Ariel's Unnamed Book

MJZ · 03-06-07, 06:55 PM

[There is no title on the pale cover of this slim book, the first leaf having only the names "Nildro'hain," and below, "Ariel Applerose"; scribed onto it; the first in Gnomish, the second in Halfling. The first entry appears in Common, a few pages in, and is written in a curling, perfectly-legible if somewhat careless hand. There are no orthographic errors, though the occasional splotch of ink, no doubt due to holding the quill over the paper a moment too long, does occur. It has no date.]

I’m rambling. I’d tell Ced about it – well, I have told Ced about it, he just denies everything – of course! and says the right thing in something of the wrong way. Don’t get me wrong here, I am thankful for his kindness, his constant kindness to me. Of course I am. Very much so! Only, sometimes I wish he’d have a thought that wasn’t so compliant with me. Oh, what am I doing? Ced’s not the one troubling me!

Well, the bare bones of the matter is I’ve met someone who scared me silly. This [a sizeable blot occurs here] cloying, bubbly, utterly [another blot] inane woman, who seems to mean no harm but fries everyone’s nerves bouncing off them, who doesn’t seem to know too much, behaves perhaps completely on a whim and gets upset over the slightest thing.

And all I could think about was, oh, dear gods, please don’t tell me I come off like that. [There is a blot here.]

So here I am, sitting on the grass with Ced, writing this out that I have someone to tell it to.

I know I’m green. I know I just left home (my second home), I know I was raised by a clan of happy Halflings – before they were trodden on, that is. I know I’ve barely gotten a grip on this power of mine, I know that maybe I ask [a blot] unnecessary questions at times.

But please, Beryl, Ilsare, Mist – who-ever is listening, how about you, Rofirein? While you’re inspiring dry old clerks somewhere in a cold, empty courthouse, how about dabbing me with a bit of justice? I know despite all those things I’m no-ones fool – tell me the rest of the world sees it that way, too.

MJZ · 03-06-07, 07:16 PM

[The next entry is a loose leaf of parchment, clearly unfinished. It contains a long list of nouns and some verbs, those in the first column written in Halfling, those in the second in Common. Care has evidently been taken, as there are no ink blots present.]

Khiidurkm – Greetings
whuirt – friend
irila – enemy
nicb – help
U – I
ayo – you
ni – he
mni – she
zi – we
li – me
dnia – they
el, ehi, um – am, are, is
dned – that
dnum – this
zea – way

lyrmdih – monster
yhs – orc
ykhi – ogre
gypyct – kobold
kuerd – giant
pertud – bandit

*Note: "M" in Halfling works like the "S" in common, for plural forms. Eg, Pertudm means "bandits."

.....

[The list continues in this manner for a bit.]

MJZ · 03-06-07, 07:29 PM

[This paragraph appears on the next true page. It begins with an irritating ink blot.]

Let’s see what I forgot to mention. Dew’s made a friend, his name’s Meralt (he’s Mr. – I mean, Tadhg’s familiar). Some horrible little man with a pointy hat called them “summons.” Please! I don’t command Dew to do anything, she always looks for ways to help, herself, before I say a word! Hmph. Meralt’s a pseudo-dragon, so he’s not as tough as Dew, even though he looks it. He’s faster, though! And louder, too. They shared a roasted (and stolen, might I add) rat – gobbled it right down. I’ve never seen Dew take to anything other than fruit and berries. What can have gotten into her? Maybe it’s all this killing and dieing we’ve been doing lately, as Ced would say, “boiling blood and swinging swords!” Who knows, maybe I’ll turn wild soon too, just watch me tear into my next bowl of porridge...

There, you see, everything’s alright. Just fine.

MJZ · 03-07-07, 07:09 AM

[The next entry is added somewhat below the previous, on the same page. It is in Gnomish. The handwriting is a bit more jarring, but unmistakably in the same hand. Indeed, it is so different in style and tone from the previous ones, that were it not for the obvious sameness of the script, one might suspect a different person had written it.]

Oh, stop trying to lie. It won’t work, and you know it. Lies take something you don’t have. Oh, you’re no-one’s fool, alright. But no-one’s your fool, either. Least of all yourself. What do you want out of this? What are you looking for? A quick trip straight into the book of the dead? Because that’s where you’re headed, at this rate. How did it feel, looking on your own tombstone, your own name carved there, by the hand of your friends? Oh, it wasn’t so bad. You can’t keep me down.

