I dreamt last night.
I am the most powerful man in the world.
When the time came for my apprenticeship, I was fifteen. My stepmother wanted a post for me in the crossbow regiments. My father would have none of it, and so I was thrown to the mercy of a distant member of the family that neither respected. He was Troaliss, and he was an heir of the Kumate Chorjish Iron Lion Legacy.
Troaliss tried to make me otherwise.
The first weapon I ever killed a man with was a rapier, delivered through the right ear. Since that time I've killed with many other weapons: daggers, bare hands, bows, tankards, words, spears, and shadows. Currently, I favor the naginata: unpretentious, and graceful in its use. But I still carry my rapier.
Cast adrift, an orphan of Kumate Chorjish, I've drifted through many styles of death. I fought with a buckler and a hatchet in blood-churned earth; I've fought in a fine mail shirt under the banner of various causes. I've flown my own banner - per pale sable and azure, a rose argent - and armies have marched under it.
There are more people trying to kill me than you'd imagine. My usual response is to shatter their weapon in their hand and offer them a chance to surrender. Some do.
I walk in the halls of power, like none of my kin before me. I speak in them, and the lords of this world listen to me. The echoes of my voice shake the world.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Osomo's Mistake, pt. 1
"I challenge you to a duel of honor."
I wanted to respond to that. Dueling is something I can do well - not as dangerously as a true Iron Lion, but as effectively anyways. This was my game.
Instead, I decided that trying not to suffocate underneath a thousand pounds of bricks and bystanders was a better idea.
As it turned out, it wasn't, because Osomo (Osomo!) decided to speak instead.
"I'll defend your honor for 250 in gold."
I wanted to respond to that. I decided that trying not to laugh instead was a better eidea.
A woman's voice, sounding not flustered enough to lose her haughty cool, answered him. "Does it look as if I carry that much in gold?"
(Osomo again. "Half?") "Fifty." ("Only fifty?")
Chitin pulled himself out of the pile, and I had a precious moment of sunlight and air before the pile caved in on me to fill his void.
It was enough time for the woman to finish speaking. I recognized the accent: Serpentine. "My bodyguard is-" (Osomo interrupted: "He's dying.") "You're a four-arm I know nothing about."
Osomo sighed. "Fifty now."
I heard leather slap and money jingle as a coinpurse got tossed. Then, with a hard push upwards, I mananged to pull myself up into a sitting position, with my head above the rubble. Just in time to see what happened next.
Osomo responded, as is his nature, in the usual fashion.
He stepped backwards and reached under his cloak, tossed his hooded head back, and pulled his arms back out with four of his custom-ordered crossbows.
Then he fired them all.
My eyes shifted, and for the first time I saw the circumstances. The woman was indeed lithene, and dressed well enough to be from Embassy City. Just in the background was Serpentine, lying face-down in a spreading pool of blood.
Most importantly was the challenger. His race was unimportant. What was important was his outfit:
Plate armor. At least six ribs on each side of the cuirass. Specialty work, in other words, and expensive enough that the owner inside was clearly Noblesse.
Nobody wears armor like that casually, not even in Cloudbirth. And nobody ever wears just plate armor. The plates are over full mail, and the mail goes over an inch-thick layer of felt. All of that is over a layer of silk.
The silk layer is for use after battles. When you have a spare moment, you grab the hems of the silk and padding and you yank them. This causes all the missiles that pincushion your armor to pop out.
Two of them hit ARMOR square in the chest - and harmlessly. One of them shattered on his armor.
The fourth bolt went wide, and I saw what was going to happen a split second before it hit a passer-by.
If it's any comfort, I don't think she felt any pain. It was a clean hit between the eyes, with one of the special quarrels that Osomo had gone to great pains to buy.
The shafts were filled with some chemical - naphtha resin, I think - that made them explode and burn on impact. Which it did, a split second before her corpse flew past me and knocked down what was left of the scaffolding.
Before I was buried under the rest of the scaffolding, I took a moment to sigh.
I wanted to respond to that. Dueling is something I can do well - not as dangerously as a true Iron Lion, but as effectively anyways. This was my game.
Instead, I decided that trying not to suffocate underneath a thousand pounds of bricks and bystanders was a better idea.
As it turned out, it wasn't, because Osomo (Osomo!) decided to speak instead.
"I'll defend your honor for 250 in gold."
I wanted to respond to that. I decided that trying not to laugh instead was a better eidea.
