| July 2005 | << June 2005 | August 2005 >> |
| Alla, Who Trades For Stone |
| The Enclave > Known Roads > Ura |
Another for the stonefolk! Blood, I can tell your sort - not like honest folk, nor merchants, nor the Red Iron Guild. You have the look of thieves with your sacks and mules loaded with ill-gotten gains. You make an old militia spear want to run you through afore you cause trouble, and there's the truth.
Leastways you have manners, not like some. Shouldn't take my words as harsh - carry a spear under the sun on the Red Iron Road for long enough, you'll see how folks come to look. The stairway to the Mountain Below is closed yet, and may it stay that way this summer! What if Alla stays beneath for five summers, as when I were young? What then? Where would you be with your sacks of rock from here and there? Hah! Worthless, it is, and no honest folk would depend on trade with the stonefolk here.
[ Posted by Reason on July 31, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Seeking Tales of the Emerald Company |
| The Enclave > Known Roads > Polt |
Aye, I rode with Arith to take my ax against the Neth and White Trespassers. It's been many winters since I heard those names spoken; a fair way you've sailed just to disturb the isle folk and ask me that.
A fisher of the Four Isles I was when young, and a fisher of Four Isles I am once more. There is all there is, and all Creation beyond Polt remains beyond Polt. I don't tell tales of the old Company, no, so best you take yourselves and your spears back to Hebsen's merchant vessel and sail away to whence you came. Leave the folk here in peace.
I won't ask who sent you to the Four Isles, but tell them there are no axmen of the Emerald Company on Polt, aye, and never there were.
[ Posted by Reason on July 30, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Master Fisher's Hall |
| The Enclave > Known Roads > Polt |
Like the Watchtower, the Master Fisher's Hall is an old, old building of great gray stones and beams brought by boat from the Enclave coast. It stands alone above the shoreline on the far side of the isle from the fisherfolk cottages, facing out to the wind and the Unending Sea. Seabirds build their nests in the lee of the Hall, beneath faded islemarks painted by Magi-blooded fishers in seasons gone by.
The Hall stands empty save for the few times the folk of Polt gather together - to resolve disputes, or when the Unending Sea claims one of their number. On those days, fisherfolk look to the guidance of the Master Fisher, elected for the occasion by acclaim or vote of the elders of the isle.
[ Posted by Reason on July 29, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Wizardry of Three Fingers |
| The Enclave > Known Roads > Polt |
The smiling, three-fingered men came to Polt in their boats of strangers' metal two generations ago after a great summer storm, or so the old folk of the isle claim. They traded, threw one of their kind overboard, and sailed away to the Farthest Sea. That castaway three-fingered man struggled ashore, raging against all who would help him; he half-slew ten before the fisherfolk drove him off with spear and ax.
To hear the old folk of Polt tell the tale, the three-fingered man was larger and stronger in those first days. He roamed the isle for half a season, terrifying folk while calling strange wizardry down from the sky and up from the water. As winter drew close, the white-haired priest of the time stood up to the three-fingered man in the name of the Fisher, forcing him away from Polt to call up his strange wizardry on Jont and the other lesser Isles.
The fisher folk of Polt saw only glimpses of the three-fingered man after that; he became a gaunt and tattered figure haunting the lesser of the Four Isles. The years passed slowly until, one summer day, the three-fingered man rowed back to Polt in a boat of gray isle stone, wearing a cloak of seabird feathers. He bore brightly polished gifts of carved rock and raged no more - nor did he call forth terrifying wizardry. In the seasons since, the three-fingered man has become a favored member of the small fishing community, for all that he speaks and understands little of the Ammander tongue. He dwells in one of the oldest stone cottages in the lee of the isle, carving tools and ornaments to trade with the village folk.
[ Posted by Reason on July 28, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Watchtower of the Fisher Priest |
| The Enclave > Known Roads > Polt |
The broad, low Watchtower of gray isle stone stands atop the highest rocks of Polt. It is a fortress in miniature, built in a strange style and weathered by uncounted storms. It might date back to the generations of seafaring Magi and their first exploration of the Enclave coast, but no mortal folk could say for sure.
The lowest floor of the tower is a vaulted shrine to the Fisher in Darkness, and has been for many generations. The stone interior is overtaken with arches made of old driftwood and the large shells of Four Isle crawcrabs. The present priest, Tarnas, is a lone and mysterious man; he rarely leaves the Watchtower and seems not to want for company. Tarnas seldom speaks to the fisher folk of Polt. They know little of the priest or his past, but provide for him in the traditional manner - younger folk carry packaged provisions up the steep path to the tower and leave them in the shrine, under the gaze of the statue of the Fisher.
Tarnas came to Polt ten years ago, arriving alone in small boat that he has not touched since, just as reclusive then as he is now. There was no priest on Polt in those seasons; the Watchtower had been empty a generation, the shrine poorly kept by the fisher folk and the upper floors a home to seabirds. For all Tarnas' strangeness, the folk of Polt are pleased that a priest of the Fisher dwells in the Watchtower once more.
[ Posted by Reason on July 28, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| An Ancient Name of Uncertain Provenance |
| The Enclave > Known Roads > Polt |
Home to a small community of fisherfolk, Polt is one of the Four Isles off the Enclave coast at the Watch of Trees - close enough to shore for isle folk to see clifftop lantern lights lit by the mysterious Ammanene on clear nights, far enough that the cliffs are indistinct on hazy summer days. There is little on Polt to interest traders and wealthy fisher folk who sail between Cael and Port; the folk of the isle are poor and insular. They keep to themselves for the most part, and make their own way to the Enclave coast when they have need of supplies that cannot be taken from the Unending Sea.
