The Rest of All Possible Worlds: Pocket Items

There are all sorts of interesting devices these days. Bigger and better telescopes, dense almanacs, precisely fitted sextants. And since then there has been a market for portable versions of these. 

Bluntly, these are toys for rich men.  Few need a sextant at any moment, let alone a smaller, fiddlier, uncomfortable, easily broken version. But one or two people have found these very useful indeed - and not just as portable trade pieces.

Here's a few - others may exist.

1. Within a stubby silver cylinder ticks A Perpetual Calendar. Turn shells of year and system on the outside to the indicted marks. Good for all Calliste, valiant attempts to indicate assorted high days and holidays of the Alamgir Empire and the Bronzemount Free State.
2. The slim brass case of a Tally-Box. This can add, subtract and convert the Pavaisse Mark, the Pavaisse Trade-Weight and the Malmeric Gold Piece.
3. Extending from a smooth horn box is a Microscope. The base of the box turns into a mount for whatever minuscule thing you wish to examine.  
4. A carved wooden case reveals a series of ivory Rabdological Rods.
5. A brass-half moon unfolds into a small Astrolabe.
6. Set in velvet, a fine golden set of Scales and a set of tiny weights.
7. A Mage's Chronometer. Perfectly mundane in construction, but allows the user to set a series of markers for when they can re-apply themselves to a spell.
8. Folding wood and gilt Sundial (sun not included).
9. Set in a rotating gimbal in a little pale box is a Mundane Lodestone. This points to the least magical place in a Ninety-Nine Mile radius of the user and is often used by insufferable wags at parties. 
10. Some men hold the world in their hands; you hold it in your pocket. Or at any rate, an ornate and definitely accurate Globe.

As for some actual rules:

The value of any of these in working order is meaningful - at least a month's wages, say. It may be difficult to find someone who will buy it, however. 

None of the above meaningfully contribute to encumbrance. 

This is not an age of mass production. At most, there are a dozen items of this kind coming from the same artificer's studio. Finding an exact replacement outside the maker's home city and years after it was made will be difficult.

Spare parts are non-existent. You will need to find someone who can work from scratch.

It may be that whoever made the device in the first place lacked certain details - the knowledge of annual holidays in Transmontane Tsymric may be patchy in High Malmery.

There may be lands where all of the above is untrue! 

If you are ever in Cambridge, consider visiting the Whipple Museum.

May-June Miscellany 2024

Naomi Mitchison,  The Corn King and Spring Queen

Can't say I was as taken by this as False Patrick, but still very good. It's an interesting comparison with (say) some of the character work of Rose Macaulay or the pre-occupations of some of C.S. Lewis's lesser known stuff. There's also probably a big wedge of Bloomsbury Group in there that I'm too uptight and square to properly grok. 

Comparisons aside, this thing is rich. Rich interior lives, rich in its extensive cast, generous in the scope of the plot, rich in description: it reads as the work of someone who has done things with their hands often enough to know about sewing or ploughing or hunting or dancing what have you - rather than the perspective of someone who only knows plate armour through a video game. 

***

Eamon Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars

I've had this for ages, but only just got round to reading it. Well worth it, and quite digestible. The photographic plates help. It's clearly a standout work in its field - Cf. what Wikipedia says as a general assessment - and I see why it was referenced in my university courses. 

Should you read it? Well, I think that if you're an Anglosphere type with an interest (academic or practical) in your history and culture, reading a few chapters from the first half would be very worthwhile - for religious ignorance reasons gestured at in some of my recent work. If you've read any proper history you can spot Duffy's focus and/or agenda, but that's not necessarily important. 

***

Lucan's Civil War or Pharsalia

Almost finished this at time of writing. Not one of the more prominent classical epics, but an interesting read all the same. Part of this is the subject matter: the clash of Julius Caesar and Pompey the Great after the former crosses the Rubicon. Familiar territory, even fictionalised - but not in the conventions of the epic. The civil war angle is not neglected, and the tragedy of events is clear. Added to this is the fact that it is describing real battles and troop movements, and largely leaves out Divine intervention, makes it rather interesting to compare with Virgil or Homer.

All that said, there are some thoroughly sensational moments. A carefully described reading of the entrails in Book One, a consultation of a Thessalian witch, Cato's army harassed by snakes. Is this the B-Movie of Classical epics? (Probably not.)

Another consideration is that Lucan was writing in the early days of the Emperor Nero. There's some praise for his ancestor Julius, though however potent Caesar is, Pompey gets the more enduring praise. 

'Pharsalia', incidentally, is the name of a battle between Caesar and Pompey in northern Greece, in the region around the town of Pharsalus (now Farsala). So I suppose you could call Lucan's Civil War something like The Battle of Pharsal County (which sounds rather American) or The Clash of Farsalmark (for something faintly Nordic). 

I read the translation by Susan H. Braund, but I've been comparing material elsewhere - including the Early Modern rhyming version by Sir Arthur Gorges, which may be found here.

***

Celine and Julie go Boating, dir. Jacques Rivette, 1974

Have you ever wanted to see what would happen if someone took late-period Tim Powers and made it significantly more French? Well, here's a good place to start. The mix of a contemporary setting and a supernatural house is arresting and well-executed - once you've got into the groove of the film.

***

Metropolitan, dir. Whit Stillman, 1990

Utterly unseasonal, though I didn't know that when I picked it up. A curiously touching film, though this is in part perhaps the result of living in a young city while being less than aged myself. There's some interesting currents in it - and I suspect the use of the tune to Luther's hymn Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott is no mistake.

