Tag Archive | reiassan

Rub a Coin, a story of Reiassan for @anke, for the mini-giraffe Call

For [personal profile] anke‘s prompt. A tien and a vieg are two units of currency, roughly a penny and a dollar (A vieg is worth a loaf of bread).

“Rub a coin.” Gettar passed over a tien coin to Polla. “Rub a coin, and toss it in the holy fountain.”

His little sister rubbed the coin between two fingers until the metal and the inlain stone were warm to the touch, despite the cooling days. “Why?”

“If you rub it while thinking of something good, the stone holds the thought, and takes it to the gods.” He rubbed his, his lips moving in the way they did. Cantya. Polla knew he was thinking of Cantya, the tanner’s daughter with the eyes like coal. She was all he ever thought about, lately.

Talgya. She mouthed the word as she rubbed the coin warm, and again as she tossed the coin into the fountain. Talgya. It might work.

~

The kids were throwing tien coins and pieces of bone into the fountain, their faces twisted in concentration.

“Rub a coin.” Polla passed the vieg to Talgya. “Something my brother taught me, when I was under-goat tall. “Think of your wish, and the sira in the coin will send it to the gods.”

“Does it work?” The veteran took the vieg, pinching it between two fingers of the hand she had left. Polla knew what she was thinking, like she’d always know who was on Gettar’s mind. It was easy. Gettar. Bring him back to us.

She pinched her own vieg. Getta. Senan. Attorora. Bring them back to us. Bring them home.

She tossed the coin into the fountain, high over the heads of the children. “It brought you home, every time.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/357686.html. You can comment here or there.

Run for it, a story of Reiassan for the June Giraffe Call

For [personal profile] ysabetwordsmith‘s prompt. Set in the same era as the Lyuda stories.

The rain started an hour before dark, and three hours out of camp. Krynia and Engot had shared a look, then another, and then they’d spurred their goats into a run up the side of the mountain.

There was no going back, not for either of them. He was a deserter, now, and she – well, they’d call her worse than that, if they found her. Losing her commission in the priesthood would be only her first problem.

So they ran, on stolen goats, into the storm, seeking a shelter, anything, anywhere. “Look at it in this light.” Engot’s Bitrani was not the best, but it was clearer, still, than the Callenian Krynia could manage without divine intervention. “The storm this bad, our tracks covered. Nobody will search.”

“Nobody will find our bodies.” She muttered her answer into her cloak, in hopes that he wouldn’t hear her. The storm provided, cracking thunder across their path. “Your country is wet.”

“So is yours.” Then there was nothing at all to say for a while, just the steady thumping of their goats’ hooves on the dirt road and the loud cracks of the lightning. Night fell with little change, the sky already black with clouds. Krynia risked a tiny pull on the sira, enough to make a small globe of luminescence to light their path. She hoped the gods would forgive her. She could not worship them if they died here. She could not worship them if she was killed for heresy.

“Here.” Here, in the deep back hills of Callenia, Engot was as much a stranger as she was. But in every corner of this land, you could find the sturdy wayfarer’s cabins of those who had come first. And this one, though the roof was beginning to fall, was still mostly intact. “This will be enough for tonight.”

“Tonight.” She knew he couldn’t see her smile, not through the gloom, the rain, and her hood and veil. “And then…?”

“Once we go through this pass, we’re out of land that the Emperor’s Army patrols. Then…” she couldn’t see his smile, either, but she could hear it. “Then we do as we please, Krynia.”

“As we please.” It was a new thought, but a nice one.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/357130.html. You can comment here or there.

June Mini-Giraffe Call: Reiassan

The June Mini-Giraffe Call is CLOSED!! (Although, if your name is Eseme or Cluudle (or you want to donate ;-), you may still prompt. I understand job busies)

For the next 36 hours, leave your prompts on My Reiassan ‘verse.

Reiassan has a landing page here (and on LJ)

Because this is a mini-Call, there will be mini-perks!

* For every $10 donated, one prompter chosen at random will get an extra 500-word story – up to 3!
* If the call reaches $30, I will write to second prompt from everyone.- reached!
* If the call reaches $60, I will post a setting piece chosen by the readers and write Callenian poetry.reached!
* If the call reaches $90, I will throw a party! For 2 hours on a Saturday, you can ask anything and everything! With photos!
* If you donate, as always, you have sponsored 100 words continuation on any Giraffe story for every $1US donated, and I will write to at least one additional prompt of yours.

