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Lord Eigeran (a wiki page)

From Tapaciore, the online grimoire

For the late-Rioren Dynasty politician, see Gorpen, Governor Eigeran
Eigeran” and “Yarlen Eigeran” redirect here.  For other uses, see Eigeran (disambiguation) and Yarlen Eigeran (disambiguation)

Yarlen Eigeran Gwymden of Prówit Nod, Lord by the King’s Writ, BE 812-902, [see Deklegion methods of formal address]  was a Deklegion courtier most well known for his part in circumventing/averting the DeklegElherion Empire war in the years of 847-852. He is also renowned (although less so in his own nation) for his work in poetry. Eigeran invented three new poetic forms/styles, one in his native Deklegion dialect of Shoktu and two in Middle Elherith (having spent much of his later life living in the Elherion Empire).[1]

Among his best-known works and accomplishments are the Treaty of the Cliff, a diplomatic treatise in four languages (Shoktu, Deklegia, Middle Elherith, and Carruph) which is credited not only with ending the conflict at hand but solving several entrenched problems in both Dekleg and in the Elherion Empire.  Because the Treaty was considered a diplomatically manipulative document as well as a translation, he was called The Thief of the Cliff or The Lord of Lies both in life and for many decades after his death. The latter title gained him a resurgence of interest from younger generations in both Elherion and in Dekleg twice — in the 18th century and then again in the 24th century.  Continue reading

Differential Diagnosis

A story of Faerie Apocalypse

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“Generally-”

Vianne’s Mentor pinched his nose and frowned.  He had been doing that a lot in the last three weeks.  At this point, Vianne was more than willing to just throw in the towel and call it a loss, the whole fae thing, the whole mess.

“Generally?” she prompted, out of some stupid urge.

“One’s Change gives one some clue about the gift that comes with it.  Or if not a clue, then a demonstration.  A lightning storm, for instance.   Sudden darkness. Fire.  Moving things from one side of the room to the other.”

“I didn’t have any of that,” she offered helpfully.

“Yes, Vianne, I know.  That – that is the problem.  One can assume that you have an innate gift.  Every fae does.  One can assume that is not the innate gift of any of the three ‘pure-blood’ groups, because you do not have the Change of those three.”

“No wings, no horns.”  She had long swooping elf ears and a wiggly tail, spots and skin that sometimes changed colors.

“Sometimes, one can look to the student’s parents.”

“Foundling.”  She could almost sound cheerful about that, even.  It had been long enough.

“-or one’s childhood environs.”

“Passed around like a hot potato.  I don’t appear to get hot to the touch,” she offered.  None of this was making her Mentor pinch his nose any less.

“All right.  So we are going to have to do this the difficult way.  I have a list of categories of powers.  We are going to attempt to test you for each of those.  And then, if we can find a category we cannot eliminate, we’re going to find sub-categories within that category.  Do you understand?”

Vianne sat down.  “You’re not going to just get rid of me?”

“Not going to – no.  No, of course not.  You are my student, Vianne.  And my student you will remain until you are ready to be an Adult.  Now, let’s start with fire powers.” Her mentor leaned back and smiled at her.  With a Working, he lit three candles. “So, first, I’d like you to try putting these candles out with your mind.  And then I want you to try lighting the other three.  And then-”

Vianna had a feeling it was going to be a long day, but at least her Mentor wasn’t pinching his nose anymore.

In The End…

Originally posted on Patreon in February 2019 and part of the Great Patreon Crossposting to WordPress.

A story of Addergoole, Hell Night, and friendship.

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It came down to the two of them, back to back, the darkness and the monsters all around them.

They hadn’t even really talked before this.  They had three classes together, but Pramod had been trying to make friends with the closest to jocks that this school had, and Swanhild was trying to find the artsy sorts – easier to find than jocks, at least.  Pramod had been on the top of the heap before coming to this place, and Swan had been used to being ignored by guys like him.

Now she had her back against him literally, and the shadows were snarling at her, at them, and somewhere outside their pod someone was sing-songing “come out, come out, wherever you are,” which wasn’t creepy at all.  But Swan had seen plenty of horror movies, and had come to school with four things that didn’t really look like weapons until she needed to swing them at someone – or to have Pramod swing them, since he was bigger.  Swan had thought she was tall until she met Pramod, who was a full 8 inches taller than her and made it look surprisingly good.

