When someone needs to be cursed in a movie or some TV show, that’s where you’ll see us. When someone needs to run afoul of some old mystic, my people will be there, as a widely accepted plot device, a little rabbit out of a hat, a tired but trusty trick up a sleeve to stand in as the spell-slinging substitute for the fairytale witches of old. Often we’re made out to be spiteful, stuck in the past, or just plain weird, dressed in exotic rags and waving around skulls and wooden staffs and things that reek of voodoo stereotypes we have nothing to do with. Except, of course, in the Hollywood-glazed eyes of the public. We get mystified, romanticized, knocked back several centuries in progress in their stories. When someone gets “gypped”, that’s a knock at us—and yes, even our current name, “gypsy”, was once a slur. No one’s going to take the time to call us the People of Arganthonios, or Children of Spirit, or any of the other names we once were known by. We’re the strange, the unknown, the cast-offs.
Except in Rubato. There, where so many, nearly all of us are gypsies or the descendants of gypsies, we are finally home.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arganthonios
Showing posts with label magic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label magic. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
The Races of Earth -- DRAFT
“Race” is an imprecise word to use on the planet of Earth, and the means by which one is determined to belong to one race or another are rather inaccurate, existing instead in a fine gray area. The living beings do not fit into neat little pigeon-holes, “human” or “elf” or what have you, and each being’s make-up seems different. They have a mixture of traits and affinities and other little overlapping aspects that happen to tend in one direction or any myriad of others. But for the sake of labels, of tools to define their world, living creatures have always grouped themselves in some way. Below are many of the known “races” on this earth guided by the Spirit of Gaia.
---------------------------------------------------------
-Dreamers are the creators of the world, the pure, imaginative, vibrant souls from whom wishes and hopes take form. A Dreamer by nature animates the world around them; when they are young, living things spring forth from their most ardent dreams and hopes. However, their powers do not know how to distinguish from good or bad on their own, and a youthful Dreamer often conjures up a few horrible beasts from a nightmare, or changes inanimate things into living creatures without intending to, until they learn to control their vast powers. They can, by shaping in their mind, create things from pure force of energy—each new thing is granted a little piece of the Dreamer’s self, should they wish for it to last. The larger the creation, the more they must invest. Their energy can regrow, but it does take time and cultivation.
Youthful Dreamers must also face another worry; should they give of themselves sexually to another for the first time without love, many often find that they lose their gifts. Dreamers therefore must be very judicious in how they choose to share themselves, in both romance and creation. If they pledge themselves to another in that first time, with genuine love present, a very strong bond can be formed that prevents later corruption or loss of power. Older Dreamers are wise and powerful, the kind of beings that could change the very world itself if they truly believed in a cause. All of their kind possess great powers for healing illnesses and wounds, and the elder or more gifted can even raise the dead with a Kiss of Life. Dreamers can also change the natural landscape of the world around them, reviving a barren desert, or purifying a dead sea. Their imaginations are the limit. They are often known, for many of these reasons, as the First Children of Gaia. When classed as mages, they are almost always enchanters, and their powers always lie within the use of life magic.
---------------------------------------------------------
-Those Who Can Alter the Nature of Bodies, whom have never existed in large enough numbers to have been given a proper name in any time period. They can change the very building blocks that physically compose themselves and often others; they can steal, copy, or swap appearances, powers, and/or genetics. Whether delving into genotypes or just the phenotypes, they deal with one’s DNA.
Some are not born gifted enough to do so consciously. These people will instead focus instinctively on one aspect of themselves, their strength, their looks, their smarts, or otherwise, and their energy will go towards bolstering this attribute; they will continue to develop and develop, even after going well beyond predictable human limits for such traits. Dangerous and unknown side-effects can arise from such growth. Those who can consciously control their gifts often live to long ages; but their kind is known to deceive, and often run across trouble.
Their powers do not derive from a single kind of magic; instead, they drawn upon the energies of life, beauty, strength, and potentially others to do their workings. Their powers often come the closest to science of any of the other kinds known, and indeed, biologists and doctors have often desired to know more of their kind in the rare times when they have crossed paths. It is often said that you can never truly know when you might be staring into the face of one of their kind, unless you are to witness them use their powers firsthand. They often run in long lines of families, one of which is the family of the Felujas (now the bloodline has run to the Dionnes.)
---------------------------------------------------------
-Humans are the cloth from which many of the other kinds are cut, the basic pattern that all of the intelligent races have followed on the earth. In their way, they have many gifts some may take for granted; they are mortal, and do not have to endure the hardships of longer lives, nor the passing of many loved ones; they do not have powers with which to struggle to learn or control; they are free to believe and live as they wish, without ever so much as a concern of running afoul of the Spirits or other rules or issues of magic. They are the most widespread and populous race on the earth. Even two parents who possess powers may not pass on their abilities to a child, and can sometimes instead have human offspring. How rare this is differs amongst many groups. Humanity is the thread that binds these many races together as a species.
They are called various things by the other races, such as “vanillas”, “mortals”, “plains”, “normals”, and others. All humans, and by extension, all their living races of earth have at least a small amount of life magic within their souls. They are comprised of flesh, a soul, and at least this little bit of magic from Gaia. Normal humans are often seen as defenseless “sheep” to supernatural predators.
---------------------------------------------------------
-Mages are humans that have been gifted with greater magic within their souls, beyond that which is needed solely for their own life force. They possess enough energy that, with talent, they can manipulate and control the energy that springs from them to perform spells and other feats. Often their specialty lies in one kind of magic, such as water or fire, that they possess an abundance of energy in, but they can also possess other types in conjunction with this, often life or strength magic. Dreamers are often viewed as a kind of special mage, highly gifted in the magic of life. Mages can have children that are simply human, or children that inherit magical abilities, following varying lines of inheritance amongst many groups (gypsies, for example, tend to pass magic from mothers to daughters, etc.) Children do not necessarily inherit the same type of magic as their parents (a water-mage mother could have a fire-mage son, and so on, depending on the various kinds of magic that may run in their bloodline.) Even a Dreamer may not have a Dreamer child (but they do more often than a mage would, should they retain their powers after losing their virginity.)
Some doubt the abilities of mages, but they are the second most widespread race on the earth, after humans, and have a governing body, the International Council of Mages, that regulates against the misuse of magic in the modern day. Mages who travel to other worlds are attractive to magical energies, and may grow greatly in raw power from such absorption. Many are able to heal physical injuries and some degrees of illness. They often make very powerful offensive and defensive foes. Their magic bends to the power of their will and experience. The strongest of their kind can shape and affect the very elemental forces of nature on earth.
Because of their greater numbers, humans have been more aware of their kind than any of the others amongst them. At different times throughout history, humankind has revered and feared the mages; two of the worst times were the Witch Trials and the Gypsy Purge of the 1600s and 1700s. They have been venerated as shamans by the Yavin, as seers by Remulans (Romans), and as respected advisors and protectors in the modern age. The monks of Zhenghe and the gypsies of Rubato are two large groups of mages that show the vastly different traditions and attitudes various societies of mages live and practice under. There is always much to learn for a mage.
Amongst themselves, mages are occasionally classified by their level of skill, potential, and power in using magic. Highest amongst these are enchanters; lowest are mere magicians, and between are sorcerers and wizards (between which, differences are more so based on their application of magic, rather than much difference in skill; sorcerers use it in a more raw form, while wizards are more scholarly, less practical, both of them wielding the energies at a mid-level. Enchanters masterfully apply magic in both ways, and more.) “Witch” has become a derogatory term against mages, taking on an especially negative association during the Witch Trial years. Countries in the modern day have taken to appointing Royal and/or National Mages to serve on the International Council of Mages (ICoM) and advise and work with their nation's rulers concerning all magical matters within their land and otherwise. Often times, these respected and powerful Mages are called upon in times of war and other crises, as well as to deal with abusers of magic. The individual traditions and practices of this post varies from nation to nation and ruler to ruler, but they most commonly are a position for life, and one of the highest callings for a mortal user of magic.
Most of the Spirits were once mages in life. Depending on their magic level, mages are often sensitive to supernatural and magical presences, powers, and influences that humans are not, and can detect and guard against these things better than a normal mortal could. Since their magic relies upon their willpower to be used, mages of strong wills can possess formidable defenses against the abilities of supernatural predators. Mages can specialize in nearly any kind of magic, from the major kinds represented by the Spirits (life, death, time, justice, love, sleep, beauty, fire, water, lightning, shadow, darkness, light, ice, wind, earth, or strength), or lesser-known kinds such as emotion and music/sound. Some kinds of magic are more prevalent in some areas of the world than others.
---------------------------------------------------------
-Healers are a special kind of mage, with great gifts not only in the area of healing physical injuries and illnesses, but even more. It is said that they can repair damage done to souls gradually, making them invaluable allies against fae and wraiths. The older and more powerful the healer, the more quickly and more fully this damage is repaired. Many mages do not, in fact, know they are healers, instead believing themselves just to be light magic-wielding mages. They often cannot manipulate their powers in these cases, and will instead simply give off an aura of healing that affects all those around them, but never is consciously focused on the repair of any one specific person. It is not until they become aware of their gifts that they can use them to more precise effect.
Their kind are often a dreamy, detached sort, with greater sensitivity to malicious spirits. Some have an affinity for the spiritual world and can communicate with departed souls, or see brief visions of the future. Meditation helps them even more than mages and Dreamers, and can center them and help them grow in awareness of their powers. Happiness and calm are aids in their healing. The stronger healers are a powerful deterrent against malicious spiritual predators.
---------------------------------------------------------
-Fae are soulless beings made of flesh and magic that feed upon life energy to sustain their forms and powers. They reside solely in Gaia’s personal realm, the Realm of Life, separate from the material realm of the living where humans exist. None but Gaia herself have seen these fae, but they are known through stories and legends in many cultures.
The fae are said to have sprung forth from the sheer abundance of life-giving magic in Gaia’s realm, well before the birth of humankind. They may wield many kinds of magic without specialization, and seem to possess boundless potential to learn to use more. Some serve as guardians to an Astral River that flows through their pristine, idyllic home realm. They regard Gaia as their mother and the reason for their existence, but have few apparent emotions or morals otherwise. This is not to say that they are evil--but rather, they do not understand right or wrong in the way humans do. Both concepts are foreign constructs to them. They live without conflict in their realm, flying on beautiful wings and absorbing more energy to sustain themselves, even as they release other positive energies into the realm in return. They are believed to be immortal.
---------------------------------------------------------
Spirits: While not a race of their own, Spirits are the souls of particularly magically-gifted humans who have passed on, and have the duty of governing the balance of the various kinds of magic in the world. Each type (such as light, water, fire, etc.) has its own singular Spirit. The first two original Spirits, Gaia, the Spirit of Life, and Morticus, the Spirit of Death, were the first two living beings left to care for the planet by the gods who created the world. Other Spirits have come and gone in the following millennia.
(More details to come, I'm just lazy/busy and there is a LOT of info to compile from over the years on this particular group)
---------------------------------------------------------
-Dreamers are the creators of the world, the pure, imaginative, vibrant souls from whom wishes and hopes take form. A Dreamer by nature animates the world around them; when they are young, living things spring forth from their most ardent dreams and hopes. However, their powers do not know how to distinguish from good or bad on their own, and a youthful Dreamer often conjures up a few horrible beasts from a nightmare, or changes inanimate things into living creatures without intending to, until they learn to control their vast powers. They can, by shaping in their mind, create things from pure force of energy—each new thing is granted a little piece of the Dreamer’s self, should they wish for it to last. The larger the creation, the more they must invest. Their energy can regrow, but it does take time and cultivation.