* For every prompter I will write 50 words on an extra story. For every linkback, 25 words. Every donation, 75 words!

At least 1/2 the proceeds of this Call will go towards hiring crowdfunded art or editing for the Reiassan e-book.



Donate below

Art by Djinni!
I also take payment by Dwolla

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/356644.html. You can comment here or there.

Taproots, a story of Rin & Girey for the May Giraffe Call

For [personal profile] clare_dragonfly‘s commissioned continuation of Roots.

Reiasson has a landing page here And a wiki here.

Girey wasn’t sure she’d heard him at first. She didn’t answer, at least, instead continuing to flip through the ancient book in front of her.

“The papers go back further,” she said, instead of answering, after a while. “Not much more, and most of it is incomprehensible. But it’s clear we came here, my people, yours, the Arrans, all of us.”

He was not yet used to her speaking heresy as if it were truth, and, more so, as if nobody would stop her. “That’s what…” He trailed off, frowning. Rin picked up the thread of the conversation.

“You said the heretical texts mentioned Tabersi. You’ve heard of those texts then, or read them?”

“It’s a crime against the throne to read the texts. The priests keep them locked up.”

“But you…” She paused, and looked around, and raised one black eyebrow in question.

Son of Tugia, she taunted in his memory. But she was asking the Prince of Bithrain this question.

“I did. And the Tabersi are mentioned, them, and the callentate of barbarians, the Ideztozhyuh.” The word was uncomfortable on his tongue, the consonants sounding harsh and alien.

“The Idez… the people of the old earth. Interesting.” She flipped through a few more pages of the book. “So my texts speak of the origins of your people, while yours -“

“Talk of visiting barbarians who decided to stay.” He frowned at her head. “Not about how they set up shop here, on this continent, though.” And not how they’d beaten his people at war.

“Interesting.” She flipped through the book. “This one’s too old, it doesn’t say where the wars started.”

“Didn’t it say your people rebelled?”

“The looks of that, however, was a bloodless rebellion. The cold season was hard, the passes were closed, and it was long into the hot season before anyone noticed anything had changed.”

Girey frowned, and didn’t say what he was thinking. That seemed wrong, somehow, but it had been many years ago that he’d read the proscribed texts. “The Bitrani don’t speak much of that era.”

“I think it has something to do with your priests.” She held up both hands, forestalling a complaint he hadn’t been intending on making. “I am not speaking ill of your people or your priests.”

“The Bitrani and the Callenians have the same faith.” It came out like the complaint he had been trying not to make, and he frowned in frustration. “We worship the same three gods, in the same temples, with the same words. You took me to a service,” he reminded her, “to show me that.”

“We do. I’ve been to Bitrani services, as well. In disguise, and with the headscarf some women wore covering her hair, but she had been. “We worship the same gods. I believe that. But your priests hide things by calling them heresy…”

He couldn’t help interrupting. “We don’t have priests anymore, remember? ‘We’ don’t have anything anymore.”

Her hand in his hair was surprisingly tender. “You still have a culture. We couldn’t wipe that out if we tried. And that’s the thing.”

“What’s the thing?” He was both lost and angry now, his confusion making both worse.

“We couldn’t erase your culture if we tried – but I’m beginning to wonder if somebody else tried. And from the inside, maybe it was easier.” She set a finger on the book. “Where did the Tabersi go? And the Ideztozhyuh? And why?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/349330.html. You can comment here or there.

Steam!Callennan (Callennian?) costuming: Headgear and link

[personal profile] inventrix has a post on Imperial robes here. Also check out her tumblr for sketches.

