Family History
Tenebrae - Tuesday, April 12, 2016, 9:40 AM
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* A11: Festival Grounds *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
The sweeping Festival Grounds serve many purposes. For much of the year they serve as practice grounds for training knights, for the games of children who pick up ball, bat, and begin a game of stickball. During other times, they're filled with colored tents, with performers for some of Alexandria's many festivals.
Along one side are a set of permanent bleachers, and at either end an archway. Each archway is carved in the style of a grand entry and marked with images of of Daeus, with rearing horse and flying pennon. Here, the god stands depicted in his roles of defender and knight-warrior. Recently, the Lancers of Serriel have taken to practicing here, along the knights and warriors of other orders, and a small number of them take a select pride in the upkeep of the grounds, alongside the Daeusites, Navosians, Gileans, and other mixtures.
Littering the grounds are places for archery, target practice. Here too, scheduled a few times a month, is the space given for ridden sport, organized recently by the arvek nar. The reigning champion's name is displayed in an upright lance at the end of the field, a silent challenge for next month's contender.
The beautiful blue sky matches the habit of a nun wandering in from the south. She is apparently at a loss, and walks over to the wooden kop stands, taking a seat on the lowest and looking out at the practising archers and Lancers. She cocks her head to one side, and places a basket on the bench next to her. When she unpeels the gold-trimmed azure cloth which covers it, she retrieves a hunk of bread from within, and cautiously begins to bite it.
Mikilos wanders a bit himself, perhaps lost, perhaps just not paying attention, perhpas exactly aware of his location. It's hard to tell with wizards. A number of papers swirl around the elf, almost like they're about to be lost to the breeze, but somehow never quite swirling further than an easy arm's reach away. He seems to be reading from a large text, idly muttering to himself.
The festival grounds are a good shortcut to avoid the clogged street. Aya uses it for exactly that, walking north away from the temple square and towards... whatever is north and not the temple square. Those practicing on the field are given a wide berth, so she doesn't become an unintentional arrow- or lance-catcher.
Sister Diemma of Althea looks up from her bread briefly, and sighs as she sees people that she knows. Carefully she replaces the bread into the basket, and seals it again with the azure cloth. She sits quietly on the benching, watching the to and fro of the Lancers, and listening to the /twang-whistle-thud/ of the archers-in-training.
Mikilos grumbles something, waving vaugely and sending the swirl of papers into a pair of semi-organized stacks, peering around in annoyance. Spying Aya, he steps forward, demanding "Do -you- know your grandparents names?" <sildanyari>
Charlotte has arrived.
Aya is looking to the archers, herself, when she suddenly find herself the target of a demanding interogation. Her steps halt, her head turns towards, and a brow arches. After a moment of thought, she answers firmly. "Yes."
Mikilos hrumphs, distracted by whatever he was doing eariler, but still managing to switch to the Tradetongue without effort. "You'd be amazed how many don't. History! It's as if everything just happened on it's own, with no effort put into it! Who bothers to learn their history any more? Oh sure, I can understand not having to learn third cousins twice removed and such, but so few even know their own grandparents, let alone great-grands!" The elf gestures as he talks, papers flapping behind him like strange wings.
Striding her way into the festival grounds, Charlotte tilts her head at the group near the archers. "hello there." She says waving to Aya, Mikilos and Diemma.
"I'm not amazed that many don't," Aya responds with a slight, and uneven, hint of a smile. "You are a historian, I presume?"
The elderly nun gives a sheepish return wave to Charlotte, as if she's not sure if she knows her. Then, Diemma makes an attempt at joining in the discussion of ancestry. "There is a lack of remembering of one's ancestry, especially amongst the short-lived races. The long-lived ones consider things differently. One might expect it to be the other way around."
Aya then looks to the greeting and its source, acknowledging it with a dip of her chin.
Mikilos sighs, the paper-wing-things floating towards the ground, but not quite touching it. "Yes. At least, I'm trying to be. Family history has always been a big deal to me, and recently I've been trying to branch out in context, linking tales of ancestors into world events at the time. Which isn't all that hard for my own family. But then to try and link to other families... the lack of solid information is... vexing." He nods in agreement to Diemma.
