Elijah

He/him. Mostly Fantasy and scifi

[writingwitheli]

We'll Save Each Other

Murderbot is only on episode five of Fortune in Quarter Moons, but it sure is full of plotholes and more drama than character realism. Murderbot loves it so far.

---- Part of the 2022 Murderbot Diaries New Year's Gift Exchange. This gift is for Ōmukade. :)

[writingwitheli]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[writingwitheli]

We'll Save Each Other

Murderbot is only on episode five of Fortune in Quarter Moons, but it sure is full of plotholes and more drama than character realism. Murderbot loves it so far.

---- Part of the 2022 Murderbot Diaries New Year's Gift Exchange. This gift is for Ōmukade. :)

[writingwitheli]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

A story about the true terror of Fugitive Telemetry.

[writingwitheli]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

In a Completely Serious Fic, Blorp Bag laments on its life.

[writingwitheli]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

FIELD REPORT on Subject 4D42 - An Introduction

Perihelion looks at the van.

It’s smaller than it had seemed in the schematics.

[writingwitheli]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

FIELD REPORT on Subject 4D42 - An Introduction

Perihelion looks at the van.

It's smaller than it had seemed in the schematics.

[writingwitheli]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Murderbot finds out about some new options to solve the logo problem. There may be some consequences and ART isn't on board with the idea.

[writingwitheli]

GrandMech

Most mechs were hard to function, even with experienced pilots.

They didn't move like people do, the mechanics don't really allow for that. You have to know the engineering intimately to clearly envision how the thing was going to react to your direction. Most pilots spend months learning their piece before going into the field. There were simulators, and for a while the board argued for mechs to be built in a uniform manner for faster learning.

But technology went a bit too fast for that. And the things were way too expensive to mass produce.

Grandma Katersfield knew this well. It was her life's work.

I mean she wasn't my grandma. But she kinda was. She was everyone's grandma, in a way. Most mechs these days still have her work in them, even if there were scraps rebuild around it. Some people called it practical. Pilots called it good luck. The engineers called it "Finally someone who knows what they're fucking doing."

When she passed away, in her garage (had she ever existed anywhere else?), the military held a funeral. Most of the planets held a funeral. The board, somewhere in their core-planet bunkers, held a meeting.

The war wasn't over, and we weren't winning. And we'd just lost our best engineer. It was a big fucking hit for morale. There were losses everywhere.

Presumably after sending a swarm of government drones through the property, the board very quickly touted "Katersfield's Final Work", and "The culmination of everything she's ever done". Some people pointed out the public images that showed how the thing was half-done. But enough people wanted hope that everyone gradually bought into the idea.

The board appointed Katersfield's daughter to lead the finalization of the thing. Ann wasn't exactly an engineer, but they knew how the public would read it. They gave her a team of their best to work with.

When construction was nearly done, the board officially announced that Katersfield's son-in-law would be piloting it. Everyone expected it; he was the only striped pilot in the family. But it hit the top of everyone's news anyways.

The public test run was expected to be simple, and broadcasted live as far as the outer-space colonies.

It… didn't go so well.

Okay, it went very badly.

I mean.

Bad.

What followed was a lot of media confusion. The board hastily tried to put the blame on over-eagerness. People were fired. We lost four moons while our squadrons re-evaluated their lives.

Mark and his husband, Will Katersfield, had a very public divorce. Some people argue it was the media pressure. Some people suspect that the board forced them apart. I think it was a long time coming.

For a while the board pushed forward other candidates. They ran competitions for new mech designers and engineers and electricians. Offered an absurd amount of money and resources. A lot of cool stuff came out of it, but nothing really compares to Katersfield's work.

It was three years after that when media went into a frenzy over a low-grade video of the mech doing cartwheels over the family farm. Fucking cartwheels, man. I can't even do those in my own body most days.

Every news ship went down there as quick as they could. A bunch of civilians, too. Granny says a board member actually showed up in person.

Everyone was immediately on Ann about it. She was the only one that really stayed on the farm. She knew the machinery well enough. And maybe she'd inherited the pilot skills of one of Katersfield's late spouses.

To the dismay of the board, Ann insisted that the pilot was Thoma, one of Will's children. The media went ballistic. Kids weren't even supposed to be piloting mechs in the first place.

