thought they were Dispossessed.

Let us now scribe the punishments allowable under the wise Laws of the Tribe.

[ Posted by Reason on March 24, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Te Meri Retells the Dying God's Dream
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Itmos and the Unwalked Way

Nuri dreamed the Great Dream; her spirit passed into the World Beyond, traversing the Unwalked Way for the first time. She told of her visions on her return from the realm of Gods and great spirits, and thus it came to pass that five tens of her Hundred set forth into the World to seek out the bones of the Dying God.

It was Feisa, daughter of Huseva, who was daughter of Tomorik of the Hundred, who discovered the far Bones we are charged to protect. Yet in her time, short generations after the time of Nuri, the Dying God had Passed. Passed, yes, but still breathing warmth into the World.

We recall Feisa in the name of our community, in the duties of Families and Worshippers beneath the spreading Bones of the Dead God. You may fight with other Families, argue with your Family, even disrespect your Family Head, but the Bones are a trust to our Tribe; no-one may argue with that.

[ Posted by Reason on March 24, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Hesu Nis Whispers of Unidri's Tower
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Wohken Family and Brotherhood Lore

It still stands atop a cold, frosted, jagged hill at the very edge of the World. The Tower is truly old now, yet shunned by those who know the old legends of Unidri, the Slayer of Families, and wisely so. Even the chill, howling air shuns the Tower, else it would have long gone to dust - dust even in the time of the God-King.

She was more than a mere woman. She conversed with trapped, terrible spirits of the Underwold and lived for many generations beyond her time. All who crossed the path of Unidri met with ill-fortune and untimely death. The Slayer of Families would come then, come and take the bones of her latest victim to the cold rock at the edge of the World.

She crafted her bone Tower for the spirits below the rock of the World, the spirits of her victims trapped and tortured there still. None go there, and none should.

[ Posted by Reason on March 23, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

On the Kalmet, Scribed by Nasah of the Recorder Sect
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Inked by Scholars and Scribes

There seems to be no pattern to their wandering. I have witnessed two Kalmet surprised by a chance meeting with one another. It seems they have no leaders nor politics. Their meetings are rare, infrequent, and secretive. Kalmet offer no challenge to the established order and present me with nothing but further mysteries. I cannot guess at the qualities that the Kalmet desire. Those who seek out the Kalmet are as likely to become acolytes as not. Acolytes are taught, for tens of cycles, what I now believe to be meaningless and obscuring skills.

Ask any Kalmet to tell you the length or height or weight of an object. He or she will do so exactly, without having to touch, weigh, or guess. Once, many tens of cycles ago, I asked the Kalmet Anik for the weight of the hill we stood atop. After a number of heartbeats, he replied with a very large number. I do not know whether he spoke in jest. Kalmet do not forget. I conversed with the Kalmet Anik a mere cycle past, and he recalled exactly the words we exchanged atop the hill near Hotal.

I have heard it said that the Stronmars have use for the Kalmet. Among the secret records of that Sect, those not shared with even the highest ranks of Recorders, nor yet with the Conclave, the efforts of one Kalmet are worth those of a hundred acolytes.

I have discovered the fragment of an old tale in the Tower of Lesser Records. I will set forth what little of the faded inkwork I can decipher: "The God-King spoke with wroth, and would have known to Him the number of His subjects. Yet still, they were so great in number that none could count them. But thence the last councillor, wiser than the others, brought the oldest Kalmet before the God-King. The Kalmet spoke a great number, and the God-King was satisfied. He offered many bodies of wood in reward, but the oldest Kalmet refused."

I am humbled to find a text paraphrasing my own, copied from long crumbled leather, first written during the early Pathway Wars. The Kalmet cannot have changed since that time.

[ Posted by Reason on March 23, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Utan Ori Tutors the Utan Family Children
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Inked by Scholars and Scribes

The Map Makers of the Order of the Provider tell us that the World is two thousand kloms in breadth. The Brotherhood of Knowledge have their maps too, tens upon tens, inked on the leather of our ancestors. Here the great Gap, here the Realm of the World Crafter, here the territory of our Families, our Tribe.

In our community, the air moves gently and constantly towards the World Beyond, comforting in its predictability, neh? In cycles to come, our spirits will ride the high air to the World Beyond, there to see our ancestors. Our skulls will stand in our Family shrine alongside our Fathers' Fathers' Fathers. Feel the high Pathway of the ancestral spirits in the moving air, see the Light of the One God in the far Sky and you can never be far lost. Learn the routes well, follow the old shrines and markers and you will not need the divine bounty of the One God! But journey to see the Itmost gathered about the Great Bones of the Dead God - there, the air is warm and moves back and forth, hither and thither.

At the edges of the World, air moves too fast to breath and hoarfrost coats the rock. The cold paths to the World Beyond are far from this dwelling, far across the empty rock plains and harsh hills, but I have seen them with my own eyes. Indeed, I wandered far with the Cru before returning to our Family and the Wayhouse of our community. You would wish more comfortable lives than mine, crafting with the Brotherhoods, wooing the young of the Meten Family, neh?

[ Posted by Reason on March 23, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

The Legends of Searching Tell of the First Susyan and First Itmos
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Wohken Family and Brotherhood Lore > Of the Susyan

The legends of the the First Family are told and retold, that we may know from whence we came, and keep close the wisdom of those who lived, Passed and lived once more.

