~A giant rollercoaster of a novel in 400 sizzling chapters
Ultramega Ok! recording!
Symphonic Fantasies - Chrono Trigger/Chrono Cross
NieR - The Wretched Automatons
Another giant symphonic suite! I can't get over how awesome that one is, the way the themes all blend into each other is just fantastic. The NieR track is just kind of strange and pretty, nice haunting vocals. That soundtrack was really very cool.
ANYWAY I SHOULD BE POSTING MORE but i've been working on something you'll be seeing very shortly and it's sort of sucking up all my time, haha. Oh, I know! Someone hooked me up with an rtf file for If I Pay Thee Not in Gold so I don't have to transcribe bits of the book by hand anymore! Which is great, since it makes it way easier to just grab snippets of it now. So here are a few segments I thought about posting last time but were too much work.
Way way back when during Xylina's original woman trial:
"There is no question as to her ability or her nerve," the demon Ware observed, his heavy-lidded eyes betraying nothing. "I do not know when I last saw a more decisive woman-trial." He lounged indolently in his seat, long and elegant fingers toying with the stem of a glass goblet of conjured wine.
The Queen glanced sharply at him, but he did not seem to be exercising his formidable and sharp wit at her expense; he was simply making an observation. Without a doubt, he had seen any number of woman-trials during his life in the city.
She wondered what he was thinking. Demons were tolerated in the city, and in the Mazonite culture as a whole, provided they qualified. They qualified only if they took binding oaths to do no harm, to do nothing to change the existing order, and to serve the Queen personally, bowing to whatever her whim might be. Many demons seemed to find these oaths humiliating, and so shunned Mazonia as a whole. But not Ware.
The Queen found his wit and ironic sense of humor amusing, so long as they were not exercised against her, and he was often her guest. Some of her subjects found his presence unpleasant, even disturbing, but she was not one of them, and she had found his talents useful in the past. She was not certain how old he was-several hundred years, at least. And he was as ornamental as he was witty: graceful as a cat, pale-skinned, dark of hair, with a thin, sculptured face. Only his eyes gave him away for what he was; there was no mistaking the eyes of a demon for anything else. They were a peculiar color: an odd dark red, with golden flecks, like gold-dust floating in rich, unwatered wine-and the human looking into them suddenly felt the weight of every year of his many centuries.
In fact, a human looking into them too long stood a chance of becoming mesmerized by them. That was one of the many powers that demons possessed, powers they were sworn not to use against the women of Mazonia, although they were perfectly free to exercise them at the expense of the freedmen. The demons who swore their oaths to the Queen had a great deal of commerce among the freedmen. They often acted as the Queen's agents in trading outside the borders.
LOUNGING INDOLENTLY for those of you wondering what Ware looks like. No mention of a little devil tail though.
"I am sent from Lady Hypolyta," he said, without preamble. His voice was very low, and musical. "She is not a personal acquaintance of the mistress of this house, nor of yours, nor of your mother Elibet-but she did see your performance at your woman-trials in the arena, and she wishes me to express her admiration, and the fact that she was greatly impressed by your courage and your resourcefulness."
Is that all? Xylina restrained her impatience, and nodded to the slave, indicating that she had heard and understood him, and that he was to go on. He was a most unusual looking man: very slim, and very graceful, with long dark hair that shone like black silk, and hung to below his shoulder-blades, and very curious, dark eyes. At least, she assumed they were dark, as she could see very little of them. He kept his eyes cast down as he spoke to her and she could only infer their color. But despite the fact that he kept his eyes lowered, he carried himself with a kind of unconscious pride, much like Faro. He was incredibly well-spoken, actually, and despite her current throng of worries, she found herself envying the woman who owned him. She must take great pleasure in him.
I can't stop picturing Ware as Blackadder personally.
HOPPING AHEAD TO THE PACHA AGAIN
Nomadic horse-warriors. No one had warned her about those. She looked back at her little train, and wondered how formidable it would look to barbarian raiders. Were twenty-four men enough? Did they look like hardened fighters? And they were afoot; they could not escape mounted men by running. For a moment, she wavered, and fear crept into her heart.
Ware was continuing to eye her, with a wry smile on his lips. "They will find you just as tempting a prize, my dear," he said softly. "Any of the Pacha chieftains would be pleased to have you in his tent-properly leg-shackled, of course. Your beauty is rare among the Mazonites; among the Pacha you would shine like a moon-flower among chickweed. A chieftain would claim you as his pleasure-slave immediately."
