#“oh you must be well versed in history” well actually this one specific period! yes!

[icarusbetide]

every once in a while i get antebellum posts on my feed and i'm like... yes....i see some names....i may have seen before....IS THAT JOHN QUINCY ADAMS SON OF JOHN ADAMS? THANK GOD I RAN INTO YOU, LET'S TALK ABOUT YOUR FATHER REAL QUICK

i suddenly become the world's biggest elitist. if you aren't the child of an important revolutionary war figure then i don't know or care about you!

every single day i tell myself i will get into antebellum era and unlock a whole new world of history tumblr content and every single day i end up rereading the same letters from the same 20 people i already know. once i figure out what tf was in the 1790s philadelphian air i promise i will join y'all! 19th century politics you will not escape me further.

[sage-thrasher]

Extra: “Sanitize” and Outsider POVs (Chemical Reactions)

Well, here’s 1.5k words of outsider POV: a hobbyist chemist/physicist meets Yui. Science results. It’s basically indulgent fluff I wrote for no reason besides, well... indulgence. Sparked by the thought that our knowledge of physics and chemistry has grown so much... people and science are pretty wonderful. Takes place in no specific time. Here’s Chemical Reactions.

---

Being wealthy and charismatic meant that Haru Watanabe was called ‘eccentric.’ He was also a middle-aged man with three children and a doting wife, the owner of a thriving spice business—mostly ran by the aforementioned wife—and a self-described scholar with a surprising amount of perceptiveness. Basically, Haru did everything else right so that he could get away with doing some things wrong.

(The first sin in question: throwing himself headfirst into physics and chemistry despite having enough money to pursue respectable subjects like history, politics, literature, or historical political literature.)

Haru had people who could do the tiresome but necessary business of actually bringing the goods from one place to another. Unfortunately, there did come times where he had to make the trek in person, generally when it involved a noble personage of one dinky plot or another who got delusions of grandeur. Haru would then kiss his wife and children, board the caravan, and head to woo the noble who was choking his trade routes. This time, he was with a scribe, a servant, and two hired Sarutobi guards.

(The greater sin: blabbing about his scientific interests with everyone who had the slightest amount of interest, which in Haru’s world, was the equivalent of looking in his direction.)

He’d talked his associates’s ears off during the journey there, and on the way back, both his employees were resigned to hearing his newest ideas--his scribe knew it by heart. Though the younger ninja had been interested at first, now the two Sarutobi were staring into the distance with glazed eyes.

(The final sin: making sure that he walked his hostage audience through the concepts in question until they understood it instead of blabbing without input, denying said audience the luxury of entirely tuning it out.)

So when Haru stopped in Chiyuku to pay the necessary pilgrimage to Healer Yui’s residence, he of course took her offer of tea as an invitation to speak about his newest pet theory. Haru hadn’t met with her personally before, having never been down this route himself, but he and every merchant with business on this side of the country knew about her. And Haru especially knew of her reputation for sharing knowledge. Was it likely that she knew anything about his interests? No, but that had never stopped him before.

“I have a great interest in science,” he began, smiling.

She didn’t pause in the middle of bandaging—the younger Sarutobi was lightly burned, but only because he’d practiced some sort of ninja technique above his skill levels, much to the exasperation of the older one—but she looked up.

“Is that so?” Yui was perfectly polite. “What kind of sciences?”

“Oh, physics and chemistry, mainly.” He let his smile grow brighter. “The very big and very small, the planets and the atoms.”

There was a glint of genuine interest now, even as she said, “Give me a minute, please.” Haru was content to wait as she gave the ninja instructions, washed her hands, poured herself a cup of tea, and took a seat across from him. “You’re a scholar in both subjects?”

Her voice was the mix of a rustic drawl and clipped enunciation that educated rural folk tended to have, and Haru could detect traces of other accents, likely picked up from all the travelers that came through Chiyuku.

(Again, he wasn’t a bad merchant. He was a rather excellent one, though his wife was the exceptional half. Haru was well-versed in the art of sizing someone up.)

“I am!” Haru sipped his tea and was pleasantly surprised by its mellow flavor. He’d had worse tea in fancier places. “Are you aware of the elements of matter?” Before he could start his theory, he needed to gauge her current knowledge.

It wasn’t quite a non-sequitur, but Yui took the small leap between topics in stride. “Yes. Carbon, nitrogen…” She hesitated. “I have the periodic chart of elements. A colleague of mine gave me some books with them.”

