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quote:Through endless glorious valleys and groaning forests and kaleidoscope rivers and swollen oceans and chattering ruins and—  Original image: Samuel Gaudio, Font: IM FELL DW PICA by Igino Marini This is Fleet, a playtest of a game in development, for the following people:
- You can find my published games here: https://speak-the-sky.itch.io/ and here: https://www.drivethrurpg.com/browse/pub/15183/Speak-the-Sky UnCO3 fucked around with this message at 22:06 on Sep 19, 2019 |
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Jul 20, 2019 11:05
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I am Domino, called Corriere, a messenger for the Prince. I am a dutiful elder brother, a journeyman in chess, and a peasant of little renown. My family waits for me at home and I hold a similarly deep love for them, particularly my younger brother Milo, who idolises me. Even so, my family’s unambitious and downtrodden life can be suffocating, and the Dun Quarter we share with others of our rank is a bitter bond that stifles the person I know I can be. I often set out of our home to the middle city parks to play against Katerina, my rival in chess, the daughter of a foreign ambassador. She is, as of yet, an unconquerable challenge. I’ve brought a rough-hewn stone chess knight with me as a memento. I am indeed all of these things. I am also a distant admirer of blades - not that I would ever wield one at my current status, but I do enjoy watching the competitors in the Orichalcum Blade Tournament practise their art, when they deign to do so in public places. It is but a simple pleasure. - Corriere Turn 1 I set out from the Prince’s Caravan and ride swiftly back to the City. It takes me but a short while, and I handily deliver the Prince’s letters to the court. That gives me plenty of time to do all else that I’d like to. First, I visit the halls of combat where the City-dwelling practitioners of the sword are preparing for the upcoming tournament. There’s something to the sweep of a blade in the dusty light that fascinates me, the way it leaves waves in its wake – it’s almost hypnotic, but I have no time to fall asleep. I have more personal matters to attend to. Next, I go to the middle parks, on the fringes of which the elderly masters play the great game, and journeymen and -women like me play almost like children in comparison. I find Katerina waiting for me there and fight—lose—another few good games (I thought they were hard-fought; she disagreed). But – I’ve delayed too long. I didn’t delay without good reason. As I walk further and further from the court the city becomes duller, harder, scrawnier. Now I find myself in the Dun Quarter. I can’t bring myself to hate this place, though. This is where my family lives. My younger brother, just an apprentice. We share a meal together – one better than my rations for the journeys ahead – and I regale him again with stories of riding through the open world with the wind at your back. One day, he’ll follow in my footsteps – in our father’s and his father’s and his father’s footsteps – and become a courier, too. I can’t stay to sleep, though. My work begins so early tomorrow that I must sleep in the postal stables by the City gates. I leave home late and I must wake early. - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, peasant of little renown, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight Growth: 0 Decay: 0 Severance: 0 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 0 UnCO3 fucked around with this message at 23:41 on Jul 27, 2019 |
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Jul 20, 2019 11:06
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Corriere Turn 2 The return is just as easy - it seems the wind always favours me. Before long I sight the Prince's caravan on the horizon, encamped and flying red-and-blue flags of defiance against the ochre sunset. As I draw closer I pick up the scent of ash and flame and spot the fires now being lit for the night and the sparse clouds of moths fluttering obsessively around them. And then I arrive, and tie up my paint horse with the outriders' and hunters' steeds, and make my way through the encampment, between the spiralled layers of steepled tents and wide-wheeled wagons, in to the core where the Prince's wagon stands. It's a grand two-storey affair, wood banded with steel, less a wagon and more a squat tower hauled by surly oxen. And at the door I hand off the letters to be given to the Prince - I give them to a man in an Alpine cap with a thick white beard, I believe he's the quartermaster - and go off to one of the servants' tents to rest, eat, and consider my games with Katerina. There's still so much time before I sleep... - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, peasant of little renown, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight Growth: 0 Decay: 0 Severance: 0 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 0 UnCO3 fucked around with this message at 23:41 on Jul 27, 2019 |
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Jul 21, 2019 22:54
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quote:DiceBotBOTToday at 10:02 Turn 3 I race into the winds this time - how fickle of them - but somehow manage to reach the city in good time. The usual curling smoke rises above the Dun Quarter as if inviting me in, and I follow, dragging my feet over broken cobblestone. There's only one thing here I'm particularly interested in seeing. Milo shows me some scrapes and bruises from an 'adventure' among the rooftops with friends. I high-handedly admonish him in front of our parents, but lean in to get all the details when they turn away. If only they knew what he gets up to... ...And where I go. I notice a few patrons of the middle parks look askance at me, now rougher around the edges from travel, but Katerina seems not to mind. Perhaps it's because I'm easy pickings, despite the stratagems I crafted when I last rested. I play a few more games under idle conversation, but time passes too fast, so in the end I must speed off with the Prince's letters before the court closes for the day. At last my job is done, and I return to the postal stables. As I pass gardens and lamplit inns I overhear excited talk about the final bout of the Tournament - apparently some quite unorthodox swordplay was on display. I wish I could have seen it, but... next time. - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, peasant of little renown, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight Growth: 0 Decay: 0 Severance: 0 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 0 UnCO3 fucked around with this message at 23:41 on Jul 27, 2019 |
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Jul 22, 2019 11:36
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quote:DiceBotBOTToday at 08:41 Turn 4 Again with the wind at my back. It carries the hubbub of the markets and the cheers of the arena from behind me, but ahead I see only the road and the sky. Still the same swiftness. Before the day is done I see the Caravan on the horizon, a collection of coloured shapes that resolve into tents ant-like people wandering between. I tie up my horse and slip through the familiar spiral. Some of the guards are singing a song from distant lands that they must have learnt during one of the wars as they cook game over well-tended fires. We be soldiers three, Pardonnez-moi je vous en prie, Lately come forth of the low country, With never a penny of money... I stay a while before delivering to the Prince's wagon. As usual, the quartermaster takes the letters and tells me to go find some food and rest, so off I go to the place that seems most welcoming. Here, good fellow, I drink to thee, Pardonnez-moi je vous en prie, To all good fellows wherever they be, With never a penny of money... They're common like me. Not so low as to be from the Dun Quarter, but we get along well enough. Ah, well. Greta, Matteo, Elia, I hope I will see you again. In the meantime, I sleep. - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, peasant of little renown, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight Growth: 0 Decay: 0 Severance: 0 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 0 UnCO3 fucked around with this message at 23:41 on Jul 27, 2019 |