Aya looks to the elder nun. "One would think so, wouldn't they? Maybe it is too difficult for some to remember a tale passed through many generations rather than one or two?"
Charlotte says, "Harder than you might think. Inside of your own generation, someone tends to embellish the story a little bit, mostly to make themselves look good. Honesty can be boring as a bar story.....""
Diemma says, "I have often thought that there is a link between how much a society writes things down, and how much it remembers." She looks about the little group: Two humans, two sildanyari. "As society advances, and begins to organise itself, and prospers, it sometimes loses touch with its ancestry, which seems best preserved by words handed down across generations." The nun cocks her head to one side, regarding Charlotte, Aya and Mikilos in turn. "I do not know the names of my grandparents, but I know much of their lives, for they mirrored that of my parents. In turn, I suppose, I know much of the lives of my great-grandparents, and great-great-grandparents, and so forth, through the pages of history."
Mikilos sighs, nodding to Charlotte. "Stories of what happened within a life gets embellished, certainly. But simple names and dates should be easy enough. 'Johnas Smith, born Callem 5th, 135th year of the Third Age.' Simple."
"Anyone and everyone could record dates and deeds and ayone else," Aya seems to agrees with all present, to a degree. "It's just a matter of whether they do. Not all dates and deeds are worthy of effort to record nor even memory."
Charlotte says, "Not everything. If you recorded every single thing, every single person did....nothing would ever get done. they'd be too busy trying to record everything."
The nun nods her head, rubbing her knees a little, considering each contribution to the discussion with equal import. After a moment's pause, Diemma speaks. "The short-lived races --- my own included, of course --- live more in the moment, often less concerned with the deeds of the past. There are exceptions, of course." She looks about. "We cannot always record information, Mikilos. What if, for example, our grandparents did not understand writing, or dates, or anything? All that is required is one damaged link, and the chain of memory cannot be repaired."
Mikilos tsks. "Name, birth, marriage, children, death. Not a lot to track over the course of a lifetime. Certainly there are other important events, but those are the key ones." He nods to Charlotte, and considers a moment. "I could likely use a few spells to record every action while still actually taking actiosn worth recording, but i don't think I in any way qualify as a typical example." Finally he nods to Diemma. "Mayhaps not the grandparents, but what of the town leaders? The elder, the cleric, the historian, whoever kept track of the history of the place? Each individual might not know everything, but the information should still be recorded." The elf sighs. "If nothing else, the local lords would want the information for tax collections."
"The lords would record those, for that reason," Aya believes. "I spoke more of deeds. The tax collector might care when a farmer dies, but only for their counting. No one would record tales of his great plowing nor sowing."
Charlotte nods. 'Counting and coin."
Diemma laughs slightly. "Such cynicism!" She tilts her head from side to side, thinking about things carefully. "What you all say is true, of tax collectors. But too, details vary from region to region. In my own town, for instance, the poor tenant farmers --- my parents, for instance, were required only to state their own names, not those of their spouses or children. For each farm, a farmer might say: 'I am Tretar Gerrin, tenant farmer. I have a husband and three children.' She does not speak of her prowess at sowing, or ploughing, nor yet the names of her children or husband, but still such records are maintained."
With this, the elderly nun stands. "I have enjoyed our discussion, but I must head back. Remember, though, that paper words are as easily destroyed as more frail human minds; this former act, too, is rarely treated as so serious a crime." Taking her azure-covered basket, she wanders away towards the Temple District.
You say, "Maintained for a time. Then someone desideds to throw out the musty old books, or the village burns, or a plague wipes out the elders. Or perhaps they do endure and the records last, either at their location, or moved to a larger library." He shrugs. "As for tales of deeds, some last, if casually. A tale of Old Emmet Smith, who could plow like no other. In the summer of the big storm, he and his prize mule plowed the whole south side of the village in one afternoon, just so everyone could make it to the festival on time." He nods, rasing a hand in departure. "Fare well."
Diemma has disconnected.
