corpora lente augescent cito extinguuntur

and even more

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 22:20:06 GMT

12. Eden

Days turned to weeks, and things changed little. The weather warmed somewhat, leaving Galen and Rhouala to sit on deck and watch the ocean mutate and the distant landscape slip by. Bogfly seemed distracted, and somewhat morose, more morose even than his normal self. He was less abusive, and a great deal quieter.
The contracted crew performed like a complex and elegant machination, up and down, tying and loosening and furling and unfurling. They crawled about the Queen Anafara like spider monkeys, comfortable in their roles, and with their tasks.
After what seemed like a lifetime, when Rhouala could almost not remember what ground under her feet or a real bed felt like, they spotted the island they were headed for: Eden.

It was small, but towered above them like a giant, dark sentinel in the middle of the ocean. There were several, smaller, uninhabited islets off the coast, outlining the caldera, which the ocean had overtaken. The mass of the island one a thumbnail shaped mountain, one side of the ancient, long dead volcano. It was covered from top to bottom with greenery, wild vines and temperate forests stretched from end to end. It looked like a true paradise and all the passengers and off duty crewmen gathered on the deck to view the extraordinary island.
The inner portion of Eden was far too shallow and treacherous to navigate into, but there was a small dock constructed on the outer edge of the island to overcome that very difficulty. They still had to anchor some distance offshore, but were able to ferry their wares and crew to and from the boat on small rowboats
Galen and Rhouala were relieved to be leaving the Queen Anafara, even if it was only for a limited duration. The captain and a skeleton crew stayed aboard, along with the Symthians, who expressed no interest in leaving.

They approached, and the pristine, still water in the harbor was so calm that the only ripples seemed to be those created by the oarsmen. They approached the long sliver of sandy beach that hugged the massive mountainous interior.

After a dreamlike voyage from the Queen Anafara to shore, the first rowboat’s hull eventually stopped up in the shallow water, and when Rhouala's feet touched the sandy ground, she was stricken with an intense memory of the beach from the latter half of her first vision.

She looked up the beach, and indeed she saw the boat, anchored offshore, two crewmen walked by her merrily sharing a bottle of wine jocular reminiscence. She stood perfectly still and let the concept that this had all happened before in her mind, in every detail, transform from a possibility into a fact.

Being a very pragmatic person, Rhouala had great difficulty accepting that she was able to, with any reliability, predict the future, but here it was.

Both Galen and Rhouala had heard of this place, in truth, everyone had. Eden was a sanctuary for fairies and sprites. If one or many should be deprived of their original habitats through war, deforestation, fire, or if a fairy or sprite simply wanted somewhere safe to go, Eden was almost exclusively their destination.

No other races lived permanently on the island, as the native inhabitants would not allow it. They were perhaps small and weak of physical body, but they were excellent at defending a territory. The repertoire of the two species included: trickery, illusion, and malicious traps, practical jokes that often resulted in death or disfigurement, elemental control, spells, and communication with beasts. Effectively they had an army, but no resident of Eden would refer to their actions as war, simply “play”. They did enjoy when pirates or unwise settlers found their island, for nothing was greater fun to a fairy than trickery. The sprites were, if not as bizarre with their humor, just as cruel, or at the very least had the capacity to be.

Rhouala nervously walked in the direction of the glittering village. Evening was drawing near, and it seemed to be most warm and inviting. Galen waited with her as she removed her shoes to fully enjoy the warm sand, and they walked together into the city of Eden.

Strings of fairy lights clung eerily to every tree and structure, and filled the strange town with the ghostly luminescence that is particular to them. The hesitant sailors had already arrived, bringing crates of goods unobtainable in Eden to the residents. Fairy and sprite handmade goods were highly prized, and it gave the town a measure of wealth, which allowed for a great deal of relaxation and play. This was in line with the general philosophy of the creatures, who took as much leisure as they were allowed. Leisure often included pranks and intrigue, which many find to be more exhausting than a day at a quarry, though it suited the residents perfectly.

They were greeted by a beautiful creature, who seeped a pale blue emanation of light that drifted around her, or him, like smoke.

"Greetings, weary travelers, I am Tilka, of water sprite heritage. May I interest you in beds and baths? We have robes of the finest silks, and exotic entertainment, and companions, should you desire their company." Galen's practicality and skeptical nature caught aflame at such a generous offer.

"The price you ask for these luxuries Tilka?" he asked. Tilka smiled with a reassuring gaze.

"oh, most modest, I am certain you can afford it, luxuries abound in Eden."

"Yes," observed Galen "so I can see, but I would ask that you name the price. 30 silver? 100? 500?" Rhouala was also feeling the same hesitation about slightly unsettling offer, but volunteered

"We are not vagabonds, exactly, but we would like to know the cost before we agree to such amenities." The sprite pulsed light with an annoyed expression

"It is most reasonable, come, let me show you before you decide! You will wonder at the quality of construction. Gaze, awestruck, at the fine and beauteous entertainers. You will be overcome with the sensuality of our companions. I can assure you, that the price is so reasonable that you will be unable to decline, but let me show you before you agree!" Galen coughed, and repeated politely

"All we would like to know before we agree is the price, is that an impossible request?" At that moment, an off duty deckhand who had been eavesdropping swaggered up and declared

"It sounds enticing to me! I could use some company, and a fine meal! I have coins enough, show me your establishment!!!" Two other of the ship's crew came up and one chimed in

"Yes! If you have room for two more hungry, debaucherous fools we would like to see as well, show us around Tilka! Where is this venue?" Tilka smiled again, gracefully pointed up with one, glittering finger, and said

"Why, it is right above us!" and indeed, it appeared as if there was an entire palace was strung up amongst the foliage. The branches each supported fine, glowing bridges, and each bridge led to a large, elegant tree house. Every tree seemed to have one, and Galen and Rhouala were shocked to realize they had not seen the construction before.

It was beautiful beyond description, and took a great force of will to look away. When the two of them did manage to wrench away their gazes, they declined politely, though Tilka seemed not to care, with more customers to impress.

They opted to camp on the beach, near to many of the huts that dotted the extraordinary city. A couple more vendors came to them and offered them trinkets, and they bought a large flagon of fairy nectar, which is much like wine, except that it is made from fermented berries that are not accessible to humans.

The moon was unnaturally large, and the water seemed unnaturally slow and soothing. They were near a group of palm trees, and heard mischievous giggles for the first fifteen minutes, but the spectators appeared to depart after neither Galen, nor Rhouala, did anything interesting.

They made a fire pit, and created a basic lean-to, with fronds and sticks. The fairy town was far too... enchanting for either of their comforts. Both were glad that the other agreed, but neither remarked on it.

While their comrades frolicked in luxurious splendor, they were both happy to simply watch the city from the comfort of their location, and sat by the fire quietly, each consumed by their own thoughts.

Galen eventually opted to feast on coconut flesh and honey flower root, both of which grew in abundance around them. They even caught a wandering crab unaware and made a fine meal of their environment. They drank the nectar they purchased from the container, and neither noticed precisely how much they had consumed until they contentedly fell into a deep sleep in front of their fire.

Rhouala awoke first, and discovered that she had fallen asleep with her arm about Galen's chest. She blinked, the heady drink she had consumed apparently had compromised her modesty, as she appeared to have removed some of her clothing. She got up and searched the area for her blouse, but to no avail. She still wore undergarments, but her shirt was thoroughly gone. Finally, she discovered it's location. It appeared to be suspended from the highest palm frond on a tree nearby. Perplexed, she went to the village, and since modest was a non issue for the residents, purchased a delightful new one without any trouble. When she returned, she discovered Galen wandering about their campsite aimlessly.

"Can I assist?" She asked. Galen skewed an eyebrow

"Have you hidden my shoes Rhouala? I cannot seem to locate them. Oh, new blouse? I hope the price was reasonable..." She grinned.

"5 silver, and my dignity was the cost. The blouse is wonderful. All fairy wares are, it just depends on what you're willing to part with for them. She pointed to the tree. "Apparently we had visitors. Perhaps your shoes have found themselves a new home as well." Rhouala pointed up to the tree that housed her shirt. After Galen had enjoyed a good laugh at her expense, lamenting that he had not awoken earlier, Rhouala got her turn when she saw his boots in a similar predicament, only higher and more unattainable. "I am only sorry that they did not select your pants." She smirked and they walked back into town to find him a new set of footwear.

"I wonder how Tilka's guests, and all the other crew fared." He mused. She shrugged, and they cheerfully took in stride the pranks that children; fairy, sprite, or otherwise, are prone to. The merchants were mostly fairy, as sprites are much less common, but still were amazed by the strange smells, sights, and sounds of the exotic marketplace.

When it was time to return to their boats, all the crew and passengers assembled, including a jaunty looking Thyne, who had apparently had a delightful evening with two excruciatingly beautiful fairly maidens. He described his conquests loudly, until he noticed his purse was missing, at which point he indicated an enraged desire to return to the city and seek satisfaction, but unfortunate, there was not time. The three crewmen who had gone with Tilka did not appear, and after a hasty discussion amongst themselves, the rest of the crew opted to leave.

"Why would you leave them? Are they not your friends?" Rhouala protested

"Do you recall the hotel?" Galen asked, turning to her worried face

"Of course!" She exclaimed

"Look up" he said quietly.

She did.

There was nothing there.

Silently, the remaining party rowed back to the boat.

12. Romento and Sorento

The next port of call for the ship was on a slightly larger island, that maintained two equal and opposite societies, Romento and Sorento. Bogfly explained to them that this particular island, settled entirely by humans, had separated through some long and embittered conflict, by gender.

Romento housed every man that lived on the island over the age of five. Sorento was the home of every woman, and every young child.

The Island had a unique festival, held every three months, in which the participants from both towns would don elaborate costumes and masques and dance in the moonlight with complete abandon. Couples would pair off, or triple, or quadruple off. Fires would be quenched, and the next morning, it would be business as usual.

The two cities were utterly hostile outside of this unique ceremony, and there was no trade or custom between the two.

On this occasion, both Galen and Rhouala independently opted to stay aboard, while more adventurous men went ashore. The Symthians even disembarked here, and again when they reached Soretno, seeming to be perplexed and fascinated by the separation of the sexes. Together they hissed quietly to one another in their mysterious language, their own genders obscure, and so not objectionable to the inhabitants.

During the duration that the crew dropped off and traded supplies, Rhouala and Galen laughed and chased one another about the ship like children, almost forgetting that they were slaves, until a pale yellow stone that Galen wore about his neck began shrieking. He went to the captain's quarters with his blessing and came out hollowed and tense. Concerned, Rhouala asked him if he was well

"That was Mr. Wight. He has inquired abut our progress, he was.. disappointed that we had not yet arrived in Draxia." After that he became morose and silent. Frustrated, Rhouala explored the remainder of the Queen Anafara, discovering nothing of even remote interest. Bored and disillusioned she returned to the mess hall, where she had left Galen. He sat reading the notes that had been left to them by the footman back in Troicinet.

"Have you discovered anything of note?" she asked

"I'm afraid I have done nothing but read the same paragraph thirty times. I cannot focus. My mind wanders and I am unable to settle it." he replied, resignedly dropping the sheaf of papers on the table. Rhouala came up behind him and lay her hands on his sagging shoulders, squeezing them gently.

"I know you are worried" She offered "I have thought a great deal about this most serious situation, despite our fun. Galen, our job is to enslave people. Justified or no, I feel most uncomfortable with the situation. It seems to be a problem with no solution. If we succeed, we are aiding a slave master, and if we fail, we die, and so do they." She sat down next to Galen and gazed at him most seriously

"I have the impression that our ultimate purpose for Mr. Wight is to do much more than gather more slaves. I cannot see a gain in that for him, and I am certain you agree. We enjoy ourselves before something dark and horrible that is to come. I do not know if it will be a battle, or if we have already lost and are cavorting on our own graves, but there is no point being this resigned Galen. The crew is gone, aside from the captain and a small skeleton crew, we are alone, and it is a beautiful day. Come outside with me and let us make merry on this, the day before our woe." Galen reached out his hand, and held up her chin.

"I think, no, I hope it will be war. I like to think that we may yet find a way to mend this terrible predicament. I must come clean now Rhouala, and tell you what I know. I may think that it protects you to hide the truth, but I am often wrong. The Empress stones that Mr. Wight collects... the power that we, as his... subjects... end up giving him when he siphons it off of us... I believe he is using it." Rhouala nodded

"I thought as much. I mean, if I were a sorcerer, and I were able to tap such power without moral repercussions, then I would not make a waste of it. I would put it to some use." Galen seemed intensely sad and drew his hands to has lap.

"I believe he will, or does. He has been in communication with other sorcerers for some time. Normally they are extremely hermetic but for some reason, they have opened free communication with him in recent months. I noticed this, but tried to dismiss it as trade or some specialized gathering. I have been hesitating to tell you this, but I am certain you know that he is more interested in the Golden Empresses than ourselves." Rhouala nodded.

"I know, Galen. I am not a stupid woman." At this, Galen smiled and grabbed Rhouala, squeezing her in a suffocating embrace, as they sat at the large table.

"I am just glad, Rhouala... I am glad that I have someone with whom I... feel a great affinity for to accompany me... through this trial. I will understand if you find a way to escape and decide to take it, however" He seemed almost hopeful. At this Rhouala giggled and tossed her hair petulantly

"I am no accomplice Galen. I am your lover, whether you like it or not, and whether or not we have consummated that fact. You are such a male that you have no idea how very much we are in this together. There is no possible way that I will leave your side. You have me Galen." He reddened, but took her hands, and put them into the position that one might attempt to pray his way out of an impossible situation.
Holding her hands on he bench, he leaned over an they kissed again, not in the frantic way that new lovers might, but in the way that those who had loved, and lost, and grown old together would.

Comfortably.

She looked at him darkly.

"This is not beyond my suspicions Galen, If I were an evil sorcerer, with a new and extraordinary well of power I would certainly exploit such a thing, it is not unexpected." Galen was constantly stunned by Rhouala.

She was unassuming. She put on no airs, wore little or no makeup, and drank and ate with good health and vigor. She was... she was more extraordinary to him every day. Not at all what he expected from the fairer sex. Her demands were few and necessity based, her neurotocism nonexistent. Galen thought that perhaps she was a paragon for all women everywhere, her form perhaps that of an extinct goddess.

She saw his expression and her laugh was now deep and sensual, her eyes dark and sure.

Up on deck, the captain took leave of his post to an underling and sat playing his sitar.

His language was indecipherable but exotic. If Galen and Rhouala had known the words he sang about, they would have heard a song of lament. They would have heard the song of a man who knew that by the time his melody reached the next star over, his planet would have long turned to dust.

While the others explored the island, thrilled by the strange and bizarre culture of equally hostile sexism, Galen and Rhouala unzipped, and unstrapped, and unlaced, until there was nothing to hide from but one another.

There were promises, and embraces, and whispers, skin and skin and skin.

Discrepancy and modesty were discarded, and the ship's hold became their sanctuary. There was no disturbance, and they reveled, in only the way that doomed lovers can.

Deep in shadow, surrounded by the discarded refuse of the ship they confessed their love, and rolled together amongst the rope and crates and sacks of grain.

Once, an eastern, exotic dancer passing through town with her troupe had told Rhouala that once she accepted his place, her lot, and the natural pace of her life, she would be like a feather.

Awakening, together, spooned in an obscure storage room on the Queen Anafara, blinking into the light together, nude and languid, they procrastinated until an unwelcome visitor discovered that his job site had been invaded. Happily, it gave Galen and Rhouala an opportunity to nuzzle like pack animals until they dragged themselves from their repose by sheer force of will.

For the next two days, the crew and passengers left them to their own devices, which left them a time, if not a space, to make up for what they had perhaps neglected.

Time drifted by at the pace of molasses, and Galen and Rhouala came to understand many things about one anothers gender that they had previously been uncertain about. Much was learned, but little was accomplished in the trip between Sorento and Draxia.

When the coastline was at last in view, the two of them let out a sad, quiet moan. The trip was over.

The time for relaxation and enjoyment had come to a tragic close, and their next step was clear.

Make contact with the potentials.

13. Landfall at Draxia.

Being on the Queen Anafara was like a sustained dream. It was the beauteous denial that there was anything amiss in the world at large.

They disembarked with a longing glance back at the ship, and after farewells to all, they set off to their hotel. They were accompanied by Bogfly, who still had enough coin to avoid sleeping in the ditch, at least for now.

Draxia was not like Troicinet at all. It was hot, and arid. Everything was covered in a fine sandy dust that seemed to invade every pore on one's body.
Oddly, though the sun was out and on full blast, it also seemed much gloomier. It was a great deal older, and buildings were crumbling on every corner. The residents did their best to repair the damage of time, but the new construction was much shoddier than the original, and it seemed as though the whole city was a patch job performed by blind old seamstress. The streets teemed with people, mostly human and occasionally Symthian, their country being adjacent to Draxia in the south. People wore long sand colored robes and many shaved their heads, fully or in stylized fashions.

When they checked in at the hotel, "The Blooming Oasis", which was a modest, yet tasteful building of peeling stone and stucco, they hauled themselves gloomily up to their room after agreeing to meet with, and pay for, Bogfly's dinner. Upon hearing this offer his insults about the vile smells that they emitted in hot weather were silenced, and he shuffled off peacefully to his small room.

Rhouala watched as Galen enchanted the dresser mirror, holding his palms out towards it he chanted in an ancient and forgotten tongue. There were small sparks within the reflection, and as she watched, the images of the travel weary duo shimmered and vanished, to be replaced by the disembodied head of Mr. Wight.

"I see you have finally arrived." He seethed with irritation "That ship has taken twice as long as I expected, and yet for the moment at least, the indicators on the map are in flux. It is my supposition that there is a magical barrier of some kind in place that prevents me from fully divining their location and the source of their power. It is most aggravating." He paused "I have forwarded both of your wages to the hotel desk. You may retrieve them at your leisure. Until I summon you, it is your job to "lay low" as I believe the phrase goes. Do not draw attention to yourselves, and for heavens sake stay out of the way of the very formidable law enforcement... Galen." He said, glaring "I recall having trouble with you one or two times in this regard, but in Draxia, minor infractions will get you thrown into the sulphur mines, and major crimes will get you executed. I will be able to do very little to prevent either of these possibilities, given that our distance from one another diffuses my power somewhat. So behave yourselves and wait for my summons." Abruptly the floating head dissipated, and the reflections of Galen and Rhouala reappeared on the surface of the mirror.

"Well that was unsettling..." she said, and began unpacking her baggage. "I think I shall bathe, you should as well, we both smell like sea-rats. Then perhaps we should go and absorb some of Bogfly's positive outlook." She drew the curtain, undressed and, bathed in the large tub of fresh, scented water that had been left for their arrival. Galen joined her a moment later. After a time that was longer than they anticipated, they dressed and joined Bogfly in the grandiose decay of the hotel dining room.

"I thought perhaps I would starve to death in the time it took you to arrive. My cheeks are as hollowed out as a malnourished elf. I thought you had played a joke on me and would leave me to sit here until I lost consciousness." Rhouala gave him a look of sardonic irritation and sat down. The waiter came up and took their order. The hotel offered very little selection, and most of the options were either obscure or horrific, so they all opted for a regional stew and bread.

They ate in silence for a time, at last Bogfly said to them

"So, I must recover Rutherford, as you know. I discovered through inquiry of an extremely abrasive passerby the location of the sulphur mines. I have acquired a position as the driver of a dray for the owner of the mines. It should provide me with some access to him, though I am not convinced I will be able to tolerate the job for long. It should give me access to the big vile creature that I am wasting so much of my time to reacquire." He paused and blew his nose "I suppose you two wretched humans are too stupid to realize why I have told you all this." Galen and Rhouala smiled at one another, and Rhouala said

"I think I can imagine...." She said "...and the answer is yes. At least for my part, though I cannot speak for Galen." Galen chuckled

"Of course we will help you rescue Rutherford, Bogfly. Until we receive word from our employer, we are obligationless." Bogfly sneezed.

"You are both suicidal fools, but I accept your offer. You are aware that I cannot reimburse you for your time, I hope." He coughed, embarrassed. "But perhaps once I recover Rutherford, I can put the oaf to work hauling farm equipment until he repays you. I have always wanted to have an excuse to whip him every day." Rhouala coughed.

"Bogfly, I understand that you intend to free him, but I may have another solution." Bogfly raised his bountiful eyebrows, and regarded the table seriously as she asked "How much is the cost to repurchase him? Is is even an option?" The small troll's feet did not reach the floor, and he kicked them in the way an nervous child might.

"The cost is very high."

"How high?" she asked forwardly. Galen sat back and, curious, watched the exchange.

"Two hundred gold pieces." He did not make eye contact as he stated it, his normally assertive personality shrunken to the size of a peach pit.

"I will buy him." She said assuredly. "I will buy him back, under one condition." Bogfly hissed, at the insult to his pride, but also in the knowledge that her condition would be highly disagreeable to him.

"What?" he asked resignedly

"You must attempt to feed him." She smirked. Bogfly moaned

"I knew you request would be unreasonable!" he fumed and ruminated

"Very well. I will attempt to do this thing that you ask. I suppose you don't want him feasting on any more children? You humans and your attatchments. They are a terrible fault and will bring you no success."

Rhouala rolled her eyes

"I simply want him to have the opportunity to ammend his ways. I will make the same offer to him, and I expect he will agree " she said forcefully. "I understand it will be difficult, but that is my condition."

Bogfly groaned

"Do you understand the cost of such an endeavor? Feeding an ogre is no small task I can assure you. I will be forced to spend every penny I make on that worthless monster!" He shook his head "Ugh, this is a painful choice that I must make." He sneezed again. "Very well." He slid from his chair to the floor, losing height rather than gaining it as he planted his bare feet on the floor. "This conversation has made me quite ill. I think I shall retire if you have no objections. I must consider my fate, and digest the fact that I will never have a moments rest again" Rhouala shrugged and he grimly trudged off. After he was some distance away, Galen gaped at Rhouala.

"How on earth did you acquire that amount of money?" He asked, astonished. She shifted in her seat and sighed

"I have been working at the Black Pony since I was approximately twelve. I have rarely bought anything of value. I housed there for free, worked constantly, and I had been saving for a luxurious vacation, but I have no use for the money now. I may as well put it to use." Galen did not entirely understand her reasoning, but shrugged, as the decision was not his to make.

"Well, you are certainly a kind woman, Rhouala. It is admirable. I hope perhaps that your selfless act yields some good fortune for you." He gazed warmly at her. "I do not comprehend you." She grinned and said

"Well, it is an excellent way to solve this problem without being imprisoned ourselves." Galen laughed

"I suppose so!"