So he had the baseball bat and she had the antenna from her dad’s old car – an in-joke that had already left two people swearing – and they had each other, back to back.

“I don’t even know you,” he whispered, in a moment between attacks.

“That’s all right.  I don’t know you, either, and I already know I like you better than any of these assholes.”

He laughed at that, as he was meant to, and then they were under attack again.

When the lights came back on, both of them were panting, sweating – laughing.  Both of them were aching, bruised, bleeding – smiling.  Both of them were free.

“Friends?” Swan offered, holding out her hand for Pramod.

He grinned down at her. “Friends.  Hey, that jerk with the whip.  Wanna gather up a couple others and go after him?  I bet we could take him down with enough of us.”

“How about we go get lunch, instead,” she countered.  Jocks, she thought, but it was affectionate in a way she’d never felt before. “Then maybe we can smear his name so that he never gets laid again, how’s that?”

“Nerd.”  He smiled down at her, and she felt warm at the label the way nobody had ever managed.

“That’s me.”

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Outta the Woods Yet?

The big cat had been chasing Pren for heart-rending minutes when she managed to skid into a cave she’d never seen before.  She shimmied through a hole that was barely big enough for her and scooted up into a little ledge area. The cat might wait for hours for her, so she made herself comfortably before she pulled out the flint and steel and lit her torch.

The walls of the cave glittered and shone the way that sometimes a small piece of rock would.  The whole area was smooth, rounded, like she had scooted up from the cave into something even less natural than her tree-house.

On the far side of the room was a lever.  Pren looked at the lever. At least, it was a stick poking out of the wall at an angle.  Her mother had shown her how to use things like that to set traps for animals, when she had been small.  When her mother had been around. It might dump her into a net or drop something on her, although both the floor and ceiling looked sturdy enough in the torchlight.  It might drop something on the cat.

The cat was trying to get up the hole she had slipped through.  One clawed paw batted upwards, bigger than Pren’s foot.

She scooted backwards and pulled the lever.  Even a trap was better than being eaten by a cat.

She fell backwards as the wall opened up, into a brightly and smooth room full of strangers and shining lights.

Continue reading

Turn Around_

Originally posted on Patreon in January 2019 and part of the Great Patreon Crossposting to WordPress.

In the Prompt Call, I mentioned that:
Fic starring characters who’ll later be in the novel currently titled Found Down Below is available  http://www.lynthornealder.com/2018/08/02/thimbleful-thursday-parts-and-points/ and http://www.lynthornealder.com/2018/08/27/what-the-spell/   .

This is the third character in that novel.

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He didn’t turn around.

Part of him was screaming to. Huge parts of him ached with it, whispered to him, reminded him that Dyevo had found all his jobs, had paid his rent, had bought his food…

…had taken 90% of all his fees, leaving him with enough to cover a couple entertainments and the options Dyevo didn’t deign to provide.

Mostly potions, because Dyevo ran this part of town, and if Dyevo didn’t think his Parts should have something, they were gonna make said Parts pay out the nose.

That, of course, was another problem. Dyevo ran this part of town. He ran Tayevyi Industries, he ran the BelowSpace entries, he ran the Parts that did the running and the entertainment and the black market shipping. Continue reading

Present

a story for my New Year’s Prompt Call, which you should go prompt at please, here.

Warning… a wee bit maudlin. 

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The snow had finally melted.  It had been a long winter – slow-starting but then dumping buckets of snow on us all of February and March and most of April.

It was May 5th, and I could finally see all of the grass, or at least the parts that had survived.  I could see, too, my poor bushes, which had not done well but which were, now, trying to put out the buds they normally would have put out in early March.  Continue reading

Swale Lake

Originally posted on Patreon in October 2018 and part of the Great Patreon Crossposting to WordPress.

🍂
This story brought to you by someone introducing me to the Disappearance of Bobby Dunbar – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Disappearance_of_Bobby_Dunbar~*~

“The boy was confused.”

In the years to come, that would be said more than any other phrase in relation to the Bobby Dagmar case.

It was also both the most accurate and, considering how it was used, the least correct.

They would also say that he had hit his head, temporarily suffering thus from severe nearsightedness and hearing loss.  They had the symptoms correct in this case, but not the cause.

But what nobody ever quite could answer was why neither potential mother — Mrs. Dagmar nor the woman who claimed the boy was Jules Whittier — recognized the boy until they bathed him.

~~ Continue reading