Her head jerked up, and she looked down her nose at him indignantly. "And you would do well to remember who is the mistress here, demon," she snapped. "No unwashed barbarian is going to touch me and live to tell his nomadic kin!"
With that, she gave the signal to Faro to move out, and urged her mule to the head of the column, ignoring Ware's rich chuckle as he guided his horse in behind hers.
I JOKED ABOUT HER GETTING RAPED AND SHE STILL DOESN'T LIKE ME, I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING WRONG
also what would stop a captured Mazonite from just conjuring cement blocks over people's heads, how could anyone keep them captive
"Hunting for food is permitted by the treaty," Ware said. "But he warns you that if his scouts find the bloated carcasses of animals killed only for horns, teeth, or hide, he will bring down the wrath of his gods upon us for wanton spoilage of his brothers. And it is considered good manners if you leave the hides, bones, horns, and teeth behind where we have camped, for the warriors to retrieve and take back to their people. In that way you prove that you are not a trophy-hunter."
The Pacha are one with nature.
By now, the torches and lamps were all lit, and Ware had settled in the midst of the Pacha, making some long speech. Faro joined her as the first of the tubs was carried to the waiting barbarians.
"He's prating about brotherhood and the sacred earth," Faro said, as she shifted her concentration to create the ingredients required for sweet sugar-cookies. "He's been using the biggest words he knows, and describing you as a Valiant hawk of the wild Mazonites,' and 'a wily she-cat, who wins as much by guile as by strength,' but 'one who values honor and oaths more than meat and drink.' It's one of those long-winded speeches the politicians make. They just might appoint him chieftain when he's done, if he's not careful."
prating?
The Pacha warrior exclaimed something that set the others to laughing-and all the rest drank their first cups off as quickly as Ware had downed his. Xylina had to give them credit for strong constitutions; she would not have been able to drink the "wine" so quickly.
"What did he say?" Xylina demanded.
Faro grinned. "Waugh! That is no wine! It is honey-fire! It kicks like an unbroken stallion!"
haha those quaint barbarians!
Ware took his own bowl and smiled ironically. "I nearly gagged on the first swallow," he said. "It is well that my self-control is as good as it is. And it is good that you thought to make that potion as strong as you did; the Pacha drink a strange concoction of fermented cactus that can easily double as varnish-remover. I have only drunk it once, and I can testify that it is a terrible and powerful drink. I do not think that mere wine would have sufficed for your plan."
I guess Ware gets bored in Mazonia and goes to hang out with his Pacha bros every now and then or something.
"He also says that in gratitude for the feasting, all the 'civilized tribes'-whatever that means-will make certain that we are not molested by anything other than thunderstorms." Faro cocked his head to one side. "All things considered, it sounds like a bargain to me. You simply conjure enough meat to stuff these barbarians full, enough wine to drown them, and we pass through their land with no enemies but sun and rain."
"You aren't the one doing the conjuration," she replied, but secretly she was pleased. Faro was right; it was a bargain. Tribute was better than combat.
Wait, where's the laugh track?
Anyway let's skip to the Sylva.
It looked at his riding-breeches, boots, and light leather armor with disdain, standing directly in his path so that he could not avoid a confrontation with it. "Murderer!" it said. "Do you know how many poor, helpless animals died so that you might flaunt their skins on your back?"
Xylina saw Faro's face go blank; he looked very stupid at that moment, and she knew from experience that he was about to respond with something as scathing as possible.
Then he smiled; Xylina recognized that smile. It was the same one with which he had greeted his attackers in the street. That seemed a lifetime ago! "As a matter of fact," he replied jovially, "I do. I killed them all myself. It was great fun. Would you step out of my path, or would you care to become a tunic?"
The Sylvan's mouth worked silently for a moment, as it tried to deal with Faro's reply. As it stood there, face twisted with distress, the slave reached forward and lightly pinched a fold of the skin of its arm between his thumb and forefinger.
"You'd make a very nice tunic," he said helpfully. "Gloves, too, I think. Although I doubt you'd put up enough of a fight to make it entertaining. Still, my mule has acquired a taste for man-flesh since I've had him-and you look soft and sweet. I think you'd please him."
That was too much for the Sylvan, who fled in terror.
They were not disturbed for the rest of the evening.
ISN'T FARO THE GREATEST YOU GUYS gee whiz
Oh, a better description of the houses the Sylva live in:
The notion of living inside a tree had seemed romantic: living so closely with nature, at one with the world. But once inside this peculiar dwelling, he found it was something other than romantic.
