#shossles

[justpracticingwritingalittle]

Sonxos Bond-breaker

Sonxos, Bond-breaker, could amount to something close to a [Starelder] or an Errow of the Archies. So far, no group has retained their origin story, but almost all retain one or more of their adventures -Sonxos often slaves bik (bikon, etc) by clever/crafty means -Sonxos is stealthy -Sonxos is “much loved” or has many friends -Sonxos often rescues some valued community member from captivity (duh!)

The trueborn (?) Sonxos was likely a beloved fighter during the early years of the Bigly Waning, a charismatic leader of successful ops who became a folk hero symbol of the fight against the dying Fire Giant empire. Sonxos left the world by “being blown to a Star by a brok” an whatever that truly meant is a MyStErY XD

Perhaps the trueborn Sonxos was a Guvlin

[justpracticingwritingalittle]

Of Shossles and Souls - Banehook

Fore-Guvlin *baken-ghok > ForeHobgob *baxengxok > Banehook (Thrigwigization)

Banehook is the High Hoax of Maggots, one of the many lowly High Hoaxes that sends its minions to scavenge for the remains of souls that are not whole-claimed in death. He takes the form of some Big Thing, dead & rotting but seemingly alive as any other. (Many such Hoaxes fit this description, however)

He will often boast that he is “quite an agreeable fellow when no one is around” and that he “minds his own business” until otherwise confronted, as Jeimon fear him. He is thought to live in some Dark Corner of the World where he may use the Winds to send out his Curses.

-Rightmot’s sidespear told Banehook and other scavenger Hoaxes to return whence they came so the Righ Moreen could preserve R.’s soul -There is a Hobgob tale of [HERO] who tracked down pieces of their lover’s soul -There is a tale of a Hobgob who convinced Banehook that someone was dead so he’d infest them       -Banecrook, one of the maggots attached to BH?, who gives birth to the others -Once in a story, Banehook speaks through dead animals -He is highly sycophantic

[justpracticingwritingalittle]

Note Transfer- Shossle

Saxwik, the One who is Glad in Fire, is a Hoax said to possess Gobs when they live up to his name. Truly it could be translated “pyromaniac” as the word is applied to “Saxwik-possessed” Jeimon. Saxwik is seen as the reflection of fire in someone’s eyes, and despite its origins is counted by many among Shossles rather than Hoaxes. 

Saxwik’s Xokonx is in any burning structure or Wood, and it is a door into the World of Fire, wherein Saxwik has his home. Many Souls are lost to Saxwik when he strikes, and these souls become Soulish Fire, sworn to him. 

As far as fiends go, Saxwik is very ambitious and power-thirsty. If he is ever made aware of the possibility of godhood, he will chase it more than anything else.

Saxwik - Firefiend, Ashbeer. A warlock of Saxwik could probs treat him as a Fiend or a Genie. 

-------------------------------

Saxwik spake with soot. “You see now why I am here.” Bern could not give answer, could not croak forth rage.  “Everything you’ve said loud on the chappings place,” said the Shossle, “every oath you swore before others! What did it mean if here you did not take on the deed?” Bern stood at the foot of the Sun, and nothing yet burned. The Fourflat stood high above them, hiding them from that False King Soul. The greatness of this god, their power, it was all Untrue. Bern could show all who see light or feel heat or smell smoke. He could do it now. “You could do it now.” Ashtongue reached for his hand. It burned him, but he could not scream. “Did you believe that I would steal your body? Did you believe that I would burn as I would and leave you without blame? I must be needed. I must be believed in.” Bern eyed the torchlight of the nearby road, lit now to honor Sun in their slumber... “Go on, my child of fire,” said Smokebreath. “Let us reach out as one.”

[justpracticingwritingalittle]

Notes Transfer: Old Ookenas and N Hargus lore

In our Worldy, /okeanos/ is the jealous First King of the Waters, who by war and sorcery seeks to take (make?) a throne among the Stars. Perhaps with some variation.

Obvs the biggest story here is The Flood. It’s uncertain how much contact the Hargus had with Bigs, Drakes(?), or Hagglewoss, so it’s unclear what info about its cause, if any, they were privvy to.

