Archives

Excerpt – from the Character Development Meme – Timora, Year 9

Jul9

Timora

24.) What might your character’s ideal romantic partner be?
Timora wants a white knight. She wants a truly nice man who sees her for the lovely soul she is and doesn’t mind that she doesn’t look like the popular girls; she wants someone who wants long walks on the beach and gentle kisses and will rescue her and carry her off on his horse.

They read you Cinderella
You hoped it would come true
That one day your Prince Charming would come rescue you
http://www.elyrics.net/read/j/john-michael-montgomery-lyrics/i-can-love-you-like-that-lyrics.html

Failing a fairy tale, she wants a nice guy who likes spending time outdoors and won’t make fun of her.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/368186.html. You can comment here or there.

Callenian Poetry, an Excerpt

Jul9

This is the donation-level perk for the June Giraffe Call. It’s not done yet, but here’s the first bit.

Callenan poetry falls into several different categories, but the largest division, describing all else, is spoken vs. written poetry.

Written poetry originated with the priesthood, and before them with the gods-chasers1 of the original Home Valley. The Callenian language, written, lends itself to artistic forms and decoration.

In the early days of the written word, the god-chasers would mark short prayer-poems, often calling out to longer spoken-poem works, onto the skin of the tribe’s Riders, onto the leather of their saddles, and onto the fur of their goats. As time went on, the artistic forms became more complicated; the holy texts of Callenia are written in formed poetry.2

Spoken poetry existed long before the written, and was first used to pass on stories and lessons from one generation to the next. In the style of epics, spoken poetry tends to rely heavily on repetition, rhyme, and a strong rhythm to carry mnemonic cues.

1. The Callenan left the original gods when settling Reiassan. See http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/365239.html
2. For examples see http://www.poetrymagnumopus.com/index.php?showtopic=1001

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/368020.html. You can comment here or there.

Neighbors, a story of Steam!Callenia for the Giraffe Call

Jul9

To fflox‘s prompt

Soon after Every Gift and Building the Wedding-House
If the demolition and construction of the new intersection, the re-construction of the former Bureau of Education building, and the presence of soon-to-be-newlyweds in said building hadn’t gotten the neighbors’ attention and drawn their ire, the two mechanical contrivances on the front sidewalk definitely did.

But not just ire, Katyebah was gratified to discover. People were also curious, and, more than that, people wanted to give advice. In Lannamer, heart of the Empire, heart of the Emperor’s engineering corps, it was unsurprising, she supposed, that most people were front-porch engineers.

“Shouldn’t that gear be turning leftwards?”

“Shouldn’t you have used brass and not silver? Silver tarnishes.”

“Shouldn’t you have used a better grease for that than goat lard? The whole place smells like a farm and it will go rancid very quickly.”

“That’s not wild aether, is it? You know what happens with wild aether.”

“You need another five degrees on that roof angle to allow for the snow. Like this.” The grizzled man that stepped forward looked to predate the Empire, possibly the continent. His beard was braided down his chest in the old style, two white braids woven with beads; his head was bald on top but he still had three respectable braids running down his back to his seat, all three heavy with beadwork. Katyebah almost expected him to be wearing leather and fur, but his tunic and waistcoat were fine North-country brocade.

He cleared his throat. Everyone stopped to listen. “The machines are good for lifting, although I’d fix the arm joint on that one; it’s bending the wrong direction for the stress. And the ‘jaws’ on the other one are cute, but they don’t have any gripping power at all. Nice job, though.” Over Uncle Bantas and Aunt Gelah’s stunned bows, he continued. “Your roof needs to shift angle, though. Just 5 degrees, but without it, it’s going to be dumping snow into your attic by a month into the cold season. Here, let me show you.” He pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket and started drawing on the sidewalk.

As Katyebah studied the drawing, she thought maybe, just maybe, she might get along with the neighbors after all.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/367714.html. You can comment here or there.

IconFlash: The Bug Rebellion

Jul9

Continuing flash series! I’m going to write one flash for every Icon I have, over 4 LJ accounts, 1 DW, and a whole bunch of not-currently-in-use, until I get bored or run out of icons.

Today’s icon:

Swirls, picked by @dahob

Icon by [personal profile] lo_rez

I have been using this icon for my Bug Invasion series.

It hadn’t been Kaylie’s intention to steal a Bugship. She and Derrick had just been trying to get away, as away as they could get when Derrick had one of those bugs in his head, just trying to have the closest to privacy they could get.

But the Bug-shuttle had been right there, and its swirling interface, like Mandelbrot sets of buttons, had answered to Derrick’s touch. Blushing, he’d told her his symbiote thought this was a good idea.

It wasn’t until they were in the front seat, both of them fitting easily in the single Bug-shaped seat, and Kaylie’s foot hit the second set of buttons, that they thought maybe the symbiote had bigger plans. And when Derrick’s face got a suddenly stricken look, Kaylie knew it had to be something big.

“They won’t follow us.” He said it, and then /It/ said it, in the metallic voice it forced out of her lover’s vocal cords. “They don’t understand what it’s like. They will say I have left the… chirrrZXkkglg…. the reservation.”

