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[fyrewrites]

The Magus’s Apprentice

Unfinished Ars Magica drabble

The small village on the outskirts of the faerie forest was, more or less, a peaceful place. The echoes of past large-scale cosmic wars resonated throughout the place, and to the Gifted ones, these echoes were harmful.

So it was that a child of eight, previously thought to be as UnGifted as any other, awoke screaming, crying out to the world to make it stop.

This young girl’s name was Amande, and she was in great pain.

Her parents, a farmer and his wife, had no idea how to help their daughter, so, against everyone’s best judgement, they called upon the old wizard in the tower. The tower was in the faerie forest, however the feeling of a new Gifted one was powerful enough to cut through even the worst of the faerie magic.

So the wizard came swiftly.

The fate of the girl was debated at length; the wizard wished to take the girl and teach her how to use her Gift, but the parents were afraid of that. What if she destroyed the village? The wizard let their fears vanish as he spoke a while about the dangers of an untrained maga, which would surely end in the village being destroyed sooner or later, whereas if she went with the wizard, no harm would be done, save for her absence.

In the end, the family conceded to the wizard’s wish, and Amande was no longer Amande, but an apprentice.

Amande cried out in pain, a pain which lessened as the wizard led her away from her home. She soon realized that she didn't even know the name of her new master, nor anything else about him, save that he was a wizard. As she opened her mouth to ask one of the questions she wanted answered, the wizard said, “Don't speak.”

They continued on in silence. When they reached the tower, Amande gasped. It was better than she had thought! She had thought it was a crumbling structure constantly under siege by the faeries, when in fact it was a sturdy, if worn structure, built of stone. Carved into the blue arched door was a strange symbol, which looked like two keys crossed. Amande had never seen that design before.

The wizard tapped on the door with his fist, as if he were knocking. The door unlocked itself and opened, much to the amazement of Amande. Did all wizards have the power to do that?

She walked inside. The door closed behind her, and as the wizard looked at them, the candles lit themselves.

“Welcome to my tower,” the wizard said. “My name is Elanirvidius, and I am your master now. May I know your name?”

“Amande,” the girl said immediately. “Are you really going to teach me magic? Am I going to be a wizard?” Her face was lit with childlike wonder.

“I am not a wizard, and neither will you be,” Elanirvidius said. “I am a magus, and you will also be one. And, yes, I will teach you magic.”

Amande let out an excited shriek. “When can I learn? Can I start now? How long do I have to wait?”

“First, I must Open your magic,” Elanirvidius said, sitting down in a chair. A little table immediately walked to him, bearing a glass filled with water and a well-thumbed book that had many bookmarks stuck in it. “That, I am afraid, takes some time.”

“So I won't learn magic now?” Amande’s bright expression faded.

“You will learn soon,” the magus said, then sipped the glass of water. “Please sit; you cannot be comfortable standing while I am not.”

Obediently, Amande sat on the softest chair she had ever sat on. It was better than standing, just as Elanirvidius had said. She asked, “How long do I wait?”

“It is late summer now,” Elanirvidius said quietly. “When autumn leaves turn red, you will be able to learn magic.”

“So…” she thought. “When the harvest comes?”

“Yes, I believe that is the time. Would you like me to show you the tower? An apprentice who does not know her and her master’s house is not much of an apprentice, after all.”

The tower possessed four floors. The first was the library and entry. The second was the laboratory, which was filled with all manner of strange projects that Elanirvidius kept Amande well away from. The third housed Elanirvidius’s room, a guest room, and the restroom, which appeared very magical indeed, as there was a basin there that filled itself with water, warm or cold, upon request, as well as a chamberpot that emptied itself. The fourth floor housed an observatory, as well as a smaller library that contained Elanirvidius’s personal notes and observations on many things, mostly the sky.

It was this magical tower that Amande now called home.

For the first season of her apprenticeship, Elanirvidius taught her how to read and write the language of magic. By the time her magic was Opened, she could read an entire spellbook, and could write a scroll.

On the day the autumn leaves turned red, Elanirvidius brought Amande up to the observatory, and asked her to look through the nearest of the three telescopes, and tell him what she saw.

She looked, and gasped. “It's magic!”

“It is time,” Elanirvidius said, “for you to learn magic.”

Amande studied the page Elanirvidius was showing her. It was written in the magic writing, which Amande knew fluently now. She read the words, then tried to understand them.

Search deep within yourself. It is there, waiting. It is your Gift. Welcome it, ask it to become part of you. Then, use it. Use The Gift to create light. If at first you don't succeed, try until you do. There is a light that shines in the darkness, and that light is you, Gifted one.

Amande followed the words’ instructions, and with the guidance of her master Elanirvidius, she created a floating orb of light that rested in her hands. She flung it up, and it rose, then fell down again, slowly and gently, to rest in her hands once more.

“Well done,” Elanirvidius said. “And your sigil is apparent also: gravity.”

That night, while Amande lay awake in bed conjuring lights, Elanirvidius dipped his pen, an emerald feather, into some black ink and wrote. He made special note of his apprentice’s sigil. Very few magi possessed a sigil that involved gravity, and those that had were known as great magi. Almost all of them had become archmagi, if that was a term that was applicable.

He finished writing, then rolled up the paper into a scroll and sealed it with purple wax inscribed with the mark of his House, two keys crossed.

He sent out the scroll, which was an official request for apprenticeship, then read Sigils: G to L, searching for gravity. He desired to know what exactly that sigil meant.

Dawn had just graced the village with its light, and the parents of Amande were woken by a loud tapping on their window. The cause was a bird carrying a letter in its talons.

