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valis2First entry (art)
Second entry (art)
Third entry (fic) (Fourth World)
Fourth entry (fic) (Fifth World)
Fifth entry (fic) (Sixth World part one)
Sixth entry (fic) (Sixth World part two)
Seventh entry (fic) (Sixth World part three)
Fanart by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
iibnf is found here
Fanart bysaridout is found here
gillieweed found a floating cat poster
Part two of three
For background, see previous entries, especially the Third Entry. Errors are left in intentionally.
I've cut this into three parts, of seven pages each. I'm transcribing it all, because it is fairly cohesive and there are many opportunities to poke fun.
This part? Religion.
"It was quite a pleasure to be invited to your home, Myegan," said Joml as she refilled her wine glass. Myegan lived alone in a room in the Shastery, where young cats became Shazts like himself.
Charbonneau had analyzed the religion and found it to be like Zen Buddhism with older religious practises thrown in. Really, the cats only paid homage to the saintly cats of yesterday while the Shazts helped the people attain the oneness of the Earth upon which they lived.
"It was a pleasure to invite you," said Myegan.
"Thank you," smiled Joml.
"I have been meaning to ask you, Desiree," began the Shazt. "My people are extremely tired with this constant flow of refugees from Matiuk. Would you take word to them to halt the immigrants?"
Try typing "shazt" ten times quickly. Not as easy as it looks.
And so much for the oneness. Heh. "You, stay out of my country!"
Joml froze, the wineglass halfway to her lips. She put it down slowly. "Myegan, I am sorry. I am never going back to Matiuk. They have exiled me, and if I set my foot upon my lands, I will be killed with no forethought."
The Shazt looked worried. "There is no way?"
"None," said Joml. "Send another."
"Your 'panions?" he said hopefully.
"They were banished before I was. I met them at the shore of Flaniestin."
"Oh," he said, his eyes dark and stormy.
It was a dark and stormy eye...
I think I'm just making this all so I don't have to go on an errand, because there's nothing about this banishment anywhere else in the fic. Boy, I sure am lazy in this story.
And scene change, btw.
The sun rose, its green-yellow rays dashing against the walls of the hotel room the Trio had rented. Wiglaf had bought a beautiful shawl made of some velvety dark substance that changed colors constantly. Joml said that it was made out of dragon skin, cut from the web between their toes. DR warriors regularly trimmed their steed's webs, so the merchants had a continual supply.
Obviously I was worried that the ASPCA would be reading this someday.
Roaming around the marketplace became an obsession with Charbonneau. The sights helped to ease his grief over D'monle, and he spent all his free time watching the Flaniestin cats bustle about the brightly colored stalls. There were clothing and perfume stores for the women; tanners with dragon hides yammering about the quality of their skins; sheep farmers with skeins of wool; bakers with hundreds of different kinds of bread; painters with vivid pictures of everyday life; Fang and Claw warriors walking along the streets. He once saw a band of exhausted warriors followed by cats dragging an enormous, skinny dragon. That night a huge bonfire was lit and the cats held a celebration. Joml & Wiglaf had gone to see the Shaman, so he danced the night with the cats and ate dragon meat.
It sounds a little too Apocalypse Now for my taste.
The next morning the shops were open late, and he roamed the streets alone, stirring the dust by his lonesome.
He was joined by a cat named Junewain whome he had come to know during the past weeks.
"Charbonneau," said the Claw warrior. "You are not hearing my words."
"I am listening, Junewain," said Charbonneau, smiling.
"If you were hearing, then you would have answered my inquiry two streets ago," said the cat. "Very well. How long are you planning to be in my country?"
"Joml said we would wait out the dragon raids."
"A good two weeks left of those, ay?" grinned the soldier.
And suddenly, inexplicably, he's Scottish.
"No, one week," said Charbonneau.
"Sorry, one week," Junewain apologized. "Charbonneau, I thought you only had two 'panions."
"Right."
"Then who is Jom-el?"
Charbonneau ground his teeth. Trust himself to make such an error. "Desiree is of the house of Joml. In Matiuk, as there are very small houses, sometimes we are called by our housename. Wiglaf's real name is something else, but she prefers to be called be her housename."
And in the very small houses lived very small people with multiple names and very small pants who were all called by the same name so as to cause the greatest amount of confusion possible.
The cat nodded, digesting this information rapidly. They came to the only store open on the street, the sword smithy.
That information was just delicious.
