Sythyry's Journal

Mirrored from Sythyry.

Pirly had no such luck. The job for which he had journeyed to Ulmarn had vanished, and with it his membership in the widespread and influential Printer’s Guild. The object of his obsession had not lifted a limb or spoken a syllable in his defense, and, worse, had not actually loved him for longer than the length of an orgasm. The broadsheets and gossip-courts of Ulmarn knew him, mocked him, condemned him. And even the cheap brandy he had drunk to give himself courage to approach Fennel was barely muddling his mind anymore.

Pirly said to himself, “Well, I can do nothing about most of those. But I could get some kathia, and perhaps with the alertness and clarity of mind it brings, see my way to some solution to the many problems and woes as made by my nature. Or I could get some more brandy, and escape them briefly — or, with the loss of inhibition and gain of libido it brings, wind up in some other Herethroy’s bed. Perhaps, if I am lucky, someone I could stay with for some while in exchange for bodily services. This is important, for I have no home in Ulmarn, now that Harponz has cast me out of his attic as well as his guild. … Yes! Brandy, not kathia, is surely the best course!” By which it must be understood that, while Rassimel are generally the cleverest of primes, they are in no way the wisest.

“But, what woe is this?” cried Pirly. “When I went to Fennel’s home, I had my purse, holding the entirety of my worldly wealth — but now the purse is with me no longer! Yet I cannot reasonably return to Fennel’s home to retrieve it, as they roared they would take a ravenous revenge upon me if I returned!”

He bewailed his miserable misfortune for a few minutes, but then his boyish bouyancy reasserted itself. “Well, I had planned on selling my body anyhow. I suppose I shall simply start that plan a day earlier and a diligence eagerlyier than originally!” With this noble yet ignoble resolution firmly in place, he washed his face quickly in the canal, made sure that his subtle insignia of availability and transaffection were in place, and set off for the Slivard Quarter, where such commerce is commonplace.

The Slivard Quarter

The Slivard Quarter of Ulmarn is a small but tangly maze. Tiny and highly specific shops, few of them grander than a Gormoror’s guestroom, sell decorative scarves, or toothbrushes, or marital aids, or hallucinogenic chocolates, or pornography for those who revel in the joys of long tails, or any of a thousand other such specialties that one might never imagine would support a whole shop.

In fact, most of them have some illicit trade on the side. Some sell smuggled shoes — the import duties for shoes in Ulmarn are notoriously high, and the Cobbler’s Guild is in the process of collapse, so, this year, legal footware is hard to find. Some sell chocolates spiked with illegal hallucinogens, as a straightforward sideline to the chocolates spiked with legal ones.

And some — ah, some! Perhaps they have recently been discovered by the city guard, so that their illicit side trade has been revealed and rooted out. Perhaps they have gotten behind in their bribes, to the same effect. Or perhaps they simply did not wish to incur the expenses and inconveniences and labors of maintaining a proper illicit side trade, which can be considerable. So they simply have a small room in the back, scarcely grander than the closet in a Gormoror’s guestroom, containing — let us say — a cot. And if they are particularly fancy, the cot will have clean linens on it, and there might be a few amenities such as towels and a pitcher of clean water for washing up. Such small rooms can be rented for a small fee, for a short time. A few even double as actual miniature hotel rooms for penurious tourists who want to be in the middle of things and do not demand overmuch from their accomodations. I stayed in one such room once for a night; it was arranged by post in advance, and my secretary at the time was under the impression it was a room in a larger and more dignified hotel. (Or that is the story I tell everyone.)

Pirly knew about the rental of rooms, of course. Not from personal experience. He had saved on rental fees, and time, by using the washroom of the print shop — which may be a lesson in the folly of cutting corners in pursuit of one’s bug passion.

He found a likely spot, on the corner of St. Spannion’s Street and the Alley of the Drill-Shops, and kept an eye out for the sort of people he usually kept an eye out for. Soon enough — a Herethroy co-lover, strolling along, with a bag from the toothbrush-shop in zir hand, wearing a pair of yellow and crimson antenna-clips. Pirly put on his brightest and most appealing smile, and stepped forth. “Ah! I admire your antenna clips!”

Zie blinked at him in confusion. “I gratefully accept your admiration on their behalf. I could attempt to tell you the name or location of the boutique at which I purchased them, which I left a mere three minutes ago. But alas! It had no name, or none posted at any rate. And the dozen wriggling walkways and subtle streets I have trod have quite escaped my mind. In any case, it sold only Herethroy accessories, so its value to you may be limited.”

Pirly persevered. “But — I admire the Herethroy greatly! Had I a bit of spare money, I should gladly buy a trillion trinkets to give to those beautiful ones who, like myself, catch my eye in the street.”

Zie smiled politely. “Alas for your penury! But, fortunately, I have already bought my own trinket, so there is no need for you to spend your hypothetical money on it.” Zie attempted to step around Pirly and continue down the street.

Pirly was at a loss. “But — O beautiful and foreign Herethroy tourist — you seem to be at a bit of loose ends in the bustling city of Ulmarn! I am unoccupied today. For a tiny consideration, I shall be your native guide, and show you a wider range of and deeper intensity pleasures than you had expected to experience in our wonderful city! For I am wonderfully capable of providing enjoyments to Herethroy.”

Zie stepped away from him. “My ends are my own, and I shall satisfy them in my own ways, at my own times. In any case, if I were to hire a native guide, I should pick one whose accent was that of Ulmarn, rather than the clipped consonants of Culchrame.”

Pirly gasped and put his hands over his muzzle. As he did so, a towering Herethroy woman dressed in laborer’s clothes, yet with well-hemmed slits in strategic spots, strode over to him. “Is this Rassy troubling you, miss?”

The co-lover cocked zir antennae at the newcomer. “Rather so! He appears to have propositioned me, which I do not need from my own species and do not appreciate from others.”