HHaru’s interest was piqued. “Did he?” He reevaluated her and took a different tack. “As you might be aware, we can put some elements together and create new ones. Organics from organics and inorganics from like. Not one from the other, and some combinations of elements won’t combine at all. Why do you think so?”

And so began a conversation like none other that Haru had participated in, beyond his wildest dreams. (A virtue: Haru could talk and talk and talk, but he could also listen. With colleagues and scholars—and his brilliant, incredible wife—he could sit spellbound for hours, with little to say but “Please, continue!”)

He kept asking why, why, and she kept answering. Yui spoke about the shape of atoms and the charged pieces that made up them. She spoke about the bonds between elements and the shape of those bonds, all connected by little electric pieces of matter that orbited around them. Finally, he asked about the interactions of magnets and forces, about the minutiae of why some elements had so many electric bits, why the shells around each center were numbered the way they were.

“I’ve...” she paused. “ I don’t really know. This is all a guess, anyway,” she added. “None of this will be proved for decades.” Yui cleared her throat, gone hoarse with talking, and she sipped her tea.

By now, the sun had dipped from its high point to begin its journey downwards. Haru’s guard took the opportunity to hazard a reminder: “Perhaps it would be best to continue—”

“Thank you, Sarutobi-san,” interrupted Haru. “I think we shall stay sometime longer, if it suits the esteemed healer.”

Yui seemed torn, having clearly enjoyed a conversation with someone who not only followed along but also hadn’t questioned her authority. “I wouldn’t want to keep you…”

“No, not at all!” He waved her concerns aside. “Now, you were talking about proof? How would you prove this?” Haru took care to keep his voice eager and curious, letting no suggestion of incredulity or accusation color his voice. He knew how easy it was to dismiss a woman’s knowledge, intentionally or not. Why, his own darling wife needed him as a frontman to manage the business, as silly as that was—she was better than he ever could be.

With a hesitant smile, Yui began to describe a series of fantastical devices: microscopes that used electric pieces, machines that spun bits of matter fast enough to tear them open, and lightning that could split bonded compounds in two.

Haru listened eagerly, soaking up as much knowledge as he could. His ability to listen, his experience, and his surprisingly deep well of common sense gave him a fine-tuned nonsense detector. And yet, her words didn’t set it off, likely because they made sense. Likely because she admitted freely how she couldn’t prove any of it, that this was baseless speculation.

(It didn’t feel like it.)

“What about chakra? Where does this fit in?”

The two ninja, alternatively bored out of their minds and surprisingly keen to listen, perked up at Haru’s question.

And to his ongoing surprise, she laughed. “I have absolutely no idea.” Yui leaned back in her chair, taking another sip. “An energy source from another universe? A force we don’t understand? Who knows. All I know is that it seems to break all laws of the natural world.”

Haru mirrored her body language, leaning back as well. “And you know how to use it.”

“I do, but I don’t understand it.”

He made a contemplative sound. Haru liked knowing things, and Yui had done him an enormous favor by sharing. Then again, he liked knowing things, and she… was a mystery. For not the first time this journey, Haru wished that his wife was with him. She would know what to say. (Another flaw: his stubbornness, his refusal to let anything go when it caught his interest...)

“Is your knowledge supernatural?”

(... and the bluntness that resulted from it.)

This time, everyone stared at him.

Yui blinked, a mix of shock, horror, and annoyance displayed in her creasing forehead.

Haru blinked back, suddenly aware that this faux pas was inexcusable, even for him. “Anyway,” he said, moving the conversation on before it lingered like a carelessly lit firecracker between them, “I must thank you sincerely for indulging me. As a token of appreciation...”

Haru opened the bag that he had carried with him, full of physics and chemistry books that he had planned on going over with the healer—before she’d blown away every preconception and filled his minds with theories in no book before her. He chewed his lip, considering the titles, and finally picked out the one that had the most similar and detailed analysis to what she’d told him. It was mostly a comparison of elemental properties and compounds, but… Haru had noticed that despite her detailed knowledge, she’d made up many of the words for the esoteric parts of her masterful theory.

“Here,” he said, placing the book on the table. “If you want any others in my bag, do let me know. And if it pleases you, I can send you any book on any topic you desire, if you promise to share me more of your wonderful theories.” He undercut his statement with a bright smile, trying to convey that he meant it as a friend—or at least a friendly acquaintance.

Yui gave him a careful smile back, though her openness had shuttered with his blundered statement. “I’d like that,” she said.

And just like that, Haru had another puzzle he knew he had to solve: the source of her knowledge.