Commonalities of the North Hargus Flood myth are -Okeanos either causes, devises, or commands the Flood -Some traitorous Kind is involved -Many new Stars appear -Rivers are “born” -Rebellions, coups, fallen kingdoms, perished heroes -Destruction of some common foe, reconstructed (<gwegwov) -Death of a god, perhaps represented by a sunken city

The Figures of *Okeanos may share these commonalities -The head of some sea creature, usually the largest locally -Seaweed or tentacles for hands or in hand -Old, feeble, or battleworn -Fits of rage; negative disposition toward Land -Wed, or otherwise bound, to ????? (Earth? Wind? I forget) -Enemies with (<*poseidon), god made from water and earth -He is a god (Titan?) and he is huge

The cosmology of the N Hargus should be greatly shrunk down compared to its source material and should see possible influence from -[Hill Bigs], Frogolk, Jabberwock Draconic, Gwegwov -Guvlin, Strm Ernie?, Bugbear?, Beeker, etc

[justpracticingwritingalittle]

Sawkot the Dreamwalker and his Friends

The breeze was cool today, besting the summer heat by sneaking ‘hind it ‘round the Brokeback. The Eyeswhite was hid behind its great wals, where Summer heat could lead without challenge, but upon the down in the borough’s kernel, Dwilem’s breath could be felt in strength, hello-ing the fur and soothing the soul. Sawkot gripped tight the rope by which he led the drawgoat. It would not do to repeat the result of his last boroughly daydream, not when they were going to unveil a new giddy chosen to see beyond the Dawngate to morrow’s mares. It was a fun string of words, thank to Neebot. Her songs could more than earn her a giddiship. He was so far, however, the only one to notice. Neebot’s most true songs were sung in dreambloom fits on gleesome nights, farm from without the walls. In their Own, hidden by the Trees, no thatch to hide the stars. Sawkot was fluttersick with want. Once the last bidden bundle was handed off, he would take the leftover northwards. No more sleeps stood before him, only this last wain. Still, it was a longsome wait.

The Fratly met him at Downtop, stern and workfast as ever. “Young Pemfinger,” the holy Elf said, “well come!” “Mother’s sister, show me well in word.” The Beadle smiled. “As ever, child.” Sawkot lifted each bundle to the arms of the packer children until the agreed-upon amount was had. “Your mother and I, we agreed-” “Yes, Goodly, a full hundred shat and two ithestones of a fist’s bigness.” “And my thanks for it. Young’un, give him fee.” The ungrown Yuman heaved forth the bouk of wealth, a small song for each scrap upon scrap. “My many thanks to the young Eerow,” Sawkot said to the child. They looked away shy, and the Moon’s Daughter answered in their stead. “Have you more hand-offs tonight, Nezzarschild?” “Aye-yeah.” “For what fee will you part with the lave?” “I cannot.” His answer was far too swift. “It is our bloot for Nezzar.” It was a silly thing to say. Nezzar would take no bloot. Hobgobs spake it not-oft aloud, but Nezzar was an older thing than Jemmonly gods, a Hoax of the World Before [Waters Left the Sky]. Hobgobs did not give Nezzar bloot, but rather lived by his example and invoked his protection as children of Earth, hoping to be noticed enough to join Them wholecloth in death. In a blink did these thoughts happen, all before the Beadle answered. “Well-keep them, then, and by Light see your way.” He could not tell if she knew his lie. She gave true smile and forthwent from him, and Sawkot wished his fathers could know the depth of the thought beneath his words. He had such fun with words, and he feared his mind seemed to them a dull axe. Mayhaps it was. The goat lowed and groaned and farted. “Say no more, dookie.” He led it aside to shit downhill. From this standing, Dusk’s gates let in the most wondrous hues. He could not move this dookie fast enough to share the Duskfall with his listlings. They would not make that happen, but Night was all wel. He could always dream of Dusk. The Boars atop the gates still charged as they did in his youth, when he was borne by the wain rather than leading it. The two Boar ran away from one another. It invoked their freak strength, but did not show the love for their own. Pikes fight for their kin. These ignored him as he freely went from their [domain]. Evening songs were many and fires all cast flickering shadows every which where. He kept happy children a step from the goat, and also one eye on the lave of dreambloom, that no young thief could rid him of his night. Many tried to sell him a drink, and a pair of [Frylings?] wanted to explore the runic ways of Errous with him, but his heart was bound to those it lusted for, his dear friends. It scared him in tides, how much he wished for touching hide, smile and song, unfeeling the woe of being. With them and them only. The runic things he sought were in the mouths of his friends. And did they ever call to him! The Stars indeed did light his way across Roughpock[?] and he found his friends hidden by the many tangled branches of the two embracing trees. Here, ten summers ago, they together discovered it would hide mickle firelight from the borough’s outies, and few could hear even their most heated songs. It was not til he drew near the right place that he knew he was the last to come-to.