Pirly snapped, “Then you should not be wearing yellow and crimson antenna clips, for they signify openness and even eagerness to such invitations!”

The co-lover ripped the clips off zir antennae and threw them at Pirly. “I shall murder the shopkeeper who sold them to me without warning! If I can find him again, which is doubtful.”

The giant woman placed a foot-hand on Pirly’s chest and shoved him away. She said to the co-lover, “Now, if there is any sort of recreation you would appreciate while you are in Ulmarn, please note: I am your own species; I am actually from Ulmarn; and I have rescued you from this Rassimel rascal!”

“I note all of these things, and, should my circumstances change so completely that I am in need of such services, I shall send for you swiftly!” said the co-lover in frosty tones. “In the meantime, I shall stride down St. Spannion’s Street, where my husband the hero and my wife the wizard await me, disapproving of any delay.” Zie put actions to words. (Though, if there were a Herethroy wizard in Ulmarn at the time, word of it never came to my laboratory; and wizards are incessant gossipers about such matters.)

“And you!” said the giant to Pirly. “Propositioning a tourist on the streets, and a different-species one at that! What do you think you are!”

“Hungry,” said Pirly.

“Well, that’s the Khtosyis’s cape,” said the giant. “He’s whoring himself to Herethroy because he’s hungry. Tell me, little boy, who’s the horny hero?”

“What? … um … am I supposed to be?” asked Pirly.

“Hah, he thinks it’s him!” said the giant. Another Herethroy and a Cani, in interesting garments that were only slight variants on common street-wear, joined them. “What you are supposed to be is a member of the guild. If you’re hiring yourself out, that is, which it sure looks as if you are.”

“Guild? There’s a guild…?” said Pirly.

“Yeah, there’s a guild. You can’t join it though. The Guild don’t approve of Rassies going after bugs,” said the new Herethroy. “We’re decent folks, the Prostitutes of Ulmarn, we are, and we won’t have traff trash around. You want money, you can damn well sell cley. Hooking is skilled work, I’ll have you know, and we keep our standards high!”

“My elbows! Release my elbows, if you would be so kind! Oh, why do you lift me and carry me to the alley? Oh, no! I object to this procedure!” wailed Pirly.

Every guild has its own means of humiliating and discouraging interlopers. The guilds of advanced and subtle trades, such as healers and smiths, use advanced and subtle means, such as administering nearly-impossible tests, and, should the interloper somehow arrange to pass, accepting them as retroactive members for a substantial retroactive payment. The Prostitutes of Ulmarn, perhaps because of the direct and physical nature of their trade, administered a direct and physical discouragement.

The Cani prostitute stayed for a moment afterwards, and even offered a flask of cheap wine so that Pirly could wash the mud and horse-wastes and slightly decayed pig intestines out of his wounds and hopefully keep them from getting infected. “We don’t approve of your kind in Ulmarn. But there’s a foreign Orren, from Kismirth in Vheshrame Mene, been asking around about traff sluts who want to go off to traff-slut-land.” She gave him directions. It was, after all, an easy way to clean up the city.

Mirrored from Sythyry.

“I suppose, Fennel, that you are about to assert that you never saw that Rassimel boy in your life before,” proclaimed Cresset.

“Despite your instant recognition of him, by name, as soon as he arrived,” said Marjoram.

“And I suppose, Fennel, that you are about to assert that you never indulged yourself carnally with him,” proclaimed Cresset.

“Despite where you were putting your hands and hand-feet when we came in, to say nothing of what you and he were talking about,” said Marjoram.

“And I suppose, Fennel, that you are going to maintain your frequent amatory exhaustion is still due to Melna and Lovage,” proclaimed Cresset.

“Despite Melna and Lovage complaining that you exhibit the same amatory exhaustion on their nights too,” said Marjoram.

“Well? Have you nothing to say for yourself?” demanded wife and mari in unison.

Fennel, for reasons more martial than marital, decided on a counterattack. “I do indeed. Among the reasons why the discriminating Herethroy nobleman might prefer a Rassimel printer’s boy to his spouses — among the many reasons — is that he does not gang up on one. Neither does he put words in one’s mouth. His specialty is putting them on paper, and other things in his mouth, to be sure!”

“So you are casting us off in favor of your printer’s boy, are you?” — “If you cast Melna and Lovage off as well, you won’t be a Herethroy nobleman any more.” — “Nor will you enjoy the substantial allowance from us that you use to amuse yourself so diligently,” said his spouses.

Fennel saw a tactical advantage. “If I cast you off in favor of a printer’s boy, what will that say about you? Who would marry you? There are hardly surplus Herethroy men about!” Which was true enough. Herethroy women counted themselves fortunate to marry once; few save the most extraordinary ever remarried. Co-lovers, while not so common as women, were not desperately in demand either. “And the barony — the title would devolve to your younger sibling!”

Cressel lowered her antennae. “What of our hopes for children, in this circumstance?”

Fennel sensed the power of his approach. “What, indeed? If I cast you off, you shall grow old and die childless! Or, if you prefer, and if you are so clever as to arrange it, you might manage to produce a bastard — and thereby add the scorn of adultery to the scorn of divorcedness!”

Cresset and Nasturtium shuddered. “We note, from your use of the conditional tense, that you are also considering the opposite — that you not cast us off in favor of a printer’s boy.”

“This is indeed the case! My alternatives lie before me, in a splendid panoply of choices, each with their own pleasures! On these hands I continue to enjoy the life of an idle and leisuresome Herethroy nobleman. On these, I switch to the excitement and bodily excesses of an urban bohemian, rich in lovers, liquors, and illicit licenciousnesses: a short life, to be sure, but a shining one! And, as an added inducement, a life without troublesome ties and sarcastic spouses!”

“Had the appeal of the second alternative to you been made clear from the beginning, we might have chosen to be a touch less sarcastic,” said Cresset and Nasturtium to each other. “Relying on outvoting him may have been unwise.”