[brooklynislandgirl]

I saw something on my dash and I feel the need to respond. I am not @ the person who wrote it because she is a lovely person who is just expressing her opinion, and mine of course drastically differs. It isn’t a call out post so much as a...different view which is necessary.

~*~ JJ Abrams: Is great at beginnings. He is very strong at creating an introduction but the man couldn’t follow through if he were given a map, a compass, a sherpa and put inside a wet paper bag. Plot bunnies have never been wrangled and in depth character work is not his strong suit. An excellent example of this is both Lost and the Star Trek series, another fandom that I have lived in practically all of my life.

Rian Johnson: Never heard about him before TLJ and I am absolutely certain I don’t want to have anything else to do with any of his work. Strong Character dynamics was touted as his strong suit and from what I saw in TLJ, there was more character dynamics in Seasame Street. As for Experimental Works, the key word is experimental, and sometimes the experiment fails. As for Original plots, well...there wasn’t anything original. I saw this movie twice over growing up and done better than what he did.

George Lucas: Great at coming up with a verse, phenomenal vision and desire to bring back/recreate the action-adventure series of the past and dropped us into the middle of a vibrant and intriguing world. Yes, the dialogue was occasionally clunky but forgivable. The FATHER of modern special effects, and it makes me wonder what would have happened if they HAD used his ideas and outlines for the Sequel Trilogy, rather than having his contributions scrapped. Just remember kids, if it wasn’t for George, we wouldn’t HAVE Star Wars. {Or Indiana Jones, Or American Graffiti or.....}

~*~

As for ‘people need to stop acting as if Star Wars is this award-worthy fanchise’, uhm shall we not mention the 7 Academy Awards, 8 Saturn Awards, the Baftas, the Nebulas, the People’s Choice Awards, and the LA Film Critic awards won by the original trilogy, or the 5 Oscar Nominations of the Prequel Trilogy? Cause I mean I can pretend they don’t exist, but that doesn’t mean that they will be miraculously erased from reality.

Yes, the Franchise IS about Space Wizards and light sabers and princesses and pirates, but it is also a mythological treatise for a modern age, an in depth attempt to recreate both the nostalgia of past media and based on cultural/psychological archetypes far exceeding JUST being movies. And whether or not that was George’s intention, it has taken a life of its own and has now influenced at least 3 generations of human beings. Possibly more. 

The ST is far less developed, yes. Because no one cared. They only had to scavenge the best bits of the OT and PT and paste them together in whatever pseudo-order they could make fit, and added in things that made absolutely NO SENSE when they couldn’t. Specifically most of Luke’s “characterisation”, Rose-whomeverthehellshewas, and I mean to answer this I would have to write an entire other post. Was it boring? Yes. Was it Cookie-Cutter, you could say so, with a few minor exceptions, and if those were MY cookies, I’d have thrown them out. Oh. Wait. I DID.

I would also like to point out that a good 3/4ths of the novels if not more were written to cover the galazy AFTER Return of the Jedi. Any one or more of those stories would have been far better to adapt that what the ST trilogy has given us.  As for “The ST takes place over less than 1 year” and “TLJ specifically occurs in a period of less than 24 hrs” in regards to the PT and OT:

Attack of the Clones takes place over 6 days, in film. Revenge of the Sith takes place over the course of 5 days in which I don’t think Anakin really gets any sleep at all.

We must assume that all the films therefore occur within a week or less. Slivers of important events. We don’t get to see Anakin being trained over Ten years. We don’t see Luke going and training in the dark side before he appears on Jabba’s barge, and yet these things happened.

~*~

Bunny, no no no. Rey is NOT just Luke as a female with abandonment issues. Luke didn’t know how to use a light-saber when he first saw one. He didn’t know how to use the Force, and had to be trained by Kenobi and Yoda. Rey...didn’t need anything. Neither did Finn, actually. Luke was a good guy, yes, but he had his doubts, his fears, his learning period. Go back and watch the films. Anakin was really good at piloting, he was phenomenal at combat, but he had no social graces, he didn’t ‘people’ well, he struggled with abandonment {both his own and leaving his mother}, the flaws were very real and painfully so.

Anakin and Luke both had to undergo the Hero’s Journey, like Frodo and Siegmund and really, pretty much name any fantasy character that has ever been written. Rey has everything handed to her on a platter, doesn’t have any growth or struggle or really makes any choices of her own. She might have been a great character had she been handled with any degree of forethought or sincerity. Alas, we will never know.

