Still here!
Don't delete us, I haven't archived this!
(no subject)
I'm posting here to keep it from getting purged, since apparently comms that are inactive for too long without comments, etc. get deleted in the Oncoming Purge. Deary me.
Moving slightly forward...
I actually wrote this as much as a week ago, but I kept forgetting to post it.
Picks up about where I left off, backing up slightly, editing it as I type it here.
"Yes. You can stay with her while I do something." He left the room. Gudrun stood dumb for a moment, too shocked for anything else.
The woman lay still on the bed, her face pale. Gudrun thought she looked ill. She moved forward cautiously and carefully unfastened the woman's cloak. She draped the sodden material over the back of a chair. She wondered if she should undress the woman… if she wasn't ill already, she’d soon become so. But who knew how these Southern women felt about strangers and nudity?
The Innkeeper returned with towels and what looked like a kettle made of copper. The servant boy was behind him, holding a large white ceramic bowl.
The dark-haired man looked at Gudrun expectantly. She stared back, wondering what it was he thought she was supposed to be doing. He looked away and he and the youth removed the unconscious woman's fine dark leather boots. Then he sent the youth from the room.
"Help me undress her."
Gudrun uncrossed her arms and looked at the prostrate woman. The man took her slow caution as rebellion. "Come on! If she wakes up, I don’t want to be punched in the head. These Western women are fierce."
Gudrun complied and soon the strange woman was dry in a white nightgown that the innkeeper produced from the bundle of towels. None of the fussing woke her. Gudrun suspected the blow to her head was to blame for that.
The evening crept forward until there was no more light coming through the window. Gudrun agreed to stay with the woman until she woke up, but after two hours of watching her sleep, Gudrun's mind offered no more distraction. The only light came from a flickering candle. Gudrun's eyes crossed as she watched it.
When the woman woke-up she woke with a start. The sudden movement startled Gudrun, and she tensed in her chair. The other woman’s breath came in short pants. Gudrun leaned forward in her chair, watching.
"You are in a room at an inn," she said after a moment. "You fell through the…" she paused briefly, trying to remember the word, "ceiling."
Picks up about where I left off, backing up slightly, editing it as I type it here.
"Yes. You can stay with her while I do something." He left the room. Gudrun stood dumb for a moment, too shocked for anything else.
The woman lay still on the bed, her face pale. Gudrun thought she looked ill. She moved forward cautiously and carefully unfastened the woman's cloak. She draped the sodden material over the back of a chair. She wondered if she should undress the woman… if she wasn't ill already, she’d soon become so. But who knew how these Southern women felt about strangers and nudity?
The Innkeeper returned with towels and what looked like a kettle made of copper. The servant boy was behind him, holding a large white ceramic bowl.
The dark-haired man looked at Gudrun expectantly. She stared back, wondering what it was he thought she was supposed to be doing. He looked away and he and the youth removed the unconscious woman's fine dark leather boots. Then he sent the youth from the room.
"Help me undress her."
Gudrun uncrossed her arms and looked at the prostrate woman. The man took her slow caution as rebellion. "Come on! If she wakes up, I don’t want to be punched in the head. These Western women are fierce."
Gudrun complied and soon the strange woman was dry in a white nightgown that the innkeeper produced from the bundle of towels. None of the fussing woke her. Gudrun suspected the blow to her head was to blame for that.
The evening crept forward until there was no more light coming through the window. Gudrun agreed to stay with the woman until she woke up, but after two hours of watching her sleep, Gudrun's mind offered no more distraction. The only light came from a flickering candle. Gudrun's eyes crossed as she watched it.
When the woman woke-up she woke with a start. The sudden movement startled Gudrun, and she tensed in her chair. The other woman’s breath came in short pants. Gudrun leaned forward in her chair, watching.
"You are in a room at an inn," she said after a moment. "You fell through the…" she paused briefly, trying to remember the word, "ceiling."
The rest (why does LJ insist on doing maintenance on this journal ONLY when I actually have a post?)
cross-posted with 
waterscribe
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</i>Inadi, breathed the silence.
She listened. Her name, of soul and sorcery and truth. This was important. She was rarely addressed directly (always by that name, always her true-soul was called). She waited.
