Some Snippets from The World: Yeola-Camay

Discussions about constructed worlds, cultures and any topics related to constructed societies.
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Re: Some Snippets from The World: Yeola-Camay

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Khemehekis wrote: 16 Jul 2020 01:24 Kejap? At first I thought, "What a delicious sauce this is!"

Then it struck me: Kejap is a multiversal cognate to the Amoy word ketchup.

I always enjoy reading about what people eat and drink in conworlds.
Could I entice your discerning palate with some delectable recipes?
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Re: Some Snippets from The World: Yeola-Camay

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elemtilas wrote: 06 Aug 2020 05:52 Could I entice your discerning palate with some delectable recipes?
Yes! [<3]
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Re: Some Snippets from The World: Yeola-Camay

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Khemehekis wrote: 06 Aug 2020 06:50
elemtilas wrote: 06 Aug 2020 05:52 Could I entice your discerning palate with some delectable recipes?
Yes! [<3]
Yes yes!
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Re: Some Snippets from The World: Yeola-Camay

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A Teleranian Recipe


An unusual find is a recipe written in Talarian. Cookery is mostly a learnt art and since recipes are commonly handed down orally from generation to generation, they are only very rarely written down. This one came from a letter.


(...) matrâmmehe parctanihan wakâ takam ra camtawarsnacartanacactohawehham. hacniyyanihanta stató çça - haretaqalffaffrucarca pusaçucarcahe watarcahe fflawocernanarcahe heytnarcahamtar heleyyamcahe salnôscahe alfersamcahe pipalamcahe pamptrasalnasâtamcahe : ra wawweysi alpatanihan : saltapawecawatarcahe : ra qaçyyapar alpatanihan. calcanitahan ççarató çça - haretaqalffaffrucâlfersapusaçucar, tây, xawenctó çça - wataheleyyasalnôpipalapamptrasalnasâtasaltapawecawatar. sâhtó cartanacactan. sâhtó ffrucacactancahe, tây, stantó ffrucacactanta cartanacactasihanca, tây, stantó cactôsta cartananihan, tâyhe, qecuca.


(...) and having enquired about Mother, I shall relate to thee about cooking what she calls “griddlecakes of health and happiness”. Arrange these in thy kitchen: meat & potato & water & maizecorn flour or wheaten flour & refined lard & “spicy paste” & bulbroots (i.e. garlick, onion, leek, etc) & pepper & seed of five flavours, which is called “wawwaysi” in the market stalls & “pungent water”, which is called “qashiap” in the market stalls). Chop the meat, roots, tatties into a bowl; and then, mix in the water, refined lard, spice, pepper, wawwaysi, and vinegar / qashiap. Make up a griddle cake. Make up a meatcake, and then, put the meatcake into the griddlecake, and then, put the cake onto the griddle, and then, it cooks itself.
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Re: Some Snippets from The World: Yeola-Camay

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Mmm!
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Re: Some Snippets from The World: Yeola-Camay

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The Dreamflyer's Tale

Spoiler:
morcamas cocuayna marca waraicmisic; engerriessa; nâ lentas alai anosamisic. simicurias alai; alai telecuere lesuaremcwe coalai ilicueiarôm; alai tarcuecuere, nellith enlilicue coalai ilicueirarom; helias alai tasomangmisay, helias alai sameyam carierielômlasa Iweildo. helinantas alai osamirilessemisic isamirilessecwe, alai yarcromirinne cocuayna marcâm. morcuangôm morcamnantas cuayna cuongalô attacqi curieldenô, covina morcuangmisay. locwieth cuayna Danani alaicwe; locwi, vina Dananimisay? lenteviras cuayna Ielananim anuden Wônyadis cuay’ lomas, vina Annanayam, Adadim. darviras cuayna lesorcâm Uanacarôm anuden Teshen cuay’ lomas. emsorviras cuayna Encaniccôm anuden Cwenyatreliyana cuay’ lomas, yunang inivirii.

yarvanirosin Dananô, wanac verinantith tecuayna Enca at’Nicco. lentarinnerosin, lehastamanam ingômilisa cuayna martas, Hailiecuecue; insanas isaisa Enca lehusayam liliothiem, curiyo crosiam; attacqi tetocas Nicco coeti harcuethem, curiyo thuriem.

isaisa, entanniisa, herralinantas inivirii at’ isacayne, laniicayne morquinanteth tannimino inivirii. tessieth Annanay cuayna tupasi opieth lutossa Encaio omborowanâm. tupasi turumbamani scramaviras Nicco curiyôm coeti Encayi, tupasi vellenercuererosin engcacaldanam tulvarômensulilisa eti, twiliongôm elleo tamasio eti isaisa insanas. heliacuerei eti tamasi tupasi scremas Nicco walewiôm twiliongômmisic anemmen niosaisa eti insanas attacqi nellith eti yocôm at’ arenim Encayi. omac herralinantas cuay’ at’ morquinantes at’ narcaias cuayan.

iruc, caras tamasi emmen Nicco gowalacuerem ani tupasi ayoleth eti tamasi militem tupasi morcamas Tulvanacar fathuenêm Danani iniviriienliliwasic. leviram, fathuenêm morcamacuererosin, crewelith sorcanensula cocuayna cwaro at’ cuayna eti hacweth tupasi ullas Nicco. tarqueth eti cwarâm yerianicwe; tupasi tarqueth eti Enco acranâm yerianicwe. sturcas eti Enca yeulutossâm cocuayna omborowanâm tupasi ullas Enca cuaynamisay; at’ hiyaraias eti.

morcamas Enca: “sirias vina cocuayna arenêm iruc nâ lentas coisi romedanâm.”
morcamas tamasi: “Sarcaysarcayan ilei, Montelaro prascati. saraciviri vina, isimisay at’ coisi inithmisay.” morcamacuereirosin tamasi, caras Enca coeti cuassâm, tupasi lentas eti.
tamsulosanantas eti at’ morcamas: “fathuen ani lemirilesa vinacong at’ coilei omborowo enecqi.”

anora crellas cuayna at’ engcuenitas ommogormang cuaynalasa. teleth cuayna cocuayna enecqim at’ remitas cuayna emmenin tupasi engcanemas tamasi enecqo tolangôm. leviram, anora opiscunitas Sarcaysarcaya walewim mocamacuerêm at’ gowalacuerâm, tamsulonantas eti cuaynammisay.

martas omac Tulvanacar at’ omac cuaynacue morcamas: furweitas alai camamisaymisay, Danani at’ Monteli. tupasi surac, culith enecq Enco at’ Nicco ilicueiâm crosio at’ oclano at’ emmenani yoliyolivieras premiei at’ coramani; tupasi elleruas Sarcaywarcayan quambem at’ monoccâm yeucuassiâm Dananicue; attacqi saracith enecqi Sarcaysarcayo cocuayna laniyi, heliviras lesuarem sameyam carieriellasa Iweildô.

Their voices spoke from afar; so very far away, I knew not whence. I crouched, my wings me lifting high; leaping, I brought them down and as in a gale I flew up over the pale sky of Yeola. From this end of the heavens to that end of the heavens I flew and me following their voices. Tales they told of wonder & of dread as are our own tales. People like us they seemed to me; perhaps even Denê like us? They know the Creator & whom they name Wônyadis, the Mother of All, the Heavenly Father. They venerate the mighty Powers & whom they name Teshen. And they revere Encanicco, the first mated couple, & whom they name Cwenyatreliyana.

In the youth of the Denê, Enca & Nicco loved each other greatly. While they were walking, they went into a new land, into the East; Enca found there beautiful flowers, the deep red of the curiyom; and Nicco gathered its fruit, the deep blackred of the curiyom.

There in the orchard the couple embraced and under the boughs of the wood they sang. And Annanay blessed them & Enca’s belly filled with life. Nicco went out one morning to fetch curiyom for his Enca, and climbing a very tall tree found that a great bird had made its nest. The bird flying away, Nicco grabbed what he could from the nest and brought eggs and younglings to Enca. Again the couple embraced and they sang and they feasted.

But the bird had seen Nicco’s deed and she prayed for vengence and the Treewarden spoke doom on the Denê couple. And in speaking doom, the smoke from their cooking fire grew and choked them, and Nicco fell. It snuffed the fires dead; and it snuffed Enca’s baby dead. She grasped at her lifeless belly and she too fell, and she dreamed.


“We took your younglings not knowing your nature!” Enca said.
“Sarcaysarcayan are we, a tribe of raptors. Hunters are we, as are you and your mate.” As the great bird spoke, she saw his teeth, and she knew.
She felt sorrow, and said: “A right doom was laid upon us and the child of my belly.”