13. Rutherford

When the trio arrived the next day at the odorous sulphur mines, they held cloths over their noses but were still overpowered by the stench.
"I thought that the stink of the humans in this town was the worst scent my nostrils have ever been assailed with, in this supposition I was sadly, tragically mistaken." Bogfly noted. "I think it's delightful" Galen offered. "I could stay here all day and inhale the fragrant air." Bogfly muttered

"The way you humans smell I wouldn't be surprised by that. Now where is that big ugly brute?" He grimaced "Perhaps I could get a job here." He remarked "It does certainly seem like a lovely place to work." Exhausted, half starved workers hauled huge loads of sulphur to and fro. Some had carts, others simply carried sacks over both shoulders. It was bestially hot, and they all wilted miserably in the heat as they waited for the foreman.

Finally a gigantic man in the distinctive sand colored robe of the region approached them. His head was shaved completely, and he had no beard or mustache. He was remarkably red faced, rather than having the common dark complexion of natives to Draxia.

"Well, strange visitors, I am Haag. I hear you are here to purchase the baby eating ogre! He is certainly an unusual way to spend your coins. I did not expect anyone would actually want to buy him, but now that it comes to it, I am not certain if I want to sell him. He is an excellent worker and a valuable employee! But, let us discuss this further" He motioned them to a flimsy tent, where they all sat down on cushions laid out on the floor. He summoned an equally bald young girl to bring them refreshments, and she returned seconds later with a plate of cold fruit and a jug of remarkably cool water. They thanked him, but before Rhouala took anything, she gazed seriously at him.

"Sir I am prepared to pay you the fee you have requested in exchange for the ogre. I think it would be a great profit for you, as I doubt his life here would be long." The Haag nodded, but replied

"Perhaps you are correct in this, but he is both resilient and cooperative. I will sell him back, but I have amended my price. I ask for seven hundred gold." Rhouala balked, Galen coughed out his water, and Bogfly's eyes became the size of saucers. For once, he was speechless.

"That is outrageous. I will not barter. Your price was already excessive, and what you ask now is sheer impossibility. I will pay no such fee!" The slave master smiled. "Suppose I allowed you to live, would that make it worthwhile to pay me in full?" He whistled, and at that moment, three men with large scimitars stepped into the back of the tent. They stood like statues, their weapons in hand. Rhouala was completely stunned, and for a moment considered the situation. She said at last

"You flatter me by assuming that I am possessed of some great wealth. I am not. I have only just the money that you first advertised Rutherford's freedom for, and little more." The large man shrugged

"Then perhaps I will simply put you to work as a camp whore, and kill your companions. It is of no importance to me, but either way I profit." He carefully popped a small round fruit into his sweaty mouth and chewed. "You would be very popular with my men." At which the three silent guards smirked at. Rhouala was becoming increasingly more upset. She looked at Bogfly, whose eyes darted nervously about, attempting to discover an escape route. Galen on the other hand, seemed unnaturally calm. He reached out and carefully selected a lovely round, yellow sunfruit. He began peeling it, singing a quiet tune to himself. Rhouala hissed at him
"Galen, I do not understand, do you not see we are trapped!?" He smiled passively and continued his quiet half humming, half singing. Haag laughed bawdily.
"Perhaps your friend is attempting to convince me he is mad, so that I will spare him! What a delightful ruse! Adexel, bring me your blade!" The henchman on the left stepped foreward and, handle first, passed over the giant blade to Haag. He held it out until the point touched Galen's shoulder.
"Are you still so brave, madman?" He laughed again, in rolling satisfied waves. Galen raised his eyes to Haag, ha looked at him, then Adexel. Then, one of the other guards, and the other. For a moment they all stared blankly into space. Simultaneously, and with a great explosion, they all began screaming and wailing like terrified children. They did not run, or even move. Instead their eyes simply filled with horror and fear beyond anything Rhouala had ever seen. Bogfly's mouth hung open in awe but he did not depart. Galen tapped the table with his finger once, and they stopped. They all panted furiously, and in a sudden flurry or limbs the guards all scurried out of the tent with the greatest possible speed. Galen regarded Haag.
"So, as you were saying slave master Haag? Something about renegotiating the terms of our agreement?" he took a bite of his sunfruit, and happily sucked the juice that dribbled from it.
"TAKE HIM! HE'S YOURS! Please! Please just leave us be! Leave us be!!!!!!!" Spittle flew from the sides of his red mouth, and the whites of his eyes seemed illuminated with dread. "FANDY, Fetch the gore and bring him here... NOW I SAY!" He bellowed, and the young girl poked her head in and out of the tent, then ran off. Haag sat still, breathing heavily and nervously glancing out the tent flap. Quickly the girl returned with Rutherfod, led by a chain around his neck.
"Here is the key to his binding collar. Now leave here, and NEVER RETURN! I beg of you!" He wailed, and, standing up on unsteady legs, trotted out of the tent and towards the other side of the mine. Workers watched him as he huffed and puffed, racing pathetically away from his base.

The young girl ducked her head in.
"Here you are, miss. I heard the screams. I hope whatever you did to him was horrible." She said, and handed Bogfly the chain lead.
"Yes," Said Galen "It was."

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 22:18:59 GMT

7. Troicinet

As they advanced, ever nearer to their ultimate goal, the days and nights began to blend together like the ink on a dampened page, and Rhouala could not decipher one from the next, except for the vaguely changing scenery. Fields turned to plains, plains to a light, but deadly swamp- Bogfly warned them not to leave the fire the night they spent there, and the whole party slept poorly after the bloodthirsty cries of several distant, mournful creatures shattered the eerie silence. Even Rutherford hunched near the fire that night, mumbling about invisible fiends and demonic presence. Bogfly merely swatted him with his switch and instructed him to keep his paranoia, and his voice, to a minimum.

Then they passed farmland. Rolling fields of harvested cereals, barren now except for the weeds that dotted the soggy, wet soil. They passed a few farmhouses, but saw no inhabitants, and all the windows appeared to be empty eyes, watching them suspiciously as they passed. The houses were either vacant, or the residents therein kept themselves isolated from the strange merchant. Rutherford did his best to keep from view, and stayed behind the treeline a couple of miles to the west.

Bogfly and his passengers drew closer to Troicinet, and pulled his vehicle off to the left somewhat.

"I'm making a pit stop. I hope it is no inconvenience" he sneezed violently and glowered. "Transporting you is barely worth it, seeing how much nose salve I must employ to tolerate your dander amongst my belongings. The journey is almost at an end, but I am forced to instruct Rutherford to wait for me here, and not get himself bludgeoned to death in the streets while dogging my wagon. Perhaps one day I will forget to tell him." He sighed and jumped down, ran into the woods, and a few moments later returned with a concerned frown. "He is not here. Hopefully he has abandoned his folly and has gone to throw himself from the great cliffs at an Anklor. If not, I have left a phial of my mucous in a tree with a note. The smell should draw him and he will know what to do" He seemed to say this more to himself than the pair he was ferrying. "All will sort itself out" He reassured himself and climbed back into the driver's seat.

Galen and Rhouala exchanged somewhat concerned glances and said nothing.

Later, on the road as they began to approach the suburbs of the booming part city, Rhouala reached out and touched Galen's knee.

"Have you ever been to Troicinet?" she asked, somewhat afraid of the answer

"No," He replied "I was hired out of Pejong, and given directions, but I have never seen it myself." They held their breaths, waiting for the harbor town from her vision to appear, but as they drew in to the city, they sighed, relieved, as it became clearer that this was not the dream-town she saw. It was far, FAR larger- and there were tens of ships harbored offshore, rather than a single sailing ship.

As the company came over the rise that separated the main body of the well protected city from the rest of the land they both realized why it was such a classically independent port. Never conquered by another power, it had remained its own city state, a hub of commerce and inter species trade for millennia. The steep hills and bluffs that surrounded the town provided a virtually perfect natural barrier. No town wall was necessary. In fact, the natural barrier was far more effective than any man made structure could ever be. It warded off barbarian hordes and great kings, and the one accessible route in was closely guarded. The three of them were assailed with questions as to the nature of their travels and the goods they brought with them. Both of them had come up with a suitable tale beforehand. Since Rhouala had shortly before, begun to suffer an intractable headache and chills, they manufactured the story that she suffered from a pregnancy related ill, and stuck a small pouch of flour into her blouse. They claimed that a trained physician could not be found in their small farming community, and made a good show of being troubled newlyweds, bemoaning the absence of good medicine and the lack of a honeymoon. The guard regarded them with little sympathy, but allowed them to pass with no further interrogation. They pulled from the gate straight onto the main thoroughfare. After some navigation, Bogfly pulled onto a side-street, and spider webbed out to a dingy looking alley with a single hanging sign, proclaiming the presence of the "Angry Matriarch". He pulled his horses to a halt and spoke to Galen.

"I will drop you off here. I can attest that this inn is both respectable and discreet. Whatever your intentions, they will not inquire. I will be on the main thoroughfare for the next week, and then I plan to depart. Despite my protestations, you have been the most tolerable passengers I have ever escorted overland. If you find that the need to leave in the next week becomes pressing, you may find me there, and leave with me. If not, I shall not see you again, and I hope that you die a most tolerable death." Galen tipped Bogfly generously and said

"I do not think we will be leaving with you, however, I will keep your offer in mind should the need arise. I ask that you perform me a single favor and drop this off along your way." He handed Bogfly a sealed letter with an address written in neat letters across its back.

"13A Amargath Road, C/O Mr Wight. Very well, this is not far out of my way, and I can stop there tomorrow." Galen dropped another large coin in his hand and he amended his statement "This afternoon, I meant to say. I trust that this human girl is not infectious? I hope I have not caught one of your hideous human diseases" Galen reassured him that it was magical in origin, and he was not susceptible, and so after retrieving the ailing Rhouala from the back of the wagon, followed by their few possessions, the petulant troll left them standing on the muddy street.

As they entered the dingy looking facade, they were simultaneously shocked by the relative comfort that the interior provided.

"I think this place needs to advertise better for itself" Rhouala laughed as she looked around at the hand carved wooden desk and fine stone pillars supporting a subdued but elegant lobby. There were deep red velveteen rugs and a lovely fireplace around which a large group of unassociated travelers appeared to be conversing, regaling one another with tales of real or constructed gallantry.

Galen checked in at the desk with a shifty, sly looking creature, who's parentage he could not determine. He took the keys and instructed the desk clerk that they were not to be disturbed by anyone but Mr. Wight. He took the keys and tossed them once into the air, caught them casually, and asked

"Would you like to stay down here for a bit?" Galen asked, but Rhouala shook her head and turned her darkened gaze to him

"I think I need to rest. I do not feel myself." He nodded in understanding and escorted her up the stairs. He became concerned that she had become far more gravely ill on the trek than she had let on, and his suspicions were confirmed when partway she sagged completely, and he had to drop the bags and support her. A moment later she blinked

"Where am I?" She asked "Is this home?" Galen did not reply, but instead put his arms beneath her and carried her to the room.

Once there he hoisted her onto one of the beds that occupied the large room.

"I am sorry; I have rented us only one room. If you like I can hang up a stretch of fabric between us, for privacy, but you are sick, sicker even than I thought when I put coin on this room, and I refuse to leave you for the time being. Rhouala smiled weakly

"Thank you. I am not, truly, feeling very well, though for a time I thought it nothing more than a cold. Now, though, I keep seeing people that I know, but then they are gone. I see their lives as perhaps they were, or are, or will be. I do not know which but it is very confusing. I also see other things, and I do not know if they are here or no." She turned to him "Are you here Galen? Are you real? Have I thought all this up in my head? Am I really back in Jonagund, trapped in a red madness? Did I ever even leave" He walked to her and kneeled down to her bedside, observing the dark, hollow circles around her eyes, and the lank, sickly quality of her, otherwise lovely, hair.

"You are here, as am I. I can do no more than give you my word on that. I have called for my employer. He is also the one who instructed and assisted me. You are far worse off than I was when he came to me, but I think he will nevertheless have no trouble helping you." Rhouala turned her eyes to the ceiling

"I am glad you are here. I am glad I am here. Even if I shall die I think I have had a better time in these past two weeks than I have had in my whole life, as naiive as that may sound. But I must sleep. I am very cold. Tell me Galen, why is it I see these things? Why does my grandmother stand next you at this very moment, making bread?" She blinked and shook her head "Or should I ask her why you are in her kitchen?" Galen looked sadly at her "Your mind cannot deal with the variation in reality. Past, present, and all possible futures, along with what is now happening- it is too confusing. I have felt it, though I do not believe so acutely. We will get Mr. Wight to you soon, and until then I ask only that you rest as much as possible and do your best to stay as much in the here and now as you are able. The wilting girl on the bed grabbed Galen's hand.

"Sit with me please. I think that will help. Tell me a story, if you can think of one"

So he pulled up a chair and told her stories he remembered from his childhood. Harmless fairy tales in which evil and good were easily discernible, and the former prevailed over the latter always, even when all seemed lost, and Rhouala drifted off into a troubled slumber, to dream of a strange creeping darkness and an endless sea of creatures that lived in that twilight, in which she could not tell friend from foe.

8. The Visitor

"I am here to call on Galen Ferdano, he will be expecting me" The exaggeratedly tall, willowy man said disdainfully to the clerk. The suspicious front desk manager furrowed his brow and in an equally dismissive tone asked

"And you are?"

"Mr. Wight" The manager made a petulant gesture with his hand, frustrated that he would not be able to chuck this clearly egotistical man out onto the street corner.

"You will find them upstairs, room 12, I trust you can find your way?" he sneered. Mr. Wight did not respond, but instead made a dramatic turn, his long black cloak sweeping in a graceful motion. He drifted up the stairs in such an unearthly manner that the clerk wondered if perhaps the visitor was floating. His feet were obscured by the gentle waving of the floor length tunic he wore, and he emanated a strange and, to the manager, distasteful presence. He had a terribly snakelike, thin beard which he tied off in three places, and a long, graceful mane of black, with a brilliant white shock of hair that ran down one side of his head. "Bah." the clerk muttered to himself "Sorcerers. All alike." He leaned over his ledger and resumed his calculations.

Rhouala was in and out of consciousness when Galen replied to the knock at the door. There were pieces of the conversation that drifted into her mind, but most of it was obscured by deafening rushing noises, hallucinations, and pain.

"Who's..." she heard Galen's voice

"It is I...and I come for... have you..?" replied a distantly familiar voice

"Yes, but she... we left.. time ago.. here.. but.. very poorly" She strained to hear more but was by and large unsuccessful.

"Have you brought... did she...?" The new voice slyly inquired. She heard Galen sigh

"Yes, that was.. I knew.. I took... here" There was a slow, considered silence "Did you think.. too late?"

"...You care? I only sent... retrieve... your... here is done. Nevertheless, I believe I can... give it here boy!" Galen moaned softly

".... the only way?"

"Would you care... your chances elsewhere?" another long silence

"No, ... suppose not"

The strange visitor hovered close over Rhouala, she could not see him, but she could feel his strange, ominous presence above her. She heard a strange, low chanting and began to feel a distant tugging. She opened her eyes and saw strange dark faces all around her, grinning and showing huge, slavering teeth and deep, impenetrable eyes. She screamed and tried to move, but was prevented by some conglomeration of forces outside of her control. The faces spun and drifted in and out of her vision nauseatingly, blurring together and laughing wickedly.

Galen felt desperately helpless as the stricken woman he had come to care for wailed and spewed gibberish angrily. She shook on the bed as a thing possessed might, writhing and gnashing her teeth frustrated by Mr. Wight's magical barriers. Floating above her, perhaps two feet in midair, the Golden Empress spun slowly, persistently, glowing softly, flickering like a subdued, but living candle. The flower in the center turned like the ballerina in a music box, its slow procession a mechanical clockwork. Outside of that, the room was chaos. Mr. Wight was sweating with concentration, his waxy cheeks sunken and blue; he was focused utterly on the mad girl he was pouring all of his effort into. Galen wrung his hands like a nursemaid and paced to and fro, pausing only to shoo the irritated desk clerk away, who had had two complaints of noise already.

"You cannot come in now" He told the manager "We are performing... uh... an exorcism. It will be over soon, I can assure you." The irritated clerk bristled

"You did not tell me that she was possessed! I will have to charge you extra, and a large fee if there is ectoplasm or blood to be scrubbed out! We will have no more of your funny business at the Angry Matriarch!" He pounded on the door to clarify his point "If this is not done soon I shall be forced to evict you" He stomped away.

Galen turned his deeply concerned eyes to the sorcerer by Rhouala's bedside. There was a large blue halo of energy around them, and when Galen passed in and out of it he felt horribly cold. There was also a stream, little more than a trickle really- of golden light connecting the levitating Empress Stone and Rhouala's breastbone. It seemed to slowly seep out of her, filling the amber-like stone and increasing its emanations of light.

Then there was no more screaming or struggling- a sudden gust of calm came over her, and she lay still, submissive, but sadly troubled looking, as Mr. Wight finished his work and Galen chewed furiously at his nails.

After a time, Mr. Wight stood up. He looked horrible, and Galen asked if he was alright.

"Yes, yes- I am fine boy. Do not assume I am as weak as I appear, that is sheer stupidity! I simply must go back to my estate now and recuperate, she will be fine. I will call on you when I need you. Both of you." He took the now vibrantly shining stone and stuck it in a small leather pouch, which he pocketed. "Here is your wage." Coins changed hands and Galen looked sadly to the floor.

"How long until I should expect to hear from you sir?" He asked

"Not long. I have another prospect in the south. I will need multiple hands for this job so it is convenient that we have managed to replace Svern so soon." He chuckled "Well, I will be off now. Take care of her; she is as valuable as you. Perhaps more so."

The dashing young man looked drawn and tired when he shut the door after his employer, and sat on the other, unoccupied bed, staring at his feet. Finally he heard Rhouala stir and he grabbed a flask that sat by a large jug of water. He filled it brought her the cup and kneeled, tipping towards her mouth gently. She drank and fell back, sighing.

"Galen? Is that you?" He set the cup to the side and took her hand.

"Yes, I am here. How are you?" He looked terribly worried and Rhouala smirked

"I believe I have lived through finer moments, but I am well enough now. You seem very worried, was I so bad off?" Galen grimaced crookedly and shook his head of soft curls

"I don't know, but I have seen what happens to people when they are overcome with their visions and are not cared for. It is not... something I wanted to see again."

"I am glad that I did not have to put you through that you poor dear" She chided merrily. "But truly, thank you for your concern, whatever happened seemed to lift a heavy cloud that lay upon me." Galen sighed and set his forehead down onto the back of her hand, and she put her other palm on top of his head as he crouched there with her. He seemed both overcome and relieved beyond that which Rhouala was accustomed to. She summoned her strength and sat up. She was exhausted, spent both mentally and physically, but she still felt compelled to comfort the man. He still knelt on the floor and held her hands on her lap. His head was still upon the one, and rested on by the other.

She leaned down and gently placed her mouth on the top of his head. Breathing in, she could smell the road on his hair; the smell of plants and dust and rain. She whispered into his ear "It will be alright Galen, I am sorry that I worried you, it was not my intention or desire to bring you discomfort! …but thank you so, so much for helping me." He turned his face up to hers and she saw clearly that he had tears in his eyes. A claw reached out and grabbed her heart, squeezed hard, and would not let go. "Oh, Galen!" She exclaimed, and leaned over, kissing him fiercely. He put his hands on her shoulders and ran them up her neck, into her hair, and then pulled himself free, despite his intense desires to the contrary.

"No, no you don't understand! You don't! It is I that am sorry beautiful Rhouala. I have been awful. I am so very, very sorry but I did not know what else I should do. I have doomed you Rhouala. I have enslaved you. I fear that neither you, nor I, shall ever be free again!" He pleaded with her eyes, and she stiffened, pulling back from him

"What do you mean?"

"You are his slave Rhouala. He will kill you in an instant if you do not obey him." It all came pouring out then, everything he had neglected to tell her previously, and as Galen spoke, Rhouala grew paler, more drawn, until she sat, legs pulled to her chest in the overstuffed chair by the window.

"What have you DONE to me?" She looked at him with despair and rage, and a cold, blue veil fell between them then, silencing them both.

9. What Galen Told Her

Once, long ago, but not so far away, it was a fairly common practice for sorcerers to couple with commoner women; they would appear as a dark, erotic fog that would encircle the lady while she slept, giving her intense and passionate dreams, and ultimately impregnating her. The women would bear these children, and then without the knowledge of their husbands, the sorcerers would reappear, spiriting the babies off to their homes. The husbands would curse and wail and the mothers of the infants would grow wan and pale, longing for nothing more than another visit from their magical guests. They would become cold and distant, and the husbands would either follow suit or find younger, more passionate women to sate their desires. Occasionally the used mothers would extinguish their own lives, bereft and downtrodden, secretly withered by harboring the knowledge that the children they had borne were not those of their spouses, and that they would sooner be dead than be touched by a mortal man again.

The children were raised in relative comfort. Strictness of education was paramount. To hone the mind and body and become useful tools of the sorcerers, extensions of their great will and power. The children would often be vacant husks, their personalities gouged out by their fathers, whose need for loyal, useful subjects outweighed the emotion that one might harbor for his offspring.

But times change, and with the slow breathing in and out of the planet- summer to fall to winter to spring- kingdoms fall and civilizations crumble. The power of the sorcerers dwindled, and they lived in twilight for many centuries. Here and there, the half blood child of a sorcerer would spring up, but they would eventually and inevitably go mad and die without the fierce instruction of their patriarchs. The sorcerers did this only for their own amusement and experimentation, all knowledge of the process of neutralizing the power of their children turned to dust.

Then one day, an ancient manuscript was uncovered by a young curious mage. It's not clear exactly how it came into his possession, but as the story goes, he gleaned from it essential knowledge about the process by which half bloods are saved from their demise. With this, he began to seek out children born of half sorcerer blood, though it took him years to discover a reliable method of predicting who would manifest powers, since the mothers of these children were not forthcoming, if they even were aware themselves.

Finally, he found that every single one of them elects to acquire a Golden Empress shortly before their manifestations begin, and after that initial discovery, he secured a method of tracking their unique energy signature on a map of the known world, which canceled out the admittedly invasive and tiring process of inundating everyone who bought a Golden Empress with improprietous questions about their mothers.

