Am I the Moon?

She is the wolf, baying at the moon.  She cannot reach it, but it comes to her every day.  Her want to be with it grows and grows, until she convinces herself that it's not her that wishes for the moon, but the moon that needs her.  She runs and runs, howling all the time, but gets no closer.

What is the moon?  Well, that is no simple question.  The moon is many things; a father or mother, child or sibling; it could be a foreign land, or a hard-sought career; it could even be an unrequited love or personal riches.  The point is not what the moon is now, but what it cannot be.  It is what is unobtainable, whether that be now or forever, and the wolf finds themselves consumed by the singular desire to have it, despite knowing it can never be.

I am but the rain.  I grant the reprieve, however short, masking the moon for a moment, just the time to wonder about everything else.  The shadows become aware of each other, the wolf wonders if the moon that hides itself is worth its laments.  I fall upon the mountains, and become the river.  To those that come to see me, I grant a truth: I bring a reflection, the way to see oneself that, perhaps, they have not seen before.

The wolf came to the waters to find her reflection, and the sustenance of the river.  I am but a flow; I follow the path where it may lead.  I do not know where I might go, but I know the end, when I must join the others once again and become indiscernible, until the day I reach the sky once more and begin again.

The wolf runs with me.  I do not know if its for what I showed her, or what I can provide her, or if she simply loves what I am.  She has not forgotten the moon, but she does not let it consume her; when she has the river, she does not feel alone, does not feel the need of the moon, but instead tries to find herself along the banks.  I can only hope the path will wind, so that we may have more time together, so that I can watch her run even though I do not know why she does.

Too soon, I see the shore, the beaches that tell me my journey will be ending.  The wolf still runs even as I join the ocean, runs into the waters in hopes of trying not to lose that which had become so dear.  I lose sight quickly, as I am dragged into the everything.  I wait to begin again, and I wonder: what will the wolf think of me?  Will she believe I left her?  Will she stay by the ocean, wondering what she could have done?  Will she wait for the rain once again?

Or will she return to where she once was, howling at the moon?  There was once a reflection, and now there is only the wolf.  So what have I become?

Music in my Life

In a conversation with a new friend today, I came across one of those strange moments of personal insight.  It's always nice having moments like that, but today it was a little awkward.  This is mostly due to the fact that it happened at work.  The insight itself wasn't awkward, of course; it was the strong desire to turn temporarily introspective that made the rest of the day difficult.  Still, each of these moments are like a large blast of positive energy in my psyche, so I decided I shouldn't waste the moment and try to turn introspective now, while I have a chance.

I should move on to the revelation.  Don't expect anything profound here; move on if you want something huge.  I spurt those out in person; these rants are mostly for things I don't expect people to be interested in (well, except you, obviously).  Anyway, the discussion was about strange tastes in music.  Mine is quite odd.  Many of the people I know have very eclectic tastes.  It's been curious to me; seriously, even my own taste in music confounds me.  I like rap music.  Shocking, I know.  Sure, I don't like all of it, but then again I really don't like any certain genre, just a few performers within it.

So, today I had my moment where it all started to make sense.  I realized that a lot of why I like so many different kinds of music is because of the impact someone (or, in some cases, something) who introduced  some aspect of the music to me.  I never realized it before because, most of the time, I only really noticed the emotional impact the music would have on me.  Today, I managed to trace it back a little more, and found the destination interesting.

It was an interesting revelation; music has become a little more that it was even with the emotional attachment.  Now, it appeals to every sense.  It's strange now, as listening to music, which was previously just something I did when I was doing something else, has kind of evolved into its own activity.  Thankfully, it hasn't restricted my ability to enjoy music as I previously did: many other personal revelations unfortunately came with a downside, such as my general dislike of the ocean (no, I'm not sharing that story right now, so don't ask).  But now I have options: I can still simply turn on the music and work on something else, or I can actually just listen to the music and cruise the memories and emotions.

New positive insight.  I can't help but enjoy it while it lasts.  Of course, I suppose I could just go listen to some MP3s...

