Ah, there are so few of my kin here on Arocco! The hazardous journey over unthinkable miles of ocean from the Old Aerth lands brought no more than 50 of us among all the ships. Today there are maybe 10 times that number here through procreation, but there is no census in this wild place.
Of course only certain unique types made such a transmigration, made three or more times longer and more hazardous by the fact that they had to navigate over ley lines borne on the shallowest of sea beds, following the guide of at least one of my kin who can perceive the manaflows. Because of the unusual path and the need to follow mana rather than the sun or the stars, most of those ships were chartered by groups of Loring, though manned by men, Tinkers and a few Feralkin.
At best those Loring were natural explorers, prepared to still their fears daily as the ship rode over the fierce, deadly, cold cold sea; willing to risk everything, ready to start from nothing to stand on the stone of a new world. They were wise enough to bring the tools and books and the lore to carry our culture and to procreate.
Many who chose to join a group were simply headstrong. They considered little about what they were going towards or what they were leaving behind, only that they were going; they imagined themselves standing at the prow of the ship, blinking aside the salt tears of the wild ocean. Instead they huddled in the centre, too terrified to even read the fantasies that led them on.
Then there were the unbearably proud and rich. Travelling only on the largest and safest ships, they dreamt of being the founders of a new race of Loring who would never grow so old as to flake away at a fireside.
Further, there were also outcasts and exiles, among whom I must perhaps count my patrons, the Syzygy Convocation. From my readings I know that our culture is not exactly as they have told me, but there is certainly some hard truth in their goals.
Finally, I must ask why my former self, the Exigent Precept, chose to travel? Perhaps he saw an opportunity in the New Aerth, or something vanishing in the Old? I fear the answer is that both are true, but that little has really changed except that we Loring in Arocco are itinerants, without stone under our feet or arches over our heads. And so it will remain, unless I can solve the riddles that have plagued me for half a lifetime!
Showing posts with label journal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label journal. Show all posts
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Musings on the Conjure-Weasel
I wonder now about the name they gave that creature that fed remotely on Hevran: Ferrington's Conjure-Weasel. Of course there was nothing left but the name and the half-remembered statements made by Rhyme the right before! They skinned it for it's hair and burnt and ate its inner flesh.
Some said it was 8 feet long, others said 3 feet; what use are the observations of fleshkind, and simpletons at that! But it was certainly larger than a natural creature, its body and mind perverted by long exposure to wild magic, probably breeding true in its offspring. I wonder if their lives are also prolonged somewhat (though naturally not for eons as the Powers that dwell in Cays)?
If I could be certain of meeting no more dangerous creature, I would wander further from the caravan; such a creature could take no sustenance from my own solid stature and I might have the opportunity to study its Distance talent. Can it use it only to 'port the red life fluid or can it also 'port earth when burrowing, or even Move itself some distance? I would hope to investigate this by engaging in some distance-play with it using a simple Mage Hand spell.
Better yet, it might be possible to take such a creature as a familar, though their exposure to wild magic might make them resistant to the spell and its appetites might make it (and myself) an unwelcome guest. Still, if they could be given a steady supply of animals and enemies, they would make a useful and possibly quite intelligent companion for a mage.
Some said it was 8 feet long, others said 3 feet; what use are the observations of fleshkind, and simpletons at that! But it was certainly larger than a natural creature, its body and mind perverted by long exposure to wild magic, probably breeding true in its offspring. I wonder if their lives are also prolonged somewhat (though naturally not for eons as the Powers that dwell in Cays)?
If I could be certain of meeting no more dangerous creature, I would wander further from the caravan; such a creature could take no sustenance from my own solid stature and I might have the opportunity to study its Distance talent. Can it use it only to 'port the red life fluid or can it also 'port earth when burrowing, or even Move itself some distance? I would hope to investigate this by engaging in some distance-play with it using a simple Mage Hand spell.
Better yet, it might be possible to take such a creature as a familar, though their exposure to wild magic might make them resistant to the spell and its appetites might make it (and myself) an unwelcome guest. Still, if they could be given a steady supply of animals and enemies, they would make a useful and possibly quite intelligent companion for a mage.
Mana Freedom!
Today an idea occurred to me that might enable Loring to live for a time in areas where environmental mana is weak or even absent! The concept came from my ongoing thoughts on ley line control; it is quite ingenious though essentially very simple and readily explained to one with Academy training, especially if they are a Loring whose very nature is of mana.