They opened the window, read the letter, and rejoiced. Amande was well into her first year with the wizard, who she termed Magus Elanirvidius, and she had already learned very much. She had requested that the “magus” allow her parents to visit his tower so that they could check in with their daughter. He allowed this and welcomed them at any time.

So, the parents were quick to make their way to the tower of Elanirvidius.

“You came!” Amande said excitedly. “Do you like it? Do you? It's really nice here! And I can do magic now!” She conjured an orb of light, now second nature to her, and bounced it around as if it were a ball.

Her parents nodded. They were still quite shocked by how the door had opened as if by… magic. Now, too, their daughter was doing magic, and Elanirvidius had not shown himself yet. Where was he?

Amande created more orbs of light, throwing them around haphazardly. They all came back to her, no matter how far she tossed them. She aimed one, threw, then gasped as an ink vial spilled all over a paper. Oh no!

She rushed over and tried to fix it, but ended getting herself covered in ink. There was only one thing to do: tell her master.

She'd never been in her master's room since he'd given her the tour months ago. No room was forbidden to her, of course, but she had never felt the need to enter this room. Now she was.

Amande opened the door and called, “Elanirvidius, I spilled ink on a paper.”

Elanirvidius was not there.

Where in the world could he have gone? 

Amande checked everywhere in the tower, finding no trace of her elusive master. She returned to the library, then decided she would show her parents around. She did so with enthusiasm, but they were not so enthusiastic. She hoped that would change once Elanirvidius cane back.

Elanirvidius returned to the tower. He had met with one of the officials of his House, and they had dealt with the matter of Amande’s apprenticeship. It was decided that she was his apprentice, and so he would instruct her for fifteen years and take her to matters of importance, among other things.

He entered his tower to find two UnGifted people within—Amande had let her parents come. He observed the scene, his eyes coming to rest on the spilled ink vial, which had ruined a spell, One Key To Open Them All. Luckily, he had composed that just yesterday, so he recalled its formula very well. However, it was still ruined.

“Amande,” Elanirvidius said, “I believe I forbid throwing lights after last week’s incident.”

Last week, Amande had accidentally thrown a light orb through the ajar door to the laboratory, interrupting the ritual Elanirvidius was conducting. He had punished her accordingly, giving her a tricky reading assignment. Hidden within the pages of her book had been a quiz on formulaic magic, specifically pertaining to the orbs of light.

Clearly, she had not learned her lesson.

Amande apologized, but the matter of the spilled ink could not be resolved with words. Nor would a punishment work. So, Elanirvidius said, “Your actions have ruined my latest spell.”

He took the offending parchment and burned it in his hands. The ashes were swept away by a broom that sat in the corner.

“Leave,” he told Amande’s parents. They did so. With them gone, Elanirvidius continued. “Now, follow me. I have an important task for you.”

Her task was to assist in sorting the laboratory—the non dangerous part.

[fyrewrites]

The Maverick Manor Run

An old WIP from my archives I never finished, meant to be a prelude to a Shadowrun campaign

12:00 am. Maverick Manor courtyard.

“Alright, team, listen up,” Ste said. He was a troll of considerable skill at head bashing, but he was also a good leader. The Snakes deserved a guy like him, for he made them tougher. “We got a job paying out in ten million nuyen and if any of you mess it up there ain’t no telling what I could do to you. So listen close!”

“’Scuse me, before you begin,” Linxan, the elf shaman, interrupted, taking a second to take out her contacts and replace them with a non-reflective set. “Okay, continue.”

“So, as I said, this job’s giving us ten million nuyen to work with. We ain’t splitting it ’cause I ain’t good with numbers. So, we gotta hack into the database, get this family’s bank numbers and SINs, and then get the hell outta there.”

“Where does the get the hell outta there part fit in, because I’m not seeing a link…?” Ru asked, making sure his cyberdeck was in working order. Ste looked down at Ru and growled ominously, “You’ll see. This ain’t no normal job. This’s a job for pros. We ain’t pros, but we’re also not new. So, let’s just get on in there and find all the computers, hack ’em, and go.”

The group nodded. It was time to go.

12:09 am. Maverick Manor interior.

The Maverick Manor was well-guarded, but not well-guarded enough. Good old Claws had taken care of those guards with her handy claws, and now they were in the foyer. Well, one foyer. This one was relatively windowless; the one at the front of the place had windows for walls.

In addition to its lack of windows, this foyer also had a wealth of ridiculous vases. Easy to hide behind, easy to get for a small pile of nuyen. Rigs, the dwarf rigger, commandeered a drone to lift two vases and take them to their van. The drone came back, ready to assist some more.

“Okay,” Ste said, pointing to the door. “We go in quiet, and if there’s any dudes in there we smash em. Got it?”

“Got it,” the team echoed. They’d do lots of smashing, they knew—a place like this didn’t come unguarded. If it did, it was definitely a trap. No shadowrunner wanted to be caught in a trap—in fact, no one did. That was suicide.

Ste opened the door, letting Linxan, Ru, Claws, Rigs and his drone, and the newcomer through. The newcomer was a technomancer going by Preacher, and he’d apparently been on many ’runs before.

The ’runners spread out, covering the room. It was one of those rooms that screamed rich people. Decorated with fancy objects on pedestals, expensive art, and even more vases (there were so many), in addition to the look-don’t-touch furniture, it was most likely one of the sitting rooms. Or, standing rooms—those seats didn’t look sturdy enough for sitting.

They dashed through this room, nabbing a few choice items, and got to the next room: a long, long hallway with many doors. At the end of the hall was a fancy door. They’d have to search all the rooms to find the computers….