Thoma gave an interview to their school teacher and described the sensation of piloting upside down as "even better than going all the way around the bar on a swing and then having Grandma's cookies with two scoops of ice cream!" Their wide grin with missing teeth was eventually made into metal-cards for soldiers to attach under their breast plates and remind them of home.

At some point, Ann made the mistake of admitting that she'd taken it out for a test-run while she was tuning up some joints (she hadn't been an engineer when this started. But things change).

The board came down hard. They publicly announced that Ann was the cartwheeling pilot, and further that she'd accepted a high raking military title with absurd honors and enough pay to buy a moon. They posted a date with a public countdown clock for her departure to the front lines.

Now the way Granny tells it; Ann didn't know about any of this until her neighbor came by with the milk and a congratulations. Granny would probably piss on the board if she still could. Don't let her try it.

Ann did go. She didn't have many options, really. Her bio-logs phrase the situation as "the board made a decision. I complied."

We pushed back the front by two whole planets. Ann wasn't much of a pilot; she spent too much time thinking, but the war pushed around her. Most of the time it only took a three second clip of her unnaturally smooth landing and quick gravity adjustment to a new planet. My old mech would take two minutes to land and readjust. A lot can happen in two minutes.

The official report says Ann died on Mitas 9. The board will probably censor this whole damn thing if I try to explain what happened, but just remember that official reports are. Well. Official.

The mech was commandeered immediately. They cleaned it up, threw on a new coat of paint, and put their highest ranking pilot in the hotseat.

Everyone was in a hurry to get back to it and have a plan ready before Ann's death was publicly announced. Yeru knew the schematics by heart and spent one month living with the mech every hour of every day to make up for lost time. The board went as far as making them legally exempt from standard reports. Yeru's bios were never made public, but you can pull them from the military archives in Section B. They clearly knew their way around a mech, and honestly seemed to be a good person as far as I can tell.

The board had seemingly learned from prior incidents. The Generals hosted a secluded military showing of the first test-run. Those archives are probably deleted, but all you really need to know is that Yeru never made it off the ground.

For a few months, the military looked into sabotage. Yeru's bio-post about the joints being "just plain creaky no matter how much I oil the thing" convinced a bunch of higher-ups that the mech had been swapped out or something.

I know. Creating a whole fake mech to replace it with? Somehow managing to swap the thing out with as much board, military, and media surveillance as it has? Absurd.

Also I'm sure you're well aware that plenty of good mechs have creaky joints. I hear you ran Sacrifice 2 for a while there. Lt. Jen complained about how loud that thing was for months after he shared a hangar with it near Osylus. Not sure if that was your time or not. I'm going to tell him it was, so he'll have something to complain to you about. When he does, ask him about the wardrobe cloning incident. I'm sure he'll know what you're talking about.

Anyways.

The news about Ann went public, and the board pushed it down the feeds with reports about a new Stealth Carrier that would move faster than a pilot-ship. It did. Everyone loved it. I'm sure it's shit compared to the last carrier you were on.

Thoma, meanwhile, had grown up and gotten their way through military school. It might seem strange to you now, but Thoma actually didn't touch a mech the first decade of their service. They had a few friends and plenty worshipers, but still hadn't officially earned enough stripes to be a pilot. The Generals wanted to make sure Thoma was knocked down enough to keep from getting big-headed about it. But Thoma didn't really care.

Thoma fought hard and studied harder. They proved themselves again and again. You can look up the public records of their medal-acceptance speeches. Every damn time they would say "This is a great honor. Can I trade it in for a mech?"

Pissed a lot of people off, but it was fucking hilarious if you ask me.

Eventually Thoma led a fairly large squadron and took a half a continent in a week. When I asked them about it, they said they had sent a text message to the Generals saying "I could've gotten all of it, if I had my own mech :,(". I know them well enough to know they probably actually sent a frowny-face emoji to the Generals. Don't do that. It's hilarious. But, Don't.

Probably.

For now, anyways.

The board reluctantly let Thoma break the mech out of some museum somewhere as a reward for their service. They weren't intending for Thoma to actually run as a pilot since Thoma had already gotten to be in charge of things. It would be a media mess, at best, a military loss at worst.

Thoma did a fucking backflip over live media.