I must think on this some more before I document the approach. Alas, I could use the research library at Polstown Academy for this endeavour! When I am done, I wonder who I can persuade to try it out?
I must also use the most obscure forms of my personal script to ensure that these ideas do not fall to my companions on this expedition, especially Ben Encato! I would give my life rather than have the Tinkers learn of this!
I must think on this some more before I document the approach. Alas, I could use the research library at Polstown Academy for this endeavour! When I am done, I wonder who I can persuade to try it out?
I must also use the most obscure forms of my personal script to ensure that these ideas do not fall to my companions on this expedition, especially Ben Encato! I would give my life rather than have the Tinkers learn of this!
Observations on the Caravan's Crew
The only advantage to being posted to guard the front the wagon train is that if I walk a little ahead and (by sheer force of will) ignore the creaking, clopping and occasional whip crack behind me, I can just about imagine I'm alone with my thoughts and the mountains. It helps when the wind blows from the north because then I can almost not smell the stink of the horses and the animalistic upright creatures.
For the record, here are the statistics I have measured:
Rhyme has given me three short shifts so I haven't had much time to talk with the rest of the settlers or the other guard crews, if I cared to. It doesn't bother me, though I usually find the best dreams come after a longer trance, and the longest dreams sometimes bring flashes of memories. Perhaps I can get myself reassigned to give me a longer trance period and more hours of daylight to investigate the strange folk of this caravan.
Certainly I will learn nothing from the four lazy humans in my team; they seem to have no talent aside from catching extra sleep while on watch and getting an extra portion at meal times when Rhyme isn't looking. I have attempted to rouse them at watch times, but they pay little heed, dumb brutes! Naturally my sparksight means I see clearly at night, but Rhyme only has me on a 2 hour shift at night. If I didn't know better, I would think she is trying to separate me from Finus's team with his two Feralkin and a Tinker! I certainly have done nothing to convey my feelings towards the animalfleshkind!
But this brings me to write of the crew that are worthy of note.
Father Sully is the caravan's healer. I tried to engage him in conversation early on, but I somehow let slip my rather broad views on the gods and my researches to prove that they are simply beings with great powers, removed from this Aerthly realm but keenly interested in certain domains of existence because they wish or possibly even need to be revered. So much for the famed Aroccan open-ness to other ways of thought! He gives me a sharp look now when we cross paths; I never got to ask him if he knew any construct healing or restorative spells. In any case, I expect only short shrift from Sully, but at least I am sure to be spared his god-mongering. I am left wondering if he is along on this journey to save lives or souls. Perhaps he means to set up a makeshift mission when (or rather, if) we arrive at our destination? Surely he will find a way to tax the inhabitants to sustain the parasitic lifestyle of the cleric.
Ben Encato, a Feralkin of sorts (and a captain apparently though he has not clarified with which militia), seems to have some knowledge of magic and possibly some sensitive cargo, for his rather large wagon is protected by a mana discharge coil! I am most curious, but he or a halfling seems always there to deflect observation let alone investigation and he gruffly ignores or rejects any questions. I must find a way to investigate!
Jemmy Bland is something of a trader in goods and services. He sells necessities to the crew en route, naturally taking full advantage of our remoteness to make an excessive profit. I swear the man increases his prices daily; we will end up bartering our very souls with him, leaving little money for Sully to tax and precious few souls remaining to save! Fortunately I brought everything recommended in the old editon of Gnikaus's "Introduction to Potholing in the Caves and Caverns of Arocco", plus a few additions of my own, notably a weak but effective spyglass, an extra-stout staff and a flotation device of my own design (I have not yet had the courage to test it however and I pray I never need it).
As to services, he has six halflings managed by a taskmaster, a greasy man of whom I have not yet taken the trouble to learn his name. One of the little creatures had the temerity to beg water from me; I poured some from a waterskin into its tiny hands rather than have its disgusting lips on my mug. Remarkably it asked and gave thanks quite well in Loman, nearly as well as my own broken version of that tongue currently allows. I suppose with lengthy beatings and reptitition they can eventually master a small essential vocabulary. I have no quarrel with their use as beasts of burden (or perhaps one could even say slaves as they clearly have a modicum of intelligence), but it seems unnecessary to whip them quite so frequently. I have observed that even with fleshkind, it is sometimes better to use a favour or subtlety rather than simply to dominate through intelligence, will or brute strength. Even an animalistic being like a halfling might work harder if treated with some kindness once in a while. In any case, Bland will get as little business from me as I can manage and I will not use his kept creatures' services (I shiver at the thought of their dirty dextrous little fingers on my possessions).