“Still — I am a generous man! Currently, five days a week I am obligated to one marriage, and the other four to the other. Let us rearrange matters: four days to one, four to the other, and the last night a week …” said Fennel.

Cresset interrupted, “Unacceptable! All marital theory clearly shows that the male must not be allowed to choose which triad he prefers! Any options in the schedule lead to comparisons, to jealousy, to disharmony!”

“The last night a week, I shall spend alone — or, to be more technically accurate, I shall spend away from both marriages,” said Fennel with a grin. “This avoids the theoreticial difficulties completely.”

“Unacceptable also! You are incapable of discretion in matters of transaffectionate adultery! As we have recently noticed! We reject any arrangement which leads to our public humiliation as spurned spouses, whether by means of divorce or persistent perversion!” snapped Nasturtium.

Fennel’s antennae wilted. “I shall be more discreet…”

“We have no great respect for your discretion,” said Nasturtium.

Cresset said, “I have another idea. In Vheshrame Mene there is that newly-built city Kismirth — with the casino, and some time-distorting stuff or other, I believe. In Ulmarn, I propose that you act with the strictest decorum and propriety. But, say, once a year, you shall take a vacation to some distant spot, such as Kismirth, alone. And there you shall behave, or misbehave, as befits a … I do not wish to describe you, for a well-bred woman should not use such language.”

Fennel said, “Once a year? Insufficient! I am a man of substantial appetites, when confronted by compliant rather than complainant concubines! Five times a year!”

“Twice a year, and those substantial appetites had best show themselves between-whiles upon the baronial bed!”

“Four times!”

Inevitably, they settled on three — a number which could be reduced if Fennel’s behavior was less than perfect. All three spouses felt that they had avoided a terrible social precipice. Being well-trained nobles (or better-trained would-be nobles), they took pains to deal with each other with decorum and punctilio, if not with frequency.

This would be described as a “happy marriage” in certain circles. In other circles, it would be considered distinctly lacking in at least one of those two dimensions.

Mirrored from Sythyry.

“Baron Fennel? There’s a Rassimel here to see you,” said Marjoram. She knew perfectly well that Fennel was not a baron, simply the husband of one. But of course it is better to be the maid of three barons rather than just one, so she made sure to give him his courtesy title any time that anyone else might possibly hear. And, while the Rassimel did not seem to be either the most important of people (being dressed quite casually, to put it as nicely as Marjoram could imagine), there was always the possibility that he might broadcast the title among people who count.

“That’s odd. I wonder who it could be. Show him in, Marjoram,” said Fennel, and set the third volume of History of the Dukes of Ulmarn, which had occupied his attention despite being a cursory listing of scandals, on the closer arm of the couch. “Oh, by the spanglio! It is Pirly! Pirly, I had never thought to see you here! And in the middle of the day, as well! Why is it that you are not at work today, Pirly?”

Pirly shuffled nervously on the triangulated carpet of Fennel’s sitting-room. “Well, I haven’t any work. Master Harponz dismissed me.” Fennel noted that Pirly seemed to have been at the brandy.

“Oh, by the spanglio! That’s quite alarming! Sit down, Pirly, sit down, and do tell me all about it” said Fennel, in a sudden panic of awkwardness, waving a mid-hand at an armchair on the other side of the sitting-room.

Pirly did sit down, though he chose to sit on the couch next to Fennel — immediately next to Fennel, so that the couch was crowded at one end and empty at the other. “I’ve been thinking and thinking about what you said the other day, just before Master Harponz … noticed..”

“What I said the other day?” asked Fennel, who had, evidently, not been listening to himself.

“You said you love me. I thought about it for hours and hours, and I realized I love you too, Fennel,” said Pirly. Marjoram, standing at the door in case Fennel needed any further service, gasped audibly. Neither Fennel nor Pirly noted her presence; those used to servants are expert at overlooking them.

“I … I see,” lied Fennel. Quite probably he did not remember his exact words, nor did he intend them to be taken in the broad sense. A better (or at least more accurate) exclamation might have been, say, “Oh, Pirly! I experience pleasure and happiness due to your manipulations and, additionally, to your presence and those few aspects of your character which I have thus far noticed!” But Fennel, like many another, chose to economize with his words in the moment of heightened circumstance, and, like many another, found himself regretting his imprecision later on.

“After Master Harponz dismissed me from his shop and black-balled me from the Printer’s Guild and cast me out of his home, I thought about killing myself. That’s hard for Rassimel though. Poison wouldn’t work very reliably. I’d need to cut my own throat, but I’m afraid of blood, or hurl myself into the river, but there are always Orren swimming about there and they’d drag me out again. Then I thought about you loving me, and I knew I couldn’t kill myself because you would be sad. So here I am, for you,” said Pirly, as if it were the most natural thing on wood.

Marjoram, waiting at the door, found herself torn between two fierce imperatives. One one hand was Nosiness: this situation was an exceptional and exciting one, and, if played properly, would make her the Baron of Gossip for days or weeks to come. On the other hand was Responsibility: Cressel and Nasturtium would surely find that they had some interests in this matter.

Fennel’s antennae curled in knots. Bad enough that his morning amusements were curtailed, but this new and surprising and heavily unwanted claim of his responsibility could hardly make his life more convenient. “Well, I meant, um, that I was enjoying myself.” Pirly nodded, smiling, as if Fennel’s admission of enjoyment was the brightest joy of the week — which it might have been, much to the week’s discredit. Fennel continued awkwardly, “With what we were doing. In, you know, the washroom.” Pirly nodded again, as if to say that he had been there too and had no doubt that that is what Fennel was referring to. There was a perplexed pause. Finally Fennel asked, “Well, what brings you here?”

“I’m here for you. I’m here to be yours,” said Pirly, as if this were a perfectly ordinary and commonplace matter, and one that Fennel need have no say in. Or, at least, no further say; one declaration of love being evidently sufficient and more than sufficient for such things.