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Jul 23, 2019 09:19
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Corriere Ah, one of the noble-born - Allegra, a Knight perhaps, a warrior. “Good enough, good enough. The lands pass quickly under my horse’s hooves, and the Caravan is a good host. Plenty of song and food. Good rest after such breakneck travel. The places I’ve been between, they all blur together. And you? Are you missing home? Did you compete in the, ah, the Tournament? I would have made it there, but only heard the news about the final fight.” The firelight flickers and smoke rises between us. The soldiers fade away to sleep. - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, peasant of little renown, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight Growth: 0 Decay: 0 Severance: 0 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 0 UnCO3 fucked around with this message at 23:40 on Jul 27, 2019 |
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Jul 27, 2019 21:23
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quote:DiceBotBOTToday at 21:39 Turn 5 The land passes slower beneath me, and the wind blows against my face. Perhaps it's spiteful, or else stubborn. Well, it's not so bad. I still make it to the Godsbridge, where there now seems to be an inn perched precariously on one side. quote:DiceBotBOTToday at 22:12 Night falls and I go to the stables, leaving the carousers behind. The murmur of jolly conversation from inside and the tables outside keeps me company, but I must wake before the sun and leave with the dawn. Perhaps this time I will be able to see the Tournament. - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, peasant of little renown, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight Growth: 0 Decay: 0 Severance: 0 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 0 UnCO3 fucked around with this message at 23:40 on Jul 27, 2019 |
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Jul 27, 2019 23:11
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quote:DiceBotBOT Turn 6 I hear the city bells before I even cross the rest of the way to the gates, but they sound different somehow. Clean and pure, perfect. When I make small-talk with the gate guards I bring up the bells and they say they've been cleaned - mended - returned to the way they were before. Before when? Before any of us were alive, we suppose. Apparently the hierophants didn't like the character that the dust and dirt and little cracks added to the resonance, found it insulting to the grace of God. I don't really care, but I suppose some people do. quote:DiceBotBOT I take my leave when the day's duels end, and deliver the Prince's letters - a light bundle - and then return to the middle parks where I find Katerina unsympathetically breaking down some poor player's strategy. That's what you get when you underestimate, stranger. Still, I estimate her skill with complete accuracy and I fare no better. At least she's kinder to me, probably because I actually manage to catch her by surprise a few times. We sit and watch some of the masters play before I have to go. Milo is sitting on the wall when I get home. There's a new glint in his eye. The way he looks at me, it's like he's sizing me up, seeing how I work, how I tick, how he can become like me. I don't know what to think, but I play along anyway, today telling him a little of how to ride a horse, how to dig your stirrups in and adjust so delicately or swiftly that you could make your steed turn with the earth or on a coin, that sort of thing. He doesn't have experience, he can't put it into practice yet, but something tells me he will sooner or later... sooner. That thought puts me in a sombre mood as I make my way back to the postal stables, shake the coal-dust and grey muck of the Dun Quarter off my boots, and sit down in the hay. One of the other messengers is here - I half-recognise them - and I give them a nod, then lay down for the night. - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, peasant of little renown, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight Growth: 0 Decay: 0 Severance: 0 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 0
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Aug 10, 2019 11:39
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quote:DiceBotBOT Turn 7 I find myself out alone under the stars for the first time, despite the wind-cutting speed I rode with. It’s a strange feeling. I’m far from home, seeking shelter in the shadow of one of these stark white pillars, or towers, or whatever they are. They’re like turrets without a wall, scattered skirmishers, something like that. I wonder if there’s an enemy battle-line of equally-matched standing stone soldiers elsewhere. Somehow this place calls to me. I have ideas I wouldn’t normally have. Ideas I don’t have time to have. I need to lay out my bed-roll, refill my canteen, and start a fire to cook my rations, and then… I see the dancers, as I check the dusk sky and consider the time I have left to prepare for the night. quote:DiceBotBOT Why do they dance out here where there’s nobody to appreciate them? It seemed as though they could not bear to be here, from what I could make out of the expressions they wore. And then, come sunrise, they were gone. I chip a small piece off of the fallen pillar. Perhaps I’ll carve it into a fine knight one day. - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, peasant of little renown, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; a small fragment of white obelisk stone Growth: 0 Decay: 0 Severance: 0 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 1
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Aug 15, 2019 21:54
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quote:DiceBotBOT Turn 8 I give a cursory wave to a rider crossing me as I draw close to the Caravan – it's one of the nobles again – and I shout a short, sharp “Hail!”, and then they’re gone, vanished into the wind. The Prince’s wagon is faced away from the City when I arrive. I suppose he doesn’t want to upon the place that exiled him even one last time before its mighty towers finally fall below the horizon. Even a man in prison – and all the wide world is now his prison – has to exercise what freedom he has to stay sane. Well, I know this from neighbours and friends, of course. After that, the same ritual. I hand off the letters to the quartermaster. He seems melancholic – not my business. Then off to the soldiers again. We sing rousing choruses and drink bad wine, they far heavier than me, and then the night moves in cold and blue and they succumb to sleep around the fire. Well, I wrap my riding cloak around them, of course. Somewhere close, a man in an alpine cap sits and puffs his pipe and hums softly and looks up at the sky and imagines unreachable constellations... those dancers have me in a funny mood. I look at the fragment of white stone in my hand, and it stares back at me, so I chip away until the knight inside breaks free - and there I have it, two simple knights of stone now. I'll play them against Katerina when I get back. - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, peasant of little renown, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A rough-hewn chess knight of white obelisk stone Growth: 0 Decay: 0 Severance: 0 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 1