Bland clearly trusts the halflings for one of them (perhaps the one I gave water to, it's so hard to tell them apart) uses a keen blade to scrape away the hair that grows in the night on the faces of humans. His appearance afterwards is almost presentable, were it not for the smug grin that spreads across his face. On more than one occasion, the halfling cut too deep, drawing the red fluid that circulates in some fleshkind. Bland had the creature soundly whipped each time. I don't know which is worse, the fearful expression on its face after a whipping or when it first approaches Bland to begin this procedure. Both it's skill with the blade and it's learned fear speaks of some degree of cunning or animal intelligence. Perhaps they would make good pets?
He will certainly face some hard times when he sets up shop at our destination's end, but his halflings may be able to act as simple labourers to help set up his establishment and perhaps they be used to pan or even mine for precious metals.
Finus Gar is the human who leads the rear guard team which is noted for its members as for its misfortune to be on watch during the most dangerous periods to date. As I wrote earlier, he is interesting for his devoted and skillful care of his long rifle. His face is hard to look at because of a permanent fracture in his skin below one eye which seems to squint a little more than the other when attending to something, which is almost all the time. He takes his responsibilities seriously and attends to them well. When he speaks, it is generally to give a command or a piece of advice, and it seems as if he would use only a monosyllable if it were enough (if only some of the human wizards at the Academy took a page from his book, they seem to wish the distill the joy out of time and spill it away). He varies his day with observing tracks ahead or to the side of our passage, bringing back hare or occasionally a small deer which he and his team eat with some gusto. I know not why they do not simply drink the red life fluid from their fleshkind prey as it seems they all are filled with it themselves.
Drycor Smyth is one of the two Feralkin on Gar's team. I had always imagined the animalfleshkind to be only one notch more advanced than the halflings, but their actions combined with the surly secrecy of Encato make me wonder at times. Surprising to me, they are capable of at least limited speech and show some signs of the ability to make plans and follow-through. Perhaps I should have done more research on their type; I could hardly have been expected to engage one in swill-filled conversation in one of their bars! He fiddles with his pistol as if trying to care for it, which is surprising in more ways than one. I hear he engaged with the conjure-weasel that attacked Hevran, but I assume that was only out of self-interest. Still, he bears more observation.
Danue Ofafar confuses me also; it or perhaps he appears to be a follower of the divine and to receive spells! I am amazed that Feralkin have any form of ritual, let alone an organised religion with a god that actually lends its clerics some magic. Perhaps I should engage him in conversation, I am curious which god he begs to and what spells he receives. Perhaps he even receives spells from more than one college? But how can I reconcile these advanced abilities with his form which is unlike any creature I have ever seen! He or perhaps it has a semi-prehensile limb protruding from its face! He uses it for feeding but also for other tasks. It does not even appear to be a deformation; the construction of his face appears to suit the presence of the limb. Again I regret not studying the Feralkin better.
Hevran is a Tinker, like a greatly enlarged version of my old acquaintance (can one refer to a Tinker as a colleague?) Gravus Guphor but apparently not as bright. Perhaps the energy the creature used for its growth has impeded its already limited mental faculties? I really must study nature more widely.
This creature is as much an anomaly as the rest of Finus' team. He is huge (some 8 feet tall), very powerful and lacking in grace, but not entirely ungainly, despite the plates that are sewn into his thick fleshy skin. His communication style is certainly diffident, sometimes obseqious, at other times even polite. He had the misfortune to bear the brunt of the conjure-weasel's feeding; this further confirms my belief that this red fluid is essential to their life, in a crude way like the Loring dependence on mana. He seems to respect Finus's superiority.
It is hard to think of such a creature as a rival for the resources Loring require and naturally deserve, but I must see past the gentle exterior and remind myself that all Tinkers wish to see Loring gone from this good Aerth so that they can plunder without restraint.