Not against little kobolds, maybe. Do you think that’s the worst of what’s out there? Some blobs of jelly gone bad, an ogre or two? A sack of bones strung together? Just save the lies. Thing’s aren’t alright. There, you’ve said it. Now I can move on.

MJZ · 03-07-07, 09:35 AM

I can’t move on. I can’t do it, because this isn’t something you can move past. It’s entangling. It’s inductive. You can’t just leap over a current, you have to fight against it, and how often do you hear of someone succeeding at that? As if I wanted to! Sometimes things seem to smear and run together, like too much paint on a small canvas. Ced’s my rock in that sea. He’s always there, same old Ced, thick mop of hair standing on end, great big sword at ready, squinting at anything even conceivably out-of-the-ordinary in sight. But when I try to pan out, to take in the landscape surrounding him, the people standing by us, the gore on our clothing – it’s a paysage that someone’s come along and scribbled me and Ced into. I can’t see how we “fit.” I can’t remember feeling so misplaced. Even my first night in my new home with the gnomes – even when I was wandering the woods after the assault, what was it, 15 years ago. I mean it, not even then. But I think I’m falling into old habits. I’m starting to get the urge to crawl under the table. Not that I’ll ever do it!

MJZ · 03-08-07, 03:40 AM

You’re not lying anymore, now you’re just hiding things. That’s pretty much the same, though. And, of course, you silly thing, you can’t hide it from me! Write it out, it will help you somewhat. Take it out and place it down, so you can look at it, and at least see just what you’re dealing with. But you know I’m afraid of that, in a way. I can’t write of that, I can’t make words out of it. I think I’d rather have it inside me.

Ah, we’ll see how long that will last.

MJZ · 03-08-07, 07:17 AM

[This entry is in Halfling, the original tone and style seems to have returned to the words.]

Alright, I’m sick of sulking about corners like a mouse whenever there isn’t a five-foot-thick wall of stone surrounding me on all sides. That’s it. I’ve had it! So I can either sit around in a safe little room for the rest of my days – which I’m sure would make Ced terribly happy – or, I can do something about it. So I do believe I am going to do something about it.

The enchantment upon the hood Lieutenant Jursen handed me – applied by the great Mage Gravious Skyhammer, whoever that is, anyways – well, it creates a nice little buffer around the body. I can emulate it rather easily. Or at least, I thought I could, until tried and noticed something was missing. Good thing Ced ran into that nice hunter who’s happy to trade hides for ingots.
The other two weren’t quite so simple, [a blot] but still, not much trouble at all. I’d seen them cast maybe a dozen times on those wild trips we took to caves and snowfields and whatnot. I was usually close enough to feel the ebb of the spell, the rhythm, the pulse. The spherical shield is surprisingly simple to cast. The ethereal one does make me cold, though. And we all know I don’t like that very much.

Maybe now I’ll last a little longer the next time something decides to whomp me on the head with a sword or axe. Long enough for me to fry it! It certainly helped when we went mining, and Ced kept getting stunned and standing there like [a blot] a statue, swaying from side to side while all those lovely kobolds turned on me. One bolt was all it took, but even still. I can’t stand feeling helpless!

MJZ · 03-10-07, 01:16 PM

Men. Why is it that they're more often than not ready to leap at one another's throats? The slightest thing will set them off - and that's coming from me! Then they become all huffy and jealous until you don't know what's what. My mother and father were alone together as far as I can remember - but my second cousin Mayflower, she had five husbands! How did she get them all to behave, and not tear into one another vying for her favour, or worse yet, turn against her instead? Must have eaten up twenty-three hours of every day, at least. Or, maybe it's these human-folk. They must not be used to the competition - whereas it's just a way of life, where we come from. I'd better get a grip on it sooner than later, though, Juggling with creatures twice your size isn't so easy!