The floor was soft and pulpy, far from level, rather unpleasant to walk on. The rooms were dark, cramped and oddly shaped, with little space for furniture. In fact, there was little in the way of furniture: mostly large pillows for seating, and larger ones for sleeping. There seemed no place to prepare food or store it; perhaps they ate communally. Clothing was hung in a small room, from a rod wedged across the middle of it. He could find no bathing room, and the room for elimination was a simple primitive jakes, no more sophisticated than a poor Mazonite's outhouse. There was a peculiar smell, both sharp and damp, and it appeared from the marks on the walls about the windows that they were not entirely weather-tight.
So much for romance.
I SWEAR THESE SHOULD BE LIKE MONSTER TREES OR SOMETHING but whatever.
Ware hesitated for a moment, but the creature's opening line gave him an opportunity he could not pass by. "You say you are the oldest Sylvan here," he replied, "And yet it is true that you all seem incredibly young and vital-how is it you remain that way?"
"Proper nutrition," the Sylvan said, proudly. "We consume nothing of animal nature. To consume such things is to degrade the flesh; we consume nothing that is not pure." Ware took a glance into the bowl of soup that had been brought to him: nothing but vegetables, with cubes of something white. Politely, he ate a bite; it seemed harmless, but nothing to be excited about, and the white stuff was virtually tasteless.
TOFU!
Anyway might as well catch up on new stuff. The group wanders into essentially the set of Fantastic Planet. It's all trippy and weird! Omg!
Among these rocks and growths crawled creatures like slugs, only these were slugs the size of a hand and covered with ruffled membranes of bright red and acid yellow. The slugs shared their domain with brilliant golden, webless spiders with fat hairy legs and bodies like saucers, and with attenuated blue stick-insects as long as Xylina's forearm, that stalked about with an unsteady and uncertain gait. There were also armored creatures to which Xylina could not assign a species: eight-legged plates with eyes on stalks, something that looked like a rabbit with a mounded and articulated coat of armor covering its back in place of a fur coat, and things that looked like upside-down cups with four little feet. There were plenty of ordinary insects, too-or at least, Xylina thought they were ordinary, until she swatted a fly and saw that it had no head that she could find, no eyes and no mouth. There was nothing larger than a rabbit; nothing that looked big enough to be a hazard to the party.
Are you freaking out yet
Xylina did not even see a movement; one moment the man was laughing and joking with his fellows, and the next, he was screaming in agony. A long purple tentacle coming from the top of the "tree" tried to drag him into the grasp of several more emerging from the ends of the branches.
OOPS anyway long story short the dude dies. Everyone feels really sad about this. In the process we get to learn about slave burial rites! Turns out it's pretty much just cremation.
"Kyle was a good man," Hazard said into the waiting silence. "He always did his duty, and shared every labor. He deserved-" There was a hasty glance at Xylina and a pause. "He deserved a fine life, but he found a terrible death instead. If the gods are listening-" and here Hazard made a strange gesture, a kind of circle upon his chest, inscribed with a forefinger, a gesture copied by all the others, even Faro "-let them hear me. He liked the Pacha, and they welcomed his songs and stories. Let him be reborn as a Pacha warrior."
"Let him be reborn as a Pacha warrior," the others echoed. "So let it be."
Hazard stepped back from the pyre and nodded at Xylina. That was enough of a signal for her, and she nodded in turn to Ware, who conjured fire.
The pyre ignited immediately, with a whoosh of flame. The oil-soaked wood burned with intense heat, and all the men had to step back a pace or two.
may he be reborn as a carebear no wait
"Which is where I come in," Ware picked up smoothly. He smiled at Xylina. "Faro and I discussed this in Sylva when he pointed out he was just trusting to the road, and had no way of knowing if we were going in die right direction. We have a compass with us, and I know how to use it. We also have other navigational aids, and I can use them, as well. We simply haven't needed them until now, but I knew that eventually we would. So I made certain we had them, and that I could use them."
"Well, that's good, because I can't," Xylina replied, just a little irritated. Why hadn't he mentioned this before? Had he planned all along on trotting this little prize out, taking his bow, and waiting for the applause? She would much rather have had a chance to learn to use these things herself. "And I think you'd better start teaching us. What if you got swallowed by a giant snake or something?"
Ware had the audacity to laugh. She stared at him, a little affronted. "You're quite right," he said, agreeably. "I am not in danger of getting swallowed; I would simply dematerialize and walk out. But I have been remiss; I should have been instructing you and Faro all along. And since I have begun this so late, I think the first lesson should be this very moment."
