O Christmas Tree (Revised Version)

Have you ever heard the song "O Christmas Tree" in the original German? Do you know what that song is actually about? "O Tannenbaum" (original title, literally meaning "O Fir Tree") actually has nothing to do with Christmas or Christmas trees at all. It is a simple poem expressing a man's boundless love for fir trees, later set to music. Kinda weird and random. But I like weird and random.

Back in 2014 or so I decided to compose a new translation of "O Christmas Tree" that both hews a bit closer to the original version than most English translations, and at the same time is fun to sing. This year I actually got our Christmas caroling group to give it a go while we made our annual rounds of Yuletide figgy-pudding banditry. I'm happy to say it was a hit. I reckon it's ready for prime-time now.

In honor of the season, here it is. Merry Christmas, O groovy rabid monkeys!

(What's that? You want sheet music for it? I got you, fam.)
________________

O Christmas Tree
(a new translation from the original German by Troy Jones III)

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree,
How awesome are your needles!
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree,
How awesome are your needles!
Unlike those lame deciduous trees,
You're green through winter's deepest freeze!
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree,
How awesome are your needles!

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree,
I think you're really groovy!
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree,
I think you're really groovy!
Of all the trees in all the earth,
My fav'rite is the Douglas fir.
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree,
I think you're really groovy!

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree,
Shine forth your pre-lit candles!
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree,
Shine forth your pre-lit candles!
As we like rabid monkeys rip
The wrapping from our Christmas gifts!
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree,
Shine forth your pre-lit candles!

Tears of the Gods, Part Eight - Homecoming

This is part eight of this story. Chapters one through seven can be found at the Tears of the Gods table of contents page, along with important disclaimers and whatnot (you might want to read the prior chapters before you read this one). Enjoy!

***

Previously in "Tears of the Gods"

Three hideous, segmented purple creatures appeared in the Arechive then, rippling into existence from thin air. They looked like the gargantuan larvae of some crystalline insect, with serrated crushing mandibles. The fabric of space seemed to ripple around them.

If all else fails, Onslaught! Tempus stretched forth his hand toward the apex of the dome. Reality blurred and time slowed for an instant, then the energy bolt, resembling a fast-moving heat-shimmer, streaked upward toward the enormous face.

As Tempus looked over the first living creatures he had seen in quite a while, he sensed the effects of time on them acutely. The bark on the golthiar sloughing off like dead skin, wrinkles developing on the faces and skin of the humans, cells dying and falling off all of them. This chronal vision was acquired when he'd entered the portal in the Compart, and ever after he'd been unable to ignore the effects of time on his fellow living beings.

"Indeed, introductions are overdue, now that we have a second to spare. I am Tempus," intoned Tempus with his powerful baritone voice. "Master of time!" He favored Kiraz with a gallant flourish and bow.

Lameth drew his dagger and led the way. Far above, a great geyser of steam shot from one of the Fallside factory's chimneys.

Syrus looked back. Where Fallside's factory had once stood, all that could be seen were streaks of dark gunk leaking down the cliff.

An automaton that appeared to be made of countless tiny brass gears caught her eye as she passed. The automaton was conversing with Lady Isla. Isla was being her usual vacuous self, asking if she could touch the automaton. Kiraz rolled her eyes.

Ixobis-Lar extended a purple effector field, again engulfing Tempus. It then rotated on a quantum axis and disappeared from the vision-ribbon dimension, taking him with it.

***

Date: 34th Pritor in the 397th Year of the Founding

Tempus

Tempus had just enough time to catch a glimpse of a dense jungle of giant fern-like plants in the twilight (or perhaps early morning) before being pulled away again by the purple flash of light. As always, a sensation of twisting sideways. Tempus appeared on a savannah under an enormous red sun directly overhead; a herd of furry orange quadrupeds Tempus didn't recognize grazed on the brownish grass in the distance. Another bright purple flash. Tempus was ripped sideways again to appear under a cloudless blue sky on a hill covered in flowering yellow ulex. At least I recognize these, he thought of the thorny yellow weeds. Very earthlike, so much like home.

Tempus braced himself, but there were no more interdimensional jaunts.

Ixobis-Lar, the spherical interdimensional automaton, lay on the ground nearby; several of its panels were buckled and a faint burning smell came from it. Probably not a good sign, was his expert technical analysis.

Tempus turned around, taking in his new surroundings. Looking down from the hill, he saw a small circle of houses surrounding a large hexagonal tower of weathered grey stone. Could it be? The village was surrounded by circular fields of crops. Green oker, Tempus recognized, still early in the season. In the centre of each field stood a slender mechanical tower; from these extended long spray nozzles that slowly rotated, periodically spraying a fine mist of water and chemicals onto the oker plants. The farm fields in turn were surrounded by a ring of standing stones, each about shoulder-height, hexagonal in shape, miniature versions of the big central tower. They were spaced apart irregularly, as if several were missing. Beyond the village lay a dense forest.

He recognised the place immediately; how could he not? This was Amser, the village on the edge of the Westwood where he'd been born and grew up. He grinned. Is my journey over? But something wasn't right. Memories flooded in and his smile disappeared. When he'd left to explore the Compart, it was to find a way to repair the failed irrigation towers. He watched as one of the towers in question spurted water and nutrients over the crops. Right place, wrong time.

His eyes misted up. He would have to explore the village—how could he not? But there was something to be taken care of first. He bent down and poked gingerly around Ixobis-Lar's remains. Likely there was something that could be salvaged from the teleporting guide. He extracted an impossibly long band of microfine fibers made from a variety of unearthly metals, about half a handspan broad. Most likely this was Ixobis-Lar's teleportation control surface. With some tweaking, it could probably be used to teleport people, though interdimensional jaunts would be chancy at best. He stuffed the cypher into a pocket of his robe and turned to the village again. Ixobis-Lar won't be needing it now, he rationalized.

Tempus descended the hill, heart pounding.

The moment he crossed the invisible barrier formed by the ring of squat standing stones a young man materialized before him in a shimmer of temporal energy—a Far Step esotery, much like his own.

In fact... Tempus' mouth dropped open. The red-cloaked young man with the close-cropped beard standing before him was Tempus himself!

"Are you all right?" asked the younger Tempus. "Are you hurt? I will get our priestess Venerance Niima to examine you."

The dimensional jaunting must have taken a visible toll on my appearance, thought older Tempus. "I'm just tired," he answered weakly.

"What is your name, and why have you come here?"

"I... seem to have forgotten my name." Tempus, an ancient word for "time", had not always been Tempus' name. It was but one of several he'd adopted over the years; even so, telling it to his younger self seemed an unnecessary risk. He frowned. Although he remembered patrolling the village perimeter in his younger days, he was certain he did not remember this meeting with an older version of himself at all. It was surely the sort of thing one would remember. "I have been transported here by numenera I was studying. I will go with you to see this Venerance Niima. Perhaps she can tell me more."

"You are a student of the numenera? My name is Omit; you must meet my family. We would love to compare notes. My wife and I both believe that the study of numenera is the key to the future."

Such a meeting would be most unwise, Tempus intuited. But to not be rude to his younger self, he said only, "I must speak with Venerance Niima as soon as possible."

Venerence Niima was his aunt, the older sister of his father Astath. Though she was an Aeon Priestess, she was wise also in the teachings of Kronos. She would know what to do.

Tempus let the younger man lead him towards Niima's even though he knew how to get there already. Along the way they passed a house of particular interest to him—the home Tempus had shared with his wife Ora and their two young children, so long ago. As if summoned by the thought, Ora—looking about thirty years old—hurried out the front door of their little house, carrying a baby. She was followed by three other children, a boy of perhaps nine or ten years, whom he recognized as his son Riss, and two younger girls—one perhaps six and the other perhaps two.

"Omit," she called as she trotted up to them. "What’s happening? Something has upset the girls and woken up Kala."

There was a blurring around Tempus, as if the whole area were surrounded by a dense heat haze. In his "chronal vision" he saw the nine-year-old boy, Riss, his son, now aged nineteen and trained as a glaive, preparing to set out south for Matheunis, a journey from which—Tempus somehow knew—he would never return.

Something very strange is going on. When he'd left to investigate the Compart, Riss was only three. Zura, his daughter, had just been born. Was Zura this six-year-old standing here before him, looking up at him with open curiosity?

The haze cleared for a moment and he saw Venerance Niima shuffling arthritically towards him; accompanied, as always, by her husband Gwin. She peered at Tempus warily for a moment, then gasped. "By Kronos, no..."

The haze returned.

It was definitely Niima. But... it could not be Niima. She died—had died? will die?—three years ago (by his subjective timeline), shortly before he, Ora, and the others would set out for the Compart.

"This is my wife, Ora", said Omit, indicating the younger woman. And indeed it was Ora, looking much as she had before she dies (did die? would die?) in the Compart, before young Omit would go through the Portal and become Tempus, self-declared Master of Time.

"Do not say your name!" Niima hissed to Tempus. "If you are who I think you are, you must leave here now, or you will bring a doom on us all."

The haze ebbed.

Tempus bowed to Niima and tried to keep his voice neutral. "Have we met before? Who do you think I am and what is the doom you speak of? I... I have been transported here by an unnatural force and may have lost some of my memories."

Venerence Niima looked at him, a long, intensely skeptical look, then glanced at Omit and Ora. She beckoned him to one side to confer privately a moment. He noticed that she seemed to be taking great care not to touch him.

"You are from an alternate future. You are my nephew, as is he," she said, jerking her chin at Tempus' younger self. "You cannot be here in the same time—have you forgotten your teachings here? You cannot be here in the same time! It will disrupt the Laws of Kronos and you have already weakened our defences by being inside the Ring. You must leave. Now!"

Gwin shouted a warning as the rippling haze surged again, much stronger now. The air warped and twisted and three hideous segmented creatures shimmered into existence around the older Tempus. Chronal feeders, Tempus knew. They had the appearance of purple, incompletely-formed crystalline insects, with serrated crushing mandibles.

Tempus grimaced. Am I fated never to find what I have lost?

Two of feeders moved to attack him; the third turned toward his younger self.

Niima screamed at him. "You've brought this doom upon us all! The feeders will not stop until their timeline is restored. We cannot help you—to do so would disrupt the timeline even more!"