***

The Mark of Zorro, dir. Rouben Mamoulian, 1940

Starring Tyrone Power. You don't need me to tell you this is good or influential and I won't try to comment on the sword fights. Other people can do that. 

What I think makes this worthy of note - and it's something I don't see discussed to the same degree - is the elements of disguise and secret identity. Don Diego Vega - the man they call Zorro - is deliberately concealing his motives and character, making himself into a ridiculous, useless fop. There are good reasons to do this, and Vega clearly has or had some frivolous facets to his character - but unlike Robin Hood concealing himself or the various versions of Bruce Wayne that have appeared on the screen, this is painful or costly in ways that aren't seen elsewhere. His father is openly contemptuous of him, his mother loves him but in a somewhat disinterested way, his old teacher barks at him and he must humiliate himself in front of his love interest and the villain. High literature this isn't, but the willingness to put a distinct social (psychological?) cost on his subterfuge gives this a bit more weight (Cf. Christian Bale getting to have his cake and eat it too as both playboy and vigilante).

Dr Syn dealt with this from time to time as well, though there things are complicated by the Vicar of Dymchurch's dark past. 

***

There's a poem of C.S. Lewis I encountered recently. It doesn't really apply to my post on Saturn, but it's certainly adjacent to the whole matter.

Anyway, from 'La Roi S'Amuse':

Jove gazed
On woven mazes
Of patterned movement as the atoms whirled.
His glance turned
Into dancing, burning
Colour-gods who rushed upon that sullen world,
Waking, re-making, exalting it anew –
Silver and purple, shrill-voiced yellow, turgid crimson, and virgin blue.

(Cue for music.)

It's a complex bit of rhyming, tricky to read aloud. Find the rest here. 

***

Sinjin - a new piece of work by Mateo Diaz Torres, who did Pilgrim. Again, available on Itch.io. Black and white artwork from a variety of artists.

Quote:

A century ago, the Black Heron College performed an experiment into the nature of Death and caused a great disaster. The site of this catastrophe came to be known as The Saint John Forbidden Territory.   

A hundred by hundred yawning miles of sawgrass, palmetto hammock, winding river, and overrun industry—all reclaimed by the Dead. In the territory, the land forgets itself, geography flexing and twisting like a straining muscle, the progression of days stuttering and jumping like a broken zoetrope.  

You are a freelance exorcist, compelled or driven to enter the Territory. You wield the remnants of Death's instruments: arts and tools left over from Her now-unfinished work. It is your duty to carry on against the growing disaster. The depths spread, and the Dead stand against you.  Put them back in their graves.

No Appendix N provided, but I would agree with other reviewers in detecting the influence of Garth Nix's Old Kingdom books and Annihilation. Though the overgrown sprawling abandoned Louisiana buildings of season 1 of True Detective kept springing to mind. Southern Gothic abounds. 

The territory itself is a limited space that keeps changing. As a region, it's probably no bigger than a county - but, as above, it contorts. The fixed landmarks are the same, but the connecting elements will shift - as will the climate. There's something of Darkest Dungeon in this, in which an opulent and imperial mansion has an improbable number of rooms. Indeed, it would be interesting to have something like a quartet of Sinjin-esque regions one could enter.

Sinjin is worth your time - though there's something that caught my eye. The setting is '19th century pastiche not-Florida' - there's the implication of a state outside it, and several regions are mentioned, including the San Serafin of Torres's New Barbary setting. This has the side effect of making me think of what lies outside Sinjin. The organisations that send you into the territory are these slightly-too parallel groups of exorcists. 

Part of me itches for...well, A) a sketch of geopolitics and cultural shockwaves and B) asymmetry. To explain on the latter - the differences and clashes between groups and styles in the territory: professional and amateur, government and private, religious and secular, cautious and imprudent. But this is a very particular issue and should not put anyone else off.

Lewis and Saturn in the 41st Millennium

If at the height of heaven Saturn's
cold and harmful star were lighting his black fires.....

Pharsalia, Bk 1, Lucan, trans. Susan H. Braund

....at length old Saturn lifted up 

His faded eyes, and saw his kingdom gone,

And all the gloom and sorrow of the place....

Hyperion, Keats

I made a long comment on this post on Monsters and Manuals. noisms invited me to expand on it. 

1) noisms suggests an approach to Warhammer 40,000 - at least as far as roleplay is concerned - rooted in the theology of Christian speculative fiction authors as Lewis, Tolkien and Gene Wolfe. This wouldn't necessarily be apologetics, but would round out some of the ideas suggested by the setting. A 40k roleplaying game in which the PCs 'try to do good'. Wolfe (not unreasonably) is suggested as the most obvious point of comparison.

2)  It's tempting, taking that 'try to do good' remark, to imagine levering Pollyanna into the Grim Darkness of the Far Future. I would say noisms doesn't mean this, and further that the proposed 40k RPG would want to be of a tone with existing 40k. Further, I would suggest that there is a degree of material that can be found in the work of C.S. Lewis that fits this rather well. 

3) For completeness, I shall mention that Lewis did write about dystopian future states - notably in the lecture series collected as The Abolition of Man. As interesting as that might be, the future state of controlling pallid intelligences and hollowed-out underlings is a poor match with the Medievalism and decay of the 41st Millennium. An age of chains, not an age of rot; a panopticon-world, not a dungeon-world. 