Nevertheless, the stone became enormously important, after the mage discovered that it could function as a sieve and receptacle, siphoning off and storing the power of the half bloods, rather than dispelling it. The mage (who was of course as you have no doubt guessed, Mr. Wight) found he could utilize this siphoned power, and he was sure that there should be a text somewhere describing in detail the link between Golden Empress and half bloods, but it was not in his possession.

Now, he was the only living man that could save the lives of those half bloods, though were he ever to shatter the original stone, all the power it stored would come rushing back, killing the original host most brutally. This gave him great leverage over those whose lives he had saved, tying them to him, and under threat of violence against the Empress, the offspring of sorcerer and man found themselves obligated to Mr. Wight and his extraordinary knowledge.

When Galen was approached by a taciturn man some years prior, tall and gaunt and offering a free education in the mystical arts, or on the flip side a grisly death, the young man dismissed the older gentleman's tale out of hand, but when the headaches and visions began he had little choice in the matter.
He had discovered a piece of amber stone housing a flower buried in the mud one morning when he ventured off to go fishing. A chilling memory of the sinister words from the strange man about such an object drifted into his brain. He pushed the thoughts aside and washed the pretty thing off in the river, pocketing it and forgetting it's presence by afternoon. However, as suppertime neared, his head began to pound, and by the next morning he found himself knocking on the door of Mr. Wight, unable to concentrate because of the pain and fear he had succumbed to. The sorcerer made haste to siphon the power off of this boy, skimming it as one might the butterfat off fresh milk, leaving a truly watered down echo of the energy that had been roiling within him, threatening to boil over.

He brought the young man to Pejong, and there had gifted him with a taste of the arcane knowledge he possessed. Enough to keep the young man entranced and pliant, but not enough pose any threat to the great Mr. Wight.

There was another recruit as well, who had been working with the magician for some time, named Svern. He and Galen became fast friends, and it was Svern who made Galen see just how twisted and black the soul of their employer really was.

Svern had for some time been plotting an escape. Stealing back his own Golden Empress and fleeing to a distant kingdom with his sweetheart. Galen was all for it, but did not want to leave himself. He was enraptured by the deep well of occult knowledge he had gained access to, and possessed a natural adeptness for enchantments and predictions.

The evening that Svern was to have departed, Galen found him lying in the garden, shaking in violent seizure and producing a prodigious quantity of froth from his mouth. Galen ran to him and called for help but was assisted by no one. The entire manse was empty except for the two of them. Eventually, blood began pouring from the eyes, nose, and mouth of poor Svern, who appeared both conscious and aware but mute.

Galen dragged Svern back indoors and tended to his friend as best as he was able, but after a long, unspeakably horrible hour, Svern finally died, which was at that point a great mercy for him.

The next day, Mr. Wight returned and informed Galen that he had been aware of Svern’s treachery. He had destroyed the Golden Damsel originally belonging to him, and sealed both the doomed man and Galen into a magical bauble into which no other person could go. It prevented Galen from leaving his dying comrade, and had eliminated the presence of any servants, while also conveniently sealing the mess into another, miniaturized dimension. He held up the tiny glass ornament and smiled thinly at Galen, making absolutely certain he knew precisely what would happen to him if he were to leave, disobey, or displease Mr. Wight in any way whatsoever.

Next time, when Mr. Wight called on Galen again, this time he was most confident in his knowledge that his orders would be carried out in exactness. For him Galen had been forced to train his mind and body, honing his every sense until the sorcerer was certain that he had whittled away enough of the man’s free will that he would not try to cause insurrection or make an escape. Svern was doomed from the start, as he was brash and hardheaded, an alpha male through and through. If he had not succeeded that first time, but lived on- he certainly would have tried again and again until he had gained his freedom.

Mr. Wight had Galen perform many menial tasks for him, but for the most part, Mr. Wight lived elsewhere and left his home in Pejong in the hands of his protégé. He had very high hopes for Galen, and when he visited one fall afternoon, he announced excitedly that he had found an excellent candidate up in Jonagund, and that Galen should make haste immediately to voyage there and retrieve the unwitting maiden.

In not so many words, in essence, this is what came out of Galen when he made his full disclosure. He told her every relevant fact he could remember, ultimately revealing to her that he was responsible for both saving her life, and enslaving her indefinitely.

10. Indentured Employment

Rhouala sulked persistently for the next two days, and refused to speak to Galen except for the occasional one word assent or dissent. She flitted from gazes of pleading desperation, to terror, to withering disgust. Finally, Galen became enraged when he could not find his leather gauntlets and Rhouala’s only reply was a disinterested shrug and a roll of her eyes. Galen stomped out and came back several hours later, wet, freezing, and thoroughly beaten. On his face he wore a black eye and a look of resignation that Rhouala could not bear to see. He slumped into the window chair and regarded the floor with abject despair. Rhouala stopped folding clothes, came over and sat on the edge of the bed, and apologized for having been so harsh

“I am aware that you suffer under the same duress that I do, but you drew me into this without fully informing me of the consequences.” Galen nodded, glad that his roommate was finally speaking to him

“Yes, I am aware of that fact, but despite its vicious consequences upon my character, what else should I have done? You would have perished. I would rather be enslaved with the opportunity to free myself than be dead and have no alternatives at all.” Rhouala sighed and put her thumbs to her temples

“That is the conclusion I have arrived at as well, and even if I am not happy that you kept vital information from me, I cannot fault you for your logic. Upon consideration it dawned on me that I would likely have pursued the same course of action were I you.” She stood. Today Rhouala wore a long brown skirt and a practical fitted blouse. She had put her hair up with a pair of thick green velvet bands. She fidgeted and paced and asked Galen “So, if I am to be a slave, I would like to know what sort master I must report to. He obviously allows us some measure of freedom; since we are not in shackles scrubbing floors… how well would you say that you know him?” She continued pacing.

“Well, I would say that I know him as well as any man that works with another of greater rank. That is to say, very little indeed I am afraid, though I cannot admit to being terribly sorry for that.” He reached over and pulled a somewhat bruised mincefruit from his pack and polished it thoughtfully on his trouser leg. “He is immoral, to be sure, but in a dispassionate sort of way. I do not think that he differentiates “good” from “evil” when he postulates possible solutions to a problem. He would consider “functional” or “nonfunctional”, and if one side requires the death of an innocent child, he would not be opposed as long as it was the more “functional” solution, taking into account all the irritations of cleaning up a dead body. For instance; we are not in shackles scrubbing floors because of a few simple reasons. One;” he took a bite of his fruit, chewed thoughtfully, swallowed and continued “It is expensive to keep slaves, and magic is far cheaper, if you have access. Two; Captives complain, and are a never ending source of annoyance and interruption. Three; There is no service that we could provide that he cannot himself, or that would balance out the negative impact other factors that I have mentioned. Therefore, it is simply not in his best interest, so he pays me a small wage and makes certain that I am housed and fed until he requires me, and when he does, he expects me to act with great verve and zest, since clearly, for a slave, my circumstances are rather enviable. Also, he has the ability to end my life at any moment he sees fit, and so it is in my best interest not to disappoint him. I am certain he is pleased with the arrangement, and if not for the horrific power he holds over my life, I think I would be as well.” Rhouala gazed skeptically at Galen.

“What sort of “services” does he require? You said there was training involved.” She listened and drank from a small mug of tea that had gone cold, the pit of her stomach seeming to possess some objection to the entire line of conversation, and tea appearing as the best nearby remedy.

“Not anything… inappropriate… well, at least not from me. I do not think he harbors any passions beyond his own work. Also, he has confided in me that he is unable to reproduce, which is why he so fervently seeks the by-blows of other sorcerers, and this negates all likeliness that he would want to impregnate you. Generally, he has me investigate other possible half-sorcerers, which for the most part turn out to be other magical phenomena that possess a similar energy signature, or they are candidates who are already too ill or dead.” He smiled “I empathize with your anger towards me, but it is misdirected. I intended only to save your life. However, as you have admitted that you would have done the same if our positions were reversed, I must confess the same. I would have been furious at me too.” They laughed together, with only a moderately strained note overhanging them.

Galen did his best to teach Rhouala what he knew of gaining dominion over one’s abilities, and though it was limited knowledge, it helped her considerably. Soon she could, with relative ease, tell when a vision was coming. She could remember a great deal more detail, and was beginning to be able to pick up on the same sorts of subtle non-vision related powers that Galen took full advantage of: cheating at cards, detecting others with subtle abilities (elves, fairies, sprites, and their half children), and even being able to predict the “most likely” outcome, or future, of a situation. It took a great deal of concentration, but in the short time they spent together, she felt as though she had gained the basics of her extraordinary gift.

Being able to sort through all the rubble in her mind was a great relief to Rhouala, and she began to feel much better about her skills as the days and nights slipped by.

After Galen’s omission, and Rhouala’s subsequent rage, she did not kiss him again, and he did not attempt to revisit the occasion, though he wanted very much to.

After what seemed like a lovely, long stretch of free meals, exploration of the old and stoically proud city, and education, they were visited again by Mr. Wight. Actually, it was not he that came, but rather a footman who brought them a thick packet of papers and a large crate. Galen tipped the footman and turned to Rhouala with the large bundle of goods.

“It seems there is work to do, though I am most sorry I must report that fact.”He set the box on the bed he had been occupying and untied the knot in the fibrous cord that bound the papers. They spilled all over the bed and Galen reached for them, restacked them, and examined them carefully.

“It seems as though these are forged documents. We are to travel to Draxia and investigate a new possible person, no wait, group of people, who may be the developing offspring of some…” He counted names in his head “Extremely insatiable sorcerer.” I have never been sent so far away, this must be important.” He continued reading as Rhouala pried open the box. Clothing, efficiently manufactured and packed, and two extremely wicked looking daggers occupied the crate. The picked one up and turned it over in her hands.

“What will we need these for?” She asked. Galen raised an eyebrow

“The bow and arrows came in handy, didn’t they? I included mention in my report to Mr. Wight of that vile man, and that I dispatched him with my own private weapon. Perhaps now he sees the necessity of providing proper tools for his employees. Or perhaps, possibly, this job is somewhat more dangerous. I will know more once I have read these.” He shook the bundle of papers in his hand. “But now, I am afraid to say, we must be off.” He crouched and retrieved his pack from underneath his bed. “It will only take me a few moments to pack, then I will pay our tab and we will be off to the shipyards to buy passage on a vessel.” He paused. His eyes went white, and then he resumed his task “Ah,” he said “The Queen Anafara is our vessel. You will be seasick. Take some calmroot with you or you will be very sorry.” Rhouala packed and cleaned up what little mess they had left, and they made their way downstairs. The clerk took their coin, smiling with a serene sort of hatred.

“Thank you for choosing the Angry Matriarch. We hope you will select our establishment next time you visit Troicinet, only this time, no exorcisms.“ They turned and walked to the door, and at last out into the muddy streets and hailed down a pair of trolls drawing an elaborate, wooden rickshaw behind them. They quarreled for the duration of the ride to the docks about which way was more efficient or pleasant, and Rhouala began to pine for Bogfly’s angry curses. Perhaps he was abrasive, she thought to herself, but at least he was honest.

When they pulled up to the Queen Anafara, Galen divided the fare precisely, and gave half to each driver. This set them off on a new bout of disagreements, over who deserved more, obtained more, or was owed more. After unloading the bags onto the wet, cold dock, they turned their vehicle about and bowed in unison. They sped off back the way they came, arguing and splashing along the rain soaked road.

Galen approached the captain, who referred him to the second mate, Ulfurd.

“We just had a bit of an incident and our previously booked guests will not be joining us. It seems that crimes of a certain magnitude attract the attention of numerous states, and that when you run, you run only into the hands of alternative jailers, how unfortunate for them.” He shook his head regretfully. The second mate was a man of medium stature, with a sea-worn face and a shaggy beard that carried multiple species of parasitic insect. He was rather lean, perhaps fifty years of age, though the life he had lived made him appear significantly older, and he appeared to be missing the ring finger on his right hand.

He would reveal later to Galen that he had done this in a state of inebriated heartbreak, and that he was preventing himself from ever remarrying.

Before Rhouala got onboard, she had to pause, and lean herself against a piling, as images and sensations slammed against the inside of her skull.

A man multiplied. There was one, and then many, all the same. They all wore cowls that obscured their faces, and they all held glowing spheres and chanted ominously. Their chant became one single droning string of unintelligible words. There were children, then, running between them and laughing and playing. The children would hide behind the man, or men, and then run from one another squealing and giggling.

They were playing hide and seek.

11. The Queen Anafara

Neither of them had ever travelled on the ocean before, and the heaving, jolting, roiling ship did at first turn Rhouala’s stomach and head into unfortunate organs to possess, even while they were still tied to the dock.

She was very glad of Galen’s suggestion to bring the calmroot, and had purchased some at a supply booth while they were waiting to board their vessel. She also purchased wine, decent bread, citrus fruits, and soap, all of which she suspected would not be provided to them on the Queen Anafara. Galen walked around the ship inspecting it as though he were a seasoned professional, and he reddened when Rhouala reminded him that small, primitive fishing boats were the extent of Galen’s qualifications to inspect anything for seaworthiness. He embarrassedly countered that he had had access to an excellent library while staying with Mr. Wight, and they left it at that.

They were shown to a tiny cabin in which there were six cots, two by two by two against the three walls that did not house the door. There were no frivolities, and few to no amenities of any variety, save for what they had brought with them. As Rhouala selected a bed and locked her belongings into one of the two crates by every set of cots, she calculated the best way to not invite the assault of deprived men when they slept or when she changed her clothes. It was an impossible problem, and as she was beginning to become irritated with her own inability to produce a solution, she heard a familiar sneeze. She slowly, disbelievingly turned around

“Bogfly? Is that really you? Oh bless my heart and soul it is! I was just thinking of you!” She exclaimed, and ran up to the squat, ugly, warty little creature, crouching down and hugging him unabashedly, as he squealed and protested vainly.

“Oh For the love of all that’s Vile and Unholy what did I do to deserve such a terrible fate?” He cried, cursing the sky with his fist. “If there is any god, it is a horrible, evil tyrant and I should like to see him burned in a fire.” He continued “I cannot believe of all the people in this vast and dreadful world that I should be condemned to travel with it would be you. Simply intolerable!!!” He threw up both of his hands in a gesture of hateful resignation and sat the cot furthest away from Rhouala. She grinned and happily assailed him with questions. “Stop it! Stop it girl, you shall cause me to hemorrhage blood if you are any more excited. Believe me, there is no cause for it. I am on a fool’s errand to retrieve Rutherford. He was captured trying to poach children again, and this time I was not there to protect him or release him in the night, as I have wasted so much time doing in the past.” He blew his nose into a monogrammed handkerchief and continued “He was captured, and being such a pleasant and cooperative ogre, managed to get himself shipped off to the sulphur mines of Draxia. I discovered this when I passed through the town and all the people appeared to be celebrating. I asked the occasion and they claimed they had made a great profit from selling a felonious ogre to some adventurous group of slavers. Now I must go retrieve him.” Rhouala asked Bogfly

“But why? Don’t you despise and resent his presence? You have said far worse about his than that, perhaps I am deficient; but it seems like your feelings towards him are most undecipherable.” Bogfly responded after some consideration

“I resent everybody. I resent the very audacity of the floorboards to be so uncomfortable and occasionally give me splinters. I despise every person that I meet, including and especially you. Rutherford is perhaps the least hateful creature I have ever met. His stupidity gives him the enviable position of being, essentially, a monstrous child. And though I hate him for it, I hate him less than every other creature I have ever met. If I do not go after him and attempt to retrieve him, I will end up hating myself too much to continue living, so I suppose essentially, it is in my own interest that I go after him.” Just at that moment Galen walked in and saw Bogfly

“Bogfly!” He exclaimed merrily “What are you doing here?!” Bogfly leapt up

“I HATE THIS ACCURSED WORLD!” He wailed, and waddled out of the bedchamber, sneezing fiercely.

Rhouala stifled a bout of maniacal laughter and scrunched up in two, holding her stomach as tears came from her eyes. She wheezed between silent laughs

“There is very little in this world that I enjoy more than tormenting him I believe. Perhaps he has turned me into a wicked girl, but his despair is utterly delightful!” Galen chuckled and concurred with her assessment.

They went outside and stood on deck, gazing out at the bustling docks. Huge piles of crates and sacks of cloth, grains, various fibers, exotic items, and anything that travelled anywhere by water came through this port at some point. There were all sorts of people coming to barter with the ship captains for “spare” goods, or goods whose owners were, for whatever reason, not at leisure to claim them in the foreseeable future.

As they both stood on the swaying vessel, they watched as it began to rain. They observed that the workers and the merchants both thinned out somewhat, but many people still attempted to conduct their business under awnings and overhangs, running between the gaps like horrified cats.

The prostitutes extended their dainty little parasols, hefted up their skirts and traipsed into a nearby warehouse they rented. There they made lewd gestures and unsavory propositions from the relative dry warmth of the protected wooden sidewalk that bordered the building.

The rain continued to fall from maudlin, oppressive clouds. It was a slow, cold, unhappy afternoon, waiting for the ship to get underway, but finally, against all apparent odds, it did.

There was a great deal of shouting, a few claps, and a lone cheer as the Queen Anafarna turned about and began her long, dangerous journey to Draxia.

Her fist port of call would be Eden, a single outpost on a relatively small, somewhat isolated volcanic island, then a quick drop off at Romento, followed by its next door neighbor Sorento, before putting in at Draxia.

When Galen asked the second mate Ulfurd why they were doing this rather than the cities just agreeing to separate their goods, he roared with laughter.

“They would never agree to that. I can see you have never been to either city, this will be highly educational for you.” He refused to elaborate, and went back to his work.

As they began their voyage, the ship turned northward, and slowly ventured up and around the coast of Shabti, the country that occupied the northern peninsula of the large island that Rhouala and Galen had never ventured off of. At first it was a calm, if somber trip, but as the afternoon progressed, it began to get quite cold, and they retreated to the small onboard mess hall in the ‘tween deck. The ceiling was quite low, and though Rhouala did not have to duck, Galen did. Once seated around the large, ancient wooden table, they became quite comfortable, and were joined by another passenger and an off duty crewman who played a jaunty tune on his obscure stringed instrument and tapped his feet.

The other passenger was a gentleman of perhaps thirty-five, named Thyne. He was rather tall and of a slightly darker complexion palette, coupled with a dramatic and exotic accent. He had an elegant black mustache which he had a habit of twirling around his index finger and then releasing. Thyne was fairly well off by his appearance, and wore a handsome, if somewhat impractical, deep blue coat with gold embellishments and embroidery. He appeared utterly repulsed by Galen’s youth and charm, and equally as charmed by Rhouala’s. He made a concerted effort to appeal to her, engaging her in conversation and laughing loudly at any remotely witty comment she interjected. Galen bristled with jealousy, but since he had never felt it before, he was not completely aware that it was, in fact, that insidious emotion.

“So Thyne” Galen leaned over the table and locked eyes with him “What is the nature of your trip?” Thyne smiled coyly and replied “Oh, it is far from interesting I am afraid. I have been engaged by a princeling of Shabti to obtain the finest troupe of performers the world has ever seen for his birthday. He will be turning sixteen you see, and his demands are both outrageous and obscure, but I have been paid handsomely to perform this task and I intend to deliver. I have heard tales of several promising acts on the continent, and am off to seek them. Miss Rhouala, you are of both exquisite beauty and grace, perhaps you possess some hidden talent?” She blushed and fidgeted.

“No sir, I do not believe that I do, at least, none that would be useful in your troupe.” He continued to flirt shamelessly, and since she had received little male attention beyond the lecherous old drunks at the Black Pony, it left her stupefied.

She had no idea how to handle being the center of attention, but she could tell that Galen was feeling very angry about something. She excused herself politely and went to stand on the miserably wet, frigid deck. Galen and Thyne glowered at one another and occupied themselves with other tasks.

Bogfly joined her, waddling over on his stubby little troll legs, and grasped the bulwark rail, after climbing onto a crate. His long nose stuck out over the rail, and he stood with Rhouala watching the ocean’s violent acrobatics. She asked him

“Bogfly, tell me, what became of your wagon? Did you leave it back in Troicinet?” He fumed and replied

“I had to sell the whole damn thing. I sold every bit of exotic flora, every seed, and every growth serum. All that and I barely had enough to purchase a ticket on this dreadful ship. When I retrieve Rutherford, I shall sell rides on his back to make it up. He will hate that.” Bogfly smiled then, in anticipation. “That moronic beast would be dead a thousand times without me. I do not know why I allow this charade to continue. Perhaps it was a mistake to come after him.” He corrected himself “Of COURSE it was a mistake. But what’s done is done.” Rhouala considered this

“It seems as though you are rather directionless without him, Bogfly. Without someone to constantly abuse, a troll is lost.” Bogfly steamed and snapped at her after encountering a severe bout of sneezing

“Your philosophical musings are simplistic and illogical. Next you will claim that in fact I care for that wretched brute! Your accusations prove to me what a worthless species you belong to. Now stop yammering and look ahead, we approach the coast!” Rhouala looked, and off in the distance she could indeed see the dim outline of the eastern coast of Shabti. The Queen Anafara continued northward.

That evening, Rhouala and Galen stood together and watched the sun slowly retreat, casting brilliant colors across the portion of the sky that was not obscured by clouds. They discussed the “business” that they would be expected to perform once they reached Draxia.

“Well,” Sighed Galen, “I do not know a great deal about what we are to do, but here is what Mr. Wight included in the packet: There is a list of four separate individuals, all located within the same small area. It is not clear how close they are to blossoming, if that is the right term, into their powers. Mr. Wight was fairly cryptic about the whole thing, and claimed that they appeared suddenly on his map, as though out of thin air. Perhaps it is a malfunction of his magic, or an alternative phenomenon, but he is quite insistent that all possibilities be investigated. I sought out many, many false leads for him, and it seems as though this might be another.” He shrugged. ”but I cannot judge that before arriving. He has indicated that we should first arrive in Draxia and he will contact us with further instructions when he feels the time is right. Rhouala lowered one eyebrow skeptically at him

“How will he do such a thing? Will he be there himself?” Galen shook his head

“I became relatively proficient at enchantments of various items during my education, as I may have indicated. I have the skill to create a crude projection of a distant person that I have great familiarity with, and if they are also gifted, they can speak through this simulacrum directly.”

“Astonishing!” Rhouala exclaimed. “A moment… is that what I heard..?” She trailed off

“When you came snooping around my room the first time we met? Yes, as a matter of fact it was. I had enchanted a looking glass and had to quickly cover it to prevent horrifying you when I opened the door.” He laughed “Mr. Wight’s floating head was projected in the mirror, and I do not imagine it would have made a good first impression of me.” Rhouala laughed

“I cannot contradict you there, Galen.”