Anyways the board and the Generals argued about it for a week, but eventually did the only thing they could do. They made Thoma a pilot. There were lots of assurances that Thoma would still be holding their responsibilities as Planetary Sergeant. No one cared. Thoma had done a fucking backflip; the Katersfields were at it again.

I'm told that week of debate consisted of at least fifteen other pilots trying the mech out and reporting up failures of various kinds. Don't worry about that, you'll do fine.

I'm sure you know most of the story from there. Thoma took Belet 5 through Belet 11, and some other smaller planets along the way. Majestic. War hero. Idol. Etc etc.

The board immediately pushed Thoma’s son, Madene, into the military and straight into pilot's school. They make a lot of dumb decisions, but even the board could see the pattern here.

You might not have read this about me, but I used to be an electrician. I worked on Thoma's team for a while. The Generals gave Madene special permission to visit us sometimes so he could learn the mech hands-on. He'd always wanted to be an artist or a planetary refurbisher. That was clear from the first day we met.

I'll tell you this now, it's not part of public record: Madene ran the mech just fine when it was just us around. Thoma would give some long drawn-out speech about minding your manners and being careful with her. It was their Grandmother's soul in that machine, after all. Madene didn't really listen, but the mech ran just fine anyways.

When Madene was nearing graduation, the Generals sent their scouts around to see how things were going. The mech ran straight into their drones and fell convulsing onto the ground.

It was a hard time for a while, Thoma was upset with Madene and Madene was embarrassed. There were lots of arguments, and the Generals tried to pretend Madene just didn't have enough experience as a pilot. The idea that Madene did it on purpose didn't get recorded, but it's what a lot of people assumed. I don't think that's what happened, anyways.

Madene tried really hard after that. He pushed himself in school, and as a result they let him try out a bunch of other mechs. He proved he could handle it just as well as some of our better pilots. He took Entrapment marching around the school-system planet four times.

Thoma tore their knee in a pretty brutal fight, and since they were nearing retirement anyways the board arranged for a public hand-off of the mech.

I used to talk to her when I worked. My old pilot - the one I worked electricity for before Thoma - had always been superstitious about this sort've thing. She used to spend a good half-hour reassuring it before she's let me do any work on it. I guess I'd picked up the habit. You might want to pick it up, too, if you haven't already.

I'd asked her to help Madene out. He'd worked so hard and I could tell Thoma was slowing down.

You might have seen the media of that. Afterward Madene was particularly… verbal. Even if you didn't see that, I'm sure you heard about what happened to him after. Don't be too harsh on him, it's really not his fault. We were all too hard on him.

All the media says the Generals did a lot of research and realized I was better suited as a pilot and they shifted me over. How that actually happened was… well. A little boring.

One of their scouts had caught me helping her move over so I could get a better angle at the spinal wiring.

Blah blah blah. I'm sure you know the highlights from there.

So here's where we get to the advice that was the whole point of this message:

I admit the public eye is a little difficult to get used to. Honestly I recommend you just ignore it. They'll say shit no matter what you do.

Don't call her by the name the board gave her. I know that's what you learned in school and in training. Don't do it.

Don't piss her off.

Be patient - her memory isn't what it used to be.

Don't tell her what to do. I read your file, you have a lot of experience. I know this will be the hard part.

If the mediacom switches to one of those awful family gameshows. Just. Let it happen. No, they do not get less annoying to listen to. Yes, she knows they're all the same.

The internal heating will be On when you're on any below-regulation temperature planet. I know you're from the outer colonies. I know that will be too warm for you. Get over it and try not to dress down too much; she's easier to maneuver when you're in layers.

The one exception to the above is her tune-ups and maintenance. She doesn't like it. She never does. We have four crews to make it easier and I still do it myself sometimes to help her get over it. You're going to have to get good at negotiating.

If you leave a battle with a sudden craving in your neurons for hot and hearty soup, go get some hot and hearty soup. She'll get stubborn with you next time if you don't.

Granny will take care of you from there.

-Captain Layfar

[writingwitheli]

100 Themes #58-Heartfelt Apology

 Aenor kneels before the statue. The building is quieter than normal, more people are meditating and less are pacing the halls. He spends a moment remembering the feeling of dirt and sand under his feet. The tiles are cold and uncomfortable. He wants to tear them all up and burn the whole building down.