SILLY MORTALS, HA HA ow why are you hitting me
He removed the compass and the other instruments from his saddlebags, and proceeded to instruct them in the use of all of them. There were instruments to take a direction from the angle of the sun, others to do the same from the stars, and charts and maps of all kinds. Soon she was immersed in calculations and complex geometries. The compass was easy enough, but Xylina despaired at ever mastering the astrolabe and the other complex instruments, although Faro seemed to grasp the way of dealing with them at once.
OF COURSE FARO CAN DO ANYTHING
Anyway they leave the Fantastic Planet area and go into the giant spinach forest (which almost seems like it was deliberately planted!!!11). It is inhabited by, bizarrely, what sound like giant floating heads. BUT BEFORE THAT, LET'S CHAT WITH THE OTHER SLAVES
"Now that's a reason I can understand," Gurt declared roundly. "Everyone knows how the demons feel about good gold. Always after more of it. Trading and selling, training and bargaining with the freedmen-even going outside the kingdom to get it."
"Well, they can't exactly live on air, can they?" Horn demanded. "Even a demon's got to eat! And if he's got to eat, he might as well eat good. They live forever; living forever shackled would be just plain stupid! With their magic and all..." He coughed. "Well, it stands to reason they want to live good and they got the means."
Not like us. Horn didn't say it, but Xylina almost heard it. The demons, who looked so human, had all the privileges human men did not. And all because the men had no magic.
"Old Ware's all right," said Jan, who had a deeper voice than the others. "Never has high-and-mighty ways. Never puts up a fuss about not having his fancy house to live in. Puts up with the same things we do. He does-well, he never fusses about our-ah-entertainment."
THIS CONVERSATION IS SO NATURAL YOU GUYS
how does the "equipment" feel about whoring for a bunch of men against their will? WHO CARES, WE NEVER TALK TO THEM
"You know, Horn, we must have fed several thousand Pacha back there, and yet I hardly know anything about you," she said, after a moment. "Where did you ever learn to cook so well? I can't imagine how you make dried peas and old leather turn into such wonderful stews."
Horn was only too happy to talk, and she was only too happy to listen. Horn's words, and those of the other three men, gave her a window on their world. Faro had given her a glimpse of that world, but only a glimpse. This was a broader, wider view, not filtered through the educated caution of a scribe. And she suspected that it was a view very few other Mazonites ever had.
She learned how the boys were segregated early in their lives, left to be educated-or not-by other slaves, some not even their fathers. How what happened to these children was largely a matter of chance. If the fates smiled upon them, they remained with their fathers and their families, growing up as part of a household, and given nearly the same education as their favored sisters. Then, when they grew to manhood, they would find themselves noticed by a young woman and bartered off to her as her chosen husband, earning their families an agreed-upon spousal-price. But if the fates were not kind, if they were not part of a small family or the offspring of a "marriage," they would find themselves sent off to a nursery until the age of five, with one slave to simply tend to the needs of thirty small boys and boy-babies. Then they would be appraised and tested, their aptitudes determined-and sent off to be trained. Once trained, at the age of fifteen or thereabouts, they went on the auction-block.
TELL ME MORE ABOUT YOURSELF giant expository paragraph instead of dialogue
i get the feeling this is supposed to make me feel bad for the men or something but it's not working
SO I SAID GIANT FLOATING HEADS RIGHT
The first of them appeared floating through the leaves, pushing them apart, and gliding between them. The entire caravan froze in place, as the creature's snout appeared above them, shoving the fronds aside. Xylina's heart was in her throat, and the men around her grew pale with fear. The thing was about the size of one of the wagons, patterned in brilliant scarlet and gold chevrons, and shaped roughly like a teardrop. It floated majestically above them, about halfway between them and the tops of the leaves, with no sign of anything supporting it.
And no sign that it noticed them.
As they watched it drifting above them, they held their breaths, hoping that it would continue to ignore them. Its round black eyes remained fixed on the fronds around it, however; it stopped once or twice to nibble off a nodule-like growth on the ribs of one of the leaves, but otherwise paid no attention to anything about it.
insert jurassic park theme here
Anyway the floating heads aren't really interested in them so much but do dive down and eat a big land sea urchin TO PROVE THEIR POTENTIAL VICIOUSNESS I GUESS. And that's as far as I got. I WONDER WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT
I also posted this at dreamwidth with reluctant ambivalence. Comment here or there, don't matter to me!