That evening, Galen held up a sheet while Rhouala changed out of her odorous clothing and into a new set. There was little danger of being accosted, since the passengers were few and not terribly concerned with her activity, but Galen insisted.

The only person he held animosity towards was Thyne, whom he felt expressed far too much interest in Rhouala. He said so as he held the fabric aloft for her. He could hear her un-strapping, untying, and peeling off wet garments. He blushed and looked at the ceiling

“Well he seems like a nice enough fellow, but if I am to believe Lilius’s wisdom, all men are dogs, and it should be assumed that they have ulterior motives for every single action they take. Would you say this is true?” She asked, giving herself a quick wash with a dampened cloth. Galen continued to stare upwards

“Absolutely and unequivocally” he said without hesitation.

“Then why do you so modestly continue to stare at the ceiling?” She chided. Galen reddened further

“Because I do not think I could get away with it, I suppose.” He admitted “I am as base and crass as any other man, but I am also possessed of the ability to restrain myself.” Rhouala’s laughter was playful and she pondered

“Well, perhaps you will lose your composure if tormented?” she reached out a hand and tickled the back of his neck.

“I do not think so” He replied with gritted teeth. He could smell the sweet floweriness of the soap and heard the, to his ears, painfully erotic rustling of fabric.

She giggled again and grabbed him, spun him around, forcing him to drop the sheet. He gaped in surprise but immediately discovered that she had already changed. “You gave me a terrible fright Rhouala. If you were seen in any state of undress at all on this boat you would be torn apart by starved beasts!”

“I think you would prevent that.” She said, and pulled him down to her, unable to maintain her reserve any longer. He grasped her tightly, encircling one half of her jaw with his hand, while the other clutched her waist.

“OH DEAR REVERED MOTHER OF FILTH!!!!” was the horrified cry that interrupted their passionate embrace. It was Bogfly, who had frozen in the doorway with a look of complete revulsion twisting his angry little features even more that they were naturally. “Oh for all that is dank and fungoid how…. WHY… oh I cannot un-see things that I have beheld! WHY OH WHY? PESTILENCE AND FILTH!” He spun around in a confused little circle moaning as if he was going to be ill, and then shuddered deeply. “Oh, if you have any mercy in your black hearts PLEASE keep that filth out of my line of sight.” Galen and Rhouala exploded with laughter and ceased their distressing behavior. Bogfly curled up miserably in a ball on his cot and sneezed himself into slumber. Galen and Rhouala also lay down early but neither of them slept particularly well.

Later that night, Thyne and the other two passengers came in and lay down. As it turned out, they were Symthians. The mated reptilian pair did not speak to anyone, but hissed and clicked at one another, finally settling into an agreeable torpor.

The ship sailed on through the night, ever northward. In the smallest hours of the morning, it began to snow gently, covering the deck with a thin white gauze of snow.

Bitterly cold, Rhouala and Galen augmented their jackets with the thin blankets that they also slept with. They were both terribly glad that Mr. Wight had sent them with coats, since neither had thought about the consequences of the particular route their ship was taking. Where they would ultimately land it was very warm, but to get there, a frigid detour was required.

The jut of land that they sailed around now was largely uninhabited, though both Lilius and Thalius had emigrated from Shabti. The entire peninsula was under the rule of Shabti nobility officially, but the vast majority of it was wilderness. There were numerous reasons for this, not the least of which was the thick range of mountains that protected the city-state Troicinet also effectively cut Shabti off from the rest of the large island completely. It made trade and commerce difficult except by sea, so a few coastal towns profited wildly while most of the interior remained untamed. There were rabid bandits, huge carnivorous animals, mad hermits, and a very small supply of natural foodstuffs. However, there was an extraordinary wealth of mining opportunities. Though the bandits made off with a sizeable percentage of the loot, the Shabti royal court was renowned for its splendor and grandiose, flamboyant use of jewels and precious metals.

Aside from the uppermost crust of Shabti society however, the people were essentially barbarians, slaves, criminals, and prostitutes.

As they passed closer to the coastline, Ulfurd offered his most curious pair of elongated spectacles to Rhouala. He claimed they came from an unknown country beyond the Great Symthian desert. Rhouala did not care where they came from, they were extraordinary. They magnified the events taking place on the shoreline to such a degree that she could make out tiny people with longs spears wearing furs and gesticulating wildly, pointing to the Queen Anafara. They leapt up and down excitedly and Rhouala thought they might have a boat as well; that they might be planning to attack, but all they did was light a huge bonfire and dance furiously. Rhouala observed them until they passed from view, sharing the glasses with Galen, who was equally as impressed by their powerful ability of magnification.

The trip was long. Days and nights drifted by, and Rhouala lost all track of time. Everyone on the boat became acquainted, at least to some degree. There was Ulfurd the second mate, Yon, the first mate, and Captain Ghoje. They all had impossibly confused histories, and none of them was sure what nationality, or species, they represented. Captain Ghoje barely spoke any of their language, so they did not speak at any length with him, and the first mate, Yon, was rather abrasive. There were other crewmembers, and then the guests. There were Rhouala, Galen, Bogfly, Thyne, and the Symthians, who either spoke no language other than their own, or refused to communicate, since their body language was impossible to read. If one attempted to engage either or both of them in conversation, one would be confronted by blank reptilian stares that contained no malice, per se, but neither did they contain anything else.

Bogfly seemed to enjoy their company, and they appeared to be unperturbed by him, so they would often be found together, sitting in silence.

Thyne continued to be standoffish towards Galen, and sweet as honeysuckle to Rhouala, which infuriated Galen to the point that he would occasionally have to restrain himself from picking a fight. Rhouala was vaguely flirtatious, but not moreso than she was with any other man she thought she could manipulate to her advantage. Her advantage in this case was simply to be lavished with compliments, and how does one chastise another for being complimentary? Galen puzzled long and hard over this but came to the conclusion that unless Thyne became aggressive, it might be more effective to play the serene, confident man rather than the insecure brute. This helped him a great deal, and it successfully aggravated Thyne, unfortunately causing him to become more forward with his affections. In the end however, it was Rhouala, and not Galen, who put an end to it, knocking him overboard with a fierce shove after he took liberties with his hands and imaginative descriptions. His wonderful velvet coat was lost, and he was humiliated beyond all possible redemption. The crew pulled him out of the numbing waters, and as Bogfly howled with laughter, the sodden man miserably accepted blankets and hot mead. After that particular afternoon, he spent almost all of his time at the corner table in the mess hall, whittling.

Sat, 07 Nov 2009 06:53:32 GMT

5. Rhouala’s Dream

The following morning passed without incident, though Lilius and Thalius both insisted that Rhouala take the afternoon off, even though it was their busiest time of the year, because they were in complete agreement that a bit of joviality would brighten the traumatized girl’s spirits up considerably. They instructed her to eat, drink and be merry- to obliterate any foul memories of Alvor that might cause her distress. They had hired a temporary barmaid who was far less qualified but nevertheless capable, and refused to allow Rhouala to work at all, even in the most menial capacity.

She set off through the streets of Jonagund, weaving past food carts, street performers, and trinket wagons makingher way to the shore of the small river that ran through the town. She selected an empty bench and, after purchasing a container of hot spiced wine, she reclined comfortably and gazed across the water at the opposing shore, where a seemingly endless line of trees was illuminated with vibrant and miraculous color, to indicate the coming of winter. Every time a gust of wind reached its chilly tentacles through the grove, it seemed to snow briefly, but rather than a storm of white, Rhouala watched reds, yellows, greens, oranges, and maroons cyclone together and then drift to the already blanketed ground. She shivered and pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, thinking about the events of the past few days and attempting to reconcile herself with them. She had seen the dead before, but had never seen a man killed, and the look on Alvor’s face as it dawned on him that he had only seconds to live recurred in her mind’s eye over and over again. The dripping of the blood from his mouth to the leaves below, and moments before all that the extreme risk she had faced- the almost certain harm she would have come to at the hands of Alvor if not for Galen… Galen, what a peculiar man he was. She suspected that he was not who he claimed, but he had performed such a service for her that she felt obligated to give him the benefit of the doubt. She wondered about his abilities. He had indeed demonstrated some eeriness, though the information he had given her could be a combination of speculation and talented spying. She had experienced a moment of extreme surrealism, and apparently so had Lilius, which was, she suspected, why Lilius had warned her in the first place. Again, however, this was easily dismissed as any number of things. She was so deeply lost in thought that she barely noticed when the sun reached its zenith then turned down again and began to make its long journey to the horizon. As the day grew dimmer, and she swallowed the dregs of her wine, she looked up to see Galen approaching with a replacement mug. She smiled and took it from him gratefully. Deep, warm, and earthy smells of honey and spices combined with the heated wine was Rhouala’s personal fall favorite.

“How did you know?” Rhouala asked as the pulled the steaming mug towards her lips. “Part of your mystical powers?” she gave him a wry glance and he chuckled and sat down next to her.

“No, simply random chance, I’m afraid. It happens to be a regional favorite of mine as well. Where I lived in Mintong they make rice wine which I do not imagine would translate well and no other kingdom seems to have the ability to recreate this fantastic potion. She blew a curl of steam off the top of hers and sipped gratefully.

“I hadn’t realized how dark it had gotten!” Rhouala exclaimed “I should get back before my toes turn to ice!” She began to stand up off of the bench and was suddenly very dizzy. She wavered a bit and Galen quickly set down his mug and made to steady her. “I’m fine; I’m fine, I’ve just been sitting in one place for far too long.” She explained. Galen rose anyway, because he noted that though she claimed her condition was not serious, she nevertheless was beginning to swoon. He caught her just as she began to topple, and he looked down at her eyes as she phased out of consciousness and into the dreamlike state that he himself was intimately familiar with. Her eyelids quivered as her pupils darted back and forth beneath them in a sudden,trancelike state.

Galen lifted Rhouala onto the bench, and laid her out as comfortably as possible. Thankfully, he looked up and saw they were somewhat shielded from the festival by the trees and foliage near the riverfront, so there were not any curious passersby to have to explain anything to. He reached his hand down and brushed the hair that had fallen into her face aside, and squatted on the ground, at eye level with the unconscious Rhouala. He studied her face as she experienced, for the first time, the powerful and potentially deadly sight which he had lived with for years. After a moment he sat down and made himself comfortable on the ground, took a sip of his exceptional spiced wine, and patiently waited for the vision to run its course.

As Rhouala dropped towards the ground, her last conscious memory was of arms beneath her, catching her and preventing her from damaging herself.

After that, it would be difficult to describe the sensations that she experienced, as it is difficult to relay the essence of a dream to a curious friend, however, if one can appreciate that there is a great deal about dreaming that cannot be put into words, then one might begin to understand the strangeness of Rhouala’s vision. It was not like a dream exactly, though it shared many of the unearthly characteristics of one. It was far more vivid, and rather more linear at some points and less at others. First there was red everywhere; deep, velvety crimson that hung like a smoky curtain through her mind. Her dream-self realized she was standing, and looked down at her feet. There they were, looking utterly real in every detail, even wearing the same shoes she had put on them that very morning, but there appeared to be no floor or ground of any kind, merely space and color. She began walking and saw only the red, which became more distinctly smoke as she moved forward, compelled by the same sort of motivation that drives us in a dreams to perform tasks that otherwise would seem illogical.

She walked through the red smoke which then became a vicious blackish grey color that prevented her from seeing anything much further than her nose. Eventually, she emerged coughing and watery eyed from the cloud, and the scene became clearer. She began to hear horrible screams and wails and as the smoke billowed and cleared somewhat, she found herself in a village that was being burnt to the ground. Indistinct figures in robes stood as still as stone as the villagers ran screaming from their flaming homes, tearing at their own hair, their eyes, their clothing, and crying out to various deities for salvation from torment. She hid behind an as yet untouched hut and tried, without success, to cover her ears with her dream hands- which had no effect; neither did closing her eyes- she could still see everything in terrible detail, so she listened in unwilling horror to the woman who was still inside the home she hunched next to. It sounded like nonsense to Rhouala at first, but she picked out some of the garbled cries and laments:

“My Bayyyybeeee… oh my… NO!!! NOT Like THAT it’s horrible!!!! STOP IT! STOP IT IT’s going to KILL me!!! Someone HELP! I MUST kill it FIRST!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!” Then came a wet, deep, thud and a guttural moan, and a blood soaked young woman ran naked from the building eyes wild and teeth barred like a wild animal. She howled with savage victory and sprung upon another villager. After a brief struggle, the nude, blood soaked woman came up with what appeared to be a large bite of bloody skin and flesh. The now dead loser of the altercation lay motionless on the grass. The nude woman stood up and began to moan and curse the heavens, her hair clumped together into bloody mats, and her arms waving impotently at the sky. She, along with everyone else, seemed unaware of the robed sentinels that continued to monitor the horrific scene of carnage. As the nude woman Rhouala had been watching locked her eyes on another villager, the other villager did likewise, and they leapt on one another shredding flesh and tearing skin until they both finally collapsed, either dead or too wounded to continue.

Rhouala stood up and began to wander about, now aware that this was, indeed, a vision, and not some catastrophic and sudden reality. She was no longer afraid, and made her way around charred corpses, severed limbs, wailing, rabid, and completely incapacitated citizens, and the strange hooded figures, which appeared to be as unaware of her presence as the rest of the townspeople.

She began to feel detached from the carnage, because at the very least, she knew that she was not actually there. A man she had seen fornicating with the corpse of a young lady nearby suddenly leapt up and tore frantically in Rhouala’s direction. He had a missing eye, was soaked in gore, and sped by her screaming

“DEMONS! DEMONS!!!! ” while wielding a torch.

Without forewarning she was suddenly ripped away as though sucked into an endless screaming vortex. She let out a shocked cry, but she could not hear her own exclamation, only sound of a vast, rushing wind.

Now she stood on an eerily calm beach at twilight, with sand stretching as far as far as one could see on either side. She looked out to the dreamlike, placid water and inhaled slowly, calming herself to a point where she might be able to extract some rationale for this bizarre, but welcome new location she found herself in.

Rhouala turned around and looked up the beach to see the peaceful twinkling of a distant village. She could hear laughter and watched as a pair of men in the garments of sailors strolled towards her. Her first instinct was to run and hide herself from view, but realized again that what she was witnessing not a scene that she was a part of, and instead listened to them speak to one another. They seemed jolly enough, and appeared to be joking or reminiscing fondly, though the language they used was wholly unfamiliar to Rhouala.

She turned back to the ocean and became aware of a sailing vessel anchored up the shoreline somewhat, in the vicinity of the village. Setting out in that direction, she began to trek through the soft, warm sand, and breathed in the salt air that blew in from the water. Rhouala had never seen the ocean before, and was stunned by the immensity of it as she made her way along the beach.

A burst of adrenaline coursed through her frame as she heard a voice call

“Rhouala! Can you hear me yet?”

And then she was back on the bench.

She opened her eyes, and as they adjusted to the darkness she saw Galen hunched over her, mere inches from her, his face etched with concern. She sat up suddenly and without a word, Galen helped her stand. Yet again, he walked with the cramped, disoriented Rhouala back to the Black Pony.

Her limbs were so heavy she found it almost impossible to move. She felt as though she had been through great physical strain, and was overwhelmed with exhaustion, but even that was eclipsed by her hunger, which was desperate and animal.

“Hungry?” asked Galen “I’m always famished after one of the big ones.” Rhouala nodded vigorously, which made her head swim sickeningly, and they made their way through the doors and up the stairs to her room. Galen left her there for a moment, but came running back moments later with several plates of food. Fried fish, soft hot black bread, butter, mushy cereal, fragrant honey oat cakes, and mugs of ale- which teetered precariously in his grasp. He gingerly set down the trays and looked over at the exhausted girl that sat before him.

“I think that frightening woman who owns this place adores you. I barely had to say a word to her- just your name and that you haven’t eaten and didn’t feel well and she entrusted me with this feast!” Rhouala smiled feebly and grabbed a bowl of soup and a black roll. Galen ate as well, though with far less desperate need than Rhouala, and spent most of his time there just watching her face go from hollow and pale to plump and pink as her frenetic pace slowed and she finally sat back on her couch with a satisfied thump in a manner utterly unbecoming to a lady, but which Galen found remarkably endearing, since he had gone through almost identical circumstances.

“Well.” Said Galen, cocking one eyebrow at her “feeling better?”

“Much.”She replied, and then, after taking a slow, grateful draught of ale “So, when do we leave?”

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me what you saw first?” Galen prodded gently “My first vision was… a bit unsettling… no, disregard that… it was terrifying. I saw my own mother die terribly, which despite my efforts; she did a year later, exactly as I had seen. The visions I get now are far more subdued, though will occasionally overwhelm me in that same fashion, but I promise you, it won’t always be like this” he stressed this “as long as we get you to Troicinet soon” Rhouala walked to her washbasin and began to clean her face and hands, and while she did so, recounted in cold, precise detail what she had seen. Galen listened intently and crumpled his brow fiercely at the especially inhumane parts.

“I was scared. I was so, so very scared Galen. But I had a…. a tiny thread connecting me to reality. I remembered what you had told me- that I would have these… visions, and I spent the whole time repeating that to myself- that it was not real; not really happening, but it will won’t it? It’s the future, and it’s really going to happen.” She repeated this mantra a couple more times in a dawning of horror and disbelief; she sat down again and looked pleadingly into Galen’s sad face.

He gazed down at his hands.

“Probably” was all he said.

6. Bogfly and Rutherford

Telling Lilius and Thalius that she would no longer be under their employ was one of the most difficult conversations Rhouala ever had to have. It was much harder than she had initially anticipated, and they plied her with extraordinary offers of wage raises and perks, so that eventually she had to explain that she had a medical condition that had to be seen to, and that she must depart or her health would suffer. She did not specify by how much it would suffer, where she was going, exactly what the condition entailed, or who she would be traveling with, but she guessed that Lilius would speculate long and hard enough to hazard an accurate enough guess at the last one. Both Lilius and Thalius gave her remarkably kind farewell gifts. Lilius provided food, practical clothes that were certainly meant for a young man, an extra blanket, and few basic supplies that Rhouala would never have thought of, or even thought necessary, but they insisted

“Just in case” they both told her about the lovely antique blade Thalius tucked into a pocket of her bag.

She stopped to say goodbye to her parents, hoping for some reversal of their coldness now that she was leaving altogether, but all she got was a grunt from her father, and raised eyebrows and “tsk” from her mother who sat on her rocking chair, knitting and frowning. It was almost too infuriating to tolerate so she left and went back to the Pony, to meet up with Galen. She had other acquaintances in the town, certainly, but no one she felt attached enough to say goodbye to. It occurred to her as strange, since she possibly had more interaction with the townspeople than any other single person in Jonagund. On the other hand, she considered, she saw all of them inebriated almost exclusively, and that was not something that she felt augmented anyone’s character, nor did it endear anyone to her, unless of course she was also partaking. She was becoming more nervous and excited as the morning progressed, and she went to knock on Galen’s door to see if perhaps he had managed to procure some form of transportation for at least a portion of their journey.

He didn’t answer, so she went on up to her room to finish packing her few possessions. She tried on the traveling costume that Thalius and Lilius had given to her and was quite pleased with the results. The thick earth brown pants tied off at the knee, and met up perfectly with the tall black boots that Lilius had given her. There was an off white peasant shirt and a delightful leather coat. She wound her hair up and stuck in the hair sticks rather than packing them. Out of sheer curiosity she pulled the dagger from the pocket of her pack and strapped it to her hips. Examining her transformation in the mirror was astonishing. She looked like a warrior! She laughed furiously and clapped like a little child, realizing that this was far more exciting than any vacation, even if her life WAS to be at risk. It dawned on her that the clothes were not a man’s at all, but clearly made for the form of a woman, almost exactly her height and build. Rhouala dashed out of her room and came thumping down the stairs, running up to Lilus she threw her arms around the portly, stunned woman mid-scream (chastising the cooking staff for wasting supplies) and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

“These are perfect!” Rhouala exclaimed. “I don’t think I would have ever found anything that would serve me this well.” Lilius reddened at the dramatic show of affection and said

“I doubt it as well. Those belonged to me when I was your age. Thalius and I lived in the Northwest and it wasn’t unusual for girls there to be far more practical than pretty. But then my idiot husband had to infuriate the local guardsmen and we had to flee. Now if you’ll excuse me WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING WITH THAT FOWL???” She stomped after the target of her rage and left the still giddy Rhouala to digest that Lilius had just, for the first time as far as Rhouala knew, told her life-story to someone. HA! It seemed appropriate somehow, since she knew that the mountains were home to barbarians, warriors, and very dark magic. “Knew” was perhaps too strong a word- had overheard by drunkards recounting their “adventures” was a more accurate description.

Galen walked in the front door with a look of extreme irritation and made his way in the direction of the staircase. It occurred to Rhouala that he didn’t even recognize her so she pounced on him as he began to climb the staircase, giving him a gentle shove. As he turned to angrily retaliate to the rude gesture his eyes brightened and he laughed with sudden delight at the change.

“Excellent! You’re dressed as a Northern Girl… sheer perfection!! I doubt I could have thought of a safer costume for you. Now, walk with me” She did so and listened to Galen recount with dismay his inability to find a suitable mount or mounts. Everyone appeared to have great need of their own, and those who would have been willing to sell their horses and such in town had already done so- to stranded festival attendees. He had found a means of transport, but he doubted it would be particularly pleasant; however he had, hesitantly, reserved a seat on the wagon belonging to Bogfly the troll. Rhouala was excited enough about the journey and her emerging magical powers that she didn’t care at all, and said so, which relieved Galen somewhat. He had traveled with women before, and they tended to be overly demanding and extremely fragile, though he was getting the impression that this voyage would not be nearly as trying as he had initially expected.

They gathered their belongings, and made for the wagon, several sentimental drunks standing with Lilius and Thalius as they waved good-bye from the steps of the Black Pony.

The pair of them made in the direction that Galen indicated Bogfly and his cart to be in, picking their way through the crowds on this, the last day of the Harvest Festival. When they reached the wagon, Rhouala recognized the goblin who had sold her the peculiar Golden Flince to be the creature that they appeared to be headed towards.

"Him?" Rhouala asked Galen "He is the one that sold me that trinket I showed you, if I recall correctly, he has an allergy to humans. I cannot fathom why someone in that state would choose to transport them, let alone participate in a massive celebration hosted by them" Galen hoisted his bag into the wagon that sat behind Bogfly's table.