On a more sober note, we painted Red Light even redder today - with goblin blood, that is. And some of our own, maybe. I worry so much about throwing bolts into the fray, all it takes is for one brave warrior to take an inopportune step to the left and then - he's not so brave. At least I've found Amra again - it raises my spirits so much to be near her. I wonder why? Perhaps because she's even half my size, and yet she fights like a tigress. Which reminds me! I met one of Mr. Emwonk's "cats" today. Rizzir is his name - I've never seen anything like it. I've barely heard of a "Wemic" before, maybe in one or two of mother Buinbal’s tales. Which reminds me! Mr. Emwonk has dubbed me, a “butterfly.” Which was part of the reason for all the trouble earlier, actually. Butterflies protect the Current, it seems, and birds eat butteflies, which explains why he shouts "bird!" at monsters and enemies. And cats eat birds.. therefore are presumably protectors of the butterflies? Never a dull moment with Mr. Em about, I tell you.

Ced's quieter than usual. [A blot] Maybe I shouldn't tease him so much.

MJZ · 03-13-07, 09:00 PM

Never take a half-giant into the desert. It makes the residents angry.

I saw Tahletril disappear beneath hexes of black hissing, clicking limbs, taught, poised stingers, and claws, dripping of their blood... [A blot] Mr. Pig's huge figure closed in on all sides suddenly didn't seem so assertive. Like a black collar, tightening, choking and tightening around him... I thought I had been standing there, mutely, unmoving, but when he too disappeared beneath the gleaming mass and they came toward me - I realized I had been casting.

And when I woke against the stone in Port Hempstead, there was a dark elf, wandering about in full confidence, plain as day. Just after Ms. Kinai had related to me her [a blot] harrowing dealings with one. And as I dragged myself along the road, the dark elf spoke to me - "Bit off more than you could chew," she said.

Some days, I grow so weary of cheerfulness and politeness. If I ever see her again, I'll bite her so hard her spidery god will feel it!

MJZ · 03-14-07, 04:37 PM

Has it been a full moon these past few days? Or has everyone taken a few too many blows to the head? This tension, the ever-over-hanging fear of death, it must be heating people's tempers - and their minds! Ms. Kinai I understand, at least, I think I do. I could guess why she's so troubled. [A blot] But, Tadhg? I've seen that he can be difficult, yes, but...

"Evil," he said. So dark, so harsh a word. Am I meant to believe it? Perhaps I'd be a fool, not to; [a blot] and yet - and yet it seems so over-blown. EVIL. Yes, we use the word. And so does each and every side. Ask the dark elves to show you evil. Ask the devas to show you evil. Ask..

I miss... I miss...

MJZ · 03-15-07, 08:48 PM

I had a terrible dream, to-night. I was being chased through the swamps by spiders, and snakes. I had Ced's sword with me, and it was so heavy... I kept trying to cast spells, and they kept fizzling to nothing. When I did succeed, I was throwing bolts of flame, not electricity. But the spiders, and the snakes were everywhere - the muck and brush was crawling with them, and I knew one of them was Seidahn, but I couldn't tell which... [the entry ends with a blot of ink.]

MJZ · 03-18-07, 10:52 AM

It's a dangerous thing, the flame.

I just couldn't resist. I'd felt it often, too often - most weavers like to toss a ball of fire just ahead of the warriors dashing into the fray. I told myself, no, Ariel, you let them handle the flames, you leave it to those who can keep themselves in check. Those to whom a rush of inferno is little different from a storm of missiles or streak of electricity. I know when I lose my temper I lose control - and the last thing I need is to roast my friends alive along with my enemies, and probably myself as well.

But I can't help it. The heat, the blaze, the very sensation of letting it tear through me, as though I were a funnel from the very plane of flame - it's... [a blot] it's enthralling. It's such a vehement energy, nothing like the others. I've never had much fondness for cold - it is befitting, isn't it? Throwing spines of ice and the like chills me to the bone, it often feels as though I'm punishing myself nearly as much as the monsters they impale. And acid, well, truth be told I've not much experience with it. Who can say - perhaps I'd find it almost as exhilarating as the flame, it certainly has its charms with the harsh immediacy of its energy, the vividness of the colour it creates. And electricity - well, I had always claimed it as my favoured, it had always felt.. [a blot] well, most natural to me, I suppose.

But the flame.. is seductive. Forceful. A paroxysm!

[There are what appear to be a few words continuing, but they have been crossed out and are unreadable.]

It's just that, I can feel the flame billow around me, feel it grow and rage, as though it were to engulf me. But that doesn't frighten me - what frightens me, [a blot] is that I want to let it.

There now, I've begun to sound like a pyromaniac! Perhaps I should keep only enough oil and guano for a few spells, and let Ced hold onto the rest. Yes, perhaps that would be best.