Symphonic Fantasies - Chrono Trigger/Chrono Cross
NieR - The Wretched Automatons
Another giant symphonic suite! I can't get over how awesome that one is, the way the themes all blend into each other is just fantastic. The NieR track is just kind of strange and pretty, nice haunting vocals. That soundtrack was really very cool.
ANYWAY I SHOULD BE POSTING MORE but i've been working on something you'll be seeing very shortly and it's sort of sucking up all my time, haha. Oh, I know! Someone hooked me up with an rtf file for If I Pay Thee Not in Gold so I don't have to transcribe bits of the book by hand anymore! Which is great, since it makes it way easier to just grab snippets of it now. So here are a few segments I thought about posting last time but were too much work.
Way way back when during Xylina's original woman trial:
"There is no question as to her ability or her nerve," the demon Ware observed, his heavy-lidded eyes betraying nothing. "I do not know when I last saw a more decisive woman-trial." He lounged indolently in his seat, long and elegant fingers toying with the stem of a glass goblet of conjured wine.
The Queen glanced sharply at him, but he did not seem to be exercising his formidable and sharp wit at her expense; he was simply making an observation. Without a doubt, he had seen any number of woman-trials during his life in the city.
She wondered what he was thinking. Demons were tolerated in the city, and in the Mazonite culture as a whole, provided they qualified. They qualified only if they took binding oaths to do no harm, to do nothing to change the existing order, and to serve the Queen personally, bowing to whatever her whim might be. Many demons seemed to find these oaths humiliating, and so shunned Mazonia as a whole. But not Ware.
The Queen found his wit and ironic sense of humor amusing, so long as they were not exercised against her, and he was often her guest. Some of her subjects found his presence unpleasant, even disturbing, but she was not one of them, and she had found his talents useful in the past. She was not certain how old he was-several hundred years, at least. And he was as ornamental as he was witty: graceful as a cat, pale-skinned, dark of hair, with a thin, sculptured face. Only his eyes gave him away for what he was; there was no mistaking the eyes of a demon for anything else. They were a peculiar color: an odd dark red, with golden flecks, like gold-dust floating in rich, unwatered wine-and the human looking into them suddenly felt the weight of every year of his many centuries.
In fact, a human looking into them too long stood a chance of becoming mesmerized by them. That was one of the many powers that demons possessed, powers they were sworn not to use against the women of Mazonia, although they were perfectly free to exercise them at the expense of the freedmen. The demons who swore their oaths to the Queen had a great deal of commerce among the freedmen. They often acted as the Queen's agents in trading outside the borders.
LOUNGING INDOLENTLY for those of you wondering what Ware looks like. No mention of a little devil tail though.
"I am sent from Lady Hypolyta," he said, without preamble. His voice was very low, and musical. "She is not a personal acquaintance of the mistress of this house, nor of yours, nor of your mother Elibet-but she did see your performance at your woman-trials in the arena, and she wishes me to express her admiration, and the fact that she was greatly impressed by your courage and your resourcefulness."
Is that all? Xylina restrained her impatience, and nodded to the slave, indicating that she had heard and understood him, and that he was to go on. He was a most unusual looking man: very slim, and very graceful, with long dark hair that shone like black silk, and hung to below his shoulder-blades, and very curious, dark eyes. At least, she assumed they were dark, as she could see very little of them. He kept his eyes cast down as he spoke to her and she could only infer their color. But despite the fact that he kept his eyes lowered, he carried himself with a kind of unconscious pride, much like Faro. He was incredibly well-spoken, actually, and despite her current throng of worries, she found herself envying the woman who owned him. She must take great pleasure in him.
I can't stop picturing Ware as Blackadder personally.
HOPPING AHEAD TO THE PACHA AGAIN
Nomadic horse-warriors. No one had warned her about those. She looked back at her little train, and wondered how formidable it would look to barbarian raiders. Were twenty-four men enough? Did they look like hardened fighters? And they were afoot; they could not escape mounted men by running. For a moment, she wavered, and fear crept into her heart.
Ware was continuing to eye her, with a wry smile on his lips. "They will find you just as tempting a prize, my dear," he said softly. "Any of the Pacha chieftains would be pleased to have you in his tent-properly leg-shackled, of course. Your beauty is rare among the Mazonites; among the Pacha you would shine like a moon-flower among chickweed. A chieftain would claim you as his pleasure-slave immediately."