"Blacksmith," said Junewain, "is the only one who opens shop early because the patrols are always needing new equipment."
Charbonneau nodded and entered the smithy. Blacksmith had not lit the forge yet, so the shop was cool and cluttered. There were swords everywhere; including a long samurai-style blade that brought back memories of D'monle. Thin Belt swords were hung on the wall, their specially crafted hilts inlaid with black gamer, a stone found in the iron ore mines. Longbows for the foot soldiers were stacked vertically by the far wall. Axes and polearms for the DRs were hung by the entrance to the forge.
Blacksmith walked in, his black hair coarse and short. Through the black fur Charbonneau could see scorch marks.
"What can I get you, m'lords," he said cheerfully, his green eyes keen and sharp.
"Perhaps you have a weapon for my 'panion here?" asked Junewain. The older cat sized Charbonneau, absentmindedly scratching behind one ear.
"Perhaps m'lord would like a longknife, seeing's that you've had a sword?" asked Blacksmith.
"No, maybe a bow or a long-range weapon," said Charbonneau.
"Aye, I've a load of these," said the cat, striding over to the stacks of bows.
"Have you a crossbow?" inquired Junewain. "Or perhaps a markèd-hunter axe, or a Jagger staff."
"Aye," grunted the smith. "I've all of them and more." He opened a wooden crate and pulled out a two foot long polished stick with a curved blade running down a foot and a half with a six inch handle.
"Now she's a nasty one," commented Blacksmith. "Good fer crackin' 'n' slashin'."
I really liked to pour the local color on with a bucket, didn't I? heh.
Charbonneau recoiled at the thought, remembering D'monle. The polished wood shone softly in the morning light. The blade was wickedly sharp, he noted, as he took the markèd-hunter axe from the smith.
"Take it if you have need," said Junewain.
"That beauty costs a little more than the quo," said Blacksmith. "The metal had taken from ore from Den Deras, which has magic unknown."
Ah! A little Tolkienesque bit just to spice things up.
Charbonneau hesitated. He had no real need for such a weapon, but it seemed to be speaking to him in the back of his mind.
That's when you investigate stronger drugs, m'dear.
"Take it, Charbonneau," said Junewain irritably. "The cat is waiting."
Charbonneau reached into his purse and withdrew eight silver pieces. Blacksmith's eyes glittered as he took the proferred coinage.
"Thank'e, m'lord," said the smith as the tall man left.
"Welcome," muttered the Fourth of the Diamond.
The pair walked along the streets, which were beginning to fill with cats. Women in flowing red and gold robes and veils began to congregate to an adobe house decorated with red and gold banners.
"What is that?" asked Charbonneau.
"It is the Kajuma," said Junewain reverantly. "The women gather once every so often and spend the day baking for a ritual of the Old Church. After the women ply their tongues and their cooking skills, the reilgious community gathers and eats a communal meal. Afterwards there is dancing and a parody of a ceremony, and finally a dramatic play developed by the Kajuma Guild."
"All this is done by the Old Church?" asked Charbonneau.
"Oh, yes. The New Church may have claimed the unsatisfied, but the Old Church still whets the appetite of many."
"And the Kajuna?"
"Wives of the merchants."
"Don't the Warriors take wives?"
"Never!" said Junewain, shocked. "That would lessen the ability to fight, and that would diminish the race by his death."
"Aren't there any women warriors?"
"Yes, there is a small caste, but most women do not want to be warriors."
"Why not?"
"I don't know." He shrugged, his grey fur rippling in the sunlight.
"Strange."
Junewain's ears perked up and Charbonneau heard a rumbling in the air. Junewain's addi floated down and the cat grasped it with his left hand and drew his sword out with his right. "Call your addi," he yelled as he flew towards the outer wall of Dahr City.
I thought it was "Dahi" city. Huh. And we have "Kajuma" changing to "Kajuna".
Er...a parody of a ceremony? They're not uptight about their religion, I guess.
Charbonneau's addi floated down and he held on to the handle while he commanded it to follow Junewain.
As he was lifted over the city streets he saw an enormous dragon tearing at the wall while the air swarmed with Claw and Fang warriors. Two of the Arrow forces were perched on the walls trying to get a clear shot.
The dragon was thin and quite obviously mad. Its arms and legs were of an almost paradoxal length, and its hands were huge. His eyes were glazed and runny, and the small row of upright scales down its back were misshappen and broken. His head was almost round and the inch-long teeth were rotted and deformed.
