Birthday

Aug. 12th, 2012 08:35 pm
sythyry: (Default)

On the whole my fifthieth birthday was pretty quiet. We just moved into the new house — now called Eight Degrees of Freedom — and I want to get unpacked and feel like I actually live here soon. So we did some unpacking, some shopping, more shopping, more shopping, and ... some cooking! Finally! We have this wonderful kitchen, and we got to use it for real! Salmon, gnocci with fancy olive oil, and sauteed farm share veggies! A cheese sampler, with stinky cheese and figs and prosciutto and some lemon ricotta that is basically cheesecake! And, finally (we didn't make this one) a birth cake as designed by Dr. Seuss: the first one on this page, lopsided, with chocolate candles and swooples of brilliant tertiary colors.

And while we were devouring the cake, a mother deer and two fawns were having their dinner outside. We obviously cannot plant edible vegetation outside in this house. (Fortunately we have a greenhouse room to grow things indoors in.) We're not on a ton of land really, but there's a five-yard-wide strip of unusable rocky brambly diagonal land between us and the neighbor on one side, which (a) we can see nicely from the kitchen window, and (b) makes wonderful browing for deer.

sythyry: (Default)

It's been a while. I'd like to run a play-by-email game again, for about 4-6 players.

If you're interested, help me design the setting and broad storyline! You can be as casual suggesting a couple words of theme that you'd like to see — or you can suggest major elements of setting and story line.

I'm going to toss out a few elements to get discussion started.

  1. I want a Small Story. It will matter a lot to the PCs, but not that much to the rest of the world. (In particular, no saving the world storylines.)
  2. All the PCs should be related to at least one other PC -- siblings, spouses, close friends, business partners, etc. It's obvious to you all why you should work together, and why you care about the plot.
  3. Here's a starting concept. The Hex Storm on Saturn is actually a gate to a strange magical universe — a one-way gate for matter, though radio communication back works. People get transformed when they go through. The PC's brother/etc was a spaceship pilot based on the Titan colony. His ship just crashed in the Hex Storm. He's alive, injured, trapped in the wreckage of his ship, mutated considerably, dying slowly, and sending miserable messages back to Titan. The PCs want to rescue him as best they can. Everyone else has just written him off.

Anyways, I'd like to have a certain amount of conversation — fleshing out details (or changing the whole plot around massively); figuring out characters; etc.

sythyry: (Default)

(Most of this comes from here. Yes, I am mixing up normative statements with historical practices from widely divergent eras.)

[Poll #1857757]
sythyry: (Default)

Now let's dive into the sinking, stinking realm of the bitterly political!

[Poll #1852709]
sythyry: (sythyry-doomed)

Mirrored from Sythyry.

The loss of so much of their population left the Vepri cities in a bit of a quandary. I give an over-simplified form of course. The actual situation was far more nuanced, An appropriately nuanced version, showing the sensible arguments on all sides, and admitting that many Vepri (and many non-guildsmen) are called ‘Guildsmen’ here, would be much more useful and correct, and so I shan’t do it. One side is called ‘Guildsmen’ because it was the Association of the Owners of Small Shops of Iluc who actually had the war.

Vepri: “Our scluds are gone! Our glates are gone!”

Guildsmen: “Our laborers are gone! Our employees are gone!”

Vepri: “Rejoice! Those who cheat you and shoplift from you are here no longer!”

Guildsmen: “Yet somehow, more shoplifting is occurring.”

Some Vepri: “Any shoplifting we perform is due entirely to our natural impatience, due to the excessive slowness of service. We are important people! We must be elsewhere soon! We cannot wait and wait to be waited upon!”

Guildsmen: “Perhaps this is because we do not have enough people to mind our shops.”

Vepri: “Well, hire some more!”

Guildsmen: “We have done so, when possible.”

Vepri: “Your service remains abominable, yet now your prices are extraordinarily high!”

Guildsmen: “We must pay a fortune to entice a few people from neighboring regions. And those who come here are generally Orren vagrants, and are not the most suitable.”

Vepri: “We orthodoxically determine that they are glates, and punish them for it, and pass harsh laws to control them!”

Guildsmen: “Most of them have now left.”

Vepri: “Excellent!”

Guildsmen: “…”

Vepri: “Yet somehow the service has become worse, and the prices higher!”

Guildsmen: “We despairingly explain basic economics to you.”

Vepri: “We pass laws contradicting those of basic economics! Prices must be controlled! Shops must be open their traditional hours! Service must be satisfactory! Failure to follow these laws invites generational investigation!”

Some Guildsmen: “We decamp in the night and move our stock to Kismirth, which is conveniently closer than even the neighboring city, and has offered us substantial inducements.”