We know that the tall, pale Fifteenth Son of the Seventh Son of the First Family, disbelieving all that was True and Ordered, left his Father for the cold hoarfrost. His invention, pride and disobedience combined, gave rise to sorrow for Families and tall, pale descendants on the far rock plains.

After this time there was much of travel and much of talking, for many new things had come into being in the World. Sons and Daughters of First Sons searched for the Fifteenth Son, for in their hearts they knew that Family should not be sundered, nor could they believe that the Fifteenth Son shunned his Father so. In their travels, they learned much and their Families grew. It was as Itmos that they returned once scorned by the fractured, quarrelsome Family of the pale Fifteenth Son, those who now called themselves Susyan.

[ Posted by Reason on March 22, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Dearn Recounts the Legend of Sleeping
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Oaths and Myths of the Susyan > Tales of Wohken

Our ancestors, the first children of the Ancestral Spirits, would have lived in peace and harmony upon the rock of the World. But not all were noble of mind and body, not all could swear and hold Oaths. Those pitied, outcast Oathbreakers crept away to become the Wohken. In their jealousy the First Families of the Wohken gazed upon our ancestors and plotted. They tricked a long-Passed God into stealing the memory of waking from all Susyan and our ancestors, the children of the Ancestral Spirits, fell into a sleep of generations. In sorrow, the Ancestral Spirits returned to the Sky or Passed, leaving only their bones to watch over the Sleeping Place. The Oathbreaking Wohken rejoiced and spread their children across the rock of the World.

In time, the Passed God saw the true nature of the Wohken and relented. Jentik and Tsuroji came from the Sky to wake our ancestors from their long sleep and bring on a generation of war and revenge. Since that time, the Tribe has had good cause to raid and war with the Wohken. Yet not all were woken from the Sleeping Place, for there were many more of our ancestors then there have ever been Jentik or vanished Tsuroji. There, as is scribed in many ancient scrolls, lie the last of our ancestors, the last of the Sleeping Ones. I myself have held a cracked leather fragment depicting their divine coverings.

Such trickery, cowardice and envy stems from broken Oaths, from the Oathbreaking Wohken. The lies and actions of their ancestors have hidden the Place of Sleep from us; not even the honored bones of the Ancestral Sky Spirits point the way, yet I have heard it told that the God-King Himself gazed upon our ancestors and would not wake them. Great would be the rewards bestowed upon those who found the Place of Sleep, who woke the Sleeping Ones. The Ancestral Sky Spirits would look mightily upon them indeed.

[ Posted by Reason on March 22, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

On the Katar, from the Later Scrolls of the Ancestral Sky Spirits
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Oaths and Myths of the Susyan

It came to pass that some among the Tribe forgot our unity, forgot honor, forgot Law, and fell into bickering and infighting. The Ancestral Sky Spirits, our great ancestors, saw all from the Sky and were greatly angered with their descendants. The mightiest of Them wrested free a handful of the Sky and hurled it down to the World.

The Sky Fragment, burning with divine wrath, cut a fiery line through the Light of the One God. In the violence of falling, the Fragment pushed the very rock of the World away in ridges and flames to scorch and cover those who offended our greatest ancestors. All the World shuddered as the Katar was birthed in divine heat.

The great central Katar peak remains a permanent reminder of our powerful Gods. The spirits of our disloyal ancestors haunt the Underworld yet, trapped and locked away from Passage to the Sky and World Beyond as punishment for their misdeeds.

[ Posted by Reason on March 22, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Feu's Life of Auritar
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Oaths and Myths of the Susyan

It was love of poetry that was to be the death of Auritar; his skill as a warrior was too great for Passage in battle. In the last exhausted cycles of the great and bloody Pathway War, Auritar traveled alone to present the greatest trophy to his father. Such was the custom of the times and warriors traveled as did he after each new battle, each new raid.

On the empty rock, mere wakes from his father's dwelling, Auritar met with the figure that would be his death. They spoke of ancient poetry and the beauty of words. They spoke too long, for the figure was none other than the Lord of Keepers, come down from the Fortress of the Eye in those cycles of blood and sorrow. Auritar felt death creeping upon him, realizing too late with whom he spoke. With his last breath, he found strength to slay the Lord before falling to the rock at his feet, Passing to reach for the Ancestral Sky Spirits.

Thus it was that the poetry of Auritar was heard no more in the communities of the Tribe.

[ Posted by Reason on March 22, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Seruit's Lament on the Conclave of the One God
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Wisdom of the Order of the Provider > On the Cult of the One God

It came to pass that the Cult of the One God grew large. Their Shrines sprouted from the rock as Jolo Root from flattened grass. Their pride bolstered, the Conclave came to decide upon the Provider. Those jealous priests called our great and generous God but a Spirit, but a part of the One God! We can expect no better from those who listen to the words of others before the voice of their own inner spirit.

The honored Council of Tumnil spoke with great wroth until those false priests recanted. Recanted, yes, but their words still lie fading upon cracked leather, read and spoken by their descendants, taught to children across the length and breadth of the World.

[ Posted by Reason on March 22, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Pesa's Tale of the Susyan and Jatu's Bridge
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Tales Told by the Enierd > About the Susyan

Ho! It came to pass that the warriors of the Susyan Lord and the great hero Jatu faced each other across the Wide Chasm. The Susyan came to raid and Jatu sought to show his skill with the great bone club, made of the shoulders of ten ancestors.

