Introduction to the Chronicles

This is a piece of fantasy/sword and sorcery/tech fiction. Don't just hop in anywhere. Go to the first post and read from there to enjoy the progression.

Saturday, December 6, 2008

Part XIV: Tenere and the Saoshyant




It is said that when Tenere cries her tears become infused with deep scarlet solidifying into dried cherries before they hit the ground. Patches of dried cherries being referred to as 'Tenere tears' gathered for new light festivals. The bamboo chair cradled her lithe frame knowingly. Warm hashish poured from her mouth inhaled from the hookah entwined with the frame of her chair. From her vantage point she could hardly see Is'slom playing in the high grass talking to things he shouldn't have been talking to no doubt. Semi images and mythic things. They were safe here yet she wondered if he would learn that it was different in the outside realms.

Jhlen drew her into the world of men yet it was her own Fall that kept her there. She longed for people to remember her as N'djamena again. Here was sanctuary yet she knew that Is'slom was destined to walk the world of men on his own. The child messiah, saoshyant predicted amongst the cities of the Uclavian Ridge.

The hashish rinsed her body rolling through her nerves and muscles. Is'slom, son of a poet warrior, son of a goddess. Indigo prince who took the sick chaos of life and distilled it into pure sunlight. Tenere knew his father would be coming soon. Ever since she spirited them both away under the guise of night shattering his heart. She knew that he had to come looking for them. Deep down she wanted him to.

*******



Is'slom walked through the grass field with his pet baku that his father had gave him following his every step. The grass was tall, reaching the height of his neck. From a distance he looked like a disembodied head floating. In his hand he carried a crystal orb filled with butterflies. His mother asked where he got it from only to receive no clear answer. Is'slom knew it wasn't time to tell her.

The grass moved.

Okay. The grass was already slightly moving in the wind yet the grass ahead of him seemed to sway with an internal purpose. Then it parted. Then the head of a beast with a head of a dragon yet horns of a deer peeked through.

Is'slom, with no fear, walked forward and petted it on the head. Is'slom knew that the Qilim was his third companion. Soon he would have to leave for the world of man. The Qilim talked to him in words of wind and rain. Though the words were heavy Is'slom caused it to chuckle a few times. Is'slom already knew his duty as a bringer of benefit and as a joybringer. His father was the Daybreaker and he was the Daybringer.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Part XII: Zahra and Shenwreeth in the grove


The grove was centered around the juniper tree. Children ran up to Jhlem and Zahra as they sat next to a stone near the tree handing them bunches of uchuva berries. Tart raisins simmering sour between their gums and cheeks. The sun seemed slightly jaded as though it was in a stupor dipping just behind the walls that enclosed the grove. Jhlem watched the children intensely. Every so often he thought he saw Is'slom dipping in and out of the tiny crowd yet he was not there. Zahra pushed him hard, he fell over, the children laughed. For a small moment in time even Jhlem had to crack a slim smile.


"I thought I heard you Jhlem. It has been sometime time since Zahra's Dan has been here." Shenwreeth's presence rose over the timber of the children subtle yet stirring. Shrenwreeth was a native S'rnian like Zahra yet her dark plumb skin tattled on her telling that she had some Nali blood in her. Shenwreeth was Ja'shem's former dasha before he declared his family. Her lineihi was extensive. She held a spot on the city council and was known as the most intricate clockwork smith in S'rn. "Are you performing at Degyanii? A utenzi or ghazal of the Battle of Narib?" The children mulled around her ankles. Shenwreeth kept the conversation going with a detatchment to her surroundings that wasn't negligence, rather it was like she was part of the landscape itself

"I don't quite know what I'm doing at Degyan...bakus die...."

Shenwreeth looked visibly puzzled and was about to ask Jhlen more yet a warding glance from Zahra stopped her tongue. Yet not before one more thing slipped out.

"Well I just thought you were definitely performing because I saw Reignsheer ibn Qal Jali heading toward your father's grounds."