His breathing speeds up as he tries to speak, and he can't find the words. He tries common at first, knowing the old human preferred it, “I- I'm... I don't think- I feel that-,” but the words fall flat, he can't make sense of them. Then he tries elven, knowing Father Cross hadn't quite grasped the language but knowing it would be easier to say. But it's not. He doesn't know what he's trying to say, he doesn't know what he needs to say or if he wants to say anything at all.

The statue isn't of a person, of course, but it looks almost like one. Solid flatly colored white stone carved into the shape of meditation-perfectly symmetrical. The only hint of color is the necklace-silver and red-around the perfectly smooth neck. The face is flat, without any unique distinction, and the ears are a rough shape that could be human, elf, or anything in-between.

The base is square and wood-like, if it weren't for the magic that had straightened out all of the markings there wouldn't be a difference. Aenor finds himself placing his hands on it for support, shaking. He looks up at the face of the statue for guidance, but the shape remains passive.

He thinks of his cursing, his yelling, his new clothes, Eveline, his disobedience. He thinks of all of this and wants to scream. He still can't seem to find it wrong, but Aenor knows he ended everything on bad terms, and for a moment believes that he is at fault for Father Cross's death. If only he'd obeyed, if only he'd stayed instead of running away. Then none would have considered attacking the old man. Even if they had, they wouldn't have succeeded.

He screams at the statue, willing it to move, but it stays. Distantly, he notices a cleric opening a door to make sure he's okay. After a moment, the wooden door slides shut again.

Aenor stays there, staring at the tiles in front of the statue, for a long while. Even as the sun rises, he can't find the right thing to say.

[writingwitheli]

100 Themes #57-Slow Down

Mink pushed through the crowds of people in the streets. He spared a glance behind him at the samurai. The yelling fairly obvious that they were still following him, but habit kept him looking back anyway. Relying on his old techniques, Mink pulled a woman with a basket, spun, and pushed her toward the warriors, before turning away and continuing to run. A few arrows flew far above him from some archer he hadn't seen. He watched roof-tiles slide off buildings and listened to them hit someone behind him in response.

Stellar Jay kept low, but he was still high above anyone else. Mink watched him change direction, and hurried to find some street corner to follow him through. He spotted a shop he used to steal from, and ran into the doors. The window was, thankfully, still exactly where it had always been. He grabbed a helmet from one of the display tables and threw it. The helmet hit the window and fell to the ground. “Damn,” Mink muttered, grabbing a metal box this time and throwing it with more force. The doors behind him slammed open again just as the window shattered. Mink didn't look back this time as he jumped through the broken glass and back out onto the streets.

Immediately, he began searching the sky for any sign of the tengu. There was none, but he kept going in the direction the bid had been flying anyway.

There were screams. A few of the samurai ran out from another road into the streets in front of him. Mink pushed over a cart in their direction and used the distraction to run by them. He felt a hand grab at his collar, but he managed to pull away and keep running.

Then, he saw the tengu again, far ahead of him in the sky. Grinning, he put more effort into his run, getting through the street faster than before.

It was dark before the samurai lost trace of them. Mink kept following Stellar Jay until he landed behind a clothing shop. Stellar Jay stretched his wings and his neck before looking around for any remaining sign of the warriors.

“I think they're gone, they were closer to me than they were to you. Although flying isn't all that subtle, maybe you should consider something else next time,” Mink said as he leaned back against a wall to rest. He'd spent a lot of his life running, but that didn't mean he couldn't get tired.

Stellar Jay scoffed, “Something else? Like walking? Have you ever seen a tengu try to run? It's not as easy when you're not balanced for it.” He made a point of looking at the talons on his feet and stretching out his heavy wings. “Besides, I don't need to care about being seen if they can't catch up with me.”

Mink laughed, ending with a cough that reminded him how out of breath he was. “Well, maybe you could at least slow down next time. I nearly lost track of you.”

Stellar Jay squinted at the thief, studying his posture and what remained of his ill-fitting armor. “You realize it's over right? They've found us out, there's no job anymore and I don't have anything to pay you with.”

Mink stood still for a moment, thinking. “Yeah, well, you'll figure something out. You have to run, I have to run, and you're pretty good at getting resources. Besides, it's not like I have anywhere else to go.”