Vepri: “What scluddery is this!? The shops are closed?! We pass further laws!”

Remaining Guildsmen: “In obedience to these laws, we attempt to ignore the laws of economics. Unfortunately the laws of economics can only be defied for so long. We use our remaining political influence to have the laws repealed.”

Some Vepri: “You are scluds!”

Other Vepri: “We have learned that it is not effective to simply call everyone scluds. But you are attempting to be traitors!”

Remaining Guildsmen: “We are attempting to be businesscreatures!”

Vepri: “You must consent to suitable regulations or be reclassified as scluds!”

Remaining Guildsmen: [of whom fewer remain every month] “A small amount of compromise on minor issues is possible.”

Vepri: “A large amount of obedience on major issues is obligatory!”

Which lead to the Battle of Iluc: a grand duel (five on a side) of Vepri against Guildsmen. When the guildsmen are fighting the aristocracy, a city is in a bad way.

Not that we simply let them have a honest grand duel. The traditional heroes of Iluc were Vepri. (Of course! Why would the Vepri declare a sclud anyone with that much personal power and wealth?) The guildsmen made to hire mercenary adventurers to duel for them. Now, as it happens, we have some very skilled and very well-equipped heroes of our own. All five of the guildsmen’s hired heroes were hired from Kismirth, including Yerenthax and Jyondre, and were heartily supplied from our armory. I even made an amusingly devastating bracelet for Jyondre using some of Flokin’s grace.

I daresay our five duelists will never have to buy drinks in Kismirth again, this century or the next.

I daresay that Iluc won’t have an economy, this century or the next. Or a society or culture or much of anything else. Half the remaining population of the city was gone within the month after the duel.

Verhump: “Despite our performance in the duel-war, we triumph! We vanquish! We are supreme! For behold — Not a single sclud remains within Iluc! We have purified the city — as we shall purify all of the Trough of Kreischan!”

Audience: [attempts to applaud thunderously, but fails, for they are too few to thunder.]

Today

Which brings us to today. Kismirth is turning into the exile-place of the Trough of Kreischan. I have no idea how many people moved to Kismirth, or moved through Kismirth, in the month since the duel-war. I’m sure we’re larger than Vheshrame now.

It’s a very strange city now, full of people who I don’t recognize, with Kreischan accents. They don’t care very much about transaffection or about living in all available harmony with monsters — they’re here despite that, not because of that. We, who built Kismirth, are a bit worried about Kismirth keeping the things that we built it for. I’m not sure I’d like to defeat the Vepri at the cost of everything I’ve worked for these last decades.

I suppose I could do it again, though. It’s a bit tempting even. There are plenty of things I did wrong the first time… I could make new mistakes, different and more exciting than the first set! Wondrous and vast vistas of calamities are almost within reach!

But for now I think I’m going to stay here, and see what can be done to keep Kismirth kissy and/or mirthful.

Coda

And that, I’m afraid, is all for now. I’m sure I’ll get back to diary-keeping sooner or later — I always do — but not this month, and not the next.

Fare well ’til then!

sythyry: (sythyry-doomed)

Mirrored from Sythyry.

The loss of so much of their population left the Vepri cities in a bit of a quandary. I give an over-simplified form of course. The actual situation was far more nuanced, An appropriately nuanced version, showing the sensible arguments on all sides, and admitting that many Vepri (and many non-guildsmen) are called ‘Guildsmen’ here, would be much more useful and correct, and so I shan’t do it. One side is called ‘Guildsmen’ because it was the Association of the Owners of Small Shops of Iluc who actually had the war.

Vepri: “Our scluds are gone! Our glates are gone!”

Guildsmen: “Our laborers are gone! Our employees are gone!”

Vepri: “Rejoice! Those who cheat you and shoplift from you are here no longer!”

Guildsmen: “Yet somehow, more shoplifting is occurring.”

Some Vepri: “Any shoplifting we perform is due entirely to our natural impatience, due to the excessive slowness of service. We are important people! We must be elsewhere soon! We cannot wait and wait to be waited upon!”

Guildsmen: “Perhaps this is because we do not have enough people to mind our shops.”

Vepri: “Well, hire some more!”

Guildsmen: “We have done so, when possible.”

Vepri: “Your service remains abominable, yet now your prices are extraordinarily high!”

Guildsmen: “We must pay a fortune to entice a few people from neighboring regions. And those who come here are generally Orren vagrants, and are not the most suitable.”

Vepri: “We orthodoxically determine that they are glates, and punish them for it, and pass harsh laws to control them!”

Guildsmen: “Most of them have now left.”