But Preacher had an idea. “I’ll find the computers,” he said. He entered the Matrix, and scanned the area around him for any piece of technology that could be a computer. He found a few, one in the fifth left room, one in the seventh right room, and quite a few in the room with the fancy door. The Matrix vanished, and he told the rest where they had to go.

The fifth left room was an office. Filing cabinets, a huge desk, et cetera. Curious, Claws looked at some files. They were labeled by year, from 2075 (now) to 2013. They contained lots of documents on shadowrunners. In the 2075 file, there were documents on them. There was even one for Preacher…. Claws took this one and read its contents.

“I’m in,” Ru whispered. His cyberdeck was active, the computer in this room was hacked. He took the data they needed—the bank info and the SINs. Unfortunately, he only had the information for two family members—there were seven, including the service android.

[fyrewrites]

What Happens to a Leaf

Written May 20, 2019.

A leaf was wand’ring through the air, driven on by breaths of wind. It soared above the skyscrapers, above the oil mines, above all the salt mines, and above ten million armed women fighting for the right to become men.

The leaf swirled and dipped, but still came a-wand’ring, and its travel was so interesting that I cannot help but document it.

The leaf hovered over kingdoms being destroyed, and watched the Watcher at His post. It saw worlds being born and destroyed, all at once, infinitely. It watched as it flew, it watched great dragons soar above the skies and rain poured from their scales that coalesced into a dark mass, a mass of evil and ruin and rage.

That leaf, now burnt, still wanders. It observed the books being written,the history bring made. It saw languages develop, and art form. It noticed how civilization progressed and un-progressed, at the same time.

Fire rained from above and it was all because of that leaf. That leaf was now a pile of ash and it was still flying. Finally, it reached an end point in its journey: a cavern.

Within this cavern lay a large abyss, guarded by four seraphim, ten thousand agonized souls, and one great ogre. The charred remains of the leaf fell into this great Abyss of Abysses.

In it went. At the bottom, which was fifteen billion feet down (a journey of two years for this leaf), there was a crucible. In this crucible, a soul sat twined around a pedestal encrusted with emeraldine stones, forming the outlines of an eye. This eye, being draconic in nature, moved to watch the leaf. The pedestal spread its wings, which, too, were emeraldine, and let the remains of the leaf rest upon it. The ashes glowed verdant, and the pedestal nodded.

This is what happens to a leaf when it goes far: it sees these sights, then dies, and its demise fuels a great power: the Watcher Himself!

- from "O, Traditiona: Tales and Strange Happenings" by Storymaster Stormform, 796 TE, with assistance from the Storyteller ("The Storyteller Of Yonder Mountain" and "Ars Magica: The Saga Never Meant To Be").

[fyrewrites]

Volume 14, pages 54-47 excerpt

In which a time god meets his maker and learns a new reason to stay alive

(Yes, Soth is a renamed Sotha Sil.)

Nothing left. Soth leaned over the edge of the balcony above the clocktower, letting his eyes see everything. It was all beneath him now; millions of years of precise work, and no more could be done after. This was that time when Soth came to that realization. He could do nothing now, nothing but bide his time until he finally let go.

There was nothing more to do. No more waiting. The clock did not tick forever; the gears would wind down. Such procrastination was not fit for the god who watched over the clock.

Soth went down to his Regent and took him up to the secret workshop. It was time.

“You are ready?” Gestalt asked. “You are sure? There’s still so much—”

“Do not make me wait,” Soth said. “We have waited long enough. Do you hear it, the ticking of the clock? Every second wasted is a second closer to apocalypse, time-stop, and after that, there will be nothing we can do. I must do this now.”

Gestalt placed himself up onto the worktable and wound himself down. Soth got to work, and just as he was about to begin the ending of this operation, a voice called out.

“It is not time for you to leave yet.”

“What gives you this assumption?” Soth asked to no one in particular, hoping that he had just heard a figment of his imagination. As the voice replied, his hopes were dashed.

“I know it. This is not an assumption, nor was it ever intended to be. The most you may do now is lose your legs, which is what the clock will allow. Once you fall, the clock will shatter; you know this. Why not hold that off for as long as you are able? A broken clock is no clock, and no clock begins the end.”

“Yes, that is… true,” Soth said. “I know this already and I know also that once I transfer, then my Regent will prevent—”

“No. The Regent is but your king. You are his god, omniscient in the eyes of time and powerful evermore than he. Your Regent cannot prevent apocalypse. There is no preventing apocalypse. It is the end; it is the turning of the Cycle, the changing of the guard, and there is no preventing that. However, there must be a watcher here, one who keeps his eyes on the clock and one who is powerful enough to fix it. That is, and has always been, you. From the moment you—”

“Enough,” Soth said. “Why do you bore me with this knowledge? No, don’t answer.” Soth turned around and looked the clock-maker in the mechanical eye, noticing how this artificial yet organic… horned one seemed to whirl, like wind.

This was a being made of clockwork. Droplets of creatia, like glittering jewels, fell from the gears ze was made from as they turned, an endless stream of the sacred blood of creation that vanished as it touched the ground. Hir eyes glowed scarlet, with a hint of purple. Ze was hovering, clockwork wings arcing from hir back, framing hir with the essence of divinity that the horned ones were so known for. And, of course, hir horns. They were spirals made of gears and sprockets and springs, gently wrapped in soft blue flame.

“I do not want to accept your view,” Soth said. “I feel that only I am right in this situation; I gaze upon the clock often and regularly, and know its wants and desires. You do that never. Who are you to know the clock?”