Tempus Far-Stepped himself away from the feeders, back toward the village perimeter. Perhaps if I leave, the chronal disturbance in the village will abate and the feeders will leave too, he thought.

Tempus' Far Step deposited him out in the oker fields, near an irrigation tower. Looking back, he saw the two feeders coming after him ripple out of existence.

They rippled back into existence barely an arm's length away from him. Tempus knew it was very difficult to escape an enemy capable of teleportation, but he had to draw them off from the village somehow. He prepared to Far Step again.

Before he could complete the esotery, one of the feeders opened its jaws wide and engulfed him.

He passed into a glittering labyrinth of conflicting temporal shards—twisting and spiralling into a corridor of warped time and memories. For a moment, he was Omit the Champion of Light, lying mortally wounded on the ground outside a Tower of Memory somewhere in the north, having given his all saving the world. A young Aeon Priest named Aliser tended his wounds.

"I will never forget you," Aliser whispered as the shadows closed in.

Now he wandered the cold wastes of Matheunis, searching after his missing son Riss. Now he was back in Amser, playing peekaboo with his great-grandchildren.

The labyrinth accelerated forward in a whirling blur until he found himself standing on a grey and featureless plain. There was nothing around him; the ground was unnaturally smooth and flat, the sky equally featureless and grey. In fact, it was impossible to discern where the sky met the ground.

Then, looking around, he saw something. In the distance, about where the horizon should be, was a jagged, frozen lightning bolt.

I have been here before, thought Tempus.

He strode across the featureless grey plain toward the frozen lightning.

The grey around him rippled and shook, throwing him to the "ground". The "sky" cleared; he saw a distorted view of a hideously ugly grey human face, covered in large boil-like growths, repeated four times around the dome of the sky. Gormin. How long has it been since I've seen the Broken Cage Company? he wondered.

In the sky, Gormin's four mouths split into hideous grins as they lunged toward Tempus. The ground bucked and shuddered; a rent opened in front of him. Gouts of vile-smelling grey-green pus erupted from the rent, spattering him and burning his skin on contact.

Tempus Far-Stepped away from the rent.

Gormin's gigantic faces pulled back a moment, then suddenly rushed toward him again. Tempus noticed that the "lightning bolt" had dimmed somewhat.

When all else fails, Onslaught! He sent an Onslaught into the centre of the largest of the four faces.

Time rippled again and he was with the others in the Arechive, speaking with Frater Bellias.

Another ripple as time slid sideways and he was walking through Fallside, not long before the confrontation with Toorkmeyn's band of outlaws. Another ripple and he was in the Coral Palace for the first time, having lunch with Lady Isla.

Time slid sideways in a ripple again. It was Ator, in the 409th Year of the Founding, and his daughter Zura was marrying a merchant from Ishlav. Two years since Riss went south to Matheunis—still no word from him.

Reality dissolved into a whirling blur of possible futures. He'd become unstuck in time. He knew he would need to stabilize himself in his own timeline quickly lest even worse things happen. Time slid sideways. Tempus found himself in the Arechive, examining Toorkmeyn's weapon. He determined what it could do, and that folded it up into a compact shape that he slipped into his pocket instead of returning it to Lameth.

Time slid sideways again. It was now Primon, in the 391st Year of the Founding. He, Ora, and Ora's brothers Mre and Shalha stood outside the entrance to the Compart, lighting glowglobes and preparing to enter it for the first time.

Again. Tempus was recovering from the sting of the tentacle-fish with the help of a poultice. Getting closer. Again. He was back at the Burning Moon party in the Coral Palace. Now. He poured all his esoteric abilities into anchoring himself here. Time seemed to stabilize.

It was as if no time at all had passed. Ixobis-Lar was nowhere to be seen.

No one seemed to note his arrival. A commotion was going on across the room; the Palace guards were escorting a tattooed man in yellow finery, a brass clockwork automaton, a man dressed in monk robes, Syrus Barister the tongue-tied glaive, and Yimoul-Za the golthiar nano out of the Palace.

Tempus watched them leave. He wondered if Gormin and Kiraz had had any luck freeing Frater Bellias' daughter. What was her name again? Oh, yes. Lissia.

Subjectively, it felt as if it had been literal ages since he'd left. His friends, of course, probably suspected nothing of what had happened to Tempus. He pondered his next course of action.

Chaos erupted. Shouts of revelry turned to screams of terror. It didn't take long for the source of the disturbance to become apparent. Pale-green, amphibious-looking bipedal creatures poured into the ballroom from the direction of the tank room, stabbing party-goers with poisoned bone-tipped spears.

About a dozen guards moved in to the defence but were hopelessly outnumbered. The creatures continued poring into the room. They began dragging prisoners, dead or alive, back toward the room with Lissia's column of water.

Probably came up through that column of water, Tempus speculated. He noted that the Weeping Coral, the Palace's much-ballyhooed defense system, was not reacting to the attack. Inside job?

Movement caught his eye. Gormin, naked except for a pair of boots, had emerged behind the creatures. He fell on them with a savage berserker fury, wielding only a knife.

The briny stench that accompanied the attacking creatures changed suddenly; the creatures immediately began to withdraw. Are the creatures controlled with pheromone-laden scents? he wondered. Did Gormin's surprise flank attack turn the tide of battle? The remaining guards and Gormin drove the invaders out of the ballroom.

Gormin stopped to catch his breath. He was covered in minor cuts and spatters of the aquatic creatures' gore. He took notice of Tempus then. "Tempus! Where are the others?"

"The guards threw some of them out of the Palace. Syrus and Yimoul-Za, at least." Tempus shrugged helplessly.

Gormin scoffed and turned toward the tank room. He gestured for Tempus to follow. "This death and mayhem is good cover for us to recover Lissia. And with any luck, those tentacle-fish are already attacking the invaders."

The corridors connecting the ballroom and the tank room were slick with human blood, invader ichor, and a foul-smelling mucus-like substance that the creatures' spear-tips had been coated in. The bodies of the wounded and dead were everywhere. Gormin hurried forward, paying them no heed as he stepped over them.

They reached the tank room. The creatures were all gone, presumably all withdrawn from the Palace. The column of water had gone as well; smeared streaks of mucus and red blood on the floor leading to the open grate were Lissia had once stood in the water seemed to confirm that this was how the creatures got in and out.

The statue/body of Lissia lay to one side.

Kiraz was here as well, standing protectively over Lissia, verred in hand, breathing heavy. She appeared to be the only surviving party-goer in this room.

Tempus hurried over to Lissia. "Is she still alive?"

Kiraz nodded once, keeping a wary eye on the creatures' escape hole.

Gormin snorted. "Nice of those creatures to leave her behind. This mission may yet be a success, assuming the Arechive still stands. We'll want to disguise her in case we meet Isla or Jamira on the way out though."

Gormin set about unceremoniously scavenging clothes and armor from the dead to make impromptu disguises.

Tempus patted his pockets, seeking his small healing kit. He felt something heavy and unfamiliar. He touched the object: Toorkmeyn's weapon. He was certain he hadn't brought it to the Palace in his original timeline. Oh well, close enough... Hopefully.

He put that out of his mind as he found the healing kit and sought to revive Lissia.

She shuddered. Her eyes flew open and she vomited a quantity of clear fluid. Kiraz knelt beside her and put a hand on her shoulder.

Lissia's eyes darted around the room in panic; she struggled weakly to stand, but had to lean on Kiraz for support.

"The kateraptis," she whispered. "Not again. In the Truth, don't make me suffer that again."

Gormin returned with a torn ballgown, originally teal but now heavily blood-stained. "Put this on," he ordered.

Lissia was too weak to resist him stuffing the gown onto her and tying the severed shoulder straps into a knot to keep it in place. "Wait. Where are we and what has happened? Who are you?"

Gormin lowered a stolen guard helmet over his head, then raised the helmet's hinged visor. "We were sent by your father to rescue you. You're in the Coral Palace—what's left of it, anyway. We're going to bring you back to the Arechive. Or what's left of it. As to what's happened, your guess is as good as mine. Some kind of attack."

Lissia's face brightened. "My father! Has he returned then? Is he well? I must see him."

Gormin and Tempus exchanged surprised glances. Returned? wondered Tempus.

Kiraz spoke up. "Can you walk, Lissia? I can support you if you need help."

"I can walk. Where is my father? Not in the Arechive, surely? Or wait, did he succeed in his quest? By the Truth, take me to him."

Gormin ignored her and turned to Tempus. "Might I borrow that healing kit? I... left behind an injured person who needs patching up. Get Lissia moving if she is able. I will catch up."

"I'll go with you," said Tempus. "If someone needs medical attention, four hands are better than two, no?"

Just then, Syrus, Yimoul-Za, and the brass automaton entered the tank room. They looked like they'd been in combat too.

"Well, look at this," said Gormin. "The gang's all here."

The automaton spoke. "I do not believe I have met everyone. My name is Voloidion. I am a nano."

"Yes," agreed Tempus. "Introductions are once more in order, now that we have time to spare. I am Tempus," he intoned. "Master of Time!" He favored Voloidion with a dramatic, flourishing bow.

To be continued...

Tears of the Gods, Part Seven - The Burning Moon

This is part seven of this story. Chapters one through six can be found at the Tears of the Gods table of contents page, along with important disclaimers and whatnot. I know it's been a while since there's been an update, but the game is still ongoing. Enjoy!

***

Previously in "Tears of the Gods"

A voice from the air spoke. "Iadace. Welcome to the Arechive, the library of things that are. Relax, for in the Truth, you are safe here."

The woman in grey blocked Syrus' retreat and snarled at him in a menacing low voice. "Next time we meet, pray to your Amber Pope that you remember. Meanwhile, remember this!" She opened her left hand.

Sinys hissed, "Calaval’s eyes! I haven’t been paid yet. You," jerking her chin at Gormin, "are as fierce as a cragworm. I like that. Still, time to go." She dropped to one knee and snatched a device from Toorkmeyn's belt. Before Lameth could react, she was gone, vanished.