First did his belly flutter upon hearing Neebot’s song, seeming as it often did to be sung by the trees themselves. At the now she sang an eldie - her song for Righmot Starelder, her first given in bede to any one Soul. She had played it at their first Group Dream as he and Koffers laid their heads in her lap and ran fingers ‘long the other’s hide. “This is one of my most-loved,” he shared as he wound his way around the embracing trees. Next did his heart leap. Koffers had also come-to, and had lain out four bedmats longsides each other and stared fast up at Tunglebeer’s vastness. The fire’s flicker made the greens of her hide seem as a shimmering stone. She looked to greet him and smiled through the hushed mouthing of song; she was ready to rest and shrug off the World. Last did his eyes turn to Gollas, sitting ever the stone by the fire, bowl in lap, divining some great meaning from the flames. His fingertips dangled, ungrasping any one thought and free to act without mind. His lips also parted to smile at Sawkot’s incoming, but he never let the fire run off.

There was not much new to say. Each had finished their day’s toil and each sought Bower’s blessing in their hearts. Sawkot unwrapped the Dreambloom and took the bowl from Gollas. “What first then, loves? Leafdrink? Smoketoe?” Koffers sat upright and showed off the Smoketoe. Since Sawkot had last seen it she had cut a new sight into it. Four Jemmonly forms lying longs-by and watching the Stars. He felt the Wave of Want to kiss her, to kiss them all. Instead he found a stick for an embertoe and sped to grind the bloom so they may soon find themselves a puddle. Many things spoke to one another in the Night, and no higher sang Neebot than these. While Sawkot set the tone (:)) with bloom, Righmot in song won his fight with the chosen fighter of Mann, and spoke strong words even as the singer knew its folly. Righmot would die as all things, and the Rye Moreen would become Thrigwigg-folk anyway. Sawkot gave the toe first to Koffers, the Tired Spitter. She grabbed not by its end but its bowl, brushing hand and hand. Some sweet shiver shook him. Righmot neared his death and wept for the pulling apart of his soul by the wild Hoaxes he had fought his whole life, while Life at once was felt in a tingle at Koffer’s lips, an itch Sawkot could feel in his own. The buzz stained the tip of the toe and passed along to Gollas, who always held the toetip with his tongue. He lit the bloom and breathed it deep in to fill his chest. The feeling could be seen to crawl up his spine and out his nose in that bitter fog. Sawkot and Koffers greeted their eyes as in song Righmot’s great wok sang together for the Keeping of a Great Soul. The toe found his hands and his hands found the scratched form of these friends in wood. He lit again the bloom and let his breath tickle his teeth. Feeling filled his lungs and soaked through him quick. He calmed his legs and laid himself down to see the sky. The Song ended, and Neebot reached to take the toe and lie between them both. She held still the (harp?) laying upon her belly. It rose with a heft breath, pushing flank against flank to remind them they touched. All that was left now was-

His sight dwined to inky dark and snapped fast to Light. Starlight. Moonlight. Twilight. Up close. Warm. Full of Feeling. It poured in from every gap between branches, soft and strong, bringing with it [music] his ear could not know. He lay on the same earth, remained guarded by the same trees, but as he stood he found not his friends. “Mickel more swift than before,” he said aloud of the Dreaming taking its hold. The Wind blew. The trees groaned, as ever. “A child.” The trees had never before groaned thus. Sawkot turned to meet the speech. “Yes, a child.” The second Hoax spoke as could be seen, its mouth finding form in a knot of wood. “I’m not so young,” Sawkot answered, with no fear of his protectors. “Quite so longs-by us. Or so I’m finding.” “Oh, good,” said the First, “I am not the only one still recalling.” The two Hoaxes held each other in embrace, just as in the Woken World, but to them here was joined all the bush and root that were sundry things upon waking. “Good Hoaxes,” he said to them, bowing his head to elder things. “Sawkot,” they said in twin. They knew him as he knew them. “Aye-yeah,” he said. “This place. It is....so....good.” The Trees smiled. “Good to know,” said one. “Good to be known to be good,” said the other. “Aye-yeah,” said Sawkot. He felt shame to not have in words the wealth of his tangled thought. “Come now, child,” said one, grave and freeing. “It will not do to drop your eyes for the shame of seeing some New Thing,” said the other Hoax, soft and stern. Sawkot allowed himself to think it all, every thought. The two Trees breathed deep the Knowing, one mete of their Couth, and stretched their branches ‘round. “Wow now.” “Did you see as well?” “Yes, it did not take long.” “What then?” “We are Old, but We are....” “Young.” “How such?” “The Truth of us is Old.” “The Couth of us was begun tonight.” “The Couth of you?” “A lot was begun tonight.” “The World Now must pass.” “My sorries, I- I do not understand.” “Of course not.” “Take your time to, Sawkot.” He looked high to Tunglebeer and let the light fall upon his face and the Winds tickle his chin. “No, it is not the Winds, child.” “Greet them warmly for us.”