The rift extended for twenty kloms Godward and twenty kloms Lightward. It was as deep as the Plateau of the Jentik is high. The warriors of the Susyan would have left unsatisfied, for they were lazy in the face of labor. They had no fire in their blood to match their bold speech and intentions. But ho! Jatu, he cut his own long hair to craft the rope for the first of the Three Bridges across the great chasm.

Thereby the warriors and Clan founder Jatu clashed, and the Susyan raiders were soundly defeated.

[ Posted by Reason on March 21, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Retuak's Retort and Gutal's Anger
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Tales Told by the Enierd

Ulur was Bora's grandfather, you say? Is he still taking Uk wood in trade for those tired words? It surprises me that you haven't heard it already - it surprises me that the tale itself has not Passed to the World Beyond. Now, should you wish to hear what truly took place, I will tell you, but not this wake, nor the next. There are other tales to tell.

A better tale of the Hollow Mountain, yes. In the time of Gutal and Causi, a great number of Glowing Ones dwelled within the Hollow Mountain, many more than the six hundred and sixty six that poured forth in the Great Darkness. Those screaming, shouting ones overcame their fear of the Sky to raid, spoil and damage all that Gutal built. That great crafter, far greater than even Ulur I say, could not accept such ill treatment. Taking up club, ax and flame, he drove the Glowing Ones deep into the Underworld. The despoilers did not raid from the Hollow Mountains again for generations, so terrified they were.

Ha! A pity Clan Causi has few enough like Gutal now, few enough like Ulur. Show me better at the next Meet and I may listen to your boasts!

[ Posted by Reason on March 21, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Bora's Tale of Ulur and Braikin's Tablets
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Tales Told by the Enierd

I don't care what Retauk told you. She weaves more lies than I do seedgrass stems. It was Ulur, whose blood we all bear, who discovered the Tablets. You could ask him yourself were he still alive, and he would rattle your bones for doubting his word.

Yes, Braikin was one of the foolish elder priests at the Great Temple, but you have to admire a man who can get a God to do something for him. More than I've managed, I'll tell you now. It seems old Braikin became careless as the cycles passed and lost the prized Tablets. No, I have no idea what they said. I may have held them in these two hands, before the priests and their Temple Keepers came to take them away, but do you think I would waste good time to learn a hundred different characters for the word "God?" If you'll stop interrupting me, I'll tell you where Ulur comes into this tale, the important part! Quiet, I say!

Ulur was the bravest of all in his community, perhaps even all Clan Usone ... yes, you may all jeer, but have you raided the Underworld and returned with divine creations? No, of course not; the best of you could not compare. Strong Ulur, searching for a way to outdo his old rival Erumat, took the boldest step of all. He and two others - no, I don't know, but no one that Retauk has ever heard of - descended into the Underworld. Yes, and through the caverns of the Hollow Mountain not thirty kloms from where you seat yourselves.

The Glowing Ones fled in fear from the brave Ulur ... yes, mock all you like, I would have liked to have seen any of you face my grandfather at a Clan Meet. His arms were the size of your thighs, Meyas, three generations after the time I tell you of!

[ Posted by Reason on March 21, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Lat's Tale
Spirits of Rock and Sky > Tales Told by the Enierd

I gathered frost with these broken hands, but no more, no more. The cold has taken my fingers and I cannot now lace leather nor carve bone as I once did - see these last works? The pain is nothing; I have been to the World Beyond and returned to tell the tale.

Sixteen wakes I was gone from my partner. Breaking hoarfrost from Tefa's Scarp in the howling air, climbing ever higher. No-one climbed the slopes at the edge of the World as I did, and none with any sense will again. The high air picked me from the rock and the shouts of my friends; it carried me far and into the depths beyond the Scarp. I may bear the blood of ancient Frost Gatherers in my veins, but the cold! I was more dead than alive when I returned, despite the thick layered leather you see there.

Many have come; my tale is heard in Fatek, Naskal and beyond, told at Meets by Chieftains of the Clans. Travelers have taken it further, and added much that is not true. The thin-boned Wohken send their librarians, weighted with ink and leather. Priests of the One God from their Great Temple come and go with nonsense legends and talk of divine material - I have no time for their kind. But the center of my tale has been heard across the World, and I must accept that in poor exchange for my hands.

The gates of the World Beyond opened for me beyond Tefa's Scarp. I lay amid frozen, dry bodies on sheltered rock, those who accepted the call and for whom the time had come. They were thin, ancient; not Enierd from the Clans. No ritual of Passing had been made for the dead beyond the Scarp. I could have risen up and set forth to follow the thin air, to talk to Gods where the Sky meets the mountains. My body would not obey me, and see the gates as I did, it was not my time to pass.

I do not know how long I lay there. I ate fallen frost when the time had come to move my limbs once more. My partner waited for me, my friends could not be denied their part in my Passing. Again and again I tried to climb the way the high air had carried me. Again and again I fell atop the strange bodies of those who came before me.

The cold numbed my mind and I heard spirits whispering on the wind. Trapped there, or come from the World Beyond to guide me I cannot say. The cold took me away from myself, and I recall little of what I must have done to lose my hands, my most precious tools. I know that I could not stay as the spirits wanted. My friends found me on the open rock beneath the Scarp, frozen close to death and ranting - so they say.

No, no, there is no luck. There is only will, frost, air, this tale and my broken hands.

[ Posted by Reason on March 20, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Old Wall
The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > People and Places

Little remains of the old wall of fitted, carved stone blocks that once surrounded a much smaller Port. It was built in the seasons of Magi - when the stonefolk still came from Great Home in dry summers to trade for wizardry as the Lother ran low and sluggish. Much of the wall has long since been taken down and used to build warehouses, noble manses and the rough-hewn cottages of common folk. Only a few lengths remain intact, the blocks cracked and carvings worn away with the passing of time and folk.