Now, there's a quiet tendency to talk about the Chronicles of Narnia in terms of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. The events, tone and theme of that work are (relatively) bright. The instantly recognisable scene of Mr Tumnus contributes to this, as does the inclusion of Father Christmas and the repeated phrase of  'Always Winter, Never Christmas'. Narnia is peopled by talking animals, not human beings. While this tone isn't consistent through the entirety of LWW, this has a touch more of the childlike in it than later Chronicles. Where we might look is to that final work, The Last Battle.*

4) The theologian and literary critic Michael Ward wrote a book in 2008 called Planet Narnia: The Seven Heavens in the Imagination of C.S. Lewis. This is not an entirely obscure work - I'm not revealing anything very special here - the BBC made a documentary based on it and Ward himself is moderately prominent. 

Anyway, Planet Narnia lays out much of Lewis's writings on the seven heavens** of Medieval Cosmology - the Moon, Sun, Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn. Certainly Lewis (as one who taught Medieval and Renaissance literature) knew of these and wrote about them in non-fiction - see Ch. 3 of The Discarded Image. He wrote poetry on them - in part, it seems, as an intellectual exercise. The Cosmic or Ransom Trilogy was written in the 1940s, after the discovery of Uranus, Neptune and Pluto but focuses on the Medieval planets (the one reference seemingly to them makes it appear that they are older and have ceased to support life or relevance). The various planetary geniuses that go by the term Oyéresu (singular Oyarsa) have in them a resemblance to the Classical deities as rendered by Medieval minds.

Ward's thesis is that the varying tones in the Chronicles of Narnia are attributable to each book being connected to one of the seven heavens. 

--At this point, some of you may be wondering which book is connected with which planet. Well, if I may - please don't look that up now! Even granted that I've given the game away regarding Saturn in my original comment and in this post, I would be fascinated to know what your guesses would be. Answers in the comments.

I don't propose to lay out his full argument here, but it's a fascinating lens to examine them through. Some of you may be mulling over at this point 'Does this mean Lewis believed in astrology?' - Ward, of course, answers this. I might compress his response and my own thus: more than someone who refers to a person or thing as 'Lawful Evil', 'Chaotic Good', &c, but less than he did in the Trinity or Newton's Laws of Motion.

5) So, The Last Battle is Saturnine. What does that mean?

Myn is the ruine of the hye halles, 

The falling of the toures and of the walles

(Incidentally, thanks to the Middle English in Traitor General and the presence of a pardoner in The Armour of Contempt I'm pretty certain that Abnett knows his Chaucer.)

Quoting Lewis in The Discarded Image, we get : 'In the earth his influence produces lead; in men, the melancholy complexion; in history, disastrous events....He is connected with sickness and old age.....A good account of his promoting fatal accidents, pestilence, treacheries and ill luck in general occurs in [Chaucer's] The Knight's Tale....sometimes called The Greater Infortune, Infortuna Major'

'My dere doghter Venus,' quod Saturne, 

'My cours, that hath so wyde for to turne, 

Hath more power than wot any man. 

Myn is the drenching in the see so wan; 

Myn is the prison in the derke cote; 

Myn is the strangling and hanging by the throte; 

The murmure, and the cherles rebelling, 

The groyning, and the pryvee empoysoning: 

I do vengeance and pleyn correccioun 

Whyl I dwelle in the signe of the leoun. 

Myn is the ruine of the hye halles, 

The falling of the toures and of the walles 

Up-on the mynour or the carpenter. 

I slow Sampsoun in shaking the piler; 

And myne be the maladyes colde, 

The derke tresons, and the castes olde; 

My loking is the fader of pestilence.

The Knight's Tale, Chaucer
(Try reading it aloud.)

But Saturn is not Satan. Exactly. (Likewise, Jove is not God). See Bernardus Silvestris.

...the Usiarch Saturn, an ancient to be most strongly condemned, cruel and detestable in his wickedness savagely inclined to harsh and bloody acts. As many sons as his most fertile wife had borne him he had devoured newly born, cutting short the beginning of life....how destructive a threat he would pose to the future race of men by the poisonous and deadly property of his planet. While Nature, after observing his labours, judged him harsh and treacherous, yet she believed that the old man must be respected, as it was said that Chronos was the son of eternity and the father of time.

Cosmographia, Bernardus Silvestris, (Microcosmus 5.5-6),  trans. Winthrop Wetherbee

There is no avoiding Saturn, though one may escape the grasp of the Devil. His influence is more woeful than foul. 

Of course, this picture is complicated by Virgil - the Aeneid in Book VIII has a passage describing a Golden Age brought about by Saturn, as does Eclogue 4. These appear to be images that pre-date the melding of Roman and Greek myth. On a practical note, the Temple of Saturn in the Roman Forum was the state treasury - one doesn't place one's treasure in the keeping of a loathsome god. See also the Saturnalia, the festival with a brief return to an age of plenty and equality.

To turn (naturally) from Virgil to Dante, we ascend to the Paradiso. Dante and Beatrice pass through the spheres of Paradise, each associated with a Planet. Saturn is not named - Longfellow refers to the 'Seventh Splendour' in his translation (Canto XXI). His sphere is that of contemplatives - Dante meets with St Benedict and St Peter Damian.

There are also some fascinating extracts on Saturn from the astrologers/astronomers of the Islamic world (as Abu Ma'shar al-Balkhi), that were transmitted into Christian Europe. Some of these are familiar enough in terms of their content (melancholy, misfortune, cold, plague), though the level of detail is different to the literary uses of Saturn.*** Book Three of the Picatrix or Ghāyat al-Ḥakīm, however, (in addition to the claim that the image of Saturn is 'the shape of a black man wrapped in a green cloak with a dog-like head and a sickle in his hand') makes the claim that his is the 'retentive virtue' (Cf. Mars and the 'attractive virtue', or Jupiter and the 'augmentative virtue'). This is interesting as a Saturnine neutral quality, and applies itself equally to Time gnawing away at men, and to the holding or maintaining of wealth.