“Ignorance must be so peaceful,” said the clock-maker. “You know of me, but you claim to have never seen me, when I recall your hands feeling me, asking me what I wished, asking how to keep me ticking. I am the clock. I am its voice, its maker, and its avatar. I remember every visit you have made to me, entering from the left where your Citadel is carved, finding your way through the gears, unsure at first, but quickly learning the ways, quickly learning me. Do you now understand…?”

The clock-maker, wheeling, said, “Do not disappear from the world. Do not vanish. You are not yet ready to fall from the face of Reality. Perhaps, in time, you will learn, and when you do I will be here, always ticking, until my shape changes and I must part from myself and become half-broken, half-not. But that is several sparks away.”

Soth understood. He stepped away from Gestalt, who returned to his duties. The clock-maker looked at him then and nodded, then changed shape and returned to hir normal position, way beneath Limbo, ticking on and on as the Clockwork-That-Spins-Better.

[fyrewrites]

Merol in Morrowind

An unfinished self-indulgent crossover, part I

Grayson opened his eyes, gasping. He’d just had the craziest dream—he had been riding on a giant insect…. Wherever he was on swayed, like a boat. He was wrapped in silks and shawls and such, and his friends and family were there too, and now he noticed the floor was definitely… was that shell? No, chitin. Oh.

When Miya woke up, she screamed. Why… were they on… a giant bug?

“Quiet,” said their navigator, a dark elf. “You’re scaring the silt strider. It can’t receive my directions as well—” he quickly jabbed a navigational rod in between the chitin plates “—when it hears loud noises.”

“Where are we?” asked Grayson.

“You’re in Morrowind,” said the dark elf, then he coughed. “You appeared suddenly in the back of my silt strider here; I don’t question the affairs of wizards, which is clearly what sent you here. Almost crushed the sacks of alchemy ingredients I am transporting.”

“We’re in the home of the… your people?” Miya asked incredulously. “Oh no…” As was known, she hated dark elves.

“Mh,” the dark elf grunted, and resumed directing the silt strider. They strode on in silence (well, whatever could be silence; they could hear the moving of the silt strider, and its weird growl-groan-moans , and the occasional cough from the navigator).

Night fell. The silt strider approached the dock of a curious dark elf city, and the navigator set down the rods and stretched his legs (standing in one place for that long tended to stiffen him). “Since you’re here, would you like to help take these sacks to the alchemists?”

The otherworldly guests helped the dark elf with the load, and eventually, when it was all in the alchemists’ hands, the dark elf went to the inn in town, got a room, and went in. Grayson and friends decided to do the same, though the keeper was quite confused about the currency exchange between marks and drakes.

Next morning, it was Malachi who was first to wake up and he wandered into the dark elf’s room, nudged the elf’s exposed arm, and the dark elf cracked his full-red eyes open.

“Mister dark elf, can you take us home?” asked Malachi.

“Not a wizard,” he said, and pulled the silky blanket close. “We’ll be doing wizards work today… they might help you. Now go away; haven’t finished sleeping.”

Malachi wandered the hallway, peeking into rooms and seeing who was staying. He saw a pretty high elf lady, a big strong orc, a lot of dark elves, and some humans. Then he went downstairs. Few people were down in the main area, only the keeper and a few early-birds, but when the keeper saw Malachi, she came over to him.

“What are you doing here without your parents, child?” she asked, taking his hand and guiding him back upstairs. “I don’t think they would appreciate you being here before them. Here, go back to them.” Reluctantly, he did so.

An hour later everyone was down in the dining area, attempting to eat (or in the navigator’s case, enjoying) the traditional dark elven breakfast of kwama eggs, saltrice, and scrib meat sausages, seasoned with bitterleaf and comberry. The drinks were also strange to them, so most took water, but Miya had some experience in dark elven fare (not that she liked most of it) and gladly took a glass of shein.

They took the silt strider to another town, and here the buildings were made from great mushroom towers; these were wizards lands. Well, dark elf wizards, anyway.

The navigator headed into the big tower, then came back out with some slaves carrying the wizardly goods, and the silt strider was loaded up with them. The slaves scurried off to their masters, and now the dark elf took the Merol-folk in to see the resident wizard lord, Master Bel-Betu.

“Can you take us back to Merol?” asked Grayson. Master Bel-Betu looked quizzically at him and said, very clearly, “I haven’t the faintest idea where that is.”

“It’s a world—our world,” said Miya. “We were teleported here, apparently. I don’t very much care for dark el… um, the landscape here and I would like to go home.”

“Were you about to say that you do not care for the Dunmer?” asked Master Bel-Betu, taking a sip of tea. “You may want to leave before you offend anyone.”

“So you can’t help us?” asked Grayson.

“By the Three, no,” said Bel-Betu. “Once you can tell me exactly where this Merol is, then I will consider taking you there. Until then, I don’t think we have anything more to say to each other.”

They left the tower of Bel-Betu, disappointed. The navigator, however, appeared relieved—helping hands were always welcome in his line of work.

[fyrewrites]

Arcturus's End II: On Silwe

Prologue: Missing gods and broken divinity

Far up, past the clouds, on the tallest peak in the world, there was a point in space where the realms of the divine became one with the realms of mortals. This was the point of ascension, and pilgrims from far and wide had long labored to climb this mountain in order to meditate there. Now, however, the gods were gone, and their divine sparks were faded from the world. No pilgrims came now, which was good for the Snow Elves who lived near the point of ascension.