Vepri: “Excellent!”

Guildsmen: “…”

Vepri: “Yet somehow the service has become worse, and the prices higher!”

Guildsmen: “We despairingly explain basic economics to you.”

Vepri: “We pass laws contradicting those of basic economics! Prices must be controlled! Shops must be open their traditional hours! Service must be satisfactory! Failure to follow these laws invites generational investigation!”

Some Guildsmen: “We decamp in the night and move our stock to Kismirth, which is conveniently closer than even the neighboring city, and has offered us substantial inducements.”

Vepri: “What scluddery is this!? The shops are closed?! We pass further laws!”

Remaining Guildsmen: “In obedience to these laws, we attempt to ignore the laws of economics. Unfortunately the laws of economics can only be defied for so long. We use our remaining political influence to have the laws repealed.”

Some Vepri: “You are scluds!”

Other Vepri: “We have learned that it is not effective to simply call everyone scluds. But you are attempting to be traitors!”

Remaining Guildsmen: “We are attempting to be businesscreatures!”

Vepri: “You must consent to suitable regulations or be reclassified as scluds!”

Remaining Guildsmen: [of whom fewer remain every month] “A small amount of compromise on minor issues is possible.”

Vepri: “A large amount of obedience on major issues is obligatory!”

Which lead to the Battle of Iluc: a grand duel (five on a side) of Vepri against Guildsmen. When the guildsmen are fighting the aristocracy, a city is in a bad way.

Not that we simply let them have a honest grand duel. The traditional heroes of Iluc were Vepri. (Of course! Why would the Vepri declare a sclud anyone with that much personal power and wealth?) The guildsmen made to hire mercenary adventurers to duel for them. Now, as it happens, we have some very skilled and very well-equipped heroes of our own. All five of the guildsmen’s hired heroes were hired from Kismirth, including Yerenthax and Jyondre, and were heartily supplied from our armory. I even made an amusingly devastating bracelet for Jyondre using some of Flokin’s grace.

I daresay our five duelists will never have to buy drinks in Kismirth again, this century or the next.

I daresay that Iluc won’t have an economy, this century or the next. Or a society or culture or much of anything else. Half the remaining population of the city was gone within the month after the duel.

Verhump: “Despite our performance in the duel-war, we triumph! We vanquish! We are supreme! For behold — Not a single sclud remains within Iluc! We have purified the city — as we shall purify all of the Trough of Kreischan!”

Audience: [attempts to applaud thunderously, but fails, for they are too few to thunder.]

Today

Which brings us to today. Kismirth is turning into the exile-place of the Trough of Kreischan. I have no idea how many people moved to Kismirth, or moved through Kismirth, in the month since the duel-war. I’m sure we’re larger than Vheshrame now.

It’s a very strange city now, full of people who I don’t recognize, with Kreischan accents. They don’t care very much about transaffection or about living in all available harmony with monsters — they’re here despite that, not because of that. We, who built Kismirth, are a bit worried about Kismirth keeping the things that we built it for. I’m not sure I’d like to defeat the Vepri at the cost of everything I’ve worked for these last decades.

I suppose I could do it again, though. It’s a bit tempting even. There are plenty of things I did wrong the first time… I could make new mistakes, different and more exciting than the first set! Wondrous and vast vistas of calamities are almost within reach!

But for now I think I’m going to stay here, and see what can be done to keep Kismirth kissy and/or mirthful.

Coda

And that, I’m afraid, is all for now. I’m sure I’ll get back to diary-keeping sooner or later — I always do — but not this month, and not the next.

Fare well ’til then!

sythyry: (Default)

My translator, in response to some recent events, showed me this. I must therefore describe the recent events in a handful of polls.

[Poll #1852175]
sythyry: (Default)

On account of it being the Fourth of July and all, a quiz!

[Poll #1851489]
sythyry: (sythyry-doomed)

Mirrored from Sythyry.

I had said we acquired ten or eleven percent of the population of the Cities of the Trough before they knew what was going on. This is a bit of a lie. That’s roughly how many came into Kismirth. A great many of them left Kismirth within the month, departing for more traditional places. Which is fine with us — we’d gotten a city and a half’s worth of people in a space of under a year, which is a lot for one city.

The Cities of the Trough did, at some point, start to notice their loss of glates. For a while they were amused and delighted. “Observe the foolish scluds of Kismirth! They want our criminal classes!” (And yes, we got a number of criminals, and that was several problems. We had gang wars in the corridors, and I used some quite nasty weapons to get them to stop fighting for long enough for us to evict them from Kismirth.)

