Chapter VI:13

Men say we all bleed, the same red blood,
yet learned ways would deny it is such,
what foolish notions fill our heads,
stories fit for children sent to bed,

something glimmers there within,
a gift of starlight, so wearying,
a promise gilded and forsook,
ever humbling the sanguin hook,

O’ tis mostly, that same crimson thread,
if one ignores an illness best to dread,
O’ what gifts to bring us to such loss,
all we are given, doth come at cost.

– A Cursed Gift, 112 E.R.

The Silver Thread

There were a great many gathered in the orrery chamber. Locals and pirates, Red Women and those in contrary white. All, called by a song that touched air and heart with an alluring, joyous melancholy. Some, were cautious to enter. Three siblings, and the company that followed more than most.

Sund was already below. He stood outside a ring of Singers, at the edge of the lowest tier, just below the two steps back up a dais. He glared at Laset. She bore this little if any mind, and circled Orwell in a beam of sunlight, stood before Rihonae’s throne. It did not seem the right time of day, for the angle of the beam shone down upon him, and yet to look around, it seemed it might be.

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Commentary VI:12

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A Wyrm in the Roots

Late commentary this week because I hemmed and hawed about what I wanted to say. The advantages of commentary are the constant re-examination of characterization, and process, the down side is it can be a minefield of saying too much, or further compounding sources of discomfort, and I often do not write from the comfortable.

Still, starting on a lighter note.

I’ve been really torn up in a good-ish way about titles lately. The wyrm being an interesting addition linguistically, to what was perhaps implied before. The older, and regional myths of dragons. The wyrm here being used to evoke a peculiar thought. The yeard, was roughly the measure above a man’s waist from the ground, in Ancient Thevies. The yeardwyrm were wyrms of about this length, and they were said to follow the outlines of things, ever measuring them, to flee humans, but always lurk at the edges. Waiting for one to turn their back.

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Chapter VI:12

Yaerdwyrm, yaerdwyrm, measuring an ash root,
how long be the tap, of a guardsman’s boot,
yaerdwyrm, oh yaerdwyrm, how beautiful afar,
there count out the beats, cautious you are,
yaerdwyrm, yaerdwyrm, oh wound round the base,
twice seven ‘n six, five ‘n six, less five ‘n eight,
oh wait, oh wait, ‘n hope not to be late.

– The Spider and the Looking Glass, 425 E.R.

Upon a Clockwork Sky

Katrisha stood in an archway, and watched Mayari walk out into a city etched from stone. “Well, what do you think?”

Etore stepped up behind her. “I think, I want to think about it.”

Katrisha turned on a heel. “So, think out loud.”

“Not that it might matter, since she knew you had asked me here, but, perhaps somewhere more private?”

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Commentary VI:11

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The Appetites of Wyrms

Arthurian legends says that a wise, and chosen king devised a round table, that there would be no head to quarrel over. Of course this only works until the king takes a seat. What a round table does a bit better than one long and narrow, is provide an easier way for a great many to talk to one another. I arrived at the round table for the number of guests, but thought of the rest in retrospect.

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Chapter VI:11

The second is born,
and the first to die,
over life and death,
of stars presides,

speak of the heir,
a Sylvan first born,
the one whom crown,
shall one day adorn,

fear for the schemes,
of a dragon who lies,
and the coming of age,
when men wail and cry…

– The Black Book, date unknown

The Measure of a Wyrm

It was a large round table, though there was a head, by virtue of a throne. At the left and right hand of a would be liege sat a dragonborn, and an elemental. An extra pair of eyes, peered out low over the plates, at the right of the white haired woman with silver eyes.

“Who’s the kid?” Ambrush asked of Katrisha as they filed down into the hall.

“At a guess, Mayari’s,” Katrisha offered. “Did no one mention him?”

“I think they were too busy arguing about geometry,” Etore interjected, “and who am I to ruin their ‘fun.’”

“A child that young, she’s over three centuries old, if she is who she claims…”

“Perhaps for once, immortality is what it’s cracked up to be?” Katrisha obliged.

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Commentary VI:10

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A Shadow with Walls

I had a title too good to waste, where by length I wound up having to push it off. Yet I was tempted to stick with it, because there is a semblance of aptness. Also I’ve yet to decided between A Clockwork Sun, or A Clockwork Sky. Of which we have already passed the impetus, so there should be no spoiler in sharing my conundrum.

Old cries of a clockwork universe are the actual cause. As I discussed before, the inspiration of the scene in last weeks chapter has hung with me. Secondarily of course, a sun might said to be orange at times, not that I’m overly a fan of a movie with such a truly evil protagonist, without much of any good reason. Still the impetus of forced adaptation to social pressure carries through a bit.

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Chapter VI:10

What tower stood beneath the sun,
what work of Faun and Boor undone,
what gardens stood all there about,
what merriment the gods did flaunt,

there looked out first of all to see,
‘neath dark boughs of mother tree,
there stood err the one to climb,
come from hence before time,

oh son of mighty sun returned,
oh folly of flesh that would burn,
oh rise ye namesake of morningstar,
oh yes at last, ye’ve climbed too far.

– The Tower of the Sun, 21 B.E.

Shadows of the Walls

Dahlia circled a woman made of water. The shimmering, detailed form turned with a curious step to follow her. Each reached several times to touch the other, but retreated. It was hard to tell who led or followed in this dance, and it gave Katrisha no peace to watch. Less violent, but all too recently familiar.

“Leave her be,” Wren ordered.

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