On the low side of the Lothar, near the Silvered Horn, the old wall ends in half a gateway. The single remaining stone post was once carved to resemble a laughing Datar, but all of the detail is gone now, eroded by rain and generations of passing hands.

[ Posted by Reason on March 19, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

How the Emerald Company Slew the Winter Beasts
The Enclave > Seasons Long Past

As the snow came, melted and came again that winter, two Trespassing beasts came forth from the Farthest Wilds to hunt commoner folk by night. Terrible they were, teeth the length of your forearm, shaggy but spined like eels, cunning as a man and twice as fast. They made their den in the Commoners' Wild; dragged children screaming from their beds they did, and savaged the militia spears who tried to stop them.

Thirty spears of the old Emerald Company were wintering in Port that year - aye, The Cursed and the hero Tarurn amongst them. The Council pushed the promise of coin upon the Company as the beasts ate men and women. A hundred spears and axes patrolled the frozen streets each night by torchlight, but still the cunning Trespassers took their fill of folks just like you and I. Break down doors they would, or leap from roof to roof with jaws full of man.

Spears, fishing line, tinder and barrels of lamp oil, boy. The Emerald spears took the lines from tree to tree in the Commoners' Wild by day, making paths in the undergrowth and carving route marks on the bark. They knew the Farthest like no other, and had their regets of it too, but they found the beasts' den right enough - a great pit, the bones of children amidst dirt and snow, the stench of rot. Aye, so in went the tinder and the lamp oil and up went the flames! Thirty spears waited for the beasts around the pit and thirty spears took the life of the one that leapt out aflame.

That is how the Emerald Company slew the winter beasts that year. Aye, and that is why you should walk fast past the Wilds, boy. No telling what might be watching you from behind the trees.

[ Posted by Reason on March 19, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Worn and Scratched Names on the Cobbles
The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > Local Color

On warm days fisherfolk repair their nets and lines on the cobbled streets and seafront by the berths, quays and jetties. As the seasons come and go, names are scratched on the cobbles only to be smoothed by the feet of the next generation of seafarers and cityfolk. Almost every cobblestone bears a worn, knife-etched name where the fisherfolk congregate.

[ Posted by Reason on March 17, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

One Stone and the Summer Fair
The Enclave > Known Roads

The black monolith of One Stone looms over the Stone Road, an upturned, unworked boulder in form, yet a reminder that the wizardry of the Draugh once shaped the Enclave.

One Stone marks the point at which travelers stop for the night after departing Two Springs in the early morning - stories are told of dire happenings on the Road between these locations and in the outskirts of nearby Whisperwood. Tales of horrific Trespassers from the Farthest and malign wizardry loom large in the minds of travelers; to be on the Road after dark is a frightening prospect.

In warmer seasons, folk from Two Springs set up stalls and shelters near One Stone to sell provisions and entertainment to travelers. At the height of Summer, the modest One Stone fair attracts traders and common folk from Port, Two Springs and nearby villages. Troubadors play the old songs; young lovers dance in the shadow of One Stone; tables are laid with white cloth and farm food; elder folk exchange news and tall stories. Passing travelers might be forgiven for imagining that little has changed since the days of the old Ammand.

[ Posted by Reason on March 17, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

The Unbearable Weight of Memory
The Enclave > Folk > Ammanene

To be mortal is not so much to age and die as it is to forget, to consign great swathes of our lives to nothingness. To forget is the very basis of change and the vigor with which we grasp at each new dawn. Yet who was it who lived your childhood if you yourself recall so little? You would know as much of the early years of your closest friends, told to you in confidence. Who would you be if the child you once were never faded with the passage of seasons? If the young man and all his dreams still walked with you in later life? Who would you be if you could not put aside sorrow, delight, horror, mourning and the death of love?

The ageless Ammanene remember all. Every word, every tragedy, every death, every moment of heartbreak and sorrow. The ageless folk are courteous, thoughtful, kind - respect for mortals leads the Ammanene to play the role desired of them. Yet the generations weigh upon the children of the Ammane. Sadness seeps from their eyes, from the gentle smiles they bestow on petitioners at the Watch of Trees. The wisdom of the Ammanene is the wisdom of a spearman, rent and torn, denied the release of death, yet placed as host at an endless gathering of nobles and manners.

Why then surprise at the retreat of the Ammanene? Why then surprise when whispered words or a simple smile can bring mortals to their knees? Every gesture, each ageless thought, has welled up through greater anguish, joy, suffering and experience than was ever had by mortal Ammander.

[ Posted by Reason on March 15, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Coin and Folk of All Stripes
The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > People and Places > Dockside Market

Each new day sees the cobbles of the dockside market packed by stalls, traders and common folk. Summer rain and winter snow may thin the numbers, but the market carries on regardless. The paved corner bounded by sea and river is reserved by tradition for sellers of eel, glowfish, crawcrab and seaweed; these worthies ply their trade in the early morning under the gaze of the Fisher in Darkness atop his pedestal.

In past generations, public drownings were held on the stone jetty beside the river corner. Now the worst criminals are merely thrown into the Prison Hulks to rot. The old heavy iron drowning cages, rusted to uselessness, still stand atop the far end of the jetty - a reminder for the throngs crossing the Fisher's Bridge from the Temple Plaza to the market.