But then they started having scenes like this back in the Trough of Kreischan:

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “I say! Here I am at my favorite cáfé! I think I’ll sit down and have a spot of my favorite sort of highly aromatic and highly expensive tea, with a few of those delicious squaptoloops!”

Maitre D’: “Welcome welcome welcome. I’m afraid we don’t have squaptoloops today.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “What? None?”

Maitre D’: “None, m’lord”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “Well, I’ll take a scone then!”

Maitre D’: “No m’lord, no scones today.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “What? This is an outrage! Are you some sort of sclud, to be out of both squaptoloops and scones?”

Maitre D’: “No, I’m fourth generation, that’s been tested by the Vepri experts.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “I do believe they got it wrong!”

Maitre D’: “I rather suspect not. We’re just having a bit of a baked goods problem today.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “I should say so! “

Maitre D’: “Our usual bakery has closed; the baker is gone to Kismirth in the sky.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “What? And taken my squaptoloops and scones with him?”

Maitre D’: “I’m afraid so, m’lord.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “How is such a thing possible?”

Maitre D’: “I’m afraid you made a law insisting that glates be driven from the city. Well, the baker’s wife is a glate, and so the whole family packed up and left.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “How dare you say it’s my fault?”

Maitre D’: “I apologize for giving you such an impression, m’lord.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “I should hope so! You must have your own generation checked again — on my express orders! I suspect you lied on your previous examination!”

The Maitre D’ is hauled before the Vepri and retested. This time he is shown to be utterly a glate. He is beaten, his house set ablaze, and he is given a public execration. He is not particularly happy. By the following nightfall he is the Maitre D’ on a newly-opened restaurant on the Purple Promenade in Kismirth, serving squaptoloops and scones made by the recently-emigrated baker.

The next day….

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “I say! Here I am at my favorite cáfé! I think I’ll sit down and have a spot of my favorite sort of highly aromatic and highly expensive tea, with a few of those delicious squaptoloops! Without any glates to get in the way this time.”

Café: [closed]

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “What? Closed? I shall bang on the door and summon the chef, whom I observe inside performing some obscure labor!”

Chef: “What? Who is out there a-banging?”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “It is I, Lord Optime Fussypissy! I demand to know why your cáfé is closed!”

Chef: “No staff any more. They all got sent off to Kismirth as scluds and glates.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “Well, hire some more!”

Chef: “Can’t. Every restaurant in town is looking for waiters, and every other business looking for their own laborers. Not many people need jobs and can’t find ‘em, with so many waiters and whatnots sent up to the sky.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “Ridiculous!”

Chef: “Sorry, m’lord. I’m trying to sell the place and open up again in Inihithre, but nobody’ll buy a restaurant in town. Nor any sort of shop or factory, not anywhere in the Trough of Kreischan.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “This is ridiculous — this is scluddery — this is TREASON!”

Chef: “Wouldn’t know about that, m’lord. It’s economics, is what it is, and not good ones either.”

Most cities don’t have quite enough people living there. Take ten or eleven percent out of the city in the course of a year, and the city will notice.

Postscript

Apologies to the real-life Lord Fusée Micturine, who, despite having an eminently mockable name, is honored and famed throughout our immigrant population for defying the Vepri at every turn.

sythyry: (sythyry-doomed)

Mirrored from Sythyry.

I had said we acquired ten or eleven percent of the population of the Cities of the Trough before they knew what was going on. This is a bit of a lie. That’s roughly how many came into Kismirth. A great many of them left Kismirth within the month, departing for more traditional places. Which is fine with us — we’d gotten a city and a half’s worth of people in a space of under a year, which is a lot for one city.

The Cities of the Trough did, at some point, start to notice their loss of glates. For a while they were amused and delighted. “Observe the foolish scluds of Kismirth! They want our criminal classes!” (And yes, we got a number of criminals, and that was several problems. We had gang wars in the corridors, and I used some quite nasty weapons to get them to stop fighting for long enough for us to evict them from Kismirth.)

But then they started having scenes like this back in the Trough of Kreischan:

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “I say! Here I am at my favorite cáfé! I think I’ll sit down and have a spot of my favorite sort of highly aromatic and highly expensive tea, with a few of those delicious squaptoloops!”

Maitre D’: “Welcome welcome welcome. I’m afraid we don’t have squaptoloops today.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “What? None?”

Maitre D’: “None, m’lord”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “Well, I’ll take a scone then!”

Maitre D’: “No m’lord, no scones today.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “What? This is an outrage! Are you some sort of sclud, to be out of both squaptoloops and scones?”

Maitre D’: “No, I’m fourth generation, that’s been tested by the Vepri experts.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “I do believe they got it wrong!”