Charbonneau can see all of this while clinging to the cord of a balloon? Super sight, able to pinpoint rotten teeth from hundreds of yards away. And "paradoxal" made me snort.
The warriors struggled valiently, but the overpowering madness was too strong. Grim Claws and Fangs flocked to the scene, swords drawn quietly, eyes bright and dancing like the caged dove who knows that it is too late to sing. Around the furious beast the cats gathered silently, the rumbling in the air ceasing suddenly, the air's trembling gone. The cats detached from the battle, and the beast, called Mad, stood bewildered, confusion shifting through his glistening eyes. The cats waited, silvery swords held out in expectation. Charbonneau, from his perch on a rooftop, could not understand what the delay was from until a shadow passed over him and he looked up to see the underbelly of a tame dragon, a desar, ridden by a Dragon Rider.
There was a feline cry as Mad lunged. Suddenly he was covered with cats, all yowling for blood. The Dragon Rider turned and left, his beast gliding thorugh the sky effortlessly.
Mad lay dead on the grass with cats around him.
There was silence.
You do not mess with a DR!
And then one cat, his fallen comrades lying in tribute to the Way of the Forces, began to sing one note.
The others joined in.
Slowly, beyond his 'panions, the nearby wives of the Kajula threw back their veils and sang defiantly.
Weren't they called "Kajuma" just a minute ago?
The merchants in the streets added their voices.
The Shazts sang, lamenting the loss of their fallen brothers.
The families at home opened their windows and joined in, their voices the most sorrowful.
The surrounding Houses sang, theirs the most bitter.
And so the communal voice echoed pure and true in the Kingdom of the Flaniestin, except for the followers of the Young Church, who sat at home and plugged their ears.
Wasn't it called the "New Church"? I really suck at continuity, apparently.
Only one more part left! Wow.
To be continued
Second entry (art)
Third entry (fic) (Fourth World)
Fourth entry (fic) (Fifth World)
Fifth entry (fic) (Sixth World part one)
Sixth entry (fic) (Sixth World part two)
Seventh entry (fic) (Sixth World part three)
Fanart by
iibnf is found hereFanart by
saridout is found heregillieweed found a floating cat posterPart two of three
For background, see previous entries, especially the Third Entry. Errors are left in intentionally.
I've cut this into three parts, of seven pages each. I'm transcribing it all, because it is fairly cohesive and there are many opportunities to poke fun.
This part? Religion.
"It was quite a pleasure to be invited to your home, Myegan," said Joml as she refilled her wine glass. Myegan lived alone in a room in the Shastery, where young cats became Shazts like himself.
Charbonneau had analyzed the religion and found it to be like Zen Buddhism with older religious practises thrown in. Really, the cats only paid homage to the saintly cats of yesterday while the Shazts helped the people attain the oneness of the Earth upon which they lived.
"It was a pleasure to invite you," said Myegan.
"Thank you," smiled Joml.
"I have been meaning to ask you, Desiree," began the Shazt. "My people are extremely tired with this constant flow of refugees from Matiuk. Would you take word to them to halt the immigrants?"
Try typing "shazt" ten times quickly. Not as easy as it looks.
And so much for the oneness. Heh. "You, stay out of my country!"
Joml froze, the wineglass halfway to her lips. She put it down slowly. "Myegan, I am sorry. I am never going back to Matiuk. They have exiled me, and if I set my foot upon my lands, I will be killed with no forethought."
The Shazt looked worried. "There is no way?"
"None," said Joml. "Send another."
"Your 'panions?" he said hopefully.
"They were banished before I was. I met them at the shore of Flaniestin."
"Oh," he said, his eyes dark and stormy.
It was a dark and stormy eye...
I think I'm just making this all so I don't have to go on an errand, because there's nothing about this banishment anywhere else in the fic. Boy, I sure am lazy in this story.
And scene change, btw.
The sun rose, its green-yellow rays dashing against the walls of the hotel room the Trio had rented. Wiglaf had bought a beautiful shawl made of some velvety dark substance that changed colors constantly. Joml said that it was made out of dragon skin, cut from the web between their toes. DR warriors regularly trimmed their steed's webs, so the merchants had a continual supply.
Obviously I was worried that the ASPCA would be reading this someday.