The world was forever changed, split now between two timelines, both equally distinct and strange. The other timeline mattered not now; only the one where the gods did not exist did.

A twisted energy, though faint, wove its way through everything, changing it, darkening it. It was most concentrated in Frohiqui, where new laws were being put into place by its Judges—of which Aum Arcana was now one.

In an attempt to redeem herself, Aum Arcana had presented herself before her father and the rest of the high Frohiqui’in mages after everything had passed, and formally apologized. Then, she had enlisted in the ranks of the Judges, a noble position sought by many, and, upon donning her hat, she had revealed that she was to be addressed as a woman now.

The efforts to prevent another “Aum-ish” disaster were high, resulting in the Judges passing many new laws on magic, specifically the summoning and ensorcellment of Dream Eaters and other such mind daemons. The Bashrahni and Azar covenants of Frohiqui, in particular, restructured their rules on daemonology to accommodate these new laws, and several proud mind-daemonology experts quickly found themselves struggling to come up with a new field of expertise. Many went underground. A few fled to other parts of the world. Others still took up the arts of illusion and regular daemonology.

One of the fleers from Frohiqui was a young prodigy, a student of mind-daemonology. She was half elf, half Frohiqui’in, and she was of the noble line of al’Ashad, given name Sylwia. She had come to Anhasi, to the city Sandport. From there she had sailed on the Shady Waif to the Realms, and had traveled, alone, from the port of ruined Lightlandia to Dawnbreak. There was a small village there, an isolated community of magically-gifted people, that she and a few other fleers had come to, in hopes that the locals would welcome them and their now-illegal craft.

Sylwia al’Ashad was the last to arrive at the village, and as she walked among its desolate, burnt down houses, she saw that there was no shelter here anymore. It had been torched. The fire-blackened bones of its past residents were hard not to step on and the ashes that had once been here was now long blown away. Sylwia did not believe in gods, but she hoped that wherever these people were now, they could find comfort among theirs. Then, she remembered: the gods had left.

Perhaps the world truly was forsaken.

[fyrewrites]

Fragments: Nzhavananear

These were written before I'd set up @aetherion-dwemer-zero so bear in mind they might not represent everything well.

Nzhavananear! A more glorious Aethership there had never been. Nzhavananear! Say its name aloud, now does that not inspire grandeur?

[This section has been lost]

…metal plates lining the hardened fabric of his voidsuit, an elegant and functional design. And as he looked out into the void beyond, spatial winds not ever managing to pierce through the voidsuit, he saw a spiraling galaxy in the distance and it was then that he realized he’d cut through the void so far and so fast in Nzhavananear that he’d left… the void.

But it was infinite. How could he had left?

[This section has been lost]

…and landed. Down they went, the Tower of Uplifting switching to the Tower of Downlowering (or something to that effect, translating such words from Dwemeris is really hard).

“Szard, fire off an announcing shot,” said Commander Kthchzand. The harquebus-master obliged, firing a loud burst of energy off into the sky, the sound traveling for miles. Naturally, the locals of this planet approached.

Szard looked at them, noted they had weapons, and warned Kthchzand, “They might think we are invaders.”

“That’s what we have harquebuses and orbital strikes for,” said Kthchzand. “If I wanted to kill them, you know what we would’ve done. No, let’s drop our weapons, to show we come in peace.”

The crew of the Nzhavananear let their weapons fall to the ground, held up their hands, and waited.

A warrior approached, dropped her weapon, and said something. Kthchzand flicked on his translator device.

“What are you doing here?” asked the warrior. “What is that metal thing you have come from? What are you?”

“We,” said Kthchzand, and his words were translated from the harsh Dwemeris language to… whatever language this planet spoke, “are Dwemer. We are the crew of the Nzhavananear, our… spaceship, and we are just exploring. You see, we traveled too far away from our home and we are lost, spacewise.”

“Hold on, let me get you someone…” said the warrior, and she went back to her group. She conversed with someone a while and then that person approached.

“Hi,” said the person. “I’m, well, the de-facto leader here. So, you’re space Dwemer?”

“If you must call us that, yes,” said Kthchzand.

“Well, mister space Dwemer, what are you guys named?”

[This section has been lost]

“So that’s how you got here,” said the emperor. “Huh. You guys have been through a lot then.”

“Commander—” artificer Mzin called, but Szard interrupted: “Hold on a dzum, suchi-el. Commander Kthchzand seems… zeroed.”

And indeed he did. The magnificent, opulent, glorious Kthchzand, whose face once shone radiant and fabulous, was now… dull. Dull, as the discarded waste of the artificers. His eyes were blank, staring off into nothing. Szard didn’t even think he saw him breathing.

“Commander!” Mzin exclaimed, grasping Kthchzand’s shoulders and channeling some energy through her artificer gloves. No response. “Bthan anum—where is Bthuand?”

Bthuand raised a hand weakly. He’d relegated himself to collapsing on one of the emperor’s delightful divans, as had many of the crew—compared to Nzhavananear’s seating this was luxury. Maybe they’d convince their commander to bring back some of this for the living quarters.

Bthuand approached Commander Kthchzand.

[This section has been lost]

…and the wailing,” Kthchzand gasped. “It was unlike anything I had ever witnessed, and I’ve seen things. I don’t know how long I could have survived, had you not found a way to bring me back, and for that…”

“Don’t worry about it,” said the emperor. “Really. Don’t. I tend to help people a lot and it kind of gets awkward after a while, hearing all those thanks and oh, however can I make it up to yous.”

[The rest of this story has been lost]

[fyrewrites]

Malidi'taljam escapes Landfall

The world was burning.