Maitre D’: “I rather suspect not. We’re just having a bit of a baked goods problem today.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “I should say so! “

Maitre D’: “Our usual bakery has closed; the baker is gone to Kismirth in the sky.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “What? And taken my squaptoloops and scones with him?”

Maitre D’: “I’m afraid so, m’lord.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “How is such a thing possible?”

Maitre D’: “I’m afraid you made a law insisting that glates be driven from the city. Well, the baker’s wife is a glate, and so the whole family packed up and left.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “How dare you say it’s my fault?”

Maitre D’: “I apologize for giving you such an impression, m’lord.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “I should hope so! You must have your own generation checked again — on my express orders! I suspect you lied on your previous examination!”

The Maitre D’ is hauled before the Vepri and retested. This time he is shown to be utterly a glate. He is beaten, his house set ablaze, and he is given a public execration. He is not particularly happy. By the following nightfall he is the Maitre D’ on a newly-opened restaurant on the Purple Promenade in Kismirth, serving squaptoloops and scones made by the recently-emigrated baker.

The next day….

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “I say! Here I am at my favorite cáfé! I think I’ll sit down and have a spot of my favorite sort of highly aromatic and highly expensive tea, with a few of those delicious squaptoloops! Without any glates to get in the way this time.”

Café: [closed]

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “What? Closed? I shall bang on the door and summon the chef, whom I observe inside performing some obscure labor!”

Chef: “What? Who is out there a-banging?”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “It is I, Lord Optime Fussypissy! I demand to know why your cáfé is closed!”

Chef: “No staff any more. They all got sent off to Kismirth as scluds and glates.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “Well, hire some more!”

Chef: “Can’t. Every restaurant in town is looking for waiters, and every other business looking for their own laborers. Not many people need jobs and can’t find ‘em, with so many waiters and whatnots sent up to the sky.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “Ridiculous!”

Chef: “Sorry, m’lord. I’m trying to sell the place and open up again in Inihithre, but nobody’ll buy a restaurant in town. Nor any sort of shop or factory, not anywhere in the Trough of Kreischan.”

Lord Optime Fussypissy: “This is ridiculous — this is scluddery — this is TREASON!”

Chef: “Wouldn’t know about that, m’lord. It’s economics, is what it is, and not good ones either.”

Most cities don’t have quite enough people living there. Take ten or eleven percent out of the city in the course of a year, and the city will notice.

Postscript

Apologies to the real-life Lord Fusée Micturine, who, despite having an eminently mockable name, is honored and famed throughout our immigrant population for defying the Vepri at every turn.

sythyry: (sythyry-doomed)

Mirrored from Sythyry.

[I cleverly forgot to post these.]

Will we see you again? D:

I plan to avoid invisibility for as long as possible!

[I am bringing the Sythyry's City story line to an end. I am not killing Sythyry off. It will be easy to write more Sythyry stories if I feel like. --bb]

[ Where did the WT gods come from and what are their general histories before the world tree? ]

I don’t know. They are remarkably hard to talk to, and not known for reliability.

[Flokin came from FurryMUCK. -bb]

Are you going to make appearances in Bard’s other stories?

I very sincerely hope not. It is not nice to its characters!

sythyry: (sythyry-doomed)

Mirrored from Sythyry.

[I cleverly forgot to post these.]

Will we see you again? D:

I plan to avoid invisibility for as long as possible!

[I am bringing the Sythyry's City story line to an end. I am not killing Sythyry off. It will be easy to write more Sythyry stories if I feel like. --bb]

[ Where did the WT gods come from and what are their general histories before the world tree? ]

I don’t know. They are remarkably hard to talk to, and not known for reliability.

[Flokin came from FurryMUCK. -bb]

Are you going to make appearances in Bard’s other stories?

I very sincerely hope not. It is not nice to its characters!

sythyry: (sythyry-doomed)

Mirrored from Sythyry.

The Vepri often said that they would be better off without any glates in their cities. So, we thought, let us make it so, and see how they do.

I don’t know who thought it first. Dozens of people take credit for it, or give credit to someone else. I suppose it was obvious. I certainly didn’t think of it myself.

The legeriat spent a short time debating it, and passed it easily. I vetoed it at first, as is my right to veto anything at all in Kismirth, since it was putting Vheshrame in the position of challenging the Cities of the Trough to a war, or a warrish sort of thing, which is kind of something that we need the Duke and Legeriat of Vheshrame to do rather than our glorified town council. This made me severely unpopular in Kismirth for a while. I managed to repair my reputation by getting Phaniet negotiate a treaty with Iluc and Draffmoug that we’d take some of their unwanted, wicked, criminal glates off their hands. At which point it wasn’t a war or a warrish sort of thing, with those two cities at least.