That brings me back to "Miss" Sympatico Rhyme. My initial impression of her beauty has changed somewhat with experience. She is merely tolerably well-proportioned and I have allowed the weeks since leaving Polstown to let any Loring female seem remarkable. With my perspective restored, I now find her quite abominably curt and evasive except when giving orders. I expected she would need to maintain such a demeanour with the fleshkind crew, but I had hoped for more from her for a fellow Loring. I think of her, naturally, as Sympatico or even Rhyme but I always call her Miss to her face, to emphasise my disdain for her role and for her choice to remain distant from me and her own kin.
Except for Rhyme and Sully, I am most curious about these travellers!
For the record, here are the statistics I have measured:
- 12 wagons, of which 4 are rather small
- at least 70 upright creatures, but only 5 females as far as I can tell
- 12 or so halflings, 6 of whom are part of Jemmy Bland's team
- 10 or so riding horses and over 25 dreys
- only 2 Loring!
Rhyme has given me three short shifts so I haven't had much time to talk with the rest of the settlers or the other guard crews, if I cared to. It doesn't bother me, though I usually find the best dreams come after a longer trance, and the longest dreams sometimes bring flashes of memories. Perhaps I can get myself reassigned to give me a longer trance period and more hours of daylight to investigate the strange folk of this caravan.
Certainly I will learn nothing from the four lazy humans in my team; they seem to have no talent aside from catching extra sleep while on watch and getting an extra portion at meal times when Rhyme isn't looking. I have attempted to rouse them at watch times, but they pay little heed, dumb brutes! Naturally my sparksight means I see clearly at night, but Rhyme only has me on a 2 hour shift at night. If I didn't know better, I would think she is trying to separate me from Finus's team with his two Feralkin and a Tinker! I certainly have done nothing to convey my feelings towards the animalfleshkind!
But this brings me to write of the crew that are worthy of note.
Father Sully is the caravan's healer. I tried to engage him in conversation early on, but I somehow let slip my rather broad views on the gods and my researches to prove that they are simply beings with great powers, removed from this Aerthly realm but keenly interested in certain domains of existence because they wish or possibly even need to be revered. So much for the famed Aroccan open-ness to other ways of thought! He gives me a sharp look now when we cross paths; I never got to ask him if he knew any construct healing or restorative spells. In any case, I expect only short shrift from Sully, but at least I am sure to be spared his god-mongering. I am left wondering if he is along on this journey to save lives or souls. Perhaps he means to set up a makeshift mission when (or rather, if) we arrive at our destination? Surely he will find a way to tax the inhabitants to sustain the parasitic lifestyle of the cleric.
Ben Encato, a Feralkin of sorts (and a captain apparently though he has not clarified with which militia), seems to have some knowledge of magic and possibly some sensitive cargo, for his rather large wagon is protected by a mana discharge coil! I am most curious, but he or a halfling seems always there to deflect observation let alone investigation and he gruffly ignores or rejects any questions. I must find a way to investigate!
Jemmy Bland is something of a trader in goods and services. He sells necessities to the crew en route, naturally taking full advantage of our remoteness to make an excessive profit. I swear the man increases his prices daily; we will end up bartering our very souls with him, leaving little money for Sully to tax and precious few souls remaining to save! Fortunately I brought everything recommended in the old editon of Gnikaus's "Introduction to Potholing in the Caves and Caverns of Arocco", plus a few additions of my own, notably a weak but effective spyglass, an extra-stout staff and a flotation device of my own design (I have not yet had the courage to test it however and I pray I never need it).
As to services, he has six halflings managed by a taskmaster, a greasy man of whom I have not yet taken the trouble to learn his name. One of the little creatures had the temerity to beg water from me; I poured some from a waterskin into its tiny hands rather than have its disgusting lips on my mug. Remarkably it asked and gave thanks quite well in Loman, nearly as well as my own broken version of that tongue currently allows. I suppose with lengthy beatings and reptitition they can eventually master a small essential vocabulary. I have no quarrel with their use as beasts of burden (or perhaps one could even say slaves as they clearly have a modicum of intelligence), but it seems unnecessary to whip them quite so frequently. I have observed that even with fleshkind, it is sometimes better to use a favour or subtlety rather than simply to dominate through intelligence, will or brute strength. Even an animalistic being like a halfling might work harder if treated with some kindness once in a while. In any case, Bland will get as little business from me as I can manage and I will not use his kept creatures' services (I shiver at the thought of their dirty dextrous little fingers on my possessions).
