Archive | January 25, 2016

Lexember Day 21: A sentence and some worldbuilding

I’ve been lax in my worldbuilding with all this WORDbuilding.

Today I am going to go back to a couple words I made earlier,
Ssrussolss, reading-person, and Ssolfutheat, book person.

“A reader, ssrussolss, is one who discerns the ancient texts. A ssolfutheat is one who keeps the books, a librarian.”

The librarian has found a text for the reader.
Has found – the reader for – text, Librarian

Librarians do this; they serve not only as keepers of rare texts (magical, historical, controversial, personal) but also seek them out, perusing the strange corners of the world where books lie.

The readers, in turn, delve deep into these texts, finding meanings from the predecessors, from the Channels, from untrained powers, and divining them for current use.

To find, mafeata
-olp is third person singular present perfect.

futheat is a book, Futheat sha is a text.

cha, chea, choe, chi: for, of, at, in

Mafeatolp – ssrussolss cha – futheat sha, ssolfutheat.

And what will the reader do with that text?

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Sting Marydel and the Cliffs of Anterior, Part 4

Part one:
Part two:
Part three:

Sting was fast with a door slam. He had practiced on ex-girlfriends, bullies, evangelists, and, once, the cops. But the woman from NABU was faster with her foot, at least when she was expecting it, which she clearly was.

“Mr. Marydel, it is very important that you listen to us.”

Her boot was not getting out of the door. Sting opened it again. “What, national security, safety of the world, that sort of thing?”

She smirked at him. “Very few teenagers are all that interested in saving the world these days. Even if we had a true emergency on our hands, we might be hard-pressed to recruit based on young people’s altruistic urges. No. I want to appeal to your vanity and sense of adventure, your desire to get out of your parents’ house, and your clear lack of interest in attending college. No submitted applications,” she answered before Sting could ask.
“And? Why me? I don’t like fighting, I tend to lose.” It wasn’t exactly true. He’d gotten a lot better at not losing in the last few years, but that was a far cry from winning. “I’m not Army material. I told the recruiter that at the booth, too.” Why wouldn’t she just go away? The rain was dripping down her head and down her team’s wires. That couldn’t be good for anyone.

“We don’t recruit from the same pool as the Army, and Army recruits are almost always unsuited to work for us. Tell me, how much do you know about NABU?”

“Enough to know you’re all experimental stuff. Nobody’s making mechs yet commercially, not even in prototype. And ‘unknown power source’ is just asking for trouble!”

“All of this is true. Now, tell me – how do you know all that?”

Shit. Sting swallowed. “Uh… web search?”

“Mmm-hrrm. And that, Mr. Marydel, is why we want you. It’s also why you’re going to end up signing up with us.”


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Tangled and Tied, a continuation of Fae Apoc for the Christmas Prompt Call (@Rix_Scaedu)

This is written to Rix_scaedu‘s commissioned continuation of Bound Up from the Christmas Prompt Call

Fae Apoc, unwilling Keeping, bondage, nudity.

He had not been this clean since last he knelt to the Gyrfalcon, and he was known as a man meticulously groomed and tidy. She had enjoyed every moment of it, of course, but, in a less common move for her, his former Mentor had made certain that he enjoyed it as well.

“She’s not a bad person, as far as these things go.” She ran a brush through his hair, although it was already smooth and shining. “Not cruel. But she is going to be raw, and you’re going to have to be able to handle her being edgy sometimes, and uncertain others.”

He cleared his throat. “She will Own me. There’s…”

“If I hadn’t taught you how to top from the bottom when your mistress needs, then clearly I haven’t taught you nearly enough. Should I bring you back home, first, and educate you?”

First would mean weeks, months, added to his sentence, more time away from the business. “No, Ma’am. I will do as you say.”

“Of course you will. You’ve always been a good boy.” Her lips brushed damply over his forehead. “Here she is now. Stay there.”

He was bound hand and foot, thigh and bicep and chest and cock. To do anything other than stay there would have been to use Workings, and that would only mean that he’d quickly find himself gagged. “Yes, sa’Gyrfalcon.” He bowed his head as much as he could and listened to her heels click on the floor as she walked away.

She didn’t return. The feet that returned were quiet, sandals or slippers, shushing across the floor as if wanting to be unheard. He held very still.

“Oh.” It was a gasp, just as her feet came into view. Ballet flats, pink. Pink. “Oh, wow.”

Oh, wow. Really? “Mistress?” He didn’t let anything but subservience show in his voice. The Gyrfalcon was listening, he was sure of it.

“Andra?” She knelt down next to him, giving the impression of more pinkness – a dress, gods help him, with flowers – and long hair, dirty blonde. “I’m Deitra.”

What, she wanted to make friends? “Pleased to meet you, Deitra.” The Gyrfalcon was listening. The Gyrfalcon would not be pleased if he was rude.

“You Belong to me now.” She caught up some of the ropes holding Andra, seemingly at random, and gave them a very light tug. “For the next year, you are Mine.”

It wasn’t the most elegant of phrasings, but it avoided some of the things he didn’t really want her thinking about that came with the formal wording. What I have belongs to you… “I Belong to you now.” He comforted himself with the fact that he really had no choice in the matter. “For the next year, I am Yours, body and soul.”

She ran a hand over him, pinching one rope and pulling another. “You’re not very mobile like this. Am I supposed to get to know you here, do you think?”

Yes. Here, where his former Mentor could supervise. “I wouldn’t presume to know sa’Gyrfalcon’s motives.”

“Let me see. If I undo this and this, and this,” she plucked three ropes, “that ought to let you walk. Assuming you can?”

That was an interesting question. “I can walk, mistress.”

“Good.” He never saw where the knife came from, but it dealt with the ropes far too quickly for his comfort. When she had loosened his bonds enough that he could stand and walk – albeit hobbled – she tugged him to his feet. “Come on. It’s a short drive but I’d rather get to it sooner rather than later.”

He swallowed an urge to apologize. “As my mistress requires.”

As he walked with clipped, short steps, he realized he was terrified. Terrified, and so very exposed. How was he going to keep her from ruining him?

How was he going to make her happy with him?

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