A woman's voice, sounding not flustered enough to lose her haughty cool, answered him. "Does it look as if I carry that much in gold?"
(Osomo again. "Half?") "Fifty." ("Only fifty?")
Chitin pulled himself out of the pile, and I had a precious moment of sunlight and air before the pile caved in on me to fill his void.
It was enough time for the woman to finish speaking. I recognized the accent: Serpentine. "My bodyguard is-" (Osomo interrupted: "He's dying.") "You're a four-arm I know nothing about."
Osomo sighed. "Fifty now."
I heard leather slap and money jingle as a coinpurse got tossed. Then, with a hard push upwards, I mananged to pull myself up into a sitting position, with my head above the rubble. Just in time to see what happened next.
Osomo responded, as is his nature, in the usual fashion.
He stepped backwards and reached under his cloak, tossed his hooded head back, and pulled his arms back out with four of his custom-ordered crossbows.
Then he fired them all.
My eyes shifted, and for the first time I saw the circumstances. The woman was indeed lithene, and dressed well enough to be from Embassy City. Just in the background was Serpentine, lying face-down in a spreading pool of blood.
Most importantly was the challenger. His race was unimportant. What was important was his outfit:
Plate armor. At least six ribs on each side of the cuirass. Specialty work, in other words, and expensive enough that the owner inside was clearly Noblesse.
Nobody wears armor like that casually, not even in Cloudbirth. And nobody ever wears just plate armor. The plates are over full mail, and the mail goes over an inch-thick layer of felt. All of that is over a layer of silk.
The silk layer is for use after battles. When you have a spare moment, you grab the hems of the silk and padding and you yank them. This causes all the missiles that pincushion your armor to pop out.
Two of them hit ARMOR square in the chest - and harmlessly. One of them shattered on his armor.
The fourth bolt went wide, and I saw what was going to happen a split second before it hit a passer-by.
If it's any comfort, I don't think she felt any pain. It was a clean hit between the eyes, with one of the special quarrels that Osomo had gone to great pains to buy.
The shafts were filled with some chemical - naphtha resin, I think - that made them explode and burn on impact. Which it did, a split second before her corpse flew past me and knocked down what was left of the scaffolding.
Before I was buried under the rest of the scaffolding, I took a moment to sigh.
Prelude to Osomo's Mistake
Spring Eve, Water Eve
My companions and I had met up, cleaned up, and were departing to go our separate ways for the morning when abruptly the entire day turned into a disaster.
It actually was a disaster: a runaway cart came rampaging down the street, right towards a violently sick Chitin and myself. (He had made the mistake of drinking witch's brew, and for all his efforts couldn't keep his stomach down long enough to meld his soul.
(This probably won't be explained much more.
(These things usually aren't.)
I saw it coming and dodged into Chitin. Chitin saw me coming and dodged into the passers-by.
They saw several hundred pounds of muscle, meat, bone and spikes flying towards them and scattered, except for one. He was bodyslammed backwards by Chitin into what was behind him.
Unfortunately, that was a scaffolding, which promptly collapsed on all of us.
Amidst all the screaming, I heard somebody say the magic words:
"I challenge you to a duel of honor."
My companions and I had met up, cleaned up, and were departing to go our separate ways for the morning when abruptly the entire day turned into a disaster.
It actually was a disaster: a runaway cart came rampaging down the street, right towards a violently sick Chitin and myself. (He had made the mistake of drinking witch's brew, and for all his efforts couldn't keep his stomach down long enough to meld his soul.
(This probably won't be explained much more.
(These things usually aren't.)
I saw it coming and dodged into Chitin. Chitin saw me coming and dodged into the passers-by.
They saw several hundred pounds of muscle, meat, bone and spikes flying towards them and scattered, except for one. He was bodyslammed backwards by Chitin into what was behind him.
Unfortunately, that was a scaffolding, which promptly collapsed on all of us.
Amidst all the screaming, I heard somebody say the magic words:
"I challenge you to a duel of honor."
Sunday, April 1, 2007
Learning my trade
There was an interlude during my apprenticeship that I will talk about another time, during which I did virtually nothing.
When it was over, I received what I remember as the first formal lesson of my apprenticeship. (Doubtless Troaliss would disagree, but we disagree on many things.)
Troaliss surprised me by waking up early. During this time, he had gone to the yard of a blacksmith, coming back with a large, quarter-inch-thick scrap of tempered steel.
He gave it to me with these words: "Fold it in half."
When I couldn't do it, he got pissed and called me a weakling.