Youthful Dreamers must also face another worry; should they give of themselves sexually to another for the first time without love, many often find that they lose their gifts. Dreamers therefore must be very judicious in how they choose to share themselves, in both romance and creation. If they pledge themselves to another in that first time, with genuine love present, a very strong bond can be formed that prevents later corruption or loss of power. Older Dreamers are wise and powerful, the kind of beings that could change the very world itself if they truly believed in a cause. All of their kind possess great powers for healing illnesses and wounds, and the elder or more gifted can even raise the dead with a Kiss of Life. Dreamers can also change the natural landscape of the world around them, reviving a barren desert, or purifying a dead sea. Their imaginations are the limit. They are often known, for many of these reasons, as the First Children of Gaia. When classed as mages, they are almost always enchanters, and their powers always lie within the use of life magic.
---------------------------------------------------------
-Those Who Can Alter the Nature of Bodies, whom have never existed in large enough numbers to have been given a proper name in any time period. They can change the very building blocks that physically compose themselves and often others; they can steal, copy, or swap appearances, powers, and/or genetics. Whether delving into genotypes or just the phenotypes, they deal with one’s DNA.
Some are not born gifted enough to do so consciously. These people will instead focus instinctively on one aspect of themselves, their strength, their looks, their smarts, or otherwise, and their energy will go towards bolstering this attribute; they will continue to develop and develop, even after going well beyond predictable human limits for such traits. Dangerous and unknown side-effects can arise from such growth. Those who can consciously control their gifts often live to long ages; but their kind is known to deceive, and often run across trouble.
Their powers do not derive from a single kind of magic; instead, they drawn upon the energies of life, beauty, strength, and potentially others to do their workings. Their powers often come the closest to science of any of the other kinds known, and indeed, biologists and doctors have often desired to know more of their kind in the rare times when they have crossed paths. It is often said that you can never truly know when you might be staring into the face of one of their kind, unless you are to witness them use their powers firsthand. They often run in long lines of families, one of which is the family of the Felujas (now the bloodline has run to the Dionnes.)
---------------------------------------------------------
-Humans are the cloth from which many of the other kinds are cut, the basic pattern that all of the intelligent races have followed on the earth. In their way, they have many gifts some may take for granted; they are mortal, and do not have to endure the hardships of longer lives, nor the passing of many loved ones; they do not have powers with which to struggle to learn or control; they are free to believe and live as they wish, without ever so much as a concern of running afoul of the Spirits or other rules or issues of magic. They are the most widespread and populous race on the earth. Even two parents who possess powers may not pass on their abilities to a child, and can sometimes instead have human offspring. How rare this is differs amongst many groups. Humanity is the thread that binds these many races together as a species.
They are called various things by the other races, such as “vanillas”, “mortals”, “plains”, “normals”, and others. All humans, and by extension, all their living races of earth have at least a small amount of life magic within their souls. They are comprised of flesh, a soul, and at least this little bit of magic from Gaia. Normal humans are often seen as defenseless “sheep” to supernatural predators.
---------------------------------------------------------
-Mages are humans that have been gifted with greater magic within their souls, beyond that which is needed solely for their own life force. They possess enough energy that, with talent, they can manipulate and control the energy that springs from them to perform spells and other feats. Often their specialty lies in one kind of magic, such as water or fire, that they possess an abundance of energy in, but they can also possess other types in conjunction with this, often life or strength magic. Dreamers are often viewed as a kind of special mage, highly gifted in the magic of life. Mages can have children that are simply human, or children that inherit magical abilities, following varying lines of inheritance amongst many groups (gypsies, for example, tend to pass magic from mothers to daughters, etc.) Children do not necessarily inherit the same type of magic as their parents (a water-mage mother could have a fire-mage son, and so on, depending on the various kinds of magic that may run in their bloodline.) Even a Dreamer may not have a Dreamer child (but they do more often than a mage would, should they retain their powers after losing their virginity.)
Some doubt the abilities of mages, but they are the second most widespread race on the earth, after humans, and have a governing body, the International Council of Mages, that regulates against the misuse of magic in the modern day. Mages who travel to other worlds are attractive to magical energies, and may grow greatly in raw power from such absorption. Many are able to heal physical injuries and some degrees of illness. They often make very powerful offensive and defensive foes. Their magic bends to the power of their will and experience. The strongest of their kind can shape and affect the very elemental forces of nature on earth.
Because of their greater numbers, humans have been more aware of their kind than any of the others amongst them. At different times throughout history, humankind has revered and feared the mages; two of the worst times were the Witch Trials and the Gypsy Purge of the 1600s and 1700s. They have been venerated as shamans by the Yavin, as seers by Remulans (Romans), and as respected advisors and protectors in the modern age. The monks of Zhenghe and the gypsies of Rubato are two large groups of mages that show the vastly different traditions and attitudes various societies of mages live and practice under. There is always much to learn for a mage.
Amongst themselves, mages are occasionally classified by their level of skill, potential, and power in using magic. Highest amongst these are enchanters; lowest are mere magicians, and between are sorcerers and wizards (between which, differences are more so based on their application of magic, rather than much difference in skill; sorcerers use it in a more raw form, while wizards are more scholarly, less practical, both of them wielding the energies at a mid-level. Enchanters masterfully apply magic in both ways, and more.) “Witch” has become a derogatory term against mages, taking on an especially negative association during the Witch Trial years. Countries in the modern day have taken to appointing Royal and/or National Mages to serve on the International Council of Mages (ICoM) and advise and work with their nation's rulers concerning all magical matters within their land and otherwise. Often times, these respected and powerful Mages are called upon in times of war and other crises, as well as to deal with abusers of magic. The individual traditions and practices of this post varies from nation to nation and ruler to ruler, but they most commonly are a position for life, and one of the highest callings for a mortal user of magic.
Most of the Spirits were once mages in life. Depending on their magic level, mages are often sensitive to supernatural and magical presences, powers, and influences that humans are not, and can detect and guard against these things better than a normal mortal could. Since their magic relies upon their willpower to be used, mages of strong wills can possess formidable defenses against the abilities of supernatural predators. Mages can specialize in nearly any kind of magic, from the major kinds represented by the Spirits (life, death, time, justice, love, sleep, beauty, fire, water, lightning, shadow, darkness, light, ice, wind, earth, or strength), or lesser-known kinds such as emotion and music/sound. Some kinds of magic are more prevalent in some areas of the world than others.
---------------------------------------------------------
-Healers are a special kind of mage, with great gifts not only in the area of healing physical injuries and illnesses, but even more. It is said that they can repair damage done to souls gradually, making them invaluable allies against fae and wraiths. The older and more powerful the healer, the more quickly and more fully this damage is repaired. Many mages do not, in fact, know they are healers, instead believing themselves just to be light magic-wielding mages. They often cannot manipulate their powers in these cases, and will instead simply give off an aura of healing that affects all those around them, but never is consciously focused on the repair of any one specific person. It is not until they become aware of their gifts that they can use them to more precise effect.
Their kind are often a dreamy, detached sort, with greater sensitivity to malicious spirits. Some have an affinity for the spiritual world and can communicate with departed souls, or see brief visions of the future. Meditation helps them even more than mages and Dreamers, and can center them and help them grow in awareness of their powers. Happiness and calm are aids in their healing. The stronger healers are a powerful deterrent against malicious spiritual predators.
---------------------------------------------------------
-Fae are soulless beings made of flesh and magic that feed upon life energy to sustain their forms and powers. They reside solely in Gaia’s personal realm, the Realm of Life, separate from the material realm of the living where humans exist. None but Gaia herself have seen these fae, but they are known through stories and legends in many cultures.
The fae are said to have sprung forth from the sheer abundance of life-giving magic in Gaia’s realm, well before the birth of humankind. They may wield many kinds of magic without specialization, and seem to possess boundless potential to learn to use more. Some serve as guardians to an Astral River that flows through their pristine, idyllic home realm. They regard Gaia as their mother and the reason for their existence, but have few apparent emotions or morals otherwise. This is not to say that they are evil--but rather, they do not understand right or wrong in the way humans do. Both concepts are foreign constructs to them. They live without conflict in their realm, flying on beautiful wings and absorbing more energy to sustain themselves, even as they release other positive energies into the realm in return. They are believed to be immortal.
---------------------------------------------------------
Spirits: While not a race of their own, Spirits are the souls of particularly magically-gifted humans who have passed on, and have the duty of governing the balance of the various kinds of magic in the world. Each type (such as light, water, fire, etc.) has its own singular Spirit. The first two original Spirits, Gaia, the Spirit of Life, and Morticus, the Spirit of Death, were the first two living beings left to care for the planet by the gods who created the world. Other Spirits have come and gone in the following millennia.
(More details to come, I'm just lazy/busy and there is a LOT of info to compile from over the years on this particular group)
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Spirits' Names, nicknames, groups/places of origin
Gaia - Life -- Forest of Birth
Morticus – Death --- (Mort) -- Forest of Birth
Chrono – Time -- Forest of Birth
Ernesto Vertimiglia – Justice -- before Remula (Rome, Etruscans)
Rene Amare de las Rosas - Love -- Old Maximilia (France)
Marina Aque - Water -- somewhere in or around the Med. sea
Solomon “Sol” Rubaton - Fire -- Rubato, Altair (Egypt)
Ivana Petrova - Ice --- early Ivanova (Russia)
Tierra Cordelius - Earth -- gypsies (ancestor of gypsies before they even travelled about much in Airopa)
Leo Troy “Ryan Marrone” - Strength --- before Grecia (Greece)
Suena Dormio - Sleep -- Rubato (gypsy immigrants)
Zeppo Thoren - Lightning -- Thorland (Scandinavian, Norse)
Zefer Gallego - Wind -- Gardenia (Italian)
Margarette Umbra – Darkness ---- (Margo, Moonless Night) -- Yavin people (Chavin and Inca civilizations, South America, pre-Columbian)
Reymundo “Rey” Alvarez - Light -- Castile, age of colonists (coming of the Spanish conquistadors to the Americas)
Luisa Umbra-Alvarez – Shadow ---- (Forest Shadow) -- Yavin people (Chavin and Inca civilizations, South America, pre-Columbian)
Bella Helena – Beauty - Grecia
Morticus – Death --- (Mort) -- Forest of Birth
Chrono – Time -- Forest of Birth
Ernesto Vertimiglia – Justice -- before Remula (Rome, Etruscans)
Rene Amare de las Rosas - Love -- Old Maximilia (France)
Marina Aque - Water -- somewhere in or around the Med. sea
Solomon “Sol” Rubaton - Fire -- Rubato, Altair (Egypt)
Ivana Petrova - Ice --- early Ivanova (Russia)
Tierra Cordelius - Earth -- gypsies (ancestor of gypsies before they even travelled about much in Airopa)
Leo Troy “Ryan Marrone” - Strength --- before Grecia (Greece)
Suena Dormio - Sleep -- Rubato (gypsy immigrants)
Zeppo Thoren - Lightning -- Thorland (Scandinavian, Norse)
Zefer Gallego - Wind -- Gardenia (Italian)
Margarette Umbra – Darkness ---- (Margo, Moonless Night) -- Yavin people (Chavin and Inca civilizations, South America, pre-Columbian)
Reymundo “Rey” Alvarez - Light -- Castile, age of colonists (coming of the Spanish conquistadors to the Americas)
Luisa Umbra-Alvarez – Shadow ---- (Forest Shadow) -- Yavin people (Chavin and Inca civilizations, South America, pre-Columbian)
Bella Helena – Beauty - Grecia
Thursday, March 24, 2011
ZU-present -- Lessons from Forklore: draft
The gypsies say the world began with a woman who lived among the trees, and followed the messages of the stars. Her name was the name of the Earth, and she was the first life, sister of the planet. Her hair was the color of the golden leaves in the canopy that mingled with the sky. Her eyes were the green of the grass that cradled her steps upon the earth. Where she went, buds blossomed up from her path, and these buds grew to become flowers, then saplings, and then more trees for her home. This was the Forest of Birth. It was the beginning of nature.