If you’re going to quote George, quote him right, he specifically says “Twelve year olds” which is the age of the kids I work with on a daily basis and they do not have simple moralistic wold views. They have the seeds for very complex thought and I am often amazed by their ability to understand and expand on ideas in ways I hadn’t even imagined.

And maybe if you want to see black-and-white morality in Star Wars, that’s fine but it isn’t really the whole point. If it was... Anakin would never have fallen to the Dark side. He would have started there. Luke would never have left Yoda on Degobah to rescue his friends because that was NOT the right thing to do. The films are about choices, write or wrong, made by people in desperate situations. It is about how those choices shaped their history, how it made them into the people they are, but ultimately, they are about how important hope is, and how even someone who has made very bad choices, can ultimately find their way back.

Star Wars, the movies, is about Anakin and his Legacy.

And archetypes? They are the definition of depth, which is why they cross cultural/religious/gender norms. They are universal ideas that can be transitioned across but not changed from their fundamental existence.

TLDR: The Sequel Trilogy really is glorified bad fanfic and is trying to erase it’s legacy so that the Mouse can make money. We all know the Star Wars film series was really “The Tragedy of Anakin Skywalker” and how bout we all stop pissing on that. If the past must die then let them have their dignity.

[lizabethstucker]

Asimov's Science Fiction (March/April 2017)

Digging into my backlot of science fiction magazines. A mixture of verse and stories. I've only reviewed and rated the stories. This particular issue is the 40th Anniversary one! 3.8 out of 5 "Soulmates.com" by Will McIntosh Daniel wants someone to share his life with, to love and be loved by. When he meets Winnie through a dating app, he thinks she could be the one almost immediately. Emily, his former girlfriend and current best friend, is more suspicious, doing a deep dive on who Winnie could be. Which, considering they never meet in person despite Winnie being in Atlanta and Daniel in Athens, not that long a drive, is valid. Starts extremely slowly, assumingly to establish the characters. Not my favorite way as most writers don't do a good job at it. I'm not entirely certain that this is actually science fiction, despite the use of Artificial Intelligence. As to Daniel, I found him to be incredibly childish, blind, immature, and boring. He learned absolutely nothing from his experience. I struggled to complete this novella. 2.5 out of 5 "Number Thirty-Nine Skink" by Suzanne Palmer It started simply enough, an expedition designed to bring life in balance to an empty planet. Then the humans left suddenly, leaving Mike willingly behind with Kadey whose programming makes the creatures populating the area. When Mike dies of cancer, Kadey continues her work. Until the night something changes. Poor Kadey, struggling with loneliness, possibly incomplete programming, and the knowledge hidden from her regarding why the humans left. Sad, yes, but with a more hopeful ending that is also a beginning. Lovely story, so well written. 4.5 out of 5 "Three Can Keep a Secret..." by Bill Johnson & Gregory Frost A convoluted tale of assassins, misdirection, love, greed, and con-artistry with an almost noir feel to it. It's almost impossible to give a synopsis that isn't chockful of spoilers. The first person narrator isn't totally reliable, but still intriguing in what he shares. I loved this more than I expected with this strange little story. FYI, in case you don't know, the title is from an old saying. Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead. 4.5 out of 5 "The Ones Who Know Where They Are Going" by Sarah Pinsker A child must suffer so the city can be happy, or so they say. One particular child is taken from her mother, locked away in the dark with no social interaction beyond the delivery of food. As time passes, language is lost and memories of a happier time begin to fade. Then one day the door isn't shut tightly and the child gets out of the tiny dark room. She crawls up the stairs, each step bringing back a particular memory, heading for freedom. But at what cost? Rip my heart out, why don't you? Two and a half pages of the most gut-wrenching narrative. The tightly woven writing is painfully descriptive. And the ending! Oh, the ending. I just cannot deal with it. 5 out of 5 "Invasion of the Saucer-Men" by Dale Bailey Teenagers have been foiling alien invasions for some time. After all, the adults are either locked in their homes consuming television or would dismiss the very idea of aliens. The newest landing of a flying saucer bonds together teens out at the local make-out point. Per the author, his idea was to take the cheesy sci-fi and horror movie titles of the 1950s and treat the core idea with some emotional and thematic nuance. Here we have a group of teen archetypes, from the football star to the nerds to the beauty. There are also the followers that are always found in high school. This brings back memories of too many cheesy nights at the drive-ins in my county. I've always found my sympathies fell with the aliens most of the time, faced with humans whose first response to the unknown was always violence. Horrible ending to this story. Horrible. CW: extremely graphic attack. 3 out of 5 "Kitty Hawk" by Alan Smale After receiving word of her brother's death, Katharine Wriht travels from Ohio to North Carolina to help her other brother. Instead of Orville preparing to pack up for the trip home with his beloved