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Aug 18, 2019 02:31
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quote:DiceBotBOT Turn 9 The wind dies down as soon as I cross under the first bough. It’s like I’ve crossed into another world – trees as thick across as a house, separated by acres, taller than towers, and they wear their leaves like crowns. Each keeps to their own kingdom and the path leisurely winds between them across the rich forest floor. In fact, the whole place is painted gold by sunlight that clips the horizon and lights up the Western sides of the trees. Between the still air and the soft earth, nothing makes the slightest sound. - What is written about this place? Katerina sometimes talks about the books she’s read, and apparently she has an impressive library. One of them wrote of a vaulted, cathedralic forest that was perfect for painting – the great painter Niccolo Cappelletti said that nothing moved, nothing changed, nothing disturbed him at work. I don't know much about cathedrals, but if I had to guess, they're pale imitations of this place rather than the other way around. - What time is it always, here? The day is so long here, travel so tiring somehow. My body aches to lay down, but the sun is still on the horizon. I shouldn’t be this tired only by dusk. Eventually I sleep, as best I can, shaded by a tree, eyes agitated by the light. It’s only when I wake that I see – the light is still on the West side of the trees. The day is long here, the dusk eternal. I leave as soon as I’m able. I don’t want to end up in some genius’ painting. Homeward, then. - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, peasant of little renown, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A rough-hewn chess knight of white obelisk stone Growth: 1 Decay: 0 Severance: 0 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 1
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Aug 22, 2019 10:34
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Corriere Turn 10 quote:DiceBotBOT quote:DiceBotBOT Good God. A while later, I’ve dug a man out from under the pile. The setting sun catches the many-coloured dust that stains his workman’s clothes. - Over the fire. I ask him who he is, out here alone. He tells me in broken words that his name is Mill, Dr. Mill, and he was here to study the bones he’d heard of – but he’d gone a little mad, out here alone, with nothing but the odd rider passing by for company. He assures me it’s not the contagious kind of madness. I ask who buried him so cruelly. Bandits? Hinterfolk? I’ve heard scholars can be vicious to their rivals, too. He laughs and tells me no, he buried himself. He wanted to feel like a fossil, to know what it would feel like to be locked under the ground for many thousands of years – thousands of thousands, if the ‘new theories’ he’s read are correct. The bell was a trick he took from his own country, where they sometimes bury their dead alive by accident…? I don’t quite know what to ask. It was lonely, he says. - I couldn’t guess at his age, but he reminds me a little of my brother. That spark in his eye. He looks a little gaunt, so I prepare a simple meal mixing my rations with his and make sure he gets to sleep well. He waves off my concern – “I’m through to the other side, you see”. I don’t, but he laughs off the unease and thanks me for my concern. Thankfully he’s still there come morning, and I depart for home. - Because I'm a dutiful elder brother, I change this Land. Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, peasant of little renown, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A rough-hewn chess knight of white obelisk stone Growth: 1 Decay: 0 Severance: 0 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 2
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Aug 22, 2019 14:23
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Corriere Turn 11 quote:DiceBotBOT quote:DiceBotBOT It seems rude to stay any longer. - The sun goes down and I still can’t find my way home. Where did the Dun Quarter go? The streets are too clean, the buildings made of sandy brick, the walls are too high, the—the gaslamps come on. Where is this place? Where’s my home, my family? I grab a stranger passing by and demand to know where the Dun Quarter is, and where the Corriere family has gone, and he turns to look at me. Milo. Eyes wide, that tiny glint in them, he gently shows me around the New Quarter, pointing out all the new marvels of engineering and architecture – the branch aqueduct, the gaslamp network, the great towers and sturdy houses where it feels like so recently there were slouching tenements. Now I see that I’ve been gone longer than I thought. He shows me home, a full apartment under the aqueduct, and I dine with my family for the first time in a long time. I eat and drink and digest what I’ve seen and heard. Though the New Quarter is strange to me, I don’t hate it. It blends with the rest of the City now. It’s no longer a sore. It’s still home. I don’t miss the muck; I’m glad it’s gone. quote:I keep my Tie to the City at the cost of my Self. But I’m not alone either. Milo yells out of the door again and again – the collectors are here, the collectors again – and my mother and father make use of pots and pans to push the bastard back outside. I get to my feet and join in and we drive them back onto the street and then, on the buildings all around, window shutters and doors slam open. People come down out of their rows of houses, cudgels and knives and hammers and torches in hand. Not everyone, not nearly, but enough to outnumber these well-dressed thugs more than a dozen to one. They break off and flee into the night before the growing crowd can close around them. The people’s threats and curses nip at their heels, before they too go away. Milo says this has been not uncommon for a while now. I tell him we’ll hang the bastards if they come back. Not that my duty gives me the time to back up that claim. I head off back to the postal stables, but this time my boots are clean. - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, glad citizen of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight Growth: 1 Decay: 0 Severance: 0 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 0 Note: Going forward, we treated the Broken Tie here as a Changed Tie. UnCO3 fucked around with this message at 20:19 on Sep 12, 2019 |
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Aug 26, 2019 18:19
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Corriere Turn 12 quote:DiceBotBOT quote:DiceBotBOT When I trace it back I find more veins, all converging on one spot above the gully – a huge, but squat pillar, rough-skinned and blasted-open on the top, like a great tree struck by lightning. Well… From what Mill said, any living thing could turn to stone like this, given enough time. I suppose even to this day, this ancient tree’s roots hold the rock walls of this gully together, and keep them from all crumbling in on the stream. I chip a little piece off before carrying on my way. - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, glad citizen of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A fragment of fossilised tree Growth: 1 Decay: 0 Severance: 0 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 0 Clarity: 1