The other nearby isles of the Four - Alna, Jont and Mappan - are rocky and uninhabited, visible from the highest rocks of Polt on a clear day. The names of the Four Isles are all of very ancient origin. These were strange names even in the generations of the old Ammand, names from folk other than the common Ammander stock, their meaning long forgotten by mortals.
The shallow, rock-strewn sea beneath the Watch of Trees and between the Four Isles is rich in spined eel and crawcrab, but only for patient fishers and shallow-beamed boats. The large, angry red crawcrabs caught by the fisherfolk of Polt are inedible, but possessed of a shell hard enough for many uses.
[ Posted by Reason on July 26, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| The Mountain Below |
| The Enclave > Known Roads > Ura |
Ura is a Datarii word for mountain, and the name Ammander folk have adopted for the modest community hidden amidst steep hills inland from the Coast Road. The Red Iron Road that winds through the hills from Ura joins the Coast Road some days of travel from the outskirts of Port.
Ammander farm folk and miners of red iron are not the first to make their homes amidst these hills. Long before the seafaring Magi bought their wizardry to Enclave shores, stonefolk had traveled the hidden ways beneath rock and soil, far from the deep vaults and halls of Great Home to find Ura Retii, the Mountain of Distant Places.
To a Datar, a mountain is a mountain whether it is above or below soil and lesser rock. Ammander folk see little of Ura Retii, for it lies entirely beneath the hills. Only the uppermost peaks and veins of red iron are touched by Ammander miners in the open castings and quarries surrounding Ura.
[ Posted by Reason on July 25, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| A Contest of Thievery |
| The Enclave > Known Roads > Port > Local Color |
Craw and scale, call yourselves thieves? You're no more thieves than the eels from the Cordage House I throw coin to when I need something watched. Look at you, gathered round a cask of bad ale and not a purse between the four of you. There must be enough coin in the raw for twenty eels like you within a bowshot of this hole, even here on the dockside, but there you sit, poor as old fisherfolk.
Harand wouldn't spit on the bubbles you'd leave, thrown into the bay in a sack of stones, you mean. Blood! It's no wonder the Militia spend their days in the Silvered Horn and their nights abed with fisher girls - they could all pick up their spears tonight and be off to find the King's Way. No-one would see the difference.
Oh, so eager now you are, full of cheap ale, but not so much in the morning I'll wager. Lay a finger on me and then we'll see just what Harand does to whom. But no, I'll wager you this - there's no challenge to thievery in a city of coin stamped from silver and gold. You want to show your mettle? We five, we'll journey to Three Stones and return in a season to compare the results of our trade. Winner takes all - if you aren't afraid of a little hard work, Watch blades, and an old dock rat like me.
[ Posted by Reason on July 24, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Weather of Powers and Strangers |
| The Enclave > Lore > The Farthest |
The mortal folk of the Enclave have many sayings for fog and mist from the Unending Sea. "Fog brings forth the Farthest" they say, and teach their children to walk with care, stay inside or settle beside a known place when the sea mists come rolling in. The fisher folk of Port and the coast villages touch statues of Salin the Seafarer, or toss a coin overboard for the Fisher in Darkness when fog is sighted out on the waves. To be Lost at sea is a very real threat, even though Enclave seafarers sail only within sight of land since the last of the Vanished Isle Magi and their great tradeships passed away.
On the Coast Road, in Port and the fisher villages, mists are the weather of Visitors and Trespassers. Fog and sea mist are the heralds of unfamilar streets, mysterious traders and unknown stalls in the Dockside Market; strange faces, incomprehensible languages and novel fashions in the taverns; travelers to places unknown to Enclave mortals; odd fisher folk bearing ugly or wonderous catches; Strangers' calls and half-glimpsed vessels out on the Sea.
Yet just as often, the mists of the Unending Sea come and go without incident, and careless folk can become just as Lost to the Farthest on the clearest day or night. The wise amongst the Enclave common folk leave coin for priests and the Powers, to be saved for a day of mist and need.
[ Posted by Reason on July 23, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Standing Rock on the River Bend |
| The Enclave > Known Roads > Mirael |
Between the fields and the deep Odan, an old, rock-strewn path runs out past the Spearmen's Wall and alongside the river. It is marked by large, overgrown stumps amidst grass and bushes, the trees cut down in past seasons. Blue sageflowers grow over the dead wood in spring and summer, collected by the older children of Mirael to be hung over doorways and at the Hall of Powers.
The clear path ends at the river bend and the Standing Rock; only a slight bend in fact, but the great rock hides the river downstream. In warmer seasons, players and troubadors bring ale and fishing lines to the Standing Rock - an escape from Master Lareth, or simply to a way to laze undisturbed by village folk; there is little in the Odan worth fishing for. The Standing Rock is knife-etched with generations of ale-addled players' lore; treasured lines, insults, ill-phrased rejoinders and the memory of love and loss.
The common folk of Mirael tell stories of the Standing Rock, of how the fast-flowing Odan is bottomless beside it, or as near as makes no difference. Once upon a time, or so it is said, the Fisher in Darkness come up the river to sit atop the Standing Rock. That noble Power fished with line and rod for who knows what for a full year and a day - from high summer through first and last snow to high summer once more. He caught nothing in all that time, but sailed downriver for the Unending Sea in as good a mood as a year and a day earlier, for the Fisher knew that fishing is more than a matter of simply catching fish. But whatever the Fisher fished for still remains, and so sensible folk ply their business elsewhere on the Odan.