Next there was a man, not long after the woman first appeared on the Earth. His name was something never before heard of, but oft repeated afterward. His hair was the dark of a deep crater that had never seen the light. His eyes seemed to engulf light itself, showing nothing but blackness. Where he went, things grew older and shriveled and fell to the earth. They were ground until they became nothing but dirt themselves, and their nutrients fed the living plants. He loved the woman, and together they lived for a long time, knowing nothing else but their young world. But the man grew old when the woman did not. And then, like the plants, he withered away. But he did not become part of a new life. He was a Spirit. This was the beginning of death.
Before the man had died, he and the woman had given birth to a child. This child aged as his father did, but never died. He could return to his earlier forms if he wished, or change into his more withered ones. There was a progression. He was the creation of time.
Time went on, but these three would always look to the stars for messages from those that created the earth. The gypsies still look to the stars. But much else is different. Completely different. The Forest of Birth is nothing but a folk myth now. And death and time are anything but new. I didn’t know all of these stories when a certain bud was planted in the rubble of a limestone cavern in the second hottest desert of my home country of Rubato, the Ceguera que Quema (“The Blindness that Burns”—do we know how to name things for tourists, or what?) in the 21st century, CE. But I did know that plant was going to be possibly the most important factor in Rubato’s future, and maybe even that of my world. Gaia is the woman of the myth. And when she plants golden buds for you to take care of, you’d damn well better take notice.
Now, you’d think a bud that is a potential fountain of life energy would be self-watering, but this one apparently still needs a little help to get a drink. And until they invent the extension cord long enough for me to set up a sprinkler system out there, somehow this task has fallen to me. There was no ceremony, or fancy title, or bestowing of an ulra-special, super-important watering chalice or something. Just the knowledge that if I cared at all about my homeland’s future… I was gonna see to it that this thing was taken care of. Every single day. I got the sense that it wasn’t just the water this bud needed; human care was a big part of it. And human selflessness. Devotion. Because contained within that single bud was nectar capable of restoring a life, of healing any disease, any injury, of bringing back anyone from the brink of death. It was unspeakably precious, beyond measurable value. And it was right at your fingertips—all you had to do to possess that nectar was simply pluck the bud from the ground, and that was that. But once it was used once, it was gone, and gone for good. You had to use all of the nectar to achieve the effect, and after it was gone, the bud would die. There would be no sapling. No tree. No forest. If you wanted to regenerate the land, you had to wait, and deny temptation, and care for the plant until it grew into the golden forest just like the myth. Then it would become the Forest of Renewal.
I’m a selfish woman by nature. I’m pretty damn sure Gaia leaving this task for me to take or leave on my own choice was a test. Just as raising this bud or plucking it is a test. Just as coming out to the bloody desert every single day, or at least finding someone else trustworthy enough to do so, is a test. A continuous test, almost like a habit, or a ritual, that runs you down and tests your dedication every single time. A wear on your patience. Denial of gratification. Every single day, you go out there, thinking, “isn’t this enough? When is this thing going to grow? Would it really be so bad if I plucked it now? Is it enough time?” and every single time, you find yourself wondering how many more days you can bear making the trek out there, just to water one stupid plant. How don’t birds eat it? Isn’t she testing animals too? Seems wrong that it’s just us humans that are being called out.
Next there was a man, not long after the woman first appeared on the Earth. His name was something never before heard of, but oft repeated afterward. His hair was the dark of a deep crater that had never seen the light. His eyes seemed to engulf light itself, showing nothing but blackness. Where he went, things grew older and shriveled and fell to the earth. They were ground until they became nothing but dirt themselves, and their nutrients fed the living plants. He loved the woman, and together they lived for a long time, knowing nothing else but their young world. But the man grew old when the woman did not. And then, like the plants, he withered away. But he did not become part of a new life. He was a Spirit. This was the beginning of death.
Before the man had died, he and the woman had given birth to a child. This child aged as his father did, but never died. He could return to his earlier forms if he wished, or change into his more withered ones. There was a progression. He was the creation of time.
Time went on, but these three would always look to the stars for messages from those that created the earth. The gypsies still look to the stars. But much else is different. Completely different. The Forest of Birth is nothing but a folk myth now. And death and time are anything but new. I didn’t know all of these stories when a certain bud was planted in the rubble of a limestone cavern in the second hottest desert of my home country of Rubato, the Ceguera que Quema (“The Blindness that Burns”—do we know how to name things for tourists, or what?) in the 21st century, CE. But I did know that plant was going to be possibly the most important factor in Rubato’s future, and maybe even that of my world. Gaia is the woman of the myth. And when she plants golden buds for you to take care of, you’d damn well better take notice.
Now, you’d think a bud that is a potential fountain of life energy would be self-watering, but this one apparently still needs a little help to get a drink. And until they invent the extension cord long enough for me to set up a sprinkler system out there, somehow this task has fallen to me. There was no ceremony, or fancy title, or bestowing of an ulra-special, super-important watering chalice or something. Just the knowledge that if I cared at all about my homeland’s future… I was gonna see to it that this thing was taken care of. Every single day. I got the sense that it wasn’t just the water this bud needed; human care was a big part of it. And human selflessness. Devotion. Because contained within that single bud was nectar capable of restoring a life, of healing any disease, any injury, of bringing back anyone from the brink of death. It was unspeakably precious, beyond measurable value. And it was right at your fingertips—all you had to do to possess that nectar was simply pluck the bud from the ground, and that was that. But once it was used once, it was gone, and gone for good. You had to use all of the nectar to achieve the effect, and after it was gone, the bud would die. There would be no sapling. No tree. No forest. If you wanted to regenerate the land, you had to wait, and deny temptation, and care for the plant until it grew into the golden forest just like the myth. Then it would become the Forest of Renewal.
I’m a selfish woman by nature. I’m pretty damn sure Gaia leaving this task for me to take or leave on my own choice was a test. Just as raising this bud or plucking it is a test. Just as coming out to the bloody desert every single day, or at least finding someone else trustworthy enough to do so, is a test. A continuous test, almost like a habit, or a ritual, that runs you down and tests your dedication every single time. A wear on your patience. Denial of gratification. Every single day, you go out there, thinking, “isn’t this enough? When is this thing going to grow? Would it really be so bad if I plucked it now? Is it enough time?” and every single time, you find yourself wondering how many more days you can bear making the trek out there, just to water one stupid plant. How don’t birds eat it? Isn’t she testing animals too? Seems wrong that it’s just us humans that are being called out.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Spirits History
[QUOTE=Sturs](what are these Spirits of which you speak?)[/QUOTE]
[QUOTE=Me]There's a lot to this answer so I may forget something/leave something out, I hope I can be [I]sorta[/I] concise but get the main idea across. x3 Remember, you asked for this. You poor soul. :P
The story goes that the world Earth (or "Gaia", just for our purposes of remembering it's an alternate one) was created by that universe's gods. Then they left their new creation with a system intact to ensure the balance of magic that filled the world--the Spirits. Namely, the first two beings who would become "Spirits", which are the deceased (more or less) human souls who had possessed enough power or enough of an affinity for a certain type of magic (say for example, fire) in life to be eligible to help control the balance of that type of magic after their passing. (Only three Spirits did not have to "die", those I will mention later.)
The first being created by the gods on this new earth was [B]Gaia[/B], who later on is often known as "the Mother", "the Mother of All", and so on. She, being the first being ever to live on this planet, became the Spirit of Life, and controlled life magic on the earth. All living things have at least a little bit of life magic in them. She made flora and fauna flourish and was to live eternally. She usually appears as an ethereally beautiful, almost elfish woman of indeterminate age, very tall, gentle and motherly, with white-blond hair with slight hints of greens and blues, green robes, and fair skin, and always wears a firefly pendant, her own personal symbol. She loves the creature for the radiance it brings to the world in its short life. She may also appear as an old, wise woman, also with the pendant, or a firefly when wanting to be at her most discreet. She has brilliant, lively green eyes that seem to peer deep into a viewer, but also soothe, creating sometimes a strange sensation--no Spirit (like in Discworld with their gods) can hide the true nature of their eyes.
The real world is one of her realms, as is a paradise-like place where fairies live, her own personal sanctuary when not on the mortal world. The Spirits seldom appear in person to handle mortal affairs, preferring more indirect and impersonal means for the most part. "Good" souls do not go to her paradise, but rather the Realm of Dreams, a joint haven looked out after by the Spirits of Life, Sleep, and Death together.
The second being ever to live, the last one the gods themselves created before they left, was [B]Morticus[/B]. He was Gaia's mate, and together they were parents to Chrono, a son. Morticus was the first being to die, and became the Spirit of Death, the Reaper. While a dark-skinned, somewhat elfish human to begin with, over time he would become more and more like the image of death itself, a skeletal specter. The longer one's soul is a Spirit, the more they become like the personification of their element (which often has some really sad results if others remember what they once were like as humans.) His eyes are coal black, almost lifeless.
Morticus and Gaia often disagreed and quarreled over souls, Gaia hating for her "children", as she thought of them as, to die, and Morticus insisting that it was a natural part of life and that all must go. They work together more peacefully as time goes on, but they always have that fundamental disagreement. His realm is a bleak place, his own personal sanctum. "Bad" souls do not go to his realm, but rather the Netherworld, a hellish, dark place, deathly cold, filled with torturous terrain and seas of bubbling acid and spikes. The gates are guarded by two Spirits at all times, currently Water and Fire (for punishment for their in-fighting and arguing. x3)
Their son, [B]Chrono[/B], as the offspring of Life and Death, becomes the Spirit of Time, and therefore exists outside of it, able to pass between ages as he pleases. He is the Keeper of Hourglasses, the measure of how much time on earth a soul has left, and keeps these hourglasses in his realm outside the passage of time (whee, more Discworld influences!) He most often appears as an ancient, wizened man with a long white beard, hair, and robes, and eyebrows that cover his oft-closed eyes. His eyes are a patient grayish hazel.
After these three, more Spirits were chosen as the need arose. As man as we know him began to hunt, one of these humans, Leo Troy, would become the Spirit of [B]Strength[/B]. The vitality he possessed as a result of his strength magic allowed him to live with nigh-immortality. His whereabouts at present are unknown to even the Spirits, as after a falling out with them, he took off to live among mortals for good, never to return to their realms. (More of this will be revealed on ZU later.) His eyes are a strong, warm brown.