Bland clearly trusts the halflings for one of them (perhaps the one I gave water to, it's so hard to tell them apart) uses a keen blade to scrape away the hair that grows in the night on the faces of humans. His appearance afterwards is almost presentable, were it not for the smug grin that spreads across his face. On more than one occasion, the halfling cut too deep, drawing the red fluid that circulates in some fleshkind. Bland had the creature soundly whipped each time. I don't know which is worse, the fearful expression on its face after a whipping or when it first approaches Bland to begin this procedure. Both it's skill with the blade and it's learned fear speaks of some degree of cunning or animal intelligence. Perhaps they would make good pets?
He will certainly face some hard times when he sets up shop at our destination's end, but his halflings may be able to act as simple labourers to help set up his establishment and perhaps they be used to pan or even mine for precious metals.
Finus Gar is the human who leads the rear guard team which is noted for its members as for its misfortune to be on watch during the most dangerous periods to date. As I wrote earlier, he is interesting for his devoted and skillful care of his long rifle. His face is hard to look at because of a permanent fracture in his skin below one eye which seems to squint a little more than the other when attending to something, which is almost all the time. He takes his responsibilities seriously and attends to them well. When he speaks, it is generally to give a command or a piece of advice, and it seems as if he would use only a monosyllable if it were enough (if only some of the human wizards at the Academy took a page from his book, they seem to wish the distill the joy out of time and spill it away). He varies his day with observing tracks ahead or to the side of our passage, bringing back hare or occasionally a small deer which he and his team eat with some gusto. I know not why they do not simply drink the red life fluid from their fleshkind prey as it seems they all are filled with it themselves.
Drycor Smyth is one of the two Feralkin on Gar's team. I had always imagined the animalfleshkind to be only one notch more advanced than the halflings, but their actions combined with the surly secrecy of Encato make me wonder at times. Surprising to me, they are capable of at least limited speech and show some signs of the ability to make plans and follow-through. Perhaps I should have done more research on their type; I could hardly have been expected to engage one in swill-filled conversation in one of their bars! He fiddles with his pistol as if trying to care for it, which is surprising in more ways than one. I hear he engaged with the conjure-weasel that attacked Hevran, but I assume that was only out of self-interest. Still, he bears more observation.
Danue Ofafar confuses me also; it or perhaps he appears to be a follower of the divine and to receive spells! I am amazed that Feralkin have any form of ritual, let alone an organised religion with a god that actually lends its clerics some magic. Perhaps I should engage him in conversation, I am curious which god he begs to and what spells he receives. Perhaps he even receives spells from more than one college? But how can I reconcile these advanced abilities with his form which is unlike any creature I have ever seen! He or perhaps it has a semi-prehensile limb protruding from its face! He uses it for feeding but also for other tasks. It does not even appear to be a deformation; the construction of his face appears to suit the presence of the limb. Again I regret not studying the Feralkin better.
Hevran is a Tinker, like a greatly enlarged version of my old acquaintance (can one refer to a Tinker as a colleague?) Gravus Guphor but apparently not as bright. Perhaps the energy the creature used for its growth has impeded its already limited mental faculties? I really must study nature more widely.
This creature is as much an anomaly as the rest of Finus' team. He is huge (some 8 feet tall), very powerful and lacking in grace, but not entirely ungainly, despite the plates that are sewn into his thick fleshy skin. His communication style is certainly diffident, sometimes obseqious, at other times even polite. He had the misfortune to bear the brunt of the conjure-weasel's feeding; this further confirms my belief that this red fluid is essential to their life, in a crude way like the Loring dependence on mana. He seems to respect Finus's superiority.
It is hard to think of such a creature as a rival for the resources Loring require and naturally deserve, but I must see past the gentle exterior and remind myself that all Tinkers wish to see Loring gone from this good Aerth so that they can plunder without restraint.
That brings me back to "Miss" Sympatico Rhyme. My initial impression of her beauty has changed somewhat with experience. She is merely tolerably well-proportioned and I have allowed the weeks since leaving Polstown to let any Loring female seem remarkable. With my perspective restored, I now find her quite abominably curt and evasive except when giving orders. I expected she would need to maintain such a demeanour with the fleshkind crew, but I had hoped for more from her for a fellow Loring. I think of her, naturally, as Sympatico or even Rhyme but I always call her Miss to her face, to emphasise my disdain for her role and for her choice to remain distant from me and her own kin.