Her head jerked up, and she looked down her nose at him indignantly. "And you would do well to remember who is the mistress here, demon," she snapped. "No unwashed barbarian is going to touch me and live to tell his nomadic kin!"
With that, she gave the signal to Faro to move out, and urged her mule to the head of the column, ignoring Ware's rich chuckle as he guided his horse in behind hers.
I JOKED ABOUT HER GETTING RAPED AND SHE STILL DOESN'T LIKE ME, I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING WRONG
also what would stop a captured Mazonite from just conjuring cement blocks over people's heads, how could anyone keep them captive
"Hunting for food is permitted by the treaty," Ware said. "But he warns you that if his scouts find the bloated carcasses of animals killed only for horns, teeth, or hide, he will bring down the wrath of his gods upon us for wanton spoilage of his brothers. And it is considered good manners if you leave the hides, bones, horns, and teeth behind where we have camped, for the warriors to retrieve and take back to their people. In that way you prove that you are not a trophy-hunter."
The Pacha are one with nature.
By now, the torches and lamps were all lit, and Ware had settled in the midst of the Pacha, making some long speech. Faro joined her as the first of the tubs was carried to the waiting barbarians.
"He's prating about brotherhood and the sacred earth," Faro said, as she shifted her concentration to create the ingredients required for sweet sugar-cookies. "He's been using the biggest words he knows, and describing you as a Valiant hawk of the wild Mazonites,' and 'a wily she-cat, who wins as much by guile as by strength,' but 'one who values honor and oaths more than meat and drink.' It's one of those long-winded speeches the politicians make. They just might appoint him chieftain when he's done, if he's not careful."
prating?
The Pacha warrior exclaimed something that set the others to laughing-and all the rest drank their first cups off as quickly as Ware had downed his. Xylina had to give them credit for strong constitutions; she would not have been able to drink the "wine" so quickly.
"What did he say?" Xylina demanded.
Faro grinned. "Waugh! That is no wine! It is honey-fire! It kicks like an unbroken stallion!"
haha those quaint barbarians!
Ware took his own bowl and smiled ironically. "I nearly gagged on the first swallow," he said. "It is well that my self-control is as good as it is. And it is good that you thought to make that potion as strong as you did; the Pacha drink a strange concoction of fermented cactus that can easily double as varnish-remover. I have only drunk it once, and I can testify that it is a terrible and powerful drink. I do not think that mere wine would have sufficed for your plan."
I guess Ware gets bored in Mazonia and goes to hang out with his Pacha bros every now and then or something.
"He also says that in gratitude for the feasting, all the 'civilized tribes'-whatever that means-will make certain that we are not molested by anything other than thunderstorms." Faro cocked his head to one side. "All things considered, it sounds like a bargain to me. You simply conjure enough meat to stuff these barbarians full, enough wine to drown them, and we pass through their land with no enemies but sun and rain."
"You aren't the one doing the conjuration," she replied, but secretly she was pleased. Faro was right; it was a bargain. Tribute was better than combat.
Wait, where's the laugh track?
Anyway let's skip to the Sylva.
It looked at his riding-breeches, boots, and light leather armor with disdain, standing directly in his path so that he could not avoid a confrontation with it. "Murderer!" it said. "Do you know how many poor, helpless animals died so that you might flaunt their skins on your back?"
Xylina saw Faro's face go blank; he looked very stupid at that moment, and she knew from experience that he was about to respond with something as scathing as possible.
Then he smiled; Xylina recognized that smile. It was the same one with which he had greeted his attackers in the street. That seemed a lifetime ago! "As a matter of fact," he replied jovially, "I do. I killed them all myself. It was great fun. Would you step out of my path, or would you care to become a tunic?"
The Sylvan's mouth worked silently for a moment, as it tried to deal with Faro's reply. As it stood there, face twisted with distress, the slave reached forward and lightly pinched a fold of the skin of its arm between his thumb and forefinger.
"You'd make a very nice tunic," he said helpfully. "Gloves, too, I think. Although I doubt you'd put up enough of a fight to make it entertaining. Still, my mule has acquired a taste for man-flesh since I've had him-and you look soft and sweet. I think you'd please him."
That was too much for the Sylvan, who fled in terror.
They were not disturbed for the rest of the evening.
ISN'T FARO THE GREATEST YOU GUYS gee whiz
Oh, a better description of the houses the Sylva live in:
The notion of living inside a tree had seemed romantic: living so closely with nature, at one with the world. But once inside this peculiar dwelling, he found it was something other than romantic.