Malidi'taljam couldn't breathe. The air was so full of smoke that even an Ashlander like him found it almost impossible if not fully impossible to breathe. He dashed as fast as he could, as far as he could, away, away from the fire and smoke, but it was everywhere. Looked up, he saw vehkships trying to get people to safety, but they didn't notice him, not even after he risked the air he had left to call out to them.

The earth quaked.

Malidi'taljam stared at the debris of what had once been his home, the Ashlander camp of Urshilaku. Memories, bitter now. He didn't want to see them. The air still riddled with smoke, but at least it was breathable. He tried calling his silt worm, but of course it wasn't any use. All the worms must be dead.

The sky cleared.

Malidi'taljam looked up, sure he was the last Dunmer left. Why had the sky opened up? Why only above him? Then he saw why: a vehkship, of some unusual type, descended from the sky. Malidi'taljam was pulled inside and sat next to its pilot, who wore a moon and star decorated outfit, navy and yellow-white the color scheme.

"Why did you come to rescue me?" Malidi'taljam asked.

"Because you're an Incarnate," said the pilot. "Malidi'taljam, yes? I am... Moon. Or Silvhar. The second the Echmer told us about Landfall, I knew I must get you alive. But there will be more time for explaining when we get to Nu-Mundelbright."

"Is that where the others have gone?"

"No," said Silvhar. "They went to Secunda. Nu-Mundelbright is far away from that, but with hope we will be there in a few chronocules."

The pilot flew.

On and on through the void they went, and this voyage took hours. When they reached the seemingly derelict spires of Nu-Mundelbright, Malidi'taljam found himself being carried down off the vessel. There was a strange, bat-like mer who gazed at him curiously - was this the Echmer that Silvhar had mentioned?

"Malidi'taljam," said the Echmer, "it is good to know you haven't died. Yet."

[fyrewrites]

First Singing

Edited from the WIP chapter 1 of The Dark Light Wars Volume 15: Prismatic Amaranth, for Temple Nu-Zero

In an adjacent place, there was a sudden buzzing amongst all the silence. This buzzing, to the grabbers, was deafening, and they covered their sonar receptors with their tentacles and grabber-hands and skin-flaps and whatever else they had, as they moved towards the source of the noise. The buzzing grew louder and now static accompanied it, and a wave of cascading spectra extended from the center of the sound, visually representing it, and now both forms of particles merged to form an outsider, clad in strange armor from a different time. Beneath the visor the outsider’s eyes flicked between all the grabbers, unsure of what to make of them.

The grabber nearest to the outsider uncovered its sonar-sensors with a loud and sticky-sounding shwoop, approached the outsider closer, and stuck a tentacle onto it. Now they could communicate.

Whoareyouwhoareyouwhoareyou

“I am a Class-12 spectral particle-form apparition future calamity soldier,” said the outsider, “designate Wraith.”

The grabber thought clearer and no longer needed to repeat its thoughts.

Why have you come here?

“I am lost,” said Wraith.

The grabbers thought among themselves and stuck their tentacles to Wraith, and now as one, the grabbers shunted Wraith back where it had come from. Now the buzzing had ceased… but the buzzing returned as swarms of grabbers cried out, realizing their trans-dimensional shunt had taken one of the adj with it!

Wraith looked around. The adjacent place was far away now, all fractal thought spores agreed. Now Wraith’s realiwave detector said: 1xxxxxxxZERO. Twelve identifiers as expected, but seven of them were either obscured or not reading at all. What? Wraith had never seen this reali-d listed anywhere, so the reality it corresponded to was completely alien to them. To check, Wraith tried to ping the others.

“This is designate Wraith, please acknowledge,” Wraith said while focusing on the communication point. Nothing. So Wraith pinged again. Now, there was something, but it was faint: UNABLE TO AUTHORIZE DESIGNATE: WRAITH ON SPORE-3454.

Then Wraith noticed the buzzing. A grabber was stuck to them like glue, super strength glue, because as Wraith tried to get the grabber off, it just wouldn’t unstick.

“If you refuse to leave, then…” Wraith let a simulacrum of humanity enter them, “I suppose you’ll need a name.”

The grabber talk-thought, Nym. Nym it was, then. This grabber was much smaller than the other grabbers Wraith had seen, and so Wraith deduced this one must be young. A shred of humanity entered Wraith’s pseudo-consciousness again: it is all alone, and helpless without me. I must care for it.

[fyrewrites]

Writing as if I was eleven

Once upon a time there was a kingdom named Aloria and the queen of this kingdom was named Lucia. Lucia was a kind and lovely ruler who treated everyone with care. She was so kind and helpful that her people never knew tragedy until it was too late…

A man named John came to the kingdom of Aloria and said: “I need your men. All of them. They will become my firemen. My own kingdom is on fire and therefore I need strong firemen.”

But Lucia said, “No, you will not have those. I need them they are my subjects and they have no reason to go with you

This was when the ground opened up and made a huge chasm between them and now, out of nowhere there were some armies. And we are talking big armies.

Dragon man came flying from the sky, as he did, he had huge wings, because he was a dragon man. No one knew his name so everyone called him dragon man. Dragon man said: “Get! Off! My! Lawn!”

So dragon man started a killing, and then everyone ran away because they didn’t want to die! Well the old witch in the forests found them all and cackled madly as she does, and then she headed to the necromancer's haunted house, and she gave all the people to him. The necromancer nodded in approval and began grinding bones. Then his pet raven said “Stop it!” and yanked the head of Lucia and John right off and flew away with it, throwing it in the general direction of Sword Town. Now the leaders of Sword Town, the knight council, ran out and asked, “Who are these heads?” the bird told them.