The next prominent Spirit (probably the last I'll mention in detail) was chosen as a young boy, when man was first becoming civilized, long back in early civilizations before this world's closest equivalent to Rome (Remula.) His name was Ernesto Vertimiglia, and he was framed at the age of twelve for his father's murder, and convicted unjustly. The boy was the only one who could see the truth in the crisis. After he was executed, he was found to become the Spirit of [B]Justice[/B], and later grew into a strong, just, wise man who would judge the souls of the departed. In his realm, he reviews the lives of each deceased human, and ultimately makes the choice of whether they go to the Realm of Dreams or the Netherworld. His symbol are the scales of justice. His eyes are a earnest, intelligent hazel-brown.
Other Spirits to follow would also become very important in the world's functioning and history, many becoming the namesake for countries or continents altogether, (like the Spirit of Earth, Tierra Cordelius, who gives her name to the continents of South and North Cordelia, and who is one of the key ancestors of the many of the gypsy tribes), or ending disasters (such as Ivana Petrova, the Spirit of Ice, whose ascension prevented a possible Ice Age when the former Ice was weakened.) It is possible for Spirits to be replaced if they are weakened and wish for rest, but it happens [I]very[/I] rarely.
The gypsies of the world (largely settled now in Rubato but clinging to other traditions of their identity), as well as other magical groups (like the monks of Zhenghe), have created rules for their own communities in following with principles handed down by former Spirits to govern their use of magic. One of these is to not amass more spells than one can reasonably control (often two or three), especially if these spells are offensive skills. Those with more practical, everyday uses (like say a simple, small healing spell) are more leniently looked upon. If a mage from this earth goes outside their world, like via the Dome, they are like a magnet to magic of their kind, very attractive to the energies. A water magic-user, therefore, would attract otherworldly water magic energy to themselves, and possibly become more powerful if they can wield it. Not all magic users are created equal. "Enchanters" are considered to be the more capable and powerful human spellcasters. They are often frowned upon by many, seen as being greedy for power. The strongest mage in any one magic-practicing country (it is more mainstream/common in some countries more than others), is often the Royal Mage/Imperial Mage/National Mage (or whatever title they may give.)
Collecting too much magical power draws away that energy from other places in the world (like how water has been drawn away from Rubato, but there is also another reason to add to that one) and may cause shortages or natural crises, and also can weaken a Spirit's ability to prevent these problems, if one's influence becomes greater and greater (possibly even greater than the Spirit's.) Hence why Cadenza gets in such deep doo-doo when she goes to the Dome and starts attracting shadow power unawares, and gains too many spells during her quest for personal and familial revenge and emancipation during her early plots. The Spirit of Shadow seeks to... neutralize her. x33 Things go bad from there on.
(As mentioned before, Solomon "Sol" Rubaton, namesake for Rubato, and Spirit of Fire had a falling out with his constant bickering partner, Marina Aque, Spirit of Water. Because Marina saw Rubato as Sol's favored lands, she treats the place largely with disfavor. They are not above being petty like that. x3 Which makes the Spirits fun. They can be awfully human and flawed for governing magical beings.)
Piccy: [url=http://superaiko.deviantart.com/art/ZUBA-Spirits-of-Earth-174138592]ZUBA: Spirits of Earth by ~SuperAiko on deviantART[/url][/QUOTE]
Wheeee, infodump!
[QUOTE=Me]There's a lot to this answer so I may forget something/leave something out, I hope I can be [I]sorta[/I] concise but get the main idea across. x3 Remember, you asked for this. You poor soul. :P
The story goes that the world Earth (or "Gaia", just for our purposes of remembering it's an alternate one) was created by that universe's gods. Then they left their new creation with a system intact to ensure the balance of magic that filled the world--the Spirits. Namely, the first two beings who would become "Spirits", which are the deceased (more or less) human souls who had possessed enough power or enough of an affinity for a certain type of magic (say for example, fire) in life to be eligible to help control the balance of that type of magic after their passing. (Only three Spirits did not have to "die", those I will mention later.)
The first being created by the gods on this new earth was [B]Gaia[/B], who later on is often known as "the Mother", "the Mother of All", and so on. She, being the first being ever to live on this planet, became the Spirit of Life, and controlled life magic on the earth. All living things have at least a little bit of life magic in them. She made flora and fauna flourish and was to live eternally. She usually appears as an ethereally beautiful, almost elfish woman of indeterminate age, very tall, gentle and motherly, with white-blond hair with slight hints of greens and blues, green robes, and fair skin, and always wears a firefly pendant, her own personal symbol. She loves the creature for the radiance it brings to the world in its short life. She may also appear as an old, wise woman, also with the pendant, or a firefly when wanting to be at her most discreet. She has brilliant, lively green eyes that seem to peer deep into a viewer, but also soothe, creating sometimes a strange sensation--no Spirit (like in Discworld with their gods) can hide the true nature of their eyes.
The real world is one of her realms, as is a paradise-like place where fairies live, her own personal sanctuary when not on the mortal world. The Spirits seldom appear in person to handle mortal affairs, preferring more indirect and impersonal means for the most part. "Good" souls do not go to her paradise, but rather the Realm of Dreams, a joint haven looked out after by the Spirits of Life, Sleep, and Death together.
The second being ever to live, the last one the gods themselves created before they left, was [B]Morticus[/B]. He was Gaia's mate, and together they were parents to Chrono, a son. Morticus was the first being to die, and became the Spirit of Death, the Reaper. While a dark-skinned, somewhat elfish human to begin with, over time he would become more and more like the image of death itself, a skeletal specter. The longer one's soul is a Spirit, the more they become like the personification of their element (which often has some really sad results if others remember what they once were like as humans.) His eyes are coal black, almost lifeless.
Morticus and Gaia often disagreed and quarreled over souls, Gaia hating for her "children", as she thought of them as, to die, and Morticus insisting that it was a natural part of life and that all must go. They work together more peacefully as time goes on, but they always have that fundamental disagreement. His realm is a bleak place, his own personal sanctum. "Bad" souls do not go to his realm, but rather the Netherworld, a hellish, dark place, deathly cold, filled with torturous terrain and seas of bubbling acid and spikes. The gates are guarded by two Spirits at all times, currently Water and Fire (for punishment for their in-fighting and arguing. x3)
Their son, [B]Chrono[/B], as the offspring of Life and Death, becomes the Spirit of Time, and therefore exists outside of it, able to pass between ages as he pleases. He is the Keeper of Hourglasses, the measure of how much time on earth a soul has left, and keeps these hourglasses in his realm outside the passage of time (whee, more Discworld influences!) He most often appears as an ancient, wizened man with a long white beard, hair, and robes, and eyebrows that cover his oft-closed eyes. His eyes are a patient grayish hazel.
After these three, more Spirits were chosen as the need arose. As man as we know him began to hunt, one of these humans, Leo Troy, would become the Spirit of [B]Strength[/B]. The vitality he possessed as a result of his strength magic allowed him to live with nigh-immortality. His whereabouts at present are unknown to even the Spirits, as after a falling out with them, he took off to live among mortals for good, never to return to their realms. (More of this will be revealed on ZU later.) His eyes are a strong, warm brown.
The next prominent Spirit (probably the last I'll mention in detail) was chosen as a young boy, when man was first becoming civilized, long back in early civilizations before this world's closest equivalent to Rome (Remula.) His name was Ernesto Vertimiglia, and he was framed at the age of twelve for his father's murder, and convicted unjustly. The boy was the only one who could see the truth in the crisis. After he was executed, he was found to become the Spirit of [B]Justice[/B], and later grew into a strong, just, wise man who would judge the souls of the departed. In his realm, he reviews the lives of each deceased human, and ultimately makes the choice of whether they go to the Realm of Dreams or the Netherworld. His symbol are the scales of justice. His eyes are a earnest, intelligent hazel-brown.
Other Spirits to follow would also become very important in the world's functioning and history, many becoming the namesake for countries or continents altogether, (like the Spirit of Earth, Tierra Cordelius, who gives her name to the continents of South and North Cordelia, and who is one of the key ancestors of the many of the gypsy tribes), or ending disasters (such as Ivana Petrova, the Spirit of Ice, whose ascension prevented a possible Ice Age when the former Ice was weakened.) It is possible for Spirits to be replaced if they are weakened and wish for rest, but it happens [I]very[/I] rarely.
The gypsies of the world (largely settled now in Rubato but clinging to other traditions of their identity), as well as other magical groups (like the monks of Zhenghe), have created rules for their own communities in following with principles handed down by former Spirits to govern their use of magic. One of these is to not amass more spells than one can reasonably control (often two or three), especially if these spells are offensive skills. Those with more practical, everyday uses (like say a simple, small healing spell) are more leniently looked upon. If a mage from this earth goes outside their world, like via the Dome, they are like a magnet to magic of their kind, very attractive to the energies. A water magic-user, therefore, would attract otherworldly water magic energy to themselves, and possibly become more powerful if they can wield it. Not all magic users are created equal. "Enchanters" are considered to be the more capable and powerful human spellcasters. They are often frowned upon by many, seen as being greedy for power. The strongest mage in any one magic-practicing country (it is more mainstream/common in some countries more than others), is often the Royal Mage/Imperial Mage/National Mage (or whatever title they may give.)
Collecting too much magical power draws away that energy from other places in the world (like how water has been drawn away from Rubato, but there is also another reason to add to that one) and may cause shortages or natural crises, and also can weaken a Spirit's ability to prevent these problems, if one's influence becomes greater and greater (possibly even greater than the Spirit's.) Hence why Cadenza gets in such deep doo-doo when she goes to the Dome and starts attracting shadow power unawares, and gains too many spells during her quest for personal and familial revenge and emancipation during her early plots. The Spirit of Shadow seeks to... neutralize her. x33 Things go bad from there on.
(As mentioned before, Solomon "Sol" Rubaton, namesake for Rubato, and Spirit of Fire had a falling out with his constant bickering partner, Marina Aque, Spirit of Water. Because Marina saw Rubato as Sol's favored lands, she treats the place largely with disfavor. They are not above being petty like that. x3 Which makes the Spirits fun. They can be awfully human and flawed for governing magical beings.)
Piccy: [url=http://superaiko.deviantart.com/art/ZUBA-Spirits-of-Earth-174138592]ZUBA: Spirits of Earth by ~SuperAiko on deviantART[/url][/QUOTE]
Wheeee, infodump!
Monday, February 15, 2010
ZUBA: A New Acquaintance (short story draft, script)
I: *appears out of the pot of soup, a dark-blue haired, little, scruffy, horned man with a stubbly chin, pointed ears, keen black eyes, and shabby brown and gray clothes, a pair of small, clear wings on his back and his feet bare* Hm... this is a strange bath you're making for your ferret... *tastes it* ...Pretty easy on the taste buds, though...
C: Aaagh! *drops the spoon in her surprise, stumbling back from the stove as it clatters to the ground and sends droplets of broth everywhere* W...what the hell!? WHO or WHAT are you? And...and how do you know about Bandit!? *stares accusingly*
I: Oh! *quits his sampling of the soup after a bite of carrot* Hey there! I've been waiting for you to boil some water for a spell, but you don't do that much, do ya? ^^
C: ...w...well, no, I guess not... but that didn't answer my question... *steps closer warily, recovering from her initial shock, now more on her usual guard* Get to explaining. What are you... and why are you so bloody short?
I: I'mmmm your fairy godmother! *jazz hands*
C: ...what? *raises an eyebrow, slightly sneering, hand resting on her hip* ...You've got to be f*cking kidding me... I'm no Cinderella.
I: *chuckles* Just kiddin'! Yooou, Missus, can think of me as a sorta... guardian... *floats up and pinches her cheek* heree to heelp yooou...