Charlotte says, "Many people think a person's record closes when they die. Some don't realize that relatives or others will be looking for them after their deaths." She then shrugs. "Some in Myrrdion try to trace their lineage as far back as they can remember.....just in case there's a contest for the throne. Others would rather let their deeds do the talking.""
Aya watches the woman depart a moment before looking back to Mikilos and Charlotte. "From births and deeds, to death and destruction." To Mikilos, specifically, her lips curl further to a smirk. "There is history." She then acknowledges Charlotte's comment with her own. "A person should be weighed on both, don't you think?"
Mikilos nods, and sighs. "I never have quite understood the fad of ties towards the throne. Nobility isn't nearly so enjoyable as most seem to think." He nods to Aya. "A persons ancestory helps shape them, but need not define them."
Charlotte says, "it really shouldn't. SOmeone who's grandfather has been a king, doesn't mean he should. For all we know, he could be a spoiled brat. On the other vein, someone that's been living with the populace all his life, would probably be a better choice." She then shrugs. "And not really. Someone could have compeltely evil parentage.....and would be like night and day with them.""
"Nobility is a birthright," Aya reminds, "though it can be earned or lost by deeds." Her jaw tightens. "Of one's self or others."
Mikilos nods to Aya. "Still can be a pain in the ass." Turning focus to Charlotte, he shrugs. "Who better to teach the daily in and outs of being a king than the king himself? Why would the king teach such thigns to some random stranger, rather than his own son? Thus, the son of the king is most likely to be the most qualified to be the king. Certainly exceptions happen, and any good kingdom would have rules in place for situations in which the prince turns out to be a spoiled little brat. But seldom does the real world work out so nicely."
Charlotte shrugs. "not always. It depends upon circumstances and such." She rests her left arm on the tip of her rapier pommel though. Since it's right there....
Mikilos nods. "For some it suits, for some it's a pain, and for some it's a simple fact of life with no real impact."
Raniq has arrived.
Ahmo has arrived.
The thing making its way into the Festival Grounds possesses no visible defence. Its scales are smooth and some of them, long and thin and whisker-like. It leans on a staff, the eyes as pale as its scales. It wears the clothing of an Am'sheri, with arms that bear no heavy muscle and fine, near-delicate claws the same oddly pale color as the rest.
Raniq meanders dreamily into the area from the north.
Some 200 feet overhead, a flock of geese is diverted from their course by a flying boat.
Aya dips her head to both in a nod of agreement. "It's most important to the nobles, of course. " She stands near Mikilos and Charlotte, currently involved in conversation. "Much more politics than history," she arches a querying brow at Mikilos, "or are you a student of that, as well?"
Turning her head, Charlotte waves to Raniz and Ahmo. "Peace on your nest...." She says strictly for Ahmos, and curtsies to Raniq. "Hello to you both."
"Oh-ho! And peasse to yours!" The small reptile waves a hand to the speaker. Tiny claws flash in the noontime sun, and he regards her with moonstone eyes. "Peasse to this day, indeed!"
Mikilos stands near the bleachers, chatting with Aya and Charlotte. Two small stacks of papers hover near the wizard, not quite blowing away in the breeze. "I consider myself a student of most things, to at least some degree." He considers a moment, and shrugs. "It's fallen out of favor with the current generations, but are you familiar with the game 'Three Things'?" Glancing to teh new arrivals, the tall elf nods in greeting.
Raniq, at being addressed, comes out of his reverie and actively notices the others here. He looks at Charlotte and answers, "At your service, although I must say that you have the advantage." He then nods to Aya saying, "Hello, again." and glances at the Llyranesi and assumes a confused expression as he regards the creature that is Ahmo.
Aya glances over in casual reflex at more arrivals and called greetings. At the sight of the pale, squat, scaled... thing, though, both brows arch and her glance lingers. That one is even more conspicuous than herself.
The moonstone eyes are as true stone--they possess no pupil or visible centre. A closer inspection shows perhaps, a smooth cataract to cover the entire surface. A surface that buzzes, to a mage's eyes, with faint mana. They blink at the speaker from earlier, and gradually, a smile forms. Like a puppet who saw it in a shop window, once. "It iss good to sshare words! I am Ahmo," he says, giving no caste. "And I have interrupted you all?" he asks, a half-statement, half question. The staff gestures to the group.