[writingwitheli]

100 Themes #56-Everything for You

Sure, it wouldn't have taken much effort to listen to the merchants. In fact, Fallon had to go out of her way to disobey them. It wasn't easy smuggling any amount of alcohol on her journey, let alone enough to last her from one village to the next. The fact that she wasn't expected to carry anything but her weaponry had just made it more of a difficulty. She found herself helping people out in towns and trading any awards for whatever drinks were available. Then, she'd slip canteens and bottles in with the trinkets and fabrics and boxes stacked all over the carts. Sure, this meant it was common for her loot to get sold off to whoever they ran into, but it was better than being sober the whole trip. Besides, it wasn't like her fighting skills were diminished when she was drunk. He sword swung in much looser lines, but the brute strength was still there and it wasn't like they ran into anything more than poor unskilled bandits anyway.

Fallon could have listened. In all honesty, she normally wouldn't have bothered going out of her way to do all of that work. But the guy who had hired her had claimed her drinking habits were no problem, and then promptly changed his mind once they set out. It was too late to back out, and she didn't really have any reason to go back home anyway. Had he never mentioned the drinking at all, she might have cut off her habit entirely, but he'd gone out of his way to specify that drinking wouldn't be tolerated. Fallon was stubborn. She didn't care about the merchant's concerns, or his priorities, she wasn't about to change herself for anyone else (a lesson she'd learned long ago, when her family had still dreamed of marrying her off to some rich stranger). She wouldn't do anything she didn't want to. It was her life, and that meant sticking to her ways, no matter the consequences.

[writingwitheli]

100 Themes #55-Separation

The eggs were cold, but most of them were near ready to hatch. It would be a difficult winter if they didn't hatch soon. The kids were gone, five of them lost to the storm. Surprisingly, Stellar Jay hadn't returned. The ones that did were the younger and weaker ones.

Fletcher had flown in, directing some younger ones, but he was severely injured from the storm. He'd spent most of the flight pushing the younger two forward, protecting them from the debris. For a while, he remained in the nest, painfully resting. He'd coughed out a description of Crow's dead body that he'd run into before they returned. The whole nest worked hard to take care of him, making sure he ate and got plenty of water and bandaging his wounds. They fought hard, but he barely lasted four days after that. Bevvy and Lutino had been forced to dump him with the corpses from the war.

Mute hadn't ever really been a normal bird. He was quiet, but no more so than he had been before the storm. Sometimes he would ask his mother about the corpse he'd seen, the bare skin around his pale beak twisting into some facial expression she still didn't recognize without feathers. It was odd, and she didn't always have the answers he needed, but she tried to tell him what she could. Most of the family thought it was some strange morbid obsession, but she could tell there was a lot more to it.

Blackbird had been the most distraught. He'd tripped through the nest's floor, crying out for some help and comfort. A quick inspection had revealed very few injuries, but when Lutino had sent him out to get bandages for Fletcher, Blackbird had frozen up at the edge of the nest. He's refused to fly ever since.

It became obvious that with so much remaining that reminded them of their lost family, and with a son that couldn't fly, they would need to leave the nest. The empire's hunt for tengu just made this fact even more obvious. Lutino and Bevvy contacted some of their criminal friends and began to auction things off. Fea's maps, Garrow and Crow's books, Parrow's watches, and a bunch of other old things they'd meant to sell long ago. Stellar Jay tended to keep shiny things, gold, gems, and mirrors. These were typical things from Bevvy and Lutino's own collections, so they kept those around.

They went South, knowing tengu were likely safer from the samurai and knowing several safe paths through the war. It took a lot of time, but they had friends, so it wasn't a difficult journey. They do find purchase above the homes of some friendly locals, but it's much lower and rougher than their old home. The area isn't smooth stone like the gate, it's made of rough rocks and wood. They cover it with many cloths, but it doesn't make it as smooth as they'd like. Bevvy finds a large cloth nearby, designed to be a rug, which she uses to keep the sun away. They used to need a cover for rain, but it doesn't rain much in this area.

None of them consider going home.

[writingwitheli]

100 Themes #54-Health and Healing

Her fists were bleeding again. It was getting rather annoying and the cloth was to wet to stay in place on her hands, so she removed it. That didn't stop her of course, the frustration was still there. There was still some problem she needed to understand. Meditation hadn't helped. The books of St. Cuthbert hadn't helped, and her friends were gone. This, at least, calmed her down.