The pair of them made in the direction that Galen indicated Bogfly and his cart to be in, picking their way through the crowds on this, the last day of the Harvest Festival. When they reached the wagon, Rhouala recognized the goblin who had sold her the peculiar Golden Flince to be the creature that they appeared to be headed towards.

"Him?" Rhouala asked Galen "He is the one that sold me that trinket I showed you, if I recall correctly, he has an allergy to humans. I cannot fathom why someone in that state would choose to transport them, let alone participate in a massive celebration hosted by them" Galen hoisted his bag into the wagon that sat behind Bogfly's table.
"Profit." He suggested, climbed into the wagon, and began to take the other bag from Rhouala. "I doubt he can stand it much longer though, if you'll notice he's leaving well before the rest of the merchants, and appears to have lost his zest for profit. Rhouala looked over to observe that Bogfly was, indeed packing his wares into crates, sneezing angrily and ignoring the people who might purchase his remaining goods.
"Well, I can't blame him, he appears to be miserable" she said and climbed into the wagon. Bogfly walked over to them, burdened with several wooden cases. Being as diminutive as he was, he seemed remarkably overburdened by his load. Rhouala jumped down and began to motion that she would be happy to help- her long instilled waitressing instincts asserting themselves.
"No No get away from me you wretched girl, what kind of fool do you think I am? You'll make off with all my wares before I can blink!" He possessively backed away and pulled the crates from Rhouala's range. "Get in, we're leaving right away. I can't tolerate any more of this filth and noise." He waddled up the wooden steps leading into the back of his wagon and dropped them to the floor with a thud. "This place is dreadful, I can see why you want to leave." he moved between them and walked around towards the horses that he had tethered to the front of his mobile store. "I will be glad to be gone. Sit down and don't bother me with bellyaching or tales, as I am not concerned with your nonsense" He climbed up to the driver's seat as Galen and Rhouala quietly smirked and settled themselves in for the journey.
As they rolled further and further towards the edge of Jonagund, the crowds thinned and the buildings became sparser and more practical in construction. Eventually they passed further than she had ever been, and her heart beat faster as she realized there were landmarks she had never seen passing them by. It was all so unfamiliar, and she began to feel somewhat ill at ease, but as time passed, and the quiet thinly wooded forest turned to plains, and she became comfortable with the new surroundings, her head rolled to the side, her heavy eyelids drooped, and she dozed off into a dreamless sleep.
When she woke, some time later, the afternoon had set in and she felt the gentle jolting kathup kathump of the the old wagon wheels beneath her. She looked up and saw, not too far distant, the ruins of a keep and the banks of a river. Turning her face to Galens, she smiled.
"How long was I out for then?" he Handed her some smoked fish and cold dark bread.
"Perhaps two hours. I am not surprised, as I doubt very much you've been sleeping well these past few nights. You know you spoke while unconscious. Just now I mean, before you woke up. You said something about the chickens" he laughed, "and you said my name as well, though I'm not sure if it was within the same context, I do hope not" Rhouala rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
"I do not think so, though I can't remember, so it is impossible to be certain." she smirked wickedly at him and chuckled.
"Quit your yapping." Shouted Bogfly from the front of the vehicle "We approach a customer of mine and I need you both to be as discreet as possible. You must close the back doors of the wagon and not speak, if you care for your lives at all. Since I do not, it is neither one way or the other to me, except that it might disrupt my transaction, so keep quiet" Galen shrugged and drew closed the doors, but moved to a crack in the side of the trailer so as to be able to review the situation. Rhouala scooted close to Galen and they both peered out of the tiny hole at the destination they appeared to be approaching. Neither of them saw any houses or buildings of any kind, and instead they seemed to be drawing near to a low cliff face. Bogfly pulled on the reigns and the horses slowed and stopped. He hopped down from the seat and approached a large opening that was disguised by rocks and debris. He held in his plump, warty fingers a medium sized wooden box, and called out in his distinct, nasal troll voice
"RUTHERFORD... RUTHERFORD GET OUT HERE". He scratched his head and his funny pointed hat rocked from side to side and a thatch of curly white stringy hair popped out. he mumbled grumpily and scuffed the ground with his pointed shoes "CURSE IT ALL YOU OAF I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY! DO YOU WANT IT OR NOT?!" He cried and stomped his small foot on the ground. There was a loud rumbling and the ground shook ominously.
"BOGFLY! IS THAT YOU?" The rubble blocking the cave suddenly crumbled and both Galen and Rhouala's eyes widened as the very Ogre that had been evicted from the Harvest Festival climbed from the cave and stretched his limbs and back out, revealing how massive he was, far taller than the cave itself. Rhouala covered her mouth to prevent the involuntary shriek. Galen managed to maintained his composure, and narrowed his eyes as the gargantuan beast approached the small troll.

"I can't recall what I asked you for Bogfly, what is it you have brought me today?" Bogfly kicked the foot of the ogre in a disdainful gesture that demonstrated a complete lack of fear, even though the perplexed Rutherford could have crushed Bogfly in an instant.

"You ninny, Rutherford. I have brought you the memory serum you asked for. I bring this to you every six months. You are such a useless creature I don't know why I continue to assist you. Now listen closely. I have two.... HUMANS" He sneered disdainfully "They have purchased transport with me. I have them in the back of the wagon but I have shut the doors so as not to startle you. They will be coming with me, and I know, as you always do, you will follow me. It is my duty as an honest businessman to instruct you that under no circumstances are you to eat EITHER of them, no matter the temptation you may feel. Now drink this concoction so you won't forget my instructions." The ogre took the phial from Bogfly and shrugged, then consumed the contents of the small bottle, comically miniature in his huge hand.

His posture was that of a caveman, his only clothing a pair of shredded trousers. He carried with his a wooden club studded with metal spikes, which dragged on the ground as he lumbered out into the open.

"Humans? You may come out of there. You need not hide, I will not devour you. I will keep my word on that, no matter how young and tender you are."

Tentatively, Galen opened the back of the cart, and stepped out. He was dwarfed by Rutherford, who even hunched, was half again as tall as the man.

"Here I am, Ogre, I understand that you are under oath not to eat either me or my companion. I have never traveled with one of your kind but as long as you hold to your word we shall have no problem with your presence. As a matter of fact, I hold your race in high regard, as I know that you are both brave and honorable warriors when put to the test. Let me inquire though, how is it that you remember this particular troll? I was under the impression that the only memory that your people possessed was linked to your own biology- toolmaking, your family, and your races habits? Perhaps I am mistaken, but I was given to the notion that this was the case." The great monster regarded the tiny human with a sad looking lowering of his eyelids.

"To be truthful, I am not certain. I have no memory or my family, I believe they were killed- but I do recall that this troll made it his business to feed and shelter me, though he had no obligation to do so- Bogfly, why is there something that I do not remember? Will you speak for me?" Bogfly sneezed and glowered at Galen.

"Yes, yes- I cared for this brute when he was a baby, hoping that I could perhaps use him as a pack animal or sell him as a curiosity, but as he grew, that became impossible. Eventually, after I tried to abandon him, he began to follow my wagon. That was fifteen years ago, and since then he has followed me like a dog wherever I go, preventing both my return to my own people, and putting a damper I have on any hopes for anything but a purely nomadic existence."

Rhouala at that point decided to descend from the back of the wagon and approach.

"Hello, Rutherford, my name is Rhouala, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." She curtsied and held out her palm, which the ogre accepted. Her entire outstretched hand lay on his forefinger, and he leaned over and sniffed her hair. As he drew near she could clearly see his rough greenish skin and wart covered nose. His eyes seemed uneven, one being clearly higher than the other, and his teeth were huge and jagged. Several were obviously broken, and there was a clear scent of blood on his breath. He grinned and winked at Rhoula.

"Do not concern yourself young creature. You need not fear me. I am under an oath, which I intend to keep, at least for the next six months, until I forget again." Bogfly moaned

"Perhaps he will forget you, but never poor Bogfly. I tried leaving him without the memory tonic and he persisted in following me anyhow for three whole years. He was even more of a nuisance without it, which is why I still bring it to him." Bogfly turned back to the wagon "at least me makes a good bodyguard" he grumbled and climbed back into the driver's seat. The horses seemed both unperturbed and acclimated to the enormous presence of Rutherford. Galen looked at Rhouala, impressed by her composure, and walked back with her to the wagon.

"I suppose we shall have an escort of sorts then" he said, and climbed back into the compartment. He grabbed her arm and assisted her back inside

"I suppose so.." She replied skeptically. They both sat quietly as the mismatched convoy started out. First the wagon, then far behind, barely audible, the rumble of Rutherford's footsteps tromping behind them.

7. Galen's Dream

The first night they camped, Bogfly informed them that the next day they would be reaching the river Quilta. There was a bridge that they could use, but it was some distance upstream, and Bogfly preferred the option of using the ferry that was situated directly to the west, the direction that they were already headed. Both Galen and Rhouala concurred and they made camp in a small clearing near the banks. The sound of the water was calming, and they all gathered around the fire, even Rutherford, who caught up with them shortly after they had stopped for the night.

Rhouala shared some of the black bread that Lilius had sent with her, and Bogfly augmented it with a partial wheel of aged cheese he had. Rutherfod did not eat, but instead stood up and offered to stand sentinel for the rest of the night

"I do not sleep well these days anyway" he claimed, and left the small cone of firelight that illuminated the remaining trio. Bogfly eventually retired, after finishing a wine bottle to it's dregs. Galen offered Rhouala a swallow of one of the bottles he had procured before the trek. She accepted and yawned happily as the warm glow of the alcohol numbed a portion of the effect the chilly late evening air had on her. She readjusted herself and scooted a millimeter closer to Galen, who noticed but said nothing. Finally he remarked

"I am glad that you decided to come with me. When my employer told me to bring you back by any means necessary, I thought nothing of it, but upon meeting you, I realized that I could not, in good conscience, knock you over the head and drag you back, even if it would effectively prevent you from dying. That fellow who accosted you made me see what exactly any-means-necessary is in the eyes of many. I did notice that you kept your hand clutched onto an object even after I had secured your safety. May I inquire as to it's nature?" Rhouala reached into her pocket and pulled out the pocket knife she still carried with her as backup. She handed it to Galen and grinned

"Had I the chance I would have used it, no matter how much shock I was in, and no matter how much danger, but Alvor inadvertently prevented me from accessing it for the entire duration of the ordeal. Bad luck on my part, and I suppose on his- were it me that had gotten the upper hand, it's likely I would have only given him a flesh wound, which would have been preferable to death I imagine, were one to go back and ask him to choose between the two." She smiled calmly "But I am very glad you came to my aid. He was a beast sober, and drunk, well..." Galen grimaced

"I think I perhaps did not help his mood. I had, er, accidentally beaten him at cards earlier that evening. I saw- uh "saw"- what his cards were, and decided that I would not mind seeing the ugly braggart part with his coin. Perhaps I overdid it." Rhouala laughed gaily

"That was you?? How delightful. I do not think that it was any more that a convenient catalyst for his brashness, I suspect it he would have gone off in a rage at some point with or without you." Galen pulled his pack closer to him and lay back on it, using it's contents as a neck pillow, he crossed his arms behind his head and lowered his eyelids.

"Perhaps I shall sleep now, if you would like the privacy of the back of the wagon you are welcome to it. I imagine it's more comfortable than the dirt." Rhouala lay on the ground next to him and turned her head so his profile lay in her vision.

"Wood or soil? Oh, the choice torments me so! Ha, I think I shall rest here." Galen sighed happily and reached his hand out from under his neck and onto her palm, which lay on the ground. She tensed and succumbed to a wave of whirling mental and physical responses, riding it like a wave, which slowly, but determinedly led her off into sleep.

The next morning she woke to the sound of Bogfly chastising Rutherford for raiding a nearby refugee camp.

"Have I, or have I NOT instructed you to stick to domestic animals? There are sheep, and cattle, and even pigs nearby. Why did you not just eat one of our horses and pull the wagon yourself??? Now you know they will be after us with pitchforks and fire and FOR THE LOVE OF MERCY Rutherford have we not been through this a THOUSAND times??" He stomped his tiny feet ineffectually and whipped Rutherford's calf with a switch. Rutherford looked and the ground pathetically and hung his head.

"I am SORRY Bogfly, I was caught in the grip of a great hunger, and the smell of man blood is so thick here that it got secured in my nostrils, which are the conduit to my stomach. I let it go!!!" He pleaded "I did not even take a bite! I released it and no harm came to the delicious child!" Bogfly snorted and whipped Rutherford again, who shrank back like a dog and whimpered, even though it was unlikely that he was even able to feel a tickle from the branch.

"Because it's yowling woke me and I prevented you. If I had not intervened it would have already passed from your top to your bottom and would be nothing more than fertilizer. You have caused the people in the camp to be wary, and they will certainly want no traders who reek of OGRE to infiltrate their home. IDIOT!" He stomped again and huffed and puffed furiously back to the wagon seat. Rutherford gazed sadly at him and, shamed, hunched his shoulders exaggeratedly and stared at the ground "Don't be a baby Rutherford" Bogfly taunted "You are not evicted from my company, just remember to stick to sheep next time!" Rutherford brightened somewhat and moved off. Bogfly snorted. Rhouala and Galen hopped in the back of the cart and they made off for the river.

When they reached the ferry at Quilta, which was little more than shoddy planks with a mad captain, they paid a fee (which they split three ways when Bogfly unable to con his way out of a fare) and loaded the wagon onto the precariously small raft. The pilot had a long pole which he used to maneuver the vessel across the rushing water. Both Galen and Rhouala were shocked that it did not capsize or end up carried away by the current. The pilot merely said

"Barley. three tons of Barley" When they remarked on this feat. The man was terribly thin, and barely clothed, but when Rhouala offered his a black roll and some jam, the old man wailed "OH JAM THAT I ONCE KNEW, How you have grown sad and rotten! Do not despair!" He reached out his hand and grasped ineffectually at the air, while producing a strange, wretching noise from the bottom of his throat. Rhouala shrugged and rejoined the group, who were now ready to proceed. Some time later, the boatman ran past them through the woods, flailing his staff in the air and screaming

"DEMON! DEMON!!!" he vanished in the undergrowth and Rutherford appeared a moment later.

"That man" he said "He was very strange. I did not try to eat him Bogfly, do not worry, he reeked of filth and madness, but I believe I may have startled him." Galen was laughing and looked over at Rhouala, who was not. Instead she found herself stricken with shock. She gazed over at Galen and tried to speak, without much success. He became serious.

"What is it? Wait- Let me guess..." But he didn't have to. Rhouala croaked

"He was there. But it was different. Do you remember?" The memory dawned on Galen and he sucked air in through his teeth.
"Oh dear, yes. I remember, only it was a torch that he carried, was it not? But nevertheless, the resemblance between the two situations is more than a passing similarity. I am sure of it. Many of the elements from my visions - the big ones anyway, are not literal, but rather allegory. This seems to be the case with you as well. Perhaps I should have warned you but I did not know if that was universal." Rhouala looked askance at Galen

"But during this training, the... whatever you did to keep your powers from killing you, did you not meet others with your abilities? Are we so rare?"

"I am afraid it would appear so. That is why your existence is so crucial. As far as I know, we are the only two currently living ones of our kind."

"Living?" Galen's jaw tightened

"I met one other. Like you, his powers had not yet matured. He did not survive the change." Rhouala was ready to ask a thousand more questions, but at that moment Galen sat up rod-straight, and his eyes became a milky white. He whispered something unintelligible, the sagged back. She caught him as his head was sailing in the direction of the bottom of the trailer. She lowered him to the wagon floor and crouched over his oddly stiffened form, not sure what to do next. At last his eyes fluttered and he moved his hands. They both reached out for Rhouala's shoulders and his eyes opened suddenly and violently. He gasped as though he had been stuck underwater, but after a moment closed his eyes peacefully. Rhouala crossed her legs and sat down, placing his head in her lap.

She reached up to a nearby crate and grabbed a round, red mincefruit, but held it for several moments before offering it to him, allowing him time to absorb what he had experienced, and partially because it was pleasant having him there. She took out her pocketknife and cut a piece of the fruit.

"Galen? eat." She instructed, and handed it to him. He moaned and sat up.

"Thank you" He ate greedily, and when he was done with the fruit, reached for a package of dried meat they had with them in the back of the wagon. Once his vigor was renewed, he sat leaning back against the side of the wagon. Finally, curiosity overcame Rhouala, and she asked her troubled companion

"Will you tell me what you saw Galen?" He shook his head and replied

"I saw what you saw. Exactly. But no beach, and no sailors. Just the village." He put his hand to his forehead and rubbed his eyes. "I am, more than anything, sorry that you had to experience that as well. I do not know what it means, but it certainly bodes ill for some nameless village. I cannot imagine how to respond. Most visions are of things that have a direct on my life. Things that I could perhaps influence, hasten, or prevent. In some cases I cannot, but I have changed the course of events once or twice on minor occasions. As I said though, I do not know any of these people, nor the location. It is all too troublesome." Rhouala nodded, and looked out the back of the wagon, where the rolling hills fell behind them, as they drew ever nearer to Troicinet.

NANOWRIMO

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 22:52:46 GMT

So I'm participating in NaNoWriMo this year. In celebration of just hitting 10,000 words, I'm going to start posting chapters, mainly just for myself, since it's still in it's roughest draft possible phase.
This book is three days old and should be seen as such, but nevertheless, that's what NANO is ALLLLL about.

The last chapter (Rhouala's Dream) is incomplete, but when I have the rest of it, I'll republish the chapter in it's completeness.
Till then my fingers need a little break.

It doesn't have a title yet.

1. The Harvest Festival
When summer came to a close, as they did every year, the people of Jonagund put on one of the greatest fairs that had ever been beheld.
Streaming banners flapping in the autumnal wind- the threatening change of seasons only fueling the people’s desire to celebrate as extravagantly as possible, throwing aside all caution and reserve in favor of flagrant inebriation, excessive eating, maniacal copulation, and irreverent brawling. In this manner, the people of Jonganud expelled all the frustration and rage that accumulated throughout the harvesting season. Using up the last bits of energy not spent on tilling, harvesting, bailing, milking, slaughtering, storing, counting, or yelling at others to perform those tasks with greater haste.
When winter DID set in, the people would be ready to settle down and remain relatively sedentary through the dark, wet, miserably cold, and dreary months that constituted the region’s expression of winter.
That year, the official pavane was more somber and much grander than it had ever been. Local officials and small time nobles with flamboyant dresses and gold epaulettes did their best to remain dignified, slowly and precisely measuring footsteps to the sweet and subdued music of the most respectable local troupe. Try as they might however, everyone with half a mind knew that this visage of modesty was for the sake of appearances only, and that even a queen needed to let off steam now and then. Thus the noblemen and women occasionally attempted to “blend” with the locals and their celebratory bliss, have their fun, and when morning came, sneak quietly back to their villas and estates, sink into hot baths, and until next year pretend that whatever had happened had not, in fact, happened.
What had likely occurred was debauchery on a scale that one can only being to imagine the fringes of. Law enforcement essentially dissolved for the four day and night celebration of… nobody exactly remembered what they were celebrating “officially”, but then, no one really cared. When had it begun and how were questions so long forgotten that any records of its origin had turned to dust. Everyone in Jonagund simply knew that come fall, people from the most distant towns, from neighboring kingdoms, from across the sea even, would make the trek and help the townspeople indulge in every excess imaginable.
What was most interesting about the Harvest Festival that year was the abundance of supernatural visitors. It was not unusual for there to be an abundance of merchant-trolls, setting up shop to peddle their potions (some quite effective and others no more so than snake oil, sadly, no one had ever figured out a reliable method for distinguishing the frauds from the genuine magical items, unless one wanted to embark on a lifetime of obtuse dull magical lore and spell crafting education). On more than one occasion there were ha’fairies (half fairy, half etc) or even ha’sprites that would come and sell handcrafted goods, (occasionally) magical trinkets, delightful foods to enchant the palette with unrivaled pastries and sweets, or if times were lean, themselves or their maidens.
That year however there were sorcerers (though not a species unto themselves, they were notoriously cloistered and rarely came to the Jonagund Harvest Festival except to peruse the shop-keepers magical wares.) among the revelers. There could also be found shape shifting Changelings, scaly and serpentine Symthians (respected greatly as warriors, but torn apart by civil strife and generally seen only as soldiers for hire, exceptional assassins, or bodyguards), full blooded fairies, elemental sprites in humanoid guise, elves (the purpose of whose visit was the main point of contention among locals, since their homeland was exceptionally distant.), trolls, and even an ogre, who was asked to leave after several local children went missing and the maid found a small human leg bone with a bit of cooked meat still clinging to it stuck in the pillowcase belonging to the ogre. He claimed innocence but eventually relented after persistent questioning caused him to forget exactly what he was fabricating and why, since ogres have notoriously problematic short term memories (which also explains why no official trading has ever been developed between ogres and everyone else. Their dung is unrivaled as a fertilizer, and they manage to collect astonishing trophies from unfortunate travelers, foolhardy knights, and scavenged corpses) A small crowd gathered to watch the Ogre depart, and make sure he did so uneventfully. Much to everyone’s surprise, he did exactly that, and lumbered quietly off to a not-too-faraway cave in hope that straying drunks, wandering youngsters, or disoriented maidens would provide him with enough meat to last the next few weeks.
After every Harvest Festival, there were, as one would expect, innumerable pregnancies. There were also plenty of deaths, since the strain many put on themselves through gluttony or excessive sexual conquest was often more than the organs could tolerate, and the people simply saw this as a time of death and rebirth anyway, so it was not unusual for young women, previously chaste, to begin to display protruding bellies in the following months.
Some of the offspring were much desired. For love, wealth, (having the bastard of a local dignitary or statesman could be quite profitable for the young lady involved), social advancement (perhaps a wedding could come out of this and advance the prospects for young miss), free labor, or to alleviate the loneliness of a homely girl who would surely not be taken as a bride, and was undoubtedly impregnated by a drunken reveler.
Many of the children were by no means desired, and were subjects of infanticide, abortion, or slaving. Every year during the festival, several slave wagons waited patiently on the outskirts of town, and took the opportunity to buy the unwanted babies from the previous year, often providing those who sold the children with enough silver to celebrate even more excessively this year around.
Some of the children were Halflings of one sort or another, and were frequently turned out when they gained the ability to fend for themselves, and sometimes even before they were. They were generally unwanted by the slavers, since they tended to be less resistant to human disease, more frail, and also much stranger, occasionally possessing magical powers which affected their willingness to be slaves in the first place. Even those who loved and wanted their Halfling children were often so intimidated by them that they ended up reverting to the customary tradition of giving them some supplies, blindfolding them, and releasing them far enough away that it would be unlikely that they would find their way back.
Occasionally, angry or dismayed Halfling youngsters would find their way home and attempt to reintegrate themselves, at which point they were generally killed, which prevented this from being a common occurrence. Often, as is the case with strange traditions, they would be successful in their survival attempts, and would come back to the Harvest festival years later, vending sometimes venomous wares to the unsuspecting citizenry of Jonagund, thereby exacting a revenge for the mistreatment visited upon them. The advantageous part about this was that generally, if and when Halflings did return to get even, they often only took their rage out on their families, rather than on bystanders. Often, the abandoned youths would not even inflict mortal damage to their parents, but preferred generally to cause gangrenous (but un-infectious) poxes, embarrassing personal problems, or inappropriate appendages (tails, ears, horns and occasional phallic protrusions). This was more comic relief than blight, and the practice was simply considered part of the birth-abandonment-revenge cycle of life that was integral to the culture of Jonagund and the surrounding lands.
By no means was Jonagund a capitol, rather, it served as a hub for this one event, and the rest of the year its significance (if not its ego) politically, and productivity-wise, shrank back to the size of every other neighboring town of comparable size.