Common goods and curios of all varieties are laid carefully on cloth and tables by lesser merchants, fisherfolk and representatives of wealthier traders elsewhere in the market. Rare or costly items - books, weapons and armor, glass or jewelry - can be found in the shops and craftrooms that face the market cobbles. Amidst the crowds of commonfolk and noble retainers, Visitors from the Farthest Market are not uncommon. Strange folk with strange manners peer at arrayed offerings, talking to one another in unknown languages. Visitors sometimes bring their own goods to sell or trade, an event that brings merchants from across the city in search of rarities or wizardry.

As the fisherfolk pack and leave in the middle of the day, their catch sold, troubadors and their followers claim the slippery flagstones of the river corner. Performances of all sorts are staged here; traditional Ammander plays, disrespectful songs, mock battles, juggling and much more. It is the rare day that no entertainer is working for coin in the dockside market.

The passing of morning brings thieves and thugs from the dockside as well as troubadors, a fact well known to militia and Seafarers' Guildsmen assigned to the market on any given day - although patrols are not always effective, especially if bribes have been placed. Traders and shopkeepers have learned to look after their own, hire assistants or spearmen, and keep careful watch on their goods.

Hard-faced Taxmen also lurk in the market, a far greater threat to thieves than any number of militia, always ready to pounce on large transactions to claim taxes on the spot.

As day passes into evening, stalls are shut up or pulled down and packaged away. The shops close up and are boarded or barred. Bored militia spearmen and Seafarers' Guildsmen watch the traders and their customers depart for the evening. Later, shopkeepers throw seawater over the cobbles and flagstones of the river corner to wash away the filth of the day.

[ Posted by Reason on March 14, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Troubadors and Lady Dalun's Daughters
The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > Local Color

The troubadors of Port are a mixed breed, "the collision of falling and fallen amidst the offal" as Lady Dalun hashly puts it. Haughty players from noble retinues mingle and romance with common storytellers from the dockside; all who can hold a note or a stirring tale are welcome - at least for as long as it takes to be on the outs with one clique or another. Ammander traditionalists sneer at those who embellish tales of the Emerald Company or Port history while seafarers have no love of fancy players and formulaic lore. Ever-present conflicts over patrons and personalities are never far from the surface, however much of an atmosphere of comradrie is maintained.

Troubadors and their followers roam Port from evening to evening: the Wayward Visitor; taverns near the Guild Bridge; the outskirts of city Wilds; the Dockside Market. They spend coin on ale and high living as quickly as audiences and patrons provide it.

Alane and Teria, daughters of Lady Dalun, are the wealthiest patrons in Port. They inherit more than coin from their mother; both are intelligent, determined and self-centered, red iron hooks for unwary eels, trailed by broken hearts and purses. Lady Dalun strongly disapproves of her daughters' dalliances and expenditures, and the family retinue is divided in loyalty between mother and daughters. More than one troubador has fallen victim to an abrupt shift in the ongoing Dalun struggle of wills; one unfortunate was almost sent to the Prison Hulks before fleeing to Three Stones.

[ Posted by Reason on March 13, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Lady Talmur's Stoneworkings
The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > People and Places > Stoneworkings

Beyond Port and the Coast Road, but within sight of both noble estates and the Wayward Visitor, the Stoneworkings eat into a low bluff. Over the generations, a community of masons and sculpters have adopted the Stoneworkings as their own home. Fine white stone from the bluff is used for statues and noble manses; grey stone from the cliffs or rocky headlands is good enough for common folk.

The Lady Talmur - Lene by given name - of the Port stoneworkings is not in fact a Lady; the true Lady Talmur, her grandmother, dwells in Three Stones. Lene came to Port a number of years ago to escape her family and practice her chosen craft in peace. She is a modestly talented and charismatic sculptress; the traditionally insular stoneworkers adopted her as one of their own and granted her the title of Lady - over her protestations. Lene acts as a spokeswoman for the Stoneworkings folk when reputation is required, a strategy that works well despite her disrepute amongst the nobles of Port.

The masons and sculptors of the Stoneworkings are rarely idle. Many have amassed modest riches in service to the nobles and Council of Port. The most noted of all is one who cares nothing for coin; Daral is touched by madness, obsessed with producing wonderful carved figurines. He is crochety and disinterested, living in a world quite different from that seen by normal folk - his mind is Lost some say, while others whisper that he should have been born a Datar. Daral wouldn't even eat or bathe if not for more kindly folk at the Stoneworkings who look after his needs.

[ Posted by Reason on March 13, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

The Farthest Coast
The Enclave > Lore > The Farthest

The miser Menas has your coin from the fresh pressing, eh? That's the last you'll be seeing of that silver, mark me well. He'd be on the Council in place of the Master Trader if he cared to look up from his gold - aye, too much greed to be a Councillor, there's a thought to go with the ale!

The old trader wasn't always so devoted to coin, leastways not until he brought back ten blue coins from the Farthest Coast. The Master Trader's lackeys have the Coast Road now, aye, but not when Menas led mules about the Known Roads for the Guilds. Headed to Cael with glass and red iron he was, making camp for the night high up where the Road touches the cliffside before the Watch of Trees. Aye, something to be said for watching the moon out over the Unending Sea while far and away from everything; the fisherfolk know that and more.

More ale! A seafarer could die of thirst afore you'd even notice! Aye, the hook on the story, eh? The first cool mists of the season came rolling in the next morning and Menas was Lost afore he knew it. No Watch of Trees, not the Coast Road nor other travelers; just the Sea, cliffs and hills all mist-covered and strange.