When they awoke, grief overcame them. They lifted up their baby and allowed the bird to consume its body. Now when the bird of prey hearkened to all that had been said and done, it too was grieved.

The Treewarden came then again, speaking to them, bound the Denê and the Raptorfolk together as one. Ever after, the children of Enca and Nicco wear wings of deep red and black, trimmed with blackgreen and blue; and Sarcaysarcayan taught the Denê all about squimb and monocq the toothless; and the children of Sarcaysarcayan hunt upon their arms, flying high into the pale sky over Yeola.
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Re: Some Snippets from The World: Yeola-Camay

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Denê Psuedoparthenogenesis


There is a most curious kind of reproduction that occurs when a Tana male mates with a Werreish female. It is a known fact that “Denê traits breed true”, by which it is meant that, in the unusual circumstance that a non-Tana should become pregnant by a Tana or, even rarer, that a Tana should become pregnant by a non-Tana, the resulting child will always be Tana.

In the case of a Werreish female bearing a Tana’s child, the child will likely bear some superficial resemblance to its mother, but these characteristics are always phenomenal in nature: such as eye, hair, & skin colouration, some personality traits. All the fundamentally Tanaic characterstics come from the father.

What seems to be happening is a rather curious interplay of the physical and paragenetics, the latter being a kind of spiritual genetic code, SGC.

The non-Tana’s traits become “imprinted” or “impressed” upon the Tana’s genetic material. His genetic material, along with the phenomenal traits imprinted upon them from the mother embed within her seed, deactivate and replace her native genetic material. The resulting child has pure Tana DNA (cellular as well as mitochondrial, ergoplastidic, and mageiaplastidic), though with an imprint of certain characteristics from the mother.

For example, Lystrael is the daughter of Carqê, a Serren female and Morquun, a Tana male. She inherited her blue skin, ear shape and some personality traits from her mother, but she is otherwise fully Tana. Of note is that although she is a female, her wings are not like those of female Denê. She has the long, full wings characteristic of Denê males. She is also colour blind in the usual male fashion.
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Re: Some Snippets from The World: Yeola-Camay

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Arachan’s Web and the Rings of Lanthawm


Embedded within the depths of the skulls of all the speaking Races of our world, within the propontine bone, lie two rings of interconnected vestibules. These vestibules and the slim canals that connect them were named by the eminent anatomist, Hasuwaltham Lanthawm, and avid vivisector and recorder of many careful investigations of that learned science into the corporeal anatomies of Werre and Denê alike. According to his Comparative Anatomy: “the Rings serve no obvious function in either Race, and indeed in Werrefolk and Serren alike and in all other related kindreds, the vessicles and canals are lined and filled with a kind of cottony and chaotic fibrous tissue. There are no apparent foramina and no structures lead to what lies within. It is as if the Creator has placed a tiny chamber of wonder within each person’s head and has left the mystery unsolvable.”


Within the Denê, however, the Rings form but one portion of a great and mysterious structure of interconnected vestibules and nodes and organelles. This extensive system of fibrous tissue was described by Wantham Arachan of Codeis, discovering no fewer than ten systems of Rings which are arranged along the length of a Tana’s body of the heart.


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§ The first Ring system, R.S.1, the Lanthawmian, is identical in location, but more robust in form, to that of Werrekind. It too is located posterior to the nasopharyngeal arcade, lying within the propontine bone.

§ The second Ring system, R.S.2, is the tracheolaryngeal, resting at the base of the larygeal crown; it is embedded within the cartilage of the tracheal arcade itself.

§ The third Ring system, R.S.3, is the circumcardial, surrounding in all Denê, whether they be of a four or six chambred kindred, the cardia magna, or ventricular body.

§ The fourth and fifth Ring systems, R.S.4 & R.S.5, are the greater and lesser areolar. Unlike the horizontal Ring systems, R.S.4 & R.S.5 (and also R.S.7, which we shall see presently) are oriented vertically. R.S.4 & R.S.5 are also separated laterally into left and right, of one Ring each. These rings are located in the areolas of the breasts. Galactos of Uostia determined that 70pg or 7/12 of all Denê have two breasts, while 50pg or 5/12 of all Denê have four breasts. Within the majority, the R.S.5 resides along the galactic ley lines and within the deep layers of the skin some four to six inches below the R.S.4

§ The sixth Ring system, R.S.6, is the great vessicular, which is nearly as large are the circumcardial. It encircles the Great Vessels between their junctures with the renohepatic vessels, in the vicinity of the cavernous hearts.

§ The seventh Ring system, R.S.7, is the periumbilical, which like R.S.4 & R.S.5 is vertically oriented and surrounds the umbilicus. These three systems can be palpated using considerable force.

§ The eighth Ring system, R.S.8, is the caudal, residing in the sacral bone just above the sacral vault where the caudal brain resides.

§ The ninth Ring system, R.S.9, is the gonadal. Female Denê, typically having three or four ovarian bodies within the proxmal terminus of each uterine cornu will have either 12 or 16 Rings; male Denê, most typically have two, or rarely four testicular bodies kept within the gonadal marsuppium, will have either four or eight Rings. A notation in the works of Dr. Norwyche, an anthropologer of several centuries ago, relates a very strange custom among the male warriors of the Wildings, those Denê inhabiting the barbaric lands west under Zifirea, who practice dubroguly, the eating of their fallen enemy’s testicles. The notation might be the Tana warrior’s attempt at humor, as some anthropologers have speculated, and might be viewed as such if the practice itself weren’t so barbaric: “...Yet we have to take care, you know! A warrior can’t just rip out a fellow’s eggs and start chomping: you have to peel off his rings first, then you can eat his walnuts without cracking your own teeth! Slit the rings open and pry out the treasure stones; give them to a craftsman to make something pretty for your girls!” At the very least, we have a testimony that the Denê are aware of the physical properties of the Ring systems!

§ The tenth Ring system, R.S.10, is the distal genital. In the female Tana, one Ring of the system surrounds the marsuppium while the other Ring surrounds the clitoral body. In the male Tana, both Rings surround the distal knob of the baculum.


Each of the Rings is roughly heptagonal, segmented in shape and of varying thickness. Each segment is composed of a shaft, narrow in the center and widening towards the junctures. The juncture of two shafts widens considerably and forms a node which is called a vestibule. The Rings of Lanthawm, R.S.1, for example, are about 1/4 inch at the nodes and less than 1/8 inch along the mid shaft. Its walls are bony in nature. R.S.8, the Caudal, is of bony composition as well though of slightly smaller dimension.


The other Rings vary considerably in size: the circumcardial is the largest, being about two inches in diameter, and its vestibules are nearly half an inch thick. The various rings are composed of a cartiaginous sheath, a shimmery and translucent inner tunic and the fine filaments which surround the gem stones. At the vertical points of each node, a number of small slightly flanged openings allow egress of the filaments.


The gem stones within each vestibule are perfectly faceted crystal substances, of varying colours and geometric forms. Rarely exceeding one carat in weight, most are rather smaller, being between 1/8 and 1/4 carat in size. The largest recorded gems recovered from a Tana carcass were said to be blood red rubies nearly two carats in size each.


Image


These filaments, scores in number and called trunk lines, are relatively thick, perhaps 3/144 inch, which radiate from the vertices and branch out throughout the body. These trunk lines seem to form a kind of parallel webwork of nerves that connects each of the Ring systems with each of the others and also radiates outward through the body.


These radiating filaments emanate from the Ring vestibules and also from various and numerous intra annular nodes that reside between the Ring systems. The filaments radiate and divide into threads ever finer, ever silkier which dissipate into a kind of thready gel.


No art of medicine ot philosophical anatomy has yet determined what function Arachan’s Web performs within the bodies of Denê. Neither has it been determined what the function of Lanthawm’s Rings are in the bodies of Werre or Serren kind, nor why it is within the latter that the webwork is missing. Yertram holds to the notion that the Webwork contains and circulates the Vital Force, and the robust nature of the Webwork within Denê kind is what allows for their extremely longeval nature. Soranon holds that the Webwork is the dwimmery organ of the Denê, allowing them to channel thaumic rays into magical phenomena.

===

In reality, rather than the “thready gel” that Grouse speaks of, the gossamer filaments actually transition from a physical manifestation into a spiritual manifestation as the filaments approach the skin. These extracorporeal filaments, slightly luminous to those of Werre kind who are particularly attuned and spiritually mature & aware, and even to those who are gravely ill or near death, extend beyond the boundary of the body and ennervate the extracorporeal aura. Several instances have been recorded that a Tana’s aura, when especially aroused or inflammed, can be seen by many, as if the Tana were illumined from some source within. It is also known, though not understood how, that Denê themselves are able to see one another’s auras under all circumstances. It may very well be that the gentle glow of the Rings’ gem stones is responsible for this luminescence, perhaps somehow transilluminated via the length of the gossamer strands of the Webwork itself.