His Spider's Web, part 1

Have you heard of the Jorô-Gumo? No, that's a silly question. Even if you did, it wouldn't make much sense here. My story reminds me of the creature, but not the myth. Although, I suppose it may be similar, in a way.

She was as beautiful as the myth said, in the least.  So much so that I did, actually, think it was a trap. Not anything supernatural, of course. The locals from the town told many legends about the mountains, about how people go up and never go up, no trace of where they went and their tracks ending in open fields. So when you find an astonishingly beautiful woman in the middle of nowhere on the side of a mountain, it's not hard to think it a hoax.

Still, my curiosity was piqued. She did not approach me. In fact, far as I could tell, she didn't even notice I was there. That didn't fit the hoax: she was supposed to trick me, right? Promise me something, love or riches, and bring me into some sort of web to eat me, right? She did none of this; she simply wandered past, looking for something.

I followed her for a while, and things started to get a little hazy. I'm not sure why, but everything seemed sluggish. I won't forget what I saw next though.

She walked up to what at first looked like a fine, tightly-woven net stretched between trees. A rabbit had caught itself within web, seemingly recently. It struggled to free itself, and did so even more as she approached, but instead only tangled itself more. She reached down and stroked the creature twice. It slowed its struggle for a moment.

Her next few movements were quite fast, and all I could truly tell that happened was the sound a few snaps and her arms had moved in a blur. Less than a second passed before she had taken much of diaphanous thread and wrapped it around the poor creature. I could still see its outline underneath; although it could not move its body outside of a few frantic jerks, I could still see its beady eye moving around desperately underneath the strange cloth.

She then leaned down close to it, as if to kiss the beast.  Although I could not make out what happened next, she certainly did something; as she placed the creature down on the earth, it spasmed even more, unable to move off of its side. Its movements quickly began to slow, however.  I watched in fascination as its spasms become less violent, and eventually less frequent, until they stopped altogether.

Its one eye that I could make out kept darting this way and that for some time.  I felt like it was returning to me, somehow knowing I was watching and pleading for help from the inevitable. It seemed like hours had passed before that eye stopped moving to stare directly at me, as I returned its gaze without pause.

It took me some time to realized that I did not feel revolt or guilt for what I had watched. My entrancement had come from a sense of awe and wonderment, an appreciation of beauty that made me want more. When I realized the source of my new infatuation had disappeared while I watched the last moments of the rabbit, I began to panic.

I was torn between darting off into the forest or trying to check the web, to see if it might lead some place.  In the end, indecision kept me rooted for just enough time, as she came back for the rabbit with a few other bundled packages hanging lightly from her hand from a cord of the webbing.  She put the bundle down and set to work repairing the hole in the web.

Her hands were fascinating. String formed of its own accord between her fingers as she pressed her hands together and pulled them apart. She played an elaborate dance that moved no part of her body, aside from her swaying arms and the rocking of her head as she watched, a smile across her face and humming from her lips that showed her own enjoyment of the task that pulled me happily in to its strange movements.

It wasn't long before I found myself humming along to the strange tune she sang. My own voice was not the surprise however: the surprise was when I realized the bundles, even the rabbit, were humming along as well, their voices lending a contrasting baritone that gave the song feeling more akin to a dirge than any sort of working song.

She continued to hum as she gathered the bundles once again, the rabbit now strung along with the others.  The smile on her face seemed to contradict the solemn music that came from the impossible harmony of spider and her dead victims.  I could hardly keep track of my own thoughts as I watched her begin to move off and up a hill within the forest.  Still, I managed to remember to stay hidden, as I followed my new affection.

to be continued

Radix: Races and Creatures

I actually have a long document on a bunch of the races that are present throughout Radix.  Aside from humans, which are present everywhere but only prolific on Aracanoc, each country has its own humanoid and monstrous races.  The lines between "humanoid" and "monstrous" are blurred in some cases, but the point still stands.  The document I have explains many of the races already, going over their origins (or what they thought was their origins, in some cases) and statistics. 

However, the point of this blog is to get me writing, not copying and pasting.  Maybe I'll include that here some other time, but for right now I'll summarize what I remember and try to concentrate on what wasn't in the document.