6) I doubt Lewis read the Picatrix - literature, not magic was his field - but it's an interesting contrast and part of the wider scheme. Either way, let's talk about Lewis's Saturn. 

By his own account, Lewis's own generation - who fought in the Great War and then wrote an awful lot about it - were born under Saturn. However, he denied the final authority of Saturn, the claim of the universe to be 'Saturnocentric'. Quoting Ward, that quality which Lewis called Saturnocentric 'means astringent, stern, tough, unmerry, uncomfortable, unconciliatory, and serious, though not necessarily profound or virtuous.' 

40k has of course, been quite willing to make reference to the Great War.

That Hideous Strength features a scene with the decent of the planetary influences into the manor at St Anne's. The introduction to Saturn goes like this:

All thought of that [the cold outside]: of stiff grass, hen-roosts, darks places in the middle of woods, graves. Then of the sun's dying, the Earth gripped, suffocated, in airless cold, the black sky lit only with stars. And then, not even stars: the heat-death of the universe, utter and final blackness of nonentity from which Nature knows no return.

Meanwhile, at the focus of Saturn's descent, things are different.

Saturn, whose name in the heavens is Lurga, stood in the Blue Room. His spirit lay upon the house, or even on the whole Earth, with a cold pressure such as might flatten the very orb of Tellus to a wafer. Matched against the lead-like burden of his antiquity the other gods themselves felt young and ephemeral. It was a mountain of centuries sloping up from the highest antiquity we can conceive, up and up like a mountain whose summit never comes into sight, not to eternity where the thought can rest, but into more and still more time, into freezing wastes and silence of unnameable numbers. It was also strong like a mountain; its age was no mere morass of time where imagination can sink in reverie, but a living, self-remembering duration which repelled lighter intelligences from its structure as granite flings back waves, itself unwithered and undecayed but able to wither any who approach it unadvised. [Characters] suffered a sensation of unendurable cold; and all that was strength in Lurga became sorrow as it entered them.

Ward mentions at this stage the 'godly sorrow' of St Paul in 2 Corinthians 7.8-11. If there is a Saturnine human character in That Hideous Strength, it is the Ulster scientist and rationalist Andrew MacPhee - a serious-minded type, sceptical of some of Ransom's wilder claims, apparently a happily unattached bachelor. By the conclusion, he is dressed in an 'ash-coloured and slightly monastic looking robe' - once again, note the reference to contemplatives. He may be a rough tribute to Lewis's tutor William Kirkpatrick.

An adaptation of Ward's chapter in Planet Narnia on Saturn may be found here. Those who recall that work will remember the scenes of darkness and despair, the leaden weight, the deceptions, the appearance of Father Time - to say nothing of the death of so many of its characters. The Last Battle, as he notes, ends with the return of the Jovial. We may compare Aeneid VIII here - Saturn's golden age comes after his displacement by Jupiter.

7) Fine: of the Seven Heavens, Saturn may be most apt for 40k. But how do we have a virtuous struggle - and even a victory - under Saturn?

First of all, to be Saturnine is different than to be Martial. This is not just a matter of degree - Infortuna Major and Minor - but also of quality. The bracing contest and clash of arms under Mars is different to the crushing weight of years under Saturn. This also means, I would say, less chance of an ongoing series. The regiment going on to another world, another battle. The contest must be final.

The protagonists must, I suspect, be on the defensive - or a 'best defence is a good offence' endeavour. But that which it preserves must be consistent with the Saturnine. A lonely outpost of survivors, a hospital of the maimed, a hermetically sealed library or a depopulated mega-structure, its furnaces and power plants finally cooling. Player Characters should be (as in the Saturnocentric quote above) stern and unconciliatory, though for 'Let justice be done though the heavens fall' reasons. Contest of arms should be costly and uncertain. 

"I tell you naught for your comfort,

Yea, naught for your desire,

Save that the sky grows darker yet

And the sea rises higher.

"Night shall be thrice night over you,

And heaven an iron cope.

Do you have joy without a cause,

Yea, faith without a hope?"

The Ballad of the White Horse, Bk. 1, GK Chesterton

I said before that this would this would involve 'a bitter struggle, despair, trudging, misfortune'. Trudging and footslogging is often rather neglected by 40k, at least when it comes to Space Marines; but for our purposes, an emphasis on fatigue and becoming overwhelmed is necessary - which takes the fun out of being a muscular super soldier. (Admittedly, the later Horus Heresy books had good moments of this.)

To repeat myself again, 'the triumph is in some distant preservation for a coming dawn (...a New Sun). Resting on the association with contemplatives and monasticism, perhaps we see an iteration of [the conclusion to] A Canticle for Liebowitz.' Interestingly, while the Imperium of Man is the natural fit for all the above, it strikes me that the Eldar would also fit quite well. Their tragedy and decline is as pronounced, of course, but we have not the short lives and brutal deaths of humanity, but the slow dwindling, like the space elves they are. 

Coupled to this is their method of preservation, the spiritstones. An Eldar soul may be retained in one of these rather than falling to Slaanesh in the Warp. They are gathered into the Infinity Circuits of their space-faring craftworlds. This does not appear to be much of a paradise, in so much as we know much of it. Death, but deliverance from damnation; an eternity of contemplation. Life for survivors among depopulated cities or amidst distant echoes of old friends - who must still be preserved. Of the craftworlds, Iyanden may express this best.