The extracorporeal, or rather spiritual, manifestation of the Webwork appears to function as a kind of aural-spiritual meta nervous system. One might postulate that the supposedly “occult” or “psychic” powers that many Denê seem to exhibit make use of this parallel nervous system, that their powers are channelled through the filaments, both corporeal and spiritual.


In fact, it is this meta nervous system that allows Denê to sense and understand environmental factors that are beyond the strictly corporeal nervous system that all animals exhibit. But more, it also allows a Tana to feel, to experience, to know, and to exist in communion with the other, and most especially when Tana sit or walk in close proximity with one another. Such close interpersonal connexions between individuals in a kind of net work where each person forms a nexus within the net, and which results in one Tana intimately knowing the spiritual and emotional state of another within the net work and among which she is also able to communicate her own state with others, has perhaps given rise to the common Werreish belief that Denê can “read minds” or “control” the actions of people. This is almost certainly untrue, yet there are clearly instances recorded where Denê seem to be able to strongly influence not only weaker spiritual beings like Werres and Herrwen, but also other more vigiorous spiritual beings like other Denê and even the Elder Kindred.

** ** **

An extract from Grouse’s Anatomical Theatre, Auntimoany, 1922. The appendix is half-way between an out-world commentary and a more speculative ammendation of the original text that could be seen as a progress in understanding the whole picture of Denê anatomy.
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Re: Some Snippets from The World: Yeola-Camay

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Protowords and the Eschatological Potential


“Is that even a word?” she asked. The girl's voice lowered, sounded dubious.

The curious Box replied: “it has been UTTERED. Therefore it is a word.” The Box at least was certain.

“But...wait. That can’t be right!” she replied.

The other girl tapped the Box and said snarkily: “Well, then, what are some things that haven't been uttered yet?”

The Box hummed softly to itself. Perhaps it was thinking. Or perhaps it was a veiled snigger.

“Ah, a paradox!” said the first girl. "If you give us an example, it'll have been ... uttered...and therefore can't actually be an example!" She smiled at her friend, confident in her own logic.

“That is,” continued the Box; “unless one should discover, hidden away in the Deep Secrets of the great Library at Ixcq, an evershrinking tome called Llobster's Indexicon. It contains all the words never uttered.”

“What!?” said the second girl. “What a load of rubbish!”

“It should be noted that the Indexicon is still rather a thick volume, as far as we are aware, so there are quite a few unknown words to yet be called into existence.” The Box paused again, humming again. It stopped humming. “The real question seems to be a rather more existential one: what happens afterward?

The girls sat in dumbfounded silence for some minutes.
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Re: Some Snippets from The World: Yeola-Camay

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The Sieve of Witship

While it appears that the philosophers of the World demarcate a strong boundary between the exoteric & the esoteric, no such boundary actually exists. The situation is rather more like viewing two sides of a leaf: following the exoteric path allows one to study what is on one side of the leaf, while following the esoteric path allows one to study what is on the other side of the leaf. There remains but one leaf, and both paths of study reveal the various aspects of the one leaf’s nature.

When philosophers speak of “exoteric lore”, they mean nothing more than that which can be grasped by plain observation. What is it? What is it composed of? What function does it serve? How does it function? What are its physical dimensions? When philosophers speak of “esoteric lore”, they mean nothing more than that which can only be grasped by consideration & ponderment. What is its nature? What is its origin? What is its function within the overal scheme? What are its inner & underlying meanings? How does it fit within the world?

One could say that the study of exoteric lore in the World focuses on the physical nature, while the study of esoteric lore focuses on the metaphysical. The body of a thing versus the spirit of a thing. Looking at the list of the esoteric aspects of science, an Outsider might be led to believe that philosophers of the World are benighted, backward, and only interested in fortune telling scams. After all, isn’t that what astrology is all about?, bilking the unwary of large sums of money in return for dubious star charts that can plot out future events? Not at all. On the contrary, the astrologer in the World is as interested in what a comet actually is and where it’s going as any Earthly astronomer. More, the astrologer is also concerned with those things the Earthly astronomer considers beyond her ken, outside of the competence of science (and rightly so). For the astrologer is also interested in the subtle interactions of of bodies in not only their physical but also in the spiritual manifestations. They are concerned with the composition, motion, music, interaction, interpenetration, and communion of all things in their various dimensions and aspects.


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Re: Some Snippets from The World: Yeola-Camay

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The Fivefold Apocalypse

A project I've been working on for a little while now (okay, on and off for many years!, probably since I was 12 or 13 or so) is a curious web of historical & end-times revelations that occurred in in a broad swath of the Eastlands a few centuries ago. Starting with a couple hand written texts, the corpus gradually grew as new materials were discovered in-world and a kind of pseudo-scholarship accreted around it as well. The object up for your consideration represents the completion of this tiny aspect of Yeola-Camay: 222 tabloid pages of worldbuilding madness, printed out and (inexpertly) bound up in leather covers (leather on retrospect was too thick for easy manipulation).

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The cover:
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Title:
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Some fine scholarship!:
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An example of the Parallel Texts:
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Another Parallel Text segment:
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A part of the Harmonisation:
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End of the Harmonisation:
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Re: Some Snippets from The World: Yeola-Camay

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Dreamscape

Arose from the chaotic depths of water a land dark & black. Resting on it was a dais. There came the broken Dreamer, pierced in body and wracked by woes. Sank to the dais the Dreamer; and he dreamed and saw what really is.


The Dreamer left the broad way, turned her back on the goings and comings; set her face towards the gloom of woods and darkling copse. Along the way he went, past the houses of other dreamers, their mansions alight, their windows bright.

The bright sun, riding high, deflates, her light flows down and dissipates; and the gloom nemesis rises, dark and radiant his unlight.

He came as one poor & destitute to his house, seeking the way of the servant, was brought through the Gate. Outstretched was the Hand. The left hand reached down: warm its grasp, firm its grip; peace was offered and friendship; and the Dreamer entered his House.

The maiden passed beyond the windows; in the arcade she went by. Clothed in radiant skin, she sang of warning and woe.

The four courts of the wealthy broke asunder, red clay cracking, a maw in the earth revealing; each going its own way, scattering those within, and the water rises.

Careened along the uncounted miles of the darkened way the iron car; its wheels turning this way and that, spinning in all directions. Wind buffeted them: the Wizard and the Champion in the prow. At the fore stood the White Wizard and the Red Champion; and the Dreamer called up to them.

Whirled overhead the myriad of stars and asterisms, the spheric heptagons and the rectilinear ovoids, spiralling from one vastness to another, now diminishing, now diminishing again; curving upon themselves and through and out and away again. Silver against the black. Black stars and red whirl, singing as they whirl, deep their voices, profound their songs and mighty.

Again called up to them the Dreamer: the Post! Ere the Post pass by.

And gazed onward the Wizard; and caught sight the Champion; his keen eyes caught the black shape hanging from the hook by the wayside. And he leaned over the precipice. Long was his right arm and strong, and fast was the iron car, its prow long & high, its way broad, and its waggons many. Stretched forth his long arm and his strong hand the Champion; but the Post, for long in the far distance, myraids of stadia, thousands of miles away, was gone. The hand grasped air; the arm reached towards the wind. Looking forward, looking back, grasped his keen eyes what his strong arm could not.

The Post, we’ve missed the Post!

And the iron car drove on; its long prow pointing on; its long train leading back. Grasped the tiller the White Wizard, his eyes gazing forward, his hair flowing back. And the wheels turned round in every shape and so great was their velocity that myriads of leagues passed under the turning of each one.

Abide in peace, until the next.
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Re: Some Snippets from The World: Yeola-Camay

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Oneirodrome

I think the previous entry needs some explanation. It is, obviously, the record of a dream. And it is curious in that there are places in the World where one can go to engage the services of a Dreamreder. These are folks who specialise in the interpretation of one's nightly forays into the Land of Dreams. Not to be confused with oneirologists, whose base and nearly fraudulent schick is to pretend to read one's fortunes in one's dreams; a dreamscribe is the one whose empathic & insightful gifts allow him to "dream what you dream" and make a written record of the dream. An oneirogramme. And in so doing, allow them to divulge true meanings of dreams.

As with many things one might not expect worthy of further consideration, such as folk tales and the spontaneous dances of children and the delighted emotions of one observing a kitten at play, let alone archival activity, these oneirogrammes often make their way through long journey to the far Deserts of Chron. There deep within the trackless wastes dreambearers make their way to the great Oneirodrome. Here grave scholars interpret the dreams and record them in their great Journals.