So, there's eight main "humanoid" races within the world (Humanoid is in quotes because a few of them, such as the Aequorians, only resemble humans in the fact they have two arms and two legs).  I'll list put them here in the order of most populace to least.  First listed, of course, are the Humans.  Physcially, they're self-explanatory.  They exist on every continent, although far more prolific on Aracanoc than anywhere else.  They are considered adaptable but dedicated, and are often leaders within many organizations due their singled-minded devotion to causes.  Most other races, especially on Aracanoc, have a healthy respect/fear of them, and tend to alternate between trying to avoid them, and trying to ride on their coattails.

Dwarves are the most populous race in Hydranatos, as well as they are the second-most numerous of races in Declaria, marking them as the second-most common humanoid race in the world.  Although they *can* live longer than humans (lasting almost two full generations), most do not, as they tend to be adventuresome and brash, dying at ages that make humans seem elderly due to the damage their body undergoes in their youth.  The exceptions lie within the highest of the clergy and noble houses of Hydranatos, where the strict training helps guide most of the young away from their impulsive nature in order to be upstanding citizens.

The Beastkin are the primary race within Declaria.  On the surface, they look like short humans with broad frames.  Each tends to take on an aspect of the animal or creature they bond with, a rite every beastkin goes through during puberty.  Those that do not find themselves stricken with a sickness that causes them to waste away as they can no longer process food they eat.  They are individually strong, and their time spent developing their kinship with a creature of the forest makes them a bit feral compared to most others.  There are a number of them who have migrated to Aracanoc, although those present there tend to be "darker" in nature; Beastkin native to these lands usually have to find stranger creatures than those in Declaria at the time of their bonding, and this can have strange effects on their personalities.  A Beastkin's lifespan is almost completely dependent on the creature to which it bonds; unfortunately, picking and choosing a creature is no simple matter, so factors like these do not have much weight. 

Pennatus, a race of thin, pale human-looking people with colorful, feathered wings, are native to the mountains of Hydranatos, although there a quite a few of them in Aracanoc as well.  They are considered a "war-like" race, although they tend to think of themselves as political: battles are often run between village to settle disputes of land or kin, but these battles are normally governed by codes of honor and propriety.  Most Pennatus that are present in Aracanoc were forced there at some point or another, in contrast to the Beastkin who arrived there seeking power.  Some Pennatus have a natural affinity to Elemental Magic that can manifest at a young age; however, due to some strange event in their past, this is viewed as a curse.  Most any village along the mountain will expel any young Pennatus showing a natural inclination towards magic, regardless of stature or family upbringing.  Exiles eventually find their way to Aracanoc, for training, hope or revenge.

Defams are one of the only two races on Radix which are not "naturally occurring" within the world, although many of them would be happy to debate their origins with you.  Defams are originally animal familiars to a wizard that, through some strange magics either accidental or on-purpose, were given the intelligence and arcane knowledge of their masters, and shifted to a form that resembles a sort of half-human, half-animal form.  Although the most common are rats, cats and snakes, all manners of animals from all over the world have known to become Defams, some far more exotic than others.  Native to Aracanoc, Defams are unable to reproduce on their own (although some have been able to create others through a similar process to how they were made), and so are not found in other parts of the world unless traveling or relocating for some purpose. Defams, being magical by nature, live enormously long: none have been known to die of old age, but most tend to be somewhat fragile by nature, betraying the appearance of immortality.

Aequorians are widely considered the "rarest" of species, although in truth there are far more of them then they let the "flat-heels" believe.  Most of them live within the enormous mountain in the center of Hydranatos, although quite a few live within the city (in fact, many of them hold high positions within the clergy), and there are always at least two that live near either end of each gate that supplies water to the other continents.  Aequorians are amphibious, with elongated, webbed fingers and toes spreading from short palms and heels.  Their skin is oily and shines in various blues and greens that allows them to blend into the waterways where they spend much of their time, and have bulbous eyes that sit near the tops of their heads much like a frog's. Their mouths resemble a human's, although not as wide and with thicker lips and their teeth are far thicker, especially farther back. They have no nose, instead relying on large, round "scent glands" located behind the small holes they have for ears.  They're a very spiritual/religious people, having a much deeper and complicated religion and, in a way, connection to the world.  As such, they're one of the only races with an affinity for learning two types of magic, both Celestial and Terrestrial.  The few rare Aequorians who can practice both are normally revered as the wisest among them, elevated to leaders within their communities and hidden to outsiders.