[ Posted by Reason on July 22, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| On the Judgements of the World Crafter |
| Spirits of Rock and Sky > In the Name of the World Crafter |
Neither priest nor any other may Judge, and to claim otherwise is to travel the Pathway of Heresy! Only Gods, possessed of Divine Will and knowledge, can truly Judge those who dwell in the World. Only the World Crafter has shown Himself willing to issue Judgement - only the World Crafter honors those who dwell upon the work of his Divine Will. Gods of Sky and Underworld, Gods who refuse to Judge, are weak or false, unworthy of worship!
I have been Judged priest of our Sect by the Divine Will of the World Crafter; I have stood before our God a generation past and bared my heart, bared my very spirit! Those who stood with me were Judged and found false, their spirits snuffed as unwanted flames by His passing. In the name of the World Crafter, hear my words, for they are Judged true and wise!
[ Posted by Reason on July 21, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Meten Resi's Message to Meten Jui of the Temple Keepers |
| Spirits of Rock and Sky > Teachings of the One God |
May this char-marked scroll find you safely in Kesuit, and may it be rubbed clean after the reading. The one who bears this scroll, Seis of the First Rank, is faithful, but knows nothing of our plans, nor how to read this ancient Murikarn script. May the One God grant that he is not cast aside by the Recorders and Stronmars of the Conclave - as I will be if this tale comes to a poor end.
You have my word that I will commend you to my Amral in the matter of your rank within the Family, and again my most heartfelt gratitude for your part in my defence. Seis brings trusted companions from amongst these Godward Susyan - a change to our plans, but one that will be for the better. They are to journey to Dasen's Shrine at Cir, and you will follow. Heretic Susyan yet hide in plain sight in this far, dark territory, that much I have confirmed as I traveled the Great Pathway and the marked routes to Lasuten. The heretics worship the Eye and the Keepers, turning from the One God and all that is right and true. In this you were knowledgable, and by this we will demonstrate our faith beyond any gainsay.
I will yet see those who seek to burn my scrolls cast from their Sects! Their theology is as weak as their position in the Temple is strong - would that the most honored Crafters had Five to oppose the Stronmars, or scrolls to oppose the Recorders. Alas, they are content to let the One God, creator of all, be diminished by heresy in word, ink and deed. This while lesser Crafters are at the beck and call of our enemies!
May the One God guide the nets and bolas of your companions to worthy targets!
[ Posted by Reason on July 20, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| A Requested Service in Honor of the One God |
| Spirits of Rock and Sky > Teachings of the One God |
Seis assures me that you are known to him and can be trusted. I am grateful that you honor me with your presence, and confident in my companion's choice. I will name myself: I am Camnel Meten Resi of the Seventh Rank of Crafters, come to Lasuten from the Great Temple but recently. Please listen to my words, for I find myself in need of service I cannot ask of the honored Wanderers and Crafters of this community.
In cycles past, it fell to a honored friend of the Third Rank to maintain the shrine in Cir, far from the large Godward communities of your Tribe and close to the Valley of the Eye. He has vanished, and Master Esua of the Cru has passed tales to our acolytes from travelers who claim the shrine is collapsed and deserted.
Stranger tales are told, of Keepers of the Eye on the open rock of your Tribe once more, but I pay them no heed and nor should you. Such tales are told and retold until they have no meaning. A generation ago, I gave my word to Father Bai Iri regarding my honored friend, and this word I will keep - as Susyan, you should understand such matters of the heart, neh? We are not so different, I think. I ask this of you: in the name of the One God, journey to Cir and find the priest Bai Cutan.
The Will of the One God be with you; ten skulls of Uk wood await your successful return.
[ Posted by Reason on July 19, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Rual Tei Speaks Of the Flattened Mountain |
| Spirits of Rock and Sky > Itmos and the Unwalked Way |
Hear me as I tell of our ancestors, for soon we set forth for the Realm and the Flattened Mountain.
Long and many generations ago it was when our Family was first named. Though they traveled all of the Realm, the children of Tei, daughter of Mese, who was daughter of Gretai of the Hundred, could find no fit place to dwell. Exhausted, the Family set their tents in the shadow of the great lone peak at the very Lightward extent of the Realm, far from the Great Bones that are the sacred trust of all Families of our Tribe.
The elder priest Esen Tei stood and beseeched the World Crafter to show them their home. Long he spoke in the name of the Dead God, and the World Crafter heard. The God Who Crafts stretched forth His Divine Will and flattened the great mountain as though it were a wood chip beneath the mallet.
Atop the Flattened Mountain then, our ancestors set their tents, as will we in the wakes ahead. This is why our Family travels from the Great Bones to to the dark, Godward Realm - for we must honor the World Crafter and our ancestors in the times of Still Sky.
[ Posted by Reason on July 19, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| The Passing of Hesun |
| Spirits of Rock and Sky > Oaths and Myths of the Susyan |
Lord, there will be need of strong words this wake, or I fear the Ceremony of Passage will see blood shed on rock and wood. Hesun was more than Oathbound these generations - he was the truest spirit, and I would rather Pass myself than see what is to come.