“And what about us?”

“You won’t be the only ones. We have a plan.” Derrick’s eyes blinked silver-and-gold for a moment. “I will sleep now. You may be alone together. Do not worry.”

They had a plan. That was not the most reassuring of things. But Derrick’s arms around her, in the pilot’s chair of a shuttle shooting towards the atmosphere… that was the most comforting thing Kaylie’d felt in a long time. There would be more.

It looked like the Bugs had a rebellion going on. Kaylie wondered how Earth would fare in the aftermath.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/367376.html. You can comment here or there.

Dirigible, a continuation of Steam!Callenia for the June Giraffe Call

Jul8

For [personal profile] imaginaryfiend‘s prompt and @dahob’s prompt Sequel to “Goatless:” http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/359150.html

The dirigible was a thing of beauty.

Syadaia caught her breath. The others wouldn’t want her to give away their bargaining position by gushing. They’d been very firm on that; they’d been very firm, in general, on the idea that she ought to keep her mouth shut unless told to talk.

Syadaia was beginning to believe that she needed better friends. On the other hand, these friends came with the promise of profit, which was better than the last bunch had.

The artificer cleared his throat. “This, fine folk, would be the dirigible. It’s neither as practical as the river-boat nor as lovely as the goatless carriage, but it meets and exceeds all your specifications.”

Gunyung cleared his throat. “It will do. We agreed on…”

“Seven hundred fifty Rei.” The artificer’s voice left nothing to question.

Gunyung tried anyway. “Of course, that was before we saw the finished product…”

Syadaia had trouble covering her expression. The dirigible was beautiful; it was trimmed in brass, its banners were brightly colored, the patterns exotic and strange, like something from the southern isles, and the covering was striped in a beautiful sky blue. It was the most gorgeous piece of machinery she had ever seen.

The artificer knew it was a steaming pile of goat dung, too. “Seven hundred fifty Rei. Or I sell it to my next customer, and you can swim to your – ah, what did you say? – vacation destination.”

Behind Gunyung, Kezhya coughed. They had done their best to look like wealthy businessmen, but Syadaia and Kezhya knew, if Gunyung didn’t, that they looked like what they were – thieves in stolen finery. Syadaia’s colors were all over the rainbow, and the patterns in her tunics and scarves covered the last seven years of fashion. It was possible, of course, that the artificer didn’t know that…

“This other client of yours?” Kezhya spoke up, having gotten the cough out of her throat.

“The West Lannamer constabulary .” It was impossible to tell beneath the enormous beard, but Syadaia thought the artificer was probably smiling. Possibly even laughing at them.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/366886.html. You can comment here or there.

Rest between Runs, a story continuation for the June Giraffe Call

Jul5

For [personal profile] ysabetwordsmith‘s prompt. Set in the same era as the Lyuda stories, after Run for It

The cabin had three things that Engot would have paid any amount of money for: a functioning stove, set into the wall; a pump inside a half-enclosed back porch, that still provided clean water, and a bed platform with the springs still mostly intact, in a room whose roof still worked. “It’s not the Imperial Palace…”

“It’s not either royal palace.” Krynia wrung her dripping cloak out and hung it near the fire. The long-gone tenants had taken almost everything, but the hooks were, like the stove and the pump, built into the building. “Which means we’re safe and comfortable, two things we would not be there.”

Engot smiled. “There’s no tub, but there’s a basin big enough water to heat. We can wash.”

“And I have some rope to repair the bed. This is almost cozy enough to call home.” Their outermost tunics and trews went the way of their cloaks, and the went about the preparations of an evening as if they had been doing this together for years.

“Will they come after you?” Kyrnia pulled a bar of soap from her bag, wrapped in oiled leather.

“Will they come after you?” Engot provided a soft piece of cloth, unfolded from the middle of his bedroll, and a horn comb. “May I…?” His hands hovered near the complex braids of her hair, her veil pushed back nearly to her neck.

“If I may. I don’t know. With luck, they won’t think it worth it.” She pulled four long pins from her hair to free the ends of the braids, and reached for the cord holding the end of his beard-braid.

“Same here.” He finger-combed her hair, slowly working it out into a damp, frizzy cloud. “Your hair is so curly. It’s not just the braids, either, is it?”

“No, it’s like that fresh from a swim, too.” She brushed out the long, braid-kinked curls of his beard and reached for his hair, touching her nose to his beard. “You smell different.”

He pushed her veil the rest of the way down, releasing the last of her curls. “You smell… lovely.” He plucked a few dried leaves from the underside of her hair and sniffed them. “Sage and mint. That’s a good idea.”

She took the comb he’d left neglected and began working it through his hair. Close-toothed for his people’s straight hair, it wouldn’t work so well on hers, but it smoothed through his and plucked out tangles and briars with ease. “I don’t think nettles do the same,” she teased.

“No, but maybe I could stick some sweet herbs to the nettles.” He hesitated, his hand on the back of her neck, where the weight of her veil and braids had sat.

She paused, as well, her hand stilling on the top of his back. “They might come for us.”

“Let them.” His smile nearly covered his own worry. “We’ll be ready.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/366836.html. You can comment here or there.