A couple of youngish humans sparring with rapiers a short distance away make a scene by dramatically relinqishing their swishy-pokies in favor of good, old-fashioned, fisticuffs and yelling insults about each others' mothers at shockingly loud volume.
Mikilos is friends with a slovenly cherub and a bartender who breathes lightning. A midget albino lizard barely registers on the weirdness scale. "Archmagus Mikilostravia Abrioudelanarchie Mithralla, Lord of Estranillia, Builder Arcane. But just Mikilos is fine. And not really, just some chatting about the nature of history." He glances towards the shouting humans, frowning mildly.
Charlotte says, "you're not interrupting, I promise. A pleasure to meet you all. Charlotte Van Norse, of the Van Norse noble family in Myrrdion.""
Those brawling humans have dropped to the ground, and are wrestling vigorously, seemingly senseless of their surroundings. An onlooker says, "Someone, call the city guard!"
Looking at the fight, Raniq says, "Please pardon me." and looking at the brawlers, casts a spell...
GAME: Raniq casts Sleep. Caster Level: 2 DC: 15
Mikilos sighs, and- ...stops, as Raniq acts first. "Mmmm... casting spells upon citizens is frowned upon, though in this specific case I doubt any will object."
"Oh-ho! Apologiess, then! I am on my way to the bees, and found my path had lost," the reptile declares firmly, as he drops the end of his staff to earth. "I hear they grow in shadow and ssoot--the beyondtimess of chimney-stacks." He glances warily towards the youth, then. Then blinks his eyes as they warble, then sink to the earth. "Ah-ah!"
The fighters fall suddenly asleep, restoring peace to the area, just as a pair of guards arrives on scene.
Charlotte tilt sher head. "To the bees? That's......something strange to mention. Ah well." She then chuckles. "Yeah, casting spells on people is pretty forwned upon...."
Raniq turns back to the other wizard, and with a bow says, "Apologies, Lord Mikilos." He then proceeds 'I acted only to protect those nearby and their belongings. Certainly my lord father would never stand for such civil disturbance.' <sildanyari>
Mikilos blinks at Ahmo a few times. "Excuse me, but I think at least one of those terms was used incorrectly. Perhaps you could clarify?" Turning to Raniq, he nods. 'I understand, but advise caution. Other may observe your actions and seek to mimic them without approprate consideration.' <draconic>
Aya is not the city guard, nor the caretaker of brawling humans. She takes a step aside; the total of her involvement with that. She still seems rather intrigued, amused, or confounded by the deformed reptile. "You are more ...interrupted, than interrupting. You are the chimeny sweep?"
"Ah-ah ah!" Ahmo lowers the end of his staff and turns a moment to stare at the dozing youth a while. "It flows...ah. It flowss unbroken. That wass good. Very good," he says and looks to Raniq. "Magic is broken, you know." He looks at Raniq directly, moonstone eyes not blinking even once. "Was, wass. Now it patchess back together, but little piesses, except for the man who would take it apart. He knowss who," he says, and points to the pointy-eared mage. "That iss why I am hunting ssoot-beess. I am not the chimney-ssweep," he says then, turning to Aya. He blinks moonstone eyes at her, and smiles. "But beess found in sshadow are different than oness in light. Oh, yess."
Raniq observing that Mikilos had employed the Draconic tongue to address Ahmo, whose expressions in Tradespeak seem less than completely clear, says to him, "I failed to grasp your meaning. What do you mean about magic being broken? Do you refer to the downfall of the elder god of magic and the schism in its dominion between holy Eluna and the foul Taara?" <draconic>
"Indeed. Light and shadow are quite different," Aya can agree on that much, "as are those who dwell within them. Excuse me." She turns from the growing (more motley) group and continues on her way to whatever her destination may be.
Mikilos just eyes Ahmo. "....I'm usually very good with languages, but I admit something of a loss here."
Aya has left.
Charlotte blinks a couple of times before she looks to Aya and shrugs. "Well...I know when I'm not wanted in the conversation." she says as she turns towards the temple district and waves. "See you all later...."
