thanks
Doyle
It is said of my people, that we would endure any insult and undertake any dishonor, so much do we value our own lives. Yet I know that this is not so, for the stories told to me in my youth are filled with those who thought to save themselves or others by violating custom (thereby gaining death) only to learn that their sacrifices were in vain. You will note that I wrote the word custom instead of honor. This is because there are many words of my people's language that have no exact equivalent, despite the claims of the Buseri of the infallibility of translation. Honor is not among the words of my people, and the closest word that could apply would be custom, or perhaps Correct Action. Locassa <Logic?> is the word for this idea. When children ask me nowadays (because of my rather dubious notoriety, I suppose) what fantastic sights and creatures I have seen in my travels, I have a tendency to bore them quite quickly. I have always preferred to speak of the strange words I have heard, having found them infinitely more fascinating than any freak of nature or chaos' largess. Now that I have lived most of my life among those who are not my own, I believe I can say with some confidence that it is the fallibility of translation that has led to so many misunderstandings between my people and the outside world.
So it is through language, through the telling of a story, that I hope to explain much of what not only has happened to myself but also to present my people, who seem so different to those who have never met them. There are, of course, other reasons for this text. Many whom I have befriended since I left the City of the Ten Thousand have implored me to tell my tale so that all the Empire shall prosper from the knowledge. Though well intentioned, such advice is, I believe, fruitless. Only those who have been different, and felt the stain of loneliness, shall gain any measure of comfort these words. Frankly, my advice to those who respond in this way to my work is that they refrain from being different. More to the point, several who will read this text will do so in the hope of finding some plunder among the dross. Their hopes will be broken, for I reveal no secrets that I have not already betrayed.
I was born in the <number> year of the Logical Place, in a province of that
place. Those outside my province call it the God-Forsaken Place, for reasons
having to do with our rejection of worship, I suppose. The Name that my
"mother" gave to me was Arros, which means line, in our tongue. There is
also a connotation of obedience associated with the word. This was
considered somewhat shocking by others, owing to the circumstances of my
birth. I was engendered on her unwillingly by a reaver of a nearby province,
and she elected to bear the child, in variance with Locossa. She acquired
her first graying in this manner, though of course I always remember her as
the age she had when I was young. My "Grandfather" was a member of that
class that were masters of magic (I heartily dislike many of the
connotations of the words used to describe the class in the outside world).
He agreed to raise me in the manner of his class, and so I was inducted into
it. My reader might find such an action compassionate, but I have never
known Delan to act in such a manner. I often questioned his motivations
during my instruction under him; eventually his blows silenced all such
interrogatives. During the six years of my instruction under Delan he taught
me much of magic, as well as the responsibilities of our class, which
frankly seemed the more arcane of the two. I would study and repeat the
Precepts until my head rang, yet I could rarely satisfy him. Others to whom
I have related this tale seem surprised at my distress, and have commented
to the effect that all Masters seem so, so as to strongly motivate the
student to learn. Yet my recollections are clear in this manner, more so
than others by reason of the magic that I studied so intently. This clarity,
though not without a certain pain, is nonetheless objective enough for me to
realize that Delan genuinely despised me. Only later was I to learn why.
I feel that I must take a moment of my reader's time to explain the manner in which we perform magic. There are many tales about how it is accomplished; most of which are in astonishing variance with the facts of the matter. As do many of the so-called "western" peoples, we acknowledge the existence of the Creator. Yet for my people the Creator is little more than an acknowledgment of a natural process, albeit the prime process. "In the beginning was the Creator, and he looked upon nothingness." This primal action of the Creator is to be understood on several levels. The most important is that this act signifies the generative force (or compassion, according to some) that set the world in motion. This force, whose nature is often debated among outsiders, though never among my people, is often compared to light, and so is often referred to as The Radiance. The Radiance, interacting with Nothingness, brings about the created world. This single Precept, though concise, does not do justice to the world we perceive, though it must seem elegant to philosophers. The fact of the matter is that the Radiance continues to act on Creation, generating new permutations constantly. Thus the precept, "<blah, blah>." Yet knowledge of this phenomenon alone is not enough to work our magic. One must be able to sense and manipulate these forces as well. This is accomplished by the study and <unknown word> of the Runes. The Runes are the reflection of The Radiance interacting with Creation, and through study the will can impose these interactions on the material world once more. A Rune is not a static concept. It is essentially always becoming. Study of the world around us allows the worker of magic to enforce his will upon the world by imposing a Rune upon a particular subject. This exercise of will is effected through certain gestures, stances, imagery and words. All these actions channel the will to the imposition of Runes upon a subject. If I were to desire to raise a fire, I would choose the Clarnen stance, which is associated with change. The gestures I would use might include the Dance which signifies fire or the Fist which is associated with destruction. I might call upon Yilm, that notorious sorcerer of fire magic, etc. Once the presence of the Rune has been invoked, concentration and further imposition of will is necessary to form it to my purposes. The formation of Runes through this method must be sustained or altered or combined with other Runes in order to achieve a particular effect. All this takes time, and an application of will that can leave one exhausted. As you can see, I had little time for other activities besides my studies. Because of this, the time I was able to steal away was all the more precious. Until the time of my late adolescence, this involved Astria.
I first met her during my tenth summer, before Harvest. The leaves had not yet begun to turn, but mists from the ocean were far more common, as I recall. I had taken string and hook to the small lake several miles from our village, in hopes of trout. Though I was astonished by her appearance, I understand now that she must have been in my presence for several minutes before I realized she was there. Her hair was unbound, and drifted from her head to the shore of the lake. She did not seem to realize, or care, that it was becoming wet. I stammered a greeting, and then she turned and looked at me. At that first glance, the gaze she possessed nearly broke me. I was certain that she would look upon me with disdain, even hatred. And yet she smiled. And this was not the last of her compassion.
Among my people such intercourse is considered sad at best, and something akin to bestiality at worse. But I was young, very young and such thoughts did not enter my mind. Yet, as I returned to my mother's room, later that night, I knew shame. I understood intuitively that I had violated Locassa. I thought perhaps that this was due to my father's influence, whoever he might of been. As you might expect, my mother did not ever speak of the experience. Despite the shame, within the week I had returned to the lake. Soon, it was a regular occurrence. No one ever questioned my lack of trout.
End of Glorantha Digest V2 #558
WWW material at http://hops.wharton.upenn.edu/~loren/rolegame.html
Powered by hypermail