Anyway, I think that indicates ample scope for the Saturnine as a theme or mode in 40k. 

*Please assume, as in the original comment, that I am aware of some of the discourse and criticisms of The Last Battle and that I can add nothing the informed would find relevant or interesting to that here.

**Discussed and employed here before!

***See this article for some extracts. Also, the association of Saturn and the Jews, which may be the result of the connection between Saturn's day and the Sabbath. 

Faufreluches: O Sister, where art thou?

The eye-catching, vaguely-uncharitable and banally-provocative title of this post being something like 'Your Sisters of Battle suck - HERE is why!'

The Sisters of Battle - the Adepta Soriatas - are one of the more characteristic factions within Warhammer 40,000. A militant order of space nuns, zealous enforcers of the Imperial Creed, simultaneously the strong right arm of the Ecclesiarchy and those who once purged its overlord. 40k being the size it is, they seem to have leaked over into other properties, influencing things in the same fashion as the wider Warhammer look and approach did. I doubt, for one, that the Vestal of Darkest Dungeon (ostensibly more of a piece with Warhammer Fantasy) has quite such a confrontational look without the Sisters of Battle.

Behold, said Vestal.

This extends, of course, to other GW properties - Mordenheim's Sisters of Sigmar appear after the introduction of the Sisters of Battle, and serve as a localised fantasy pastiche of their Far-Future predecessors. I don't mean to suggest that the Sisters of Battle are somehow unique, mind you. They stake out a corner of the ground within which lies Paladin Girl. Indeed, they aren't even the only Pulpy Battle Nun creation of the 1990s. Other forerunners are the Fish Speakers of the later Dune books and the Vestal Vampires of Termight in Nemesis the Warlock.

Of course, the icon of the 41st Millennium is (for better or worse) that horrifying merger of rifleman, astronaut and templar, the Space Marine. The Sisters were left rather adrift for many years. No new models, no new rules, far few books. Yet they kept making an appearance, and it's difficult to imagine the Grim Darkness of the Far Future without them. 

But, while you may have an image of a Sister of Battle in your mind right now - and it may be a detailed and characterful image - it may well be the only image. Further: how many of their characters can you name? How many can you tell apart? Certainly, the various fan projects, art and discussions one encounters (that is, those trying to not to drift too far from the canon...) seem to stick to a fairly narrow stereotype. Even if their miniatures line may have been expanded, I would suggest that we don't have enough models of the Sisters.

Nothing but Joans of Arc, as far as the eye can see.

Why is this? Well, we might point to the mantle of zealous enforcers given to the Sisters. If they are in that role for (quote) 'the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable' it should be no surprise that they are rigid and unvarying. Further, the Ecclesiarchy has more obvious centralising, uniform cultural tendencies that other Imperial factions - both as a matter of in-universe lore and in the wider parodic-satiric aspects it bears. (This overview of an old Sisters codex rather concludes that the Ecclesiarchy-themes and material rather dominate any separate identity the Sisters might have.)

The answer of 'Misogyny' is a little pat, but not necessarily untrue. I don't have the background or knowledge base to properly consider that, but I'd feel foolish not mentioning it. 

There's another aspect, which requires a bit of explaining. I'm going to propose three types of variation for a group principally portrayed as tabletop miniatures, as the Sisters. 

• Football-Strip Variation
• Plurality Variation
• Top-to-bottom - or, more aptly - Cap-à-Pie Variation

Football-Strip Variation is easily explained. Different paint schemes, as developed by individual modellers or suggested by the publishers of the model line. This can even by facilitated by things like transfers with different symbols on.

Plurality Variation is where many but not a majority of elements of the model - and the character represented - are changed. A distinct likeness to the original remains. A sub-faction would be well-represented by this, but a sub-faction can exist with only a few additional models being Plurality-Varied. Both individual modellers or the publishers of the model line could create this.

Cap-à-Pie Variation is top-to-bottom transformation. If we are producing a Chapter of Inca-inspired Space Marines, there will be significant sculpting to add Incan details to their armour. This is really something only individual modellers could do: if the publishers of the model line do this, then the something new has like as not been created. Grey Knights are no longer Space Marines. (Shut up, you know what I mean.) 

All these forms of variation can be seen on (say) fan art as well as in modelling. 

(Incidentally, if a passing semiotician or theorist of aesthetics wants to tell me that there are existing terms for all this, I'd love to hear them.)

Football-Strip Variation is always very likely. A different colour scheme is a simple process. Likewise, I think that there will always be a sprinkling of people who want to go all in on customisation and will produce Cap-à-Pie Variation. 

But I think that Plurality Variation is harder to produce, and is more important for producing a broad range of images for a given line of models. Smith painting Space Marines teal and burnt umber is just teal-and-umber Space Marines. Smith painstakingly converting Samurai Orks or Tau using Necron weapons is just Smith's Samurai Orks. There's a certain point between the two necessary for breadth.

Hence, for instance, the Space Marines. This portion of an interview with Gav Thorpe details the core theme of four Chapters who received Plurality Variation - who could then be taken as a model of (EG) the Unorthodox going forward.

And this ties into something greater. Let's go over some Imperial factions. 

• Our Plurality Variations of Space Marines are those of Warriors - Vikings, Mongols, Arthurian Knights, Plains Indians. Easy to gasp, easy to add to.