The floor was soft and pulpy, far from level, rather unpleasant to walk on. The rooms were dark, cramped and oddly shaped, with little space for furniture. In fact, there was little in the way of furniture: mostly large pillows for seating, and larger ones for sleeping. There seemed no place to prepare food or store it; perhaps they ate communally. Clothing was hung in a small room, from a rod wedged across the middle of it. He could find no bathing room, and the room for elimination was a simple primitive jakes, no more sophisticated than a poor Mazonite's outhouse. There was a peculiar smell, both sharp and damp, and it appeared from the marks on the walls about the windows that they were not entirely weather-tight.
So much for romance.
I SWEAR THESE SHOULD BE LIKE MONSTER TREES OR SOMETHING but whatever.
Ware hesitated for a moment, but the creature's opening line gave him an opportunity he could not pass by. "You say you are the oldest Sylvan here," he replied, "And yet it is true that you all seem incredibly young and vital-how is it you remain that way?"
"Proper nutrition," the Sylvan said, proudly. "We consume nothing of animal nature. To consume such things is to degrade the flesh; we consume nothing that is not pure." Ware took a glance into the bowl of soup that had been brought to him: nothing but vegetables, with cubes of something white. Politely, he ate a bite; it seemed harmless, but nothing to be excited about, and the white stuff was virtually tasteless.
TOFU!
Anyway might as well catch up on new stuff. The group wanders into essentially the set of Fantastic Planet. It's all trippy and weird! Omg!
Among these rocks and growths crawled creatures like slugs, only these were slugs the size of a hand and covered with ruffled membranes of bright red and acid yellow. The slugs shared their domain with brilliant golden, webless spiders with fat hairy legs and bodies like saucers, and with attenuated blue stick-insects as long as Xylina's forearm, that stalked about with an unsteady and uncertain gait. There were also armored creatures to which Xylina could not assign a species: eight-legged plates with eyes on stalks, something that looked like a rabbit with a mounded and articulated coat of armor covering its back in place of a fur coat, and things that looked like upside-down cups with four little feet. There were plenty of ordinary insects, too-or at least, Xylina thought they were ordinary, until she swatted a fly and saw that it had no head that she could find, no eyes and no mouth. There was nothing larger than a rabbit; nothing that looked big enough to be a hazard to the party.
Are you freaking out yet
Xylina did not even see a movement; one moment the man was laughing and joking with his fellows, and the next, he was screaming in agony. A long purple tentacle coming from the top of the "tree" tried to drag him into the grasp of several more emerging from the ends of the branches.
OOPS anyway long story short the dude dies. Everyone feels really sad about this. In the process we get to learn about slave burial rites! Turns out it's pretty much just cremation.
"Kyle was a good man," Hazard said into the waiting silence. "He always did his duty, and shared every labor. He deserved-" There was a hasty glance at Xylina and a pause. "He deserved a fine life, but he found a terrible death instead. If the gods are listening-" and here Hazard made a strange gesture, a kind of circle upon his chest, inscribed with a forefinger, a gesture copied by all the others, even Faro "-let them hear me. He liked the Pacha, and they welcomed his songs and stories. Let him be reborn as a Pacha warrior."
"Let him be reborn as a Pacha warrior," the others echoed. "So let it be."
Hazard stepped back from the pyre and nodded at Xylina. That was enough of a signal for her, and she nodded in turn to Ware, who conjured fire.
The pyre ignited immediately, with a whoosh of flame. The oil-soaked wood burned with intense heat, and all the men had to step back a pace or two.
may he be reborn as a carebear no wait
"Which is where I come in," Ware picked up smoothly. He smiled at Xylina. "Faro and I discussed this in Sylva when he pointed out he was just trusting to the road, and had no way of knowing if we were going in die right direction. We have a compass with us, and I know how to use it. We also have other navigational aids, and I can use them, as well. We simply haven't needed them until now, but I knew that eventually we would. So I made certain we had them, and that I could use them."
"Well, that's good, because I can't," Xylina replied, just a little irritated. Why hadn't he mentioned this before? Had he planned all along on trotting this little prize out, taking his bow, and waiting for the applause? She would much rather have had a chance to learn to use these things herself. "And I think you'd better start teaching us. What if you got swallowed by a giant snake or something?"
Ware had the audacity to laugh. She stared at him, a little affronted. "You're quite right," he said, agreeably. "I am not in danger of getting swallowed; I would simply dematerialize and walk out. But I have been remiss; I should have been instructing you and Faro all along. And since I have begun this so late, I think the first lesson should be this very moment."