We have lots of teleport gates, and the flexible sort which can be placed anywhere that is desired. It is a simple matter to put a gate within easy reach of Iluc, or Draffmoug, or wherever.

Here’s Mocktschiba’s story. As usual, I am telling it because I know it, since we’re in a guild together and Mocktschiba occasionally deigns to talk to me. It’s typical enough of these immigrants, I suppose.

Mocktschiba’s Story

Me: “Tell me about your departure from Iluc, and your arrival here.”

Mocktschiba: “Why’s that?”

Me: “I’m writing it down.”

Mocktschiba: “Well, then, you buy me dinner — at Arfaen’s! — and I’ll tell you it all for you to write down.”

Me: “Certainly.”

Mocktschiba: “But no mentioning me moving in with Heen!”

Me: “I won’t.”

Mocktschiba: “Or marrying him!” (Yes, Heen is a Rassimel man, and Mocktschiba is an Orren man. As requested, I won’t tell any of the story of their early affairs, in Iluc. But I will of course quote Mocktschiba’s words precisely.)

Me: “I won’t.”

Mocktschiba: “Or divorcing him!”

Me: “I won’t. Just the story of when you came to Kismirth”

Well, I’d been broken in the Couturier’s Guild, that was a couple years before. I had been a master, but they can’t have perfectly good optimes taking orders from a glate! And of course I was a glate, I’d quarreled with Pumperpriest hadn’t I? So I was a journeyman-for-life, I thought. My own shop, but a tiny one that respectable folks wouldn’t buy from. No apprentices ever, and no master’s priveleges.

But they don’t want glates in Iluc at all now. They came to me, the Doippmers, and they pissed over all my stock-cloth, and they said, “You’re lucky to get our urine, you sclud. Now get out of town to Kismirth or we’ll come back and break your every bone.” They do that too.

It’s a hateful thing, being exiled from the city of your birth, don’t you know? But the city of my birth had turned into a hateful thing itself, and the Doippmers and Vepri the most of it.

So off I go to Kismirth. There’s a teleport gate set up just outside of the Iluc city wall. I’ve got as much as I can carry, but they won’t even let me have a mule or a handcart. Just a big bale on my back.

Well, I pops through the gate. Then there’s a hike down a long pier. I can see Kismirth down at the end of it, but a mile with such a big bale, ow! Hurts.

But then I get to the end of the pier and my luck turns. Who is there but this Rassy dressed like a prince, with a crown and everything. Guess what, he is a prince! So what does he do, this prince of yours? Welcomes me to Kismirth, helps me take the bale off my back, and sets me on a nice bench and goes and gets me a plate of tea and coffee cake and grilled chub-beetles with his own hands. Rightie-o, then, I don’t know what they’re doing here, but I bet I’ll be lifting my tail in a bordello by tomorrow night. That’s what I think. And then, That’s a dunfy better deal that I’d be getting in Iluc. Not how it turned out in Kismirth actually. I never lifted my tail for anyone but that I wanted to lift it for, and all for free.

So then Heen gets there, my friend from the guild back in Iluc, raised up to master and crushed down to journeyman same time as me. He takes half my bale and half my coffee cake, and we go off to look for a place for me to stay. The Greeters of Kismirth offered me an apartment all of my own, free for five years. Shoulda taken it, too. I wound up hunting one two years later, when I couldn’t live with Heen no more, and paying for it, too. Pretty cheap, but some rent is more than no rent, OK?

Anyhow, I join the Couturier’s Guild here, and it’s all fine enough. I do end up working as an inferior master in Dorquindale’s shop, but he’s paying me a master’s wages and giving me a master’s priveleges, and when I have enough money he does help me set up my own shop. Bah, making silly finery for tourists, and night-things for people who think they’re sexier than they are, but that’s what happens in Kismirth.

We acquired about ten or eleven percent of the population of the Cities of the Trough before they realized what was going on.

sythyry: (sythyry-doomed)

Mirrored from Sythyry.

The Vepri often said that they would be better off without any glates in their cities. So, we thought, let us make it so, and see how they do.

I don’t know who thought it first. Dozens of people take credit for it, or give credit to someone else. I suppose it was obvious. I certainly didn’t think of it myself.

The legeriat spent a short time debating it, and passed it easily. I vetoed it at first, as is my right to veto anything at all in Kismirth, since it was putting Vheshrame in the position of challenging the Cities of the Trough to a war, or a warrish sort of thing, which is kind of something that we need the Duke and Legeriat of Vheshrame to do rather than our glorified town council. This made me severely unpopular in Kismirth for a while. I managed to repair my reputation by getting Phaniet negotiate a treaty with Iluc and Draffmoug that we’d take some of their unwanted, wicked, criminal glates off their hands. At which point it wasn’t a war or a warrish sort of thing, with those two cities at least.