Aye, the coins, not found lying in the grass, no. Menas and his mules met an old whitebeard of strange manner and clothing, wandering the cliffside with fishing line and a fresh catch. Menas is a trader - they traded, what did you think? Fish, strangers' coin and the way through the mists in exchange for glass, red iron and mules besides. To hear the way the old miser told it, he bargained with the greatest trader in all creation; with the Fisher in Darkness, some say. Aye, but I say he would have given his right hand and purse besides to a drunk thief to see the Coast Road again, and there's the truth.

Still, ten blue coins it was, and he has them still after all these years. Wizardry there, if you will; coin that brings out the greed for counting in a man. Aye, all thoughts for you to mull over while Menas is counting your silver, eh?

[ Posted by Reason on March 11, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Spears and Blades Like Seeds Beneath the Fields
The Enclave > Seasons Long Past

Generations ago, the finest of the Temple Guard bled and died on the grass beyond Port - the first and last great meeting of spear and blade after the old Ammand tradition in the Enclave. The Farthest Battle opened like a sudden thunderstorm, crushing the opposing spearmen of Port and Three Stones into confusion and flight amidst lumbering Trespassers and strange, panicked warriors of unfamiliar colors.

Landsmen villages and the outskirts of Port burned; the remnants of the Temple Guard faded with the passing of seasons, replaced by Guildsmen and militia.

There are many places outside Port where red iron spears, armor, old bones and blades lie just beneath the surface. The Landsmen plant trees on these spots or quietly bury remains deeper when they are disturbed by mule-pulled ploughs. Landsmen whisper stories of the Farthest Battle by firelight, and treat its echoes with care.

[ Posted by Reason on March 10, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

In the Magister's Chambers
The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > Organizations

Lord Onn put you here to learn, young lady, and learn you shall. The very first lesson is that a hundred coins on the Magister's table before you is a fine, whether it came from the most honest fisher, the blackest of dockside vermin, Trespassers from the Farthest or fell from the ceiling beams. A fine it shall be, and entered as such into the ledger. The second lesson to learn is that a hundred coins on my Magister's table is fifty to the Council and in the record; the rest we'll find a use for, eh?

The militia spearmen cast a poor net, Seafarers' Guildsmen little better. There are no waves without wind, but each unsavory character who stands before my Magister's table protests innocence and honesty. Hah! Such fine and upstanding cityfolk should have no qualms in paying a little additional coin in taxes. If not, then a time in the cells usually changes their mind.

Come, young lady, finish up quickly now. Guards will bring the first ruffians from the cellars soon, and all must be in order for the day.

[ Posted by Reason on March 8, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Making Work for the Militia
The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > Organizations

Here we are then. Spines and claws, boy, don't just stand there! Take some coin and find out how long we're to be waiting. Talk to the spearmen, talk to the folk inside, I don't care.

I don't know why Harand has us paying precious coin to the Magisters for this moon-faced fool. As though he was Lord of the Docks ransoming his own! I don't see him throwing so much as a lead coin from Three Stones after any of our heads; we'd be rotting in the Prison Hulks, mark my words. You heard about the Taxmen at the safehouse last season? Laugh as you will, but that was this one's doing. He may have muscle enough for any three of you, but he's bad luck, sure as a coin stolen from Salin.

Hah! That's like as not; myself, I'll wager the fool's mother has a pretty face and willing ways - and that Harand knows more than most about that.

Half a broiled crawcrab could have done the job! Rough up that red-painted blade from the Wayward Visitor; a little payback for Deval's friend. Can't be letting those eels up the hillside carry on like Lords and Ladies. I explained it all carefully and slowly, told him what to do, pointed out the mark - I may as well have pulled his arm back for the first blow. What does he do? Only runs the blade all the way past the old wall and through the door of the Silvered Horn, that's all. Those militia eels should have speared him and hung him over the fire pit! Blood!

[ Posted by Reason on March 8, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

The Eel
The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > People and Places > Dockside Market

A suspicious, scrawny old man of mixed blood tends a shaded stall of curios and strange fish in the Dockside Market. He calls himself The Eel in the fashion of Ammander sages and spends each day in frantic scribbling of islemarks and illegible text on parchment. The Eel hides his work, frowning and grumbling, whenever anyone comes near, deeply resentful while dockfolk peruse his wares or fishers try to sell him an unusual catch from the Unending Sea.

The Eel is the object of many a cruel story and jest; he is not well liked by his fellow traders and has little to do with them in any case.

[ Posted by Reason on March 6, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Not what I was looking for: again, but not so literal
Artilect Earth > Slumming the Technets

[intsublang searCH2.4 - stanset:

refsearch supportive last <5> res <Earth-Moon, LEO, NES, maxtranstime 50> use <defaultcriteria>

{opench//Blise-Nasu EduCen NES-L5 Portal7--136.65/

Orig: Kim Eli 11.546.834?2
OrSet: glyphformat auth1b Mandarin Standard
TransSet: glyphformat [local] NorAm/Euro Standard3

PadTech Summary: Cryonics

Cryonics: humanity's first stumbling steps on the twisting path of immortality through technology. Like so many other first steps, the promise of cryonics proved to be false.

The problems associated with cryonics were never those of irreparable cellular damage caused by low-temperature storage. Quite the contrary, as early pioneers had largely solved this problem even before the development of repair and reconstruction biotechnologies in the first decades of the 21st century (-74 to -44). The nanoscale medical machinery that followed was even more effective, albeit crude and poorly controlled by modern standards. No, the problems that beset cryonics were those of uncertainty and base genome human nature.