Rain fell upon his nose. Or dew. Or tears. Koffers clung to him as a child seized by Ruth, sniffling and clutching and quaking softly. Gollas had fallen to his other side, hand clssped around his own in gentle protection. Neebot, though, was risen, and making song. She sat aface them through the Fire, her eyes set to Henn. High overhead, over tree, over cloud, all the Stars shivered as though they were for the first time touched. “...Tunglebeer shivers, and the Mother of Twins wakes galder in livers...” Sawkot could not move nor show any outward sign of thoughts. Her voice came forth from her threefold, such that he’d never forget. “...Young Moon from her basket to fall, and the child steps to cease its slithers...” Then it happened. And many saw. One Star only, jostled from its rest above and falling fast down to Earth to some-a-far Where. Sawkot was sudden sick with Fear, seized by Ruth with no right start. The World Now must pass. “...the World Now must pass...” Neebot sang to the Stars what they already knew. The Weird of the World was to be ripped asunder and begun anew with “...galder threads to some new End.”

Sawkot < Saxxokot < sak’gogod ‘sun-greeted’ Pemfinger < pen-finger? I honestly am not sure what the etymology was here beyond that Roughpock < raroxpok < la-lok-bog? High-tree field? Koffers is I guess from kapros which is goat? Gollas < god-la-s? Not sure what the meaning of this was supposed to be!

[justpracticingwritingalittle]

Notes Transfers - Narrowing Definitions

I want to take a stab at distinguishing between Hoaxes, Shossles, Gods/Gossips, Souls, Curses, Fiends?, Freaks? Not-goodies? Foes? Fairn? Mares? Pucks, Pokes? Bugs, Buggers?

A Hoax, if an expert were asked, is the “soul of a place or Thing”, and a Shossle is a soul bent on ill or untruth. In practice, a Hoax is the soulish representation of some Real Thing or True Aspect of a Thing, and has Weird within it the many immediate associations with it. A High Hoax is the Soulish representation of a known commonality between real things. There’s a HUGE spectrum of High Hoaxes. Shossles are soulish manifestations of immediate feelings and the images that evoke them

A Shossle could be said to be a Hoax reverse-engineered

   Hoax (+Fear!)  <  [INSTIGATOR] -> [PERSON]   > Fear! (+image of INST) > Shossle

An instigating Thing is observed by or “effects” a person. The evoked feelings and associations fuel the being of the Hoax, which could theoretically exist without the interaction(?). A Shossle, once born, is fueled by shared understanding of a Feeling or Concept, and will draw from images in interactions such as this (as it comes to understand that is invoked there)

I mean, we’ve arrived largely at Forms/Ideals a bit?

It is the Hoax’s awareness of its evoked feeling that allows it to ascend, or the World’s?

A god is an agreed upon image and various feeling structures and can influence the development of Shossle forms while themselves being continuations of Shossle or Hoax forms

So, if for example, Sibby the Love Rat is made manifest, what is its designation? GOD? because it’s image was pre-fixed w/ feeling structures? But I suppose it wouldn’t be a Hoax (unless there was a known Punxatawny-Phil type of Rat). Shossle? Gossip?

WEALTH for example could not have a Hoax, but there could be a Hoax of precious metals, and perhaps a High Hoax of Valued Goods

Whatever Hoaxes are, they are much more tied to the REAL. So...fey and shadowfey in game terms if I have to apply them

This leaves (in game) Celestials, Fiends, Devils, Demons, all of which would techincally be Shossles, although the first would likely not be called so

[justpracticingwritingalittle]

Notes Transfer: Werbert Sileson

Unsure how I feel about leaning on the patronymics built into English but anyway here we go

Werbert Sileson is an ethling Elf of Weibry, which (in his case?) means he is in a line of Elves ‘entitled by blood to lead’. In his case because he is supposedly a child of the mythical King Siles, the First Sun King, but many could make such a claim. He, unlike many of his kin, is not a devotee of Irmane but rather one of Sun. His father was given reve over the chapping of Hestackle goods and instilled in him a thankfulness for the One Who Shines on Them, an appreciation for the ease of life the King and their wolves provided. 

Werbert is, mechanically, a Cleric of Order, a lover of the god Sun, the Soul of Kings. His goal is the maintenance of Thrigwegian syste,s and ultimately his own security and control. 