  After a few hours, anyway.  

Telosai would return to the monastery, having rebandaged her fists after she was done. Few would notice, but she would make her way to the inner courtyard and wash off the dried blood. Picking out the splinters was usually the worst, but she'd grown numb to the feeling. There weren't usually scars, since she healed quickly. When there were, she made sure to carefully mirror the marks on her other hand. Sometimes she was lucky and it would scar on the first try, and when it didn't she would repeat the process until it did. It was a long tedious process, but she was a monk, she was patient. The bandages, unless she found the blood had dried in a symmetric pattern, were burned and replaced again.  

She would rest at the end of the day, meditating for far longer than most elves, but not as long as humans slept. And the process would usually repeat the next day. Again and again and again.  

Eventually, she realized wasn't quite sure why she did it. It was a numb pain, and didn't have any lasting effect. But it was a habit, so it just didn't stop. 

[writingwitheli]

100 Themes #53-Future

"Y'know, Aenor, symmetry is rather interesting in friendships," Father Cross pointedly mentioned. He was careful to keep his pace mirroring Aenor's, but they were both very practiced in the art, so they didn't need to focus on it too much.

  Aenor glanced back at the temple. "I still can't be sure we're exactly friends." Dormentis wasn't exactly a friendly person. Neither was Aenor, but his point was still there.     

Father Cross shrugged. "You're monks, angry stubborn monks. You spend time together. Its a symmetric match. Of course you're friends."    

Aenor shrugged, "terms don't exactly matter, I doubt he'd jump at the chance to call me friend. Besides, I imagine that wasn't your point."    

Father Cross nodded slowly. "With marriage, two become one. It creates a separate order of balance, and adds weight to one side of the scale."    

The elf laughed, "So first you insist we're friends and then you tell me I should stop being friends?"    

The old man shook his head, "Of course not, I wouldn't expect that of you. But there are ways to regain balance other than leaving the scale."    

Aenor stopped and took a deep breath. Father Cross was usually determined to get him to socialize, but this was new territory. He was an elf, there was no need to think of romance so soon. Besides, he was a monk, and thought that alone would have been enough reason to keep possible suitors away, let alone his actual personality. "You suggest marriage?"    

Father Cross smiled, "It would make good balance in your life. Besides, we all know what happened when I wasn't around to take care of you." The church itself had been fine, Aenor had made sure of it, but the elf himself had begun to fall apart.    

The mention of that situation brought Aenor to anger. "What would you know about symmetry? Aren't you supposed to be dead? After life there is death, that is symmetry and balance, life after death is simply out of order."    

The human frowned. "I suppose, but it's for a greater balance. I have an important announcement to make after everyone's calmed down from the wedding. Besides, you already have a perfect choice."    

"I do not. I highly doubt there's anyone out there that would balance properly with Manteia, let alone one I wouldn't hate."    

Father Cross laughed lightly. "Eveline is rather similar. She has traits you miss, in the same way Manteia makes up for empty space in Dormentis."    

Aenor smirked, "You would suggest I marry a whore?" He liked finding flaw in the expectations of religion. He could, but it wasn't like she would become pure or lawful from his influence. If anything, she would probably only corrupt him further.    

Father Cross nodded, unconcerned. "She is devout, even if it's a different type of devotion. She would be a good influence on you."    

"A good influence, next you'll suggest I wear my hair parted to one side and get a tattoo of the orc god on my left wrist."    

Father Cross frowned, "Flawed symmetry is still better than no symmetry. You need balance, all good things must come with the bad. Besides, you like her well enough, and I doubt she would really refuse. You should at least consider it."    

Aenor shrugged. He wasn't entirely opposed to the idea, he just didn't like that it was being forced upon him. Besides, he wasn't sure that Eveline liked him enough for a permanent bond, he wasn't about to suggest the idea to her. There was another reason he didn't think it wasn't a good idea, involving lots of pain and family, but he couldn't exactly remember what it was at the moment.    

For now, he decided, it wasn't worth thinking about. He needed to focus on properly digesting the poisons from earlier, anyway. 

[writingwitheli]

100 Themes #52-Stirring of the Wind

I was busy recoiling ropes when I noticed a few of the crew members standing up from their duties and looking around. Realizing they were worried, I became hyperaware of the situation. The sway of the boat that I'd gotten accustomed to suddenly felt rather obvious and disorienting. The sound of the ocean flowed consistently, as if nothing was wrong. The sky was blue and clouded, no sign of storms. 