He never did explain why he did that. Such is his nature; he usually didn't.
In hindsight, I understand.
The test was to see how quickly I could bend it, and thus how much he would have to catch me up with before the real training began. When I couldn't, he realized that what he was duty-bound as a master to do - instruct me as a student of the Kumate Chorjish Iron Lion Legacy - was never going to happen.
He could have sent me away then, judging me rightly unfit to be a Strong Studious Son of his Style, and continued looking for an apprentice.
He instead chose to teach me - as best he could - a style that could make me strong.
I did not carry on his Legacy. If I was ever asked my style, I would say that I was taught by a son of the Kumate Chorjish Iron Lion Legacy, but claim none as my own. I will never bend a quarter-inch plate of steel in half.
But I can defend myself. To some degree, this is the result of Troaliss teaching me.
It was the greatest act of kindness he ever did me.
It may also have been the only one.
When it was over, I received what I remember as the first formal lesson of my apprenticeship. (Doubtless Troaliss would disagree, but we disagree on many things.)
Troaliss surprised me by waking up early. During this time, he had gone to the yard of a blacksmith, coming back with a large, quarter-inch-thick scrap of tempered steel.
He gave it to me with these words: "Fold it in half."
When I couldn't do it, he got pissed and called me a weakling.
He never did explain why he did that. Such is his nature; he usually didn't.
In hindsight, I understand.
The test was to see how quickly I could bend it, and thus how much he would have to catch me up with before the real training began. When I couldn't, he realized that what he was duty-bound as a master to do - instruct me as a student of the Kumate Chorjish Iron Lion Legacy - was never going to happen.
He could have sent me away then, judging me rightly unfit to be a Strong Studious Son of his Style, and continued looking for an apprentice.
He instead chose to teach me - as best he could - a style that could make me strong.
I did not carry on his Legacy. If I was ever asked my style, I would say that I was taught by a son of the Kumate Chorjish Iron Lion Legacy, but claim none as my own. I will never bend a quarter-inch plate of steel in half.
But I can defend myself. To some degree, this is the result of Troaliss teaching me.
It was the greatest act of kindness he ever did me.
It may also have been the only one.
Monday, March 26, 2007
But you really miss your mother
The Shadow-Shifting Style has only one teacher in Cloudbirth.
The clouds on the horizon bode ill for all of us. Not for him. Under these clear rskies, he has only one student.
The class starts at random hours, for such is the nature of both the teacher and the subject. To learn to control one's shadow, must learn to do so regardless of circumstances.
As such, the student's life is dominated by struggle with his own shadow, and has only so much time available between the start of the day, the waking of Cloudbirth, the start of the lesson, the end of the lesson, the closing of shops, and the end of the day.
This time, for the last ten days, the student has spent struggling, more or less in vain, to find something that has evaded him for his life and which he has a responsibility to find.
This day, the search has begun to end.
I know he has cousins in Cloudbirth.
But how are you supposed to find people you've never met, especially when you don't have the faintest idea of how to find them in a crowd of 300,000? If you don't know what they look like? If they don't have an appetite for fame?
It took four days before I could find my way around Cloudbirth, and another few before to get a gasp of what was where.
The ideas took a few days to express, but once they did, everything else fell into place.
The plan was relatively simple: start in the nicer parts of town. Begin with the tailors - not the posh ones; I'd stand out too much there, and that's reason enough to suspect that they would too. Work my way through them. If that didn't pan out, I would go to the Dyers' Guild, ask about the sales, and work my way up the chain from there.
I didn't know anything about my cousins looked, you see, but I do know some things about how they dressed.
That sort of thing is important.
These things usually are.
In a city of reptilians and siarrans, his sight was something of a relief: he was as human as I. Short, ordinary, and as forgettable as any human could be - maybe as forgettable as I am.
Which made it hard to begin asking questions.
"I'm... I have an unusual problem." He stared, and I stumbled.
"I'm looking for some cousins from out west. A friend of mine says that they live here, and I'm not sure what they look like-"
"Fuck me if I know," he said tersely.
"-but I think that they wear something like this" (pointing to my coat.)
He stared blankly.
"Like this, but the embroidery isn't actually blue like this."
I stopped. Not to hear him speak. To concentrate on not sweating.
He didn't interpret it that way. "Cornflower?"
"No, no, mine is cornflower. They wear" [and at that instant I realized why he asked, and saw his face loosen up a bit] "...I'm not sure. Theirs is red."