Knights took the heads and stuck them on new bodies, then the new John and the new Lucia were relabeled knight council people.

I don’t know what happens next.

[fyrewrites]

Unfinished: The hut in the old forest

Doubtful that I will ever finish this, so in the case I don't here it is

I was walking in the forest one night, using the light from my fire globe to guide me. It wasn't very bright of a fire globe (I hadn't enough money to get a good one) but it was enough. The path I took was long and winding around, and gradually began messing with my mind. One instant I was walking a straight path. The next I'd be going in circles until I went backwards, then I'd continue on the straight. Sometimes I felt things watching me. Sometimes I saw the eyes to prove it. I walked for hours, or what felt like hours, eventually stumbling into a clearing. Here, my fire globe sputtered and died. No matter how many times I shook it and tapped it, it didn't relight, so I had to rely on the light of the moons. They didn't provide enough; I tripped and fell so much that I may never walk the same again. An hour or so of this later, and I emerged in a swamp, and sitting in the center of that dark, wet swamp, was a small hut. I approached and looked all around, seeing no windows - but there was a door. I wondered if I should knock first, or just open it. Etiquette demanded the former, but I wasn't certain that the hut was occupied. Knocking on an abandoned hut wouldn't be wise. But.... I knocked. The door slowly opened by itself, a voice said, "I have been waiting for you to come here." The inside of this hut was quite large - it was bigger on the inside. And, there were multiple rooms. It seemed like I had been transported underground, given the feeling of the air. I heard sounds of grinding and moved towards them. A figure in red was grinding something with a mortar and pestle. Scattered on the table nearby were several bones, herbs, and flowers, as well as arrays of finely ground powders. I asked, "What do you mean, you have been waiting for me? Who are you?" The red clad figure looked up, and I noticed its head was that of a bird's. "I am the Sparrow. I have seen you before, many times in fact, but you haven't seen me until now." The Sparrow poured the powder it had made into a small bowl, and took more things from the table to grind. It reconsidered, then, placing them back and setting down the mortar and pestle. I asked, "Why were you expecting me?" The Sparrow inspected an array of bottles before taking two, saying, "You were fated to come here. The god of chance has won the bet, yet again. You may sit down, there is no need for you to stand and stare." I took the first available seat, a rickety stool near the table. I inquired, "The god of chance made a bet with you?" The Sparrow nodded, "Yes. It was foolish of me to accept of course, but I am ever competitive with that one. Would you like some nourishment?" I asked, "What was the bet, exactly, and why am I involved?" Here, the Sparrow stopped, and said, "The bet was this. If I was unable to make you arrive at my hut, I would gain the knowledge I sought. However, if you managed to reach this place - which you have - then you would be forced to live with me, and the god of chance would be allowed to take anything from me. I suspect that he already has, by forcing me to allow you entry." I asked, "What do you mean I have to live with you?" The Sparrow answered, "I am unsure of the specifics, but I am sure the god of chance will explain when he decides. I do not enjoy humans, particularly for your minds.

[fyrewrites]

Snippet from February about Sotha Sil and the birth of Memory

"How fares your mind, my king?" Goveri asked, his metal feet echoing as he walked across the marble floor.

"Today I am... unwell," the king answered, placing two fingers on his eyepiece and twisting it. "My sister has decided that she will visit our city shortly. I fear that she will be disappointed."

"Have no fear, my king, you are an excellent host," Goveri said, going over to the windows and opening the white silk drapes. The light from the artificial sun shone through now, casting colorful shadows as it was tinted by the stained glass. "Now, my king, what would you like to present yourself to her in?"

"I am not going to," said the king, and closed the curtains of his ornate bed. Goveri heard him open a book. "If my sister asks for me, tell her that I am ill."

"My king, are you sure that is wise?" Goveri questioned. The king said, "Whether it is or isn't is not my concern. You may go now."

Goveri bowed and, as he left, said, "I will check on you in a few hours, my king."

Later, when the king's sister arrived, clothed in thin white silks that accented her form and jewelry that showed her wealth but was not too ostentatious, she immediately asked to see her brother. Goveri denied her request and, as he had expected, she grew irritated. She walked straight past him up to the king's room, thrust open the bed curtains, and demanded, "Are you purposely avoiding me?"

"Yes," the king said. He was lying in the fetal position, the book he had been reading placed beside him. "I cannot handle you at the moment, sister. Don't think that I no longer care for you; this has nothing to do with you."

"Then what is it?" his sister asked. "What is so important that you cannot see me?"

"I cannot tell you," the king said. "Now please go."

"Tell me," his sister hissed, her magical flaming sword appearing in her hands.

The king looked up at her. For a moment he said nothing; he stared, mouth slightly open, considering how to say it. Then, very carefully, he said, "I am with child."

"How?" his sister asked. "You are male; it makes no sense. Do you mean that you finally have found a partner?"

The king shook his head. "Go. You will learn this later."

"Brother..." his sister said, growing angry. "Who was it? Who could possibly love a half mechanical abomination such as you? Tell me!"

"It is nothing like that," the king said. "I tell you the truth; this involves no one but myself."

"My king, if I may be permitted to remove her," said Goveri.

"Yes," the king said. His sister screamed, resisting Goveri's strong pull on her, but not for long. When she was gone, Goveri asked, "Did she harm you?"

"No, nor Ehn," said the king, finally choosing the name of his child. Ehn, "memory".

"You have named it Ehn?" Goveri asked. "May I ask why, my king?"