This year, as mentioned earlier, the Jonagund Harvest Festival was especially grand, flamboyant, colorful, diverse, and debaucherous. Along with the relatively benign excesses of food, drink, and lovemaking, there came a distinct uptick in the amount of violence.
Generally it was self regulating. Everyone (well, almost everyone) quietly agreed to put aside grudges and crimes for this period, to be picked up with renewed fervor after the celebrations came to a close. However, as anyone who has ever consumed too much ale can attest, even one’s best intentions are sometimes vexed by the inability to restrain the physical and emotional wherewithal to not get into a brawl, ravish a delightful maiden who would prefer to be left in peace, sing at objectionable volumes, or make claims of grandiose wealth and ability that are not, in fact, true.
Pickpockets also tended to be an unwilling hold out, since, as one might expect, it was their busiest time of year. Generally though, flying in the face of logic, the celebration tended to not descend into total anarchy, even if at times it appeared as though it might.

2. The Golden Flince
Rhouala was a delightful young lady who had already seen her fair share of Harvest festivals. Everyone knew her and everyone adored her. Some perhaps more than their wives would like.
She was apple cheeked and apple-bottomed, in the prime of her life. She was healthy, wide-hipped, big bosomed, unaffected by any skin lesions or malformations, with no obvious diseases, possessed of all her teeth, had lovely dark hair, and maintained a most agreeable personality. Her strong arms and graceful movements could be seen day and night at the Black Pony, where she held a not-terribly-enviable position as a serving wench.
She had been born to a pair of well mannered and reasonably kind (though somewhat curt) local farmers who spoke little to each other or Rhouala. Their names were Sythifus and Loramae, and they had sent her to school not for the betterment of her mind but simply to be rid of the chattering creature that had, without permission, taken over their lives. They maintained an unusual relationship with Rhouala during her formative years, treating her far more like a tenant that a child, which gave her both great freedom and great responsibility. She was rarely, if ever, punished beyond a sharp word, and was equally rarely given any reward for excelling at a particular task. However, Rhouala learned as soon as she had control of her motor skills and command of language, to make simple stew and bread, then more creative foods through the simple experimentations of a child- how does that taste? What about if I do this? She managed to poison herself once or twice, but neither time was fatal, and on both occasions her parents had sighed, rolled their eyes, and called the physician, who administered a vile concoction that made her expunge any toxin that might linger in her small body.
By puberty, Rhouala was both well educated (though they had expelled her from school eventually on the basis of her gender, she had continued to read anything she found) and extremely capable. This is not to say that the technique her parents employed was particularly good, but simply that Rhoala herself was an extraordinary person. She had realized quickly that she had no desire to stay with her parents, and though she had no basis for comparison, she was certain that there anywhere would be nicer to live than the cold, unwelcoming, decaying walls of the farmhouse and the equally cold, unwelcoming, and decaying souls who lived inside it. Though they had created her physically, Sythifus and Loramae had no effect on Rhoala, beyond demonstrating how to be miserable.
This year, Rhouala had the unlucky task of working every night of the festival, which (though providing her with much needed funds), left her no time to enjoy the reveries herself. She watched, however, as vibrantly distinctive and diverse characters from every corner of her known world come through the dark heavy wooden doors of the Pony. They paraded through with elaborate costumes and travel weary faces of every variety. She saw some heavy browed and hairy brutes, some fey and sanguine unearthly elven folk who were and clearly worth their weight in gold, some shifty and small, some emanating charisma and charm, and some who were beyond description. She was asked by almost every one of them for lodging that they could not possibly provide, for the Pony (like every other inn in Jonagund) had been booked weeks, if not months ahead of time.
The owner of the Black Pony, a small, rotund, relatively benign rodent-like man named Thalius, who hailed from the mountains far to the north, always did his utmost to maximize available spaces at the inn, and was always up to accept exorbitant bribes to sleep in the cellar, the stables, or the closets during the festival.
That year, Thalius had gone so far as to rent one of the rooms that he and his equally buoyant wife occupied on the second floor, an arrangement which she (Lilius) was far from happy about, which Rhouala understood eminently from the constant stomping, shouting, and limb-waving that Lilius was prone to when displeased with her husband.
Lilius and Thalius had been married long before they had ever shown up and bought the Black Pony, and they had been arguing when they arrived in the town with their wagon. They only stopped fighting to eat, sleep, presumably fornicate (they had 3 plump little children of indeterminate gender, ages 1, 3, and 5) and argue with others. Their current ongoing debate pivoted not on the fact that Lilius had lost the use of a private bath, or that they were obliged to sleep in the same room as their children for the next few days, for she understood full well the extra profit to be had from desperate lodgers. Her gripe (which Rhouala listened intently to as she auto-piloted her way through the duties of serving and clearing tables, she always listened to their arguments, since they rarely stopped to speak with others, the only way one was likely to catch up with them was by eavesdropping) was with Thalius’s choice of tenant.
Lilius maintained loudly and forcefully that he was something dreadfully amiss with the man staying in that room, and she was absolutely certain that no good would come of his presence, if not because of his sinister demeanor, then, threatened Lilius, because she would make it impossible for Thalius to ever use the latrine without the aid of a doctor again.
Thalius retorted that the man was staying right where he was, that the handsome sum of money he had been paid made up for any discomfort that Lilius might feel, and in any case, the renter was clean, and quiet, and Thalius gave not a turnip’s worth of concern how Lilius felt about the situation. If she preferred she could sleep in the stables with the syphilitic sailors and filthy ragamuffins. Lilius had quite a lot to say about that, and retaliated with a threat to withhold her physical love from Thalius, at which point Thalius made a comment about preferring the company of sheep anyway, which caused Rhouala to nearly drop her tray because her laughter could no longer be contained. Both Thalius and Lilius suddenly realized that the substance of their argument was audible to everyone in the dining room, and in a rare show of personal dignity, they lowered their voices and went into the kitchen to continue their disagreement.
Rhouala considered this point of contention to be slightly out of the norm, as their fights usually consisted of the far more mundane. Who had not or had done various chores, made various messes, was responsible for bathing, feeding, or punishing the children, and who would be the victor in a physical confrontation that never, ever came. However, Rhouala thought as she dodged lecherous hands and disdainfully refused poorly counterfeited coins, this time of year, everything was unusual.
That evening, she had the opportunity to speak with Lilus about the renter- it was, in fact, Lilius who approached Rhouala, and in an unprecedented show of anything but irritation, put her filthy, stubby hands to Rhouala’s young cheeks.
“Love”, she said kindly, and far more quietly than Rhouala was accustomed to “I want you to stay away from that man that my idiot husband saw fit to rent one of our rooms to, he’s no good, and if I was you I wouldn’a even let the man see my face ‘cept to serve him his food and wine, and even then I wouldn’a look im in his eyes.” Lilius spat disdainfully on the stone floor.
Rhoala was deeply touched. She knew that she was a valuable employee, since she was one of a select few who did not steal shamelessly, but this was a highly unusual show of affection. She said to Lilius haltingly, for she was not certain that she had ever said much more to her than “yes ma’am” and “no ma’am”
“Thank you Lady, you know I think you very sharp indeed, but I don’t understand your concern. All men can be vile, and all are capable of atrocities, what makes you so sure that there’s something amiss?”
Lilius turned her gaze up to the second floor balcony, which had a lovely hand carved balustrade, and her eyes roved about until she was certain the door next to her own was indeed shut.
“I can’t say, you’d think I was a madwoman… and that I may be, but if you care for your well being you’ll do as I say. Now look, the men at the table by the fireplace have managed to set their sleeping friend alight. HAY!!! HAY YOU STUPID BRUTES, PUT HIM OUT!!! YOU’LL BURN DOWN MY INN” She went of waving a wooden spoon menacingly, her cheeks getting brighter and brighter shades of red as her agitation increased. The ruffians who had set their unconscious table mate on fire seemed highly amused by the whole situation and were able to understand the import of the affair even less as Lilius screamed and hollered and chastised. Eventually, the dispute was settled with a large tip, threats of violence, and a vacant table. After that, Rhouala heard nothing else from Lilus regarding the sinister tenant, and did not have to opportunity to ask her anything else, though by this point her curiosity was on high alert.
That evening, after an exhausting first day of celebration, Rhouala decided to take a stroll through the streets of her hometown in the capacity of spectator only. She could not allow herself to succumb to the desire of drinking mead until she lost consciousness, as her day would begin bright and early the next morning, and being hung over impaired her ability to be of any use to anybody. She had no spectacular costume to don, but chose instead a simple ivy green smock of linen clasped below her bosom with a large, though fake, yellow gemstone set into a silver buckle. She wore smart flat shoes with moss green stockings, and tied her hair into a loose bun held with ivory sticks she had acquired from the hasty, and (and slightly embarrassed looking) departure of a well-to-do woman at last year’s festival.
Rhouala walked slowly, taking in the smells, the raucous laughter, and the tinkling music of fairy bells. She stopped to observe their tumbling acrobatics outside a wagon that they had arrived in. It was decorated with ethereal floating lights and colorful, gently floating ribbons. The fairy performers themselves were terribly diminutive, perhaps four feet at the very tallest, and had unearthly sharp faces and moonlight colored eyes that darted quickly about, as though they were hyper aware of their surroundings. This was probably the case since full blooded fairies were a valuable commodity, and often kidnapped and sold as pets, though that custom was virtually unknown during festival time. The fairies, in their strange and filmy gauzelike clothing, tumbled and pranced and performed astonishing acrobatic routines that would be virtually impossible for humans. A particularly nimble young female (though it was hard to be certain since their childlike bodies maintained a nearly sexless appearance throughout their lives) spun ribbons on sticks while she flounced about on the shoulders and backs of the other performers. The dance was clearly interpretive, and like all fairy-stuffs, it was impossible to determine if there was any sort of meaning hidden in the performance, though to Rhouala, it seemed outwardly gay, yet unspeakably melancholy at its core, so she moved on.
She came to the trinket carts and began to disinterestedly paw through the merchandise of a pustulant, sickly looking troll who wheezed and snorted phlegm unapologetically at potential customers. She picked up a wooden box and turned it around in her hands while looking wistfully at a group of acquaintances who were so inebriated they would not likely have recognized her. They were staggering through the street singing a merry tune, the one on the end holding a partial flagon of red wine. She sighed and turned back to the troll, who raised one eyebrow and said enticingly
“Why that’s a gen-u-ine article you have there. That comes straight from the ancient gardens of Cortithia. They say it holds magical seeds that grow into beautiful women in one season only! But you don’t need that, or DO you? Perhaps you would like that very much indeed!” The creature rubbed his warty hands together greedily and would have said more but was interrupted by a bout of mucous which had somehow escaped his lungs and was headed determinedly to his nose and mouth. After a moment he blinked his watery eyes and looked up at her vaguely disgusted face.
“WHAT? I’ve got allergies! Can’t you see anything? There’s enough man-dander here to fell a whole horde of proud warrior trolls. You stink of human. If you won’t buy my wares then make room for paying customers. SHOO!” he exclaimed and made brisk sweeping gestures with his wrists. “Be off!” Rhouala turned to leave but at the last moment decided to take pity of the wretched thing and bought a piece of amber that encased a flower. The troll became excited when she held out her money and began to expound on the glories of the object.
“Oh, that’s a fine purchase that is. Extinct and rare flora is my specialty as I’m sure you can tell. That there is a Golden Flince and it has…. Ooh, remarkable properties. I can sell you a book all about Flinces for only 50 copper coins! What a deal! You would indeed be a fool to pass it up. Incautious use of the Flince can lead to unforeseeable consequences. WAIT! Where are you going you wretched girl?? Don’t be daft! Only 30 copper coins! 30!!! How can you deny…” his voice trailed off as the Rhouala, exhausted by his insistent proffering, wandered off into the evening.
She sat on a bench for a spell watching the night wind down, mainly due to the inability of the attendees to buy, eat, or drink any more. She made her way slowly back to the inn, where she had a small room on the third, topmost floor. There were a couple stragglers who had not been fortunate enough to gain access to a room and who had lost consciousness in the main hall. They were now being mercilessly harassed by Lilius, who had traded the wooden spoon in favor of a broom, and who was swatting at the bedraggled pair and shooing them towards the door.
Rhouala went back towards her room, but as she passed the second floor on the quiet stairwell, she paused to look curiously, yet cautiously, at the door of the man she had been so unusually cautioned against. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary and all was quiet. Her curiosity overwhelmed her good sense, and she crept to the door after removing her shoes as silently as possible.
Pressing her ear to the door she heard low voices, there was clearly more than one, as one was the voice of someone far more aged, and the other a somewhat low, musical tenor of an adult male. There was a sudden shuffle, muffled whispers and the sound of fabric, like sheets being spread onto a mattress. Footsteps approached the door and as fast as she possibly could Rhouala made for the stairs, as there was no nook or cranny in the hallway to duck into. She had just set her feet onto the stairs when there was a loud creak and a distinct cough. She cringed at her own stupidity and composed herself quickly before she turned around.
The man before her was probably human, though there was a sudden and overpowering emanation of surrealism from him. It was there and gone, like a wave, but it made her whole frame shudder briefly and fiercely. He seemed not to notice and smiled up at Rhouala, who had already advanced a step or two up the staircase.
“May I be of assistance miss?” asked the tall, somewhat lean man. Rhouala examined his face and found a slight trace of amused irritation, but whatever had made her so suddenly uncomfortable was almost instantly gone, and she smiled meekly back.
“I’m sorry sir, I’m the serving girl, and I heard voices…” Her excuse sounded lame even to her own ears and she trailed off.
“Yes, I often speak to myself, it helps me focus” he replied, and though she knew perfectly well he was lying, she decided it was far beyond her business to inquire further and made as if to curtsy a good evening.
“Wait, miss, please gift me with your name, so that I may address you as something other than “serving girl””? His smile was crooked, his lips somewhat plump and altogether quite dashing. Wickedly sharp blue eyes were placed on a somewhat square face, an agreeable nose, and a head topped with dark blonde curls cropped short. He had a very old scar, perhaps from childhood, which ran down the far left side of his face, from eyebrow to cheekbone. It contributed to a distinctly irregular balance that gave his face such character that Rhouala found herself almost powerless against his charisma.
“Rhouala Havenham” she stuttered out, her face growing a florid shade of red, out of embarrassment that she had thought to impede on the privacy of such a well meaning gentleman.
“Well, Rhouala, I am Galen, and should you find you do need anything, you clearly know where my door is, and you are most welcome to enlist me into your employment at any time. I am indeed here to provide a wealth of mystical services, as well as being a passable swordsman.” He paused briefly and walked up to the lobster-red Rhouala. He took her hand from its sad position of dangling limply at her side and held it up in his own.
“Oh, indeed! Why Miss Rhouala, you are most decidedly in the wrong line of work, as I initially suspected. I see from your aura that you also made a mystical purchase tonight. A Flince? HA! Oh, those trolls and their salesmanship...” He chuckled and released her hand. “I hope he didn’t convince you it had great magical prowess?”
“Oh no!” she exclaimed “I simply bought it to look at. It’s quite lovely.” She pulled it from her satchel and held it up in the light. The amber caught the firelight from the main hall, where even still Lilius could be heard cursing. The flower itself was immaculately preserved, which until this point Rhouala had virtually been unaware of. Its petals looked as though they would be fresh and fragrant were the amber to vanish. They both studied it for a moment in silence. Galen spoke slowly and carefully.
“Yes, it is indeed a most beautiful trinket, though sadly not good for anything but a paperweight. Happily though, you are clearly a wise young lady, and have made this prediction yourself. Well, I have much studying to attend to. You will, I hope, have a wonderful evening. Goodnight Miss Rhouala.” Galen turned around and strode back into his room. He shut the door without turning around and after a moment of dumb immobility, Rhouala crawled up the stairs and into her own dear bed, where she fell asleep without even bothering to undress herself.

3. A Happy Coincidence
Rhouala woke the next morning and prepared herself for one of the busiest days of the year. Perhaps if she had been born a man, or into a different species, she could have been an apprentice at a respectable trade of some kind, as she was certainly handy enough to do so. She could be a wandering minstrel, for though her voice was not the sweetest to be heard, she could hold her own with a lute. How aggravating then, she thought as she pulled on rough knee-high socks, that she must like every morning hide her personality, skill, and dreams under the course brown dress and head scarf of a barmaid. After wrestling with her shoes she stood up, straightened her back, and examined herself in the cracked partial mirror that occupied her sparsely furnished room. She perhaps could have afforded some new things, but she was, in point of fact, saving her money for a trip. She had not yet decided where or when, but a vacation was very much in order after this year’s celebration. Somewhere quiet, she thought, and came out of her room and down the stairs into the Black Pony’s main hall, into which hungry guests were just beginning to file.
The day went on as one might expect. Rhouala was a professional at crowds; of swatting away the fingers of pickpockets and perverts, of hearing slurred orders placed half a room away, of being asked, begged, or threatened for a room to stay in, of removing those who were to intoxicated to do so themselves, and of collecting what was due when the customers attempted to dodge out without emptying their pockets.
From above, say for instance the second floor balcony, it would have looked like a frantic ballet. Trays with fried fish and bowls of stew, brown bread, and shanks of meat, of tankards of ale and wine all balanced and spinning to and fro at remarkable speed from one side of the hall to the other. There were other dancers too, but they were far more graceless and there was much spilled, broken and bumped into by the other serving girls. To an observer (of which there happened to be one), Rhouala would have stood out like a feline among buffoons, skirts whirling out as she spun in one direction, then another, without spilling so much as a single drop of wine.
The cool fall day wore on and evening slowly crept in, causing the shadows to stretch and envelop the town slowly. Rhouala took a break outside, watching the performers come and go, and massaging her sore feet. Only two days (after tonight) remained of the Harvest Festival, and though it was a gala affair, she would not be so sorry to see it end.
Shortly thereafter, Rhouala was on her way to the garbage heap with the most recent load of refuse when she heard heavy footsteps and breathing. She looked to the tree line which lay directly past the garbage heap and saw the silhouette of a man, bent over, one hand on the trunk, seeming to gasp and moan in dismay. She dropped off the trash and stood for a moment in the ambient light that diffused out the windows of the Pony.
“Hello?” Called Rhouala cautiously “Who’s there? Are you hurt?” She didn’t move but waited for a response, while reaching into her pocket for her tiny switchblade, just to be safe. She wrapped her hand around the small comforting object and squeezed, calmed by the presence of it.
“Rhouala!” called the man “It is I, Anvor! I am in desperate pain, oh please help me Rhouala!!!” he called to her, and limply reached the hand not supporting his frame out in her direction. In it, he also held a bottle of wine with only a small measure left.
Anvor. Oh, for goodness sakes, thought Rhouala to herself. He was clearly filled from boot to hat with booze, and was supporting himself on the tree, Rhouala could see in the evening light as her eyes adjusted to the dimness outdoors. He showed no apparent injuries at all, at least not from a glance, though he did seem to be in either acute physical or mental anguish, however, she stood her ground and did not move towards or away from the massive form of Anvor.
“PLEASE Rhouala! My heart and body ache for your embrace, I am a lost man, and I believe I shall die if you do not alter your decision and return with me at this very instant!!!!” He gripped his chest as if he were keeping his heart from bursting out of his chest, but was thrown off balance by the movement and stumbled for a moment before he regained his posture. Rhouala considered Alvor’s drunkenness to be entirely unsurprising, as a great deal of his time had been spent in celebration of the week’s end, the harvest beginning, ending, the sun setting, the cat catching a rodent, or the grass growing. Rhouala had made the mistake of being charmed by Alvor’s initial sweetness, and had begun to spend some afternoons that she did not work with him, only to discover that he was not only remarkably fond of drink and women, but that he was also possessed of a great aversion to actual labor, and avoided it at all costs. The more she had gotten to know Alvor, the less she cared for him, and the more he cared for her. When she one late afternoon he had attempted to convince her to participate with himself in an evening of wine and graphic lovemaking, followed by a quick wedding, after which Alvor would *promise* to find a job if only Rhoala would support him for a few years, she finally lost her patience and gave him a long deserved smack across the face and stomped home. He had trailed her for some time, apologizing and modifying the terms of his suggestion. Finally he became enraged and began to shout names at her, but by then she had reached the Pony, and Lilius had been there to chase him off, which she had done with gusto.
But now he stood, his six and a half food frame sagging slightly and his face clearly the subject of a fight or three. He called to her
“Oh Rhouala, beautiful flower Rhouala, what a madman I have been! What a FOOL! I shall perform any feat of bravery, beat any man or woman to a pulp, I would do anything you asked if only you would let me into your room! I have been cruelly evicted from my very own house and I have nowhere to sleep but on this cold hard ground, and every time I close my eyes I am tortured by dreams of you and your soft, warm skin. I have never done more than hold your hand, oh coy and demure Rhouala. What a great comfort it would be, if only you would let me into your room. Ask anything of me, ANYTHING and I shall perform the task as long as my reward is your pillow, oh sweet, young, tender lady!”
Rhouala snorted disdainfully and asked
“Well then, for what no doubt illegitimate reason have you been heaved from your room Alvor? Did you neglect to pay the rent again- or rather, was it somehow lost or stolen from your innocent possession?” Alvor wheedled pathetically
“It is so much worse than that Rhouala! I have lost all the money that my kindly parents left to me when a cheater came to my 4-card-bigsy table and took it all from me! Oh it is too cruel! The false bastard cheated, I KNOW it, but I could not divine by what manner before he departed!” Alvor moaned and approached Rhoala, who was dwarfed by the brutish hulking drunk. She backed away towards the pony. “Alvor, you make highly unwise choices, and your desires do not align with mine at all. There is nothing I want from you and I have no intention of sharing my bed with you, this evening or ever. The Inn, as you know full well is booked far beyond capacity and I have no ability to find a free place for you to sleep. Go to the Temple. Perhaps they can assist you. Now I go to bed. Alone, Alvor.”
Alvor wobbled for a moment, clearly trying to decide what to do. He rubbed his red face and pushed a bit of dangling brown hair away from his small, dark eyes.
“You will not help dear old Alvor who I know you still care about? Will you not even help him with enough coins to buy a new bottle of wine?” He guzzled what remained in the bottle he had and looked down at the petite but proud young barmaid.
“No Alvor, you have had quite enough, now be off with you.” Alvor bristled, his woe slowly turning to rage
“How dare you tease me like that? You lead me on for weeks and then toss me as though I were a bit of unwanted garbage! You are a barmaid Rhouala, not a princess! That makes you a whore, and a cheap one at that! I see all the men you talk to, I know you devote your attentions towards them and not me, though it is I that needs you! You will come with me! I have made up my mind! You are a trollop who does not know her place, but I shall show you!!!!”
He grabbed her before she had any time to react, and though he was as drunk as is humanly possible, he was still massively strong and at least two and a half times the size of poor Rhouala. She managed to maintain her hold on the small knife she carried, but with his meaty arms grasping her she could not reach to open it, so she gripped it tightly and simply did her best to kick Alvor where it would hurt the most, sadly to no avail.
Alvor had indeed been known for his occasionally violent outbursts, for which he would later regret sorely, but some people are influenced far more than others when hormones, alcohol, and anger problems collide. As he tore off into the woods with his captive, Alvor tried to formulate some kind of a plan to follow, but even sober, he was not the brightest fairy light on the string and eventually opted to simply satisfy his desires and be done with it, so that perhaps his mind could finally be rid of Rhouala’s endless presence. It was quite dark and she was struggling furiously, so after a spell he stopped and, panting and sweating excitedly, began to unfasten his breeches. Perhaps now she would not be so high and mighty! Alvor thought to himself with a satisfied grin. Alvor gripped Rhouala’s wrists above her head against the trunk of a tree and shook his finger at her menacingly, again preventing her from accessing her hidden blade.
“Now just stay quiet and I’ll be through with you soon enough. You need to learn your PLACE girl, and I shall be the one to show you!” But at that moment Alvor’s eyes became as large as saucers. He made a strange and indistinct croaking noise, and the horrified Rhouala watched as a tiny thread of blood leaked out of the side of his mouth. It dripped onto the leaves below and for several seconds that seemed to her to stretch into hours, Alvor wavered and swayed strangely, his eyes focusing on a far distant point, and then he crumpled and fell to the earth and lay still. Rhouala looked down and saw clearly; protruding from his back was an arrow, buried so deeply in that it had no doubt punctured his heart. She called out quietly, her voice shaky from the shock of what had almost transpired.
“Hello? Who has killed Alvor? Who has rescued myself and preserved my dignity?”
A dark figure stepped quickly into a beam of moonlight sifting through the trees.
“That would be me, Miss Rhouala” Said Galen, who held in one arm a bow, and over his shoulder a quiver. “I don’t suppose I could offer to see you home safely?” he suggested. Rhouala took on stride, then another, then another and finally, standing inches from the man who had saved her, collapsed into tears and nodded furiously. Galen silently put his arms around the hysterical maiden for a moment, and then led her, one arm about her shoulders, back to the warm glow of the Black Pony.