Roaming around the marketplace became an obsession with Charbonneau. The sights helped to ease his grief over D'monle, and he spent all his free time watching the Flaniestin cats bustle about the brightly colored stalls. There were clothing and perfume stores for the women; tanners with dragon hides yammering about the quality of their skins; sheep farmers with skeins of wool; bakers with hundreds of different kinds of bread; painters with vivid pictures of everyday life; Fang and Claw warriors walking along the streets. He once saw a band of exhausted warriors followed by cats dragging an enormous, skinny dragon. That night a huge bonfire was lit and the cats held a celebration. Joml & Wiglaf had gone to see the Shaman, so he danced the night with the cats and ate dragon meat.
It sounds a little too Apocalypse Now for my taste.
The next morning the shops were open late, and he roamed the streets alone, stirring the dust by his lonesome.
He was joined by a cat named Junewain whome he had come to know during the past weeks.
"Charbonneau," said the Claw warrior. "You are not hearing my words."
"I am listening, Junewain," said Charbonneau, smiling.
"If you were hearing, then you would have answered my inquiry two streets ago," said the cat. "Very well. How long are you planning to be in my country?"
"Joml said we would wait out the dragon raids."
"A good two weeks left of those, ay?" grinned the soldier.
And suddenly, inexplicably, he's Scottish.
"No, one week," said Charbonneau.
"Sorry, one week," Junewain apologized. "Charbonneau, I thought you only had two 'panions."
"Right."
"Then who is Jom-el?"
Charbonneau ground his teeth. Trust himself to make such an error. "Desiree is of the house of Joml. In Matiuk, as there are very small houses, sometimes we are called by our housename. Wiglaf's real name is something else, but she prefers to be called be her housename."
And in the very small houses lived very small people with multiple names and very small pants who were all called by the same name so as to cause the greatest amount of confusion possible.
The cat nodded, digesting this information rapidly. They came to the only store open on the street, the sword smithy.
That information was just delicious.
"Blacksmith," said Junewain, "is the only one who opens shop early because the patrols are always needing new equipment."
Charbonneau nodded and entered the smithy. Blacksmith had not lit the forge yet, so the shop was cool and cluttered. There were swords everywhere; including a long samurai-style blade that brought back memories of D'monle. Thin Belt swords were hung on the wall, their specially crafted hilts inlaid with black gamer, a stone found in the iron ore mines. Longbows for the foot soldiers were stacked vertically by the far wall. Axes and polearms for the DRs were hung by the entrance to the forge.
Blacksmith walked in, his black hair coarse and short. Through the black fur Charbonneau could see scorch marks.
"What can I get you, m'lords," he said cheerfully, his green eyes keen and sharp.
"Perhaps you have a weapon for my 'panion here?" asked Junewain. The older cat sized Charbonneau, absentmindedly scratching behind one ear.
"Perhaps m'lord would like a longknife, seeing's that you've had a sword?" asked Blacksmith.
"No, maybe a bow or a long-range weapon," said Charbonneau.
"Aye, I've a load of these," said the cat, striding over to the stacks of bows.
"Have you a crossbow?" inquired Junewain. "Or perhaps a markèd-hunter axe, or a Jagger staff."
"Aye," grunted the smith. "I've all of them and more." He opened a wooden crate and pulled out a two foot long polished stick with a curved blade running down a foot and a half with a six inch handle.
"Now she's a nasty one," commented Blacksmith. "Good fer crackin' 'n' slashin'."
I really liked to pour the local color on with a bucket, didn't I? heh.
Charbonneau recoiled at the thought, remembering D'monle. The polished wood shone softly in the morning light. The blade was wickedly sharp, he noted, as he took the markèd-hunter axe from the smith.
"Take it if you have need," said Junewain.
"That beauty costs a little more than the quo," said Blacksmith. "The metal had taken from ore from Den Deras, which has magic unknown."
Ah! A little Tolkienesque bit just to spice things up.
Charbonneau hesitated. He had no real need for such a weapon, but it seemed to be speaking to him in the back of his mind.
That's when you investigate stronger drugs, m'dear.
"Take it, Charbonneau," said Junewain irritably. "The cat is waiting."
Charbonneau reached into his purse and withdrew eight silver pieces. Blacksmith's eyes glittered as he took the proferred coinage.
"Thank'e, m'lord," said the smith as the tall man left.
"Welcome," muttered the Fourth of the Diamond.
The pair walked along the streets, which were beginning to fill with cats. Women in flowing red and gold robes and veils began to congregate to an adobe house decorated with red and gold banners.