Nosiness and Responsibility struggled within Marjoram’s breast. Responsibility found a mightly ally in the form of Self-Interest. If Marjoram told her mistresses about the situation, they would come and deal with it, and Nosiness would be provided with a great deal of extra material for gossip. Yet, if she did not tell them immediately, she herself could be censured for delaying. After this alliance, mere Nosiness called for an immediate armistice, though it did insist upon certain terms, notably including Marjoram remaining in earshot through the rest of the episode. The victorious Responsibility and Self-Interest magnanimously granted these terms. With these warring aspects thus reconciled, Marjoram trotted off to the kitchen, where Nasturtium supervised the cook and the scullery-maid.

“What do you expect me to do? I’m not a printer,” said Fennel, doing his best to misunderstand the situation.

“I know you’re not a printer. I’m not a printer either; I’ve been cut out of the guild,” said Pirly.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, Pirly,” said Fennel.

Pirly slipped his arms around Fennel’s waist. “I’ll live with you. Any time you want, I’ll …” He went on to describe certain activities which, to date, included the entirety of his personal relationship with Fennel, and a number of others which Rassimel who are greatly and intimately fond of Herethroy are likely to perform, including some which require more space than the washroom had allowed, and others which they had simply not gotten to. Fennel tried to shush Pirly, but there is no shushing a drunken Rassimel discussing the topic of his obsession. One might as well try to keep a week from ending — or to keep a marriage from ending after certain discoveries are made.

By this point, Pirly had more or less climbed onto Fennel and insinuated a hand into his clothing. Some people might have made some effort to fend him off. Fennel, like many Herethroy men, had been taught from birth that the scarcity of males among the Herethroy population meant that he needed to make his person broadly available. His efforts at maintaining decorum and personal space were half-hearted and unsuccessful. Somehow they were also accompanied by reaching a hand into Pirly’s trousers — a move which few accomplished wrestlers would recommend, but, as it happens, neither Fennel nor Pirly was an accomplished wrestler. Their accomplishments were in other areas, at which this is a more recommended move.

And so, when Nasturtium and Cressel came to observe the situation, with Marjoram eagerly in tow, they had all the evidence they needed right before their eyes, and then some. Their response was quick, decisive, definitive, invective, and, with the aid of the brawny maid Marjoram, expulsive. Marjoram did not, however, choose to expel Pirly’s purse along with his body; she kept it, and, some days later, bought herself a quite nice folding-spear with its contents.

Nasturtium frowned at zir husband. “I somehow suspect that we are about due for a reprise of a previous conversation.” Cresset added, “But this time, with some quite intriguing and very modern new information.”

Mirrored from Sythyry.

There’s an in-character flame war over in Delight’s Livejournal, in which Sythyry, Delight, and one of Delight’s friends, plus some humans, are arguing World Tree political philosophy. The frequently-amazing Rowyn is playing Delight and one of her friends, and thus arguing against herself.

Mirrored from Sythyry.

The Opening of the Door: Boys of Ulmarn, part 3

Over the next few weeks, Fennel’s needs for printing grew to arboreal proportions. He helpfully offered to get announcements printed for his cousin’s wedding! He needed stationery! No, not that size of stationery, but larger … no, smaller … no, not rectangular, but in the shapes of postal leaves … or perhaps circular? He experimented with the occasional new style of printed sashes — does poetry look well on him? or a floral pattern? Or even a discourse on ethical philosophy? (One might think that the discourse should not fit him very well, but with tailoring …)

Pirly, being a devoted Rassimel journeyman, was glad to tend to Fennel’s needs.

Fennel did have a peculiar run of bad luck, though. Quite often — on every visit, if one were counting! — he chanced to touch or brush against a printing press, besmirching his chitin (never his clothes), and requiring washing. After the first two or three, he improved his technique to get ink on some part of his body that he could not reach easily, making washroom assistance all but mandatory.

Pirly, being a devoted Rassimel journeyman, was glad to tend to Fennel’s needs.

Fennel did learn the rhythm of the shop. Mid-afternoon was a busy time, and Pirly often had two or three customers to service. Fennel regarded these as rivals, especially Narlamint, secretary to the Secretary of State Secrets, who often wore yellow and crimson antenna-clips and with whom he had once — years ago, before their respective marriages — shared several bottles of potent brandy and an appealing and supple Orren.

Early morning, an hour after opening, was predictably a quiet time. Customers either came in with supreme urgency, but that happened right at opening, or dawdled on their way in and came in early afternoon. Harponz predictably strolled up the street to enjoy kathia and gossip at any of the seven cafes nearby, and left the shop to his assistants. The perfect time for Pirly, being a devoted Rassimel journeyman, to tend to Fennel’s needs.

Except that, on the eighth of Thory, the well of gossip either ran dry, or the gossip itself was of an insipid and repetitive character, or Harponz felt that the shop needed more supervision. Or perhaps a Rassimel master-printer needs no excuse to return to his printery in early morning, an hour after opening. He found the printing-room empty of people, which caused him to frown. And he heard a Herethroy voice, rather rough and intense, moan, “Oh, Pirly! I love you!” from within the washroom.

Harponz was a man of action. More than that! He was a guildmaster, a printer brave and bold, a ringy-tailed stanchion of the community! He strode to the washroom door quicker than teleportation and flung it open.

The scene thus revealed, in some lights, reflected quite well on both Pirly and Fennel. The two were clearly shown to be nicely formed and well endowed. Their bodily arrangement in the small space of the washroom demonstrated their suppleness without any sort of doubt. And their ingenuity as well, for the washroom was not vast, and it was crowded with the traditional implements of washing and several implements of printing that had been thrust there for want of space elsewhere, and it was not obvious to the casual observer that even a single person could find comfort and joy in such a crowded place, much less a pair. And, while a single glance could not directly reveal the quality of Pirly’s technique, a glance at Fennel’s expression would indicate that Fennel, at least, found it wholly acceptable, if not more so.