As things get strange, he will get more aggressive, raising a band of ethlings to “defend” his borough should it be necessary. Maybe he will even go so far as to call upon some strong Shossle for aid, becoming a Warlock of Drear (fiend). UNLEssss I can introduce a World of Order, maybe a Web, or Weird, and Werbert is one of the first to search for it

[justpracticingwritingalittle]

Item: The Here-Steady

There is a Sword, called by its maker “Here-Steady”, which may not go from World to World at its owner’s will. It was forged with strength and galder to kill Shossles and Hoaxes, maybe Gods + Gossips, maybe more. Its Maker sought to slay the Shossle Lipp, to end the hold of grief which held beyond its tide to steal what mirth was left of his days.  He sought a Fratly of Crigg, asked bean of Ruth’s Son for what songs and sayings may give a weapon such strength. But many Shossles aid Crigg in fear, and by their work Crigg kept his place among gods. The Fratly would not search for these songs. He sought too a Runewife of the Manly folk, wise ones who knew the Shossles and Souls of their homes, who tended holy places. But she would for the sake of her kith not betray those Hoaxes that shared their World.

Lipp kept his hold and came each night by dream to him, to gloat and laugh as he did. In long samwinter he went in way to Orkilands, far through hill and bog to hill more and through to Worlds where in Old Harris fought. There-far he met some elder Thing, a loneful Freak without the World. “You seek an edge for Shossle’s end, and more to end therefrom.” “I seek such end in craft mine own, so by my hand ‘tis done.” 

The Thing was won, and Its boon to him was a greensome ore, dug deep from unknown nethers. It spoke with wicked word on the Smith and his boon, and spake thus: “Even trueborn souls will die the same with what blade this makes.” 

The Smith did wend a way home, and the Weird Tale is sung of in songs.

He toiled and worked with no sleep as Moon poured and filled three times, crafted in bras to make right the form, then at last in that given Ore. Fackle popped and Waters hissed and many blew into the ovens for love of the Smith. And thus was the Steady Edge born to our World-y.  The Smith showed the newborn blade before Henn, above the eyes of all, and oathed himself so: “I will hunt me down the Shossle Lipp and cast its trueborn Soul to Earth. It shall not flee nor hide nor sleep in any other World and if I am slain in this work then Lipp shall still by this sword fall.” 

All who heard this sorrowed for their Smith and oathed themselves to him in their Ruthsome moods. The bulk of them bound each to the other for their hunt, and went gethered to Lipp’s easter home. Lipp waited there in shadowed cave alongside Drear and many Curses beside. Each was felled until only the Smith remained and neath his heel Lipp trembled at sight of the Steady Edge.  But Drear is a bold freak, and swift. The Shossle lept quick to slay him, and with Lipp fled to other Worlds and the Sword sleeps soundly still

[justpracticingwritingalittle]

The Bedehouse of Ruth

So, the wayfarers were to fare their way again, and so it was decided that the Fratly's day would again be as a drop in a sea. There was some peace that came with the disruption of the passing band and its defeat at the hands of these Paupuroati strangers. The noise around was soft, to excuse the ever-present groans and hisses of the bereft, the sound of her vast sea, as if the shell were always pressed to her ears.

The Saucedaley Govlins had borne their tall, ill kithling on a bed of cowhide pulled taut across poles which each bore upon their shoulder, and many more more bodies surrounded them for love of her whom they bore. All these the Fratly had welcomed and bid stay, offering meats, meads, and shelter behind the Bedehouse for the guestly twinight as was custom in thanks to their advocates the Paupuroati. None accepted, save an handsworth who as gift devoted a month's service to Ruth's bead, and the rest went their way home to the wetlands north.

The sickly Hobgob was borne into Ruth's bedehouse and lain in a smallroom wherein all those deathly ill were laid if they so wished. Fratlies burnt smells and sprinkled oils and said the known sayings for release from pain and for knowing of its cause. But each day for 3 days, before an hour had passed of these rites, the Hobgob would scream from pain and the room would reach a boil so as to drive the Fratlies from it.

On the fourth day, a young Fratly, a Runner and Westerly Ernie in service of Ruth as bid by a Greater Fratly in the Starlands, shrewd of wit and cunning in Irmanly ambition observed upon the ground of the Ruthshall an other small shard of the Griefstone as it hid at meeting of wall and floor. He approached the Greater Fratly Ruthie with exceeding calm and lowered his head below hers.