Pre-Nanotectite

Prior to the development of revival technologies, even before the advent of safe low-temperature storage methodologies, a small number of base genome humans were willing to risk cryonic storage. A few of the billions suffering from untreated aging or then-incurable diseases made a form of Pascal's Wager: any slim chance of future revival though unproven technology was better than that offered by traditional funerary arrangements. The first base genome humans to undergo this form of deliberate low-temperature procedure were stored following –94; in those last years of the 20th century, a network of externally forced fiscal-model cooperatives - embedded within late scarcity-based managed socioeconomies - assumed responsibility for cryogenic storage. As models of that time period readily demonstrate, a combination of religion, poor socioeconomic management strategies and the ever-quickening advance of medical technology ensured that cryonics cooperative networks remained minor, generating limited capacity and demand.

Some of the first successfully stored base genome humans were revived by scientific fiscal-model cooperatives employing nanoscale medical machinery well prior to the Zero Year (-20 to -10). Almost all suffered extensive neurostructural changes caused as a result of early cryonic and revival techniques. These procedures were sad failures by modern standards, no better than the "brain surgeries" of the late 20th and early 21st centuries. Damage to the data entity representations of these base genome humans would now be legally defined as identity change. Nevertheless, viewed as a success at the time, revivals prompted changes in many managed socioeconomy legal structures and a short-term growth in the number of low-temperature storees.

Post-Nanotectite

The transition from nanoscale machinery to a true nanotectite paradigm tore down the old order of scarcity-based managed socioeconomies and forced fiscal-model cooperatives. Cryonic storage proved a deathtrap for many during the early, unruly years of the First Century of the World Standard Calendar: storees were revived, taken advantage of, or simply left to thaw unaided. All unrest must come to an end, however, if only through simple exhaustion. By 23, the mad rush to explore the nanotectite paradigm had stabilized into mere breakneck technological progress. New, more adaptive classes of socioeconomy and cooperative emerged.

The nanotectite paradigm provided the basis for fully reliable revival of cryonic storees. Ironically, it had also brought socioeconomic and technological changes that meant few organic entities now entered long-term cryonic storage. Radical extension of life span and elimination of disease was largely realized; the base genome became widely diversified; forms of artificial intelligence multiplied and improved. The desire for immortality was strong in many socioeconomies at that time, and the era saw widespread creation of Upload Analogues alongside non-emulational AI.

Advances in medical engineering during this time period greatly decreased the incidence of death through accident, disease or biological malfunction. Correspondingly, medical cryonic storage was as limited as it had been prior to the Zero Year, but for different reasons. By 40, nanotectites were used prior to and during short-term medical cryonic storage to prevent neurostructural damage.

SocioEconomic Considerations

Numerous studies have attempted to estimate the revival rate of entities undergoing long-term cryonic storage, a speculative project given the incomplete knowledge of the status of cryonic facilities in NorAm and Euro since the Abandonment of 71. The revival rate is popularly supposed to be close to 25%. Of the other 75%, one third are estimated to remain in storage throughout Sol under the control of modern cooperatives.

The remaining unlucky half died in accidents, deliberate acts of sabotage, terrorism and war, or as a result of being declared legally null - or the equivalent - and thawed. Most cryonic storage facilities in NorAf were destroyed in the course of religious socioeconomic transformations (-27/-10), for example. The model-based realization that no cooperative or managed socioeconomy can guarantee the safety of storage has played a large part in the decline of long-term cryonics.

Most currently logged long-term storees entered cryogenic suspension prior to the Zero Year; more are suspected to exist in Artilect NorAm and Euro.

The State of the Art

Year 50 saw the pinnacle of cryonic storage technology. Cryonics had assumed its modern, minor, but essential place in the medical engineering toolkit. Despite the nanotectite paradigm, modern bioengineering and the best safety technologies, there will always be medical emergencies in which cryonics must play an essential role. Two broad areas are the proper treatment and repair of uncontrolled nanotectite crystallization and deep cellular freezing injuries.

The typical long- or short-term cryonic storage module is included in standard medical nanotectite packages for

cancelled

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end]

[ Posted by Reason on March 6, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

The Lantern in Darkness
The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > People and Places > Taverns

Across the Temple Plaza from the steps of the Temple of Three, the Lantern in Darkness is a cellar tavern favored by petitioners, Temple Guards and the fisherfolk who land catches at dawn. The cellar air is always thick with smoke from sputtering fish-oil lamps. The ale is strong and the food heavily spiced, but dockside thugs and thieves favor rougher taverns - or at least taverns not under the watchful eye of the Temple Guard. The regulars at the Lantern are honest commonfolk; fishers in the morning, petitioners during the day and Guards after dark.

The trapdoor and ladder to the Lantern are open at all hours of the day, oozing smokey air into the Temple Plaza. The establishment is run by a covy of old Vanished Isle women and seemingly endless supply of younger relatives. Rough-hewn, oil- and smoke-smudged carvings adorn the stonework Lantern walls; the exploits of Salin the Seafarer feature prominently; the central cellar support is shaped and painted to resemble the Fisher in Darkness. Islemarks have been carefully carved into the wooden tables - some say that the owners know more of Magi wizardry than they let on.