For some reason, at which we must wonder or even marvel, Harponz did not choose to regard the scene thus revealed in any of those lights. “Pirly! Pirly! What are you doing?” he demanded. This suggests a certain sluggishness of the intellect, an unwillingness to perform even the slight amount of cogitation which would have told him with full certainty and in great detail precisely what Pirly was doing. Furthermore, it suggests a certain unreasonability of demands, for Pirly’s muzzle was occupied, even crowded, and even if he were eager to respond to his master’s question (which would come at the expense of his services to Fennel, making them imperfect in a way that any Rassimel would surely find repugnant), it would take Pirly some seconds to be able to respond.

During those seconds, Harponz overcame his (presumed) sluggishness of intellect, and augmented his (presumed) unreasonability of demands. “Pirly! Stop that at once! We suddenly have much to discuss! We shall commence with general topics, such as the fine distinction between ‘printer’s shop’ and ‘traff brothel’, which your previous master may have neglected but is crucial to our guild! We shall then refine our discussion to specifics, such as which of the two professions you actually are performing, and, based on that, in what circumstances you shall find continued employment!” He turned to Fennel. “And you, honored customer, may wish to disentangle yourself from my journeyman and depart swiftly and anonymously.”

Fennel found that, indeed, the master-printer’s summation of the situation was quite accurate. Also it was quite difficult, for the washroom was very crowded with amenities, washroomities, machineries, and Pirly. In a moment or five, though, Fennel was extricated, and his clothing returned to an approximation of the dignity and decorum required for the husband of a baron.

As Fennel fled the printer’s shop, Pirly whispered to him, “I shall see you shortly!” Pirly had, in a singular instant of foolishness, taken Fennel’s rough and intense moan to heart.

Mirrored from Sythyry.

(This happened some weeks before the first episode, but, for your convenience and safety, we gave you the first episode first and the second episode second. Any other order would be preposterous. In particular, chronological order would be preposterous. — Sythyry)

Harponz, the master-printer, bobbed his head like a tree in a storm, and wagged his ringed tail just as if he were a Cani. “Calling cards, for yourself and the baron and baroness of Simmersham. Of course, of course. Did you know, I’ve hired a new journeyman from Culchrame to do the cards, just the other day. I’m still doing a lot of the printing myself, of course, but mostly books and engravings. If you want any novel ornamental flourishes on your cards I’ll be doing them.”

“Just the traditional leaves should be fine,” said Fennel. Cressel had simply snapped that he had used up all of the trio’s calling cards, and thus he was required to be the one to go out and get some new ones. Since Fennel was sure that Nasturtium had used the last card — Fennel had carefully left one (1) card so that he would not be the one to use the last one — he saw no particular reason to be exceptionally helpful or gracious about the chore.

“Then I’ll get my boy here and get you started. Pirly? Pirly! Where are you hiding, Pirly?”, called the master-printer.

Pirly appeared from behind the largest of the printing presses. He was a ruddy-furred Rassimel man, compact and muscular, surely two years if not three past his majority despite his master’s calling him ‘boy’. His leather apron and glass goggles were spattered with ink, and his face not much better. He had been in print shops long enough to know the futility of trying to wipe them, so he took them off altogether to greet Fennel. The clean rings around his eyes made him almost a reverse Rassimel.

“Glad to meet you, baron Fennel,” said Pirly with a quick curtsey.

“And you as well.”

“Please to wait a third of an hour while I clean up? I’m ever so glad to show you all our paper samples and type faces, but if I touch them or anything now I’ll get them smeary and ruined,” said Pirly.

“Not at all, not at all. My wife and mari say I’m a lazy lie-about anyhow, so surely I’ll be happy to wait.”

Pirly nodded. “There’s a chair by the washroom door. You can tell me what you want through the door, so I’ll know what you’re wishing for and can get right to it when I’m out.”

Fennel smiled. “A conversation with a chipper young Rassimel in a washroom? Of course I have never done that sort of thing before.” This was just a bit of a risk. Once in a while, he flirted with the wrong person and got scowled at, or, in one very unlucky incident, had a glass of port flung in his face.

Pirly paused a second, then turned and looked Fennel up and down with considerable care, noting a pair of yellow and crimson antenna-clips that could have simply been fashion accessories, but, in that year, held a certain significance to Those Who Knew. “Of course not,” he said. “But I do need to get cleaned up after I get messy.” He added a quick hand gesture that completely decent people wouldn’t have noted for anything.

“Oh, anyone would need to clean up after they get messy,” said Fennel, and made the appropriate counter-gesture with a lower hand. He wasn’t quite sure that Pirly had seen it, so he did it again, with both.

Pirly thought to himself, he’s rich, he’s eager, he’s pretty, and I could use a bit of good business; the master’s a bit annoyed with me. And a bit of good fun too. I don’t know enough people in Ulmarn yet.” Out loud, he said, “Well, if you happen to have touched the press, or brushed against it, or otherhow gotten besmirched, be encouraged to borrow our washroom. I’ll show you which one is the soap that works best on ink.”

Fennel looked around the lower room of the printery, which was empty but for the two of them and several presses. He quite deliberately poked the side of the nearest. “Oh, dear. I do seem to have accidentally come up inked.”

Pirly knew his lines. “Well, my deep apologies about that, m’lord. Let me hold your hand away from your garments, then; it wouldn’t do to smear up your beautiful lilac tunic. Come with me to the washroom, and I’ll have you all cleaned up in a third of no time.”

They meshed their fingers together, and entered, and locked the washroom door behind them, and kept as quiet as possible. Pirly’s “a third of no time” was a third of an hour, or more. And he got quite a substantial order for calling cards afterwards.

Mirrored from Sythyry.