The People of the Stone are tall, lanky and have greyish but subtly-pigmented skin.  They're a slow moving but outgoing folk, overly friendly to the point of seeming pushy or untrustworthy to many others.  Due to their heritage, they weight almost four times that of a human of comparable size; as such, they tend to be terribly fit, despite their thin builds and apparent laziness.  They're native to Declaria but can often be found in the other nations.  This is mostly because, once they get settled in an area, it's not always easy to get them out again.  They don't tend to pursue powerful positions or magic normally, mostly because of how much they tend to annoy their teachers with their slow movements and fast talking, but those that do learn are often amongst the best, both because of the time spent learning to gain a deeper understanding as well as the amount of time one of the People can devote to the study.  The People are the longest living of the "naturally occurring" races, the oldest having lived almost a millenia before finally "returning to the stone."

The Deadless are the other race that was not "naturally occuring", although their similarities to the Defams end there.  Most commonly the end result of necromancy experiments gone horribly wrong, a soul will be reinserted fully into an undead body, causing it to become reanimated but completely autonomous and aware.  The problem is that the soul, normally one of someone just recently deceased at the time of the experiment, rarely is the same as originally inhabited the body, causing some very strange and problematic situations beyond the simple fact they're walking around in a corpse.  These occurrences happen far too often, due to the risky nature of trying to use Necromatic Elemental energy to create a semblance of life that goes against nature, but many wizards consider the rewards great enough to accept the risk.  As such, Deadless, despite their very limited lifespan within these forms (normally only a few months and rarely over a year) have a strong presence within Aracanoc, although they are almost never seen outside the city.  Certain Deadless, especially ones in bodies that are normally intelligent such as mummies, run into issues trying to convince others that they're not just another Undead.  Still others, like the rare few that find themselves inhabiting the body of a vampire, find it hard to convince themselves that they're not, in fact, just another member of an undead horde until something happens to make it obvious (i.e., vampire deadless must still drink blood to live, but are not harmed by sunlight).

Ok, all for now.  I think I'll come back and approach some monster races later.

Precipitous Bar, part 8

Click here to start at beginning, or here to read the previous entry.  Fair warning: don't start here if you want to avoid spoiling the story.

Harriet closed her door behind her and locked it.  Dropping her backpack on the floor, careful despite happy she was to be rid of it, she stretched her shoulders.  Despite the break during the drive home, her back still ached from carry the heavy thing for the majority of the week.  Still, she got a lot done; she finally had enough material to finish her latest book.

Harriet still wasn't sure why she was so devoted to writing this book.  The past few years had been kind, and she could live comfortably off the sales of her last few publications.  Still, one isn't called the "premier name in entomological behavior sciences" by relying on one's previous successes.  She had to keep getting out into the field.

It wasn't easy, though.  Each trip out was a gentle reminder, and there was only so many times you can jump into a stream and start randomly walking downstream before your team starts to ask questions.  Questions that you really do not want to answer.

Still, today was a good day.  She had her needed material.  She managed to catch two previously categorized beetle species for examination.  And judging by the car parked outside, Victoria came home today.

Having her daughter living at the university during the day made this a bit difficult on Harriet.  She felt she had just gotten used to having someone else in the home, and it being as empty as it was proved difficult at times.  She had thought about getting a dog, but her work kept her out of the home for long periods of time now.  She felt the travel was much more needed than the animal companionship.

Still, it was nice to receive visitors.  Even if, in her mind, the "visitor" still lived there.

Harriet walked in to the kitchen where--sure enough--her daughter was rummaging in the fridge, hunched over like a thief trying to make themselves as small as possible.

"Well, I'm glad you don't feel the need to ask for food within the home, Vicky."