brother's body, he is trying to continue with the flight experiments that killed Wilbur. Katharine finds herself engaged in helping, even learning to fly herself. This is a complete AU of the Wright Brothers and the birth of flight, through World War I and the suffrage movement. The writing is evocative of the time period and the dangers of experimental flight. I don't know why it didn't click with me, but I struggled quite a bit in reading this imaginative tale. I can see others enjoying this greatly, just not me. 3 out of 5 "Cupido" by Rich Larson Marcel is a genius at chemistry. He came up with a way to make pheromones specific to the pair he's paid to bring together, either by one of the potential couple or by a third party. The majority of the money he charges goes to pay for his grandmother's colon cancer treatment. As word gets around, he finds himself moving to smaller cities to avoid identification. As yet, what he does isn't illegal. He didn't expect to find himself attracted to his potential mark. Frankly, I don't consider this to be science fiction at all. The science is already viable. Add the consent issues which would be called dubcon (dubious consent) and I'm too busy cringing to enjoy. In my mind, Marcel is anything but a hero. 3 out of 5 "A Singular Event in the Fourth Dimension" by Andrea M. Pawley Olive was removed from the reducer pile, adopted by a childless couple to help stave off loneliness. Now that the second grandmother is living with them and Mama was pregnant, Olive is worried that she will be sent back to the pile, no longer needed. A loving, imaginative little android who believes in fairy dust, even if the fairies never seem to do anything magical like in the stories. Love doesn't have to be limited to just humans or blood relations. Sweet and touching. 4.5 out of 5 "The Wisdom of the Group" by Ian R. MacLeod There are theories and studies about group-think, how certain groups can intuit a trend or coming situation without any real knowledge. With the right group, the members could get wealthy or probably save the world, depending on their inclination. Samuel has been part of such a group since brought in by his professor while still in university. Now, years later, Samuel is wealthy, has a liv-in lover, three dogs with unfortunate names, and a gorgeous house in Washington state. But something is wrong, something that seems to be originating from Samuel. The response is usually to cut the wrong out of the group. A complicated basis for a disturbing story. I had to sit on this one for a while in order to determine what I felt about it. Definitely strong writing, could almost be considered psychological horror. I don't know if I would ever say that I liked it, but I recognize the work done and the uniqueness of the story. 3.5 out of 5 "After the Atrocity" by Ian Creasey Abu Hameed, the terrorist behind the attack that left ten thousand people dead, has also died during interrogation. The solution? A machine that can make exact copies, complete with memories, of an individual. Violet Ruiz, operator and creator of the machine, even made a duplicate of herself in order to work 24/7. As Hameed's copies die during the enhanced interrogation, more copies are needed. Soon Violet II wonders about the ethical implications. Well thought out consideration of just how far a nation is willing to go in search of revenge wrapped in the disguise of intel. Patriot Act, enhanced interrogation the Greater Good, dismantling both Habeas Corpus and the Geneva Convention, anyone? 4 out of 5 "Goner" by Gregory Norman Bossert In order to explore space, humans had to be converted from flesh into nanotechnology based creatures. The pilots call themselves Goners. Char's best friend's father is a Goner. Already fascinated with the idea of flying, Char uses a sliver of Pilot Clark to begin changing. While this is complete in itself, the story also begs for more. What is happening to Char? Will he be allowed to live his dreams despite his age? S fascinating a concept. 3.5 out of 5 "We Regret the Error" by Terry

Bisson A series of news corrections from the future. So many corrections, even some corrections of corrections. Taken individually, these are amusing. Pieced together, there is a much deeper story playing out. Oh, and a nice dig at Disney's well-known history of not paying some of their artists for their work. 3 out of 5 "Tao Zero" by Damien Broderick Teenagers, incredibly smart ones, have unprotected sex after winning $370 million in the Mega Millions lottery. The celebration leads to a child, the narrator, and the money to try to trap the Tao, the Way that cannot be named, inside a machine. I tried, I really tried to read this without success. After rereading the first two pages over and over in an attempt to struggle through, I put the story aside, hoping to pick it back up when refreshed. Didn't work. DNF

[azvolrien]