"It was last night, at shift change," Frater Neymich said softly. "I was preparing to go to bed when screaming broke out north of the factory. Many ran to see what was happening; I and some others were slower. That slowness made us the lucky ones. On the cliff edge, slithering up from the sea, was a long, dome-shaped head, glistening like... wet leather." He shuddered.

Syrus looked back. Where Fallside's factory had once stood, all that could be seen were streaks of dark gunk leaking down the cliff.

Yimoul-Za narrated their adventures to Lady Isla: the arena, the chronal feeders, the sudden appearance of Tempus, the Krai. Isla hung on his every word, gasping at the dangers they'd faced and beaming and clapping at their triumphs.

"She is not dead," whispered Lameth, "But she is not truly alive either. Her mind is empty, as if it were elsewhere."

***

Date: 22nd Fre in the 401st Year of the Founding

Kiraz

A seemingly endless stream of guests filled the Coral Palace ballroom, attended by an army of servants overseen by Kresich the majordomo, the whole scene kept in order by palace guards with their gleaming scale-armor and peculiar disc-tipped polearms. Music from a seven-piece ensemble at the other end of the hall and multi-colored light from the glittering, rotating numenera-touched chandeliers wafted over the party.

Kiraz was not one for parties. She followed Gormin, who was pressing his way through the crowd toward the tank room where they'd seen Lissia being held. She frowned; Gormin looked positively ridiculous with his black-and-orange embroidered jacket and the enormous white ruff collar that served only to accentuate his ugliness by framing his head.

An automaton that appeared to be made of countless tiny brass gears caught her eye as she passed. The automaton was conversing with Lady Isla. Isla was being her usual vacuous self, asking if she could touch the automaton. Kiraz rolled her eyes.

Gormin pressed on. Kiraz followed.

They reached the tank room. It was less crowded than the ballroom, though a number of guests mingled here as well, singles and couples, making small talk and peering at Isla's collection of oddities and the "statue" in the tank. The tentacle-fish still swam lazily in the tank's column of water. Guards stood by the doors and liveried servants circulated, carrying trays of drinks and sweetmeats. Kiraz half heard a conversation between two men.

"But what am I to do?" said the one, a man wearing the simple, homespun clothes of a shopkeeper. "A year ago I was the premier supplier of Elegant Hydnelm in the city. Then the accursed Gaians called down a blight on the fungus fields and I am ruined."

The other man laid a sympathetic hand on his arm. "My friend. This is your chance now, to join me at midnight. When the Goddess burns, then so shall I. Be with me; the Goddess will welcome you."

There was something in the second man's tone of voice that raised the hairs on the back of Kiraz' neck, but just then Gormin nudged her and directed her attention ahead. One of the twins who ruled the City—Jamira or Janira, Kiraz didn't know which—was whispering to a woman whose face was a ruined, reddish mass of blisters and scar tissue.

"Sinys," Gormin murmured. "She was at Fallside. The torturer."

Sinys looked at them sharply as if she had heard Gormin from across the room. She smiled—not a pleasant sight—and began to make her way toward them.

Gormin covered his mouth as if scratching his nose. "Trouble. At least we know Lissia is still here." 

Sinys was dressed far less outlandishly than most of the other party-goers, with practical black leggings instead of a fancy ball-gown, although she did have on a short jacket with shiny decorative spikes as an apparent halfhearted nod to formality. She came up to them and addressed Gormin. "Well, hello again. We were never properly introduced last time we met." She turned to Kiraz. "And I don't think I've met you. Nice dress by the way; not something I'd wear, but dresses don't suit me." 

Kiraz nodded awkwardly to Sinys. "Thank you," she mumbled. She reflexively reached for where her verred would normally be on her hip, before remembering that weapons were not allowed at the party.

Sinys turned back to Gormin. "Did you kill Toorkmeyn?"

Gormin crossed his arms. "Toorkmeyn was still alive, last I saw. That was more than a week ago, though. Don't know what the Arechive has planned for him. Had any luck tracking down the Tears of the Gods?"

Sinys' face cracked in a lopsided grin. "So, he's in the Arechive, is he? I was never interested in looking for the Tears myself; Toorkmeyn hired me to go with him to Fallside in case the priest proved to be stubborn. I still haven't been paid for that job. No matter. We still haven't been properly introduced. I am Sinys, a member of the Guild of Torturers based in Rarmon."

She offered a hand to Gormin, which he accepted. On her wrist was a slivery bracelet wrought in the shape of a spider. It matches Gormin's description of the torture device, Kiraz realized.

"Gormin, of the Broken Cage Company, currently in the employ of the Order of Truth," said Gormin, not-so-subtly emphasizing the word "currently".

"Toorkmeyn may still be in the Arechive. I don't know," he continued. "Supposedly the Arechive is bankrupt, so I assume they will ransom him back to his family in Ancuan soon, if they haven't already. But he himself is broke—not to mention mad at you for leaving him behind—and his former band of bandits are nearly all dead. I wouldn't hold my breath on being paid any time soon." He crossed his arms.

"I recommended to our contact at the Arechive that they remove Toorkmeyn and the old priest both to somewhere safer. Whether they followed through on that is anyone's guess. They are irritatingly secretive."

He shrugged. "What about you? I'm told you were trained by Lady Jamira. Are you working for her currently, or are you between gigs? Lady Jamira has... ahem, shown an interest in the Tears of the Gods also, so to speak. Personally, I don't know what all the fuss is about."

Sinys tapped her lip thoughtfully, then glanced again at Kiraz. "You, I haven't met. Were you at Fallside? Are you and he a...?"

"I was at Fallside. And no, Gormin and I are not a thing," replied Kiraz.

Sinys turned back to Gormin and smiled slyly. "Toorkmeyn hired me under a standard Guild contract. They, and I, will get our money. It is not wise to cross the Guild. But let's not talk so much business." She deftly snagged two drinks from a passing waiter. "Let's go somewhere quieter—into the garden perhaps?"

Gormin took one of the offered drinks. "Of course. Lead the way." Sinys smirked and led Gormin away.

"Enjoy yourselves," Kiraz said to their departing backs, too quietly for them to hear.

***

Tempus

A gleaming metallic sphere of black and gold, surrounded by flickering fields of force, hovered before Tempus, slightly above eye level. It "carried" a selection of drinks around it in mid-air by way of an effector field. It extended a tall, narrow glass of some bright blue steaming liquid in apparent offering.

"Grettingss," the sphere's artificial voice. "Or ess you spek, Iadace. I, Ixobis-Lar, here for watch and re-cord. Spek you?" 

Curious. Tempus ignored the proffered drink as he studied the black and gold sphere, trying to ascertain its origin and purpose. He called upon his innate abilities to Scan it. The air around the sphere shimmered like a heatwave. It was a level 2 artificially intelligent construct. How interesting.

Tempus caught a whiff of a strong salty smell as a large drip of clear fluid landed on his shoulder.

"Re-cord spek?" the sphere continued. "What you and what your sphere? I, Ixobis-Lar, here for watch and re-cord this world."

Tempus cleared his throat and replied, "Iadace, what is the purpose of your watching and recording? What will the records be used for?"

Ixobis-Lar turned lazily on its horizontal axis before answering, its effector fields ensuring that the drinks were not spilt. "Izm. Are groups, many groups, people, so many, all want come here. See, look, visit, enjoy, stay. Need know what is here and how to speak. Ixobis-Lar sees and learns, for return and teach groups who want come." Its speech capability seemed to be improving even as it spoke. Probably listening to other nearby party-goers and matching their speech patterns, Tempus surmised.

"Tell me more about these people and groups. Extraterrestrials? Ultraterrestrials?"

Ixobis-Lar wobbled in the air ever so slightly. "Izm. Groups, many groups, want come here and maybe stay for good. Ixobis-Lar, that is I, here for see if stay is right for them. See if any problem for staying. Understanding? You know where many groups can stay?" Ixobis-Lar withdrew the steaming blue drink and offered a fizzing amber-colored one.

Just then, a hearty cheer went up from the crowd. "The moon has risen!" someone announced.

Tempus ignored both the crowd and the drink. "I'm interested in meeting the groups who have already come over. You see, I'm a scholar of the numenera and they may have brought interesting items with them whence they came."

It responded with a whirring, throbbing hum, audible over the commotion of the crowd. "No groups here yet, I can show you... brochure... for attract." Ixobis-Lar emitted a bright purple effector field that engulfed Tempus. It then rotated on a quantum axis and disappeared from this earthly dimension, taking him with it.

***

Syrus

Syrus was wedged into a corner of the ballroom, wondering why he'd come. He was speaking with (more accurately, being spoken at by) a loud, rotund man in richly jeweled, embroidered robes of amber and ochre, their impressive effect spoiled somewhat by the dark streaks of wine stains down the front. Syrus was weirdly reminded of the dark streaks that were all the Fallside factory left behind after sliding into the deep.

"Jaxom of Wyrfall," proclaimed the large nobleman. Syrus was pretty sure he'd already introduced himself. Jaxom waved an empty glass at the other party-goers. "Here to party but this seems a bit dead. Eh, what do you say? Let's paint the town red, or whatever. You an ale man? You look like an ale man. Hey, you," he called to one of his servants, snapping his sausage-like fingers. "Get me and my friend here a flagon of the finest ale they have to offer."

Syrus did his best to not seem awkward as he slapped Jaxom on the back in a sign of acceptance of his offer. "My friend, yes. A-a-a- ale. Ale it is."

"Oof!" Jaxom jerked forward. "Eh, what's this? You always so familiar with nobles where you come from? I am Lord Jaxom of ...of Wyrfall."

He leaned in conspiratorially to Syrus. "And I know who you are. Heard you were involved in a bit of bother at Filjar's Fine Beasts a few days ago. Filjar's been going on and on about it to everyone. Anyone know who sold him the infected aneen, hm?"

"Lord of Wirefail? B-bit of bother? If you call it that. Not much one of. No, d-don't know," Syrus stammered.

Just then, a hearty cheer went up from the crowd. "The moon has risen!" someone announced. Guests started streaming to the exits to see it. A flash of bright purple light caught the corner of Syrus' eye.

Lord Jaxom roared with laughter above the crowd. "Good! Good, eh? Calaval's eyes, what's wrong with you? You speak like a thuman. Is that you: a human thuman?" He howled with drunken laughter at his own joke and slapped Syrus on the back. "Have another drink—cures everything."