C: *swats at his hand* Sod off!
I: Ohohoo, I haven't heard that one since I was in England! ^^ Such a dirty mouth on ya... we're gonna get along just dandy.
C: Yeah, well... wait, what? You said England. Not Rochester. You're not from here...?
I: Ohh nooo, of course not! ^^ *giggles* I'm from waaaay... far away. *pulls out some kind of homemade-looking roll-up and lights it*
C: Hey hey, don't smoke in here! I've got kids! And you're on the STOVE! That shit can't be safe... *bats at him*
I: Eee...! *floats out of the soup and flutters over out of reach* Stop that, stop that! It's not really affecting anything here anyway! I'm not real like that!
C: ...hold on, you're... not...? *pauses in her shooing and swatting* So what, you're like a fairy...? Or only I can see you or something? Because my husband already thinks I'm crazy enough as it is.
I: Oh, don't worry about thaat, I'm not imaginary... or a fairy, thank you very much. Vain little buggers. No, I'm more like... an Imp. And children and anyone who is magically sensitive enough will be able to see me. So that means you and your kids, and... I'm not sure about your hubby. It's possible. *puffs on his little cigar, purple smoke curling*
C: Huh. So you're... some kind of guardian. But you're not from my world. So that means... you've got to be from somewhere else I've been that has magic. But that's a pretty open-ended question... almost better to ask where HAVEN'T I been with magic? Not exactly like I know where does and doesn't for sure...
I: Oooh... a riddle. ^^ Sounds fun.
C: ...You're not going to tell me, are you?
I: I like you. You answer your own questions. ^^ Most humans I've met are dumb.
C: ...I'm not sure if that was sarcastic or not but I'm going to pretend for my sake that it wasn't. Thanks. So uh... what do I call you?
I: Oh, you get to choose! My charge chooses the one name I am to be known by during my entire stay with them. Anything you want. My reeeal name is Imp, but those who prefer more "human" sounding names have gone with, oh say, Ignacio, or Ivan or... *cringes* ...Iggy, for short.
C: *smirks a little* I see... and which of these do you prefer, again?
I: Oh Imp, easily! ^^
C: Iggy it is, then.
I: Oh tha--heeeey! ...I should have seen that coming. You're not nice...
C: Eh, I have my moments. Anyway, nice to meet ya, Iggy or Eggy or whatever. Keep quiet and stay out of the way and maybe you won't get trodden under foot or chewed on.
I: W-what...?
C: Have you met Avello? *jerks a thumb outside*
I: O-oh yes... *shivers* ...your dragon, yes... he tried to eat me when I tried appearing out of your hot tub.
C: *grins slightly and makes a mental note to herself* Give Avello the biggest damn porkchop he's ever seen later. *ahem* Oh that's too bad. He means well.
I: Of course... so, when's this bath ready...? *looks again at the soup hopefully, wafting the savory smell*
C: Firstly, it's soup. You know, broth, veggies, meat, noodles, sometimes rice. Food. And it'll be ready in two minutes if you quit distracting me and hoverin' around.
I: All right... *puts out his cigar and tucks the leftover behind his ear, rubbing his stubbly little chin* ...maaybe I'll go check out the digs. Seems like a nice house. Is that okay...?
C: Fine... just don't spook anyone or upset my kids. We're talkin' this guardian thing out more later, though. I want details. And there WILL be rules.
I: Deal, lady! ^^
C: Good... *groans when he leaves and goes back to her cooking, the soup seemingly unaffected at all by his earlier wading, bathing, and eating*
--------------------
Savirox Fanaren (8:22:27 PM): ( erm... an imp? )
superaikies (8:23:08 PM): (like a mischievious little fantastical creature)
From Wiki: "An imp is a mythological being similar to a fairy or demon, frequently described in folklore and superstition. The word may perhaps derive from the term ympe, used to denote a young grafted tree.
"Imps are often described as mischievous more than seriously threatening, and as lesser beings rather than more important supernatural beings. The attendants of the devil are sometimes described as imps. They are usually described as lively and having small stature.
"To this end it came to be believed that imps were the familiar spirit servants of witches and warlocks, where the little demons served as spies and informants. During the time of the witch hunts, supernatural creatures such as imps were sought out as proof of witchcraft, though often the so called 'imp' was typically a black cat, lizard, toad or some other form of uncommon pet."
C: Aaagh! *drops the spoon in her surprise, stumbling back from the stove as it clatters to the ground and sends droplets of broth everywhere* W...what the hell!? WHO or WHAT are you? And...and how do you know about Bandit!? *stares accusingly*
I: Oh! *quits his sampling of the soup after a bite of carrot* Hey there! I've been waiting for you to boil some water for a spell, but you don't do that much, do ya? ^^
C: ...w...well, no, I guess not... but that didn't answer my question... *steps closer warily, recovering from her initial shock, now more on her usual guard* Get to explaining. What are you... and why are you so bloody short?
I: I'mmmm your fairy godmother! *jazz hands*
C: ...what? *raises an eyebrow, slightly sneering, hand resting on her hip* ...You've got to be f*cking kidding me... I'm no Cinderella.
I: *chuckles* Just kiddin'! Yooou, Missus, can think of me as a sorta... guardian... *floats up and pinches her cheek* heree to heelp yooou...
C: *swats at his hand* Sod off!
I: Ohohoo, I haven't heard that one since I was in England! ^^ Such a dirty mouth on ya... we're gonna get along just dandy.
C: Yeah, well... wait, what? You said England. Not Rochester. You're not from here...?
I: Ohh nooo, of course not! ^^ *giggles* I'm from waaaay... far away. *pulls out some kind of homemade-looking roll-up and lights it*
C: Hey hey, don't smoke in here! I've got kids! And you're on the STOVE! That shit can't be safe... *bats at him*
I: Eee...! *floats out of the soup and flutters over out of reach* Stop that, stop that! It's not really affecting anything here anyway! I'm not real like that!
C: ...hold on, you're... not...? *pauses in her shooing and swatting* So what, you're like a fairy...? Or only I can see you or something? Because my husband already thinks I'm crazy enough as it is.
I: Oh, don't worry about thaat, I'm not imaginary... or a fairy, thank you very much. Vain little buggers. No, I'm more like... an Imp. And children and anyone who is magically sensitive enough will be able to see me. So that means you and your kids, and... I'm not sure about your hubby. It's possible. *puffs on his little cigar, purple smoke curling*
C: Huh. So you're... some kind of guardian. But you're not from my world. So that means... you've got to be from somewhere else I've been that has magic. But that's a pretty open-ended question... almost better to ask where HAVEN'T I been with magic? Not exactly like I know where does and doesn't for sure...
I: Oooh... a riddle. ^^ Sounds fun.
C: ...You're not going to tell me, are you?
I: I like you. You answer your own questions. ^^ Most humans I've met are dumb.
C: ...I'm not sure if that was sarcastic or not but I'm going to pretend for my sake that it wasn't. Thanks. So uh... what do I call you?
I: Oh, you get to choose! My charge chooses the one name I am to be known by during my entire stay with them. Anything you want. My reeeal name is Imp, but those who prefer more "human" sounding names have gone with, oh say, Ignacio, or Ivan or... *cringes* ...Iggy, for short.
C: *smirks a little* I see... and which of these do you prefer, again?
I: Oh Imp, easily! ^^
C: Iggy it is, then.
I: Oh tha--heeeey! ...I should have seen that coming. You're not nice...
C: Eh, I have my moments. Anyway, nice to meet ya, Iggy or Eggy or whatever. Keep quiet and stay out of the way and maybe you won't get trodden under foot or chewed on.
I: W-what...?
C: Have you met Avello? *jerks a thumb outside*
I: O-oh yes... *shivers* ...your dragon, yes... he tried to eat me when I tried appearing out of your hot tub.
C: *grins slightly and makes a mental note to herself* Give Avello the biggest damn porkchop he's ever seen later. *ahem* Oh that's too bad. He means well.
I: Of course... so, when's this bath ready...? *looks again at the soup hopefully, wafting the savory smell*
C: Firstly, it's soup. You know, broth, veggies, meat, noodles, sometimes rice. Food. And it'll be ready in two minutes if you quit distracting me and hoverin' around.
I: All right... *puts out his cigar and tucks the leftover behind his ear, rubbing his stubbly little chin* ...maaybe I'll go check out the digs. Seems like a nice house. Is that okay...?
C: Fine... just don't spook anyone or upset my kids. We're talkin' this guardian thing out more later, though. I want details. And there WILL be rules.
I: Deal, lady! ^^
C: Good... *groans when he leaves and goes back to her cooking, the soup seemingly unaffected at all by his earlier wading, bathing, and eating*
--------------------
Savirox Fanaren (8:22:27 PM): ( erm... an imp? )
superaikies (8:23:08 PM): (like a mischievious little fantastical creature)
From Wiki: "An imp is a mythological being similar to a fairy or demon, frequently described in folklore and superstition. The word may perhaps derive from the term ympe, used to denote a young grafted tree.
"Imps are often described as mischievous more than seriously threatening, and as lesser beings rather than more important supernatural beings. The attendants of the devil are sometimes described as imps. They are usually described as lively and having small stature.
"To this end it came to be believed that imps were the familiar spirit servants of witches and warlocks, where the little demons served as spies and informants. During the time of the witch hunts, supernatural creatures such as imps were sought out as proof of witchcraft, though often the so called 'imp' was typically a black cat, lizard, toad or some other form of uncommon pet."
Friday, September 18, 2009
Quick Fic: Magic Dialogue
"Tia..." Greene began, "how does your magic work...? What makes you different from me...?"
"Well, to be honest, Greene... most of it works off just sheer, barefaced will," Cadenza said, chuckling as she added, "in other words, my strength is my stubbornness. I've got to demand it to work, or to exist, want it so badly that I pour all the energy I can spare into bullying whatever spell it is to work. Coax it, coerce it. It's harder the first time I do a spell... and you know like that songs says, 'You can't always get what you want.' It won't always work. Sure, it's focused magic, it's controlled magic... but it's limited magic. That's why... sometimes I need one of you dreamers. Those people who've got that creativity... that purity, that belief, that innocence I haven't.
"You can make life, wish it into being, hope, imagine... and it comes true. You have faith in things like miracles that I just don't buy--not when I've seen far too many people hurtin' for one and had their prayers, their pleas, and their cries go ignored. Instead, I've just got that want, that motivation to help 'em... help them in a realistic, immediate, practical kind of way... 'cause I'm too rooted down to earth to dream those big magical dreams you do... so keep on dreamin', Greenie. The world needs people like you."
"Well, to be honest, Greene... most of it works off just sheer, barefaced will," Cadenza said, chuckling as she added, "in other words, my strength is my stubbornness. I've got to demand it to work, or to exist, want it so badly that I pour all the energy I can spare into bullying whatever spell it is to work. Coax it, coerce it. It's harder the first time I do a spell... and you know like that songs says, 'You can't always get what you want.' It won't always work. Sure, it's focused magic, it's controlled magic... but it's limited magic. That's why... sometimes I need one of you dreamers. Those people who've got that creativity... that purity, that belief, that innocence I haven't.
"You can make life, wish it into being, hope, imagine... and it comes true. You have faith in things like miracles that I just don't buy--not when I've seen far too many people hurtin' for one and had their prayers, their pleas, and their cries go ignored. Instead, I've just got that want, that motivation to help 'em... help them in a realistic, immediate, practical kind of way... 'cause I'm too rooted down to earth to dream those big magical dreams you do... so keep on dreamin', Greenie. The world needs people like you."