(If you encounter a Plurality or Cap-à-Pie Variation which is very clearly drawing from 20th or 21st century military looks, then it's almost certainly resting on 'Special Forces imagery' - which hits the individual and self-directed elements of the Warrior concept . Cf. The various remarkably code-named characters of Metal Gear Solid, et al.)

• Similarly, our Plurality Variations of the Imperial Guard are Soldiers - generic Western NATO types, the Red Army of WWII, Desert Rats, Redcoats, a deliberate mix of everyone in the Vietnam War (except the French). 
• Inquisitors and their followers are, as discussed elsewhere, to some degree professional PCs. Variation is in-built. 
• The tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus are relatively new to having their own faction. But we have multiple instances of characterful, varied tech-priests over the years. They are, to put not too fine a point on it, Nerds (their basic Skitarii infantry are even goggle-eyed and stick-limbed!) and Mad Scientists of which there are variations a-plenty. A whole cult of Victor Frankensteins.

But when it comes to the Sisters - there, we falter. A majority of players/fans/[other] can't provide Plurality Variations of clergy. Our images of religious life are far too limited.

At this point, you might be saying to yourself 'I can imagine all sorts of priests and monks! Haughty Bishops, serene Buddhist monks, Hellenic pagans reading the entrails, ranting Televangelists, mild Vicars, knowing melancholic Rabbis, gold-sickled druids, Hindu ascetics...' 
    Or, for that matter 'I can conjure up a Sister with inner doubts, a Sister who is hiding a bitter loss, a Sister who rejoices in slaughter, a Sister who is enthusiastic about a particular period of poetry....'

This doesn't quite work, of course. The former is far too broad for Plurality Variation; the latter is perfectly good, but off the peg rather than tailored to fit. Compare the proposed Dwarves in Paras 4-6 here. It also runs the risk of the wrong emphasis: consider those adaptations of Chesterton's Father Brown that make him a detective who sometimes says a Mass, rather than a Priest who solves crimes.

I recognise that this is not a new complaint. Neal Stephenson was writing about a lack of religious knowledge and empathy in the aftermath of the Waco siege in the essay 'Blind Secularism'. Less loftily, my praise for Fading Suns had some of this in it. But I will maintain it all the same.

"That's some lovely Polymorphonic Carbon there, be a shame is something happened to it."
Image found in this article on Emperor of the Fading Suns.

[Incidentally, what would this a comparable Plurality Variation look like for Sisters? Well, to point to the Imperial Guard, we have standard khaki-and-rifles army men, scrappy irregulars, heavy-coated gas-masked trenchfighters, troopers for various environments and troopers in dress uniforms.  One would seek at least this level of visual difference, whatever the extent of different characterisation.

Thus, we might suggest Sisters in very plain, functional wargear. Perhaps this Order frequently serves as missionaries, cut off from the normal supply lines. Their devotion to the Emperor is that of loyal servants: ornament and honour is reserved for the altars and reliquaries.

(This is, to be clear, an outline of a sort of order, that a player can tailor closer to fit their preferences. And, of course, they likely aren't only missionaries.)

An obvious contrast is found with a highly ornamental Order, dripping with devotional iconography and decorative elements, drawing heavily on the familiar work of John Blanche. There may be a sense of affective piety among them, stressing a sense of emotional connection to the Emperor - and a willingness to endure his pains. Cue the hairshirt, and other forms of mortification of the flesh. Conspicuous piety of this kind makes them a natural fit for the centre rather than the fringes of the Imperium.

There is also the Sister as enforcer and observer - a Praetorian Guard at the side of a Cardinal, as ready to defend them as to purge them. There's a stress on formality, purity and observation. Think of them drawing from the iconography of the black-and white wimpled and veiled nun - and the black-suited white-shirted secret service agent. Starched white veils concealing high-tech surveillance gear. Gleaming bolter muzzles peaking from under broad black cloaks.

Finally, we might consider an image of the witchfinder. An up-armoured, imposing figure, with exotic weaponry - to both even the odds against the rogue Psyker and, possibly, to take them alive. We might see touches of the SWAT team in them. The inclusion of some in Capotain 'Puritan' hats would be a familiar touch; some of the ferocious elements in the design of the Sisters of Silence might also be apt.

Missionary, Celebrant, Enforcer, Witchfinder. Two outward-facing, two inward. Two plainer, two ornamented. One practical, one passionate, one reserved, one pugnacious. Perhaps this works.]

All very well, though it's unlikely that Games Workshop will come knocking at my door any time soon. So how do I apply all this in my own feudal future  - faufreluchaen* - setting?

+++

Quote:  The Regent knew that Mankind was Changing. The Pastorate are there to make sure that Mankind knows it too. Teachers, counsellors, ritualists - bearers of the vision for all mankind.

As that suggests, the Regent isn't quite viewed as a deity. But a mediator? A prophet? An intercessor? Well, he's managed to be all of those things. Then panegyrics of his own life - and half-life - positioned him as a tool of destiny - undeniably blessed - chosen by chance, by fate - by the universe - by existence itself. This isn't damnable, or even strictly wrongheaded. It may be a misconception, but the Pastorate would rather work with misconceptions that not work at all. 

Established terminology: Ministers as the base representative of the Pastorate, headquartered in temples. Training to occur in seminaries. Witchfinders ('The Office of Detection') and Wardens are among the Pastorate's paramilitary arms. Arch-Pastors to oversee large cities (and their hinterlands), Metropolites to oversee star systems. Typically 'black-clad'. The name of the Regent is repeated once a terrestrial year in the ceremony of the Perennial Obituary. 