  Turning in the direction the others were facing, I realized what was wrong. The wind was gone, nothing was pulling at the sails. That would put them behind schedule, but I didn't think it was worth dropping work for. Maybe a few people would have to head below deck to start rowing, but the ship was large enough that we'd probably just wait for the wind.  

As I turned to get back to the rope, I found someone shoving a short sword into my arms. People started shouting and running around the deck.  

When I looked past the sails I realized what the fuss was. Something else hit the side of the ship, lifting it off the water and pushing everyone back until it fell again.  

Dragons. Right. Of course it would be dragons. 

[writingwitheli]

100 Themes #51-Troubling Thoughts

Perfect, perfect symmetry. A circle begins where it ends. Fire burns both life and death. Traveling left ends right, traveling right ends left. Up leads down, down was up. The universe began…?

  Ah, well, that was inevitable…  

Was it?  

The universe was collapsing, but it would collapse suddenly. Besides the Gods, none would have time to finish what they had begun. Shouldn't all things be ordered before it ended? A perfect center of order, peace, and perfection, and then slow decay back to chaos? To end where it began, wouldn't that be symmetry?  

And so, St. Cuthbert decided that now was surely not the time for the end, despite what the other Gods may have said. He set to fix it.   

If he ran out of time, well it would only make sense to rush the correct ending. To descend the world into the chaos where it began. The universe should not end on a day of peace. It wouldn't be proper balance, but it may be the closest he could cause. That, he decided, was what he had to do.

[writingwitheli]

100 Themes #50-Party

It was horribly cheerful for having such a depressing atmosphere. Aenor had to use his training to keep from stepping all over the fragile bones on the ground. If anyone ran into the waiting service, a limb would fling off, but everyone would laugh about it in the end. The chandeliers were nicely bleached, at least, the magically flamed tips of the rib bones illuminated far more of the room than they should. 

  The food was surprisingly normal, even if it was oddly arranged. A normal layered cake that Dormentis had baked (though he would forever deny it), but was black with skull decoration made of sugars. The meats and drinks had been gathered by vague associates of the Band, so Aenor was fairly glad he was trained to withstand poisons.  

The guests were honestly about exactly what he'd been accepting. Most of them wore funeral attire of some sort, many were monks or clerics, but there were plenty of mercenaries and other things. It was actually the first time he'd met some of his own (sort've) family. Telosai he'd known, but then there was a younger human monk with green hair, a strange bird creature dressed in white, and a few others. Apparently the bird was an author that Mantea had read the work of, but it was still a bird so Aenor wasn't too sure how he should feel about that. There were all types of people, and he was fairly sure most of them were dangerous, he didn't need to know them to see their weaponry or stature.   

Everyone was dressed in some fairly formal outfit, though they didn't seem sure why. Half of them were in white dresses or bright formal attire, the other half wore funeral attire. Manteia's dress had still managed to get attention, despite the oddity of it all. Aenor had decided that he didn't care enough to dress up, monk's attire was suitable for any situation, even if he was of the wrong church.  

The speech he was supposed to give was a point of burden. He didn't want to believe that he was the closest male to the subjects of honor, but he was pretty confident that he was the only person that would make sense. Dormentis wasn't exactly the type of guy to make normal friends.  

Telosai had suggested amusing stories centered around the bravery of the other monk, but Aenor knew better. That would just be awkward, there was no point in praising the guy he'd never said anything other than insults to. That just wasn't going to happen, no matter how many people died over it.   

So of course the speech was going to be as degrading as it could get, though he had conceded to Father Cross's advice and laced it with subtle compliments, it wasn't like anyone would notice.   

When he'd stood, Eveline had given him a knowing smirk and Telosai had given a hopeful smile. Aenor hadn't really bothered writing out the end of the speech, he knew he wouldn't get to the end. Really only the first four paragraphs or so were written out, after that was just a list of insults that he'd go on about for a while.  

His guess had been correct, the occasion had caused quite a bit more patience than normal, but Aenor had barely started the third paragraph when he'd been tossed out through the stained glass window.   

In the mean time, Manteia stood to dismiss everyone for the reception. Weddings were strange.