(As is clear, I was not around for any of this. It is based on reports from certain of the principals, and on gossip, and, especially in the wording, on sheer fabrication. Of course I assume that everyone strives to speak in felicitious and even florid language, even in moments of drunkeness and devastation — that is, that everyone speaks like Inconnu has taken to speaking. Anyhow: Every newcomer to Kismirth has a story. Here is one of them. It is of course atypical, but at least it is no more atypical than is typical. — Sythyry)

Marital Discord

Fennel folded his lower arms and pretended to pay care as his right-hand wife and mari scolded him. The two of them were taking turns. Nasturtium, his mari, said, “We know that you think Melna and Lovage are younger and prettier than we are.” Cressel, his wife, added, “And they’re fresher to you than we are.” Nasturtium said, “Though you’ve been married to them for three years already.” —- “One might think that the shiny newness would have worn off by now!” —- “But we’ve got a very definite arrangement!” —- “Right spouses get you five nights a week. Left spouses get you the other four.” —- “And it’s no fair if you go sneaking around to them on our night!” —- “Even if you do it in the afternoon or something!” —- “You don’t have a lot of chores in this marriage!” —- “And we hope that making love with us doesn’t count as a chore for you!” —- “But we think we deserve a full measure of your attention!” —- “And your passion!” —- “Especially since we are your first spouses.” —- “And, not to put too find a point on it, the actual nobility.” —- “Your title is just a courtesy title.” —- “No matter how much you wave it around!” —- “So you can understand why we’re a little bit offended that you spend all your attention and energy on them.” —- “And don’t have enough for us.”

Fennel sighed, drooping his antennae. “Of course, you’re right. Just like always. I was just delivering some eggs to Lovage, and … we got a bit distracted.”

He had intended it as an excuse, but there is no making excuses to a spouse in a fury. Cressel snapped, “And how long has it been since you got a bit distracted with one of us?”

“That’s not what I meant!” he whined.

“Well, what did you mean?” —- “That Lovage is appealing to you?” —- “And we are not?” —- “I can’t think of any other way to interpret it.”

“Well, you’re both so responsible. And important. People are always stopping by to see you, to get your permission to buy a new wagon, or to settle a dispute about whose strip some furrow is in, or organize the pren harvest. It would look bad if you were having a quick tumble in the middle of the day,” said Fennel, hoping that it would be flattery and that flattery would be helpful.

“And which of those are so important that they couldn’t wait an hour?” —- “And you go visiting your left-hand spouses even when it’s a holiday and none of that is going on!”

Fennel dipped his head. “Yes, that is all true. I have misbehaved, and I will behave better. In the meantime, may I do thus-and-so for you?”

“As long as you act like you really mean it!” said Cressel. “I’d rather just take my time with Nasturtium, who acts like zie loves me and like zie’s committed to our one marriage, than have a half-hearted trio with you while your head’s clearly in your other marriage.”

“I mean it, I mean it! I love you!” protested Fennel. His ssecret thoughts, and the source of his uninspired performance, were not for either his right- or left-hand marriage, though. They were for the printer’s boy.

Mirrored from Sythyry.

In case you need to have your prejudices about the transaffectionate confirmed — or about the nature of Kismirth — you have but to visit the Cartesan Casino. [The name in Ketherian is one letter off from "Courtesan", and suggests games of chance. It's not 'Cartesian'.] There’s another casino, larger and cheaper and more splendid, but devoid of the surprising feature, or misfeature, of the Cartesan one.

We have taken it as an axiom that anyone visiting Kismirth on vacation might be hoping for some body-play. Probably with someone of another species. Kismirth is not going to be fussy about the details. Our smallish but growing tourism industry will do its very best to satisfy our tourists’ wishes, with considerable safety, for a fair price.

Safety? Kismirth is very very safe! Its walls are far heavier than Vheshrame’s! (Never mind why we think we might need them that heavy.)

Are you worried about someone scrying on you? Scrying and the like are broadly blocked in all of Kismirth. (Certain exceptions apply.)

Blackmail? Our professional tourism associates are bonded; they will expect terrible punishments if they violate the trust of the client-professional relationship. (Or at least they’ll lose some money.)

Annoying your spouse by going off for six hours alone and coming back smelling of Herethroy? A six-hour trip to the Quick Quarter will take less than one hour, and our first-class short-term-hotelliers will make sure that you are impeccably presentable to family and friends.

The pangs of conscience? Well, you see, it’s absolutely not your fault that you buried your muzzle in the tweff of that appealing-but-you’d-never-admit-it Herethroy, while a bunch of other people watched and laughed and cheered, and you licked away as if you’d been wishing for it all your life and you might never get another chance, because, outside of Kismirth, you might not ever get the chance again, unless you admit to yourself that you actually crave it and make the minor-but-actual effort to find it.

Well, maybe it’s your fault you joined the Forfeits of Fornication game in the first place. That’s one of the high-stakes tables at the Cartesan Casino. And, even if you lose, you’re not obliged to perform with the other loser in public; you could pay a penalty-fee and have eggs thrown at you to the sounds of the Gongs of Mockyful Derision instead. (That happens twice or thrice a day.) But Forfeits of Fornication is a game of skill. You and eight other players, secretly picking colored balls to roll to the cauldron in the center, and betting on the pattern that results.

(Despite the name, the forfeit doesn’t require more than a sincere-looking sizzling kiss. We’ve got between four and ten rooms for the game, with a spectrum of recommended levels of forfeits.)

(We — mostly Feralan — did the math. A player who wants to be one of the seven winners has pretty good chances; that part isn’t interesting. A player who wants to be one of the two losers — and, presumably, to be fornicating in the middle of the room by way of forfeit — has reasonable chances of being able to lose.)