We have lots of teleport gates, and the flexible sort which can be placed anywhere that is desired. It is a simple matter to put a gate within easy reach of Iluc, or Draffmoug, or wherever.

Here’s Mocktschiba’s story. As usual, I am telling it because I know it, since we’re in a guild together and Mocktschiba occasionally deigns to talk to me. It’s typical enough of these immigrants, I suppose.

Mocktschiba’s Story

Me: “Tell me about your departure from Iluc, and your arrival here.”

Mocktschiba: “Why’s that?”

Me: “I’m writing it down.”

Mocktschiba: “Well, then, you buy me dinner — at Arfaen’s! — and I’ll tell you it all for you to write down.”

Me: “Certainly.”

Mocktschiba: “But no mentioning me moving in with Heen!”

Me: “I won’t.”

Mocktschiba: “Or marrying him!” (Yes, Heen is a Rassimel man, and Mocktschiba is an Orren man. As requested, I won’t tell any of the story of their early affairs, in Iluc. But I will of course quote Mocktschiba’s words precisely.)

Me: “I won’t.”

Mocktschiba: “Or divorcing him!”

Me: “I won’t. Just the story of when you came to Kismirth”

Well, I’d been broken in the Couturier’s Guild, that was a couple years before. I had been a master, but they can’t have perfectly good optimes taking orders from a glate! And of course I was a glate, I’d quarreled with Pumperpriest hadn’t I? So I was a journeyman-for-life, I thought. My own shop, but a tiny one that respectable folks wouldn’t buy from. No apprentices ever, and no master’s priveleges.

But they don’t want glates in Iluc at all now. They came to me, the Doippmers, and they pissed over all my stock-cloth, and they said, “You’re lucky to get our urine, you sclud. Now get out of town to Kismirth or we’ll come back and break your every bone.” They do that too.

It’s a hateful thing, being exiled from the city of your birth, don’t you know? But the city of my birth had turned into a hateful thing itself, and the Doippmers and Vepri the most of it.

So off I go to Kismirth. There’s a teleport gate set up just outside of the Iluc city wall. I’ve got as much as I can carry, but they won’t even let me have a mule or a handcart. Just a big bale on my back.

Well, I pops through the gate. Then there’s a hike down a long pier. I can see Kismirth down at the end of it, but a mile with such a big bale, ow! Hurts.

But then I get to the end of the pier and my luck turns. Who is there but this Rassy dressed like a prince, with a crown and everything. Guess what, he is a prince! So what does he do, this prince of yours? Welcomes me to Kismirth, helps me take the bale off my back, and sets me on a nice bench and goes and gets me a plate of tea and coffee cake and grilled chub-beetles with his own hands. Rightie-o, then, I don’t know what they’re doing here, but I bet I’ll be lifting my tail in a bordello by tomorrow night. That’s what I think. And then, That’s a dunfy better deal that I’d be getting in Iluc. Not how it turned out in Kismirth actually. I never lifted my tail for anyone but that I wanted to lift it for, and all for free.

So then Heen gets there, my friend from the guild back in Iluc, raised up to master and crushed down to journeyman same time as me. He takes half my bale and half my coffee cake, and we go off to look for a place for me to stay. The Greeters of Kismirth offered me an apartment all of my own, free for five years. Shoulda taken it, too. I wound up hunting one two years later, when I couldn’t live with Heen no more, and paying for it, too. Pretty cheap, but some rent is more than no rent, OK?

Anyhow, I join the Couturier’s Guild here, and it’s all fine enough. I do end up working as an inferior master in Dorquindale’s shop, but he’s paying me a master’s wages and giving me a master’s priveleges, and when I have enough money he does help me set up my own shop. Bah, making silly finery for tourists, and night-things for people who think they’re sexier than they are, but that’s what happens in Kismirth.

We acquired about ten or eleven percent of the population of the Cities of the Trough before they realized what was going on.

sythyry: (sythyry-doomed)

Mirrored from Sythyry.

“Sythyry’s attempt to do something about the Vepri was about as successful as floating over their heads and tossing piles of späzle out of Kismirth upon their cities would have been,” was the general opinion. “Not only was it utterly futile, but, in addition, it made us look ridiculous.”

I couldn’t argue.