("Red?") "Some kind of red. Carmine or cinnabar, or something like that. I'm not-"
He interrupted me again.
"Crimson?"
We met eyes - his were small and beady, mine were big and liquid and blue - and I felt him read them. I tried to read his, but I stopped.
He was smiling.
So I answered: "I think so."
"And you're looking for cousins, you say?"
"Distant ones, and I thought you'd be able to help me find..."
I trailed off. The shop was empty, and in this stillness and quiet I could see everything I needed to know. Almost everything. "Did I just find them?"
His response was terse: "Probably."
It was all I needed to know.
My cousins aren't very decisive. Neither am I.
The clouds on the horizon bode ill for all of us. Not for him. Under these clear rskies, he has only one student.
The class starts at random hours, for such is the nature of both the teacher and the subject. To learn to control one's shadow, must learn to do so regardless of circumstances.
As such, the student's life is dominated by struggle with his own shadow, and has only so much time available between the start of the day, the waking of Cloudbirth, the start of the lesson, the end of the lesson, the closing of shops, and the end of the day.
This time, for the last ten days, the student has spent struggling, more or less in vain, to find something that has evaded him for his life and which he has a responsibility to find.
This day, the search has begun to end.
***
When I was a child, my mentor taught me what to do if I ever got lost, or found myself in a city alone: look for your cousins. Or, failing that, look for his cousins.I know he has cousins in Cloudbirth.
But how are you supposed to find people you've never met, especially when you don't have the faintest idea of how to find them in a crowd of 300,000? If you don't know what they look like? If they don't have an appetite for fame?
It took four days before I could find my way around Cloudbirth, and another few before to get a gasp of what was where.
The ideas took a few days to express, but once they did, everything else fell into place.
The plan was relatively simple: start in the nicer parts of town. Begin with the tailors - not the posh ones; I'd stand out too much there, and that's reason enough to suspect that they would too. Work my way through them. If that didn't pan out, I would go to the Dyers' Guild, ask about the sales, and work my way up the chain from there.
I didn't know anything about my cousins looked, you see, but I do know some things about how they dressed.
That sort of thing is important.
These things usually are.
*****
The Shadow-Shifting Style class ended halfway through the third watch after high noon. With the shops still open, I visited the first tailor that I came across.In a city of reptilians and siarrans, his sight was something of a relief: he was as human as I. Short, ordinary, and as forgettable as any human could be - maybe as forgettable as I am.
Which made it hard to begin asking questions.
"I'm... I have an unusual problem." He stared, and I stumbled.
"I'm looking for some cousins from out west. A friend of mine says that they live here, and I'm not sure what they look like-"
"Fuck me if I know," he said tersely.
"-but I think that they wear something like this" (pointing to my coat.)
He stared blankly.
"Like this, but the embroidery isn't actually blue like this."
I stopped. Not to hear him speak. To concentrate on not sweating.
He didn't interpret it that way. "Cornflower?"
"No, no, mine is cornflower. They wear" [and at that instant I realized why he asked, and saw his face loosen up a bit] "...I'm not sure. Theirs is red."
("Red?") "Some kind of red. Carmine or cinnabar, or something like that. I'm not-"
He interrupted me again.
"Crimson?"
We met eyes - his were small and beady, mine were big and liquid and blue - and I felt him read them. I tried to read his, but I stopped.
He was smiling.
So I answered: "I think so."
"And you're looking for cousins, you say?"
"Distant ones, and I thought you'd be able to help me find..."
I trailed off. The shop was empty, and in this stillness and quiet I could see everything I needed to know. Almost everything. "Did I just find them?"
His response was terse: "Probably."
It was all I needed to know.
My cousins aren't very decisive. Neither am I.
Not a word I heard could I relate
I was with Chitin when it happened.
I was tapped on the shoulder. I turned, and my face did not show shock. We met eyes, and my jaw did not drop.
We stared, Chitin and I, at him. He spoke first.
"I believe you killed me back in Bladibal."
"No." (On asking if he would accept my apologies)
He passed Chitin a piece of paper and disappeared into the crowd.
Chitin asked me to read it to him.
I was tapped on the shoulder. I turned, and my face did not show shock. We met eyes, and my jaw did not drop.
We stared, Chitin and I, at him. He spoke first.
"I believe you killed me back in Bladibal."
"No." (On asking if he would accept my apologies)
He passed Chitin a piece of paper and disappeared into the crowd.
Chitin asked me to read it to him.
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