One of his servants laughed too and Lord Jaxom glared at her. She fell silent. "Servants, eh?" he said to Syrus. "Need a good whipping to keep them in line. What do you say, eh?"

Syrus nodded and laughed with Lord Jaxom, then focused on his speaking, addressed him slowly and deliberately: "I.. speak... poorly... but observe... wisely. and fight... heroically..."

Lord Jaxom belched. "Another ale, eh? Drink cures everything, I always say, my heroic friend. Another for me then, eh? And perhaps another after that. And food!" He gestured to a male servant. "You! Go get us some food, and make sure it’s the best."

He leaned in to Syrus again. "Lord Jaxom of Wyrfall am I. What's your name, friend? I know your heroism but not your story. Do you raise aneen? How many head do you hold, eh?"

Before Syrus could reply, the servant who'd laughed earlier returned with drinks. She was a skinny girl of perhaps fourteen years with a great poof of curly dark hair. Jaxom squinted at her. "Don’t recognise you, hm. Are you one of mine?"

"Yes, my lord", the girl answered. "I've been your servant all my life."

Syrus cleared his throat. "I am Syrus. Barister. Syrus Barister of Ledon. I... I am a Broken Cage. In a Broken Cage". He winced as the words don't come out quite right. "Not aneen," he added and quickly took another drink.

Syrus became aware of a strong smell of salt and rotting seaweed filling the air. He looked around.

Jaxom roared with laughter at Syrus. "Not aneen!" He drank deep from a mug of something pink and fizzy. He gagged but forced it down. "Calaval's eyes," he wheezed. "How many head of aneen you hold, eh?" He coughed and gestured vaguely at the young servant girl. "Don’t remember her. A comely wench eh? What do you say?" He broke off into another fit of coughing.

The servant girl looked at her feet and said nothing.

The salty smell became much more intense. The coral walls and ceiling were leaking a viscous, clear fluid. A dollop of the stuff landed on Jaxom's back. He didn't seem to notice.

Several thin filaments whipped out from the walls at the party-goers, quick as an eye-blink. Two of them, a middle-aged man and woman, screamed and fell to the floor, badly injured. The filaments snapped back into the walls.

The guests in the immediate vicinity of the attack moved back in shock, knocking over chairs and bumping into other people. Drunken recriminations and arguments began to break out—the beginnings of a panic.

Syrus turned back to Lord Jaxom. "Must go. My friend," he said and gave him an awkward farewell punch on the shoulder. He circled around the outside of the gathering and arguing guests. His hand dropped to the backup whip he wore disguised a belt as he scanned the room looking for the other members of the Broken Cage.

He'd lost track of most of the others, but he spotted Yimoul-Za in an apparent altercation with a heavily-tattooed, likely inebriated man.

Syrus started to move towards Yimoul-Za, but then caught sight of a group with Lady Isla retreating from the hall. A woman, obviously noble, locked eyes with him for an instant. He stopped, dead in his tracks. Those eyes. From where? He remembered. The Gray Cloak. The alley. Lady Janira. He shuddered. Where is Gormin? Tempus? Kiraz? They need to know. He watched a moment as Isla and her sister moved away, then turned and hurried toward Yimoul-Za.

The tattooed man punched Yimoul-Za in the eye, knocking him down.

Yimoul-Za yowled. "I am a guest of the Coral Palace and the only hope for the survival of the sun!" he protested.

The man made ready to kick Yimoul-Za.

Syrus stepped between them. "Must. Get. Through. Me."

Another man who appeared to be made of tiny brass gears—party costume or actual automaton, Syrus couldn't tell—joined the fray as well, facing off against the drunk man.

The drunk man didn't seem impressed. "Pah! In Qi we fight like real men." He broke a tall glass on the edge of a table, making a makeshift (but very sharp) weapon which he brandished at Syrus. "Two of you and a weed, eh? I like those odds."

Syrus feinted, luring the tattooed man to commit to a defensive swipe with the glass, which Syrus easily avoided. He punched the man in the face, splitting his lip.

The brass automaton lifted a hand and cast an Onslaught into the man. His Onslaught had the appearance of countless razor-sharp tiny discs. An automaton nano? Now I've seen everything, Syrus thought.

The man went down, but there was no time to revel in the quick victory. Syrus, Yimoul-Za, the automaton, and the now-prone drunk man were suddenly surrounded by scowling armored guards. "Not fight time," said Syrus. He spread his arms wide in a placating gesture. "P- p- protecting friend. Nothing more."

***

Gormin

Gormin, naked, looked up to see the moon riding high in the sky, approaching midnight. He stood on a small private balcony with Sinys. The air was still hot—the Burning Moon living up to its name. Sinys, now mostly dressed, stood by the parapet, looking out to sea.

"Something's wrong," she said. She drew in her breath sharply and pointed out to sea. "What's that?"

Gormin looked. Out to sea to the west, about a mile off-shore, rose a huge swell in the ocean, like a vast, stationary wave. The sounds of revelry from the city seemed to have died away. Gormin heard dull—but loud—sounds like blunt glass bubbles bursting. Screams from below.

Gormin snorted. Always something. He leaned over the parapet and looked down. Hideous fish-like humanoids crawled up the side of the Palace, impossibly fast, bone spears clenched in their flabby lips. Gormin backed away from the rail. Figuring he had a few seconds before they arrived, he stepped into his boots. Don't care about this ridiculous costume, but good boots are hard to find.

Six of the fish-men came over the rail. Gormin noted that the tips of their spears were smeared with some kind of mucus-like gunk that glistened in the moonlight, presumably poison.

Sinys glanced his way. "Are you armed?" she asked, pulling an impossibly long blade from a sheath hidden in her left thigh. With a flick of the wrist, the blade expanded into a verred, a broad, two-bladed sword.

"Neat trick. And, of course." Gormin pulled a knife from his boot and grinned fiercely. "Now this is my kind of party!"

Sinys leapt forward, feinted with her blade, and fired a blinding-white spark esotery into one of the creatures' eyes. The creature went down, making no sound but spewing out gouts of grey-green mucus. The other two creatures stabbed at her with their spears; both missed.

Gormin rushed the creatures, knife in hand. With his left arm he swept two spearpoints aside, but a third grazed his shoulder, drawing a little blood. He felt the poison's dizzying effect immediately.

His counterattack was swift and deadly; lunging forward, he thrust his knife fully into the creature's throat. It made no sound as it fell lifeless, leaking grey mucus.

Movement out to sea below caught Gormin's eye for an instant. A low, humped shape arose from the depths. Neymich's 'wet leather' head? Could be. But Gormin didn't have time to study the shape in detail.

Sinys slew another of the fish-creatures with her white-spark esotery, but one of the remaining ones sank its poisoned spear into her stomach.

Gormin quickly looked away from the expression of horror on her face. He bum-rushed the creature whose spear was immobilized in Sinys' stomach and shoved it over the balcony rail. "Don't worry," he called over his shoulder by way of encouragement. "Stomach wounds are usually not immediately fatal!"

"I know that. I've used them many times. This mucus is doing something though—not sure what as yet."

Gormin nodded. Odd, psychedelic hallucinations we creeping into the edges of his vision. Have to focus.

The two remaining creatures tried to fend off Gormin as he continued to press them, but quarters were too cramped for them to easily bring their spears to bear. He stabbed one of them in the side and must have hit something vital. It spurted a gob of grey-green mucus and went down. The remaining creature threw down its spear and retreated over the rail of the parapet. Wants to find a softer target, Gormin guessed.

Gormin looked down. Near the Palace's front door a familiar bright burst of sunlight caught his eye—Yimoul-Za's Onslaught, he recognized. He turned back.

Sinys was on the ground with the spear still lodged in her gut. "Gormin..." she moaned.

Gormin gripped the spear. "Normally pulling something like this out without a healer's supervision would be bad, but that poison worries me. Lucky for you, you like new experiences of pain." He pulled out the spear. Sinys screamed.

He turned and looked over the rail, seeking his friends. They were fighting more of the fish-creatures below. Gormin hurled the bloody spear at their foes. Missed.

Off in the distance, a large, wriggling globe rolled off the edge of the Hub platform. Gormin squinted at it. It was a ball of captured people, just as Frater Neymich had described.

From the top of the "leather head", another bubble, empty, formed and undulated up into the air. Gormin looked around. There was yet another empty bubble, much closer, shimmering and drifting their way.

"Trouble," said Gormin. "This is the same thing that happened to Fallside. You see that bubble floating in our direction?" Gormin gestured. "It collects people and drags them down into the sea. I don't know what happens to the people dragged away, but painful death seems like a safe assumption. Most of the population of Fallside was carried off by those bubbles to an unknown fate. Frater Neymich was spared only because he happened to be inside when the things attacked. Going back inside might be wise."

Sinys crawled to the door and pushed it open. "Pain I don't mind. Dying of it; that's something different. Gormin, I don't kill my assigns; I'm not an murderer. A dead person can't tell you anything more. A living person, after a time, will want to, and that's what I encourage them to do." She paused as if spent.

The shimmering bubble seemed to have caught sight of them. It drifted over the edge of the parapet, very close now.

Gormin stepped inside and dragged Sinys after him.

The bubble exploded with a muffled, glassy sound. Countless cilia stretched out rapidly in all directions.

Gormin pushed the door to. The frustrated cilia made surprisingly heavy blows against the door. But the door would not close fully. One of the cilia had made it through and tangled itself in the little tuft of stringy hair Sinys still had. It stiffened and started to contract, pulling on her head.

Sinys reached out to Gormin in a panic. "Gormin! Help me! Please."

"Hold still, this will probably hurt!" Gormin braced his hip against the door to keep it from opening further and roughly cut through her hair with the knife.

The cilia slipped out with just a handful of severed hair.

The door closed fully. Gormin bolted it.

***

Tempus

Extraplanar ribbons (for lack of a better term) wrapped themselves around Tempus' mind.

A vision: Tempus ran for his life through an urban jungle full of hidden dangers and astonishing technological wonders, hunted by merciless killers. A not-voice "spoke" (for lack of a better term).