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Aug 27, 2019 11:12
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Corriere Turn 13 quote:DiceBotBOT At first it seems to be a natural ditch in this shallow, open plain, deep and thickly-grown with grass – but then I ride alongside it for what must be miles before making my rest, and not only does it continue in straight lines with perfectly angled corners, I see more and more of these ‘ditches’ in the distance, alongside, all coming together to a centre and splitting off again. It almost looks like a pattern – but then again, my eyes do play tricks on me sometimes. They see patterns in clouds and cracked walls. Perhaps if I could see it from above I’d better understand, but I’m not a bird, only a man. I make camp at the centre, in the shelter of the walls of these ditch-canals. - What here is out of control? The wind is aligned so that I have forewarning of their arrival. A distant hollering, the ringing of bells, lash of a flail… no, many flails, striking flesh with dull wet thuds. Stifled screams from inside green capirotes. Night is closing in and I see the flames of their lamps coming down one of the channels, amber reflected off wet grass. Chains and chants. These people don’t sound inviting, and I don’t stay long enough to overturn my suspicion – I scrabble up and out and back to my horse and creep away, guiding him on foot. Now I’m exposed to the whipping wind, but it’s preferable to being captured or trampled by whatever sordid procession this is. I hope I’m at a safe distance now. Then they go dead quiet, and I turn, half-expecting to see a horrible crowd staring at me over the lip of the ditch. I don’t see that. I don’t see anything except the night black. I do hear a moan, faltering and coiling and close, like the noise made by a very sick man long kept in a sanatorium cell finally being released and feeling the breeze. Ghosts, perhaps? - Who tends to this place? Just as I’m setting down to camp again, I see another lantern, this one bright and white, coming along the path rather than one of the ditches. I freeze and it approaches – and I’m glad to see that it’s held by a real person, a man, or perhaps woman, scowling. They wear an old monk’s habit, but recut to be more utilitarian. And spectacles on a thin chain around their neck, and heavy leather boots, and a belt of tools of some kind, and hair cut very short. I notice all these things because when they stop, they glare at me for a few moments before they actually speak. You saw it, they say. Yes, I answer. But who were they? What were they doing? Where did they go? Stay away from it, they say. It’s mine. Yes, but… They wave off my questions and move on. I sleep lightly and am glad when I leave this place in the morning. On the way out I pass another rider for the Prince, headed to the forest. I yell "away!" into the wind. Hopefully they'll receive my warning not to stay here. - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, glad citizen of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A fragment of fossilised tree Growth: 1 Decay: 0 Severance: 0 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 1
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Sep 10, 2019 10:53
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Corriere Turn 14 quote:DiceBotBOT I stop for a moment and realise where I am. Guiding my horse gently down this high ridge, facing into a baking red desert, aiming for the shadow-robed far ridge. The sun is almost unbearable, the heat makes me forget myself. I see bones now. Cattle, and other creatures, and the occasional human skull, of course. That won’t happen to me. I see a clutter of bones I can’t identify. But the stranger thing is the fishbones, and the ribbony dead weeds laid out in the sun. It doesn’t look like any scrub I’ve seen before, but then the world is enormous, so they say, with more variety than all the panes of stained glass in the big cathedrals put together. Surely there’s room for a desert walked by fish? I wipe the veil of sweat from my face. Don’t be stupid. Clearly these were thrown away by travellers who couldn’t stand the smell of sun-baked rot. Why does this place exist? Down, down, deeper down, the path winds deeper down. The sun disappears below the other side of the far ridge, as if following my steps across from me. A great black shadow from the far ridge stretches across the desert, and in the darkness where I’m no longer blinded by light I see bones, and things shaped like bones. I see spirals, I see dagger-toothed mouths, I see things I don’t have words for, and some I’m glad I don’t have words for. Shapes in the rock, shapes in the ground, worn away or perfectly-formed. Giants and pixies of the older worlds. I remember Dr. Mill’s tales of the creatures from long ago, thousands of thousands of years ago. He might like to see this place. This old, dead, empty-yet-full place. I bed down for the night in the cold desert and sketch some of what I see before drifting off to sleep, wrapped in my cloak for warmth. Who or what loves this place? I wake drenched with saltwater – no, with sweat. What? Why? The desert was so cold! I look around, and then up and the sun is looking at me and it hates me for crawling on the desert it loves but can never touch And I ride with all fleet up the ridge and away from this place. - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, glad citizen of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A fragment of fossilised tree Growth: 1 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 1
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Sep 12, 2019 11:19
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Corriere Turn 15 quote:DiceBotBOT It’s early when I see the Caravan. I haven’t often come upon it while it’s still moving. The whole things trundles and trudges forwards, leaving churned-up ground behind that’s a little tricky to navigate. I manage, though. There are the rearguards – I give a friendly nod as I approach, a sign they return – then the wagons and the main guard clustered around the Prince’s wagon. Strange red-blue smoke puffs out of the chimney. Well, I heard from Katerina that the Prince still keeps the services of an alchemist, though that might have been a rumour… I pull up alongside, readying to step aboard, but then a moderately well-dressed arm pushes open the nearest window-shutters and reaches out from the dark to gesture for my letters. The sun is heavy on my eyes and the clatter of wheels and hooves is doing my ears no good, but I think I can make out a white beard inside, encircling a mouth framing words I can’t hear. Well, I pass them over and he nods to me and I nod to him and a little bit of the blue smoke drifts out, so he hurriedly closes the shutters and pushes a new bundle of letters through between them for me to take away again. There’s little left but to drift back to one of the ordinary wagons to gather tack, roots, and cured meats, and whatever else they have going for rations. - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, glad citizen of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A fragment of fossilised tree Growth: 1 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 1