The girl jumped, barely managing to avoid hitting her head on the door.  She spun around, obviously surprised and trying to look upset but failing.  She couldn't help the grin that was crossing her face upon hearing her name.

"You know I asked you to call me Victoria now, Harriet," she said, one hand on her hip and one hand gesturing at her with the apple.

Harriet came around the counter between them to give the girl a hug.  Well, maybe not so much a girl any more.  "And I asked you to call me Mom.  Guess neither of us are getting our wishes today, hmm?"

"Hey, at least I managed to stop calling you 'Miss Stanford.'"

"After you managed to ruin a few business dinners with extreme awkwardness, yes."  Harriet pulled back from the embrace and looked at her.  No matter how old she got, Harriet still pictured her as the girl she took out to the field ten years ago.  "You look well.  Classes going alright?"

Vicky rolled her eyes.  "Like they're ever not."

Harriet took the apple from Vicky's hand.  "Good.  Then let's have dinner, instead of snacking.  And I'm glad to see you're grabbing apples instead of the Jello in the back."

"There was Jello??"

Harriet laughed.  Every day she was around Victoria she was reminded just how lucky she was.  Things could have gone very differently ten years ago when they came back from the Precipitous Bar.  Surprisingly, though, everything ended up being for the best.  Well, mostly for the best.

"How is your dad?"

Victoria's happy demeanor slid for a moment.  She managed to keep a hold of her smile, but a sadness entered her eyes.  "He's doing fine, all things told.  How did you know I'd gone to see him?"

"We spent a year together in a place where your feelings took physical form.  You don't come out of something like that without being able to read each other a little better."

She nodded.  There was more than once that the situation had been reversed, and she had caught Harriet trying to keep some sort of secret from her.  Such as when Harriet was trying to figure out how to explain to a young girl what had happened to her father that she no longer saw.

"I think he's actually better.  It's been a long time, I know, and I don't want to fall into the old hopeful habits.  But he actually thanked me today."

"Thanked you?  Really?  Did he say for what?"

"For leaving.  I think he's finally come to understand why I did, and what he did to..." she stopped at this point.  The smile faded for a moment, but came back quickly.  "It's hard, sometimes, to deal with all of this."

"You made the right decision, Victoria.  You stood up to the abuse, the hardest step for someone in your shoes, and managed to stop it without it consuming who you were."

She smiled now, genuinely.  "It only took me a year to figure that out, though.  A full year in the Precipitous Bar.  Strange how that worked out."

"On the contrary," Harriet said, grinning back.  "It only took you five hours.  It may have seemed like a year to the two of us, but only a few hours passed here."  She crossed her arms, but kept her smile.  "I thought we agreed not to talk about our time at the bar, anyway?"

"That doesn't mean I don't think about it.  And don't tell me you don't, too.  I can tell every time it does, and it's almost every time you see me."  Harriet shrugged her shoulders, but didn't deny it.

"I don't..." Victoria paused, and her tone turned serious.  "I don't think I've thanked you enough for everything you did for me when we got back."

"You have, actually.  More than enough."  Harriet locked eyes with Vicky, trying to make sure she realized her seriousness.  It was a conversation they had repeated time and again; Harriet found herself wondering if Vicky would ever stop feeling like she was a burden.  "I am so glad I had the opportunity to take you in when you needed me.  Although, to be honest, I think we owe Evan's parents more than anything else.  They made me sound like a hero at your hearing, and I don't think it would have worked out any other way."

"But if it wasn't for them, you may not have lost your job at the school."  She suddenly seemed very distracted by something by her feet.

Harriet knew what she was leaving unsaid.  Vicky felt she and Evan were responsible for the school board having her removed.  It was a feeling Harriet had been trying to help Vicky fight since she was young.  It wasn't a battle she was winning; Vicky suffered from a guilty conscious that was more stubborn than both of them put together.  Still, she was obligated to try.

"You know, maybe I should thank them for that, too," she said, putting back on the charming smile.  "Since I finally stopped teaching at that school, I've become very successful.  I even got to teach at the university for a few years!  I can't be too upset at the opportunities that have come my way."