I hear your judgement, I acknowledge it - but let the Ancestral Spirits judge Hesun for swallowing inkberry poison, let that judgement come in the World Beyond, not here on the rock of our community. Hesun wished to journey to the Sky in the time of his choosing, wished so strongly that he came to this. Yes, his flesh and blood cannot be part of the Claiming Ritual, but will not Daren still Claim sinew for bows, to honor the wake in which he and Hesun showed aim more true than the Lord of Nekopis? Will not the Namekeeper come from her dwelling to Claim skin for the tales Hesun shared with Jentik from the High Plateau? Will not Tarey and Urtim and Johat claim ribs and arm bones for the weapons of raiding, so that Hesun's will watch the warriors he taught from his place in the Sky?
I care not that Hesun chose a Passing other than his own! He will still be Hesun to me! I will honor my Oath, and I will see his Ceremony is the Ceremony of a Susyan warrior! But this I know - ten warriors will step forward at the Claiming to Claim Hesun's Ax, the Ax taken from the bodies of a hundred Wohken in the Pathway War. The Ax was to be Claimed by Hesun's partner, and all understood as much, but the young of the community speak poorly of Hesun this past wake. They know nothing of his spirit! But they will spill blood and fight for his Ax, and by my Oath, I will not hold myself back if they do!
This I come to you with, Lord - a request for strong words at the Ceremony. Claim the Ax for the Lord's Hall and all will be well. This, I ask of you in Hesun's name, my own name, and for the Oath we shared.
[ Posted by Reason on July 17, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| From the Fragments of Tsen's Questions |
| Spirits of Rock and Sky > Inked by Scholars and Scribes |
History has been long in its path from Void to World to World Beyond, a Pathway traveled as the Passed travel the high air to the Ancestral Sky Spirits. We are imperfect; we have forgotten much. Just as the elder crafter falters, her next breath, her skill and the movement of her hands gone from her heart, so too do scrolls, libraries and even tales themselves falter. Can forgotten generations be said to have happened at all? We are certain of our existence, but cannot guarantee memory in cycles to come.
[ Posted by Reason on July 16, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Map Maker Feru Speaks of the Heresies |
| Spirits of Rock and Sky > Wisdom of the Order of the Provider > On the Sects of the World Crafter |
Speak of the Second Heresy with care, friend Initiate, or best not at all. Priests and pilgrims of the Realm will argue, cry out, raise club and ax to shed blood over the Third Heresy, that of the Circle of Worship - but such is common anger, beneath us just as the Underworld is beneath these faithful. We walk the Servants' Path as they walk the rock of the World, sustained and protected from that hidden below.
The Second Heresy is a secret known by all, its reminders left on the open rock, in Seusen, in the caverns of the lesser Sects. The Third Heresy angers, but the Second wounds deeply and in subtle ways. Your faith, robe and Gift of the Provider will not shield you from the priest who believes Heresy of that aspect. Nor will it shield the Sect of that priest from the anger of the Provider, the Seers and all Tumnil after you have Passed.
The Servants' Path is not straight, not mapped, for all we serve the Divine Will of the Provider. You have much yet to learn. Look upon the broken statues of the World Crafter if you must, friend Initiate, but I will speak the Gift Ritual for you while I set ink to the leather of my map this wake.
[ Posted by Reason on July 15, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| To Tahadu's Dwelling |
| Spirits of Rock and Sky > In the Name of the World Crafter |
Oheh! We gather to be pilgrims once more. We have followed the priest Meten Teni in the journey of the Long Ridge to Seusen. We have climbed the Three Thousand Steps of Bone and spoken the prayers of the Circle of Worship at each Step of Honored Skulls. We have come far, yet still we are filled with the faith of the World Crafter!
Oheh! We journey to pay the respects of our Sect to the spirit of Tahadu the Sectless, Tahadu who worshipped the World Crafter alone. Towards the edge of the World and high mountains we will go, and so we gather to trade for lined and layered leather. Here we await a Servant of the Provider who will walk our path, and strong warriors to guard us from the heresies of Devoted Followers.
Oheh! High we will travel, high into the dark, cold mountains that look upon the World Beyond, where frost touches rock and the high air howls. There we will bow to priests of the Hierarchy of Mysteries and look upon the spirits of the Sky untouched by the Light of the false God. We will find Tahadu's Cavern and within will stand the wood of her dwelling, empty these long generations since the time of the God-King.
[ Posted by Reason on July 14, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Master Tanmah of the Ussar Wayhouse on the Weight of Tales |
| Spirits of Rock and Sky > Oaths and Myths of the Susyan > Tales of Wohken |
Wohken, now, they grasp at lesser tales, at the tales of this wake and the last. The tales told by partners and between children - the Wohken grasp at small tales so hard that their Families grow large to hold them all. Our old foes look to the skulls of their ancestors, look to their Fathers, Families and Brotherhoods for guidance, because they forget the tales of true import. They forget the tales that carry weight with the great spirits and the One God.
Have you ever seen players perform in communities on the open rock between Gap and Realm? I have, in my wakes of wandering, a time ago now. You cannot understand without seeing, for all that many Masters of our order might disagree. We are Susyan, we Cru in this Wayhouse, and we know the true tales - of Auritar; of the Katar; of the Ancestral Sky Spirits; of battle; of the One God ... of our Tribe. We have taught these tales to the players and warriors of our Godward communities, as they in turn have taught these same tales to us.
Wohken, now, they cannot tell a tale in public without flame to cast shadow and flax to hold it. Wohken Brotherhoods tell their tales as warriors in battle, bearing the arms of their craft. In their shadow plays, the craft takes the place of the tale ... and without tales, the Wohken bow to ancestors and Families larger than the farthest Godward communities. This I put to you, is the difference between our Tribes.