That slim smile returned to Jhlem's face for a brief moment. Zahra took it in and smiled herself.

iThe list of declarations that the Dan made in his Dasha's name. They are actually a work of art in tandem where the Dasha works out unique situations for the Dan to make declarations. After the Dan has relieved the Dasha of her oath when he declares his family the lineih is used as a statement of rank and prominence amongst Dashas.

iiThe winter solstice celebration.

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Part XI: N'gflan


After the last Merchant King ,Xeec'a, of the last dynasty perished much of the known world descended into turmoil. One of the darkest atrocities of this era were the char spires of Dinasheralvikan. The city of the incestuous demi-daemon king brothers N'gflan and N'gfur.

Eel ink broth only holds it flavor when it is hot enough to seer the tongue. This bowl was slightly feverish yet not blistering. N'gflan turned it counterclockwise slowly stopping at short intervals. Dinasheralvikan was no more yet he longed for the days of its glory where he could indulge in his various pastimes; raping the minds of the populace with existential horrors, concertos of the pain surgeons orchestras, intricate lies that caused people to fight and kill one another. The heavy velvet curtains held out the monsoon winds allowing in just a whistle. A shrill note that skimmed the stubble on his face. A note that his small second mouth on the right side of his neck sought to emulate. He pulled his scarf closer to muzzle that mouth. His garments already gave him away as royalty yet he wasn't ready to allow the people to know that it was a lurid lineage as of yet. He didn't want them to know that there was a crack in the gates of Szda that allowed him to walk the plains again. Also, he had not found N'gfur after he had seeped through the crack in the tomb.

Zhonau twittered in N'gflan's heart cage. N'gflan had no heart. Where his heart should've been was a gaping hole that was exposed on the front of his chest. A hole lined with ochre slime dripping audibly. Yet in that cavity lived Zhonau, his small white salamander familiar. N'gflan drew his vestments close. He did not want Zhonau revealed. Tiny fangs still pressed against his robe.

Yes, the robe was slightly ostentatious. The auric under robe sealing his whole body falling all the way to just above his ankles. The red coat vest which draped to just above his knees, the color of a virgins first menstrual blood. He wanted them to know who he was yet he didn't want them to KNOW who he was.

The inn keeper gave him a private table on the second level overlooking the dinning room. A table girl came to check on him and his meal.

"How is the eel ink broth?"

Her hair was quite matted, dirty lemon, no doubt somewhere in her line was P'lonian stock. Her hair clashing with her olive skin. N'gflan wondered how she had gotten a position in this inn. It appeared way above her class.

"I'm sorry dear, come closer. I can hardly hear you."

On her breath lurked anchovy oil. She was quite repulsive yet unusually unique. She had an odd alien quirkiness that N'glan was sure some translated as beauty. No doubt the inn keeper used her as his evening wench long after his wife had turned in.

N'gflan pulled back his scarf just enough so that his second mouth could whisper obscenities into the air. They scrapped her ear drum meshing with the squeaking of Zhonau. They provided the background music for N'gflan to speak. The table girl's eyes grew glassy. She bent down closer so that she could hear him. He guided her right hand to his phallus. He wanted her to feel it grow in her hand. She suppressed a gasp yet could not remove herself. He guided her left hand to lay on the table net to the bowl.

"Feel it," he uttered. From his sleeve he pulled out a small bone dagger that he started to lightly tap against her left hand. She felt him growing in her right and dug her fingers deeper to help it along. She knew not why she did this.

"Dear." He ran the knife against her index finger. "The Eel ink broth is not hot enough." The knife dug deep causing a thin blood tributary to emerge from her finger. He pushed the knife deeper. He grew larger in her hand. He dipped her severed finger in his broth and sipped deeply. It was almost as if that broth traveled straight down to that member that was in her right hand. And she uttered not a sound.

N'gflan knew it was now time to leave. His predilections had gotten the best of him. The table girl would be found sobbing in some corner with his seed staining her hand and a severed finger. She would be be hysterical because no matter how much she searched her thoughts she wouldn't know what happened or transpired. He calmly dove out into the monsoon shushing Zhonau with forgotten Barian limericks.