[ Posted by Reason on March 4, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

The Datar Beneath the Stoneworkings
The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > People and Places > Stoneworkings

Never seen one of the stonefolk, I'll wager, eh? Yet there's one not a hundred spans from you now. A hundred spans down, that is. Hah! There by the old workings, only Lady Talmur has the key to that gate; her down below likes peace and quiet.

Seasons ago, years ago, I don't recall - I was sprightly in those days and had more important matters on my mind. Tired of crafting is what she said. She crafted a fine set of stairs to I don't know where, through, and down she went to wait for whatever it is that stonefolk wait for. Inspiration maybe, what with the Lady, Daral and the rest carving this and engraving that day in and day out.

You ever seen stonefolk work? Make you weep it would.

Eager as an eel after glowfish, aren't you? Keep yourself clean, fetch and carry for the stonesmiths, and you might see her one day. Blood! Ask any of the folk here, believe me or not as you will. Now off with you - I need anothor five buckets filled yet!

[ Posted by Reason on March 3, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

A Council of Lords and Guildmasters
The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > Organizations

A priest from Three Stones shown the door by Lady Dalun, eh? I'm surprised the oh-so-honored Magisters and lowly clerks deigned to grant you an audience at all. The noble Councilors don't like your Temple, and the Trade Guild likes your gate taxes and lead coins even less, I'll wager. You've spent good coin on spearmen though, and that's a wiser act than petitioning the Council - a covy of spined eels behind you counts for more than a Lord's word on the low dockside.

No, the Council isn't like your netted glowfish in Three Stones; you'd need a dozen Watch blades at your side to impress them at all. Look at it this way: Lord Onn and the Seafarers' Guildmaster, they're upright enough, but think they have the deed to all the dockside, signed and sealed. Cerel and Saan - the Master Trader and one who might as well be - can't stand the sight of each other, but hate the thought of a single coin going to the nobles even more. Lady Dalun, she's a harsh one; cross her and she'll pay you in kind, aye, whether you're Gray Folk or King of all the Ammand. The other Guildmasters, the high priest of the Temple of Three, old Lord Lundarn, they don't matter so much - but they all look after their own first and foremost ... when they're not too busy sticking the knife in or squirming to be top eel in the barrel. Without a Council, there'd be spearmen in the streets - and not just lazy militia, mark my words. It was bad enough afore The Locked Heart took the Coin Press for her own, or when the Red Iron eels pointed spears at the traders. Better to let the high born and Guilds spit and fight behind closed doors.

It's fortunate for you that we met; there aren't many at the Guild Bridge who'll stay honest after stolen gold is mentioned. Give coin to any of those young eelsuckers and you'll be left on the cobbles by tonight ... or worse. I'm a forthright one - you'll not find better. I'll guide you and your hired spears true, low streets or high, so long as you have the coin to pay.

[ Posted by Reason on March 2, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Lords and Ladies
The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > People and Places

With few exceptions, the Ammander nobles of Port rarely descend from their estates and manses overlooking the Lothar, the bay and the low city. Noble retainers walk the markets and represent their employers in business or trade, returning to the slopes above the bay each evening. Much of the wealth of Port passes through noble hands in one way or another, whether through Council taxes, merchant interests, or less identifiable sources. The most influential families dwell in beautiful manses, surrounded by large walled estates and stone-paved streets; lantern-light gatherings and lavish entertainments are commonplace in warmer seasons.

The Council nobles - forthright Lord Onn, ruthless Lady Dalun and the dying Lord Lundarn - ensure that the best of the militia patrol the hillside streets and estates, but most noble retinues already include watchful spearmen. Nobles of note include the influential, wealthy Vareds, Daluns and Onns. The Lundarn and Malel families were once similarly blessed, but their fortunes have faded with the passing of time.

The present Lady Malel is aged and set in her ways, increasingly reliant on the tolerant generosity of Lord Onn and his retinue. She is the last of her line, an outcast of sorts just like her mother, and lives in an increasingly bare manse amidst a slowly crumbling estate and a retinue of cats. Lady Malel was once a healer who followed the way of the Beautiful Stranger. The sick, poor and helpless still occasionally come to her manse to wait under the watchful eyes of sleek Ammander cats - even Gray Folk from the Travelers' Rest, much to the continuing displeasure of Lady Dalun.

Lord Lundarn has been on his deathbed for a season, driven there by his son Tarnis, so it is said. He was clever with coin and the respect of commoners, but not with his own flesh and blood. While folk are still fond enough of the old Lord, Tarnis is notorious in Port - he is a cruel man with retainers to suit his temperament. Tarnis has rousted, gambled, lied, wenched, cheated and brawled in every tavern and street on the docks and low side of the Lothar, protected from the consequences of his actions by his father's coin. There is precious little of that coin left now; the Lundarn estate show signs of disrepair and Tarnis has become bitter and vindictive as his Lordship approaches.

[ Posted by Reason on March 1, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Strong Spear, Iron Blade, Sea Ax and Sharp Knife
The Enclave > Folk > Ammanders

Old man of the fields, set down the strong spear; seasons of pride and blood have passed to younger kin.

Young man of the village, seek not the iron blade; naught but noble coin buys the dreams of smiths.

Old woman of the docks, sharpen the sea ax; your sons and daughters stand waiting to sail.

Young woman of the city, hide the sharp knife; only thieves and outcasts take pride in short iron.

Lord and Lady of the manse, honor your solomn oaths; strong spear, iron blade, sea ax and sharp knife await.

[ Posted by Reason on March 1, 2005 | Permanent Link ]