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Sep 13, 2019 12:12
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Corriere Allegra again - it's not bad to see a familiar face. "Not too well, not too bad. Every place I rest is a graveyard or bonepit. I'm still alive, though. And you? More than that, what did you talk with the Prince about? If you don't mind me asking." - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, glad citizen of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A fragment of fossilised tree Growth: 1 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 1
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Sep 13, 2019 23:14
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Corriere "I think I know the bastards you mean. They wanted to hurt my brother the last time I was home. My family and the good people of the Dun Quarter may have already strung them up for their crimes, but I suppose it's good to know there are higher hands we can call down on them, too." - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, glad citizen of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A fragment of fossilised tree Growth: 1 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 1
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Sep 14, 2019 01:24
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Corriere Turn 16 quote:DiceBotBOT …An undulating sea of silver-topped grass. This place stretches on forever. Sometimes I feel like I’m on top of a huge hill like an upturned bowl, and down all around me is grass curving away to infinity. Nothing but grass, forever and ever. What past has this place put behind itself? What is dying here? My horse’s hooves click on stone. Perhaps an exposed rock, I think, and then they click again, and again, and again, and the grass ahead almost looks like it’s growing in rows rather than wild as it should be. I carry on, clicking along the way, until at last I see broken stone barriers jutting from the silver-topped waves. It’s only when I pass by that I see the craftsmanship – filigree, fiddly designs, carvings of… horses. The stones below are clearer here, closer and less obscured, and everything comes into focus. How long has it been since this road felt a horse’s hooves? It doesn’t last for long. Soon enough the barriers break off again and the stones get looser, like lonely old teeth. There’s a growing layer of dirt on top of them, and I even spy roots growing over the stones. This highway is slowly being buried alive. While I set down to rest for the night I dimly remember a sermon in church about a sister-city to our City, a place less grand, but still people of the same faith, still valuable. They never said where it was, and I don’t think they still knew then. Even so, the designs on this road are just like those at home, on some of the older streets and bridges. I take some inspiration from them and carve a new knight from the fragment I took from the ancient tree, before drifting off for the night. - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, glad citizen of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A rough-hewn tree fossil chess knight Growth: 2 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 1
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Sep 15, 2019 12:29
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Corriere Turn 17 quote:DiceBotBOT I’m flagging by the time I reach obelisks again – but what a change, now! People everywhere, a whole settlement built up around their bases and by the roadside. I don’t need to forage or camp or search for water. Instead, they welcome me in. The value of my duty to the Prince and the City seems plain to the people here, which is lucky for me, as I receive bed and board at no charge. That does seem a little unfair, so I ‘pay’ with one of my little sculptures and some tales of where I’ve been – the red desert, the bone-filled gully, the giant forest, I even tell them about the network of canals, though I leave out the spirits. Then I tell them about the old road in the sea of grass. It’s those two places that interest them the most – the old, dead places with secrets carved into the earth. I see the same kind of twinkle in some of their eyes as I do in Mill’s. Unnerving, but exciting. quote:DiceBotBOT One of the dancers. They’ve stopped dancing. The others spin and twirl obliviously on, but this one… they’re looking back down at the figure. And as I follow their eyeline down, I see that the figure is reaching up to them. And the dancer is reaching down. And though there are scholars awake into the night all around us – I see them lit up in amber through their windows and in their tents – their eyes are stuck fast to their texts and translations. And when I look back, the figure is gone, and the dancer dances. - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, glad citizen of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight Growth: 2 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 0 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 2
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Sep 18, 2019 09:03
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Corriere Turn 18 quote:DiceBotBOT quote:DiceBotBOT A dead spiralling thing, like I’ve seen before in rock and red sand, but not quite the same. A spiral of stone embedded in one of the old bricks harvested from this ancient structure. It must have been uncovered when they broke it away to build this room. It’s so close, I can almost touch it. Was it really God that made this bridge? - Name: Corriere Selves: journeyman in chess, dutiful elder brother, glad citizen of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight Growth: 2 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 2 UnCO3 fucked around with this message at 01:08 on Sep 19, 2019 |
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Sep 18, 2019 12:23
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Corriere Turn 19 quote:DiceBotBOT What are they… espionage!? Really? Every street I pass down I hear more of the same, accusations layered on accusations. Some of them sound more realistic than others. By the time I reach the parks I really am a little worried. Then I see her, playing as usual, and thank God for that. I wave to her, and her face lights up, and I sit down to play. Some of the people around mutter and glare. I show them a gesture or two and they turn away. Not everyone here is so concerned with the rumours, though. Fortunately it seems there are plenty here who just gather for the game, and not for politics, and we play plenty of matches between all of us, and—incredibly, I almost beat her! For the first time! A genuinely close match. Surely I’ve gotten better, and if I keep playing against her (and the others here), surely I’ll get better still. I sit back on the stone bench and consider the rumours while Katerina resets the board. Perhaps she did this, perhaps she didn’t. I couldn’t give a drat about the grand political ambitions of the courtiers and guildmasters and the other people that rule this city. No. And besides, I am my namesake. I carry the letters. I don’t read them, I don’t speak with the Prince or anyone in the courts here. They would never stoop to speak with me properly in the first place, the arrogant bastards. Anyway, I never talk work with her. I do my job and I do it well. What worries me is some noble using me as a scapegoat for their own loose lips. We play again. - At last we call it a day. Before I go she warns me—then holds her tongue. It’s better, she says, that