[ Posted by Reason on July 14, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Lawmaker Desus Tells of the Congress of Change |
| Spirits of Rock and Sky > Law and Ritual of the Dispossessed |
As our wise Law requires, I set aside my duties as Lawmaker to teach truth and knowledge to the Born this wake. Listen, and I will tell of the Congress of Change, the first Congress of Lawmakers in the generation of my grandmother's birth.
Long past, in the beginning of our Tribe, there was peace following the Claiming and the sacrifice of Erias. In the chill and quiet of this rock above the Great Scarp, the first of us built communities; none save Servants of the Provider and the Unborn - newly outcast or banished - climbed the Scarp to the high rock in those cycles.
Our Tribe grew, yet too many of the Unborn refused our Laws and the wisdom of Lawmakers. Communities - even our great halls, or so it is said - became dangerous; the Unborn even set their tents on open rock, ungoverned by Law and Lawmaker. Their ancestors had not fought, had not pledged to Erias, yet were they not still Dispossessed?
It was in these cycles four generations ago, when Unborn threatened Born, that the Congress of Change was called. Lawmakers of the Congress decreed that the Unborn were to be sent from our territory above the Great Scarp, for they brought shame to the watching spirits of Erias and the Nine. The Unborn did not go in peace, and blood fell once more on the high rock of our Tribe.
This also the Congress of Change gave us: the Laws of Second Birth, for the exiled and outcast Unborn are as our ancestors. We have turned away old, bad traditions, but we do not forsake the Unborn. So it is that Unborn can become Twice Birthed in the eyes of a Lawmaker, and so it is that the Scarp still marks the boundary of our Tribe - Born above, Unborn below.
[ Posted by Reason on July 12, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| The Scholar Beri Tells the Tale of Gesun's Arrow |
| Spirits of Rock and Sky > Oaths and Myths of the Susyan |
There exist World Fragments watched by the Ancestral Sky Spirits, Fragments that bring fortune to those who do not use them to anger our great ancestors. It came to pass that the smallest of these World Fragments was held by Gesun, a renowned warrior of the generation of Pathway Wars.
Gesun was beloved by Jentik, and so it was that he took the sharp World Fragment to the eldest Namekeeper, a scribe of great and divine secrets who dwelled atop the high stairway in those cycles. It was she who crafted an Arrow of the strongest Uk wood to fit the Fragment, she who foretold the Fragment would bring great fortune until the very breath it was used to shed blood onto the rock of the World. From that wake, Gesun prospered under the gaze of the Ancestral Sky Spirits.
Yet it came to pass that the Pathway Wars would consume even the fortune of Gesun. On the high rock of Mayet's Passing, surrounded by the Fifteen Brotherhoods of Club and Ax, every Susyan arrow was sent to rest in Wohken bone and flesh. Every arrow save for the very last, the Arrow crafted by the eldest Namekeeper. Wohken blood ran over rock like spilled water from a Gift of the Provider, yet still the Brotherhoods climbed to fight. Gesun nocked the Arrow to his great bow of sinew and Uk wood, and it leaped true to slay the son of a Father. The Wohken faltered for ten heartbeats, but the Ancestral Sky Spirits turned away from Gesun and so his fortune Passed. In rage and revenge, the Father and ten Amrals rushed at Gesun and slew him where he stood.
This took place many generations ago, yet Gesun's Arrow remains. The Sky Spirits will bring great fortune to the warrior who carries but never nocks the Arrow.
[ Posted by Reason on July 11, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Crei's Stairway |
| Spirits of Rock and Sky > The Servants' Path |
"Age carries wisdom to the heart, Tumri 301." Lotun sat on the divinely shaped rock of the broad first step of Crei's Stairway. The Light of the One God, spread in whorls across three hands of the Lightward Sky, shone bright that wake despite its distance; Lotun's shadow reached the sheer rock wall fifty paces away at the Stairway's first turn. The elder Wohken Initiate massaged his left knee through his flax robe, leg stretched out before him. "My heart tells me that I will not be climbing to the Plateau in this or any other wake."
The Jentik Tumri 301 watched anxiously. The two travelers had halted at the head of Tumri's broad rock vale; the flame-lights of that mixed community flickered kloms away, near a hundred spans beneath the Stairway. Near-vertical crags towered above the two Servants of the Provider, highlighted in purple tints by the Light of the One God until vanishing into the haze and darkness of heights unseen. The Plateau cliffs made toys of the surrounding hills, valleys and Susyan communities – mountains placed next to World Fragments. Lotun sat on the first step of a divine Stairway, a path that twisted and turned its way through the high crags for vertical kloms.
"But we have come so far! You must climb with me!" Tumri 301 pleaded. It had been strange to be amongst so many of her Tribe once more in the community below the Stairs, but the High Plateau beckoned. Lotun would not be hurried, however; wakes of ritual and conversation with other Servants of the Provider had passed slowly, each heartbeat a frustration for Tumri 301.
"Calm yourself, my acolyte. Think the steps of the Three Uk Branch Observance." Lotun sat up patted the smooth rock of the step to his side. "Sit for a moment." He waited for Tumri 301 to seat herself and sighed, looking towards the Lightward Sky. "I will not be ascending the Stairway, Tumri 301. Ah, but I want to. I would have liked..." He paused for a moment and shook his head.