Head Coverings:

I *like* head coverings. But I can’t imagine the faith of the Callennan as I’ve been thinking of it having a head-covering modesty thing going on.
On the other hand, the North of Reiassan is *cold*

This is the picture that got me thinking in the direction of head coverings
http://www.colourbox.com/image/pink-school-uniform-image-2787086

This is richer and prettier
http://www.colourbox.com/image/attractiv-young-girl-fashion-portrait-clouse-up-with-magnetic-red-image-1940420

Massively rich head covering http://cdn9.wn.com/pd/47/75/e86ecff41aa13dffb079f0335a3a_grande.jpg

I can see this comign from something designed for warmth:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Girl_with_a_Pearl_Earring

I can see this style of hate coming into fashion easily: http://veneroida.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/Stylish-Head-Covering-For-Cancer-Patients.jpg
It sort of echoes theshape of the Russian fur hat: http://www.bigfurhats.com/servlet/the-754/Russian-Hat.–Fur/Detail

And, for something a bit different, I really like the third one down here – http://off-thebeatentrack.blogspot.com/2009/05/art-of-african-headwraps.html
and here – http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_TZBVJrG6muk/SRRv7l6bY9I/AAAAAAAABds/aCIsq8GRE0Y/s1600-h/gele.jpg
and here http://www.instructables.com/id/How-to-tie-a-Nigerian-Gele-using-Aso-oke/

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/344719.html. You can comment here or there.

A fashion History of Reiassan, a loose blather @freosan @inventrix

To describe the fashion of Reiassan, I need to describe, quickly, the history of the two people of that continent.

The primary race, called the Callennan (or Callanthe, before I started conlanging and realized they didn’t have a -th) … ((some of their history is listed here)) … started as goat-people and, over centuries, slowly some of them ended up joining, as a culturally oppressed minority, the people who we know as the Bitrani, on the east coast of the continent I’m calling Homeland.

A group of Bitrani and some Callennan colonized the continent known as Reiassan and, some 50-100 years into this colonization, a shifting climate made the trip between the two continents no longer feasible, rendering the Reiassani independent of the empire back home.

500 years of war bring us to the era of Rin & Girey.
Another 1000 years of completely uncharted brings us to the Steam-Callenia era.

And now what little I know about the Callennan fashion. First, historically.

Okay! So they started out, the proto-goat-people
((This is a good time to note that their goats are pony-sized and riding animals))
wearing essentially felted wool short-shorts and vest.

The person woman who figured out linen undergarments is a cultural hero.

I figure being stranded on another continent put back their sartorial development a bit as they spent a century or so just trying to survive in a suddenly-cold world.

I have some early notes on clothing here.

In the Rin/Girey era, men and women alike wear:
a qitari, a tunic-like shirt buttoned to one side with a short mandarin collar. The side the shirt is buttoned on as well as the material and embroidery on this layer indicate status and wealth
This shirt goes to mid-hip and has flared sleeves just past the elbow

Under that, a similar shirt, slightly longer in hem and with fitted sleeves to the wrist. Wrist and hem are elaborately decorated in embroidery, ribbon, beading… depending on the region.

(more layers may be placed between these for ceremonial purposes or in winter

Under that, a knitted tube of goat wool from underarm to hip – essentially, an undershirt.

Under that, women bind their breasts.

On the lower half, men and women alike will wear flowing pants, split skirts, or skirts, also in at least two layers. Soft-soled boots and gloves or mittens complete the outfit; I haven’t figured out headwear yet.

And then, steam era:

Okay! So, if Rin-and-Girey era is Roman-era technology (Mid-Rome), Steam-Callennan is, well, Steamy. Fashion probably has a wider range from farmer to princess.

Farmer probably wear much what their ancestors wore.

[note: must figure out when the Homeland continent rediscovered Reiassan, or vise-versa]

High fashion, then: keeping the layered look, the love of bright colors, and the asymmetry, probably still a riding culture for many people, although carriages exist. If I think about this, I end up thinking of something Loli, which isn’t quite what I’m looking for.

Side track: The Callennan ideal body type is broad-shouldered, medium-hipped, with high, medium breasts (not huge, that is) one women and long dark hair on both. Men are expected to be broad-chested and not heavy/fat.

What I’m picturing: A very fitted wastcoat/bodice as a top layer, with the same side buttoning, but a dipped down neckline, coming up to high, folded-over collars. This would come down to the hips.

Under that, much as in earlier times, a shirt with flared sleeves over either an undershirt somehow done elaborately or several more flared bells and then and undershirt (or one middle layer with ruffles) and flared pants or skirts in several layers, over firmer boots, possibly in dyed leather.

The small corner of culturally-Bitrani people wear duller colors, maybe a lot of white, since they’re still more Southern, in less layers.

ETA: Climate
The capital, Lannamer, is like… a bit colder than Toronto. Coastal, but protected, but north-cold. The far South is a bit like the Carolinas. And in Steam-Era they do have some sort of indoor heating.