It is not readily apparent why this should be, nor why Oneirodrome should be in the midst of the Deserts of Chron. Though truth be told, there are a number of quite interesting locales deep within the Deserts of Chron. Some scholars hold that the Dreamreders are in league with the Wise, that mysterious group of broom wielding ancient men whose sole purpose, apart from shifting minuscule specks of dust from one corner to the other, seems to be nothing more than to listen. That they listen as unobtrusively and intently to the conversation of two squirrels as they do to the idle after dinner chats of the high and the mighty may lead one to conclude that these are just daft old men doing their jobs with as much idle efficiency and keen gossipmongery as they can get away with.

But of course such a one would conclude wrongly.

And so it is with the Dreamreders. They seem to record any dream without concern for its weight, its import or any sensible notion of value other than than that they have determined. Like a great library, their Archive is full of dreams: dreams ancient as those of the first nonrandom accumulation of genetic string and as new as the one you dreamed just last night; dreams that shall be fulfilled and dreams that shall be abandonned; dreams worth remembering and dreams that are ill forgot.
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Re: Some Snippets from The World: Yeola-Camay

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Bitter Cider and Sweet: The Empress

Yesseraê entered the cool Chamber of Magisters alone. She slowly walked around the long narrow space, fingered the carvings in the high backed wooden chairs, examined the constipated faces on hundreds of years worth of imperial & magisterial portraiture. Gods, I hope they paint me better than that! she thought. The Empress detested the native Auntimoanian style of aura portaiture. The juxtaposition of ill looking faces, long and haggard against the lurid and psychedelic rays and haloes of the aura made the Chamber look more like an amusement at a summer fair than a somber hall of government. They would be arriving soon, the Magisters of the Empire. Load of dottards, mostly, and too many are left over from the, ah, previous ruler’s most unfortunate reign. We shall have to see about that...

The Empress made her way towards the Magisterial Throne. She counted one time and lost track at fourteen different thrones in The Palas, the seat of imperial government. They all had names, and the Magisterial Throne was the name of her chair when she sat among her High and Faithful Magisters, Servants of the Empire. She sniffed. They ought to be my servants, she thought. She sat upon her throne, reveling in the power it gave her.

Yesseraê, the cunning one, the empress that came over the ocean to marry and eventually overthrow her weakling husband, considered for a moment that the throne also conveyed authority, but she didn’t like to think about the responsibility that went with authority. She much preferred the raw power. And here she had power; but deep down in her heart, she knew there were unsettled ... ah ... issues, let’s say. Issues that the young Empress wished to dispense with. And not just foolish old state ministers. There was after all Her. The one who was a rival to her power.

And some of those issues at least would soon be filing in to the Chamber to discuss some of the other issues. She sighed. Too many issues! As she sat, reviewing the nameless faces and faceless names in her mind, her eyes swept down along the polished wooden table. The only accouterments today were the glasses and pitchers of chilled water. No dainties, no juices, and certainly nothing stronger. More than once, Yesseraê wished she could just tip some tasteless poison into the water and be done with the lot of them as so many rats.

She heard muffled sounds coming from the hallway beyond the tall double doors. She smiled. This should be entertaining! The door creaked open slightly and the voices could be heard more clearly now, squabbling as usual.

“...see we got here early this time! The young bitch won’t catch us napping this morning!”

“...should have brought the Kingmakers with us. Get rid of her quick and clean!”

“...mind your speech you fools! The walls have ears!”

“...what do you mean the walls have ears, sir thaumaturge? Have you enchanted them?”

“...oh shut it!” Someone pushed the door open. “Ye gads! The young witch is already here!” the voice whispered. There was the sound of considerable jostling and shoving as more than two dozen men and women, all dressed in their fancy robes, strove with one another to be first, but not quite first enough to enter the room before anyone else.

“...what? what? There are witches here? Is it a sabbatical? Are they naked?”

“...I think that’s only in the theater, Exchequer!”

“...Oh, bugger, then.”

Eventually the log jam broke as a particularly loud and sneery voice echoed: “Shove in, shove in you lot, or out of my way!”

“Ah! My dear lord, the First Magister!” cried Yesseraê warmly, as she rose to greet her ministers. “Do enter, all of you, my friends! I do apologise, Chancellor, that I am not completely naked this morning!”

Before any of the old fools could begin spouting about this and that, the Empress sat down, briskly rapped the grey stone martel upon the table and opened the Box that squatted upon the table before her.

She appeared to take no notice, but inwardly she always smiled as the Box opened. Her magisters never quite knew what interesting reports, rumors, directives, and letters she might pull out next! She sighed wistfully. Too bad none of these papers had any juicy red meat on any of the wicked old posers sitting around the table.

She smoothed out a parchment and reviewed its contents. “There is in this place a grave peril stalking this empire,” she said simply. Whispers of ‘traitor’ and ‘assassin’ could be heard. At least six faces turned a nauseated green as their owners squirmed. Four more had a look that said ‘and you, my upstart foreign tart are the gravest peril of them all!’ Several from the far end of the table had difficultly making out why the Empress thought there was a tailor in the Chamber. Was she looking for some new clothes?
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Re: Some Snippets from The World: Yeola-Camay

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Bitter Cider and Sweet: The Magisters

“Happily and fortunately, it would seem that, for the time being at least, that grave peril is none of you, my dear ladies and lords Magisters! It ism however, a threat to our very existence!” she said vehemently.

“Who can stand against us?” asked the Lord Gravio of Angera ingratiatingly. “Your armies are strong, your navies potent, the Commission of Heaven rests with you,” he continued with a grand rhetorical flourish. “And the hegemony of the east is yours to command. You are the paramount sovereign!”

Yesseraê smiled inwardly at the flattery, perhaps just slightly moved by it. “Am I, Lord Angera? You know the threat I speak of, all of you do, yet none dare speak its name. The great question of the age?”

She withdrew from the Box a document. Its cover was beautifully illuminated, depicting a scene of seaside serenity; the treelike lettering of the long Queranarran text reminding her of some deep dark and evil forest full of dread secrets. She wondered, not for the first time, how the foreign text was always so much longer than the Auntimoanian translation. She wondered if it were a proper translation at all. She dropped the folder onto the table in front of her. A murmur of keen interest went round the table. The Empress lowered her eyes, again smiling inwardly. Ruling was such a fun game!

“I take it you’ve read these even before I see them? no?” No one responded. “Certainly you recognise, at least, who sends these missives of ‘sisterly advice’?” she snorted derisively. She waited patiently to see who would answer first.

“The Denê?” said Home Services. “What have they to do with anything? Street rats, mostly. Loiterers if half the tales one hears from the City Watch are to be credited.” Her ears hearkened to what the Lady Magister was saying, but her quick eyes darted to the Chancellor of the Empress’s Justice. She rather liked the old bitch. She was a hard black letter of the law woman and loved to watch people swing on the Old Yardarm.

“What indeed, Lady Justice?”

“Well known fact, lady, what? Refuse to follow our laws, every one of them! Say they’ve got a higher law, doncha know?, but they don’t have a single law book. Hang em all I say! Worthless sods.”

“High Priest?”

The old high priest of Wothanaz shrugged and smiled broadly. “They know their place, lady. Especially of late, thanks to your wisdom and patronage!”

There were several hear hears. Reinstating the full practice of the Old Faith was a popular move. If her lousy husband had done it before she’d thought of it, he might have been more popular.

“Indeed?” she said innocently. “Treasury?”

There was a long pause as the old miser considered how to reply. The man too cunning by half. “Well lady,” he began matter of factly; “they have no concept of money these Denê nor of the value of any good or service. They pose no threat whatsoever.”

“Ah! Is that so? Exchequer?”

“Money’s flowing in like rivers of honey and cream, my dear lady!” For all he was surrounded by the weight of gold and silver and copper and the flocks of ledger books, the Chancellor of the Exchequer was at heart a kindly old soul. “Bankbond payouts are minimal, revenues are more than acceptable, though of course, just shy of ideal!” he winked. “I daresay all is well!”

Several more rounds of hear hear went round the table. Her Magisters were either stupidly ignorant or manifestly traitorous. The question ever on the Empress’s mind was simple: do they suspect anything and just not tell me? Or do they know something and are keeping me in the dark? As she mulled this question over in her mind and in her dreams, she really and truly wished she could just chalk it up to simply treason, that there was some kind of vile conspiracy to overthrow her. That would be easy to deal with. But the notion that none of these high ministers knew anything, that they suspected nothing — that was a truly frightening possibility to consider. If that were the case, then she alone among her entire government, just Yesseraê Wilunnô, the cunning, the beautiful, would have to act, and act swiftly. So unlike the Old Stories, she would have to save her own kingdom!