"In the future, Ehn will be all that remains of myself and my creations," the king said. "Ehn will be my memory and those that see her will remember it."

"You worry me," said Goveri. "Every day, you speak more and more about this... ending. My king, if there is something troubling you, please share it—let your caretakers share your burdens."

"I... know when the ending of the world will occur," said the king, caressing the child inside him. "I will not live to see it, nor will you. Ehn will be born soon after I die, and her caretaker I have already chosen and met with in secret. Now Goveri, do not worry about any of this. It is none of your concern."

"You truly are gifted with knowledge," Goveri said. "Good night, my king."

The day the king died had arrived, five days after this. His sister entered his workshop and asked him about the child. When he did not respond, she killed him in a fit of rage and insanity, and then she, too, died. When Goveri came to check on the king, he watched as a person he did not know appeared and took the growing fetus from the king's womb. The caretaker caressed Ehn, whispered, "You will be his memory."

"Who are you?" Goveri asked.

"That is for me to know and you to wonder," said the caretaker. "Rest assured, I knew your king very well and he trusted me with his life."

The caretaker vanished. A thousand years passed and the city languished, ruined, became as dust. Twelve hundred quartzite beings emerged from the rubble one day and took their technology and knowledge elsewhere, never to be seen again, only in the shadows offering gifts to those who deserves protection, as if they saw some coming disaster that they needed to prevent.

[fyrewrites]

It cuts itself off from the rest of the world for a millennium and then decides it's bored, so it crawls out and wails, announcing in the Nu way that all things from the Ut ways should be abolished because they're faulty now.

It looks down and creates a little lizard, then makes her humanoid. It names her: Vos-Ei. It creates an elf too, and it names him: Varyn. It creates more: Enal, Serevi Nerevar, Alandro, Looks-At-Water-Fancifully, Al-Naboor, Aliyah, and J'drirr. It splits these into timelines, several, and with each new timeline the ways are changed, and now it's in danger of ruining reality.

So it decrees a c0da, and in this c0da it places all of these timelines, and now, running on an engine that is using Varliance++, this c0da, this new dreamsleeve command, is flawless and perfect and does what it wants it to.

[fyrewrites]

Give me a word and I shall write stream of consciousness based on it. It may not be entirely coherent due to the nature of writing that way. You may include more words if you will it.

[fyrewrites]

The name of this city is ---, or so it is whispered in hushed tones, "anon ---", for it doesn't bear this name yet.

A high noble struts through along the spine, flanked by his honor guard, who kick away the beggars and unscrupulous souls who they deem too disgusting for their master's eyes. The one who is kicked the most violently is the street prostitute who happened to start crossing the street at the wrong time, and ze got kicked down. But the noble paused, turned to this desolate soul, and asked, "What manner of street scum are you? You look too clean to be one of them."

"My name is Vivec," said ze. The noble's hand extended to hir, and he pulled hir up and said, "Your name is important, though I do not know yet why. Walk with me, Vivec."

They walked. Through high arched passages, back alleys, wide thoroughfares, unruly crowds, dirty buildings, cramped passages, and places few had ever dared to go, but this noble seemed to not care where he was going, so much as how he got there. Vivec could tell that this noble appeared to relish the journey, rather than the destination; this was a thing closest to what ze hirself considered good.

The city

Some stream of consciousness

The city, was huge. And I mean huge. It was so huge that it all seemed to overwhelm you. So much was going on at any given time - on the crowded streets beggars begged, walkers walked, vehicles and mounts rolled and skittered and crawled along, and in back alleys shady deals were going on, and street prostitutes flaunted themselves, and orphaned children looked greedily at every scrap of food, and marketeers hawked their wares on the streets, and every door led to a new place, and running, walking, talking, lanterns lighting up the ways and the river cutting the city in two gurgling and streaming as it flowed, boats along it, playing in the water, bathing in it, washing in it, bridges hanging over the river, the main roads the backbone and spine of the city. So much was going on. Sounds and sights and feelings assaulted you everywhere you went, giving you no peace, no breath of fresh air, no silence, a city eternal, never sleeping because there would always be people. This city was the largest city and it made you feel like an ant; buildings towered and flowed out like organic shapes because how else would they have fit them all there, and all this was so much, so much, and most outsiders couldn't stand a second of being here. Walk along the main road, the spine, and take note of all this, and if you can handle this then you are permitted to continue further.

[fyrewrites]

The city

Some stream of consciousness

The city, was huge. And I mean huge. It was so huge that it all seemed to overwhelm you. So much was going on at any given time - on the crowded streets beggars begged, walkers walked, vehicles and mounts rolled and skittered and crawled along, and in back alleys shady deals were going on, and street prostitutes flaunted themselves, and orphaned children looked greedily at every scrap of food, and marketeers hawked their wares on the streets, and every door led to a new place, and running, walking, talking, lanterns lighting up the ways and the river cutting the city in two gurgling and streaming as it flowed, boats along it, playing in the water, bathing in it, washing in it, bridges hanging over the river, the main roads the backbone and spine of the city. So much was going on. Sounds and sights and feelings assaulted you everywhere you went, giving you no peace, no breath of fresh air, no silence, a city eternal, never sleeping because there would always be people. This city was the largest city and it made you feel like an ant; buildings towered and flowed out like organic shapes because how else would they have fit them all there, and all this was so much, so much, and most outsiders couldn't stand a second of being here. Walk along the main road, the spine, and take note of all this, and if you can handle this then you are permitted to continue further.

[fyrewrites]

Here is a story I wrote about the Dwemer of TES sometime last year, finally available for others to read.