"Great Questioner of Grief, the Hobgob's illness persists and more so affects the world around it as if it were a Holy Place, devoted to its own protection," for this knowledge his family held dear and kept through its many mothers. "The Curse knows not whose place this is, so by this stone may we introduce it to the Master of this House. I bid thee try this stone to the Hobgob's wounds, so the Curse may be told in calm of mind." [Note on blending of cultural images]

The Greater Fratly gave swift thought to this and bid raise the Runner's chin. "Good young learner, if by haps this goes as we will it, consider your service [thaning?] to Ruth as bid fulfilled, and that you have a writ to laud you and forthput you to good work wheresoever you bid."

The young Fratly wrapped the stone and spread wide the word of what they were to do, but wot not that the Fratlies of Smells, Songs, and Sayings had begun again to rid the room of the Curse and bring the heat out from its rage. The younger Fratly, come round, dispersed them saying "Be gone! Let us approach this Curse in calm of mind so it may know whose house beguests it." and none of the Fratlies had a mind to tell him what they had done afore his coming.

So the Fratly Runner unwrapped the stone and pressed it to the Hobgob's wounds, holes in fur burnt away by hard red scales. [86 - mirror image] The room rose quick to boil, and the Hobgob quivered and shook as a storm contained. Before the Younger Fratly, it seemed as though the Hobgob was born with three twins, each identical to her, rising and falling, shaking and intertwining, rising and walking as though fevered of mind. They spoke to each other in all three beautiful and powerful voices, in words the Young Fratly wot not. He was amazed by what he saw and was like to faint, but by his shrewd wit he bound the stone to the Hobgobs side and fled, letting not his sibs witness the sight, but he relayed to them all he saw and they were amazed, for they heard the voices and yet saw no shadows.

"If there be some young god or shossle here, let it talk awhile with Ruth so it may know where it lives." So they left the Hobgob unseen for three days more, hearing the conversations of the shossles wax and wane as a sea until the passing of the full moon, whereat the talking slowed to a stop, and no heat drew out from behind the [drapes? dreeps?]. The Younger Fratly was bid entry by the Hobgob, sat upright as one full and rested.

The Younger Fratly asked "Dear Hobgob, where went the two or three shossles that gat hold of your soul?" whereby the Hobgob laughed saying "There was no shossle, nor two, nor three, but surely thue heard me speak my dreams, as I am wont to do, for I spoke to my self as three other selves, in my like but unlike.

The Younger Fratly marveled at what he heard, for it was though he saw the Hobgob's dream as if it were his own. He relayed this to her, and she exclaimed "Good Heaven raise me, and methought I had poking my side a stone, but there be none here." And the Young Fratly marvelled again, for the stone he had bound had surely vanished.

Said a mourner from the outer hall, "Truly, you must be as one of those Wonderworkers of Lorr's songs, given aweful power to bless the bereft. Bless me, I plead, Maker of Images." and this was heard by all the mourners, hearts open to the alms of power.

[Okay, that's enough for now].

[justpracticingwritingalittle]

I saw her, Melse. I know for true it was Her, though her hair was many-hued, and where were once her legs now was that back end of a fish. She hailed me by hand and by name from the rocks, her speech as ever sweet like song.

“My kerjay! My kerjay! Join me now and stay!”

I wept to her from the bank,

“Mine Ertoo! Mine Ertoo! I will make my way to you!”

I swam, Melse, though the breath of my lungs ran dry. Old Ookenas he hoped to have me, but to her I sailed. Upon the rocks was naught but wet, and mine to add to it. My Love was gone, and I lay alone there-y-bouts. Was she some Shossle’s laugh to snare me then? O, Melse, I don’t know that I need to know. To hold her again, I would give in bede my soul to any Hoax that may make it so. I feel naught for the ends, if it true be she.

Please, come with me there, and witness if my mind is rot.

[justpracticingwritingalittle]

Note Transfer - Hestakli Vocab and Culture Update

An fortañ - a wonderous thing, a harold of change, from for-tani, and it’s me playing with maybe having word-final palatals left over from ellided -i’s. 

gájk - pair - <ga-juk ~ i-yoke? 

gájka - companion

gámnn - ~companion - members of the same romantic cohort

*aba > Hlstr ab ‘person’, MntSckl ab ‘person’, ava ‘laborer’, its own caste -> going off of the ‘one who labors’ theory on wiktionary

*ahma - 

In Hulstrr, she is the god-queen of the borough on the Moon. Among the Uffranda, she is the Shossle? that lights the Star Candles. In Hender, she was Dugnam’s wife, who fled to the Moon on Birds’ Wings.

*ahmateins - 

In Hulstrr, antinz ‘revelation, the moment of understanding’. Among the Uffranda, antinz ‘guidance in dreams’.  In Hender, ahmaþins?? ‘resolve, certainty’.