The First Magister sat in silence, absorbing. Such an odd meeting, he thought. Quite unexpected. The Empress is up to something, clearly, but whether game or jest or serious issue can not yet be ascertained. She will require a close watch. He considered what had thus far been said. And left unsaid. At least she confirmed the rumours about these missives from, what do they call her, the Under Queren, no — the Hidden Queen. Yes, that was it. The First Magister would kill to get a look at that stash of documentation. He was unsure yet whether it helped or hindered him, but it would seem the only Werre to have read these papers was the Empress herself.

“First Magister!” she cried. “You old attercop! No doubt you’re spinning yet another web in silence. You’ve been ogling that letter since I put it on the table. You're drooling like you do when a consignment of young boys comes in for auction. Allow me to enlighten you,” she said, snapping up the document.

After that dig, at least she had their attention. As the excited murmuring and suppressed laughter settled, she continued. “I hardly ever read them. Mostly nonsense. Apparently, the queen of the pigeons has written twice a fortnight to every monarch since the beginning of time. She must be the single most boring person in the entire world.

“Hearken here! She writes: My dear sister, as you are well aware, our sole aim is to enlighten your rule with experience and to counsel you along your journey towards beneficent queenship, avoiding all temptation and striving ever for the common weal. Load of rubbish. Oh, and hear this: For long years have we taught and encouraged your predecessors. Our gentle guidance of your race’s policies, blah blah, and our steadfast shepherding of your realm’s economic fortune and policymaking, blah blah ... I say: what was that!? What does this mean, Treasury?”

There was no response.

“Exchequer?”

Again, there was no response.

“First Magister? I won’t accept silence from you.”

Jolted suddenly from the happy reverie of watching Exchequer squirm, the First Magister suddenly felt the Empress’s uncomfortable glare rest on him.

“My lady,” he equivocated; “clearly this is no more than puffery and posturing, and I am cert...”

She turned on him savagely: “You what? What do you know? Out with it! What are you withholding from me? What is the meaning of this bitch’s speech? How are these beasts ‘shepherding’ us? Is she saying she’s in charge? Her!?

She riffled through the document. Almost every eye was riveted on the Empress. They’d never seen her quite this agitated before. Her change in demeanour startled many of them. When the kin begins to fret, necks begin to stretch, as the old saying goes. “I’ve made a study of their language, she said curtly as she opened out the letter. There are quite simply too many words. This so-called ‘queen’ can not possibly require so many words to say in her droning language what little she said in the translation. If translation it actually is! Understanding their words is worse than having one’s teeth pulled.”

As if on queue, the half deaf Lord Bishop of Pylycundas said from the far end of the table: “Teeth!? Teeth? I that what all this harangue is about? Anyway, well known fact Denê have strong teeth. Looky here!” Hhe opened his mouth wide, showing off his healthy white teeth, fangs and all. I’ve got me a mouth full of Denê teeth, me. Should’ve done it long syne. There’s only so many ways one can prepare mush, and I got fed up with every one of them.”

“One could try pablum, my lord bishop,” said Policies and Writs.

“Oh, sure, pablum! But let me tell you something about pablum...!” He didn’t get to finish.

“Spare us!” the Empress growled, cowing any further disruption as her deep brown eyes flashed with uncharacteristic ferocity. “The question at hand: what should be done about this threat!? Clearly these pigeon people are up to something. I went back to read some of the older letters, too. This ‘Hidden Queen’ of theirs is quite the puppet master. And not just Emperors: she’s got members of Parliament, of all Houses and high officials of the Bureaucracy tied to her shadowshow sticks. I ask you all again, gentlemen, ladies: Am I the paramount sovereign of the east? Or are we to all bow down to this winged witch whom none of us has ever seen?

“One fortnight I give you: bring me an explanation for this situation and a solution for this riddle and a plan for what to do with these, these creatures!” Her voice rose almost to a fever pitch of horror mixed with the bitterest of bile.

The Empress shoved the letter back into the Box with such force the heavy wooden lid fell to with a bang, she slammed the martel onto the table and curtly dismissed the Magisters.
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Re: Some Snippets from The World: Yeola-Camay

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Bitter Cider and Sweet: The Hidden Queen

The silver haired girl sat upon a low wooden stool in the coolth of a dimly lit chamber. Her legs were crossed before her, her long slender feet resting on a soft rug of russet sheepskin. A low table to her left was piled high with a sheaf of reports, some complete and carefully written and annotated on parchment; others no more than scribbled notes hastily written on papyrus. The low table to her right contained but a few reports, those she had read out already. Her midnight black wings were crossed behind her, their feathers rustling occasionally. She tilted her head back; her icy blue eyes pondered the ancient starlight filtering through the vitreous dome and the high windows of the chamber far above, casting faint shadows around her as she read.

She took up another report from the low table on her left into her slim hands. She laid out the parchment over her knees and legs. The neat rows of writing reminded her of far distant forests in the deeps of time before ever any kind of trouble came into the world.

She closed her eyes and briefly bowed her head, pressing her hands to her breast. She read:

The girl, known well to us as Arcay, and also having the names Brightmane, and also Music of Sea and Stone endorsed to us that she was attacked most viciously. She said: “Well, I was attacked! Not ordinary thugs, mind you. Those are easy to handle. I was coming through the green market. I needed some herbs you see, as well as those funny orange onions they grow up in the hillcountry. Anyway, my shopping done, I was heading for the market gate, you know the one. Not far from the hidden portal at Apothecary Row.

“Anyway, I felt a twinge and a shiver all up my back. I turned, and there were these three Werres. Well, the market was crawling with Werrefolk, but these three were different. These were coming straight at me. Anyway, this one pulls a knife in his left hand a stick in his right hand. He leered at me, nodded to the other two and they spread out a little, one towards my right, and one towards my left, blocking the way out.

“I said ‘What do you lot want?’

“‘A little fun,” he says. This wasn’t going to end well, I could tell. Just as I reached for my own knife, he lunged straight at me and swiped his blade up in a wide arc. Dumb move, really, leaving himself open. Anyway, it was a lucky strike! I should have paid more attention; he got the better of me and while I tried to back off, the tip of his knife sliced through my left breast as you can see. Well, that ticked me right off!

“‘Not much to slice there, eh, pigeon girl?’ They all sniggered. Pigeon girl! Can these Werres not come up with any better insults!? Anyway, as he brought his knife back down, the most curious thing happened. He fell back a pace, rather than pressing the attack. He jabbed that stick at me. He didn’t try to hit me with it, and anyway, it was no more than a slender switch of wood. Nicely made, mind, all smooth and varnished. Nicely grained. And he yelled some words at me. Something like thunnerazand. Sounded like some old tongue of Werrefolk, not like what they speak anymore. Well, it was strange because that little stick of wood began to light up, and green and deep blue and something like lightning came out of it! It wasn’t all fast and bright and ferocious like real lightning; twas much slower. But it still moved faster than I could, and knocked me in my right shoulder and spun me right around! Twas all I could do to keep my balance.

“He just stood there and laughed! Something dark moved in the shadows and he looked at his little stick and this light came into his eyes, like some sort of unkind and evil spirit went in there. I knew I had to skedaddle; I had no way to defend against whatever kind of attack that was. It must have been magic. There’s no other accounting. Anyway, the blast left my shoulder numb and my arm useless. So I just turned quick as a wink and bowled his gawping friend over and made for the market gate!

“I came to you right away, friend, because this was some new terror the Werres have come up with. And, well, She must be told. Attacks on us Denê are nothing new, but this looks to me like a peril undreamt of before!”

The silver haired girl stopped reading. Picked up the parchment from her knees and placed it upon the low table to her right.

She looked up towards the great icon that was made into the wall at the end of the chamber. A winged girl sat in majesty amidst twelve figures of winged people. The girl sitting, her red and black, her green and blue wings outstretched to either side. Of the twelve girls around her, one, the youngest and farthest to the Great Queen’s right, had silver hair and midnight black wings. Now she was the eldest, the wisest of all Denê east of the sundering mountains.

One of the twelve girls sitting upon cushions before her spoke: “The attacks have intensified.”

Another said: “The City Watch have done little enough to protect us Denê; and more of our children than ever before have been snatched.”

A third said: “The Empress of the Werrefolk is cunning. Her thoughts are deep yet broken and her plans are complex yet illbethought and she keeps them hidden.”

Another said: "She has chosen to ignore the ancient abolition of their old religious rites. Werres have taken up again the ritual of old called Dainefeast. Our kind are sacrificed and eaten in their festivals."

“Curious is the mode of the attack,” one wondered. “A power like lightning, yet slow to move, and sapping the strength out of one.”