Except for Rhyme and Sully, I am most curious about these travellers!
Saturday, February 10, 2007
My First True Journey - The Bryce Confluence
The Bryce Confluence! What a propitious start to my journey! I feel... something... like a resonance in my chest, a warmth without heat, but I cannot yet correctly perceive the ley lines that stream together here. How I have stared at the landscape, observing how the land falls from the mighty mountains, willing the manaflows that must be there to come to visibility - but they remain stubbornly impenetrable. At best I dimly see a colourless glow of mana sparks by night; the air is filled with it here.
Rhyme confirmed that the ley lines here are unmapped when she forbade me to use the arcane in this place, as if I needed a reminder about the dangers of wild magic! But I see that she too feels something here. What an odd one she is! Too long on the road, too long among fleshkind; she seems almost at home here leading this caravan, perish the thought! By the weight of her presence, she has surely reached the first fullness of her being, but I somehow cannot imagine that she has yet created a new Loring life. Surely that would have given her the impetus to spend some time among younglings, watching them as they past their first manafevers, teaching them to speak and sing, to paint and write and read; instead she leads this motley group to new lands.
Since I first heard of this expedition, I have wondered why Arocco has not sent an army first to purge this land of its infestation of giantkind. How fragile this caravan seems, it's wooden wagons and canvas covers, it's settlers full of hope and empty of sense; surely this journey will see them reach a premature end to their already short lives. How serious the other guards seem, clutching their technomantic claptrappery, scanning the horizon. How their spirits brighten with every trivial event of camaraderie, a few drops of coffee, a ray of sunlight above the mountain tops! These moments do not change our situation out here, yet they laugh at times as though they did. I cannot even enjoy the mountains myself with the endless trudging and jostling and watching, the barren rations, their raucous singing every morning! Have these people no sense of the peace of solitude, the beauty of meditation, the grace of the raw stone ascending from Aerth herself to tower before us?
Though I confess, I have developed a fondness for the strange trees up north; their uprightness and evergreen is like our own Loring nature, while the sprawling saplings and their wretched autumn colours I have seen around Polstown are like these fleshlings and their aging! They grow as stick figures, wearing skin several sizes too large, fit only to scare the birds. After less than a week of travelling, my serenity is gone, sometimes I cannot even remember what it is like to live among beauty.
But I suppose I must number myself among these guards now; surely there must have been another way for me to explore this region? But no, this was the only way. And I have 20 crossbow bolts and a head full of magic (that I dare not use!) to protect myself and this children's crusade from all this empty place might throw at us!
Enough of this melancholy, I suppose I must use this time as best I can. Perhaps I can learn some more of this horrific Loman? But it's grammar is so unstructured, it's vowel sounds so crude, it's consonants so soft, it's vocabulary so constrained. They have no word for manaconception, or beautiflorifying, or artitechture! And they have so many words relating to their fleshly life cycle, I swear they are obsessed with it, though I can't imagine why, their younglings so small and so fragile, their bodies practically changing and withering from day to day, their lives so brief. And how they smell! The cold of the rivers up here and the constant movement during daylight hours has dissuaded many from bathing they might have done in a town. And I swear, not a one of these travellers will use a razor to abate the misplaced growth of hair on their faces! But it is unseemly that I find them so wretched, they cannot help what they are. I will learn their words and utter their vowels and even sing their songs for they are numerous and we Loring must live amongst them. And I must strive even harder to understand them.
Despite myself however, I am intrigued by their technomancy! It is of course a barren thing to construct a mere device from metal and treeflesh, but I like how the thing comes apart and is then reassembled again, whole, clean, renewed. Finus of the night watch, he does that thing well; I have observed him often, he seems careless that I watch. Perhaps I should acquire one, just to study of course, until I too can perform the trick of it. But I will not ignite such a thing! I will never resort to that impoverished claptrap, this anti-magic!
Perhaps it is fortunate that my nib broke, I was allowing myself to become enraged. Still yourself to silence, subtle stone!
But to return to something of import, it is of course imperative that I regain the manasense that I had in my former life! The sparks I see blowing from the manaflows nearby are as nothing compared to the richness of mana's true sight. I have such dreams of nights where the monotone of sparksight was penetrated by mana's many-coloured light, from softly flowing glows to dappled coruscations in rivulets, luminous streams and mighty rushes! Rivers of light and life! Surely that is why I am so despondent now that I remember some of those moments; our Aerth seems barren of magic at times, I feel I will lose my own manabreath and expire where I stand!