Anchored Tempest - Chapter Six

The roll did not last very long, as it happens. Oh well.

~~~

           “You… be here… very?” asked Una in Orcish as she followed Karash to the nearest lift, taking two steps for every one of his.

           “Not so much recently,” said Karash. “Just for the big meet every spring equinox.”

           “Equinox?” asked Una, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.

           “Oh – the time when night and day are the same length.”

           “Oh, the ek-wi-noks,” she said, supplying her own language’s equivalent.

           “But every Memory-Singer spends a lot of time in the Warren while we’re in training,” said Karash. He ran a claw over the stone wall, smiling. “Some of our finest paintings are in the caves here; they’re excellent aids for learning the histories.”

           Una pointed at the waterfall. “What… what do when… very water come?”

           Karash paused for a few seconds, trying to parse what she had asked. “There are floodgates at the surface,” he explained once he was pretty sure she wanted to know what they did during high-water periods. “They can restrict the flow after periods of heavy rainfall, or divert the river altogether in emergencies. Here, this will take us down to Nirali’s usual place.” He stepped onto the lift platform and held the gate open for Una. A large raven perched on the railing gave him a baleful look and flew off.

           Una closed the gate behind her. Karash pulled the control lever; the chain began to clank through its pulley high above, and the lift began to descend. On every level they passed, orcs paused in their work to stare openly.

           “Does Nirali speak Balaurin?” Una asked in that language as a group of youngsters ran to the edge of their balcony for a better look at her.

           “Better than I do,” said Karash. “She’s been a Memory-Singer for about ten years longer, and since the Sky Kings are her chosen speciality…” He shrugged, and went on more quietly. “Listen – Nirali’s very friendly and you won’t get any trouble from her, but… don’t stare when you meet her. She is used to it, but… it’s rude.”

           “Why would I stare? I’ve seen plenty of orcs by now.”

           Karash gave a noncommittal hum. “You’ll see shortly.”

           Una fell silent and folded her hands behind her back. The lift stopped at the lowest level of the great cavern and they both stepped out onto the stone floor.

           A worker at the nearest forge paused in the middle of shaping a new gear for a lift system. “I’d heard the rumours Karash had found one,” he said to his friend, “but is that what a Sky King looks like? It’s tiny!”

           “Well, it’s about as tall as I am,” said the other smith, rinsing soot off her hands in a bucket of water, “but it’s so skinny! I reckon I could snap it in half in a straight fight.”

           Una looked over her shoulder, frowning, and gave Karash a curious glance.

           “How much of that did you understand?” he asked.

           “Something about me being small.”

           “Just ignore them – they’re just gossiping.”

           “I’m actually considered quite tall for a woman,” Una grumbled.

           Karash chuckled. “I wonder if I can visit your ‘Stormhaven’ some day. It would be interesting to see how everyone compares. This way.”

           They left the cavern down a passageway much like the one they had first entered through, roughly carved from the living rock and a little too small for Karash’s comfort, but it sloped slightly upwards and soon opened out into a wider cave lit by the comfortable yellow glow of oil lamps and with every inch of its walls and ceiling covered in paintings.

           Karash rapped his claws against a gong by the entrance. “Nirali! I hope you were expecting us?”

           Nirali, halfway up a scaffold against the far wall, placed her spray pipe on a stand and hopped down to the floor. “Yes, yes, we heard the message drums just the other day. A friendly god? I’ve always theorised such a thing must have existed, but they certainly never showed themselves during the Song of Fire. But for one to make its way to these mountains now… fascinating. I have to say, despite their tyranny, there’s always been a part of me that’s sad never to have seen one in the flesh. They must have been extraordinary to behold. Their bones can certainly give you an idea of their size, but it’s just not quite the same, is it? I mean, the skeleton of a longtusk barely resembles the living beast. How much information are we missing regarding the gods?”

           “Nirali.”

           Nirali wiped a few flecks of paint from the polished rock-crystal lenses of her glasses and placed them back on her face. “Yes?”

           Karash placed a hand on Una’s shoulder and gently pushed her forwards. “This is Una.”

           Nirali brushed her claws through the fur on her throat. “Amazing,” she breathed, slowly walking around Una and looking her up and down. “You must forgive my enthusiasm,” she said, lapsing into fluent Balaurin. Karash privately noted with a wry smile that her pronunciation was far better than his own. “The bones of the Sky Kings never preserved as well as those of the gods; the songs can tell us a great deal about what they did, but the actual tangible evidence of your predecessors’ physiology is… lacking.” She drew herself up straight, measuring their heights against each other. Nirali stood perhaps one of her own hand-spans taller than Una. “I’d always imagined something much more imposing.”