One mused: “Magic the poor girl said. My heart wishes it were otherwise, sisters. This advancement is of great concern!”

Another wondered: “Indeed! Of great concern! Yet I have not heard tell of this kind of power among any of the younger kindred. Are some of them born so gifted? Or have they discovered a Secret?”

“A Secret? Surely it’s no secret. Their wizards have long understood power in terms of the staff. Put a knob on the end and they’re able engage in some relatively innocuous magic as I’ve understood it.”

“Yet Arcay clearly describes a wand, and apparently a well made one at that. Our kin in the hillcountry away north have long understood how to focus dwimmery through a tapered wand. But these are simple tools; more akin to toys and unable to channel great works of thaumery.”

“Wisdom: what is a toy or a trifle to one may be an artifact of great power to another! And that, even among our own kindreds. We must maintain vigilance lest we come to ruin and our hopes come to naught.”

When all had spoken, the silver haired girl sat, her head bowed, her hands folded against her breast. Long she sat so, deep in her own thought. She brought her hands down slowly, resting them lightly upon her knees, palms upward. The others did likewise, and long they communed without speech or wordthought. For a night or an age of stars, none could tell how long they shared their minds and their spirits and their hearts in this way, yet the clocks of the City outside moved not from the eleventh hour of the clock to the twelfth, and bright Sharrowa above had not moved her place from the fifth to the sixth hour of the sun.

When their minds and hearts and spirits and bodies had communicated what they would communicate, the council was at an end. The silver haired girl stood first, gracefully bowed low before the twelve, her midnight black wings sweeping behind her and her left hand placed over her breast. Then the twelve arose and made a similar courtesy towards her. They did on their raccas, tying the soft silky fabric about their waists.

They did not yet make to leave. The girl with the silver hair must speak one last time before they would leave the chamber.

Again, she bowed her head and pressed her hands to her breast.

“Sisters, the time is come. The Hidden Queen must remain hidden no longer, lest the world crack open and swallow us all!”
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Re: Some Snippets from The World: Yeola-Camay

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Bitter Cider and Sweet: A Calming Influence

The girls took Arcay away to rest and to begin the healing of shoulder and heart while Emmarco finished his swift and sure brushing on a bit of parchment. He didn’t even look up or wait for the ink to set. He leapt up and ran from the woody hall on his errand.

That left only Serray and her younger brother. His face was brooding on the attack and she knew deep within that he would do something rash.

“Lorreg, your heart is too hot! Don’t be a fool!” she started.

He looked up, and retorted: “That was a very sneaky attack! It was wrong. They could have killed Arcay! — and our baby. They need to...!”

She broke in before he could finish: “Yes! Yes, little one! But look! She is not in death, and your baby lives. She is wounded, and she needs you.”

Lorreg didn’t want to hear any more. He knew what Serray said was truth, but could not get the images, the fear, the pain of his Arcay out of his mind. He too leapt up, and with a deep growl turned to tear off through the woody hall towards the gate.

But quicker than a flash, Serray caught him! She grabbed the tuft of hair & feathers between his wings and wrenched him around.

“Yow! Serray! Let me go...!” He tried to break away from her grasp.

She wrenched him around again and shoved him against the stone wall between two mighty wooden pillars. She pressed her hands to his chest and looked deeply into his eyes. “Little brother,” she said, soothing him as she had even when he was little. “Your heart is too hot! It will burn you from within if you can learn to not tame it!” She looked from his eyes to his mouth, the set of his wings, his clenched fists, perhaps looking for some sign that she was getting through to him.

“Do you not think we all burn when a Tana is attacked in the street or in the marketplace? Do you not think we all grieve when the Watch do nothing but enjoy the show? You are not the only Tana to suffer. We all do; we are all suffering alongside Arcay. We are all at your side, Lorreg. But you can’t just rush off!”

That seemed to have the effect Serray was looking for, and he relaxed a little.

“Look, Arcay was in the market during the day. It is now darkling. You know what happens to Denê who wander among Werres in the night. Alone. You are so vulnerable!” She paused, thinking through all the things that could happen to Lorreg. “You know! You might ...”

“Yeah, they might sell me to a dentist!”

“Lorreg!” She thumped his chest with both fists; “be serious boy!” This made him laugh, and the brooding darkness left his face like a breaking fog. “There are worse things than having all your teeth pulled out! You could be dragged off to the medical college! You could be taken as a slave! You could end up in one of their festthrones. They’ll sacrifice you to their horrible gods and eat your living flesh!”

“Yeah, I've heard their anatomy classes are a real killer! And slavery in the Palas, that I ... Wait!" The image of the festthrone finally caught up with him and shoved the lurid tales of sex slavery aside. "They don’t ...” he began. “Even Werres aren’t that ... that ...” He blunk his eyes several times. “But ... that’s vile!”

“Yes, they are vile creatures, Werrefolk. And vile creatures do vile things.”

Lorreg bowed his head, pondering. “But what should I do? This can’t go unanswered, right?”

“I know. Lorreg, I know you. You are going to do this whether I give my blessing or not. But though your face is now calm, your heart is still hot. I can feel that within my own! You must not do this alone. Look: get some of the lads. I think it’s daft, but I know a bunch of you have been messing around with those, those sticks!”

Lorreg rolled his eyes. “Serray, they’re called ‘wands’, not sticks!”

“Whatever! Get some of your wandbrothers and do this together. Lorreg, I’ve seen this: if you rush off alone, you shall not come back again. You shall be lost to me. You shall be lost to Arcay and your baby will not know its da.”

Lorreg took a deep ragged breath, nodded. “Alright, Serray. I’ll do that.”
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Re: Some Snippets from The World: Yeola-Camay

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Bitter Cider and Sweet: The Sorcerer


Yeserraê Willunnô reclined upon the Throne of Divine Thought. She appeared entirely at ease as she awaited developments. She paused for a moment. Her lips curled as in deep thought. This must be Throne No. 8. The Throne of Divine Thought resided in a chamber high in The Palas, octagonal in shape and windowless. Its high domed ceiling was black and it was enchanted with gems and silver, platina and gold stars that glinted dully of their own light as they mirrored the asterisms of the night sky. The walls were festooned with deep blue and purple wall hangings and the whole space was carpeted with a single octagonal rug depicting the signs in the heavens. It was considered to be a wonder and a treasure of the empire.

She knew the history, though. It was constructed in 1877 in imitation of the Stellarion, an ancient and truly magnificent observatory made by the craft of Denê and Teyor kind in the long ages gone by. It is said to contain a record of the night skies over the Empire going back thousands of years. More impressively, the stars and asterisms one could see upon its high ceiling, wheeled across the high domed ceiling, night and day, allowing for observation to be made at any time and in any weather. They said the stars of the Stellarion were “models”, not mere decorations affixed and unmoving upon the plastered ceiling of the Chamber of Divine Thought. She sniffed derisively. Denê hubris, no doubt. She would have to visit this Stellarion one day and reveal the truth of the matter.

By now the Magi of the Empire had gathered from the great schools of magic to demonstrate how their deep and metaphysical arts could provide the Empire with weapons sufficient to counter the threat she could feel was mounting. Seven schools, the seven greatest of the numerous schools, had been chosen to compete. Seven long tables of heavy wood and dark soapstone had been arranged around the chamber, and many scholars, philosophers, natural philosophers and monks of every religion crowded the tiered stalls beyond.

Six of the tables were surrounded by a variety of hooded and cloaked figures, assembling pieces of apparatus or arranging displays of what appeared to be toy soldiers or else sorting through piles of ancient manuscripts. None appeared to actually contain a weapon. This was disappointing, as Yeserraê was determined to discover some wonderful weapon she could use in the war that she knew was brewing outside the walls of The Palas.

Curiously, the seventh table remained entirely empty. Two cloak enshrouded figures sat upon chairs set up near the low wall that separated the theatre from the stalls. It was unclear who these persons were or if they were involved with the proceedings in any way. Occasionally they could be seen putting their heads together as if to whisper about the magi of the six schools. But they did nothing. The Empress wondered if this wasn’t some trick devised by her First Magister. If he made her appear the fool again... Well, thát mustn’t happen again! She poured her will into the proceedings, hoping that a solution would present itself.

Each of the schools was introduced and the scholars and wizards with their staves droned on.

“O our Empress! Hearken to a wonder weapon that shall rid thee of every enemy! For we have conjured a work of high magic so powerful and so cunning that it shall ensure final victory. We present ... the Mirror of Seeing! They pulled on the string, but the shroud covering the Mirror of Seeing steadfastly prevented anyone from seeing the mirror. “Er ...” Eventually one of the younger wizards just pulled the shroud off from the top. The mirror’s shiny bronze surface appeared misty, until at last, an image, fading in and out of clarity, appeared in its surface. The lead wizard approached it and said: “Svattson? Svattson, is that you?” To which the mirror replied that yes, yes indeed it was Svattson. The onlookers were curiously mesmerised by the image in the round wood framed mirror, the case its magical workings resided in having been carved with sigils and runes of great power. Yeserraê disliked magic mirrors. She had one, after all. It was the surliest and snarkiest thing she’d every talked to.