[justpracticingwritingalittle]

Leechsaw

“Death’s Leechsaw”, or Leechsaw, is a Shossle in Þriggwegian song, perhaps derived from a children’s game. [Like Ninja, but you can lose more body parts]. The figure is said to be a large jemmonly figure, masked in white silk that is stained in blood. Its hands are leechsaws. 

“The Heer was lost to Leechsaw, Addling, and Drear.”

“He was fit to be shown to Death’s Leechsaw...”

“The veil of Leechsaw stained, the loudly Addling pained, these yifts be sure I’ve gained, and all your hopes your boon shall be...”

“Death’s Leechsaw, seen seeming slain, and sudden stilled to calm.” (upon defeat at some hero’s hand)

[justpracticingwritingalittle]

Notes Transfer - Mutt, Truþ, and Manifestation

“a land barren; only Sunly hot ice” - the desert where the dragons died - The Meeting of WoFire and WoWater. 

The Faye Queen of Light and Color - Early Fawnis? [Fru] w/ mysterious crystal, discovered refraction - Faye, Queen of the Law of Light and Color

“he showed up because he knows the seen story” - “cat we taped a mask to” - A Soul of Lorr, a gossip: Meower Mimsy

The Wyrmling in the Apple - < “earthwyrms” as a joke, into Story - Neil Bogg prank, Shossle of Misfortune

???? - 3 Hobgobs + 1 bass Bugbear Quarter (all shaved) - ?????

???? - Hibbler, the Fruit Sculptor - ??????

???? - Sword Thru Heart is the ritual to change the Sun King Line - Sun, Soul of Kings, if killed with heart strike, shifts to killer

_____ Shossle of Wounds - ????? - [Mummy]

Lorr’s Hall - ????? - ??????

Shossle of Shit - ????? - Neil Prank

Lufford and Lefty Bieber - ????? - ????

????? - Underwater Dragon Skull - Meeting of WoWater and Furþ?

????? - Post-mortem memory ritual - [Flame Skulls?]

[justpracticingwritingalittle]

[On Liti Guja] - TRANSFERED

In the days following the Sacking of Mamboris, may fled the fire to join the Uffranda, and much of this (new) Uffrandi folk perished in retaliation to / in the wake of the retreating Þrigwegian army. Liti, a young Guja who had won peace for Kiriks in northerly land, fought for Uffranda through the north to Hulster, growing it in size, and becoming its defender. Song misrememers Liti as the founder of Hulster, but this timing doesn’t line up.  Liti is an Oath of the Ancients Paladin. Her skin was flecked with pale patches, which glowed softly in the dark. Liti was said to have perished at the hands of a Shossle of Wolves, which likely means a Þrigwegian soldier. 

[justpracticingwritingalittle]

Gabrille Uffrandz 1

It was burning. All of it was burning into ash. Years of aknowing the World, the workings of the Jemmonly body, what little she believed she could find of Siylget’s bones, endless gavrrkos of her findings. The list flickered and licked her mind like those flames, unsnuffed by sobs. Her liver stabbed and twisted, but what power she alone could muster was little use. Mamboris perished anew before her, and Gabrille could but watch. She screamed known sayings (runes?) for the a-being of water as a newborn shouts for the stopping of Thunder, and all the same Dwilemma heard not. Every thought occurred in tight following. Could she run in and find what little still was? Would a Hreygov camp hear her? Was there a saying to bean to the souls of near-a-by betts? Would the Runquna lend her their power? She stood only frozen even as the last answer found her.

“Hosi, Gavril!” Meþi? “Meþi! Aji, meþi! Hilp min! Le Liy-” Sobs met stone of her mother’s eyes.

“Gavril Hulsteri Bloþis, Hulsteri Guþyo’, þukkuh alyes hulsteri slohþ.” Gabrille could not move. The weight of what she heard crushed her to Earþ. “Meþi, nennó...” [Banishing phrase]

Gabrille would for many years look here and wonder wherefore she threw herself to ground, shielding her mother’s feet from dust. pleading “[cover me so]!”. In hindsight, she knew even this could not wash clean the sin of a Guja striking one’s own, but Gabrille at now could only give fearful bean. All else in the world darkened as her liver quaked her with pain, and Fear clutched her tightly in palm. “Meþi...min hilp...” Four arms raised her, none her mother’s. Hari stood as a tree behind her, arms folded as two of his own [cubs?] pinned her arms. 