I pray the Convocation are wrong; how would this world survive without beauty!
I will see the ley lines and once again perceive the colour of magic!
Rhyme confirmed that the ley lines here are unmapped when she forbade me to use the arcane in this place, as if I needed a reminder about the dangers of wild magic! But I see that she too feels something here. What an odd one she is! Too long on the road, too long among fleshkind; she seems almost at home here leading this caravan, perish the thought! By the weight of her presence, she has surely reached the first fullness of her being, but I somehow cannot imagine that she has yet created a new Loring life. Surely that would have given her the impetus to spend some time among younglings, watching them as they past their first manafevers, teaching them to speak and sing, to paint and write and read; instead she leads this motley group to new lands.
Since I first heard of this expedition, I have wondered why Arocco has not sent an army first to purge this land of its infestation of giantkind. How fragile this caravan seems, it's wooden wagons and canvas covers, it's settlers full of hope and empty of sense; surely this journey will see them reach a premature end to their already short lives. How serious the other guards seem, clutching their technomantic claptrappery, scanning the horizon. How their spirits brighten with every trivial event of camaraderie, a few drops of coffee, a ray of sunlight above the mountain tops! These moments do not change our situation out here, yet they laugh at times as though they did. I cannot even enjoy the mountains myself with the endless trudging and jostling and watching, the barren rations, their raucous singing every morning! Have these people no sense of the peace of solitude, the beauty of meditation, the grace of the raw stone ascending from Aerth herself to tower before us?
Though I confess, I have developed a fondness for the strange trees up north; their uprightness and evergreen is like our own Loring nature, while the sprawling saplings and their wretched autumn colours I have seen around Polstown are like these fleshlings and their aging! They grow as stick figures, wearing skin several sizes too large, fit only to scare the birds. After less than a week of travelling, my serenity is gone, sometimes I cannot even remember what it is like to live among beauty.
But I suppose I must number myself among these guards now; surely there must have been another way for me to explore this region? But no, this was the only way. And I have 20 crossbow bolts and a head full of magic (that I dare not use!) to protect myself and this children's crusade from all this empty place might throw at us!
Enough of this melancholy, I suppose I must use this time as best I can. Perhaps I can learn some more of this horrific Loman? But it's grammar is so unstructured, it's vowel sounds so crude, it's consonants so soft, it's vocabulary so constrained. They have no word for manaconception, or beautiflorifying, or artitechture! And they have so many words relating to their fleshly life cycle, I swear they are obsessed with it, though I can't imagine why, their younglings so small and so fragile, their bodies practically changing and withering from day to day, their lives so brief. And how they smell! The cold of the rivers up here and the constant movement during daylight hours has dissuaded many from bathing they might have done in a town. And I swear, not a one of these travellers will use a razor to abate the misplaced growth of hair on their faces! But it is unseemly that I find them so wretched, they cannot help what they are. I will learn their words and utter their vowels and even sing their songs for they are numerous and we Loring must live amongst them. And I must strive even harder to understand them.
Despite myself however, I am intrigued by their technomancy! It is of course a barren thing to construct a mere device from metal and treeflesh, but I like how the thing comes apart and is then reassembled again, whole, clean, renewed. Finus of the night watch, he does that thing well; I have observed him often, he seems careless that I watch. Perhaps I should acquire one, just to study of course, until I too can perform the trick of it. But I will not ignite such a thing! I will never resort to that impoverished claptrap, this anti-magic!
Perhaps it is fortunate that my nib broke, I was allowing myself to become enraged. Still yourself to silence, subtle stone!
But to return to something of import, it is of course imperative that I regain the manasense that I had in my former life! The sparks I see blowing from the manaflows nearby are as nothing compared to the richness of mana's true sight. I have such dreams of nights where the monotone of sparksight was penetrated by mana's many-coloured light, from softly flowing glows to dappled coruscations in rivulets, luminous streams and mighty rushes! Rivers of light and life! Surely that is why I am so despondent now that I remember some of those moments; our Aerth seems barren of magic at times, I feel I will lose my own manabreath and expire where I stand!
I pray the Convocation are wrong; how would this world survive without beauty!
I will see the ley lines and once again perceive the colour of magic!
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