“High Lady! We here present a wondrous conjuration! A fog so thick that not even your enemies’ eyes may penetrate...!” The wizards began coughing and wheezing as the thick fog belched from their cauldron. They threw down their staves and began waving fans about to clear the air.

“O Empress most Cunning! We give thee a weapon devised by the most cunning of magial arts, a kind of enchanted warrior, which we shall demonstrate using this small model...”

“O Queen sublime! See before thee this field of battle all laid out and arrayed. Our plan, in late theoretical development stages, shall, we assure thee, grant swift victory...”

“O Lady most wondrous in her erudition! Behold the wonder weapon of the futu —” BAAAAM!!! The whole chamber instantly filled with foul smelling fumes. As the smoke began to clear, the dust of a ruined section of the star spangled ceiling could be seen to fall as if it were a light snow. The heavy bronze cauldron upon the table had shattered into three great chunks, now useless on the table. “— er, ah yes. That cán happen from time to time! But our improving series of recipes...”

“O Queen of Despairing Times! Behold! The invincible, the incontrovertible, the unescapable trap for every kind and thede of Rat!” The First Magister roared! What was the meaning of bringing before the Empress a rat trap! What did they think this was, a Summer fair? “But, but! Your high lordship! You specifically said ‘the City is overrun by those winged rats, and we need to exterminate the lot’ Surely a series of well located, properly baited...” The First Magister roared again, leaping from his chair, he swept the table clear of all the traps, several of them snapping smartly onto his fingers! He flung them off, drops of blood flying, and shoved the foolish magicians bodily from the room.

Yeserraê Willunnô remained beautifully impassive throughout the demonstrations. She had smiled and encouraged each school in turn. Yet inside her heart, all was rage and chaos. Her First Magister had failed. Every school of magic had failed. Could no one provide her with the wonder weapon she sought?

At last, she sighed and spoke: “Since it appears the seventh school has managed to go missing, we shall adj—”

“Nay, not missing, my lady!” The voice came from the direction of the two hooded figures sitting off to the side. One of them stood and threw back her hood. “I am Ulfier, head master of the Scholia of Dunzeney.” Several of the other wizards scoffed and jeered loudly. Upstarts! Not proper magic! Where’s the knob on the end of yóur staff, eh?! Ulfier continued: “I present my best pupil, my protégé.” She turned and bowed courteously towards the other figure. “My lady queen, Nayaret. Whereas the others have all pretended to offer you weapons, Nayaret will show you the wonder weapon you seek, and will use it in your presence!”

The other figure stood then, casting away its voluminous robes and cloaks. Revealed was a stunning young woman. Bare from the waist up, her flaming red hair, with streaks of platina and gold framed a slim but powerful body. She wore a thin gilt wood sheath strapped to her right forearm. She stared the Empress in the eyes, and Yeserraê’s own passion was enkindled! She found herself momentarily lost in the indescribable beauty of the green eyes, like two perfectly faceted emeralds. The eyes of this Nayaret were the eyes of a most intelligent and accomplished young woman. The other wizards grumbled at the theatrics of this young upstart.

With an impossible grace and confidence, Nayaret strode across the chamber to each of the ruinous tables. As she walked, Yeserraê just caught sight of a slight movement. Suddenly, a slim wand of black wood shot from the sheath and appeared in the girl’s left hand. Yeserraê stopped herself from thinking “as if by magic”, because, clearly, she was about to see some real dwimmercraft.

Nayaret passed the wand almost carelessly around the shattered cauldron, and the shards welded themselves back together! Moving on to another table, she wafted some of the residual fog away with her hand, as the other wizards had done, and with no more good effect. With a darting, sly glance of her brilliant gem green eyes towards the Empress, she brought he wand up in a high arc and with a puff of breeze cleared the chamber of all the foul stink and residual fog.

She said nothing, but gazed upon the toy soldiers arrayed on the table before her. She touched her wand to the model battlefield and instantly, the soldiers got into formations! Tiny, distant roars of warriors and warbeasts could be heard as all those gathered watched as first the Reds and then the Blues and then the Reds again advanced and retreated, slaughtered each other, and the bright white pewter of their blood was spilled.

She approached the Mirror of Seeing last of all. The entire chamber was silent, all except for the tiny soldiers whose macabre battle was still being played out, though by now the dead and dying outnumbered those still hale and fighting. Their wan voices could still be heard as the enchantment played out, until, at the last, the two remaining warriors battered each other and at last all fell silent.

“Svattson?” she said. Yeserraê’s heart leapt at the sound. Ugly though the name sounded to her ears, the golden voice that uttered it spoke with an innate warmth and depth that tugged the heart and drew the mind to whatever it said. The Mirror of Seeing appeared to be momentarily lost in thought itself, until at last it responded.

Nayaret smiled, turning her beautiful face back towards the Empress for a moment before turning her back on her. She lifted her wand again and speaking but a few incomprehensible words, thrust her wand towards the ornate case and the wood of it cracked and splintered, the sound of its destruction startled every onlooker! She savagely slashed the air, clearing it of wood splinters and dust. There, within the ruins of the box, stood a short Dwarrowish wizard, his face painted bronze and shards of bronze tinted silk hanging from his brow revealed the entire nature of the contraption.

Nayaret smiled at poor Svattson, whose red blush managed to shine through the bronze paint on his face. She turned, again wordless, and with a final flourish of her wand, her robes and her cloak whirled gracefully up from where they had fallen and enrobed her beautiful form, once again concealing that which the Empress thought was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen.

The First Magister actually smiled. Fleetingly, but genuinely. He had heard tales of this Dunzeney, and inwardly he too was moved with wonder and amazement at what he had witnessed. Pure magic.
Last edited by elemtilas on 30 Apr 2021 01:18, edited 3 times in total.
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Re: Some Snippets from The World: Yeola-Camay

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Bitter Cider and Sweet: The Plan


Lorreg entered the long well lit hall. It’s stone walls were gouged and pitted and scarred from years of sport, training and dueling. Today his mates were there practicing and teaching some of the younger friends how to fight with both cudgel and wand. He didn’t look up to anyone, but instead collapsed onto one of the long low wooden benches, brooding. His friends looked to him, and then to one another, saying much without words. They went back to their practice.

Eventually, Lorreg got up and came over to the group.

“So!” said Muncco; “we’ve heard about Arcay. Is she okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied. He bit his lip and said: “I guess it’s me that’s not okay!”

“We can tell!” said Vârro. “You’ve been over on that bench brooding like an old storm cloud caught in a gyre all day. We know you’re planning something, so you might as well tell us what it is!”

Lorreg told them what Arcay had said and what happened between himself and Serray. “So I need a few lads to help me with this,” he finished.

“Good thing you listened to Serray! She’s right: your heart is really hot over this. And with good reason! But if you go alone, you’ll probably end up in one of their jarred meats factories!” said Muncco laughing heartily. “So what’s the plan?”

Lorreg pressed his lips together tightly, looking from one to another. “Simple: I need to go and have a chat with this fellow, boy to boy. He needs to learn not to go after Arcay for a start. If he can’t learn that, I’ll have to...” He broke off, his eyes narrowing and lips set into a snarl. “Ghaah! Too many Denê disappear or are killed. He needs to learn that!”

The others nodded, wrapping their wings around him. Vârro said: “I don’t like this. What Arcay said about magic. Werres are notorious for nòt being able to do magic! Not without staves and complicated spells, or so we’ve always heard!”

The youngest of the group gathered, Isheltay, spoke up: “Well, Arcay did say her attacker used some kind of incantation. And he wielded a stick ... well, all of us here know what she meant by ‘stick’ I think!”

“I’m not so sure, young Isheltay. It doesn’t make sense,” countered Vârro. “It could have been some kind of charmed artifact. Werres are pretty fair artificers, after all. When they don’t make things that explode in their faces!”

Isheltay pondered and said: “What about the green lightning? I don’t know what ‘green’ is, but I’ve seen lightning before. If that came out of the fellow’s wand, then it seems he’d be very dangerous indeed!”

Vârro had no rebuttal for this. “You show wisdom. What do you think of this magic, Lorreg?”

“Well, I trust what Arcay said...” he began. The lightning, he thought, was surely a give away. He didn’t say anything about the dark shape. That would require more time for contemplation than he had right now.