MJZ · 03-20-07, 10:22 AM

[]The following few pages are blank of writing. Between each leaf instead is a flower, pressed flat and dried. The well-preserved petals retain their beauty in this new form, though none of their fragrance. Care has evidently been taken in the process.

The first of these is a red rose. The next two pages contain what appear to have been a bouquet of blue carnations. Then a lily. The last flower is an orange tulip. ]

MJZ · 03-20-07, 08:32 PM

[A small, grease-stained envelope lies between the next pages. It has been opened, but the letter has apparently been re-inserted. There is no sign of pages being torn from the notebook - if any reply to the letter was made, there are no signs of it here.

The letter is written in Gnomish, in a sharp, heavily slanted hand. The backside of the parchment is full of mathematical calculations, to those versed in the matter they are full of physics equations. It seems whoever wrote it was short on stationary.]

I have done it, Nildro'hain - I have augmented the drag-to-induction ratio on the primary rotors. Tilting their base 11.4 degrees up on the z-axis helped somewhat. Shaved the hull an extra few millimeters to adjust for the change. It hovers. It HOVERS, NILDRO'HAIN. For a span of 15 seconds - it is bliss, it is bliss to see it off the ground.

Come home now, I have need of thee. The generator is nothing, I have need of thy electricity. I had given Banen a set of trivial figures to work out for his father, he erred on every single one. No son of mine.

I have need of a new alloy for all the gears on the rotors - I must lower mass, too excessive. I have of need thee to stoke the forge, I have not the time to dig for coal, nor to scrounge for kindling. If only the children might be set to work at that, but thy mother Buinbal forbids it. Let them alone, says she. No wonder the lads cannot do simple arithmetic.

Come home, Nildro'hain. Thy father has great need of thee. Together we shall reach the skies - I have seen it in my dreams. Yea, daughter, I sleep.

[It is not signed.]

MJZ · 03-22-07, 09:54 PM

Balls of a juggling ogre! I think the entire world's gone "barmy as a Spire god" - but then, that's probably exaggerating. What is the Spire, anyways...

Giants tromping into Deliar wielding spears that turn out to be daggers, Mr. Emwonk tearing into a rat carcass one moment and speaking in equations the next - Ced acting like nothing's amiss, Ms. Kinai searching for "flying eyes," pseudo-dragons licking my hand and two more fully armed men with flaming swords drawn rushing into Deliar -- [a blot] it's just about enough for one day. Just about enough.

I don't understand it. He's seen something terrible, and he blames himself for it. What sort of woman has wings, though? [A blot] Could Mr. Emwonk have been imprisoned near.. a deva? It hardly seems possible - but what else has wings? Succubi? That seems even less likely - what ever it was, he can't get his mind around it, [a blot] or if he can, he can't put it to words I understand. He doesn't even seem aware of himself, half the time - of what he's said, or done.. and what bothers me all the more is how Ced behaves as though it's all just fine and dandy - what's the matter with him, anyways! He absolutely refuses to tell me what's going on in that furry melon of his - he's so evasive, I know he's hiding something from me. You'd think after all these years he'd just tell me how he feels, but nooo -

[The entry trails off here.]

MJZ · 03-26-07, 09:40 AM

Alright, so Dew won't talk. [A blot.] Why? I don't know why. She's spent her entire life around me, talking, always talking. And gnomes. Gnomes talk even more than the Lightfoot - believe me, they do, because it takes them that much longer to explain or to describe anything. She can understand me, that much is obvious. I understand her too - it's not as though she needs to speak.. [a blot] but why won't she, if she can?

Pah, but try talking to her about it!

Dew, why haven't you spoken to me?
Frrooo?
Dew, I know you can talk. There's no use hiding it.
. . .Krrriiik.
Uh huh. You heard what Mr. Goronil said. You heard his faerie dragon, Metzingeritz or whatever his name was -
Crrooo.

She just behaves as though she has no idea what I'm asking, which is ridiculous. All that innocuous blinking and fluttering isn't fooling me. And of course she does something irritably affectionate to distract me before I get too worked up about it. Which reminds me, I think Ced feeds her too much, when I'm not looking. I don't remember her stomach being so pouty...

Maybe it's for the best she won't speak. She knows just about every thought that's ever crossed my mind, so!