           “I’ve been getting that a lot,” said Una, looking back at Nirali through wide eyes.

           “You’re staring,” muttered Karash.

           “Under these circumstances, I think it’s only fair that she returns the favour,” said Nirali. “It’s not every day one is stared at by a Sky King.”

           In her own way, Nirali stood out just as much among the orcs as Una did. She was of normal build, maybe a little taller than the average female, but one would never miss her in a crowd: every hair of her pelt was a snowy white over skin so fair that it nearly matched the colour, while her eyes were an extremely pale blue that took on faint hints of pink and violet in the right light. The number of times she had left the Warren in all the time Karash had known her could be counted on one hand; she had occasionally ventured out for the Midsummer celebrations, and had once joined an expedition up to the Valley of the Fallen God to study the remains of Voice of the Mountain, but she generally preferred the shade of the caves to the glare of the sun outside.

           “Before you ask, she doesn’t have a disease,” said Karash. “She’s quite healthy; it’s just the way she was born.”

           “Well, of course,” said Una. “My mother has gwynder as well.”

           “Oh, is that what your people call it?” asked Nirali. “I don’t think we even have a word for it. It’s just… the way I look. Hmm. Gwynder. I may start using that.” She clapped her hands. “But I’m being a poor host. Sit, sit, I’ll make us some drinks, and we can have a chat.”

           Nirali’s cave didn’t have much furniture, but there were a few squashy chairs gathered around a stove at one side. She poured from a gently-steaming copper kettle into three waiting mugs and passed them out one by one. Una’s, designed with a male orc in mind, looked absurdly large in her hands. She took a sip and froze, her face expressionless but for slightly raised eyebrows.

           “It’s a little bitter,” she croaked in response to Nirali’s knowing smile.

           “It’s an acquired taste,” said Karash. “But I rather like it, personally.”

           “We all know your fondness for extreme flavours,” said Nirali. She passed Una a small earthenware bowl and an antler spoon. “Here’s the sugar. There’s a jug of milk in the ice box if you need some.”

           “What is it?” asked Una once she had added some sugar and milk to the strange brew. “I expected coffee, but…”

           “It’s called shakalat,” said Nirali. “It’s made from the seeds of a tree the Islanders cultivate. The surviving verses of the Song of Distant Water imply that a seafarer from Three Forge Island brought it back from a land far to the east, but it’s such an ancient and fragmentary song that it’s impossible to say how accurate it is.” She stirred her drink and sat back on her chair, crossing her legs. “So. Since you came to visit me specifically, I take it you have questions about the magic of the Sky Kings. Though what I can explain that an actual Sky King doesn’t know, I’m not sure…”

           “Well, firstly, I’m not one of the Sky Kings,” said Una. “I’m not even really Balaurin; I was sort of adopted after I accidentally made a bond with my dragon.”

           “Dragon?”

           “God,” supplied Karash.

           “I see. Carry on.”

           “And I was sent here from the Dragon’s Teeth – the mountains far to the north – to see if any of the Sky Kings’ ‘gods’ were still here…”

           She and Karash took turns to go over what had happened to the dragons of the north, how the Eastern Highlands were hidden from scrying, and their theory that answers might lie in the Tempest Spires. Nirali tapped her claws against her mug, set it aside, and stood up.

           “This ‘scrying’ you spoke about,” she said, rifling through a rack of scrolls against one wall. “That’s some form of… magical spying, correct?”

           “Yes, it’s a way of seeing what’s happening in places far away. Some particularly skilled seers can do it purely mentally, but most need to use something like a crystal or a pool – and they all do if they want to show someone else what they’re seeing.” Una shrugged. “I’ve never had the knack of it. My powers run along different lines.”

           Nirali took a scroll from the rack and turned back around to give Una as intent a look as her gwynder-weakened eyes could achieve. “You’re a stormwielder?”

           “I don’t know what that is.”

           Nirali unrolled the scroll on the floor, a safe distance from the stove. It was a map of the mountains and islands, drawn with impeccable care and marked with tiny emblems. “For all their might, most of the Sky Kings did not wield magic of their own,” she explained. “They preferred to rely on the powers of the gods, who possessed abilities far beyond the fires of their jaws alone. Voice of the Mountain is the most famous, shaking the earth and pouring molten rock from mountains that had never so much as twitched before, but he’s far from alone. Red Snow in the Killing Winter possessed a roar that could shatter stone. Wind in the Canopy of the Ancient Forest held a strange influence over the earth, but not like Voice of the Mountain; she could affect the grip that the earth had on things, make them heavier or lighter. Crashing Wave Breaking the Cliff could kill with a look – or so the songs record. I expect the actual mechanics were a little more complicated. Perhaps it was some kind of healing ability twisted out of shape. What does your god – your dragon, I mean – do?”