“Now that’s true wisdom, right?” interjected Isheltay.

He laughed at this, and his heart felt relieved of some of his turmoil. “Indeed! Yeah, if she thinks it was magic, then I’d say she is most likely right. It worries me, though, that this kind of attack happened at all, and that’s one reason why I want to go after this fellow. If he can work magic by waving a wand, can all Werres do that? Or only some?”

Muncco remained quiet through this exchange, but was thoughtful throughout. “There’s a lot we don’t understand about Werres, much darkness surrounds them. And their use of magic is one of the things we understand least about them. You’re right to be worried, I think. And I’m with you going to find out!”

They began discussing what they were likely to be up against and what they would do when they found the attacker. Isheltay listened most carefully, but as the discussion was concluded, he narrowed his eyes and spread his wings before Lorreg.

“Huy! I notice everyone’s got a job to do. Everyone except me! Why is that Lorreg?” he demanded.

“Isheltay! You know you’re as close to me as a brother, but you’re not yet of age! What would your folks say if something happened to you? How do you think I’d feel if you got hurt?”

He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes defiantly. “You can ask them. You know what my kin would say: when Isheltay is determined to do a thing, he’s going to do that thing! And I seem to recall many instances from my youth when another youngling I knew would have done the same, Lorreg!”

The others laughed at this, and Vârro quipped: “He’s got you bang to rights there, Lorreg. Remember the time when you insisted you just had to sneak into The Palas of all places because Arcay convinced you only the reddest and sweetest of apples would do for the cidre she wanted to make? And, and then you convinced me and Rupac to go along? And that’s how you got your right wing clipped and I cracked my head on the stair?”

Isheltay began laughing uncontrollably at the telling of this tale. “Alright, alright!” said Lorreg.

But Vârro continued, unfazed: “So how is that any different? I could have died! You could have been killed, too!” Lorreg raised his fingers, about to answer, but Vârro cut him off: “And Rupac—” he stopped abruptly. “Well, Rupac paid a price, too. We all do in this world. But there’s no difference! You went on that mad adventure because your girl asked you, and you did it for love of her. Now you’re going on another mad adventure for love of her. And I say Isheltay is older than we were then. And he can handle himself with the wand almost as well as we can. And he’s a dab hand with blades, too, if it comes down to knife work.”

Clearly outargued, Lorreg sighed: “Okay, okay! But tell me this, Isheltay: what is your job to be on this mad adventure? Everything’s been planned, right?”

“Well, I was listening to all your planning,” he retorted with a sneaky smile. “But you forgot one thing! And that is where to actually find this fellow; and I know where to find him!”

Isheltay enjoyed the stunned look not just on Lorreg’s face, but on the others’ as well. “Right. Let’s get going then!” he cried, turning on his foot and striding towards the tall wooden door.
Last edited by elemtilas on 30 Apr 2021 01:21, edited 4 times in total.
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Re: Some Snippets from The World: Yeola-Camay

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Bitter Cider and Sweet: The Wandbrothers


It was dark when the Wand Brothers, as they’d decided to call themselves, came out of the hidden portal near Apothecary Row, not too far from the market gate. First out was Vârro. He had the keenest sight of them all and spent some time listening and looking about in all directions, even scenting the air. One never knew who, or what, might be lurking. After a long while, he turned back towards the others, and with a shrug of his right wing, indicated it was safe to move on. They came up to the great wooden gate of the Green Market. They gathered under the stone arch of the gateway. All was still and quiet within, though the gang knew that there would be a hound on duty and a night watchman, probably asleep until the dog awoke him.

Isheltay touched the gate, perplexed. “It’s locked!” he whispered. “I didn’t think it would be... The quickest way is through the Market, but I suppose we can go around...”

“You don’t get around much at night, do you lad?” quipped Vârro. “You can go around. We’re going through!” And with that, Vârro gave Isheltay a wink, sidled up to a corner where the gate met the stonework of the arch, turned sideways and disappeared from sight! It wasn’t more than a moment later that he appeared again on the other side of the gate!

Isheltay’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened in wonder. The others smiled quietly and did likewise. Muncco looked quizzically towards Lorreg who whispered: “We’ll be okay. Go on through!” Muncco nodded, waved to Isheltay and likewise, stepped sideways through the gate. Isheltay could see through the openings in the thick wood where the others were quietly milling around, waiting for them.

Lorreg turned to Isheltay, saying: “That’s stepping aside, is that.”

“Oh, so that’s what it is!? I’ve heard, but have never seen. I don’t think I can do that. I think you were right to leave me behind, Lorreg. I...”

“Nonsense. You haven’t learned that yet, but you will soon. Now, you’re going to get us through the gate. What do you know about doors?” Lorreg asked.

Isheltay considered this question. The answer was undoubtedly not something so obvious as ‘they’re locked’ or ‘they’re made of wood’. At last he said: “They are closeable and they move on hinges.” Lorreg nodded for him to continue. Isheltay decided to go with the obvious after all: “And, well, it’s locked.”

“Right both times! Make your choice: do you want to remove the hinges or undo the lock?” Isheltay didn’t take long to consider. He pointed to the lock. “Good choice, lad. Undoing the hinges might cause the gate to crash and bring the whole City Watch down on us!” He lifted his hands up in front of his chest and pressed them together like he was going to meditate, but then immediately brought them apart and there, as if on a shelf of air, was a long, polished wand of deep reddish wood that reflected the subdued glow of the ruddy night sky. “Okay, get your wand, friend,” he said, reaching out and grasping his own.

“Coo, how did you... Oh wait! Is that like stepping aside!?” asked Isheltay.

“You catch on quick! It’s the same! Stepping aside is when we, sort of, step into the Other Place. Turns out, you can stick your wand, or just about anything else, in the Other Place, too!”

Isheltay gazed wistfully at the spot where he’d seen his friend’s wand resting on air. “Guess I’ll have to learn that too!” He lifted his right arm and twisted his wrist slightly. From a concealed pouch hidden within his fur trimmed vambrace, the handle of his own wand popped out, and he grasped it deftly with his left hand.

“Hey now! That’s not a bad place to keep your wand! I’ll have to remember that. I just used to jam mine into my belt. After I jabbed myself one too many times, I decided to learn how to step aside! Alright,” Lorreg said. “Do what I do. You’re going to rest the tip of the wand in the lock’s opening and then, like how you dream walk, you’re going to send that part of you out along the wand walking over it like a bridge. I’ll meet you there and we’ll examine what the place looks like inside, okay?”

Isheltay nodded his understanding, braced himself and did as he was instructed. He touched his wand to the opening of the lock, right next to Lorreg’s own. And he closed is eyes. And when he opened his Eyes, he found himself crossing the long and broad bridge that was his wand. He could just make out something at the far end waving towards him. He looked back and upwards. He looked way upwards! Running towards the other end of his wand, he saw that Lorreg was standing on the tip of his own wand! “Lorreg! We’re so big! — And here, we’re so small, right?”

Lorreg smiled. “Neat how that works out! Okay let’s go in and examine the lock. When you’ve got it, we’ll go back into ourselves. Got that?” Isheltay nodded and turned his attention to the inner workings of the lock. Curious bits of wood and bronze whirled around and he went with them until he understood how each piece moved.

“Did you get that?” asked Lorreg as Isheltay awoke, as from a dream.

He found himself standing, just as he had before. He nodded. “Yeah! I saw everything!”

“Good. Now hold your right hand like this, around your wand, but not touching it. Twist the wand around antisunwise and turn your right hand around the other way. Push the little moving things inside the lock until they all fall into place. Go ahead.”

Isheltay did as he was asked, and he could hear tiny sounds of clicking inside the lock. But the effort made him sweat and he felt his grip on the tiny bits inside loosen. He breathed heavily, lowering his wand. “Sorry. That’s hard!”

“Wait until you learn how to step aside! Go on, catch your breath and give it another try. You’ll get it. Visualise! You need to see all the bits moving. When you see everything moving properly, it’ll be much easier to suggest to the bits in the lock to move!”

Isheltay shook out his wings and firmed up his stance. He glared at the dull brass plate of the lock, daring it to remain locked. He placed his wand into the key hole and turned it in his hand. Slowly, he could hear the lock grinding and clicking inside. His arm began shaking, but he continued to turn, until — clack! — the lock fell open!

He let out a long breath and gently pushed on the gate. With only one or two subdued squeaks, the heavy wooden gateway yielded to his pressure. Passing through, he smiled broadly at Lorreg and deftly tucked his wand hack into its pouch on his arm.

The Wand Brothers threaded their way through the mazes of the Green Market, following after Isheltay.
Last edited by elemtilas on 30 Apr 2021 01:17, edited 2 times in total.
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