So far, so loosely sketched. How do we draw this out into Plurality Variation? 

Well, as Fading Suns, we might have sects still roughly bound together. We should avoid, however, an idea of castes or specialised departments. What we have are circles and networks. Ministers and Pastorate officials align into informal groups - which harden into societies - which put their members to work - which develop talents and specialities - which grow in influence and dominance over a certain discipline, or a certain province, or a certain system. 

It would be very rare for every minister on a fully-settled planet to be of one Circle. It would not be rare for Nine out of Ten Senior Ministers, Arch-Pastors, Seminary Heads or Provincial Pastorate Clarks (PPCs) to be of a Circle.
    It's not quite like being a member of a monastic order (though of course certain Ministers may take certain life-long vows and gather into communities governed by a certain rule), or a political party (though of course Ministers can play politics), or a social clique (though naturally Ministers have a social life). But it's not not like those things.

Time for some examples. 

The Journeying Circle - Have their roots in travelling Ministers, of the first days of the Pastorate. They are no longer mendicants, but continue to use the iconography of travel. This covers devotional literature, rhetoric, art and dress - wide-brimmed hats, robust boots, clothing cut to accommodate space suits even if they never leave their planet. 

They make significant efforts to unearth Psychics, and when they find them spend a lot of time minutely recording their actions within isolated, specially prepared cloisters. 

Their advice and instruction focuses on the constant effort to move forward and develop.

Journeying Circle institutions include the Pilgrims' Sodality, the Geofric Monks, the Seven-Path Trust and the Saiph Sector Pastorate Journal and Record.

The Lector Circle - Prioritise teaching and knowledge, in both the Circle's own lodges and in public libraries. Keen educators, omnivorous readers - irritating know-it-alls, inflexible disciplinarians. A notable mark of a Circle member is the wide lattice-patterned collar; some may carry the flat 'scribe's satchel'. Many will carry the flat square string of Mnemonic beads; each bead is set with a series of Lectorine shorthand marks that allow the carrier to readily recall a long block of text.

They focus both on teaching themselves, on enabling teaching, and on regulating what is and isn't taught.   

Their advice might typically focus on programmes of study and specialist instructors. 

Lector Circle institutions include the Agatho Development Commission, the House of Learned Repose and the Amaranth Echelon.

The Beacon and Banner Circle - can be directly traced to a Minister of the world Bagdemagus, Belisar. He is now 'Celebrated Belisar' in the Pastorate's Glyptotheque of Notables, where slabs of the native rock of their home worlds bear the names and great deeds of those the Pastorate considers the best of humanity. Belisar was chronicler and companion to the Paladin Chrysogon. The Beacon and Banner Circle follow his example, tracking the Paladins that emerge from the Massif, cultivating ties with the Maiors and recording the words and deeds of Paladins past and present.

If not actively tracking a Paladin or agent of the Palace, they will hold revivalist meetings, focussing audiences on their bonds to distant Terra.  Psychics they encounter are left to roam freely, though they are constantly watched. 

Their advice deals often with exemplars or inspirational narratives. 

Beacon and Banner institutions include the Guild of Esoteric Methods, the Yeomen's Benevolence Society, the Rifle-Sisters of Rigel and the College of Celb. Mavrasar.

+++

That's likely enough to give some flavour of what could be apt. The comparison with the Sisters of Battle is loose, I know, but it struck me as a worthwhile exercise all the same. The Circles described above are a bit squishy - but it offers opportunities to focus in on a specific example, which can then be backed by the wider body.

*Semiurge's work is generally good; it is especially nice when it is inspired by my own work!

Seek not to know for whom the Moon Gackles

GACKLING MOON - the latest publication from Patrick Stuart. Except not purely the work of the False Machine, this time. As Kickstarter backers were warned:

This will be quite different to any standard False Machine book. Gackling Moon is a production of 'Formling' Press, run by Emile Frankel.

But it has roots in two sets of posts over on False Machine: here is the rising of the Gackling Moon - and here the mists part and reveal the Wodlands. Well, the Wodlands are now the Moonlands and everything has been set together in a hardback - which I have a few thoughts on.

Firstly, presentation is very different - beyond the obvious. Gone is the initial Wodlands illustration and the colours associated with it. The Gackling Moon hardback is white, with black and white interior illustrations. The book is counterintuitively white: summoning up images of our own Luna, rather than shattered, faintly goblinoid Gackling Moon. It also constantly taunts you with the prospect of spilling red wine or coffee on it.

Illustrations are provided by Tom K. Kemp (no relation?), working in a mix of charcoal and other analogue media enhanced with digital techniques. They are intended to act something like photographic plates in a museum catalogue (or similar). Sometimes this works quite well, as hazy images of a distant land or sketches by an archaeologist. Sometimes it looks unfitting - as if this expensive museum catalogue can't afford a decent photographer.

Text is in single columns of seriffed characters. The Printer's Imp has been left unchecked, which is vaguely fitting for Gackling Moon if loosely vexing to stodgy boring types like myself. Though there's something I dislike about the way the text curls around the page numbers.

Speak to us of the Moonlands.

Imagine a carefully imagined alien landscape, with numerous details about those who live there and how they survive. Improbably weather patterns and beasts, wily folk adopting uniquely geared folkways to match their land. Something like Villenueve's Dune and his sparse, echoing Arrakis or stark Geidi Prime - or the vision of the Southern Reach in Alex Garland's Annihilation.*
    And then someone comes and fires the Terry Gilliam Ray at it, sending several brilliant shafts of Terry Gilliam penetrating the scenic vista. Gilliam piercing everything. 