EETA: Etc.

Right-buttoned indicates skilled, left-buttoning indicates unskilled.
Curly hair is considered exotic the way red hair is in modern US.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/343923.html. You can comment here or there.

Roots, a story of Rin & Girey for the May Giraffe Call

For [personal profile] clare_dragonfly‘s prompt.

Reiasson has a landing page here And a wiki here.

Rin opened up one of the oldest books in the library. “How good is your Old Bitrani?”

“Wouldn’t you mean Old Callennan?” Girey leaned over her shoulder, studying the old, creaky parchment. “Unless you’ve been raiding our libraries.”

“I’m sure we have. But the thing is, when you go back this far, a good number of our record books are in Bitrani. Well, in Tabersi.”

Behind her, he went very still. “Say that again?”

“Tabersi. She glanced over her shoulder at his face, which, for once in his life, revealed nothing at all. “You’ve heard the word before,” she hazarded.

“Only in the heretical texts.” His voice was very careful. He didn’t want to call her a heretic, not again, she guessed. Unusually wise of him.

“Mm. It’s not a common word in Callenia, either. Not so much heretical, here, as the stains behind the tent walls.”

“Stains behind…?”

“Hidden secrets. The things you want to cover up.”

“But you, what, brushed the tent wall aside?”

“Not I. I’m no scholar. But a friend of mine in University was. And for her thesis, she researched our first Emperor.”

“And found…” There was a great deal of tension in his body, and his voice was tight. Did he already know some of this?”

She read from the book instead of answering, translating it into Bitrani. “It is here, on this tenth day of summer in the fifth year since landfall, that the independent cities of Lannamer, Aneksundon, and Terrekya declare their sovereignty and their nationhood, separate from and free of Tabersi rule and law. Let it be known that Eszhettozh, son of Emanek, claims rulership of this newly formed nation, and will be known henceforth as Emperor of the Callentate of North Reiassannon-land.”

Girey, behind her, nodded slowly. “Callentate. It means ‘tribe-leaders,’ I think. It’s older than Old Bitrani. Heh.”

“Indeed.” She closed the book, smiling. “Our nation began as a rebel state of tribe leaders.”

“And now you rule the whole continent.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/342141.html. You can comment here or there.

The Empress is Dead… a story of early Reiassan for the Giraffe Call

For stryck‘s Prompt. Reiassan has a landing page here.

Set several generations before the Rin & Girey story.

Edyunnaedyun was with his third wife when the messenger came. The man – not a normal letter-carrying boy – bowed low to the ground but otherwise paid no attention that he’d interrupted Edun and Issalaina in the middle of making another heir.

“Prince Edyunnaedyun, we regret to inform you that your mother the Empress has died. Please prepare your son the Emperor for his coronation as soon as possible.”

“My mother? Impossible.” He sat up, tossing a blanket over Issalaina. “She’s a young woman.” And he’d thought he had years and years to convince the council and the family that the habit of skipping a generation should have died with her grandfather.

“And a warrior. Felled by an arrow. Please ready the Emperor as soon as possible.”

“The Emperor,” Edun sneered, “is six years old.”

“Regardless, he is the Emperor.” The messenger bowed again, and exited.

“My heart and my blood.” Issalaina was young, and prone to romantic excess. More than making up for this, however, she was sexually welcoming and not troublesome, unlike his first two wives now were.

“What is it, my lovely weaving of the finest silk?” She did take a careful hand, however.

“Don’t be so desolate. The Emperor has six years… and you are his father, and most likely to be chosen Regent until he reaches his first hunt. Isn’t that what you want? To rule?”

“To rule… yes. Yes. Put on your formal robes, Issa, and your thinnest veil. I will tell Opinani to ready her son for his new role.” His second wife hated him, but she had given him his third son, his heir by the convoluted and frustrating rules of their new nation. And she was his wife; she would obey him, even if she hated him.

“My robes, the fabric of my life? But what of Opinani?”

“Take your place as favored wife, Issalaina. Don’t you want to be at the center of the court?”

“Ah… yes, the center of my world.”

Issa was a lousy liar, a fact that Edun generally appreciated. She was also, he recalled, young enough that she had spent her entire life under cloister. “Wear your veil,” he suggested, “and stay close to me. I will protect you.”