4. Galen’s Proposition
As they entered the back door of the inn, Lilius looked over to see the distraught and disheveled Rhouala being led by the very man she had warned him against, and for whom she felt a powerful aversion. She watched them enter the main hall and move quickly to the stairs, but she managed to intercept the pair and began to immediately scream at Galen, already convinced of his guilt.
“What have you done to this poor maiden you monstrous ape?! Have you no shame at all??? If you have hurt or defiled this child I will myself be happy to tear you limb from limb and feed your entrails to my dogs! Release her at ONCE you perverted brute!” Galen took his hand off of his ward and held up his palms innocently.
“I am not a rapist Madame! I merely snatched this poor creature from the talons of a horrible man when I encountered him assaulting her in the woods; I swear to you I have not harmed her!” Rhouala wiped her face upon her filthy sleeve and looked up at Lilius, who was preparing to strike Galen with the frying pan she currently wielded.
“It is true ma’am! What he says is true. This kind man has done me a great service, and has prevented Alvor from doing me great harm. He now lies in the woods yonder” she pointed “with an arrow in his back. Please, allow me to retire in my own fashion and perhaps tomorrow I will be recovered.” Lilius stepped back and, her grip still white knuckled, she lowered the makeshift weapon.
“Very well, if it is as you say then this man has done us all a great service by assisting you. That filthy Alvor! I knew he was bad news from the very beginning; I would have killed him myself had I been there… Oh you poor dear child!” Her face softened and she ushered them to the staircase. Wish only a slightly suspicious gaze she watched Galen escort the sagging, bedraggled Rhouala up to her room. When they reached her door she paused and gazed down at her filthy torn stockings and realized she was missing a shoe. She almost burst into tears again, but held them back and asked:
“Oh, Mister Galen, Will you please sit with me for a spell while I gather my thoughts? I know it seems improper but I feel that being alone at this moment would cause me great distress” Galen looked down at her pretty, tear stained face.
“Of course miss; I would consider it my duty to do so.” And together they entered her room and sat in adjacent chairs by the window in silence, listening to the rampant celebration downstairs reach a fever pitch as the stars came out and the moon rose.
Eventually, after sitting mutely for a long time, Galen spoke.
“Rhouala, I must confess to you that tonight, when I helped you, it was because I have been both following you and observing your movements. Do not think me crass, and this may not be the time for it, but forthrightness seems appropriate after what happened. I was not following you for any sinister reasons, but rather because I have been anonymously hired to transport you to the city of Troicinet, on the far northern coast. I was to perform this task with, or without your permission, but given the circumstances, I think you will want to go.”
Rhouala sat in shocked silence for another moment, and asked Galen
“What on earth for? And by whom? What use could I possibly be to anyone in Troicinet, unless they have a shortage of barmaids? And for that matter, of what use could Troicinet possibly be to me?! If you are planning on kidnapping me I’d at least like to know these few basic facts.” Galen smiled vaguely, made a gently dismissive sweep with his hand, and replied
“Well, I can’t say by whom because I myself am not even certain, though their instructions were quite specific. I can tell you with certainty that you will not come to any harm at their hands or mine, because I DO know why I have been hired for this job.”
“Well, go on then, it’s not as if anything could traumatize me more that I already have been.” She bravely tried to smile (though it looked more like a grimace) and stood up. She moved to the wash basin and splashed her face, took down her mangled bun, removed the ivory sticks which were miraculously intact, and began pulling leaves out of her matted hair. Galen smoothed his deep brown peasant shirt and crossed his long legs. He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward somewhat, and regarded Rhouala seriously.
“You and I are… shall we say, similar. This is the reason I have been sent to collect you.” He turned and looked out the window again. “Last night, when I told you that you were in the wrong line of work- I was dead serious. About five years ago, I lived in Mintang, south of here, near the Pejong delta. I was just a scrappy young ruffian, and the son of a farmer. I had a visit from a man who told me, essentially what I am telling you now, which is that you have a powerful gift, and that your age, along with the current season and something to do with the planetary alignment – in addition to your parentage- culminate in one of two outcomes. Either you will die, or you will become a powerful seer, as I have been lucky enough to.” Rhouala laughed and narrowed her eyes.
“You can’t be serious. My parentage is not remotely special. You must have me confused with someone else, sir, and for that I am sorry. You have clearly wasted your time and energies saving me.” She turned back to her mirror and began to brush out her matted locks. Galen sighed.
“Did you not hear what I said? I am the son of a farmer? My bloodline is no more apparently unusual that yours, but both of our mothers share a shameful, yet oddly fortuitous secret. Both of them had affairs at one time or another with sorcerers, and whether they were aware of the professions of their partners or not, they were nonetheless affected by long term exposure to supernatural vapors. Though it had no direct affect upon them, it did indeed have great affect upon their unborn children- that would be you and me. When we turn twenty five full seasonal cycles old, we MUST undergo certain… tasks and procedures… and if we do not, then our powers turn sour, and become a dark illness which seeps the life from us. It is up to you, though, to decide if you care to accompany me back to Troicinet. Regardless of what I have been instructed I have decided that I will not take you without your permission. There’s been quite enough of that for one night.”
Rhouala’s hand, still holding the brush, became still. She turned Galen’s claims over in her head. Her first question following a period of deep skeptical consideration was:
“If I am to suspend my overpowering disbelief, and give you the benefit of the doubt, since following me or not, you did preserve my safety and dignity; if I am supposed to have some sort of supernatural gift, why is it exactly that I have yet to be able to experience anything of the sort? I have never had any visions, nor have I manifested any sort of mystical skills at all. Ever. So how on earth can I accept the proclamation that I have any sort of “sight” beyond what my own two eyes provide me with?” Rhouala narrowed her gaze at the suave man who now sat by her window looking smug. “Would it not be more logical to deduce that you wish to transport me as a slave, or an indentured wife? I may not have magical gifts, but I am young, healthy, and female. I know what happens to overly trusting women, as it almost befell me this very evening, and beyond that I do not wish to be a slave of anyone- which seems to me the likely outcome should I put my trust in your claims.” Galen made an exaggerated shrug and pointed up to the sky.
“You see the moon? It has waned almost entirely. I am told by others more knowledgeable than myself in this area that moon phases are also an element in predicting the time that these skills will manifest. This day, Rhouala, is as close to your birthday as anyone can guess at, since your mother was remiss in recording the date with the town scribes. But my employers have done their research, and have entrusted me to come here this very week, for they suspect that they should be manifesting within the next few days. If you choose not to believe me, that is fine. I won’t hold it against you. But you will certainly perish without my assistance, and for that reason I will be lodging here until the end of the Harvest Festival, and after that, I will be gone.”
Rhouala sat down again and leaned in close to Galen. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders, now shining and black, framing her round, moonlike face. They studied one another for a moment, until she said cautiously
“Very well. We will wait. You have obtained a great deal of trust from me tonight, and I hope I have spent it wisely. If anything... Unprecedented happens I will contact you, and we will make the journey together. If, as I suspect, nothing happens, then you have wasted a perfectly good Harvest Festival trailing and monitoring an ordinary girl, waiting for her to suddenly become extraordinary. I will sleep now.” She said, and briskly began to fluff her pillows in a clear invitation for Galen to depart. He stood up, stretched his long body and yawned, and made for the door. Before he left he turned and in a voice that seemed extremely ominous to Rhouala said
“If you find your balance suddenly vanishes, your vision to turns grey, your hearing becomes notably muffled, or if you become afflicted with an intractable migraine, please come and see me at once.” He shut the door and Rhouala stood still listening to his footsteps traverse down one flight, then to the left. She waited until she heard his door open and close beneath her to move. She still held a half fluffed pillow in her hand, and she sat down on her bed, clutching in her lap, just trying her best to process everything that had occurred that evening. When she realized it was pointless, she changed into her nightgown and crawled into her bed, though sleep was decidedly and utterly, impossible.

5. Rhouala's Dream
The following day passed without incident, though Lilius and Thalius both insisted that Rhouala take the evening off, even though it was their busiest time of the year, because they were in complete agreement that a bit of joviality would brighten the traumatized girl’s spirits up considerably. They instructed her to eat, drink and be merry- to obliterate any foul memories of Alvor that might cause her distress at point. They hired a temporary barmaid who was far less qualified but nevertheless capable, and refused to allow Rhouala to work at all, even in the most menial capacity.
She set off through the streets of Jonagund, weaving past food carts, street performers, and trinket wagons and made her way to the shore of the small river that ran through the town. She selected an empty bench and, after purchasing a container of hot spiced wine, she reclined comfortably and gazed across the river at the opposing shore, where a seemingly endless line of trees was illuminated with vibrant and miraculous color, to indicate the coming of winter. Every time a gust of wind reached its chilly tentacles through the grove, it seemed to snow briefly, but rather than a storm of white, Rhouala watched reds, yellows, greens, oranges, and maroons cyclone together and then drift to the already blanketed ground. She shivered and pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, thinking about the events of the past few days and attempting to reconcile herself with them. She had seen the dead before, but had never seen a man killed, and the look on Alvor’s face as it dawned on him that he had only seconds to live recurred in her mind’s eye over and over again. The dripping of the blood from his mouth to the leaves below, and moments before all that the extreme risk she had faced- the almost certain harm she would have come to at the hands of Alvor if not for Galen… Galen, what a peculiar man he was. She suspected that he was not who he claimed, but he had performed such a service for her that she felt obligated to give him the benefit of the doubt. She wondered about his abilities. He had indeed demonstrated some eeriness, though the information he had given her could be a combination of speculation and talented spying. She had experienced a moment of extreme surreality, and apparently so had Lilius, which was, she suspected, why Lilius had warned her in the first place. Again, however, this was easily dismissed as any number of things. She was so deeply lost in thought that she barely when the sun reached its zenith then turned down again and began to make its long journey to the horizon. As the day grew dimmer, and she swallowed the dregs of her wine, she looked up to see Galen approaching with a replacement mug. She smiled and took it from him gratefully. Deep, warm, and earthy smells of honey and spices combined with the heated wine was Rhouala’s personal fall favorite.
“How did you know?” Rhouala asked as the pulled the steaming mug towards her lips. “Part of your mystical powers?” she gave him a wry glance and he chuckled and sat down next to her.
“No, simply random chance, I’m afraid. It happens to be a regional favorite of mine as well. Where I lived in Mintong they make rice wine which I do not imagine would translate well and no other kingdom seems to have the ability to recreate this fantastic potion. She blew a curl of steam off the top of hers and sipped gratefully.
“I hadn’t realized how dark it had gotten!” Rhouala exclaimed “I should get back before my toes turn to ice!” She began to stand up off of the bench and was suddenly very dizzy. She wavered a bit and Galen quickly set down his mug and made to steady her. “I’m fine; I’m fine, I’ve just been sitting in one place for far too long.” She explained. Galen rose anyway, because he noted that though she claimed her condition was not serious, she nevertheless was beginning to swoon. He caught her just as she began to topple, and he looked down at her eyes as she phased out of consciousness and into the dreamlike state that he himself was intimately familiar with. Her eyelids quivered as her pupils darted back and forth beneath them in a sudden, forced dream state.
Galen lifted Rhouala onto the bench, and laid her out as comfortably as possible. Thankfully, he looked up and saw they were somewhat shielded from the festival by the trees and foliage near the riverfront, so there were not any curious passersby to have to explain anything to. He reached his hand down and brushed the hair that had fallen into her face aside, and squatted on the ground, at eye level with the unconscious Rhouala. He studied her face as she experienced, for the first time, the powerful and potentially deadly sight which he had lived with for years. After a moment he sat down and made himself comfortable on the ground, took a sip of his exceptional spiced wine, and patiently waited for the vision to run its course.
As Rhouala dropped towards the ground, her last conscious memory was of arms beneath her, catching her and preventing her from hitting the ground.
After that, it would be difficult to describe the sensations that she experienced, as it is difficult to relay the essence of a dream to a curious friend, however, if one can appreciate that there is a great deal about dreaming that cannot be put into words, then one might begin to understand the strangeness of Rhouala’s vision. It was not like a dream exactly, though it shared many of the unearthly characteristics of one. It was far more vivid, and rather more linear at some points and less at others. First there was red everywhere; deep, velvety crimson that hung like a smoky curtain through her mind. Her dream-self realized she was standing, and looked down at her feet. There they were, wearing the same shoes she had put on that very morning, but there appeared to be no floor or ground of any kind, merely space and color. She began walking and saw only the red, which became more distinctly smoke as she moved forward, compelled by the same sort of motivation that drives us in a dreams to perform tasks that otherwise would seem illogical.
She walked through the red smoke which then became a vicious blackish grey color that prevented her from seeing anything much further than her nose. Eventually, coughing and eyes stinging from the burning wood that she approached, she began to heard horrible screams and wails and as the smoke billowed and cleared somewhat, she found herself in a village that was being burnt to the ground. Indistinct figures in robes stood as still as stone as the villagers ran screaming from their flaming homes, tearing at their own hair, their eyes, their clothing, and crying out to various deities for salvation from torment. She hid behind an as yet untouched hut and tried, without success, to cover her ears with her dream hands- which had no effect; neither did closing her eyes, so she listened in unwilling horror to the woman who was still inside the home she hunched next to. It sounded like nonsense to Rhouala. She picked out some of the garbled cries and laments:
“My Bayyyybeeee… oh my… NO!!! NOT Like THAT it’s horrible!!!! STOP IT! STOP IT IT’s going to KILL me!!! Someone HELP! I must KILL IT FIRST!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!” and at that moment a blood soaked young woman ran naked from the building eyes wild and teeth barred like a wild animal. She howled with savage victory and sprung upon another villager. After a brief struggle, the nude, blood soaked woman came up with what appeared to be a large bite of bloody skin and flesh. The now dead loser of the altercation lay motionless on the grass. The nude woman stood up and began to moan and curse at the sky, her hair clumped together into bloody mats, and her arms waving impotently at the sky. She, along with everyone else, seemed unaware of the robed sentinels that continued to monitor the horrific scene of carnage. As the nude woman Rhouala had been watching locked her eyes on another villager, the other villager did likewise, and they leapt on one another shredding flesh and tearing skin until they both finally collapsed, either dead or too wounded to continue.
Rhouala stood up and began to wander about, now aware that this was, indeed, a vision, and not some catastrophic and sudden reality. She was no longer afraid, and made her way around charred corpses, severed limbs, wailing, rabid, and completely mad citizens, and the strange hooded figures, who appeared to be as unaware of her presence as the rest of the townspeople.

All Quiet on the Western Front

Tue, 13 Oct 2009 19:25:03 GMT

Religious man

I miss you all but I'm still just not feeling my LJ.

Hunter makes kitty magic

More Magic

Lost but not Forgotton

Wed, 30 Sep 2009 02:50:15 GMT

Ok, so- wow- I really haven't been on LJ much recently, but fun things have happened:

I got another FANTASTIC box from fry1138 and novemberbug which was a bloody blast to go through, and i have, in turn, just shipped off a couple mix-cds to Fry this very day. (I also sent a bithday box to icarus_fell today)

Plus I got this

really cool letter and antique postcard from knit which just tickled me pink.

Oh, and the AMAZING theeflappergirl sent me a limited edition haloween coffee cozy that is so awesome that I dismantled my portable cup so that I could PERMANENTLY affix the cozy to it.
If you are as drooly over it as I am, get your own:
http://flappergirl.org/

I've finished tearing up the carpet and redoing the floor in the study, in preparation for our soon to be new roommate, I got a letter from Look at That Fucking Hipster dotcom letting me know my photo will be published in their new book, and I've begun the fun but time consuming process of making acorn flour from nuts I collected from shedding oak trees.

Boy- I've been a busy chickadee, but I just can't be bothered to blog about it recently. I don't know what's up with my headspace regarding LJ.

So yeah- sorry folks, I'm here, just mostly playing stoopid Facebook games and zoning out on Hulu.
I think this says it all:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6rNgCnY1lPg

I hope all of you have been well

Now, here's my recent people:

Busboy

Tue, 22 Sep 2009 08:02:04 GMT

Posing another big one tomorrow, but I don't have everything I need for it so it will have to wait.

Till then, here's a beautiful boy-child I saw on the bus

And a man reading the paper

Oh so much to tell!!!!!!!!

Tue, 15 Sep 2009 10:45:35 GMT

It's been quite a few days- I'm sorry to all of you who just got comments I left on 10-day-old posts. My apathy is overwhelming sometimes.
But HAY- I'm here now with so much to share!!!

First off- I finished painting the study, FINALLY- and now just have to rip up the carpet and sand/ finish the floor... just. *sigh* yeah-
But we GOT A ROOMMATE. He's a friend-quaintence of ours who we both adore but hardly ever see. Christopher is highly gay and highly awesome. He's into really great movies, he's clean, quiet, has awesome taste, and, well- I just can't say enough how happy I am to get him. I think it's going to be grand, and we'll be making 450- a month that will cover our evil winter heating bills, and now we'll be able to buy FOOD and possibly even PAY THE MORTGAGE on time. AMAZING.
It won't be till November, which gives me time to clear out the library:

and relocate ALL OF THAT CRAP elsewhere so he will have somewhere to live.

Therefore, my remodeling (painting and carpet removal) (the room was blood red and black, now it's pale grey-purple and white= lots of paint) of the old study (which will be the new library) has to get DONE.

Much painting and cleaning has been done this weekend, and now I'm back to work-

as a matter of fact- on that note- I'm working 2 weeks on the graveyard shift. 10pm to 10 am- today is my first. It's 3am and a bit.... surreal. But very peaceful.

What else have I been up to?
Well- I finished the CAT YARN project (part one- this is going to definately continue since i had such success)- I made about 12 feet of cat-twine, which became 6 feet when put together and 3 feet when twisted in half. I soaked it in water, and discovered that it was REALLY STRONG. I didn't have enough to KNIT a cat toy, so instead I constructed one in basket-weaving fashion with red thread- and stuffed it with catnip.
So far the reaction has been: Bafflement, sniffing, disintrest, OBOYFUNBATBAT, disintrest, sniffing again, disintrest, slight fear, more sniffing, forgotton.

*****************************************************************
Yes, I've saved the best for last.

I got MAIL.

two AWESOME things came for me in the past few days.

CCCP (http://www.roostertree.com/ccccp.html) the comic book in which I seem to be on every other page in some capacity!!!! AWESOME.

On one side Wrist Slashing Girl and on the other my photo comic Rose. Also included are Shockingly True Tales of a Car Title Loan Officer and THe Tragic Tale of Lou the Self Aware Housefly, both of which I wrote and were skillfully comic-o-fied by awesome peeps. There's also a ton of other cool stuff in here- and includes works by strahlend31, fry1138, klaproth_1, shoe5005, and wbm, who I may add also magnificently compiled, edited, and published this totally rad thing.
Do yourself a favor, BUY ONE!