The young Jentik placed a hand on the elder Wohken's flax sleeve, concerned. "Why sadness, Lotun?"
"In time. Understanding comes in time." Lotun flexed his knee slowly, lost in thought for a moment. "Visit the Tale Spire for me. I had hoped to read some of the older writings, closer to the peak."
Tumri 301 removed her hand, regarding Lotun while chewing on her lip. The air tugged at their hair, dark with youth and light with age.
Lotun looked across at the acolyte. "Go, Tumri 301!" he said firmly. "How many cycles has it been since you have spoken with your mother and sister? Thirty? Forty? You should start to climb." He reached for his staff. "I will wait for you; there is much to be done in Tumri. Take as many wakes as you need."
"Thank you, Lotun." Tumri 301 reflexively bowed her head, raising her hands to make the Fourth Gratitude. She pointed to the Initiate's knee. "But should I not help you return to the guesthouse?"
Lotun gave her a scathing look as he pulled himself to his feet. He limped for a few steps, wincing, and then rapped his staff against the rock. "It is a gentle incline. I will manage."
"It is colder than I recalled." Tumri 301 shivered despite the leather wrap as the frigid wind blew through her hair and chilled her face. She nestled against Tumri 62 under the layered leather; the two Jentik huddled close to Tumri 712 at the foot of a smooth vertical cliff and the next line of Stairs.
"This is the rock on which we have always paused," said Tumri 62 as their heads rested against one another. Her lips brushed the acolyte's numbed cheek and their dark hair tangled in the wind. "My mother insists - I have argued this before." She hugged Tumri 301 under the shared wrap.
"I would have argued too." Tumri 301 pulled her legs in closer. "If it were not so cold, I would be stood and arguing now!"
From where they rested, the Jentik could see only the Sky and the nearest purple-edged, cragged spire that shielded this part of the Stairway from the worst of the high wind and the direct Light of the One God. The brightest of stars were visible, moving slowly in unison towards the High Plateau and their final destination beyond the hoarfrost at the edge of the World. At the sheer edge of this rock platform, buffeted by the high air in its passage to the World Beyond, the view was nothing less than breathtaking; Tumri 301 had watched and watched until the cold drove her into the arms of Tumri 62. A hundred kloms of mountains and high ground stretched into the gloom of distance, each peak edged with reflected, divine Light from the distant Sky. Shadows stretched far and even the greatest flames in Susyan communities were mere sparks amidst the open rock of the World.
Tumri 301 had met with the mother and older daughter early that wake meeting them a hundred spans and many steps above Jesin's Outlook. She had greeted and spoken with other, descending Jentik, but the climb passed more pleasantly in the company of Tumri 62 and Tumri 712. The acolyte was bothered by Lotun's absence, more than she had expected, but Tumri 62's attentions were a consolation. The younger Jentik had barely passed her first generation of life, yet reminded Tumri 301 of Tumnil 146 and the many cycles that must pass before any happy reunion. Tumnil's soil and seedgrass was a thousand kloms away; Tumri 301 missed the lush greenery, bright color and scent of the Realm of the Provider.
"You are sewing thoughts." Tumri 62 prodded the acolyte's ribs. Tumri 301 wriggled, but quickly gave up and consented to being held by Tumri 62.
"I hope that you are being careful with the wrap, daughter of mine," Tumri 712 called.
"Yes!" replied Tumri 62, raising her voice to be heard over the wind. She bent her head to whisper, "It was crafted by my great-grandmother." The two young Jentik pulled the shared wrap tightly, with care, and sat in silence. Tumri 62 stroked the acolyte's hip through her leather tunic.
"Why did you leave the Plateau?" Tumri 62 asked impulsively. "It seems strange to have gone away for so many tendays."
Tumri 301 thought on that. "My mother told me that I would follow the Servants of the Provider on their path through Tukarn when I was young. I do not remember, but I spoke for many wakes with the eldest Jentik who served the Provider and came and went as they pleased."
"They convinced you that your path led to Tumnil?"
"No ... I convinced myself. The stories of Tumnil would not leave my heart." She shifted position to meet Tumri 62's eyes. "I will become an Initiate one wake. I will bear a Gift. To bring food and water to those who need it, to aid the Divine Will of a God. Do you understand?"
Tumri 62 nodded. "We all support and help one another, but I do not think that I could take your path." She rested her forehead amid Tumri 301's windblown hair, her breath warm on the acolyte's neck. "I could not part from my family."
Tumri 301 dug an elbow into Tumri 62's stomach. "I have not parted with my family! They are just as important to me as your mother and sister are to you."
"I am sorry, I did not mean..." Tumri 62 spoke repentantly, hugged the acolyte again. Tumri 301 looked up to the Sky. The two Jentik watched a bright star move slowly out of sight beyond the heights of the smooth cliff wall, two identical faces turned to the spirits above.
"Have you touched a Gift?" asked Tumri 62 suddenly. "What do they feel like?" She pressed her lips against Tumri 301's ear and whispered, "What is it like to touch a divine creation?"
"The Halls of Tumnil have the feel of rock, but warmer." Tumri 301 paused before continuing, aware of her companion's breath. "I have touched the pillars which support the Lights of the Provider and felt the movement of His Divine Will. It is ... it is ..." Tumri 301 moved her hands under the wrap as she sought the right words.
"The most important truth in the World?" asked Tumri 62 softly. "I too have spoken to Servants of the Provider. I think that we all have." She sighed. "Perhaps, one wake, I will journey to Tumnil. I would like to see the Halls and the Lights, to see the leaves and curvetips as they were before they dried."