           “We don’t know yet,” said Una. “She’s still quite young – she probably won’t develop a special ability for a while yet.”

           “Hm. But I’m getting side-tracked. The stormwielders were Sky Kings who held magic of their own, summoning flames and wind and lightning and so on. Most didn’t even have a bond with a specific god – dragon – the way you have with yours, but they were still some of the Sky Kings’ most feared enforcers, for they could reach the hiding places that the gods were far too big to access.” Nirali waved a hand, indicating the Warren in general. “This place was the headquarters of the resistance during the Last Revolt; all the ways in are too small for a god, but they had to be well-hidden from the stormwielders.”

           “If you mean it in terms of just… having magic of my own, then I suppose I am a stormwielder,” said Una. She held out one hand and conjured a little witchlight to illustrate her point. “But I don’t think the connotations of being some brutal enforcer apply. At home, they just call me a wizard or a mage. So there was nothing the orcish mages could do to counteract the stormwielders?”

           “There are no orcish mages,” said Karash.

           “I – oh. That makes a horrible kind of sense. Of course, they would have been the first targets when the Sky Kings first invaded here, and if they were thorough enough…” Una sighed and bowed her head. “That’s something my family understands much too well.”

           There were a few seconds of silence. Karash glanced at Nirali, who shrugged; Una looked up to see them both looking back at her in polite confusion.  

           “I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” said Nirali. “Karash doesn’t mean that the orcish mages were wiped out. He means that there have never been orcish mages.”

           “But-”

           “We have the beast-bond,” said Karash. “Beyond that… orcs do not have magic.”

           “What, none? No healing? No levitation? Not even a witchlight?”

           “None,” confirmed Nirali.

           “So that lift we came down on-”

           “Mechanical,” said Karash. “They use a combination of counterweights and water power.”

           Una ran a hand through her hair. “That’s so weird,” she said. “I mean, I knew some populations had less magic than others, and some where some types are much more or less common, but to meet a whole race of people with none…”

           “It’s how it’s always been,” said Nirali with a shrug. “But it’s not a stretch to believe that the stormwielders also had knowledge of scrying and how to hide from it. Here, look at this map.” She tapped a claw against the parchment. “Most of the settlements and buildings of the Sky Kings – at least, those we could get to – were ransacked after the Last Revolt, but there were a few we were never even able to scratch. Here, here, here, here and here.” Her claw touched each point in turn; five tiny symbols like flat-topped pyramids. “We don’t know what the Sky Kings called them; we just call them the Sky Stones, because of who put them there and their places on the highest ridges outside the Tempest Spires. They’re definitely magical in some way or another; the resistance noted seeing stormwielders and g- and dragons working at them during the last days, pouring magic into them. I’ve only ever seen one in person, above the Valley of the Fallen God. You can feel the power in them when you get close. My guess would be that they have something to do with blocking your scrying.

            “But moving on from Sky King magic in general to your specific problem: the storm protecting the Tempest Spires.” Nirali tapped the cloud-shape representing the storm on the map. “Storm Clouds Roiling over the Deepest Green Abyss – one of Voice of the Mountain’s lieutenants – was able to bend the weather to her will. I’ve always believed the storm was her handiwork. But Storm Clouds was killed during the Last Revolt; Ikara the Black slew her personally and displayed her skull in the festival grounds.”

           “Maybe the Sky Stones hold some of Storm Clouds’ power as well,” said Una. “Keeping her spell running somehow.”

           “I’ve considered the possibility,” said Nirali. “But with no way to crack open a Sky Stone – and believe me, we’ve tried – or to get up to the Spires through the storm, we can’t be certain.”

           “Well… Things might be a little different now,” Una said, and grinned. “Would you like to meet my dragon?”

~~~

Visit the orcs, they have chocolate. I’ve never been 100% decided how much New World produce the various peoples of Stranatir have access to, as they haven’t yet established any proper trade routes with the in-world geographic equivalent. For example, I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned potatoes. Generally speaking, if somebody is using any, it was retrieved by either a small group of explorers or an experimenting Portallist.

Nirali has occasionally been given stick for her albinism, but no more than anyone who looks unusual can expect; she was never actually ostracised for it as Fayn was.