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Short Story Follow-Up: Doctor's Visit (Draft, Still in Progress)
"Ahh...! Gods, you couldn't give me a warning before you stabbed me in the ribs with that needle!?"
Doctor Rivers withdrew the needle full of fluid and gave it an experimental flick before adjusting his glasses and finally addressing me for the first time since he'd walked back in. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Madrigal, but this is just a routine test. One of many... so far, our results have been quite unfruitful--we expected some kind of irregularity... a unique, telling feature, but there has been nothing. Even your hands, albeit heavily scarred and rough in some places, proved to be normal... the skin chemistry was normal, your fingerprints were normal patterns, magic flowed from them in a regular way. We're baffled. You seem to have the body of a normal, and rather fit and healthy, young woman."
"I could have told you that, Doc."
"Even despite giving birth to... was it three kids? A boy and then twin girls...?"
"...Yes, three."
"...Even despite that, you seem to be in impeccable shape, with everything in its place. There isn't a sign of aging since your last regular physical at age twenty-nine... not a single wrinkle or even a gray hair. It's quite puzzling..."
His eyes lingered on me, questioning, pleading with me to give him some sort of lead or answer.
All I said was, "Huh... fancy that. Can I go home now?"
"Oh no, Mrs. Madrigal," he replied a little apologetically, but still managing to sound as if this was the silliest request in the world, "I'm afraid we have far more tests to perfom. You'll have to stay overnight. You will be permitted a phone call to notify your family."
"...Thanks," I muttered.
The young doctor murmured for a while over some color change in the vial of stuff he'd just gotten out of me, and then left me to my own devices. Which, sitting there in just a sports bra and shorts without even a purse with me, were considerably limited. I shifted a little on the examining table and waited impatiently for one of the orderlies to bring me my phone. I was getting more irritable by the second thanks to the antiseptic they'd put all over my arms and anywhere they'd stuck a needle. Someone had better get their ass here soon.
About ten minutes and several cursings and peeks into the hall later, some pasty-faced Rochesterian orderly came in and forked over my phone, offering only a half-sincere sounding "sorry" before rushing back out of the room. But that was well enough, because I didn't need them to be listening in on my calls, too. They'd already invaded my privacy enough with the physical. Then again, there always was the possibility they had cameras in the room...
Best not to think of that and start my only phone call home off angry, I told myself. I started to dial, waited through the rings. After the third one, Kate picked up, Bandit chittering and the TV going on in the background. Even ordinary, everyday sounds like that... ones I usually took for granted made me feel homesick. I wanted to be there just goofing off and relaxing with them...
"Hi Mommy! Are you doin' okay? Did they hit your knee with those triangle thingies? I hope you're not sick..."
I chuckled at her rush of questions and felt the pang of homesickness hit even harder. She had to be the sweetest little girl in the world... she worried even more than I did sometimes. "No, sweetie, Mommy's not sick... it's just a check-up, but there's a lot of things to test, so... I won't be home until tomorrow..."
"B-but why aren't you...? Who's gonna tuck me in? How long have you gotta stay?" her voice got sadder and sadder with each new concern and my heart was sinking.
Doctor Rivers withdrew the needle full of fluid and gave it an experimental flick before adjusting his glasses and finally addressing me for the first time since he'd walked back in. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Madrigal, but this is just a routine test. One of many... so far, our results have been quite unfruitful--we expected some kind of irregularity... a unique, telling feature, but there has been nothing. Even your hands, albeit heavily scarred and rough in some places, proved to be normal... the skin chemistry was normal, your fingerprints were normal patterns, magic flowed from them in a regular way. We're baffled. You seem to have the body of a normal, and rather fit and healthy, young woman."
"I could have told you that, Doc."
"Even despite giving birth to... was it three kids? A boy and then twin girls...?"
"...Yes, three."
"...Even despite that, you seem to be in impeccable shape, with everything in its place. There isn't a sign of aging since your last regular physical at age twenty-nine... not a single wrinkle or even a gray hair. It's quite puzzling..."
His eyes lingered on me, questioning, pleading with me to give him some sort of lead or answer.
All I said was, "Huh... fancy that. Can I go home now?"
"Oh no, Mrs. Madrigal," he replied a little apologetically, but still managing to sound as if this was the silliest request in the world, "I'm afraid we have far more tests to perfom. You'll have to stay overnight. You will be permitted a phone call to notify your family."
"...Thanks," I muttered.
The young doctor murmured for a while over some color change in the vial of stuff he'd just gotten out of me, and then left me to my own devices. Which, sitting there in just a sports bra and shorts without even a purse with me, were considerably limited. I shifted a little on the examining table and waited impatiently for one of the orderlies to bring me my phone. I was getting more irritable by the second thanks to the antiseptic they'd put all over my arms and anywhere they'd stuck a needle. Someone had better get their ass here soon.
About ten minutes and several cursings and peeks into the hall later, some pasty-faced Rochesterian orderly came in and forked over my phone, offering only a half-sincere sounding "sorry" before rushing back out of the room. But that was well enough, because I didn't need them to be listening in on my calls, too. They'd already invaded my privacy enough with the physical. Then again, there always was the possibility they had cameras in the room...
Best not to think of that and start my only phone call home off angry, I told myself. I started to dial, waited through the rings. After the third one, Kate picked up, Bandit chittering and the TV going on in the background. Even ordinary, everyday sounds like that... ones I usually took for granted made me feel homesick. I wanted to be there just goofing off and relaxing with them...
"Hi Mommy! Are you doin' okay? Did they hit your knee with those triangle thingies? I hope you're not sick..."
I chuckled at her rush of questions and felt the pang of homesickness hit even harder. She had to be the sweetest little girl in the world... she worried even more than I did sometimes. "No, sweetie, Mommy's not sick... it's just a check-up, but there's a lot of things to test, so... I won't be home until tomorrow..."
"B-but why aren't you...? Who's gonna tuck me in? How long have you gotta stay?" her voice got sadder and sadder with each new concern and my heart was sinking.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Short Story: Mage Tribunal
It's occurred to me that I always seem to be a in a perpetual state of "I hate my job"; every work day is a bloody horrendous Monday to me. The only thing that changes is how badly I'm feelin' it that day--today, I was liable to punch out the next person who looked at me funny. Or the next one to look at me at all.
I'd sent three errand boys to the nurse's before I even reached the main meeting hall. New record, I thought, with a slight grin. Humor was going to have to get me through this day--gods knew everything else was going to be against me.
I walked in and glanced around at the hanging flags like I always do, sparing a little sneer for Cernilia's. It was basically a bastardized Rubatoian flag--the same golden yellow and red-orange sunset on burgundy, but with an imperial crown above it, reigning the fact that Cernilia'd conquered our land over our heads. Even flags from that country managed to be real pricks. I passed on, giving a half-hearted wave to the mages from Minas Gerais, Gardenia, and the States. They weren't half bad people on a normal day, but today even they'd be on the council that voted on the way to punish me. I silently hoped they'd remember the help I'd given them with that nasty magical flu going around a few months back. But I didn't count on it. Anyone could be bribed or threatened somehow.
I took my seat at the center desk for the tribunal, and felt like the whole place had transformed into a courtroom. There was the semi-circular table on the dais, raised above me like a judge's bench, where in a few minutes my fellow mages would be playing Justice and jury. There were books of codes and statutes and laws on one end, full of precedents from past mage council cases, the resulting punishments and reasonings for them. I wondered if anyone had actually stolen magic from the Grand Mage with their bare hands before. Here was one for the history books.
The Prime Minister of Maximillia came in, escorted by various guards and advisors, and had a seat at the dais. I could hear out in the hall the hubbub of press reporters clamoring for the chance to follow him inside. This would be a real headline... I could only imagine poor Kate having kids rub her face in the article about her Mommy's crime. That, more than anything, made me feel lower than low. I sunk a little in my chair and tried to be inconspicuous as a few reporters and the rest of the mages filed in. Here it goes...
They all waited until each mage was standing beside his or her chair, and then sat, all as one, very formally. There was something kinda creepy, almost cult-like about all those adults thinking as one like that. Bad things tended to happen when people functioned on group-think. Things with torches and pitchforks, for instance. I tried my best to give them my most nonchalant, tough face and sat up in my chair to listen. This would be one helluva tribunal.
"This council will now convene for the hearing of Mage Cadenza Vega Madrigal, of Rubato," Mage Ronald Livingston of the Rochester Republic began. "The charges she is facing include the unethical theft of one Grand Mage Jean Pierre Denebola of Maximillia's magic, and assistance in the aforementioned man's murder. I also have come to understand that it was your husband and your ex-husband who ruthlessly killed Mage Denebola... is that not true?"
"Er... define what you'd consider 'ruthlessly'."
He gave me a severe look, shared by about half the others on the dais. I didn't relent.
"...Doesn't the fact that he practically tried to rape me, and that he wanted to exploit some poor, innocent young mage under my protection factor into this at all?"
Livingston's face was still fixed into that stern look with his bushy gray brows knitted together, completely unfazed. It was almost impressive. "Those are mitigating circumstances, Mage Madrigal, but there is nothing that excuses murder. You should have reported his actions to this Council and let us process him through the due course of the law."
I wanted to yell that if we hadn't taken his magic... if we hadn't killed or at least injured him beyond movement, I might not have even been sitting there to report this to them--that sitting around and waiting for the law to fix things wouldn't do shit. But they were such strict, by the book hardasses that I knew I'd just be wasting my breath. All I said was, "It was in self-defense."
"As we realize, Madrigal, but that does not eliminate the need to punish you for these actions. Otherwise, what is to stop mages from running around stripping one another of their powers? Where does it end?"
I'd expected this question. I'd expected it, and yet I still only had an answer I knew wouldn't fly. "...I didn't know I could do it... or that I was even doing it... it was... instinct."
"Instinct? Instinct!" this, from the prime minister of Maximillia, "Do you realize, Madame, that if we all just followed our instincts this world would be in utter chaos!? It is in controlling these urges that we can become civilized. I, frankly, say we revoke her of her position, if not sentence her to prison."
...Ouch. I was not on somebody's good side. Someone had better speak up for me or I was going to have to get out of this a messier way.
Thankfully, Mage Veronica Martinez of Castile chose that moment to chime in, "My country will not stand to see Mage Madrigal face such harsh punishment. She has an important partnership with our kingdom and is vital to the maintaining of the food supply for her nation. Put her in prison and the Charmed Fields project shall fail and thousands of people will be plunged back into starvation."
A murmur went through the crowd, and reporters started scribbling furiously away at this. The Council weighed her words, and Maximillia's minister shot me the dirtiest look I'd ever seen from a man with a manicure and wearing furs. His look was pure poison through a pair of pince-nez.
"Perhaps then..." Livingston began again, recapturing the crowd's attention with a sweeping glance and gesture, "...we must devise a less severe punishment, in the interest of the struggling nation of Rubato."
...Hey, ass, I thought, I'm sitting right here. I knew we were struggling, but did he have to say it to my face like it was an unquestionable fact of life? Condescending little...
Heads bobbed and nodded in agreement with his conclusion, while I grumbled over his word choice, Castile's Mage settling back in her chair with a relieved expression. She had definitely just earned her salary from the Queen for the day. She looked like a triumphant lawyer. And yet, I knew I had to be grateful to her. She might've just saved my ass--I couldn't phrase things in the same proper, diplomatic way she did and sound like I really believed it.