And I didn’t have any good ideas. Not that it was a topic I much wanted to work on. I mean — seriously? What am I supposed to do? I could build Holocaust War weapons, and start a massive hate-war, and, um, … then lots of people would be dead, and everyone in Ketheria would think that traff-folk were not just perverts but murderous perverts, and maybe I could hammer the laws of the Cities of the Trough into better shape by force but they probably wouldn’t be enforced very well. Or maybe I would just get killed, which would probably devastate my reputation less.

So I did other projects, and avoided the issue as best I could.

By the twelfth year of Kismirth, the city was half refugees from the Vepri: about, I think, fourteen thousand people, seven thousand from the Cities of the Trough. This is not particularly due to Kismirth being a wonderful place to live (though it is). It is due to the Cities of the Trough getting to be quite an unpleasant place for glates to live. Heen’s story, Niia’s and Chiver’s story — these were typical. I could probably have picked up about seven thousand similar stories from the newcomers. Beatings, enslavements, exilings, fines, degradations, and even the occasional insult.

The general principle of Vepri rule is that society should have certain classes: optimes on top, norums in the middle, glates at the bottom, with scluds particularly despised.

Now, that’s not so strange. We’ve always had a stratified society: nobles and the wealthy above the professional classes above the commoners, with slaves about equal to the bottom third of the commoners depending on the situation. I can’t defend this completely, not after thinking a lot about how similar the Vepri order is. But there is some reason to it. At the best, nobles are heroes who risk their lives defending cities and villages. (The typical nobles are the heirs of such people, who hire others to do it, which is less impressive.) The professional classes have generally studied more and do more subtle work than the menials, and deserve respect for their efforts, I suppose. Slaves are criminals or debtors most of the time, which cannot improve their respect. So there is some justification for the usual order, if not actual justice.

In any case, there is a certain possibility that one, or one’s children, can improve their status. It does not happen that often, but it certainly does happen. A brave person of any rank can become a hero and gain a title from it. An energetic and smart one of any rank can get a good apprenticeship and become a guildmaster. A beautiful and charming one can catch the eye of a noble, and get a nice concubinage or an excellent marriage. And so on. Or, for the other side of fairness, a sufficiently incompetent noble family can be stripped of their rank, and have their lands given to that brave new hero. A wicked guildmaster can be brought to justice. Or what have you. These things happen a few times a year in a typical city, or more or less depending on what you count.

The Vepri order has its own justification. In theory — Vepri theory! — it is based on generation of first birth, plus the theory that early generations were better than later ones. There are two flaws. Second, the theory that early generations are better is utter nonsense. First, even if it were the case, the Vepri are lying about generations of first birth. They give their supporters good numbers, their enemies bad ones, and it is all a matter of their convenience.

But — and this is important — the Vepri have two crucial points of law. First, that one’s original generation should determine their station in life. Second, that a great deal of society needs to be structured to restrain and repress the wickedness of glates. I suppose that if you consider half your population to be on the verge of the worst sort of thuggishness, criminality, brutality, ill-manners, violence, pomposity, viciousness, and flatulence, you will design your law codes and everything else to keep these dark urges under control. Indeed, you might be moved to thuggishness, criminality, brutality, ill-manners, violence, pomposity, violence, and perhaps even flatulence of your own to do so. The glates deserve no better.

And you exile or kill them when they are too much trouble. They cannot be rehabilitated. Education might improve someone’s morality if one accepts that morality is an act of will and intellect. Nothing, nothing, will change what generation someone is born in. The Vepri often said that they would be better off without any glates in their cities.

It is not surprising that the glates, in particular, found this new order unpleasant and undesirable. They had previously been in, often enough, comfortable social status: nobles and guildmasters were often declared glates and scluds, dropping them from the highest ranks to the lowest. And glates of whatever rank before had some hope of bettering themselves — hope that the single fixed number of the Vepri denies them completely.

So seven thousand of them left, over a decade or two, and came to Kismirth. Others went elsewhere: several thousand through Kismirth, stopping here for hours or months, with Niia among the more dramatic. Presumably some went to other places too; I wouldn’t know.

Now, many of those seven thousand were traff. I don’t know — seven hundred of them? But one does not need to be traff to live here. Between the teleport gates, the slow and fast districts, and the tourism and entertainment industry, and the vast time-distorted fields, there are livelihoods for everyone and to spare.

Still, with seven thousand emmigrants from the Vepri lands, there was a great deal of sentiment that We Should Do Something About Those Cursed Vepri. Half of us had felt their viciousness personally. The other half had friends who had done.

I have to admit that I was on the wrong side. My opinion was mostly, “Yeah — like what should we do? I got sent home with my tail between my legs last time.”

I hate when people answer my rhetorical questions so concretely.

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