A book landed on what passed for the ground with a *thud*. She whirled around and reached for it, leaning backwards, most of her cloak in the water now. The stream wasn't that wide... got it! As she
carefully lifted it above the water she saw Gar-na-kri, Fate on the cover. Well, that was direct, now wasn't it?
She opened the cover- only the cover- and the pages turned them selves. Names in a chain, linked by colored lines, ran over the pages that were open, and she saw her own (again Inadi, always Inadi) in a diamond
Aradoi
Inadi Chuen
Badin
Not so direct, after all. These were soul-names, very few knew they even had soul-names, much less what their soul-names were; what the diamond and the placement of the names on it indicates were beyond her; and what relationship white lines indicates (there were no lines visible but all the names had lines between them so they must be the color of the page and the pages were purest piercing white like no real pages could ever be) was far from clear, white was all colors or the absence of color, but what did that mean? Then she noticed the place had gone black, the water was fluid pitch and all she could see was the pages flipping again, they stopped and her eyes burned and she saw the end of everything whiteblackchaos
Niraianis woke with a scream trapped in her chest. She lay in a strange bed in a strange room with a single candle, sweat-drenched and gasping for breath.
The soul-names can be changed if you don't like the ones I gave you. (I bet you two can figure out who's who.)
waterscribe( Collapse )
</i>Inadi, breathed the silence.
She listened. Her name, of soul and sorcery and truth. This was important. She was rarely addressed directly (always by that name, always her true-soul was called). She waited.
A book landed on what passed for the ground with a *thud*. She whirled around and reached for it, leaning backwards, most of her cloak in the water now. The stream wasn't that wide... got it! As she
carefully lifted it above the water she saw Gar-na-kri, Fate on the cover. Well, that was direct, now wasn't it?
She opened the cover- only the cover- and the pages turned them selves. Names in a chain, linked by colored lines, ran over the pages that were open, and she saw her own (again Inadi, always Inadi) in a diamond
Not so direct, after all. These were soul-names, very few knew they even had soul-names, much less what their soul-names were; what the diamond and the placement of the names on it indicates were beyond her; and what relationship white lines indicates (there were no lines visible but all the names had lines between them so they must be the color of the page and the pages were purest piercing white like no real pages could ever be) was far from clear, white was all colors or the absence of color, but what did that mean? Then she noticed the place had gone black, the water was fluid pitch and all she could see was the pages flipping again, they stopped and her eyes burned and she saw the end of everything whiteblackchaos
Niraianis woke with a scream trapped in her chest. She lay in a strange bed in a strange room with a single candle, sweat-drenched and gasping for breath.
The soul-names can be changed if you don't like the ones I gave you. (I bet you two can figure out who's who.)
The dream (unfinished because it's damned hard to write on the bus. Or draw.)
Cross-posted to waterscribe:
For some reason, everything was an eye-burning shade of purple.
It all slowly calmed and darkened to a deep indigo, still formless, but pulsating gently. The place (not a room or a hall or a street or field, just a place) was breathing, quickly but steadily.
She wondered how she'd ended up here.
It wasn't as if every dream she had took her to Balatengi, the Realm Beyond Worlds. Normally she had to ask for it, light the violet fire, weave the grey-green embers. Settle into trance in the protective wrapping of the new-made, softly smoking Ca-en-phalta, which would dissipate when she awoke. It wasn't unheard of for her to get there by accident- her childhood journeys had certainly been unwilled- but it always meant there was something she needed to know. She looked around at the (now-amber) setting and saw only that she was standing in a stream.
It never came easy, did it.
The message always came in the most obtuse manner possible, and the ever-shifting surroundings weren't exactly bursting with clues. She sat down bonelessly in the stream, legs crossed at the ankles, arm around one knee, elbow on the lower knee and chin on hand. She stared down the blankly blackness and got wet.
She'd been wet before she'd come here, hadn't she?
Rain, roof, leaves, dragon, wet cloak floating about- no, that was here, in the stream, wet cloaks don't float. Roof and rain. Those were right. Dragon? Bielti had something to do with it. Leaves were floating in the stream (leaves meant time, didn't they?), but they'd been there, too.