“Gavril Uffrandz,” said her mother in a tongue all could know, “nen-na guþyo’, [you must leave here?], nen-na [return?].” Gabrille was spun to face the wilds, and released, but her feet were slowed by the waking dream of present grief. A sharp pain jabbed her back, bidding her forward. No protest came from her mother. Gabrille’s feet did as bid, her mind locked far behind her eyes. Behind, Runquna sang songs for the teening of fire, a practice of letting the evil shossle perish in its own power, stayed put from any Yuman bower.  Gabrille walked from fire’s light to night’s to day’s, and again to night’s, before at last heart, mind, and liver all at once sought refuge in the unknowing of sleep.

__________________________________________________________

Hey, I think I understand Gabrille plenty now. Some notes I wrote on this paper...

Would I want to change the image of “cleaning sin” to something less Christian? Obviously the image probably supersedes faiths, but it is such a strong Christian image with such a co-opted word. Shossle of Fear in Hestakli? Name? How would detractors of Hari refer to those fighters loyal to him, that is to say warriors that are not Wardijn. 

[justpracticingwritingalittle]

Gabrille Runqunz 2

Fire danced in the inks of Gabrille’s eyes, reflecting the green of her hide and the flurry of her Fears. The speakingspit was at now clear of any Wardija, though she knew that at any moment one other than Hangi could seek rest and beg her move. In her mind’s eye the dream made her uneasy. Should it be Hangi, the dream was not much better. What grief had had time to ferment into hate? Would they too show in their corners the distrust most Hulstri held for her? This thought was far more fearsome. Smoke stung her eyes; she did not share her father’s Lizar defense in this regard. The hazier form of Hari (one, at least) lingered before her mother’s Liyire, laughing with his Pet Stone. She practiced her speech, what she would say to any of them, no matter the words: “I am Guja.” Jekk gudijnz, even. Witudi was still so young, and if Hari would mislead his kiþ, then it was true that she alone was Guja Hulstris. 

Djiopþias gave his kiss to sleep and left so-ward too. Gabrille stood astart, the flames of all fears gone from her eyes, excepting the one right before her. Siylget’s gasps and shudders rushed through time and into her own bones. Siylget who had understood what goodness Gabrille had dreamt for the Hulstri, for all Hestakli. Siylget who had just professed his love for her, had avowed himself to her ends. Siylget whose empty form lay now in the wild, likely scattered by wolves. [Fury] bid her forþ, and Gabrille poised her claw. 

He greeted her as he had her whole life, as if she had not changed last night into a very new Self under the weight of loss. She scratched wild across his face, carving no more than nose, but adding one more deep scar to his many. Hari’s shossle’s smile vanished. “Rodezo!” she called him for all to hear, and hear they did. Though, none showed their face. Hari growled and wiped the red from his face, though not, Gabrilled hoped, from his name. “Guþyile,” he spat in the Hendertongue, by smart choice, “are you not tired of the songs of bones play in the trees? Do you need its lullaby so?” He smartly raised no claw against her. She went forþ.  “You have stained our house a red Dwilemma could not wash away,” she hissed, meeting his Henþri words in like. “I know your sins, Shossleseed. I know you are Guja.” She hushed he rvoice so she may hold this in power. Hari said nothing.  “I see beyond your Elvi mask. As well soon shall all our kiþ.”

Gabrille strode off in strength, and fire danced in the inks of Hari’s eyes.

-----------------------------------------------

Notes to Self on re-read.

Honestly? Just gotta let the spirit move me with these. When I force it, I find less. Love what I am finding here, and the ways innocence was robbed from Gabrille without using awful devices. IT IS POSSIBLE (they shouted to the void)

Coming up against a weird linguistic tangle I’ve made. i don’t know where I got it in my head that there was a “definite” and “indefinite” form in Gothic. Maybe there is, but I’ve confused what they are. Obvs low priority but I’m sure I’ll iron it out. It’s only for me anyhow. 

I am finding a...charming narcissism for Hari that may be hitting a little too close to home, so I should be careful not to hit it too hard for my players. Also finding how Hari and Hulstris’ aims align re: Gabrille and what she wants to accomplish, how she threatens the order.  Hoping to dive more into that with a scene of her exile, make any events that occur with the players a culmination of a long-standing friction, so that the players could perhaps play into Hulstris and Hari’s aims. 

I am liking how this process too gives Witudi a reason to be as acquiescent as she is, but does not rob her of the possibility of helping when presented with safety to do so. 

I imagine the events of this story taking place some 10 years ago? That that is enough time for Gabrille to develop a defensive isolation, as well as her attachment to the Mind Flayer. 

Gabrille is transforming into a character that I as a player would want to save. This is a good thing, I’m sure. Keeps me honest in planning ahead. Only up to where the players are met.