I see it for myself. I say my goodbyes and make my way back into the district, to the sound of church bells ringing. quote:DiceBotBOT As I pass through the middle district I see some faces I remember. I double take at that alone – these are not my people – and stop in my tracks to place them. A man and a woman, look to be of lesser noble birth, features so familiar. The woman runs out to a monk stepping off the Church omnibus and calls his name – “Noberto” – and embraces him, followed by her husband. The monk they meet is not the young man I saw before, but full-grown, on the threshold of adulthood, peering in, peering out from under his cowl. A boy. A young, but grown man. The same name. Taller now than his parents. What—no—that can’t be right. I was here just days… weeks… how long ago was I last here? Have I grown old on the road, so tired I didn’t even notice? Have I outgrown my own flesh and blood? I break into a run through the sea of cowls and habits, parting people this way and that and leaving a trail of discarded, fallen cloths on the cobbles in my wake. As if by instinct, my feet follow the old roads home. To this new home, the New Quarter, or the Dun Quarter, I can’t remember what people call it. I find myself in an empty brick-paved square with a small decorative fountain at its centre, and stop to catch my breath and refill my oilskin… take a drink. Afterwards I peer at my face in the fountain, prod at my skin. It looks and feels as full and solid as ever. How, then? That family was the same one. They called him by the same name. Young men don’t grow old that fast. Nobody said anything unusual. Someone would have said something if a boy grew into a man in such a short time. Am I the one out of place? I look up to see well-dressed people staring at me. I recognise none of them, and they look like they neither recognise me nor enjoy my presence here. They’re not exactly angry. Aghast more than anything, and I realise that my traveller’s cloak and rough clothes must seem too dirty for this place. I flash the seal of the Prince and they shake their heads and mutter among themselves, then glare and move on. Everyone else I see on my way through the red streets acts that way. At last one of them tells me to go to the Dun Quarter, where I belong. I say to her, I’m already here. She says, no, this is not where you live. I want to correct her, that I don’t live here any more, but she clicks her tongue and walks off before I can speak. - It takes too long to find out what’s happened and I feel the heat rising in my chest every time one of these people speaks down to me. By the time I’m on my way home the sun is already dipping below the City’s walls. The streets get rougher, the houses seem to rot further and further one by one, as I walk into the new Dun Quarter. Rows of tenements, filthy slums, a solitary weary, wary mutt with just a little trust to spare, shutters slam as I walk past. Just like home. Sun just barely sets and I find Milo in the blue light. He’s with some friends, though he waves goodbye and runs over to greet me and for the first time today I smile. I tell him about the desert, the creatures that used to be there, the inn on the bridge, the alchemy, the lovers in moonlight, the scattered old roads crossing the sea of grass, how everything is so vast and old and how I’ve barely scratched the surface. I can see it in his eyes – he wants this. He tells me stories as well, but less openly. He’s getting older, growing into a young man. The things he does maybe aren’t so exciting any more, or not worthy of being proud of. Some things I have to coax from him, because next to the things I’ve seen and done he thinks they don’t measure up at all. Adventures become crimes. Doors briefly opened are now shut in his face. Bitterness. My duty to the Prince gives me a freedom my people here don’t have. Milo doesn’t have. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he should take up a duty like mine. He’ll have to be quick, he’ll have to be hardy, and he’ll have to want it. It’s all I can do to inspire him with tales of the world beyond the walls, both inside and outside the City. I’m finding myself hating this place more and more, too. He says those well-dressed thugs haven’t been around again. Unsurprising, I say. This place looks like it would eat their type alive or drown them in mud. And not for solidarity’s sake. I don’t even visit our new home. The soil of the parks, the red brick dust of the New Quarter, the dirt of the Dun Quarter, they mix together on the soles of my boots as I trudge back to the postal stables to turn in for the night. - Name: Corriere Selves: skilled chess player, dutiful elder brother, bitter shadow of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight Growth: 0 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 2
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Sep 21, 2019 10:57
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Corriere Turn 20 quote:DiceBotBOT What here is out of control? They let me in at the door and offer me what they can, and then go about their business. This must be morning for them. I wander around for a short while, looking for some company like Dr. Mill, and eventually stumble upon the main chamber at the top of the tower, where a gaggle of astronomers are feverishly working over a sprawling map of stars. The truth of the world!, one of them tells me, is in flame! Another one takes over, introduces himself as one of the chief astronomers, flashes his gilded robe, carries on talking. Flame! Old, pure, primordial. The stars. The world is full of stars, stars beyond stars beyond stars, all the way out from our earth. Not just the constellations I know, but new constellations deeper and deeper in the darkness, layer upon layer upon layer, laden with truths to experience and explore, one day, perhaps, if we can reach them. I ask how far it goes and he looks at me with joy sparking from his eyes and says that it goes on forever through space. I tell him that that can’t be right, or else the night sky would be aflame with starlight; he laughs innocently and says ah, but it is. It burns brilliantly. Can’t I see them? I should take a look in the telescope, he says. The stars are so far away that many men can’t see them without assistance. Oh, they see the old, familiar constellations, but not the dense blanket of stars between and beyond. I politely decline the offer to look in the telescope, but he’s already started sketching another star-map. What trap is laid here? I look for other company on other floors and stumble upon what seems to be another chief astronomer, sitting on the floor, staring at a wall covered with numbers, saying nothing. She looks up, open her dark mouth – ow, she says, as if it didn’t hurt at all – and turns back to the wall. I ask why she’s not at work like the first chief astronomer, busily scrawling out constellations that nobody else knows exist. She turns And says There’s no point in any of this. Time makes dust of us all. We came from dust and we will return to dust, and then that dust will be devoured. It could be devoured at any time, even! The truth is in the numbers, the theories and probabilities. There are holes in the sky, so hungry they’ll even eat light and time. There are renegade planets in the void, whole worlds that could shatter ours at any moment. There is a force so powerful it could crush the entire world, stars, sun and all, into a single point, or tear the fabric of space itself. I try to lighten the mood, tell her I can’t even imagine such things or what they look like without seeing them through a telescope with my own eyes. She looks at me with a blackness in her eyes and says that it doesn’t matter, I don’t have to, because the cold equations she has derived show that it’s true. Oh well. I’m tired, and while they work I will sleep. - Name: Corriere Selves: skilled chess player, dutiful elder brother, bitter shadow of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight Growth: 0 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 3