Vicky nodded, forcing a smile that slowly grew into a real one.  "Do you every think about it?  I mean, really think about what happened while we were there?"

"Of course.  I'm reminded almost every day."  Harriet turned and walked over to the kitchen window, glancing out.  "I still talk to his parents, you know.  They haven't heard from him either.  It still shocks me how well they took the news."

"Well, they weren't exactly surprised.  Evan told him what he was doing from the beginning.  Half their family had a tendency to disappear looking for this place.  At least they knew for certain that Evan had found it."

"I suppose that's why they never pressed charges, despite pressure from the school board."  Harriet sighed.  It was hard thinking about Evan.  For all the help she was able to give Vicky, she always regretted that she couldn't help Evan.  "I wonder what he's doing now.  It's had to have been close to twenty thousand years that have passed over there."

"Well, I wanted to give you a gift for helping me out all this time," Vicky said.  Although Harriet wasn't looking at her, she could feel her excitement.  "So, here it is.  Now you can ask him yourself."

Harriet swung around.  From the nearby hallway strode a tall man.  He had slightly lighter hair, and his skin was so pale he almost seemed to be painted white.  His ears stuck out at a strange angle from his head and came to points, and his nose seemed smaller than she remembered.  But the eyes, the expressions, the rough cheekbones and pointed chin were all the same.  The man standing before her was unmistakeably--

"Evan."

He smiled, the same broad smile he had used so many years ago when he lead Harriet to the fantastical world of the Precipitous Bar.  Harriet walked over to him slowly.  He opened his arms in an obvious invitation.  Harriet found herself touching his arm first, trying to make sure he was real, before leaning in for hug.  Evan's arms obliged gratefully.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came here for you."

Harriet pushed away, looking up.  "What?  Why?"

He smiled.  "I'm sorry to be abrupt, but I don't have a lot of time here; days pass there as I speak.  The goblins have come in to the bar for the first time that any can remember.  They demand their Hobgoblin return, that we bring her to them."

Harriet looked at him, confused.  Victoria spoke up.  "Don't you remember?  That group of them called you Hobgoblin on when we were leaving.  You said one goblin called you that as you entered the bar, too."

Harriet stared at her for a moment before nodding.  She walked briskly into her room, Evan and Victoria following not too far behind.  Evan was calling after her, obviously worried she was trying to avoid going.

As they came into her bedroom, Harriet threw a pair of large bundles at them.  Evan quickly unwrapped his; it contained a large bow and quiver of arrows, as well as a long sword tucked into a thick leather sheath.

Victoria watched, confused.  She unwrapped hers to find a set of daggers, and a fantasy role playing book.  She hefted the book and looked at Harriet quizzically.  "What is this for?"

"Focus," Harriet said, as she took a strange looking, cloth-wrapped wooden rod down from the wall.  "You can use it to help you with your... Well, I guess your 'magic' that you use while we're over there."  Pulling the staff apart from the middle, she drew two wickedly sharp looking blades from the sheaths contained within.  The blades were thick, hand-folded steel; Harriet had spent a small fortune buying them ages ago, and now was very happy for the time spent training with them and keeping them in good shape.

"I can't go.  I've got school in a few months!  Who knows how long we'll be gone??"

"Even if we were there for a hundred years, you'd still have the rest of the summer to spend."  She smiled at her.  "Besides, you really want to miss your chance to go back?"

It only took Vicky a moment before she shook her head.  "I miss it more than anything."

Harriet grabbed a few more things she thought might be important and stuffed them into the pockets of a long coat she kept for travel.  It was light, but it covered a lot, and had enough pockets to hold most anything she wanted to bring along without looking too conspicuous.

It had been a curious few years indeed.

"So what do they want from me anyway?"  Harriet asked as they made their way out the front door and to Vicky's car.

"C'mon, now, Harriet," Evan said, in high spirits.  "You really don't think I'd come bother you here for anything short of slaying a dragon, right?"

Harriet laughed for a moment, until she realized she was the only one doing so.  She looked at the two of them, both with serious, but excited, expressions.  They stood there as such, standing outside of Vicky's car, sharing a moment of awkward silence.

"Wait, what?"

Fin