"Then go! Or you might find one wake that your chances are gone." Tumri 301 shook her head as it rested against Tumri 62's soft neck. Her thoughts were of Lotun, but she tried to put them aside.
"Did I speak wrongly?" There was an edge of concern in Tumri 62's voice. She sought out the acolyte's hands under the leather wrap.
Tumri 301 linked fingers with the other Jentik. "No ... no, you didn't. I am sorry - my heart was elsewhere." She squeezed Tumri 62's hands, and pulled them to her lap. The chill wind gusted suddenly, lifting a corner of the wrap to disperse the warmth beneath. The Jentik almost knocked heads, shivering, as both reached for the errant corner.
"How soon?" the acolyte asked, almost plaintively. "My lips must be hoarfrosted."
"Soon, I hope," replied Tumri 62, glancing at her resting mother. She leaned her head and smiled against Tumri 301's numbed cheek. "Your lips seem perfect to me..."
Tumri 301's thoughts were floating free again - it was hard not to think of Tumnil 146. Perhaps she had been hasty in thinking that her feelings had faded. Tumri 301 resolved to talk to her mother and sister - they would understand, even if they would only tell her what she already knew, that time and patience were the path of the heart.
The acolyte Dairin 472 paused before the small dwelling, hair tangled by the cold Plateau wind. Thousands of Gift Statues surrounded the dwelling, a confusion of figurines and larger works almost obscuring its ancient wooden beams. All depicted Jentik - Jentik of every conceivable age, pose, expression, mood and dress. It had something of Tumnil about it, thought Dairin 472, as though the Statues had grown over uncounted generations to cover the empty dwelling, like vines on a fallen Uk tree.
After the time of Still Sky, Lotun had given the acolyte the remaining block of scented Estin's wood. She had traded it in Tukarn for a statuette from the dwelling of her sister's companion. Jentik carved from the bone of Jentik, it had so much of Tumnil 146 in it, in the hand covering the smiling mouth and laughter-lines at the corners of the eyes. Dairin 472 had not been able to resist, and now she sat at the feet of a life-sized Gift Statue, its face serene despite the splits and dessication of generations-old wood. With the point of her small bone knife, she worked a short message into the base of the statuette. Dairin Jentik smiled at her as they passed in ones and twos, and the sound of wind flutes rose and fell from nearby dwellings. She would leave her Gift Statue somewhere close to the walls of the dwelling, Dairin 472 decided, amidst the larger wooden sculptures.
The acolyte smiled to herself, thinking of past cycles as she regarded the sculpted bone. She had yet to visit the Tale Spire, however, and it would not do to disappoint Lotun. Having finished the brief inscription, Dairin 472 rose to wind her way carefully amongst the statues to leave a Gift of her own.
[ Posted by Reason on July 10, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Suten Ane Talks Of Ancestral Bones |
| Spirits of Rock and Sky > Wohken Family and Brotherhood Lore |
Almost, neh? The Amral's Rite of Passing was well, I'll grant him that. It was right that his flesh was given to the Crafters' Brotherhood, his bones to the Lutnens of the Family. Capnen Meten Geson spoke well in his claim on the Amral's skin; he will do the Amral's spirit and the Family honor in his craft. The skull should not be placed in the Family shrine, now, and you know my heart in this matter. But this I will do, and I engrave the Midrin Expressive out of respect for your Father - and for you, Camnel, you understand.
No, now, if these were still cycles in which the greatest of ancestral skulls were placed in the Ten Valleys, the Amral's skull would not be so honored. His was not the highest Pathway - and there is no shame in that, but greatness must be honored, or it has no value. I have seen the Valley of Ancestral Bone, walked the hard path across treacherous rock to pay my respects to our ancestors. The skulls of our Families are there still, ancient and engraved as will be the Amral's.
There were communities once, large as Sural, built by those who tended the ancestors. But this was many generations ago, and only the Brotherhood of Knowledge and crafters as myself recall the old ways. The dwellings have gone to dust and splinters, but the ancestors watch over us yet. The skulls of heroes and legends stand in the nooks of the Valleys, Camnel, heroes and legends.
[ Posted by Reason on July 7, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Angering Nidri After the Contest of Warriors |
| Spirits of Rock and Sky > Tales Told by the Enierd |
I have two hands, I have no need of more! It is barely deep enough to be called a scratch! See now, not even bone at the deepest. What of the blood? Am I wood, to split cleanly? This rock has seen blood before, mark me well. No, not the flax! It will dry, and blood on flax will mark for cycles! Leave me!
See to the younger ones, see to the Servants of the Provider, I care not. Let Unat boast and stride - if he were half the warrior he claims, he would best me without ax blade and knife point ... as I would have for him! Let me alone, I say! I can hold awl and twine - see, I sew the first stitch myself!
[ Posted by Reason on July 6, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Kesia of the Twice Born Speaks of the Claiming |
| Spirits of Rock and Sky > Law and Ritual of the Dispossessed |
The cast out and banished of the Tribes had long huddled beneath the Great Scarp, raided by Wohken and Susyan, scorned by Enierd and Frost Gatherer. Yet those Dispossessed came to be many as the generations passed, and sparks of pride still moved amongst the exiles. In time, one spark came to light the fires that would climb the Scarp and Claim the territory of Frost Gatherers; his name was Erias, and we honor him yet.