Inn.
Roof.
Fall.
So that was how she'd gotten here. Now, why? There was still nothing but stream and leaves and she, wet and silent and wet. Not that she gave two geens about wet.
(That's all I could get down, between the turns and the bouncing/vibrating and the noise.)
waterscribe:For some reason, everything was an eye-burning shade of purple.
It all slowly calmed and darkened to a deep indigo, still formless, but pulsating gently. The place (not a room or a hall or a street or field, just a place) was breathing, quickly but steadily.
She wondered how she'd ended up here.
It wasn't as if every dream she had took her to Balatengi, the Realm Beyond Worlds. Normally she had to ask for it, light the violet fire, weave the grey-green embers. Settle into trance in the protective wrapping of the new-made, softly smoking Ca-en-phalta, which would dissipate when she awoke. It wasn't unheard of for her to get there by accident- her childhood journeys had certainly been unwilled- but it always meant there was something she needed to know. She looked around at the (now-amber) setting and saw only that she was standing in a stream.
It never came easy, did it.
The message always came in the most obtuse manner possible, and the ever-shifting surroundings weren't exactly bursting with clues. She sat down bonelessly in the stream, legs crossed at the ankles, arm around one knee, elbow on the lower knee and chin on hand. She stared down the blankly blackness and got wet.
She'd been wet before she'd come here, hadn't she?
Rain, roof, leaves, dragon, wet cloak floating about- no, that was here, in the stream, wet cloaks don't float. Roof and rain. Those were right. Dragon? Bielti had something to do with it. Leaves were floating in the stream (leaves meant time, didn't they?), but they'd been there, too.
Inn.
Roof.
Fall.
So that was how she'd gotten here. Now, why? There was still nothing but stream and leaves and she, wet and silent and wet. Not that she gave two geens about wet.
(That's all I could get down, between the turns and the bouncing/vibrating and the noise.)
Niraianis - posting it cause I can't e-mail it cause I can't get a connection for my laptop here
Here 'tis as I transcribe it from the file on my computer. Reason above.
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I wouldn't be surprised if errors cropped up while I typed - but I did run a spell check, so . . . yeah.
What I was thinking at the end of the Korinna (I think she is, in fact, going to be Gudrun) bit was that I'd get the dragon's likely reaction, finish a little bit, and then one of you guys takes over. Maybe Em's reaction to the mage falling through the ceiling.
But we can, and probably should, work on back stories some. I was mostly just putting them in as flashbacks when I was inspired to write one. *shrugs* Whatever.
*~~G~~*
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I wouldn't be surprised if errors cropped up while I typed - but I did run a spell check, so . . . yeah.
What I was thinking at the end of the Korinna (I think she is, in fact, going to be Gudrun) bit was that I'd get the dragon's likely reaction, finish a little bit, and then one of you guys takes over. Maybe Em's reaction to the mage falling through the ceiling.
But we can, and probably should, work on back stories some. I was mostly just putting them in as flashbacks when I was inspired to write one. *shrugs* Whatever.
*~~G~~*
Tinyun - Part Two
I wrote this a few days ago. It isn't where I wanted my bit to go, but it's what came out. It's really hard to write without direction. I'm reluctant to post this because I might scrap the whole thing, but I'm posting it anyway; maybe you guys can help, especially in the part with our joint character, the innkeeper (who really needs a name).
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Her Name IS Gudrun. Yee!
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accomplished
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Tinyun - Flashback One (Take 2)
Names - Help Me Out, Here!
Okay, obviously, I'm obsessing over this name thing. Here I am, sitting in Dad's shop, mooching DSL, downloading bluegrass stuff, and looking up names that I don't hate.
I got meanings from www.behindthenames.com, and the blurb about personality comes from www.kabalarians.com, because I find that kind of thing helpful . . . Any connotations you guys get, let me know.
Here are the fruits of this evening's labors thus far:
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I got meanings from www.behindthenames.com, and the blurb about personality comes from www.kabalarians.com, because I find that kind of thing helpful . . . Any connotations you guys get, let me know.
Here are the fruits of this evening's labors thus far:
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