Her shoulders relaxed, and she nodded. “Yes, my spine and my saddle.”

That one was a little strange. Edun wondered, sometimes, about Issa’s upbringing. “I will go talk to Opinani. Have my formal robes ready for me when I return.”

Opinani, it seemed, had already heard the news; Ipinnynon as already being clothed. From the cut and style of the outfit, his second wife had anticipated this; from the befuddled look on the boy’s face, the new Emperor had not.

Stranger, however, than the already-ready Empirical robes on his son of six years, was the equally-formal robes on his wife of eight long years. Those, at least, had the look of not having been tailored exactly for her; parts, he thought, she had borrowed from his sisters.

“You will not be needed at Court,” he informed her. Had she been hoping to regain her place as favored wife. “You may come to see your son installed as Emperor, of course. But your clothing is above your station.”

Opinani only smiled. The answer came from the door behind him. “The river has shifted, son. With the installation of an Emperor, the roles of everyone change. Your son’s daughter’s daughter will be the next Emperor after him.” He would know his eldest sister’s voice anywhere.

“So?” Edun knew how the laws worked. He had been fighting them since he was old enough to shout.

“So,” Opinani answered, “guided by the late Empress’ husband, I, Ipin’s mother, will serve as his Regent.” She gestured at Edun’s half-on tunic. “You may come to see your son installed as Emperor, of course, but your clothing is… ah.”

“You cannot! I forbid it!”

“But the Emperor requests it.” His Second Wife’s smirk was as infuriating as ever. “But Edun? Do bring Issa. The poor girl needs to get out more.”

Pronunciation Guide:
Edyunnaedyun EE-dyun-NAY-dyun, the “u” being like the word dun, bun, run
Issalaina IS-suh-LAY-nuh, with the same “u” sound as her husband.
Opinani OH-peen-AH-nee, “ee” like in “need,” “OH” like in open, boat. “AH” sounds totally different to me than it does to you, I shan’t try. 😉
Ipinnynon – I-pine-NIGH-nawn – I like the word “I,” pine like the tree, Nigh rhymes with sky, and nawn rhymes with dawn.
Edun, Issa, Second Wife) and Ipin are the nicknames for these four people in order.

If anyone knows the male version of Dowager Queen, I’d love to know it, pls.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/328288.html. You can comment here or there.

And Out, a drabble of Reiassan for the March Giraffe Call

For [personal profile] kelkyag‘s commissioned prompt

This story comes after:Meat of the Matter (LJ)
Bare Bones (LJ) [Beta]
Skeleton Key (LJ) [donor perk] and Ambush (LJ)

Reiassan has a landing page here.

Rin hopped out of the window, but not so fast that she couldn’t catch the expression on Girey’s face. It made her smile, the sudden panic of being caught out, the further embarrassment at being thanked for it.

She got out of the way and let him hop after her while she scouted the area. The path to the stables was clear; indeed, there was nobody in the courtyard at all.

“We’ve got to go before they figure out we went through the window,” Girey hissed. “These people don’t want to buy you breakfast, Lady Healer.”

“I’m aware.” His concern was touching, his assumption she didn’t know how to handle herself less so. “If this is how you talk to all women, no wonder you don’t have any in your army.” She kept it a half-voiced mutter; he was right. “Come on.” She kept her hand on her sword hilt, her eyes alert for intruders, and still she almost missed the stable boy that stepped out of the shadows.

“Leaving without paying your bill?” he hissed. “A fine lady like yourself? We can take the man as payment, if your purse is empty, Lady Healer.”

If one more person sneered her title, she was going to grow irritated. She reached into her purse and pulled out a handful of coins. She took a quick glance at them to be sure the price was high enough, and pressed the pile of money into the stable-boy’s hands. “That should cover it. And your rooms aren’t nearly worth what my captive is.” It was a ridiculous thing to add, sleeplessness her only excuse. “Our mounts?”

The boy was still staring at the money. “One moment, one moment.” He hurried to the back of the stable, coming back quickly with three saddled goats. “Here you go, your Ladyship, sir. Reiassannon guide your travels.”

“And yours,” Rin answered. There were sounds coming from the inn; they’d noticed they were missing, then. “Speed on the road,” she added, and mounted. Behind her, Girey was doing the same. They put heels to their sleepy mounts’ flanks and were gone.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/313397.html. You can comment here or there.