SILLY MORTALS, HA HA ow why are you hitting me
He removed the compass and the other instruments from his saddlebags, and proceeded to instruct them in the use of all of them. There were instruments to take a direction from the angle of the sun, others to do the same from the stars, and charts and maps of all kinds. Soon she was immersed in calculations and complex geometries. The compass was easy enough, but Xylina despaired at ever mastering the astrolabe and the other complex instruments, although Faro seemed to grasp the way of dealing with them at once.
OF COURSE FARO CAN DO ANYTHING
Anyway they leave the Fantastic Planet area and go into the giant spinach forest (which almost seems like it was deliberately planted!!!11). It is inhabited by, bizarrely, what sound like giant floating heads. BUT BEFORE THAT, LET'S CHAT WITH THE OTHER SLAVES
"Now that's a reason I can understand," Gurt declared roundly. "Everyone knows how the demons feel about good gold. Always after more of it. Trading and selling, training and bargaining with the freedmen-even going outside the kingdom to get it."
"Well, they can't exactly live on air, can they?" Horn demanded. "Even a demon's got to eat! And if he's got to eat, he might as well eat good. They live forever; living forever shackled would be just plain stupid! With their magic and all..." He coughed. "Well, it stands to reason they want to live good and they got the means."
Not like us. Horn didn't say it, but Xylina almost heard it. The demons, who looked so human, had all the privileges human men did not. And all because the men had no magic.
"Old Ware's all right," said Jan, who had a deeper voice than the others. "Never has high-and-mighty ways. Never puts up a fuss about not having his fancy house to live in. Puts up with the same things we do. He does-well, he never fusses about our-ah-entertainment."
THIS CONVERSATION IS SO NATURAL YOU GUYS
how does the "equipment" feel about whoring for a bunch of men against their will? WHO CARES, WE NEVER TALK TO THEM
"You know, Horn, we must have fed several thousand Pacha back there, and yet I hardly know anything about you," she said, after a moment. "Where did you ever learn to cook so well? I can't imagine how you make dried peas and old leather turn into such wonderful stews."
Horn was only too happy to talk, and she was only too happy to listen. Horn's words, and those of the other three men, gave her a window on their world. Faro had given her a glimpse of that world, but only a glimpse. This was a broader, wider view, not filtered through the educated caution of a scribe. And she suspected that it was a view very few other Mazonites ever had.
She learned how the boys were segregated early in their lives, left to be educated-or not-by other slaves, some not even their fathers. How what happened to these children was largely a matter of chance. If the fates smiled upon them, they remained with their fathers and their families, growing up as part of a household, and given nearly the same education as their favored sisters. Then, when they grew to manhood, they would find themselves noticed by a young woman and bartered off to her as her chosen husband, earning their families an agreed-upon spousal-price. But if the fates were not kind, if they were not part of a small family or the offspring of a "marriage," they would find themselves sent off to a nursery until the age of five, with one slave to simply tend to the needs of thirty small boys and boy-babies. Then they would be appraised and tested, their aptitudes determined-and sent off to be trained. Once trained, at the age of fifteen or thereabouts, they went on the auction-block.
TELL ME MORE ABOUT YOURSELF giant expository paragraph instead of dialogue
i get the feeling this is supposed to make me feel bad for the men or something but it's not working
SO I SAID GIANT FLOATING HEADS RIGHT
The first of them appeared floating through the leaves, pushing them apart, and gliding between them. The entire caravan froze in place, as the creature's snout appeared above them, shoving the fronds aside. Xylina's heart was in her throat, and the men around her grew pale with fear. The thing was about the size of one of the wagons, patterned in brilliant scarlet and gold chevrons, and shaped roughly like a teardrop. It floated majestically above them, about halfway between them and the tops of the leaves, with no sign of anything supporting it.
And no sign that it noticed them.
As they watched it drifting above them, they held their breaths, hoping that it would continue to ignore them. Its round black eyes remained fixed on the fronds around it, however; it stopped once or twice to nibble off a nodule-like growth on the ribs of one of the leaves, but otherwise paid no attention to anything about it.
insert jurassic park theme here
Anyway the floating heads aren't really interested in them so much but do dive down and eat a big land sea urchin TO PROVE THEIR POTENTIAL VICIOUSNESS I GUESS. And that's as far as I got. I WONDER WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT
I also posted this at dreamwidth with reluctant ambivalence. Comment here or there, don't matter to me!