Since most people seemed to have concurred, Livingston sat down and folded his hands on the table as a sort of closing gesture, "Then we shall recess while the Council comes to a decision on the punishment. We shall reconvene in twenty minutes. Mage Madrigal, in that time, kindly do not leave the premises."
"...Course, sir."
He dismissed us and the group at the dais departed for a back room. The rest of us were left to chatter amongst ourselves and be hounded by reporters for comment. I decided to slip out to the restrooms before a particularly nosey-looking group of them started to approach me with pens at the ready.
When I'd slunk into the ladies' room and shut the door behind me, I gave the biggest sigh I'd breathed in a while. Somehow, the unimaginable amount of bad karma I'd racked up over the years hadn't come back to bite me this time. But I still didn't feel relieved. The Council might have thought that the only punishment I would face would be the one they doled out to me, but they didn't know about the voice... the voice of Jean that still crept into my head and made my eyes green and my stomach turn. The horrible dreams I had, the terrible, unsettling feeling of waking up to find my own hands had been wandering over my body as if controlled by another. I'd woken up yesterday to find one stroking my thigh and the other slipping aside one of my bra straps. I hated... I felt utterly sickened and disturbed to think how much worse it could get. This was far worse than any slap on the wrist or jailtime they might give me. It had to stop. I was half-ready to go visit one of the bloody insane spirit exorcists that lived around the canyons and dark hillsides in Agra. Anything to get this last trace of magic, of Jean, out of me.
There was still plenty of time left, so I pulled out my phone and started to call Ruin to bring him up to speed on the trial so far. He was not gonna be happy that they were punishing me at all after what Denebola did, but at least it didn't seem like things would turn out too badly. I didn't want to get him too worried or riled up. Maximillia had already been rumored to be considering war with us for a few days after the incident... we didn't need to add the pummeling of a whole room of mages to the list of reasons for it.
After I finished speaking to him, and saying hola to the kids... our sweet kids, I couldn't wait to go home to their smiling faces... I went and washed my face and stared for a moment into the mirror. Eyes were blue. I still had a trace of a smile on my face from listening to the twins happily babble through a song for me on the phone, and hearing Ruin's voice, and Marcus' excited cry of "Maeee!", and Kate's asking me when I'd get home. My little girl lookin' out for me... My reflection in the mirror looked normal. But I felt in my gut that nothing could be further from the truth. How had I gotten this screwed-up...? Nothing had made sense about me from the day Life first made me "half-gone" for the kids... had she done that for anyone ever before?
I didn't know the answer to that, but all it succeeded in reminding me of was that someday, soon hopefully, I had to find this "Ryan Marrone", Strength. I needed to know how to manage this.
Before I went back out, I conjured myself a shotglass of Vivianne's Finest tequila, "liquid courage", Pai would joke, and tossed it back in one gulp. I was gonna need it to face Livingston and his stern old schoolmaster face. That was a face that could've dispassionately driven gypsies into carts to be carried away during the purge. I resented a face like that.
Back in the hall, there were echoes of all the conversations going on in the meeting, and flashes of reporters' cameras. I snuck in as discreetly as I could between Stuttgart's giant of a mage and a swarthy guy in dark clothes I blended in with, Abdali's mage possibly, and took my seat. Things quieted down as Livingston and the others processed back in and took their seats on the dais.
"The Mage Council has reached a consensus," the old man said with finality. And so, again, a Rochesterian would pass judgment on a gypsy. History repeated itself in little ways. "Mage Madrigal, to repent for your crimes, you shall hereby be ordered to work providing spells for the nation of Maximillia until they can find a qualified new National Mage. You shall also pay the nation the sum of 200,000 zecca in return for the loss of precious magical heirlooms destroyed in the killing of Denebola, and cooperate with designated officials in experiments and investigations into this newfound ability you possess to steal magic. These decisions are final and cannot be appealed. This trial is now adjourned."
He slammed down a gavel and then rose to leave.
Around me, I was sure other people were getting up to leave too, but the sounds of chairs being pushed back and mages chattering as they were going were like distant noises to me. My head was still spinning around the idea of being at the beck and call of not only Olmo, but now Prime Minister Louboutin, and the... the experimenting. I could accept the fine for the money... but what were they going to do to me? There was no way they could hear the voice I heard, know the terrible way it made me felt. I worried they would only make things worse... or tip that delicate balance of living and not living as a half-gone woman into just... being gone.
I'd sent three errand boys to the nurse's before I even reached the main meeting hall. New record, I thought, with a slight grin. Humor was going to have to get me through this day--gods knew everything else was going to be against me.
I walked in and glanced around at the hanging flags like I always do, sparing a little sneer for Cernilia's. It was basically a bastardized Rubatoian flag--the same golden yellow and red-orange sunset on burgundy, but with an imperial crown above it, reigning the fact that Cernilia'd conquered our land over our heads. Even flags from that country managed to be real pricks. I passed on, giving a half-hearted wave to the mages from Minas Gerais, Gardenia, and the States. They weren't half bad people on a normal day, but today even they'd be on the council that voted on the way to punish me. I silently hoped they'd remember the help I'd given them with that nasty magical flu going around a few months back. But I didn't count on it. Anyone could be bribed or threatened somehow.
I took my seat at the center desk for the tribunal, and felt like the whole place had transformed into a courtroom. There was the semi-circular table on the dais, raised above me like a judge's bench, where in a few minutes my fellow mages would be playing Justice and jury. There were books of codes and statutes and laws on one end, full of precedents from past mage council cases, the resulting punishments and reasonings for them. I wondered if anyone had actually stolen magic from the Grand Mage with their bare hands before. Here was one for the history books.
The Prime Minister of Maximillia came in, escorted by various guards and advisors, and had a seat at the dais. I could hear out in the hall the hubbub of press reporters clamoring for the chance to follow him inside. This would be a real headline... I could only imagine poor Kate having kids rub her face in the article about her Mommy's crime. That, more than anything, made me feel lower than low. I sunk a little in my chair and tried to be inconspicuous as a few reporters and the rest of the mages filed in. Here it goes...
They all waited until each mage was standing beside his or her chair, and then sat, all as one, very formally. There was something kinda creepy, almost cult-like about all those adults thinking as one like that. Bad things tended to happen when people functioned on group-think. Things with torches and pitchforks, for instance. I tried my best to give them my most nonchalant, tough face and sat up in my chair to listen. This would be one helluva tribunal.
"This council will now convene for the hearing of Mage Cadenza Vega Madrigal, of Rubato," Mage Ronald Livingston of the Rochester Republic began. "The charges she is facing include the unethical theft of one Grand Mage Jean Pierre Denebola of Maximillia's magic, and assistance in the aforementioned man's murder. I also have come to understand that it was your husband and your ex-husband who ruthlessly killed Mage Denebola... is that not true?"
"Er... define what you'd consider 'ruthlessly'."
He gave me a severe look, shared by about half the others on the dais. I didn't relent.
"...Doesn't the fact that he practically tried to rape me, and that he wanted to exploit some poor, innocent young mage under my protection factor into this at all?"
Livingston's face was still fixed into that stern look with his bushy gray brows knitted together, completely unfazed. It was almost impressive. "Those are mitigating circumstances, Mage Madrigal, but there is nothing that excuses murder. You should have reported his actions to this Council and let us process him through the due course of the law."
I wanted to yell that if we hadn't taken his magic... if we hadn't killed or at least injured him beyond movement, I might not have even been sitting there to report this to them--that sitting around and waiting for the law to fix things wouldn't do shit. But they were such strict, by the book hardasses that I knew I'd just be wasting my breath. All I said was, "It was in self-defense."
"As we realize, Madrigal, but that does not eliminate the need to punish you for these actions. Otherwise, what is to stop mages from running around stripping one another of their powers? Where does it end?"
I'd expected this question. I'd expected it, and yet I still only had an answer I knew wouldn't fly. "...I didn't know I could do it... or that I was even doing it... it was... instinct."
"Instinct? Instinct!" this, from the prime minister of Maximillia, "Do you realize, Madame, that if we all just followed our instincts this world would be in utter chaos!? It is in controlling these urges that we can become civilized. I, frankly, say we revoke her of her position, if not sentence her to prison."
...Ouch. I was not on somebody's good side. Someone had better speak up for me or I was going to have to get out of this a messier way.
Thankfully, Mage Veronica Martinez of Castile chose that moment to chime in, "My country will not stand to see Mage Madrigal face such harsh punishment. She has an important partnership with our kingdom and is vital to the maintaining of the food supply for her nation. Put her in prison and the Charmed Fields project shall fail and thousands of people will be plunged back into starvation."
A murmur went through the crowd, and reporters started scribbling furiously away at this. The Council weighed her words, and Maximillia's minister shot me the dirtiest look I'd ever seen from a man with a manicure and wearing furs. His look was pure poison through a pair of pince-nez.
"Perhaps then..." Livingston began again, recapturing the crowd's attention with a sweeping glance and gesture, "...we must devise a less severe punishment, in the interest of the struggling nation of Rubato."
...Hey, ass, I thought, I'm sitting right here. I knew we were struggling, but did he have to say it to my face like it was an unquestionable fact of life? Condescending little...
Heads bobbed and nodded in agreement with his conclusion, while I grumbled over his word choice, Castile's Mage settling back in her chair with a relieved expression. She had definitely just earned her salary from the Queen for the day. She looked like a triumphant lawyer. And yet, I knew I had to be grateful to her. She might've just saved my ass--I couldn't phrase things in the same proper, diplomatic way she did and sound like I really believed it.
Since most people seemed to have concurred, Livingston sat down and folded his hands on the table as a sort of closing gesture, "Then we shall recess while the Council comes to a decision on the punishment. We shall reconvene in twenty minutes. Mage Madrigal, in that time, kindly do not leave the premises."
"...Course, sir."
He dismissed us and the group at the dais departed for a back room. The rest of us were left to chatter amongst ourselves and be hounded by reporters for comment. I decided to slip out to the restrooms before a particularly nosey-looking group of them started to approach me with pens at the ready.
When I'd slunk into the ladies' room and shut the door behind me, I gave the biggest sigh I'd breathed in a while. Somehow, the unimaginable amount of bad karma I'd racked up over the years hadn't come back to bite me this time. But I still didn't feel relieved. The Council might have thought that the only punishment I would face would be the one they doled out to me, but they didn't know about the voice... the voice of Jean that still crept into my head and made my eyes green and my stomach turn. The horrible dreams I had, the terrible, unsettling feeling of waking up to find my own hands had been wandering over my body as if controlled by another. I'd woken up yesterday to find one stroking my thigh and the other slipping aside one of my bra straps. I hated... I felt utterly sickened and disturbed to think how much worse it could get. This was far worse than any slap on the wrist or jailtime they might give me. It had to stop. I was half-ready to go visit one of the bloody insane spirit exorcists that lived around the canyons and dark hillsides in Agra. Anything to get this last trace of magic, of Jean, out of me.
There was still plenty of time left, so I pulled out my phone and started to call Ruin to bring him up to speed on the trial so far. He was not gonna be happy that they were punishing me at all after what Denebola did, but at least it didn't seem like things would turn out too badly. I didn't want to get him too worried or riled up. Maximillia had already been rumored to be considering war with us for a few days after the incident... we didn't need to add the pummeling of a whole room of mages to the list of reasons for it.