The Price of Freedom: can you survive seven days? Huge prizes to be won. Warning: This is a Class One hazardous experience. Death waiver must be affixed.

Tempus watched/experienced the vision for a while, interested more in the high-tech cityscape than the feats of daring adventure. The entire urban landscape was numenera, as far as the eye could see. How fascinating. How long he watched the vision he wasn't sure—he had the sense time moved differently in this dimension anyway. The vision changed: Tempus stalked through a forest carrying an exotic weapon vaguely similar to Toorkmeyn's device, hunting something.

Hunt Primitives: guaranteed kills and you keep trophies! 40 SVU/day, full board.

Tempus wondered what SVU were. Perhaps Ixobis-Lar knows, he thought. He caught a glimpse of his prey in the vision: short, horned abhumans. He recognised the creatures—margr, from the Ninth World.

Continuing to watch/experience the hunt vision, he realized that the forest could very well be the Westwood, an impenetrable wilderness not far from his own home village, though it was hard to say—forests all looked the same to Tempus.

Still, the thought of home gave him an idea. He attempted to address the vision-ribbons with a not-voice of his own. He summoned a mental image of his lost village and his missing wife and "spoke" the words: I want to go here. What is the price?

The ribbon pulsated (for lack of a better term) for an unknown length of time. Destination not listed as package, a not-voice "spoke" at last.

A slight "pop" (for lack of a better term). Ixobis-Lar appeared. Or perhaps had always been there?

"This is new destination? This your sphere? Need to know what here and how to speak. Ixobis-Lar sees and learns, for return and teaching groups who want visit."

Ixobis-Lar extended a purple effector field, again engulfing Tempus. It then rotated on a quantum axis and disappeared from the vision-ribbon dimension, taking him with it.


To be continued...

Tears of the Gods, Part Six - The Broken Cage

As you may have inferred from the post title, this is part six of this story. Chapters one through five can be found at the Tears of the Gods table of contents page, along with important disclaimers and whatnot. Short installment this time due to vacations, etc. Enjoy!

***

Previously in "Tears of the Gods"

"Die then, beast." Gormin thrust the point of his sword into the margr’s abdomen, killing it.

Yimoul-Za closed his eye as the last of the glittering, hair-like shards winked out of existence. He sighed.

"I'm Lameth and I'm currently heading for the City of Bridges. Actually, I have no real destination—I'm just looking for some adventure. You said something about Fallside; what are you up to? I just came from there..."

Syrus looked back. Where Fallside's factory had once stood, all that could be seen were streaks of dark gunk leaking down the cliff.

Gormin's face was a gathering storm. "Understand? I understand you're a dissembling sack of drit, jerking us around like puppets on a string..."

"She is not dead," whispered Lameth, "But she is not truly alive either. Her mind is empty, as if it were elsewhere."

***

Date: 13th Fre in the 401st Year of the Founding

Kiraz

Kiraz looked up at the Arechive's tower and wiped the sweat from her eyes. Six stories, yet we have seen so little of the inside of it, she mused. The day was hot and windless—the Arechive's two massive horizontal wind turbines were unmoving. Even the great Wind Spire, visible beyond the Arechive, stood still as well.

The group pressed through the crowd, making their way towards the Arechive. Although the platform the Arechive shared with several other buildings was not as crowded as the Hub or the Palatial platform, it was certainly crowded enough to be uncomfortable to Kiraz. And although it was technically not as hot today as during their journey to Fallside, the lack of wind and the fact that the city was mostly metal made the City of Bridges a truly miserable place to be in Fre.

The group talked as they approached their "home" in the Arechive.

Yimoul-Za was in favor of attending Isla's party. "Perhaps I could arrange for some fine scents and even some blooms," he said. He turned his enormous eye toward Gormin. "When is this wane of the 22 of Fre that the Lady mentioned?"

"22 Fre is nine days from now." Gormin mopped his hairless head with a rag. "I wonder how widely known it is that the palace is alive? Hundreds of people live and work there, and Kresich didn't exactly make a secret of the palace needing to eat."

Before anyone could answer, Lameth cleared his throat and came to a stop. The rest of the group stopped also. He took a deep breath. "My friends, even though we have just met, with regret I must leave you and return home. I... have received a message." He tapped the side of his forehead, as if to indicate just what kind of message. "As you know, I and my kind have the powers of thism—of mind-speaking. We are a close family. A son has been born to one of my kin and, by custom, I must return in person so that I may communicate with the new little one in thism in the future. I go east; the journey will take many weeks, so I must leave now. Farewell friends; perhaps we shall meet again. Until then, may your cyphers never malfunction."

Gormin looked between the Arechive tower and Lameth. "Now?"

Lameth inclined his head in something between a nod and a bow.

Yimoul-Za bowed. "Ah, it is a joyous thing when a new sapling arrives. It has been an honour to meet you and may our paths cross again."

Kiraz gave Lameth a hug. "It was good to meet you. You will be missed but I do wish you the best, and congratulations on the new family member."

Tempus, still holding the herbal poultice to his swollen face, bowed also. "May the young one grow up in time to be as wise and true as you, my friend," he intoned.

Syrus and Gormin looked around awkwardly.

Lameth thanked them, then stepped away and disappeared into the crowd.

What remained of the group entered the tower.

The entrance hall was circular, like every room of every building Kiraz had yet seen in the City, aside from the octagonal arena. She wondered idly if circle-based designs were merely the preferred architectural style, or if all the buildings (like the platforms themselves) were relics of the prior worlds. The entry hall's floor was a colorful enamel mosaic of the Order of Truth's four-eyed symbol, identical to the floor of the lounge in their mercenary quarters.

An arm-less and faceless servitor waited by the door. Kiraz wondered if the Arechive had enough power to run their many machines and wonders despite the wind turbines being at rest.

Gormin poked the servitor in the chest to get its attention. "Get Bellias," he said. "He'll want to know his daughter is alive, and he may have some ideas as to how to get her out of the Palace. Tell him that strange numenera is not my area of expertise; my area of expertise is sticking pointy things in people."

As Gormin spoke, the tiny light-projector in the center of the servitor's otherwise featureless face lit up. A holographic face flickered into existence a finger-width or so in front of the servitor's head. This particular servitor projected a female face.

"I speak in the Truth," the servitor's artificial voice enunciated. "If you wish to convey messages to the Frater then speak, recite, communicate. It will be conveyed to the Frater. I speak in the Truth."

Gormin nodded. Looking self-conscious for a moment, he took a deep breath and bellowed directly into the servitor's face, "Bellias! We saw your daughter in the Coral Palace! She's held in some kind of stasis, underwater! Guarded by tentacled fish with stinging poison! Since your kind are the supposed experts in numenera, perhaps you have an idea how to get her out!"

After a moment, Bellias' voice spoke from the air. "In the Truth, there is no need to shout such, Gormin. Now, consider. Whatever is used to hold my daughter in stasis must be somewhere inside the Coral Palace, and there is every likelihood that its effect can be reversed. Tentacled fish with stinging poison are not native to these waters; they may have come from somewhere near the Rayskel Cays, if they are the species I am thinking of. If so, then they are salt water creatures, and the tank is likely open to the sea from below, to give them a supply of water—although something must prevent their escape. If released, the fish will escape back into the ocean and my daughter can be rescued and unfrozen. There is a grand ball being held at the palace for the Night of the Burning Moon—I will see to arrangements to get you invited."

"Frater Bellias speaks in the Truth," the servitor added. Its holographic face vanished.

Gormin shouted into the servitor's face again. "Bellias! Lady Isla already invited us! Do you have suitable costumes for this party? And have you given consideration to moving Neymich out of the City? He could hole up at that farmstead where that family was murdered!"

No answer from the air or the servitor.

Tempus ventured a comment. "We may wish to consider investigating the Palace from underwater to see if we can free the fish. To that end, I have certain cyphers that may help." He reached into a belt pouch and pulled out a pill. "This pill gives the swallower skill in swimming and treading water. It lasts 28 hours or so." He put it away and pulled out a piece of twisted coral about a handspan long. "This is a water weapon; it shoots a bolt of energy, like Toorkman's weapon, but it has only one charge, and it only works underwater."

Gormin frowned. "Exploring underneath the palace will be tricky. Swimming in the ocean so far from the coast is dangerous under the best of circumstances. Too bad our fine flippered friend Ooro is no longer a part of our mercenary band." 

He tapped his chin. "A small boat might work better for us non-amphibians. Hopefully, the unsupported column of water will be obvious from a distance underneath the platform, as will whatever is drawing up the water—I presume an anti-gravity artifact of some kind. Perhaps destroying it will drain the tank. And speaking of our mercenary band, we should name our mercenary band something respectable-sounding in case people ask about us at the party. We can just say, oh I'm with the Shiny Champions. That sounds a lot better than, oh I'm with the group of ruffians kidnapped and enslaved by the Order of Truth. I am open to suggestions on a name."

Tempus smirked. "We seem to be dancing to the tune of an invisible jester. How about the Dancing Jesters?"

Syrus smiled shyly. "Silent but Deadly."

Kiraz rolled her eyes.

Gormin laughed but shook his head. "The name must be one that will strike fear into the hearts of our enemies! Or at least not make them laugh."

Yimoul-Za tilted his eye sideways. "The Company of the Broken Cage? Since that is how we began, or at least some of us."

Gormin looked thoughtful for a while. "Hm. The Broken Cage Company sounds good to me. I like it."

Kiraz shrugged.

Gormin gestured vaguely. "Think it over. Meanwhile, I need to pick up some stuff from the Hub while there's still daylight. Also, I want to talk to the aneen-seller. Maybe he supplies the aneen the Palace eats, or knows who does. That might lead to an alternate means of getting into the Palace. He also has a private dock and a small boat he might be willing to rent out. I'll be back before night." He turned and left.

But Kiraz and the rest of the group, having nothing better to do, decided to follow.

***

Gormin

Something was wrong. 

