Latan: Something-or-other-khaar. It depends on the type. Uh, normal cake-cake is khaar. There's a kind of ration biscuit called ashokhaar. Fish-cake is merakhaar? No, I think that's actually something else...(devolves into muttering and note-taking)
Kasaam: Cake! Oh, you meant in Qunlat.
Arelan/Qunra/Valan: Khaar.
Arvaarad: Dankhaar.
May: What in the world is a 'dankhaar'. Wait, dàngāo?
Arvaarad: Something like what you said. A batter of eggs is involved. And they are flat.
May: ...(omelette?? pancakes??? tan tart??????)
Qenvaarad: Qenakhaar!
Arvaarad: ...Those are dog biscuits.
Qenvaarad: For the pack, it's like cake!
Arvaarad: *groans*
Ashran: Naam.
May: wut
Ashran: Fog Warrior habit, not so much Qunlat. Long story. Anyway, why are you asking?
Before Szadz's motherboard went phut, my idea was to draw each character out of Viddathari Adventures/Ashkaari's Daughters as they were introduced in the story. To keep myself from going stir-crazy, like, and to keep myself in practice.
Anyhoo! This is Zimrathon's alter ego, the elven bard, Kasaam.
Viddathari Misadventures: How a Scribe Becomes a Scribe
Context: In the NaNovel version of Viddathari Adventures, Latan has taken a very specific book from the qunlok library...due to the devious exhortations of her two friends.
zimrathon: just read over the recent stuff
zimrathon: me guuuusssttaaaa
zimrathon: LOL Kasaam getting enthusiastic over poetry
zimrathon: and Ashran and butts
maybethings: Because, LOVE SONGS OF THE SCRIBE
zimrathon: SIGH SIGH
zimrathon: it gives Kasaam all her silly romantic notions
maybethings: Or rather, it...encourages them
maybethings: If Kasaam asks Latan to go find a Qunari Mills and Boon
maybethings: She gonna draw the line
zimrathon: XDDD
Kasaam: But kadan--
Latan: NO
Kasaam: (to Latan) Now you must get this thing called the Commander and Sten Kadan...
Ashran: NO DON'T YOU DARE I'VE READ IT THAT THING IS BULLSHIT
Kasaam: BUT ASHRAN--
Ashran: NO.
Kasaam: BUT UNDULATING
Latan: How are you both my friends. How. I just wanted a nice, peaceful life.
Themes: Dancing, love, and solace. Cut for spoilers.
14
A boy comes up to her at the harvest fair and asks for a dance, one of the sons of a farmer on neighbouring lands. She takes his hand and lets him lead her a halting few rounds around the square. It was nice, she supposed after the fact, but certainly nothing to get fussed over like her mother did.
20
She sees the cranes dancing at the edge of the marsh, their wings flicking back and forth, their necks bobbing up and down. The sound of their cries fills the air, harsher and sweeter than any music. An inexplicable sadness fills the farmer's daughter, and she has to look away.
30
Eyes bright and cheeks flushed with drink, she swirls and sways beside her kadan. Laughing, the Vaarad matches her pace, step to step with nary a signal. This, then, Latan thinks, is what it is to really dance.
70
"When my eyes close//I will open them to the spray of the ocean//You will come adorned in the festival robes//And without//in the field of the soul//two cranes will dance." The scribe closes the book gently, returning it to the shelf with warmth blooming in her heart. So do the words of her forebears live on.
Kasaam
14
'Magic exists to serve man, never to rule over him.' Magic this. Magic that. For all that talk in the Chant, the girl never hears a single sentence that approaches 'Mages should not be dicks and step all over the backs of elves'. Whatever scant love the Maker has for man, he has even less for the elves. Sadist.
20
The storm sends her running to the nearest roofed building. It's dark with a warm musty smell to it, and several pens. Once her eyes become accustomed to the dark, she sees several large, dark forms resting in pens. One of them turns to her, its chains clinking, and growls a warning. She takes a step closer.
30
The bow rattles furiously in Sorcha's hand, but she never lets it fall, keeps it trained between the bear's beady eyes. When it roars, she screams back, cursing fit to turn the Fade black. The beast pins its ears, snuffles indignantly and turns tail. Only then does Branwen start crying, the spell broken, and her mother picks her up and rocks her back and forth, mumbling tearful little words of Dalish into her ears.
70
"You would have liked him, mamae," Branwen muses, crossing her legs under the great tree. "Big, strong guy. Dark hair like Father's. We're getting married just after the next arlath'vhen." The branches rustled in the wind, a friendly, loving sound, and the girl took it to be as good as a blessing.
Ashran
14
Is it too much to ask for a month of peace, a week, a day? Issa curls up pup-like in the long grass, and breathes deep of the jungle flowers. One day, it's going to be different--one day, Seheron will belong to people again, and not shapeless powers.
20
She seeks out the Tevene mage that took abba, and knocks the eyes out of his skull. Eyes that saw nothing but beasts. On that one day, and for every year after, Issa wears no flowers in her hair.
30
"It's that day of the year, isn't it?" Latan asks quietly, a half-smile on her lips. "I thought maybe you'd like some company tonight." Ashran nods, wordless, her white hair unadorned, and pours the tea.
70
As the days and months bleed into each other like paints on wet paper, she dreams more and more vividly. One night, she's back in the jungle, the air smelling of frangipanis, and in front of her is ummi, arms stretched wide, flowers in her hair. She runs to her, the age falling from her old limbs like a cloak, and lifts her off the ground, laughing herself breathless and straight out of this life.