Erias, Susyan Lord and Oathbreaker, came among the Dispossessed in the generation of my grandfather's grandfather - his great spirit brought the communities beneath the Great Scarp together as one. Bold and angry, he confronted those afraid of traveling the Pathway of their lives once more, exhorted those who had forgotten respect. The outcast and the exiled recalled pride and purpose, found club, ax and armor, and rose up behind the Oathbreaker Erias. A great cry ascended from the Scarp and carried on the high air to the far, dark rock of the World. Dispossessed journeyed from far to this high corner of the World, amongst them the Nine Heroes who would stand with Erias in battle. So it was that the flames of our Tribe fanned high in the cold, high air. So it was that the Claiming began.
Erias, the greatest hero of all, did not live to see the first communities of our Tribe, did not live to see Lawmakers and Law. In the last battle of the Claiming, before the eyes of the Nine, his spirit Passed to the Sky. The Lawmakers teach us that his bones and his armor rest high on the lone mountain above the valley of the End of Claiming. His spirit has not returned to the World, but watches over all Dispossessed from the Sky.
With the Passing of Erias, the Nine separated; each led their followers to build one of the first communities of the new Tribe. Look about you, to the head of this great valley - not six generations past, the hero who would would become the Lawmaker Matai stood on high rock above the valley then empty. A thousand Dispossessed stood with him while the high air rushed to the Gate of Gods. Look about you at what we, the Born and Twice Born, have crafted in the cycles since!
[ Posted by Reason on July 5, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| Entering the Hall of Acolytes, From the Recollections of Aruun |
| Spirits of Rock and Sky > Inked by Scholars and Scribes |
Passing through the mighty entry of Divine Will taken material form, passing from seedgrass and the brightest Lights of the Provider into darkness lit by flames of blue, I might have stepped from Tumnil to the farthest Godward community of the World in ten heartbeats. Familiar dwellings stood about me, the roof of this great and Divine hall so dark and far above it might be the Sky.
The dwellings rose up the very walls, as shelves in a hall of wood, crafted by the Tribes. It was as communities within the Great Temple, the Avatar of the One God, and no less wonderous - ancient wood and leather built upon platforms and levels, fading into darkness away from the flame-lights. The acolytes welcomed me, and Meten Asai of the Map Makers beckoned me to the Hall of Ritual, built of wood and bone within the Divine Hall of Acolytes, mighty creation of the Will of the Provider.
[ Posted by Reason on July 4, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| How the God-King Came to the Realm of the World Crafter |
| Spirits of Rock and Sky > In the Name of the World Crafter |
This I speak as truth, for it is inked on ancient leather beneath the dome of the Hall of the Circle in Seusen. This I speak: that the God-King came before the first Circle of Worship weighed by respect for the World Crafter. No such respect had He for the false priests of Light and Sky. He who was to rule the Tribes came to the priests of the World Crafter, came with gifts of divine material, wood, and pledges of Father and Lord - yet the hearts of the Circle were troubled and filled with great doubt.
So it was that from the first Circle of Worship, the God-King went forth across the open rock, forth to the Avatar. So it was that He spoke to our God on the rock of the Realm, for the World Crafter halted in Its journey and bowed to listen to the words of the God-King. All of the Realm were awed, and priests of every Sect came to kneel before the God-King and hear His divine wisdom.
Thence the God-King departed as He came, but weighed by the loyalty of the Realm.
[ Posted by Reason on July 3, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| The Words of Beis Musam, Priest of the Circle of Worship |
| Spirits of Rock and Sky > In the Name of the World Crafter |
There shall be no more talk of Heresy and Unbelief here this wake! You stand in Seusen, bound by the wise law of the Circle of Worship, bound since your feet left the last of the Three Thousand Steps. This is not the open rock of the Realm, where any priest and petty Sect may claim righteousness. Here, we have followed the teachings of the Circle with loyalty and respect since the generation of the Third Heresy.
No, now! Put down your ax! Shall I call on my fellow priests for a judgement? Before the World Crafter, we are all equal and joined by our faith - put your disagreements aside! Treat one another as Brothers and your kindness will be rewarded when the wake of your Passing arrives. Treat your fellows poorly, and your spirit will be judged by the World Crafter - just as were the the Followers of the First Path so long ago, trodden into the rock of the World and Passed to the darkness of the Underworld!
[ Posted by Reason on July 3, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
| The First Spirit of the Sky Map |
| Spirits of Rock and Sky > Teachings of the One God |
So now a priest, Seun? I had predicted your diligence and care would be noticed. The Stronmars will work you hard now that you wear the hinged robe - and you will come amongst the Sectless less often. You will be missed, but such is the Will of the One God; we each serve as we are able.
Still weak from the ink, neh? I had not wanted to speak of it, but the flame-light shows it well. The first and smallest needle point of the great Map, the spirit of Mer, loyal to Braikin, is the hardest. Your body will grow used to inkberry poison - soon you will add a spirit in each cycle and your skin will honor the One God just as do your elders.
Are you to leave us for the far, dim Godward rock to watch the Sky, or are you be taken into the upper Temple? Ah, you must have indeed caught the eye of greater priests. I bow to you, for you have passed me in the estimation of the Conclave and The Five. Few ascend to the cold High Chambers to observe the spirits of the Sky and the Light through the High Gateways - it is a hard journey, climbing so far above the rock of the World.
We will worship in your stead while you travel within the Avatar; you must come to our Hall once more when you return. We will be glad to hear your tales and share in ritual once more.
[ Posted by Reason on July 1, 2005 | Permanent Link ]