There’s a small chance that attempting to lose will be detectable. If you bet on a certain configuration occurring, and don’t play anything that will lead towards it, and nobody else does either, watchers might get suspicious. (Well, that’s assuming that your jealous spouse is watching, though, of course, why you are playing that particular game at all with your jealous spouse watching is an interesting question worthy of a long apologistic tract. Playing to lose is definitely not considered cheating as far as the Casino is concerned.)

You can, incidentally, buy extra balls during the game, and if you buy three, it is impossible for anyone to tell that you are cheating. (By mathematics, it is impossible. It’s a different matter if your jealous spouse knows your every thought.)

In fact, cheating is kind of expected. If you are playing to lose and everyone else is playing to win — which happens, believe it or not! — there’s a very good chance that you will lose. If, in addition, you are trying to pick one other person to lose with you, there’s a good chance that you will get your choice. If many people are playing to lose, then there are good chances — over half in many cases — that the loser gets their consort of choice.

So really it’s a game that gives you the chance to enjoy the fellow player of your choice, in public, without anyone being intellectually certain that you intended to do so. Even, or especially, not yourself.

Oh, you can win money too. You don’t win any from one round though. You have to play a dozen rounds to be eligible for any prizes, and thirty to be eligible for the biggest prize. You pay a fee for each round you play, plus extra to buy extra balls or special goals. The cash prizes aren’t all that big. None of the cash prizes for gambling in Kismirth are very big.

Well, the game was reasonably popular, but lots of people hated the forfeits. We played some forfeit-less rounds, and filled the room and then lots. It’s a reasonably engaging game.

So we put together a semi-decent version where the forfeit is being locked up in a small room, just big enough for a bed, with the other loser for a while. The assumption is that the losers will take that opportunity to fornicate — teasing is all but obligatory. I suspect that mostly they don’t.

Actually, I can find out. Here’s me, asking the housekeeping department: “ask!”. The housekeepers say that maybe one bed in ten or twenty shows unambiguous signs of intimacy. Of course, intimacy doesn’t always leave clear signs on bedclothes.

And there are some other tables we’ve added. Single-species tables are quite popular. I suppose tourists come here thinking to experiment with other species, and then chicken out. They’re still performing in public in a mixed-species crowd, so that’s something, I suppose. We’ve got ‘hot tables’, where the current players can blackball new players; they tend to be single-species and only the more conventionally attractive of that species.

And of course we have kid’s tables. The prices are low: the adult tables take lozens [1 lozen is loosely $10], the kids’ tables take terch [1 terch is loosely a quarter].. They are in a small room that’s just kid’s tables. The bouncers are very strict, and will give you the evil eye and tell you to go to a different room if you make an off-color remark. The forfeit is singing a silly little ditty as a duet with the other loser.

Our balls rolled down the table with a clack, clack, clack
We cried about the colors that we lack, lack, lack
We haven’t got the slightest bit of luck, luck, luck
And now we’re up here quacking like a duck, duck, duck
Quack! Quack! Quack! Quack! Quack! Quack!

My Opinion

I wish we didn’t have ‘hot tables’. The atmosphere around them is rather ugly, even if the players themselves are attractive.

I’m not much happier about the single-species tables. That’s not the point of the casino, or of Kismirth. Still, they’re always full, even when the multi-species rooms aren’t very crowded. We do keep the single-species room pretty small, so that it has to overflow to the original game rooms.

People come in to watch and not play — I think that maybe a third of the people in the sex-forfeit rooms don’t play. They do buy snacks and such.

The original game, with obligatory sexplay … well, we were trying to give our visitors an excuse to themselves for tasting transaffection. The game sort of evolved from there. I suppose it’s just an advanced form of Spin The Bottle, ultimately. The people who play it seem to enjoy it, maybe too much, so I suppose that’s got to be good, right?

This is not a high-profit game, neither for the house nor for the players. It’s not a high-risk game either. We — Castle Wrong, which is to say, the builders and initial governors of Kismirth — have decided that we don’t want to be in the business of utterly shearing visitors. We’d rather provide a variety of wholesome and unwholesome entertainments, with profits distributed fairly widely. The ultimate goal of Kismirth is to take care of its inhabitants, and of wrongfolk even if they’re tourists.

We need money to do so, among other things, but we are not particularly trying to get ourselves rich off of Kismirth. (Well, Grinwipey is, but never mind that.) (We are not entirely consistent about this: Arfaen is making a good deal of money off her share of the kitchen’s profits.)

We have been told, more than once, “This is no way to run a casino! You must have high-stakes games! You must have pit bosses who watch your table-masters to see that they don’t pocket hundreds of lozens from the thousands that pour through their tables! You must have accountants, investigators, and an attitude of fear and surveillance throughout! You must offer free drinks so that your marks will spend more! We shall open a casino in Kismirth based on these principles! You get a 1% cut — you personally — just for making easy to us.”

To which we responded by making laws that severely curtail the maximum bets allowed in Kismirth. They’re not high. A diligent and unlucky gambler could probably manage to lose a thousand lozens in a day — and yes, that’s a lot of money — but it’s not the millions of lozens that big gambling centers slurp down. More typically they’ll lose a couple dozen lozens in a day — not a ridiculous price for a few hours’ entertainment (and sex) on vacation.

Actually, after thinking it through to write this essay, I’m not at all sure we should have done this at all. It seems emotionally volatile and morally mischancy. So far it’s been OK. Only one person has accused their fellow-loser of rape, and they lost the case once in court, once in the legeriat, and seventy times in the broadsheets — it’s not rape because you consent to it half a dozen times before lip meets spip, with at least one reasonable alternative at each stage, and yes, plenty of people a day take the alternatives at each stage.

But it can be something you can regret doing, you can even regret it to the point of divorce or suicide. Just like any other sort of affair or fling or drunken escapade or whatever.

Well, the more I write about it, the less comfortable I feel with it. It’s out of my paws now anyhow.

Mirrored from Sythyry.