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Sep 24, 2019 03:32
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Corriere Turn 21 quote:DiceBotBOT I spend another night in their company, listening to ancient songs. They seem to be on the threshold of a breakthrough – hard work and late nights revealed rough and jagged patches of graffiti left long ago. Some of it even seems to be the work of past scholars, tired out of their minds by the monumental task of reading and understanding all the text. Maybe they can form a bridge between before and after – or maybe this will come to nothing. “I, Flavius, killed two deer with one arrow nearby. Remember me.” “May these towers sink into mud with my master. –a much overburdened apprentice” “We have given up. Do not bother reading the songs West to East or [indecipherable] to [indecipherable].” “This is quite high up.” - Name: Corriere Selves: skilled chess player, dutiful elder brother, bitter shadow of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight Growth: 0 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 4 UnCO3 fucked around with this message at 09:00 on Sep 26, 2019 |
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Sep 26, 2019 08:56
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Corriere Turn 22 quote:DiceBotBOT Strange. I remember this being much more common, but it’s died back since I last stopped here. In fact, the grass is much shallower, exposing the lichen-painted stones for the wind to scour clean. I can see the details clearer now, and trace them along a stretch of road in the fading light. They’re definitely like the ones on the walls of the oldest roads near the City--home. Horses, and… carriages. Chariots. Pompous bastards. Rows of labourers bent over rows of wheat, one material for another. A whip. The hand connecting to the whip. I take a rock and smash the wind-withered carving straight through. And another, and another, all the little tools of power, all the way down and back up the road. Shatter them. May the grass grow tall again over the ruins of this place. Because I’m a bitter shadow of the City, I change this Land. - Name: Corriere Selves: skilled chess player, dutiful elder brother, bitter shadow of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight Growth: 1 Decay: 0 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 4
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Sep 26, 2019 18:19
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Corriere Turn 23 quote:DiceBotBOT - I smell the sea before I see it, and when I see it I almost wish I hadn’t. Just black water under white clouds. Squat, scrubby cliffs. I find a hardy bush to tie my horse to and drape my cloak over to sleep under, start a fire, and look out. Where did the prince go? Did the caravan cross the water somehow? Turn their wagons into boats? Did they just continue along this dull shore? I’ll consider my options tomorrow. In the meantime, my dinner is ready – a bubbling brothy mix of roots with fragments of meat and hardtack. How does this place separate itself from the world? I look away and look back and I see a different land below. The tide has changed, sunk away unreasonably fast, exposing a toothy causeway of black hexagons all the way across to the horizon – and caught among those teeth, white-bellied gasping twitching stinking fish. Little streaks of white on the deep black mouth. The rock blends so well with the water and it’s easy to imagine the whole seabed here built high and thick with those black sunken towers, yet too deep even for this low tide to expose to the grey sunlight. At least there’s a way for me to cross without getting too wet, assuming the tide doesn’t thunder back in and drown me. I think about taking one of those dying fish for a meal, when a little bell rings under the cliff, and I hear the sound of feet splashing in the left-behind water as people come into view. Who tends to this place? Crooked-backed combers in heavy hooded coats stalk the causeway back and forth, prodding and plucking the unlucky fish caught in its teeth. They haul in nets and cages bound by sodden ropes to the taller pillars, and empty the flabby-spiny mix of creatures into baskets. Soon enough they’ve picked the whole place clean, except for whatever little things are crawling around the tide pools. For the first time since they emerged from under the cliffs, they stop and sit, and one of them looks up at the cliffs – and notices me. I tentatively wave, then lower my hand bit by bit. The others look up. I can see their thin, silverwhite mouths. One of them responds with a blank, cursory gesture – at least, I think were responding to me. They look away. Nothing else happens, that I can see. They bask in the fading sunlight until the bell rings again, eliciting a silent grumble from all of them before they respond to the call and drag the baskets back to the cliffs. When their footsteps have gone, I edge my way down the cliff and look back for wherever they must have come from – but there’s nothing, not the slightest sight or sound. Just the mute cliff face. Rock, grass, and mud. I chip loose a black fragment of rock and scrabble my way back up to my camp. I keep my fire burning long into the night. - Name: Corriere Selves: skilled chess player, dutiful elder brother, bitter shadow of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; a chunk of black volcanic rock Growth: 1 Decay: 1 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 4 UnCO3 fucked around with this message at 08:48 on Sep 28, 2019 |
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Sep 27, 2019 20:54
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Corriere Turn 24 quote:DiceBotBOT What is broken here? The ice is cleanly cracked into huge pieces, each slightly different in colour, like faded stained glass. Looking upriver it’s not hard to imagine why – all that ice and water flowing down is pushing like the weight of a tower on the stones at the bottom of its walls. Speaking of towers, in the distance on the other side of the fjord I spy a tower. An abbey, it looks like, with some stables and fields and a little yard. A little trail of people is winding out and down onto the ice. Have they noticed my arrival? - Who keeps this place from changing? Monks, with mops and cloths and buckets of ice-cold water. They smile as I pass. The last one in line tells me to go to the abbey for rest and respite, and I nod in return. The abbot smiles at his window as I approach. We talk a little over a humble dinner. He seems curious about my travels – I guess they don’t get much news here in their mountain-closed little abbey. I tell him about the skeletons and fossils… Ah, the bones of angels and demons, traveller! You’re lucky to have seen them. They have no point of comparison. And to think, certain heretics claim they ascended from the creatures of the sea long ago – ascended! – and to think, this heresy is tolerated in some quarters, it strains credulity. How can people not see these majestic remnants and not understand at once that what lies there is