It was not even wane, but the aneen-seller was neither out in front of his shop hawking his wares to passersby, nor inside behind the counter. He could be in the back, behind the curtain, tending to his livestock, but the bell on the door should have summoned him, and Gormin could hear the aneen and brehm back there bellowing, very unsettled. He frowned. There was something else amiss as well, something tugging at his subconscious, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He glanced back at the others in the dimness. Filjar's Best Beasts had no installed artificial lighting, only a series of smallish circular windows set near the ceiling. These, along with a narrow transom over the door, let the sun's light into the wedge-shaped room, but the building was more than tall enough to accommodate aneen (which were twice the height of a tall man), so the small windows just below the faraway ceiling did little to relieve the gloom at ground level.

A strangled, possibly human sob came from the back. Gormin didn't wait to see if the others had heard it—he pulled up his hood and quietly stepped behind the curtain, hoping to not draw the notice of whoever or whatever was up to no good back there.

Filjar's shop was round, like most of the buildings in the City, but instead of round rooms, Best Beasts was divided into five broad wedges and one narrow passageway that all opened onto a small circular nexus about twelve paces across. The front office was one wedge; the other four were animal pens with aneen and brehm, now in a full panic.

On the straw-covered floor of the central nexus was a dead aneen, its chest and belly burst open messily. Blood seeped into the straw around it. Standing over the fallen aneen were three eyeless, bipedal reptiles with leathery beaks, about waist-high, emitting a low-pitched moan in close harmony, just at the edge of hearing. Did they emerge from the aneen? Some kind of parasite? Gormin slowly reached for his weapon, hoping not to alert them. The creatures were red, but it was hard to say in the darkness how much of the red was their skin and how much was aneen gore.

Filjar was to his left, on his knees, moaning with his head clutched in his miniscule hands, echoing the creatures' sound. All three of the beaked creatures faced Filjar.

The creatures' droning moan spoke to Gormin's mind of loss and regret. He realized vaguely that he had been hearing it below the level of conscious awareness since entering the shop.

The creatures, perhaps drawn by the rustle of the curtain, swiveled their heads to face Gormin.

Too late, he understood that their droning was an attack.

***

Date: 2nd Ator in the 366th Year of the Founding

Bii had been left behind.

The grownups were all running. Rawhide tents, whole herds of shiul, heavy tools, anything that couldn't be easily carried was left where it lay as everyone scrambled to escape the funny grey cloud. Gormin could hear his mother frantically calling his name, and he knew he should be with the others underground, but Bii had been left behind. Besides, the cloud was far away. And besides that, it was just a cloud.

The wind started to pick up as he ran through the suddenly empty clan encampment.

He found Bii the Xi-drake in the family tent. According to his parents, Bii had been white once (though Gormin could not remember Bii ever having been white), a floppy winged creature made from bleached rawhide. It was now more of a filthy, worn-out grey. Gormin held up Bii's elongated head so that he could look directly into its mismatched pebble eyes (one rust-orange and roughly triangular, one reddish-orange and more-or-less round).

"There you are. Where have you been?" asked Gormin sternly. If the toy had anything to say for itself, it was pre-empted by the tent-wall's sudden hard flap from a heavy gust of wind. "Time to go. Mom will be mad." He left the tent. All the tents were flapping hard now, straining to break free of the stakes that anchored them to the ground, as if they wanted to escape the cloud too.

The funny cloud wasn't far away any more.

Moments ago, the cloud had been nearly as far away as the horizon. Now, somehow, it was nearly on top of him, preceded by a howling wind threatening to carry the tents away and nearly knocking Gormin off his feet. Much closer now, he could see the cloud appeared to be made of some shimmering dark metal streaked with rust here and there, roiling and writhing like agitated water as it raced forward.

He ran, dragging Bii by his long neck. He didn't get far.

He clutched the toy xi-drake to his chest as the wind slammed into him, lifting him into the air. Pinpricks of pain as countless tiny metal flecks pierced his skin. He wanted to scream, but the flecks were in his mouth, his throat, his lungs. He tried to shut his eyes, but they were in his eyelids, his eyes, his ears, his brain.

A cacophony of countless voices. "What is this? What is this? What have we here? What shall we do with it? What is it? What shall it be?" The voices did not speak Truth—nor any spoken language—yet they filled Gormin's brain in the moment before he was shredded by the Wind.

***

Date: 13th Fre in the 401st Year of the Founding

"What is this? What shall it be?" muttered Gormin under his breath. He shook his head, trying to clear the vivid flashback.

He was disoriented. But the sight of the gaping, tooth-filled, trifurcated maws of two of the red creatures less than an arm-length away helped him re-focus on his present predicament.

He was holding his shield but didn't remember having drawn it. He swung the shield back and forth and scrambled ungracefully away, fending off the creatures as they lunged at his legs. They can attack my mind, but at least I have a reach advantage. The creatures keened in frustration.

He drew his sword and glanced around, trying to re-orient. The others were here. Battle was joined. He must have only been out a few seconds, but Tempus was already down. Yimoul-Za screamed as creature bit into his woody leg below the knee. 

Filjar was now behind him, still lost in some memory, whimpering. "I did not mean to kill them... they were always taunting me..."

Two more of the blood-soaked creatures crawled over an aneen's stall door. They ran for Syrus, who also seemed to be dazed by the creatures' sonic attack.

Gormin had his own problems to worry about. He bashed one of the creatures hard in the side of the head with the edge of his shield, sending it sprawling. It shrieked indignantly. Hopefully its head is a vital area. He tried to follow up with his sword, but the other creature snapped its jaws at his sword-hand, spoiling his coup de grace and narrowly missing making a snack of Gormin's fingers. Gormin returned to a guard stance.

He heard Syrus yelp in pain and risked another glance. A creature was biting him in the ankle. Syrus was lashing out with his whip in one hand and had something else—a cypher?—in the other.

Kiraz had her crossbow out. She loosed a quarrel that pierced Yimoul-Za's creature through the brain—assuming it keeps its brain in its head—but pinned it firmly to Yimoul-Za's leg. One down at least, thought Gormin.

Syrus slapped the cypher in his left hand onto his right bicep. He instantly became a blur of motion, seemingly everywhere at once as the air resounded with dozens of whip-cracks in the space of only a second or two. 

He stopped. All but one of the creatures lay dead or dying.

Gormin, distracted by the display, had taken his eyes off his own foe for too long. The last remaining creature leapt at him and clamped its jaw around his forearm, on his shield side. His bracer absorbed most of the force of the bite, but who can guess what kind of diseases or parasites were in its mouth? He tried to shake it off.

A crossbow quarrel from Kiraz whizzed by, narrowly missing him and the creature.

Gormin cursed and smashed the little monster on the top of its head with the pommel of his sword. It let go and let out a ululating screech that made him grit his teeth.

A shimmering Onslaught slammed into the creature, knocking it down. Tempus had regained his feet.

The creature, injured—perhaps mortally so—belatedly tried a desperate retreat, crawling backward as it mewled and whined like some mutant hell-baby.

Syrus flicked his whip underhand, wrapping its neck tight, silencing it.

*** 

Filjar was very grateful for the save. He pulled out a box of junk from under the counter. "I can't pay you, but you may be interested in some of these. Not everyone pays me in shins." He slid the box forward.

Tempus, somewhat battered but still in one piece, eyed the box of bits and bobs. He picked out some white spongy-looking thing, examining it closely.

Gormin said, "You have a little dock and boat underneath the shop, yes? We would be interested in borrowing it from time to time. We won't damage it."

"Yes, yes..." Filjar wrung his abnormally tiny hands. "Again, I cannot thank you enough..." He returned to going through the box of possible cyphers with Tempus.

Gormin stood in the door of the shop, looking out at the crowd from the shadows. A muscular monk with a particularly ornate brass automaton companion hurried past. He paid them no heed.

Raiding the Palace during the Burning Moon Festival would be brazen, possibly suicidal. Gormin smiled grimly. It will be fun.

To be continued...

Numenera Character Generator

For the last couple of weeks I have been working on an online Numenera character generator. Though it is still a bit buggy, I think it's ready for primetime...

Troy's Numenera Character Generator

There are other Numenera character generators out there already (two free ones that I know of, PrimeJunta's and DarkLiquid's), and it will not offend me at all if people prefer those to this one. More choices are good, yes? The reason I felt the need to add to the pile was that I wanted a character generator with all of the extra options from all the official supplements. So far as I know, this is currently the only free online generator with everything from both CO1 and CO2.

My character generator doesn't look pretty, I admit. The intent is to give you enough to pencil in a real character sheet yourself, calculating numerical values and separating trained skills from actual special abilities (which tend to be mingled together in official sources but are supposed to be listed separately on a character sheet). All fluff text is removed also-- it's all well and good for the official books to spend a sentence or two explaining why "naive" characters get training in perception, but it's not necessary to write all that out on your naive nano's character sheet. (And the Fan Use Policy says to not reproduce any descriptive text in projects like this anyway.)

In case it's not clear how to use the generator, just select whatever sounds cool from the three drop-down boxes (I suggest hideous glint who gazes into the abyss), then click "click me", then click some +'s, and lastly click two Type abilities. (Or three, if you are a glaive who stands like a bastion). Currently it doesn't let you "undo" anything; just have to click "click me" and start over if you added points to the wrong pool. I know it's not as user-friendly as perhaps it could be, but I know how to use it, and that's the important thing. ;)

Obviously, this is a fan project, not an official MCG thing. And so I present you with the obligatory disclaimer (to be read aloud in a fast-talking radio ad disclaimer voice): Numenera and its logo are trademarks of Monte Cook Games, LLC in the U.S.A. and other countries. All Monte Cook Games characters and character names, and the distinctive likenesses thereof, are trademarks of Monte Cook Games, LLC. Content derived from Monte Cook Games publications is © 2013-2017 Monte Cook Games, LLC. Read more legal stuffs here...

La pereo kiu venis al Sarnat [Esperanto]

NOTE: This post is in Esperanto. If you can't understand it, that might be why. Ĉu vi parolas ĝin!?

Jen mia malbona traduko de la bona anglalingva novelo “The Doom That Came to Sarnath”, verkite de usona aŭtoro H.P. Lovecraft en la 1920-aj jaroj. Ĉio ĉi iam aperis en kvar partoj ĉe mia Tumblr-blogo, kiun mi ne plu prilaboras.