Hello!
This is posted for Ragarth:

Rakeela and I [ragarth] are interested in putting together a World Tree RPG group. Neither of us have used the system yet, but we both have source books demanding attention! Alas, we’re also both cursed with black-thumbs when it comes to GM’ing, and so we’re forced to stalk down someone else for that task. Additional players up to the prospective GM’s comfort level are in demand as well.

The ideal GM will have their own source book, be capable of running games on either Thursday or Friday evenings, and have an AIM account to make coordination easier (but not for the gaming). I can run a maptool server if that’s the GM’s preference, but any live-chat medium with dice-rolling capability (IRC+bot, Muck, maptool, etc.) should work fine. It’d also be preferable if any players have source books as well, since the system relies rather heavily on bookly materials.

Any prospective victims or Dungeon Gods can either respond here with contact info, send me a message over LJ, or email me at kokishin at.t gmail.com and include “[worldtree]” minus the parenthesis in the subject line.

Mirrored from Sythyry.

Addendum: Some Mega-Macro-Super-Large-Monumental-Diamond-Chess Pieces

(Refer to this for basic Diamond Chess.)

Mega-Macro-Super-Large-Monumental-Diamond-Chess isn’t just played on a stupidly large (38 × 38) board with the regular pieces. It has exotic pieces. Lots of exotic pieces. You start with several dozen of them arranged in a square around your town — the arrangement is up to you — and then you can move more pieces onto the board as usual (“mustering”) or, sometimes, in unusual ways (see below).

Some additional terms:

“capture by grapple” is capturing by landing on a piece (as in terrestrial chess). It goes with the standard “capture by spear” (in which a piece moves orthogonally next to an enemy piece and takes it) and “capture by arrow” (similar but diagonal).

“Promotion”: Various pieces change their identity at various times. This is sometimes compulsory and sometimes optional, depending on the piece. In many cases it is a demotion: several very powerful pieces get demoted to weak ones when they capture. For your convenience and safety, there are several pairs of pieces (e.g. the Delighted Child and the Extremely Noisy Neighbor) which have the same move, but promote differently. About half the pieces in the game cannot be mustered; they must be acquired by promotion (if at all). Promotion is marked on the piece in various ways — in a real set, it is done with rings or decorations. Feralan and Wexiset are using small wooden home-made pieces, little more than blocks of wood with names written on the sides. Fortunately, the longest chain of promotions is five: Troublesome Rassimel Girlfriend promotes to Foreign Herethroy Banker promotes to Hideous Neighbor promotes to Street-Performing Balloon Artist promotes to Drunken Masked Prince. (This sequence of events rarely, if ever, happens in real life.)

Orren Butler: can move as far as possible without running into anything else (like a piece or the edge of the board) in any direction, followed, optionally, by another move as far as possible in any direction. It may carry one piece that was adjacent to it when it started; the piece must end up adjacent to it, though not necessarily in the same relative position. It cannot capture. If it could move to the owner’s home town, it can promote to a Perspicuous Rassimel Butler (which is like the standard piece “rassimel”, but can only be taken by arrow.)

Drunken Masked Prince: One of several masked pieces. The mask is a wooden cap that fits snugly over the top half of the piece; the bases below the mask are identical. The mask can be pulled up halfway to reveal a colored band — red, for the Drunken Masked Prince — and all pieces with the same color band have approximately the same move. If you want to make this move, you only have to reveal the band. (If you want to use any other special powers, you need to reveal the whole piece.) None of the masked pieces can capture while they are masked. The Drunken Masked Prince has a knight’s move, or any number of squares forward. When it is revealed, it can also move as a (3,1) or a (3,2) knight. It captures by grapple, and, when it does so, it may take another move (which may not capture).

Masked Undiapered Baby: A red-banded piece. When its mask is off, it cannot move, capture, or be captured, but the 3×3 square centered on it is considered to be all water squares, like the river. At any point thereafter, its owner may promote it to a Pissing Drunkard: Any straight line between a pair of Pissing Drunkards is considered to be river.

Conservative Cani Curmudgeon / Radical Rassimel Rabblerouser: The CCC version of this piece can move any number of squares vertically, or to the right horizontally or diagonally. It cannot move to the left at all. If it gets into a position where it has no leftward moves (even if it has vertical moves) it can be transformed into the RRR version. [The names of these pieces have been mercilessly anglicized.] The piece has a little flag on its head pointing to its current direction.

Psychotic Bladed Warbler: This piece moves exactly three squares horizontally or vertically. It captures all pieces precisely two squares away from it — belonging to either player. When it captures, it automatically promotes (or demotes) to a Frenetic Cowardly Epistemologist. Its capture is counted as being of all forms — e.g., pieces which resist any form of capture, such as herethroy being immune to capture by arrow, resist the Psychotic Bladed Warbler.

Frenetic Cowardly Epistemologist: Moves precisely nine squares backwards, jumping over pieces in the way; it captures by arrow. If it cannot move, it can be promoted to an Apartment-Dwelling Humbug (a very minor piece).

Fragrant Woodcutter: A double herethroy. It must make two orthogonal herethroy moves (rook moves). On an empty riverless board , it could go to nearly any square, except for the squares that a herethroy (or rook) could reach. Its move must end with precisely two captures by spear. If it cannot capture two pieces, it cannot move at all. If it captures one herethroy (and one non-herethroy), it promotes to a pair of herethroy, which may be placed anywhere on the owner’s side of the board.

Insane Locador Wizard: My personal favorite. Behaves like a zi ri. Recall that the basic zi ri piece can teleport other pieces, viz. pick them up and make them take a knight’s move to an unoccupied square. An Insane Locador Wizard can, also, muster a piece from the square that the victim was teleported away from. If you can get your Insane Locador Wizard on the enemy side, you can build up quite an army there pretty fast.

The Judgment

I couldn’t even finish reading the rules once before my eyes glazed over and became ocular donuts. I can’t imagine playing the curst thing.