beyond mortality? Do they want to be damned? God will not forgive-- And how about here, what is this place, I cut in. The ice out there looked smoother than still water. That can’t be natural. It’s all broken up – it should just keep breaking, shouldn’t it? It should be – thousands of millions of tiny pieces. This is our mirror for the sky, traveller. God is omnipotent, it has no point of comparison, it can’t understand things such as “I” and “not I”, but perhaps if we create a vast and perfect mirror to demonstrate to God what it is, then it will understand, and become understandable in turn, and then we will understand the mind of God. He smiles benevolently. But isn’t God beyond us, I ask. If you’re right, won’t God stop being God and start being something else? Traveller, he says with an open, toothless smile, if God becomes something else then we will serve that new creature just the same. I excuse myself and go to the quarters they’ve laid out for me. - Name: Corriere Selves: skilled chess player, dutiful elder brother, bitter shadow of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; a chunk of black volcanic rock Growth: 1 Decay: 1 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 5
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Oct 2, 2019 14:09
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Corriere Turn 25 quote:DiceBotBOT With the job done for now, I turn back through the camp. A couple of the wagons look new, and in an unfamiliar and simple style. I ask Dorigo why the change, and he tells me the Prince’s alchemist accidentally exploded himself while tinkering with his goods, and took a few wagons with him for good measure. Fortunately the horses were tied up elsewhere and the drivers were busy with dinner, so all that was lost (besides the alchemist, his reagents, and some easily-replaced supplies) were the wagons themselves. I nod thoughtfully while considering the raw power of science. My thoughts turn to home. Night falls and I’m not much in the mood for talk, for some reason. I hang back in the shadows around one of the campfires and carve the little lump of black rock I took into the rough figure of a chess knight. I speak to no-one, no-one speaks to me, but I’m here and they’re here. We’re all here. Somehow it feels a little warmer for that. - Name: Corriere Selves: skilled chess player, dutiful elder brother, bitter shadow of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A rough-hewn volcanic rock chess knight Growth: 1 Decay: 1 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 5
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Oct 3, 2019 10:12
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bumping to keep a hibernating thread out of the archives
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Dec 3, 2019 12:42
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bumping again; this thread will be active soon
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Apr 3, 2020 14:59
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Corriere Turn 26 quote:DiceBotBOT A solitary eel-picker winds through the waters, whistling in tune with the belches of the land. With the dead. We pay each other little mind. What does this place need? A road. By God, it needs a road. Who owns this place? I pass a tower on the mire—in the mire, really. Leeches coil round the base and slugs climb up the side. In one of the windows I can just about make out the glint of sunlight on spectacles as someone watches me struggle through. Then I hear the clack of a crossbow—I waste no time straddling my horse and jabbing my spurs in. Bolts thwish into the stinking water behind us an a snobbish cackle nips at our heels as we make our staggering escape. It’s quite some time before I find somewhere safe and firm to rest for the night. - Name: Corriere Selves: skilled chess player, dutiful elder brother, bitter shadow of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A rough-hewn volcanic rock chess knight Growth: 1 Decay: 2 Severance: 1 Renewal: 1 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 5
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Jul 31, 2020 18:43
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Corriere Turn 27 quote:DiceBotBOT quote:DiceBotBOT What needs to be restored here? If the trees could regrow, then the grass could regrow, then the earth could bury this all over again and keep it safe from the wind. Is being forgotten better than being destroyed? What here is impossible? There’s a row of… graves? Perhaps? That’s what I assume the line of eight pure-black stone pillars are. One of them’s been knocked over, though. All the others are capped with moss and lichen; it’s easy to see what was once buried, now exhumed by the wind. Eight of them in a row… surely not. I hear the echoes of flutes and harps. - Name: Corriere Selves: skilled chess player, dutiful elder brother, bitter shadow of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A rough-hewn volcanic rock chess knight Growth: 1 Decay: 2 Severance: 1 Renewal: 2 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 5 UnCO3 fucked around with this message at 14:53 on Aug 7, 2020 |
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Aug 6, 2020 17:14
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Corriere Turn 28 quote:DiceBotBOT quote:DiceBotBOT What protects this place? The little tall grass left still hides plenty of statues and reliefs and icons. I get in some good practice shattering and defacing the ones the grass doesn’t hide, though. How is this place divided? By the wall. Inside, there are the crumbling remains of plazas, atria, towers… outside are scrap pile remnants of lean-tos rotted to half to dust. No glory without cost—and those who paid the ‘cost’ made others pay the price. - Name: Corriere Selves: skilled chess player, dutiful elder brother, bitter shadow of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A rough-hewn volcanic rock chess knight Growth: 2 Decay: 2 Severance: 1 Renewal: 2 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 5 UnCO3 fucked around with this message at 14:53 on Aug 7, 2020 |
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Aug 7, 2020 14:36
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Corriere Turn 29 quote:DiceBotBOT quote:DiceBotBOT A man, squat and bearded like a copper kettle under a cosy, stands on a barrel in the centre of the tent-like chamber with the obelisk a wall behind him, surrounded by unmoving figures that don’t quite register in the light. ‘the divine murder!’ He reads patches from the notes to the crowd of spellbound colleagues with trembling finger and gleaming eye. ‘games beyond games’ All the light in the room sticks to him like tar. ‘not for a fisherman’s loaves’ ‘commemorate the dead season’ ‘higher than the birds!’ Then the canvas slips back down with a ssvff. They all notice me and the spell is broken, the book is snapped shut, the lamplight turns fluid again and washes out the ‘room’. The leader promises room and board over the rising din of the scholars filing out and debating the new ideas this translation brings. - Name: Corriere Selves: skilled chess player, dutiful elder brother, bitter shadow of the City, distant admirer of blades Possessions: A rough-hewn stone chess knight; A rough-hewn volcanic rock chess knight Growth: 2 Decay: 2 Severance: 1 Renewal: 2 Illusion: 1 Clarity: 6 UnCO3 fucked around with this message at 11:20 on Aug 10, 2020 |
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Aug 10, 2020 11:18
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