After I finished speaking to him, and saying hola to the kids... our sweet kids, I couldn't wait to go home to their smiling faces... I went and washed my face and stared for a moment into the mirror. Eyes were blue. I still had a trace of a smile on my face from listening to the twins happily babble through a song for me on the phone, and hearing Ruin's voice, and Marcus' excited cry of "Maeee!", and Kate's asking me when I'd get home. My little girl lookin' out for me... My reflection in the mirror looked normal. But I felt in my gut that nothing could be further from the truth. How had I gotten this screwed-up...? Nothing had made sense about me from the day Life first made me "half-gone" for the kids... had she done that for anyone ever before?
I didn't know the answer to that, but all it succeeded in reminding me of was that someday, soon hopefully, I had to find this "Ryan Marrone", Strength. I needed to know how to manage this.
Before I went back out, I conjured myself a shotglass of Vivianne's Finest tequila, "liquid courage", Pai would joke, and tossed it back in one gulp. I was gonna need it to face Livingston and his stern old schoolmaster face. That was a face that could've dispassionately driven gypsies into carts to be carried away during the purge. I resented a face like that.
Back in the hall, there were echoes of all the conversations going on in the meeting, and flashes of reporters' cameras. I snuck in as discreetly as I could between Stuttgart's giant of a mage and a swarthy guy in dark clothes I blended in with, Abdali's mage possibly, and took my seat. Things quieted down as Livingston and the others processed back in and took their seats on the dais.
"The Mage Council has reached a consensus," the old man said with finality. And so, again, a Rochesterian would pass judgment on a gypsy. History repeated itself in little ways. "Mage Madrigal, to repent for your crimes, you shall hereby be ordered to work providing spells for the nation of Maximillia until they can find a qualified new National Mage. You shall also pay the nation the sum of 200,000 zecca in return for the loss of precious magical heirlooms destroyed in the killing of Denebola, and cooperate with designated officials in experiments and investigations into this newfound ability you possess to steal magic. These decisions are final and cannot be appealed. This trial is now adjourned."
He slammed down a gavel and then rose to leave.
Around me, I was sure other people were getting up to leave too, but the sounds of chairs being pushed back and mages chattering as they were going were like distant noises to me. My head was still spinning around the idea of being at the beck and call of not only Olmo, but now Prime Minister Louboutin, and the... the experimenting. I could accept the fine for the money... but what were they going to do to me? There was no way they could hear the voice I heard, know the terrible way it made me felt. I worried they would only make things worse... or tip that delicate balance of living and not living as a half-gone woman into just... being gone.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Shorty Short Story Hodge Podge
Short story 1:
Look at her. She always seems so bored, resting her chin in those graceful hands of hers... those delicate, wounded hands, how I'd love to just undo those bandages, give them a squeeze, hear her groan in that voice... Her gaze at me is forever the same, those dark eyes smouldering at me like blue flames whenever I speak and demand their attention... and those lips, ah, those lips I dream of, turned downwards in that permanent scowl she wears. Someday... oui, someday I shall make those lips open in surrender to mine, make that supple body, with its curves my eyes loves to dance upon, yield under me. Madrigal, Madrigal... the things you make me think... coming in to these meetings in those dresses, even with that cloak over you... curling your hair around those nimble fingers when you stare off into space... it makes me want to shudder in delight. Someday I will have you...
She replies to me, to my speech, and it's with her usual disgust and disdain, only very thinly-veiled. She does that purposefully, takes her refuge in audacity, says whatever she might think regardless of how she is later penalized. Such assertiveness... it only makes me want to conquer her more. To bend such a strong woman to my will, tame her, quiet her... it's such an intoxicating prospect... I can tell she knows what may be on my mind, her scowl deepening when my gaze lingers on her, her arms crossing in the defensive, tough way she has about her. Back down, back off, it says... but I only want to draw nearer. To challenge it.
I can't get her off my mind...
Crying erupted from down the hall, and the woman jerked out of her reverie, shaking her head and groaning. In the mirror, her eyes stared back at her, tired, tinged with green, even when she'd believed she'd ridded herself of all that magic weeks ago... this had been the fourth time she'd heard the voice, had zoned out and found herself being spoken to. But it was never in the present... always stream-of-consciousness, old thoughts from past times. Times that she could vaguely identify from the descriptions in the thoughts... it gave her a discomforting, out-of-body feeling to know what someone else had been thinking of at a time where she, too, had been. Especially these particular thoughts... these ones that would've made her outraged had she heard them. She felt like she wanted to hurl. Felt violated. This man had died but he was still in her head, and he wasn't leaving...
And it wasn't even his doing. Was it? She'd done this to herself, she felt sure... magic was of the soul. Taking it from someone like she had, albeit unknowingly, must also bring a trace of the soul with it... a trace of that person's life, adding it to her own. Could she get rid of it completely and truly? She couldn't wish more for that, but she hadn't the slightest idea. There wasn't a single person she could ask... it was something she was going to have to discover on her own. Something about what it meant to be "half-gone"... had some instinct kicked in to help her survive? To make her more fully alive...?
The tears and wailing were still going on, and she couldn't leave them be any longer--half-dead or not, her son's sobbing would always resonate deep in her, call her motherly side into action. Cadenza set aside her little projects, a few spells half-finished on her desk, and hurried down the hall, mind temporarily cleared of all but the need to comfort Marcus and attend to the cause for his crying. She pushed open the door and went to his side, sweeping him up into her arms, holding him close and gently and nuzzling him until the tears faded. She didn't notice that the green had left her eyes, that they were blue and pure once more. She only smiled as her little boy looked up at her with his own light ones and said, "Te amo Mae."
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Short story 2:
Excerpt from the Cataluna City Daily Tribune, September 28, 1754 edition:
Triunfo!
We have cleansed our lands of their wretched lot, and may all their survivors burn under the desert sun that is so very much like the hellfire they do not believe in and are inevitably bound for. All those that still resist are on their last legs and must surrender shortly.
estm. remaining in Airopa: 4,170
Look at her. She always seems so bored, resting her chin in those graceful hands of hers... those delicate, wounded hands, how I'd love to just undo those bandages, give them a squeeze, hear her groan in that voice... Her gaze at me is forever the same, those dark eyes smouldering at me like blue flames whenever I speak and demand their attention... and those lips, ah, those lips I dream of, turned downwards in that permanent scowl she wears. Someday... oui, someday I shall make those lips open in surrender to mine, make that supple body, with its curves my eyes loves to dance upon, yield under me. Madrigal, Madrigal... the things you make me think... coming in to these meetings in those dresses, even with that cloak over you... curling your hair around those nimble fingers when you stare off into space... it makes me want to shudder in delight. Someday I will have you...
She replies to me, to my speech, and it's with her usual disgust and disdain, only very thinly-veiled. She does that purposefully, takes her refuge in audacity, says whatever she might think regardless of how she is later penalized. Such assertiveness... it only makes me want to conquer her more. To bend such a strong woman to my will, tame her, quiet her... it's such an intoxicating prospect... I can tell she knows what may be on my mind, her scowl deepening when my gaze lingers on her, her arms crossing in the defensive, tough way she has about her. Back down, back off, it says... but I only want to draw nearer. To challenge it.
I can't get her off my mind...
Crying erupted from down the hall, and the woman jerked out of her reverie, shaking her head and groaning. In the mirror, her eyes stared back at her, tired, tinged with green, even when she'd believed she'd ridded herself of all that magic weeks ago... this had been the fourth time she'd heard the voice, had zoned out and found herself being spoken to. But it was never in the present... always stream-of-consciousness, old thoughts from past times. Times that she could vaguely identify from the descriptions in the thoughts... it gave her a discomforting, out-of-body feeling to know what someone else had been thinking of at a time where she, too, had been. Especially these particular thoughts... these ones that would've made her outraged had she heard them. She felt like she wanted to hurl. Felt violated. This man had died but he was still in her head, and he wasn't leaving...
And it wasn't even his doing. Was it? She'd done this to herself, she felt sure... magic was of the soul. Taking it from someone like she had, albeit unknowingly, must also bring a trace of the soul with it... a trace of that person's life, adding it to her own. Could she get rid of it completely and truly? She couldn't wish more for that, but she hadn't the slightest idea. There wasn't a single person she could ask... it was something she was going to have to discover on her own. Something about what it meant to be "half-gone"... had some instinct kicked in to help her survive? To make her more fully alive...?
The tears and wailing were still going on, and she couldn't leave them be any longer--half-dead or not, her son's sobbing would always resonate deep in her, call her motherly side into action. Cadenza set aside her little projects, a few spells half-finished on her desk, and hurried down the hall, mind temporarily cleared of all but the need to comfort Marcus and attend to the cause for his crying. She pushed open the door and went to his side, sweeping him up into her arms, holding him close and gently and nuzzling him until the tears faded. She didn't notice that the green had left her eyes, that they were blue and pure once more. She only smiled as her little boy looked up at her with his own light ones and said, "Te amo Mae."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Short story 2:
Excerpt from the Cataluna City Daily Tribune, September 28, 1754 edition:
Triunfo!
We have cleansed our lands of their wretched lot, and may all their survivors burn under the desert sun that is so very much like the hellfire they do not believe in and are inevitably bound for. All those that still resist are on their last legs and must surrender shortly.
estm. remaining in Airopa: 4,170
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Short Story Teaser: The Gypsy Purge of Airopa
Cadenza opened the dusty, old mauve book, the diary from Carla's great grandmother, Lupe, and there was a clipping on the very first page...
"Sociological Research of Subject 'Gypsies' - Kingsborough University of Behavioral Sciences"
"...They are a superstitious, subhuman culture, with many strange and unreasonable ways. They do not raise livestock, nor grow crops. They have no doctors; instead, they believe "magic" can cure them. They do not have weapons; they believe, also, that "magic" can protect them. They claim not to reject science, but seem to think they can defy the laws of it. They do not trade their gold, but rather hoard it away from generation to generation and display it garishly on their brides. They are akin to witches, and have many scrolls of "spells" and odd talismans they believe to possess power. They travel from place to place, infecting it with their "traditions" and selling their beads and other worthless trinkets of illogical belief. They speak of "Spirits", and renounce any ideas of Heaven or Hell. They idle away their days and nights in dance and song and strange rituals, only further spreading the plague of their superstitions by having more and more children. They are a pox on this land. We must rid ourselves of them, as other great civilizations have done of their burdensome groups in the past...."
"--Friedrick Samuel Taylor, of Kingsborough, Rochester, 12 May 1750"
"Sociological Research of Subject 'Gypsies' - Kingsborough University of Behavioral Sciences"
"...They are a superstitious, subhuman culture, with many strange and unreasonable ways. They do not raise livestock, nor grow crops. They have no doctors; instead, they believe "magic" can cure them. They do not have weapons; they believe, also, that "magic" can protect them. They claim not to reject science, but seem to think they can defy the laws of it. They do not trade their gold, but rather hoard it away from generation to generation and display it garishly on their brides. They are akin to witches, and have many scrolls of "spells" and odd talismans they believe to possess power. They travel from place to place, infecting it with their "traditions" and selling their beads and other worthless trinkets of illogical belief. They speak of "Spirits", and renounce any ideas of Heaven or Hell. They idle away their days and nights in dance and song and strange rituals, only further spreading the plague of their superstitions by having more and more children. They are a pox on this land. We must rid ourselves of them, as other great civilizations have done of their burdensome groups in the past...."
"--Friedrick Samuel Taylor, of Kingsborough, Rochester, 12 May 1750"
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