Raniq says, "Oh, please don't leave on my account. I didn't mean to be rude, merely to understand Ahmo.""
"For a while, magic hurt to usse," the smallish creature waggles his claws. "Then, Empresses fighting, but magic is hurt, hurt, hurt. You know thiss," he says to Mikilos and Raniq, "You rememberss. The hurt timess, the broken timess. Thiss wass I reborn. ...but if Ssummoner hass his way, we all go away. You, me...the ssppark sshe has," he says, with a look to Charlotte. "Why you think he sstudies Sspell Canon? Wizard know. You musst know. Iss here," he says, tapping the side of his own head with tiny claws.
Charlotte waves to you all. and she strides south.
Mikilos may be more than slightly distracted. He's been presented with a puzzle. And that's the sort of thing he doesn't let go easily. "The Spell Cannon? I still think the world might be better off with that thing destroyed, but at least they've stopped using it."
Charlotte has disconnected.
Raniq says, "Well, these matters are a fascinating study, but beyond my ken. What is your particular interest in bees?"
"Sspell Canon rendss mana. Ahmo hear whisperss, maybe the Ssummoner not want physical weapon. He want mental one. Like here, in head," the little creature says, non-eyes shining. He is nowhere near as tall as the mage, and is further shortened by the way he leans on the staff. He smiles then, like a puppet's strings, before swaying. "Ah-ah. That iss why I am hunting beess. ...there. They are for poultise. Poultisse for little mana-burn."
Mikilos blinks. Looks to Raniq. Looks to Ahmo. Looks to Raniq again. Looks to Ahmo again. "...okay... the Summoner... I'm not clear on who you mean. There are lots of people who summon. Which particular one are you refering to?"
In response to Ahmo's answer, Raniq does a Mr. Spock-like eyebrow lift and says, "Truly fascinating. I do not claim to understand the workings of witchcraeft, but I suppose the arcane can be manipulated in many diverse ways." He glances again to Mikilos, before returning his focus downward.
"Beess from sshadowss, ah-ho! Little thingss, take away their ssting. Remove Sshadow'ss sting, and turn it to Light. Light cure youthling." The reptile twirls the tip of his tail. "I do not know it work either, but maybe sso. Mana might. Mana ssay, gather beess. You would lissten too?" he asks. He looks to Mikilos, then, "One who ssummon demonss all over Ssity."
Mikilos frowns darkly. "Asumit. Who would try to become a god of demons. ...at least, we think that's what he's trying."
Raniq's face goes even more pale than usual as a look of shocked horror overcomes him. He makes whatever gesture of Elunite invocation is similar to a Roman Catholic crossing himself, and says, "Horrors!"
"Ssummoner rend mana," Ahmo whistles between his teeth. "Rumorss ssay. He do thiss, you hurt, me hurt. ...hurt more," he amends that, and then sways, again. "...I sshould find chimneyss," he says then, to Raniq.
Mikilos nods seriously. "A dangerous and persistant threat, one to be dealt with in caution... though I'm still unclear on bees and chimneys."
Raniq says, "Well, perhaps this threat might explain why the seer had me copying that stuff about angels the other day.""
"Magic," the small reptile says, with a flick of the tail that could be a shrug, and probably is. "Sseer?" he asks the other. "SSeer, angelss? Angelss againsst demons army?" he asks. "Thiss is thing?"
Mikilos frowns, and shrugs. "Somewhat? Celestial being disrupt the balance just as much as infernal, just in the other direction. It's best not to have too many on the material plane if it can be avoided. That said, the occasional conjuration is safe enough."
Raniq says, "Well, if the accursed employ outsiders to wreak havoc on this plane, I only think it fair if the opposition employ outsiders to counter them, not that it's the only way, but of course with all appropriate caution. Frankly, that 'planar disruption cannon' seems more dangerous to me, and that was something we mortals came up with all on our own, if I follow rightly."
"Not-like, not-like. Dangerous, oh-ho! Maybe I go into woods, until thiss is over," says the unblendable creature. He wriggles his claws, "Peasse to you!" He is off to hunt chimneys!