La pereo kiu venis al Sarnat
(“The Doom That Came to Sarnath”)
de H.P. Lovecraft
tradukite de Troy Jones III

Troviĝas en la lando Mnar vasta kvieta lago, kiun nutras neniu rivero, kaj el kiu neniu rivero fluas. Antaŭ dek mil jaroj staris ĉe ĝia bordo la potenca urbo Sarnat, sed Sarnat staras ne plu.

Oni diras, ke en la forgesitaj jaroj, kiam la mondo estis juna, antaŭ ol la homoj de Sarnat iam venis al la lando Mnar, alia urbo staris apud la lago: la griza ŝtona urbo Ib, kiu estis tiel malnova kiel la lago mem, kaj en kiu loĝis popolo ne plaĉa al la okulo. Tre strangaj kaj malbelaj estis tiuj estaĵoj; ja same estas la plejmulto de estaĵoj de mondo ankoraŭ rudimenta kaj krude formata. Estas skribite sur la brikaj cilindroj de Kadateron, ke la estaĵoj de Ib havis koloron tiel verdan kiel la lago kaj la nebuloj, kiuj ŝvebas super ĝi; ke ili havis ŝvelantajn okulojn, grasajn paŭtantajn lipojn, kaj kuriozajn orelojn, kaj estis sen voĉoj. Estas ankaŭ skribite, ke ili venis malsupren de la luno iun nokton en verda nebulo; ili kaj la vasta kvieta lago kaj griza ŝtona urbo Ib. Ĉu tio estas vero, ĉu mito, ĉiukaze estas certe, ke ili kultis marverdan ŝtonan idolon ĉizitan laŭ la bildo de Bokrug, la grandega akvo-lacerto, antaŭ kiu ili dancis abomeninde, kiam la luno ŝveliĝis. Kaj estas skribite sur la papirusoj de Ilarnek, ke ili iun tagon eltrovis fajron, kaj poste ekbruligis flamojn dum multaj ceremoniaj okazoj. Sed malmulte estas skribite pri tiuj estaĵoj, ĉar ili vivis en tre antikvaj epokoj, sed la homaro estas juna, sciante ankoraŭ malmulte pri tre antikvaj vivintoj.

Post multaj eonoj homoj venis al la lando Mnar: malhela paŝtista gento kun siaj lanplenaj ŝafaroj, kiu konstruis la urbojn Traa, Ilarnek, kaj Kadateron laŭ la sinua rivero Aj. Kaj kelkaj triboj, pli fortikaj ol la ceteraj, puŝis plu al la bordo de la lago kaj konstruis Sarnaton ĉe loko, kie valoraj metaloj troviĝis en la tero. Ne malproksime de la griza urbo Ib masonis la migrintaj triboj la unuajn ŝtonojn de Sarnat, kaj pri la estaĵoj de Ib ili ege miris. Sed kun sia mirado enmiksiĝis malamo, ĉar ili kredis, ke ne indas, ke estaĵoj kun tia aspekto tretu en la mondo de homoj krepuske. Nek ŝatis ili la strangajn skulptaĵojn reliefajn sur la grizaj monolitoj de Ib, ĉar tiuj skulptaĵoj estis teruraj pro ega antikveco. Kial la skulptaĵoj kaj la estaĵoj restadis tiel malfrue en la mondo, eĉ ĝis la alveno de la homaro, oni ne povas diri; krom se temas pri, ke la lando Mnar estas tre kvieta kaj for de la plejmulto de aliaj landoj, kaj vekitaj kaj sonĝantaj.

Ju pli da la estaĵoj la homoj vidis, des pli la malamo kreskis, kaj des pli ĉar ili trovis la estaĵojn malfortaj, kaj tiel molaj kiel ĵeleo al la trafo de ŝtonoj kaj sagoj. Sekve iun tagon la junaj batalistoj, la ŝtonĵetilistoj kaj la lancistoj kaj la pafarkistoj, marŝis kontraŭ Ib kaj mortigis ĉiom da la loĝantoj tie, poste ŝovante la kuriozajn kadavrojn en la lagon per longaj lancoj, ĉar ili ne volis tuŝi ilin. Kaj ĉar ili ne ŝatis la grizajn skulptitajn monolitojn de Ib, ili ĵetis ĉi tiujn ankaŭ en la lagon, mirante pri la egeco de la laboro, kiu iam alportis la ŝtonegojn el for, kaj ilin oni devus alporti, ĉar troviĝas nenia ŝtonego simila al ili en la lando Mnar, nek en la landoj apudaj.

Tiel de la tre antikva urbo Ib nenion oni ŝparis, krom la marverdan idolon ĉizitan laŭ la bildo de Bokrug, la akvo-lacerto. Ĉi tion la junaj batalintoj alportis reen kun si kiel simbolon de konkero super la malnovaj dioj kaj estaĵoj de Ib, kaj kiel signon de regado en Mnar. Sed la sekvan nokton, post kiam la verda idolo estis starigita en la templo, io terura okazis: strangajn lumojn oni vidis super la lago, kaj matene la loĝantaro trovis, ke la idolo mankis kaj la ĉefpastro Taran-Iŝ kuŝis senvive, kvazaŭ pro ia timego abomena. Kaj antaŭ ol li mortis, Taran-Iŝ skizis sur la altaro krizolita per krudaj malglataj strekoj la piktogramon PEREO.

Post Taran-Iŝ servis multaj ĉefpastroj en Sarnat, sed neniam oni trovis la marverdan ŝtonan idolon. Kaj multaj jarcentoj venis kaj pasis, dum kiuj Sarnat prosperis treege, kaj sekve nur pastroj kaj maljunulinoj rememoris tion, kion Taran-Iŝ skizis sur la altaro krizolita. Inter Sarnat kaj la urbo Ilarnek aperis karavanvojo, kaj la valorajn metalojn el la tero oni interŝanĝis kontraŭ aliaj metaloj kaj raraj ŝtofoj kaj juveloj kaj libroj kaj iloj por metiistoj kaj ĉiuj luksaĵoj, kiujn konis la gento, kiu loĝis laŭ la sinua rivero Aj kaj pretere. Do Sarnat fariĝis potenca kaj klera kaj belega, kaj sendis konkerantajn armeojn por subigi la najbarajn urbojn. Kaj post iom da tempo sidis sur trono en Sarnat la reĝoj super la tuto de la lando Mnar kaj multaj landoj apudaj.

La revo de la mondo kaj la fiero de la homaro estis Sarnat la imponega. El polurita dezert-minita marmoro estis ĝiaj muroj, alte tri cent ulnojn kaj larĝe sepdek kvin, por ke ĉaroj povu preterpasi unu la alian, dum viroj stiris ilin laŭ la pinto. Plene kvin cent stadiojn longis la muroj, malfermite nur flanke de la lago, kie verda ŝtona digo fortenis la ondojn, kiuj mistere leviĝis unu fojon jare je la festo de la detruo de Ib. En Sarnat kuris kvindek stratoj de la lago ĝis la portaloj de la karavanoj, kaj kvindek pli interkrucis ilin. Per onikso oni ilin pavimis, escepte de kie la ĉevaloj kaj kameloj kaj elefantoj tretis, kie ili estis pavimitaj per granito. Kaj la urbportaloj de Sarnat estis tiel multaj kiel la finoj de la stratoj flanke de la tero, ĉiu portalo el bronzo, kaj flankita de figuroj de leonoj kaj elefantoj ĉizitaj el ia ŝtono ne plu konata inter homoj. La domojn de Sarnat oni konstruis el glazuritaj brikoj kaj kalcedono, kaj ĉiu havis propran ĉirkaŭmuritan ĝardenon kaj kristalan lageton. Per eksterordinaraj artoj oni ilin konstruis, ĉar neniu urbo alia havis tiajn domojn; kaj vojaĝantoj de Traa kaj Ilarnek kaj Kadateron miris pri la brilantaj kupoloj, kiuj ilin tegmentis.

Sed eĉ pli mirindaj estis la palacoj kaj la temploj, kaj la ĝardenoj faritaj de Zokkar la iama reĝo. En Sarnat estis multaj palacoj, el kiuj la plej malgrandaj estis pli grandiozaj ol iu ajn en Traa aŭ Ilarnek aŭ Kadateron. Tiel altaj estis ili, ke interne oni foje povis fantazii sin sub nur la ĉielo; sed kiam lumigate per torĉoj trempitaj en la oleo de Doter, iliaj muroj montris vastajn pentraĵojn pri reĝoj kaj armeoj, de grandiozeco kaj inspira kaj stuporiga al la rigardanto. Multegaj estis la kolonoj de la palacoj, ĉiuj el kolorigita marmoro, kaj ĉizitaj en desegnojn de transpasanta belego. Kaj en la plejmulto de la palacoj la plankoj estis mozaikoj el berilo kaj lazurŝtono kaj ruĝonikso kaj grenato kaj aliaj ŝatataj materialoj, tiel desegnitaj, ke la rigardanto povis fantazii sin promenanta sur bedoj de la plej raraj floroj. Kaj similaj estis la fontanoj, kiuj ŝprucis parfumitajn akvojn el ĉarmaj ajutoj aranĝitaj per lerta arto. Transpasanta ĉion alian estis la palaco de la reĝoj de Mnar kaj de la landoj apudaj. Sur paro da oraj kaŭrantaj leonoj staris la trono, multajn ŝtupojn super la brila planko. Kaj ĝi estis farita el unu peco de eburo, kvankam neniu homo nun vivas, kiu scias, kie tiel vastan eburpecon oni povis trovi. En tiu palaco estis ankaŭ multaj galerioj, kaj multaj amfiteatroj, kie leonoj kaj viroj kaj elefantoj batalis laŭ la plezuro de la reĝoj. Fojfoje la amfiteatrojn oni inundis per akvo transportita el la lago per potencaj akveduktoj, kaj tiam oni dramigis ekscitantajn marbatalojn, aŭ okazigis gladiatorajn batalojn inter naĝantoj kaj mortigaj akvobestoj.