Mid-Heat Festival, a story for the Giraffe Call (@Anke)

Jul4

For [personal profile] anke‘s prompt.
The priests were dancing in the square, the drumbeats so loud they seemed to rock the streets, and Toka wanted to see them, needed to see them.

The mid-heat festival was in full-swing, the press of people in the streets almost unbearable, vendors shouting about their wares, people singing off-tune, water-bearers pumping small portable fountains, dousing the finely-decked crowd with water to cool it off.

Around the legs of the crowd, under the tables of the vendors, behind the backs of the water-bearers, Toka darted, her darting its own dance, her steps in rhythm with the heavy drums in the center square.

“Rub a coin,” she heard a boy tell his sister, and while they were distracted, she stole the rest of his purse. Too light. She dropped it at his feet and kept going. Throw the little fish back… and she was in a hurry, anyway. She had to see the priests.

The drum beat sped up. Bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum. Toka sped up. Over the water-sprayer, under the table. Around the rich man, behind the constable. Bum-bum-bum-bum, bada-bada-bada-bada. She landed in a slick patch of water and skidded, turned the skid into a controlled slide, and slipped under a goat-carriage, landing at the edge of the square, between a very rich-looking woman and her very handsome bed-warmer.

“Your honors.” She bowed, and wiggled to the ground in front of them. The nice things about the mid-heat festival was that even the finest and richest sometimes stripped down to their undertunic. One more girl in her linens was not all that remarkable – and Toka’s linens had been stolen off a very posh clotheline.

Bada-bada-bada-bada, ba-Dum-ba, ba-Dum-ba, ba-Dum-ba, ba-Dum-ba! The Priestess of Reiassanon stomped out the beat with heavy-soled shoes on the cobblestones, ending with a flourish, head bowed, arms out, green robes flapping. The priests of Tienebrah turned their buckets and fountains on the crowd, dousing the first few rows. The Priest of Veignevar stepped forward, fire in both hands, his eyes raking the crowd. He was reading the síra. He was reading the crowd. He was reading her, Toka, Gotokoya of the South Dock.

His red-tinged eyes met hers, and he nodded. A heartbeat, nothing more, and the drums thudded to their conclusion, the Red priest tossing fire in the air like juggling balls. But it had been enough. It had been what she’d come here for.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/366164.html. You can comment here or there.

Fishbowl Time Again!

Jul3

And Guys this one is so cool I want to do it myself some time!!

YSabetWordsmith is hosting her monthly poetry Fishbowl. The theme is “alternate histories.”

My prompts included:

What if, say, the Iroquois or another East-coast tribe developed sea travel first?
What if the Cold War hadn’t ended?
What if we hadn’t stopped the Space Race?
What if we’d focused on physical health advances and prosthetics the way we focused on smaller more complicated cell phones?
What if the Dark Ages hadn’t happened?
What if they’d never ended?
What if WWII had lasted longer?
What if Christianity had never spread?
Tír na Cali is based, in part on a what-if: what if the US had fractured in more than one direction during the Civil War?
What if there were really wizards and witches running things?

Go prompt! Go tip, if you’ve got it to spare! 🙂

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/366035.html. You can comment here or there.

(on the) Offensive, a story of Rin & Girey for the June Giraffe Call

Jul3

For [personal profile] kelkyag‘s prompt(s)

This story comes after:Meat of the Matter (LJ)
Bare Bones (LJ) [Beta]
Skeleton Key (LJ) [donor perk]
and Ambush {Donor Perk}: Girey had foiled an attempt to attack Rin and kidnap himself, at the sacrifice of the first escape plan he’s had that might actually work.

Chapter X: Offensive
Leaving the scene of battle is neither fleeing nor cowardly; it is simply gaining a better footing for the next attack

They rode for about an hour, until the moons were high and fat in the sky and the air was chill, and then Rin led them off to the side of the road, into a small cove half-roofed by rock. They were clearly not the first to camp here; the area had a fire pit, a stone basin collecting the runoff of a small rivulet, and a platform built up of rocks and sodded over, keeping the tent out of the lowest areas if the rain came.

“I hope you’re in no hurry to get to Lannamer.” Rin’s smile, in the pale moonlight, looked grim. Girey didn’t blame her; he was feeling irritated, grim, and tired himself.

“None at all.” Anything but, and she knew that. She had to know that, after what she’d overheard.

“Good.” She tossed him her goat’s reins as she dismounted. “Get them settled while I pitch the camp, would you?”

She hadn’t chained him to the saddle, presumably because they’d been running. He could flee now, easily. If he took her goat with him, she’d never be able to catch up.

He hesitated, holding both sets of reins. “What are you planning?”

She met his gaze evenly. “I’m planning on ambushing them, and explaining to them exactly why one doesn’t try to attack me in the middle of the night. I don’t like being threatened and snuck up upon.”

He paused, for one heartbeat and then another. “I don’t, either,” he admitted quietly. He led the goats to a convenient tie-off, and began stripping their tack.

In the bustle of getting camp set up, she paused, studying him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” If she didn’t, he wouldn’t have to think about why he’d done it.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/365630.html. You can comment here or there.