"What is that?" asked Charbonneau.
"It is the Kajuma," said Junewain reverantly. "The women gather once every so often and spend the day baking for a ritual of the Old Church. After the women ply their tongues and their cooking skills, the reilgious community gathers and eats a communal meal. Afterwards there is dancing and a parody of a ceremony, and finally a dramatic play developed by the Kajuma Guild."
"All this is done by the Old Church?" asked Charbonneau.
"Oh, yes. The New Church may have claimed the unsatisfied, but the Old Church still whets the appetite of many."
"And the Kajuna?"
"Wives of the merchants."
"Don't the Warriors take wives?"
"Never!" said Junewain, shocked. "That would lessen the ability to fight, and that would diminish the race by his death."
"Aren't there any women warriors?"
"Yes, there is a small caste, but most women do not want to be warriors."
"Why not?"
"I don't know." He shrugged, his grey fur rippling in the sunlight.
"Strange."
Junewain's ears perked up and Charbonneau heard a rumbling in the air. Junewain's addi floated down and the cat grasped it with his left hand and drew his sword out with his right. "Call your addi," he yelled as he flew towards the outer wall of Dahr City.
I thought it was "Dahi" city. Huh. And we have "Kajuma" changing to "Kajuna".
Er...a parody of a ceremony? They're not uptight about their religion, I guess.
Charbonneau's addi floated down and he held on to the handle while he commanded it to follow Junewain.
As he was lifted over the city streets he saw an enormous dragon tearing at the wall while the air swarmed with Claw and Fang warriors. Two of the Arrow forces were perched on the walls trying to get a clear shot.
The dragon was thin and quite obviously mad. Its arms and legs were of an almost paradoxal length, and its hands were huge. His eyes were glazed and runny, and the small row of upright scales down its back were misshappen and broken. His head was almost round and the inch-long teeth were rotted and deformed.
Charbonneau can see all of this while clinging to the cord of a balloon? Super sight, able to pinpoint rotten teeth from hundreds of yards away. And "paradoxal" made me snort.
The warriors struggled valiently, but the overpowering madness was too strong. Grim Claws and Fangs flocked to the scene, swords drawn quietly, eyes bright and dancing like the caged dove who knows that it is too late to sing. Around the furious beast the cats gathered silently, the rumbling in the air ceasing suddenly, the air's trembling gone. The cats detached from the battle, and the beast, called Mad, stood bewildered, confusion shifting through his glistening eyes. The cats waited, silvery swords held out in expectation. Charbonneau, from his perch on a rooftop, could not understand what the delay was from until a shadow passed over him and he looked up to see the underbelly of a tame dragon, a desar, ridden by a Dragon Rider.
There was a feline cry as Mad lunged. Suddenly he was covered with cats, all yowling for blood. The Dragon Rider turned and left, his beast gliding thorugh the sky effortlessly.
Mad lay dead on the grass with cats around him.
There was silence.
You do not mess with a DR!
And then one cat, his fallen comrades lying in tribute to the Way of the Forces, began to sing one note.
The others joined in.
Slowly, beyond his 'panions, the nearby wives of the Kajula threw back their veils and sang defiantly.
Weren't they called "Kajuma" just a minute ago?
The merchants in the streets added their voices.
The Shazts sang, lamenting the loss of their fallen brothers.
The families at home opened their windows and joined in, their voices the most sorrowful.
The surrounding Houses sang, theirs the most bitter.
And so the communal voice echoed pure and true in the Kingdom of the Flaniestin, except for the followers of the Young Church, who sat at home and plugged their ears.
Wasn't it called the "New Church"? I really suck at continuity, apparently.
Only one more part left! Wow.
To be continued
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-09 04:26 am (UTC)And $99 for that poster! You should have brought this floating cat thing up earlier...you could be making some money off this.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-09 12:06 pm (UTC)Too bad I didn't buy Floating Cat Stock in the eighties, huh? I would have been a zillionaire now. ;)
I should post some of the lists of names I used to make up...they're crack!tastic. I think I can remember one...Wikixiyk or something like that.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-09 03:21 pm (UTC)I like how the idea of women warriors is so unimportant to one whose grey fur ripples in the sunlight. I love this story! :D
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-09 11:40 pm (UTC)The last bit is pretty crack!tacular too. Wait 'til you get a load of the Joml holier-than-thou speech. It's pretty Mary Suerrific.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-12-10 02:29 am (UTC)