Altegaj kaj imponaj estis la dek sep turformaj temploj de Sarnat, formite el hela multekolora ŝtono nekonata aliloke. Entute mil ulnojn alte staris la plej granda el ili, en kiu la ĉefpastroj loĝis en lukso apenaŭ malpli grandioza ol tio de la reĝoj. Teretaĝe troviĝis haloj tiel vastaj kaj grandiozaj kiel tiuj de la palacoj; tie kunvenis homamasoj por kultado al Zo-Kalar kaj Tamaŝ kaj Lobon, la precipaj dioj de Sarnat, kies incensplenaj sanktejoj ŝajnis kvazaŭ la tronoj de monarĥoj. Ne similaj al la ikonoj de aliaj dioj estis tiuj de Zo-Kalar kaj Tamaŝ kaj Lobon; tiel fidelaj al la vivo estis ili, ke oni ĵurus, ke la graciaj barbaj dioj mem sidis sur la eburaj tronoj. Kaj senfinajn brilajn zirkonajn ŝtupojn supre troviĝis la turoĉambro, en kiu la ĉefpastroj elrigardis super la urbo kaj la ebenaĵoj kaj la lago dumtage; kaj rigardis la enigman lunon kaj aŭgurajn stelojn kaj planedojn kaj iliajn speguliĝojn en la lago dumnokte. Ĉi tie ĉefpastroj faris la tre sanktan kaj antikvan riton malbene al Bokrug, la akvo-lacerto, kaj ĉi tie restis la altaro el krizolito, kiu portis la PEREO-skizaĵon de Taran-Iŝ.

Mirindaj ankaŭ estis la ĝardenoj plantitaj de Zokkar la iama reĝo. En la centro de Sarnat ili kuŝis, kovrante grandan areon kaj ĉirkaŭite de alta muro. Kaj ili estis sub tegmento de grandioza kupolo vitra, tra kiu brilis la suno kaj luno kaj planedoj, kiam la ĉielo estis klara, kaj de kiu pendis brilegaj miniaturoj de la suno kaj luno kaj steloj kaj planedoj, kiam la ĉielo estis nuba. Somere la ĝardenojn oni malvarmetigis per freŝaj bonodoraj brizoj lerte blovetigitaj de ventumiloj, kaj vintre ili estis varmigitaj per kaŝitaj fajroj, por ke en tiuj ĝardenoj ĉiam printempu. Kuris malgrandaj riveretoj super helaj ŝtonetoj, disigante gazonojn verdajn kaj ĝardenojn kun multaj koloroj, krucite de multego da pontoj. Multaj estis la akvofaloj laŭ la riveretoj, kaj multaj estis la nimfeo-plenaj lagetoj, en kiujn ili larĝiĝis. Sur la riveretoj kaj lagetoj naĝis blankajn cignojn, dum la muziko de raraj birdoj pepis akorde al la melodio de la akvo. En belaranĝitajn terasojn leviĝis la verdaj bordoj, ornamitajn jen kaj jen per laŭboj de vinberujoj kaj dolĉaj floroj, kaj per seĝoj kaj benkoj el marmoro kaj porfiro. Kaj troviĝis multaj malgrandaj sanktejoj kaj templetoj, kie oni povis ripozi aŭ preĝi al malgrandaj dioj.

Ĉiun jaron oni festis en Sarnat la datrevenon de la detruo de Ib, dum kiu vinoj, kantoj, dancado kaj ĉia gajeco abundis. Grandajn honorojn oni tiutempe prezentis omaĝe al la ombroj de tiuj, kiuj ekstermis la strangajn antikvajn estaĵojn; kaj la memorojn pri tiuj estaĵoj kaj pri iliaj malnovaj dioj mokis dancistoj kaj liutistoj kronitaj per rozoj de la ĝardenoj de Zokkar. Kaj la reĝoj dume elrigardis super la lago kaj malbenis la ostojn de la mortintoj, kiuj kuŝis sub ĝi.

La ĉefpastroj komence ne ŝatis ĉi tiun festotagon, ĉar oni transdonis al ili kuriozajn rakontojn pri la malaperinta marverda idolo, kaj pri Taran-Iŝ, kiu mortis pro timo kaj lasis averton. Kaj oni diris, ke de la alta temploturo fojfoje videblis lumoj sub la akvo de la lago. Sed tiom da jaroj pasis sen katastrofo, ke eĉ la pastroj ridis kaj malbenis kaj partoprenis en la orgioj de la festenantoj. Ĉu ne ili mem, en sia alta turo, ja ofte faris la tre antikvan kaj sekretan riton malbene al Bokrug, la akvo-lacerto? Kaj mil jaroj da riĉaĵoj kaj ĝojo venis kaj pasis en Sarnat, la revo de la mondo kaj fiero de la homaro.

Belega preter penso estis la festo de la mila jaro datrevene de la detruo de Ib. Dum jardeko oni paroladis pri ĝi en la lando Mnar, kaj kiam ĝi alproksimiĝis, venis al Sarnat, sur ĉevaloj kaj kameloj kaj elefantoj, homoj el Traa, Ilarnek, kaj Kadateron, kaj el ĉiu urbo de Mnar kaj la landoj pretere. Antaŭ la marmoraj muroj je la celebrata nokto estis starigitaj la pavilionoj de princoj kaj la tendoj de vojaĝantoj. En sia bankedo-halo kuŝis Nargis-Hej, la reĝo, ebria per antikva vino de la keloj de konkerita Pnat, ĉirkaŭigite de festenantaj nobeloj kaj hastantaj sklavoj. Oni manĝis multajn kuriozajn delikataĵojn dum la festeno: pavojn de la foraj montetoj de Implan, kalkanojn de kameloj de la dezerto Bnazic, nuksojn kaj spicojn de la boskoj de Cujdatri, kaj perlojn de ondo-lavita Mtal solvitajn en la vinagro de Traa. Da saŭcoj estis netaksebla nombro, preparitaj de la plej subtilaj kuiristoj en la tuto de Mnar, kaj konvenigitaj al la palato de ĉiu festenanto. Sed la plej dezirataj el ĉiuj la manĝaĵoj estis la fiŝegoj de la lago, ĉiu de vasta grandeco, servite sur oraj pladoj kun enmuntitaj rubenoj kaj diamantoj.

Dum la reĝo kaj liaj nobeloj festenis en la palaco, kaj rigardis sian finfinan kulminan pladon sur oraj teleregoj, aliuloj festenis aliloke. En la turo de la granda templo la pastroj diboĉis, kaj en pavilionoj ekster la urbaj muroj la princoj de najbaraj landoj festis gaje. Kaj estis la ĉefpastro Gnaj-Ka, kiu unue ekvidis la ombrojn, kiuj venis malsupren de la ŝvelanta luno en la lagon, kaj la damnindaj verdaj nebuloj, kiuj leviĝis de la lago por tuŝi la lunon kaj vuali en minaca haladzo la turojn kaj la kupolojn de pereonta Sarnat. Poste tiuj en la turoj kaj ekster la muroj vidis strangajn lumojn sur la akvo, kaj vidis, ke la griza roko Akurjon, kiu kutime staris alte super la lago proksime al la marbordo, estis preskaŭ mergita. Kaj timo kreskis subkonscie sed tamen rapide, tiel ke la princoj de Ilarnek kaj de malproksima Rokol faldis kaj pakis siajn tendojn kaj pavilionojn kaj ekiris al la rivero Aj, kvankam ili apenaŭ sciis la kialon por sia foriro.

Tiam, proksime al la horo de noktomezo, ĉiuj la bronzaj portaloj de Sarnat krevis malfermen kaj elverŝis panikantajn homamasojn, kiuj malheligis la ebenaĵon, kaj tion vidante la vizitantaj princoj kaj vojaĝantoj forfuĝis pro timo. Ĉar sur la vizaĝoj de la homamaso estis skribite frenezego naskita de hororo ne elportebla, kaj sur iliaj langoj estis vortoj tiel teruraj, ke neniu aŭskultanto paŭzis por pruvo. Viroj, kies okuloj estis sovaĝaj pro timo, kriis laŭtvoĉe pri la vido en la reĝa bankedo-halo, kie tra la fenestroj estis videblaj ne plu la formoj de Nargis-Hej kaj liaj nobeloj kaj sklavoj, sed hordo de ne-priskribeblaj verdaj senvoĉaj estaĵoj kun ŝvelantaj okuloj, grasaj lipoj, kaj kuriozaj oreloj: estaĵoj kiuj dancis abomeninde, portante en siaj ungegoj orajn pladojn kun enmuntitaj rubenoj kaj diamantoj kaj enhavantajn strangajn flamojn. Kaj la princoj kaj vojaĝantoj, dum ili fuĝis de la kondamnita urbo Sarnat sur ĉevaloj kaj kameloj kaj elefantoj, rigardis reen la nebulo-naskantan lagon kaj vidis, ke la griza roko Akurjon estis tute mergita.

Tra la lando Mnar kaj la landoj apudaj disvastiĝis la rakontoj de tiuj, kiuj fuĝis de Sarnat, kaj karavanoj serĉis tiun kondamnitan urbon kaj ĝiajn valorajn metalojn ne plu. Pasis longa tempo, antaŭ ol iuj vojaĝantoj ajn iris tien, kaj eĉ tiam nur la kuraĝaj kaj aventuremaj junaj viroj el malproksima Falona: kuraĝaj kaj aventuremaj junaj viroj kun flavaj haroj kaj bluaj okuloj, kiuj ne estas parencoj al la viroj de Mnar. Ĉi tiuj viroj fakte iris al la lago por vidi Sarnaton; sed kvankam ili trovis la vastan kvietan lagon mem, kaj la grizan rokon Akurjon kiu staris alte super ĝi proksime al la marbordo, ili ne vidis la revon de la mondo kaj fieron de la homaro. Kie iam altiĝis muroj je tri cent ulnoj kaj turoj eĉ pli altaj, nun etendis nur la marĉa marbordo, kaj kie iam loĝis kvindek milionoj da homoj, nun rampas nur aĉaj akvo-lacertoj. Eĉ ne la minoj de valorinda metalo restas. PEREO venis al Sarnat.

Sed duone enfositan inter la junkoj ili ekvidis kuriozan verdan idolon, treege antikvan ikonon ĉizitan laŭ la bildo de Bokrug, la granda akvo-lacerto. Tiu idolo, starigite en sanktejo en la ĉeftemplo ĉe Ilarnek, estis poste kultita sub la ŝvelanta luno tra la lando Mnar.