And yesterday, Hunter answered the door to discover the mail lady had something totally and unspeakably cool for me...
A PACKAGE FROM ENGLAND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

From the unspeakably cool fry1138

HOLY CRAP LOOKIT ALL THAT LOOT!

Kooky English candy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The local paper, which unlike the PORTLAND Mercury (http://www.portlandmercury.com/portland/new-column/Content?oid=1639856), doesn't host it's own amateur porno contest, but instead reports the quiet and peaceful daily goings on in Subury.
Though they do call the Help Wanted section of the paper "recruitment" which sounds a little naughty if you ask me.

OYAY Gummies and a nifty notepad which has already begun to be filled by my chicken scratching

I'm calling him Fry Jr, and I discovered that if you hurl him to the ground or shake him violently he flashes colored lights!!!!!!! WEEE!!!!!

REAL TEA. I've never had real english tea before. I'll be making myself some as soon as I'm done with my pot of coffee. I'm very curious and excited. Also, a really neet travel brocure that makes me want to go to England RIGHT NOW

As if the brocure weren't torturous enough here's a book full of UNEARTHLY beautiful landscapes and buildings. I started salivating and trying to eat the pages until Hunter wrestled it from me

ZOMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's my favorite new hat!!!! Please, knit and daoine_o- Your super SUPER awesome headgear will get worn and loved ALL THE DAMN TIME once it cools down. I'm just such a HAT FIEND, every time I get a new one- I just about pop- and this one's from ENGLAND! And it's got ear danglies on it!!!!!! And a British flag pin that Fry included which I've affixed ot the front.
OHIISSOHAPPY!

And lastly some monies I'll save and spend when I finally go to Oceania in about a zillion years and a really neet little knight fellow who is going to live on my kitchen mantle with the other bizarre little figurines I seem to amass.

What a fan-freaking-tasticly awesome time I had going through all that.

The candy is now my work stash, and as soon as my bloodsugar drops I'm going to stuff my face with it.

HUZAHHHHHHH!

Room mate horror

Wed, 09 Sep 2009 02:30:29 GMT

So I've worked up a list of "here's some stuff to help us get along" and I've been reading about tenant and landlord laws, taxes, agreements and all kinds of boring shit.

As a treat to myself I was seeing if I could find some really great roommate horror stories, because they're always hillarious.

Well, I just struck GOLD.

so so so many lols.

"07/19/2007 chris r. says:

after college i was renting a house with four other guys. one of which didn't pay rent, and we all paid extra for his share. why? because he found the place. being that the rent was only 350.00 for each of us, and i got there months after everyone moved in, so i didn't care. the problem with this guy was that he didn't work, would steal all of our food and would fly into rages over absolutely nothing.

one example of his rages: we had our girlfriends over and had rented some movie. halfway through the movie, he came downstairs and announced to everyone that he had a date and that he needed help. it wasn't a polite question, it sounded more like a demand. we figured he needed to borrow money or something, but no, he wanted one of us to shave his neck. i don't know about anyone else, but i'm not going to shave someone else's neck. also, we were in the middle of a movie. when no one answered he screamed "WHAT THE $%^# is wrong with all of you?" i said "can you keep it down? we're watching a movie." so he did what any normal person would do. he went into the kitchen and started breaking dishes.

he worked out a lot, and we eventually learned (later on, from the girl he went out with that night) that he was on steroids. i'm all for minding my own business and not bothering people with what they happen to or happen not to indulge in, but when you fly into rages and the veins in your neck look like they are going to explode while telling people you are going to "hack them to bits", then it's everyone's problem.

then he started buying guns. we didn't know why. we lived in a safe neighborhood where maybe the worst thing that could happen is your car stereo getting stolen. all of us got together and decided that it wasn't safe for a person in this state to have guns. we talked to him about it and said we would all feel better if he got rid of the guns or put them in storage. he said "$@$# no" stormed off and we didn't see him for a couple of days. in that time i took them to a gun shop and just told the owner, "find a way to disable these, i'll pay you whatever" i think he removed the firing pins or something, i'm not sure because i'm not up on guns.

finally, not long after, i decided that i would happily pay three times as much rent for my own place just to not deal with this. i told the guy that i wanted my security deposit back, or, if he wished, it could be used for my last month's rent. he told me with a straight face "no can do, i spent it to buy a new hard drive for my computer." that was when i decided that i was going to make his life hell until i moved out.

i knew he had a very deep and real fear of clowns. i took a small boombox, and found a recording of really creepy circus music. i put the music on a cassette, for 1 minute at a time, spaced 15 minutes apart on both sides of a 90 minute tape. the boombox had continuous play, so once one side was up it would just continue on to the next side. i told my other roommates what i was going to do, and everyone got very excited. while he was out, i put the boombox on the roof, right above his window, turned it up full blast pressed play and went back inside.

he got home and went straight to bed. about an hour later he pounded on all our doors and seemed genuinely freaked out. he said he heard clown music. he said it only happened every so often. we, with straight faces, asked him if he was high or drunk. he said "no, no, i really hear it. everyone come in my room and listen, please. i'm not making this up" so we all went inside the room and as soon as we all sat down the music came on. he said "see! see! i wasn't making it up!" and we looked at him and told him we didn't hear anything. then he got really freaked out. more freaked out than maybe i have ever seen anyone. we all went back to bed. the quiet of the night was broken up with him yelling "SHUT UP, SHUT UP!" over and over. i actually started to feel a little bad, but quickly remembered what a horrible human being he was. before dawn broke i quietly went up on the roof and removed the boombox.

a couple of months later i went out to eat with my old roommates (without the psycho) and the psycho's ex girlfriend. she hated him even more than we did, so we let her in on what i had done. she suddenly got this look of seriousness and concern and said "chris, i know you didn't know this or anything, but he was molested by a clown when he was a kid."

i don't believe in a heaven or a hell, but if hell exists, i'm pretty sure this prank is a pretty solid strike against me."

source

Wow

Tue, 08 Sep 2009 20:44:53 GMT

Thanks Bioephemera for rocking my world yet again.

With titles like "The Thermodynamics of Pizza" , "Old Tractors and the Men Who Love Them", "Do in Yourself Coffins", "How to avoid Huge Ships", and "The Big Book of Lesbian Horse Sories"- just to name a FEW- Abe's Weird Book Room is a a site well worth perusing.

Art, Smile Seizure, and more on the room

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 17:58:10 GMT

Made a skeleton of an animal that doesn't exist out of various... parts I've collected. Interference green and some experimenting with layering watercolors, oil colors, and acrylics.
Fun
Yeah, I know, the lighting's not too good. I've really got to get a better one than this, but I was in a hurry this morning.

This guy had a very... false smile the whole ride- I think it was some kind of neurological problem, and it was especially disturbing.

If anyone knows anyone in Portland who might be interested in our Room-to-let, or if you're just a curious cat- here are some photos of it, and no, we havne't removed any furniture from the room YET.
http://s6.photobucket.com/albums/y206/ebatt/Room%20To%20Let/

ROOM-MATE NEEDED!

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 00:53:10 GMT

Portland friends:

Hunter and I are now officially looking for a roommate.

We are asking 375 a month with everything included.

We're not looking for anything truly permanent, maybe a year or so depending on our ability to coexist.

The room we have available is big and comfortable, storage endless, nice house, good company.
Our house is on the 10, 72 and 14 routes, we're quiet, private, and open-minded.
Please be respectful, clean, and not a kleptomaniac or a pathalogical liar.

If anyone know people looking for a place?
Give me a shout!

Pictoral Update

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 20:41:48 GMT

As promised- here's a lovely photo of the paper I made drying flat on my window.
The color was *significantly* lessened after it was dried, and I'm thinking about re-introducing some dye to reinvigorate it.
I made some red paper, some red and textured paper, and some white and gold, which is actually my favorite.

Handmade paper drying

The white and gold, made with gold model paint floated in the vat of paper mush before I formed the paper.
______________________________________________________________________________________________

I've also undertaken another bizarre project.
Since this photograph was taken, I now have twice as much-

I'm going to be making yarn out of my (three) cat's fur.

Who hasn't thought of doing this?
I mean, seriously?

Once I collect enough cat-twine
(it's just rolled between my palms and held together by it's own entanglement and a little, Aveda pomade which is a bit waxy and helps the strands stick together, and smell good) I'm going to twist and double it (or weave it or something), thereby creating yarn
(probably will end up a closer cousin of rope since it will be only 2, or possibly 3 stranded)
.... which I then plan to knit into a CATNIP TOY.

OH THE IRONY that will be.
Delightful.

Also, this is a better place for it than my couch/ floor/ body/ etc.

The beginnings of cat yarn

Funfact for the day:

Today I was interested to learn that Tim Allen (the lovable guy who brought us The Santa Claus) was actually born "Tim Allen Dick" which besides being a HORRIBLE name (for a repugnant guy), led me to discover he had once (in 1978) been arrested carrying 1.4 POUNDS OF COCAINE.
He gave up ALL of his buddies names and every bit of pertinent information (in exchange for a reduced sentence) like the sleazy, smarmy stool pigeon I always suspected he was.

You all probably already know this and I'm WAY behind the times- but man- I'm just sitting here thinking about those poor bastards who he turned in in exchange for his own freedom and hoping if they ever get out, that they're the types who carry vendettas... and switchblades.
Galaxy Quest is the only reason I haven't already joined a plot to assasinate this guy.

But wow..... WHAT A GREAT MUGSHOT!
The hair, the 'stache, the contemptuous grimace carefully under wraps... yeah... perfection.

Taking stock of the afternoon

Zest

Headless Harvard

Devil made me do it

Sat, 05 Sep 2009 13:13:32 GMT

creeping out of ducts and drains
dripping down to the dark wet street
sultry-like you run between the cracks
like the devil looking for idle hands
towards my feet as I walk by oblivious
to your advance
your metamorphosis is slow
almost undetectable
now molasses, slower, more purposeful
then thick and viscous and deep
take my feet, surround and embrace them and hold me still
tie me to the ground like a lover scorned
wrap up through my toes, around my ankles,
tie yourself hard around my thighs
hold tight and fierce
up my spine and around my fingertips
suck me down and curl me up in a spider's trap
but don't struggle
don't strain I say
let it go
let it go
Pull me down into the earth
take me deep where your roots are wild
wind me up and squeeze me breathless
crack my ribs jam through my
breastbone
encircle my heart and drip drip drip
my blood will fuel your rabid growth
underneath the city
through the sewers
with me at your center
bringing you life
my bones now lost in your roots and tendrils
my entrails now your food
my center now yours
my center now yours
but don't strain I say
let it go
let it go

CD Love at 3am

Thu, 03 Sep 2009 10:57:16 GMT

Okay, Okay, so it's not the same as making someone a good old TDK mixtape that broke after you played it 4 times and got tangled in your tape player and peed on by cats and had the most terrible sound (god I miss those).....
but I do love making people CDs.

It gives me a great opportunity/ excuse to sit down and go through all my music and say to myself over and over "I have great taste".
I listen to stuff I'd all but forgotten about, and Tonight I made one CD for icarus_fell to go in her uber belated birthday box, and two for fry1138 because I meant to before but ran out of CDrs.

Also, today I made paper! It's awesome! And MESSY!

T mobile albums are down for maintenance, but I'll post photos of it really soon- I made a bunch.

Also, it rained today, and I'm like a thirsty thirsty flower- this weather really makes me feel alive. Splattering and streaking down the windows and turning the streets black and shiny.
The weather gods are smiling on me.

Writer's Block: As the Cookie Crumbles

Wed, 02 Sep 2009 09:42:20 GMT

If you ran the fortune cookie factory, what message would you make sure gets put in a cookie?

Submitted By 123ekaterina

View 668 Answers

Thanks to wbm

Never done one of these, and somehow, one answer seems utterly insufficient.

Here are several, in no particular order:

"DOOM"

"Look forward to a year of great financial success, though all of your friends will be dead"

"Invest in string"

"Hopelessness is just the beginning"

"A long healthy life is truly overrated"

"Ling spat in the fortune cookie dough"

"You cannot turn back now, it is too late"

"Your lucky number is Pi"

"This message will self destruct in 5 seconds"

"Your wisdom grows as your genitals shrink"

"Happy thoughts now, for tomorrow there will be blood"

"Once a fool, always a fool"

"You should have gone to Taco Bell"

"The flowers in spring soon wither and die, just as you will"

"Confucius say "Wise men tip well, or find themselves beaten in an alley""

"Hope you didn't eat the egg rolls!"

"Your true love is out there, but you will never meet"

"buy life insurance, now."

"In the land of the blind the one eyed man is king"

"No one loves you"

"Life is bitter and cold"

"The new year will bring you poverty and despair"

"Family is important to you, but it shouldn't be"

"Your children will turn on you"

"Your god is a lie"

"Pray for sun, expect rain"

"Underneath it all, you are a terrible person"

"Hitler was right"

"Your misery brings joy to all"

"Start smoking"

"The universe regards your existence as meaningless"

"Deep down, you are beautiful, outside you are hideous"

"Your future is hilarious"

"Try again later"

"No"

"You will make an important decision, and you will choose wrong"

"You've got something stuck in your teeth"

"all your hard work will never pay off"

Dragonfly- thoughts, and etc

Tue, 01 Sep 2009 00:04:54 GMT

It's been quite a long time since I've posted twice in one day. Damn facebook and it's addictive flash games.

On lunch today I saw something wonderful and sad.
Some cute youngish urchins were holding vigil over something small that I couldn't see at 4-Square Fountain, but then one of them bent over and tried picking it up- it fluttered back down to the ground immediately and I realized it was a huge insect.

I walked over and confirmed that it was a dragonfly.

The fellows both seemed despondant, and were soon joined by an equally melancholy young lady, and they said:

"It's on it's way out"

So I stopped and sat with them for a few minutes and I took it's photo.
We just sat in silence all with a sort of unspoken agreement
This beast was dying, but it deserved our respect and acknowledgement for contributing to the aesthetics (and life-cycles) of this world.

As we held a little vigil for the magnificent creature,
I was reminded of the once grandiose Meganeura,
and wished for a moment I could see this elegant insect's anscestor-

I imagined it sleek and proud and fast as light.

I left them with it to go and meet vietnamwar for lunch,
but when we walked back past the fountain, the three of them had created a circle,
and were all sitting around it in such a deeply respectful and reverent way
that I was overwhelmingly moved.

It's things like this that leave me with a feeling of pride in my own species.

With a hope that humanity might be able to preserve itself from complete extinction.
Maybe it sounds a bit naiive, but it really left me feeling good.

On an unrelated topic:
I've decided to attempt to make paper- with some artistic end as yet undetermined.
Once in highschool I made paper out of bible tracts and sold it- it went like hotcakes, but this time I'm going to try novel fibers, etc- and maybe put it on some kind of framework... Hell, maybe I'll make a dragonfly.

Also, I am listening to the coast guard and a bunch of people on the VHF radio right now- there is a ship on fire in the river- a fishing vessel of some kind. They say something about "engulfed in flames", "emergency", and "oil slick".... I can't hear much more than that.
lots of chatter and interference.
Once my father told me he heard a ship call out a distress signal in the middle of the night, then when the coast guard replied there was no reply- and the next day it was in the paper. It had sunk like a rock and there were no survivors- he had heard their last words then and there.

Photo-dump etc

Mon, 31 Aug 2009 18:27:29 GMT

Did you know that Disney is buying Marvel? If I had any remaining interest in any of their superheroes I would be bereft.
Happily though, Disney can buy the moon for all I care, as long as it doesn't get in my way.

Still, it's kind of a travesty.
An inevitable one, but a travesty none the less.

Now, photo time:

Glamourous smoking lady

Napping at the fountain

Hens

"the Professor"

Witty title here

Wed, 26 Aug 2009 20:42:23 GMT

The funniest thing I've read all week
You should really read that- especially if you've ever played any incarnation of the Sims

Drowsy man.
I Especially liked his eyesockets.

Listening to the Velvet Underground.
Forgot how much I love their album with Nico.
That woman was something else.

I got some great new headphones but now I can't find my MP3 player.

Durrr.

I've also decided to unlock my journal- I feel like an idiot locking everything.

The night before last I had a dream about Dax Riggs- I dreamed I had convinced him to come over and hang out even though we'd never met- mainly for Hunter's birthday- He showed up and was really awesome and we were drinking a beer and kicking up our heels and I was like "Hunter look what I found!" and he shrugged and just didn't care, which is- lol- NOT what would happen. (he thought this dream was pretty funny too)
But then we (Dax and I) just decided to hang out and smoke a joint and watch the sky and it was really great.
I never dream about famous people, and oddly in this dream everyone looked like who they were, though the house was all different.
It was very vivid, and very very cool- since on that invisible list of "people I'd like to hang out with but will never get the chance" that we all have, he's at the top.

I <3 dreams.

Stiff Spook Bonk

Mon, 24 Aug 2009 21:36:33 GMT

Probably many of you are familliar with this (Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers) amazing book, and if you're not, you should be--- well joy of joys I just found out she has TWO MORE
Spook: Science Tackles the Afterlife
and
Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex

So I immediately spent my last few dollars on them and will be waiting excitedly for their arrival.

Also, as of today, I have some dreadful infection on my tonsils. I'm hoping it gets really bad so I can stay home sick, but for now, it's just annoying and makes me feel like I need to swallow all the damned time.

Last Thursday was unparalelled for awesomeness. My dearest friends theeflappergirl and Paris (with the magnanamous Freya) took a long walk up Mt Tabor, sat in the shade, then went to a French bistro and had strawberry mimosas.
I saw this along the way.

Christine, Paris, and Freya hanging out under some trees...... and insanely peaceful afternoon

Wed, 19 Aug 2009 11:03:27 GMT

3 years plus 2 weeks or so. I've been mulling over it and I'm still not sure what the appropriate response is.
Minus the occasional alcohol doldrum, I've not cried. It's my own mom. Why is that? Am I wrong? disturbed? distracted? displaced? disenfranchised? despicable? all of the above?
I don't cry but the pain it unlike anything before or since.
It's indescribable
a knife, a shard or glass, a railroad spike rusted over and angry with venom is not enough to even begin to relate to it.

I think about her all the time
I wonder what she would say to... anything
when she does show up in my dreams I know she's dead and I always end up being the one to heve to break it to her.
Nature is beautiful/ violent

It's tough to figure out how to feel.

I have no tomb to visit no pyre to burn, no hole to dig, no hymn to learn

I'm filled with music but none of it is apropos
I see your face eveywhere, but I think that's normal
and anyway, it amounts to nada
you are missed- though it changes nothing... I guess that's why it's important.

Life as usual

Mon, 17 Aug 2009 20:45:04 GMT

I recently finished my newest art progect- It's another jellyfish but this one is made out of industrial bits and lenses:

All in all I'm fairly pleased.

Also, I've been learning to knit, which I'm godawful at for the moment, but at least I'm faster than I was 2 days ago.
I have about 4 inches of a terribly made scarf to show for all my hard work ATM, but it's still oddly gratifying- I feel like knitting is one of those primal things that we should all pretty much know how to basically do- like making fire or baking bread.

Oh, and I got my book in the mail last week- it's bloody GREAT and I'm very pleased with the color reproduction- I don't have it right now (loaned it to a coworker) but when I do I'll post the obligitory "here's me and my book" photo.

Until that glorious moment, here's some awesome new photos, that will be in next year's edition.

I have photographed her before,
On this day however I carried in my bag the book that she is in
I was sorely tempted to tell her
Since she was so very nice, and complimented my ring and joked with me
But I didn't want to creep her out
Maybe next time

Professional lemon eater?

Another Svetlana

But where's the yappy little dog?

Oh, and they've closed the funeral home by my house
Now it looks like this

The Schizophrenic Autobiographer Returns, and family photos

Wed, 12 Aug 2009 20:52:04 GMT

I was overjoyed to discover in the newspaper box yesterday morning

I haven't seen anything from her in months, so I was *thrilled* to find this.
What struck me as particularly spectacular about this one is that she gave a way a VALUABLE secret.

That building is only a short walk from my work, so in the next week I'm going to plan on staking it out and trying to see if I can find her.
I don't know what I'll do if I DO find her, but I'm sure I'll think of somethiing.

Also, my grandmother loaned me some really cool old family photos. some of these people she didn't know who they were- there were plenty that she had family that she did recognize, but I was a-twitter when I found these totally awesome and totally lesbian photos, as well as just some of the more mundane but beautiful ones. So I'm sharing.

Unknown beauty

Lesborific

My great-grandfather and his awesome zoot-suit

More cute lesbians

Scandalous!

My great-grandmother all dolled up

Friend of the family, awesome bathing costume

My grandmother's sisters cruelly dressed her up as Shirly Temple, but I think she looks a bit psychotic

Great grandmother's wedding photo, handcolored

My Grandmother, Rosemary.

Narcoleptic Baglady and Stuff

Sun, 09 Aug 2009 20:52:06 GMT

This lady was falling asleep the way that little kids do- sagging over with apparently no control then jerking back awake.
I took some great video of her but me and T-mobile are working on getting it to function, so I don't have it yet.

Also there's some other photos of other awesome people.

Took a pretty gnarly fall this weekend- 1am pissed at the cat and trying to carry her to her perch cause she's keeping us awake growling- it's pitch black- the trap door is open and I walk right onto nothing like Wiley Coyote going over a cliff then looking down and realizing there's nothing there. I fall 4 feet onto concrete & wood stairs. Giant abrasions on my hip and elbow, twisted ankle, fucked up neck, and some frantic cat scratches.
Really really really glad I'm not in a coma.

But my frown turned utterly upside-down when I got a surprise package from icarus_fell this weekend. It was like getting stictches then going out for ice cream.
Totally, awesomely, well timed.
Zebra clips, a whoopee cushion, glowsticks (which came in handy when we spent the night pounding beers with friends), a cute little blank book, pill-sponge expando animals (I dunno what they're called), a little stuffed bear, and more. It was grand.

anyway, PHOTOS!

EDIT:
Gory photos of my bruises now included

Narcoleptic baglady finds a seat

Oh I'm drowsy

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Oh to be 16

Siesta time

Looking into a salon

My dad's awesome wardrobe FTW. <3

Oh, and what the hell- here's the biggest of the bruises:

Elbow + Cement

I've fallen, and I can't get up!
My left hip

Awesome

Tue, 04 Aug 2009 02:30:17 GMT

I'm just retarded to the maximum.
But what fun

I got so sick of shitty Facebook gift apps, so I made my own.

If you have a Facebook you should totally check oout my awesome new powers as a developer... kinda.

Weird Science