This sounds like a colourful exaggerated description to grab my audience; it is, in fact, basically true to the nature of the setting. Landscapes like the Plain of Anaesthetic Fire and the Asbestos Bedouin who dwell there interrupted by GOBLINS emerging in rickety steampunk submarines from the Vermillion Sea, quite possibly to the sound of Sousa marches played on ill-tuned and worse-conceived instruments. 

You may think this sounds a little tiresome, so described - and depending on your tolerance for Goblins - but it is neatly leavened by the sheer variety of Goblin, and the welcome appearance of the beautifully conceived Anti-Goblins. (I don't know where the name 'Esploradoj' came from, but it sounds just right.)

I'm also quite fond of the Manticore-hunting Nobles. The Incoherent Isles are beautifully drawn. 

And over it all, the changing face of the Gackling Moon casting baleful shadows across a tormented land - driving men into horrifying emotional extremes. 

Does it hang together? Does it have the certain spark?

Sometimes. Though I suspect that this is something to be mined for parts - little dimensional adjuncts and strange intrusions. (The Gackling Moon as Outside Context Problem?) The sort of thing that the Wilderness of Taroc and some of the rest of the material clustered under Translucent Polities gets at. One can imagine the Gackling Moon itself becoming a Gackling Comet, tearing across the realms of men causing terror and havoc in equal measure. Or one can imagine the phases of the Gackling Moon as quasi-divine Star Archons, coming in and out of alignment with the world below. 

However, certain elements of the presentation aren't pulling their weight. The Museum Catalogue elements could be leant into rather more heavily. If The Sabbat World Crusade is a benchmark, you need multiple sources of art. It worked in Fire on the Velvet Horizon because that was a region that felt the size of or as populous as (say) Northumbria: the Moonlands feel...the size of the Iberian peninsula maybe? The final essay by Frankel is rarely use and even rarer ornament: if you want to think about the image of the Heavens and what a Moon might mean, you are far better reading Chapter Five of The Discarded Image and meditating on 'dull sublunary lovers'.

Sooo...?

Read some of the blog posts and decide for yourself whether you think it would be useful to have them enhanced, expanded and bundled together somewhere. 

*I have read Frank Herbert; should I read Vandermeer? Answers on a postcard, to the usual place.

St Erkenwald: Variations on a Theme

The fame of St Erkenwald (or Erconwold, Earkonwald, &c) may not, I grant, have reached very far. He was, variously, a son of King Offa, of the East Angles, Abbot of Chertsey and Bishop of London - the fourth following the Mission of St Augustine. His cult seems to have endured in London right up until the Reformation. 

This is fairly familiar territory for a regional saint. But a brief Middle English poem was written about him - possibly by the Gawain poet, which may make you perk up and take interest. 

The scene is London (once New Troy - Cf. Gawain). Erkenwald is Bishop. Augustine is apparently still in Canterbury, in the process of converting the Saxons. Temples are cleared of idols and refitted as Churches, when workmen come across something:

A sarcophagus curiously carved from Cyclopean stones
All graced in grey marble with gargoyle-like figures.

The canopy of the coffin, covering it on top,
Was finely fashioned of marble finished most smoothly,
And the border was embellished with bright gold letters:
mysterious they stood, in sentences arcane.

(I use Brian Stone's translation).

The mysterious coffin is opened. 

Gleaming and glittering in gold paint was the interior
And on the bottom lay a body of blissful appearance,

Arrayed in noble raiment, in a regal style.
In glistening gold his gown was hemmed,
With many a precious pearl placed upon it;
And a girdle of gold gripped his waist.

The corpse also has a crown and sceptre.

Neither spot nor stain sullied his garments
Which were not moulded or marked or moth-eaten,
But so bright and brilliant in their beautiful colours! - 
Yes, as if but yesterday in the Yard they'd been tailored.

And as fresh were the face and the flesh elsewhere naked - 
The ears and the hands openly showing
With rich ruddiness of the rose, and two red lips - 
As if in sound health he had suddenly slipped into sleep.

No one knows who this might be. Erkenwald is out of town, but swiftly returns. He prays through the night and in the morning says High Mass with the nobility and the Mayor of London. The sacristan describes the uncovering of the coffin. Erkenwald comments on this.

Then he turned to the tomb and talked to the corpse,
Lifting up its eyelids and letting loose these words:
'Now, corpse in this coffin, keep quiet no longer,
Since Jesus has judged that his joy shall be shown today.

'Obey therefore his bequest, I bid you on his behalf!
As he was broken on a beam when his blood was shed - 
And well you are aware of it, and we believe it too - 
Respond to what I say, and conceal nothing from us!

Lo and behold:

'Bishop,' said the body, 'your bidding is precious to me:
I would not be barred from bowing to it for both my eyes.

[...]

'How long I have lain here would be a labour to state;
No mortal mouth could make the date clear.
Almost eight hundred yeas, all but eighteen,
After Brutus in the beginning built this city -

'Three hundred and fifty-four years in fact
Before, by the Christian account, Christ was born, - 
In New Troy I was itinerant judge travelling in oyer....

So, the corpse was a judge - and a good judge too! So incorruptible, so virtuous that the people of New Troy loved him dearly and eventually buried him with the highest honours. Of course....

'No, Bishop,' said the body 'embalmed I never was,
Nor was my clothing kept immaculate by mankind's wisdom,
But by the ruler of reason who recommends justice,
And loyally loves all the laws of truth...'

But a virtuous heathen is still a heathen; ask Dante. The corpse cries out to God:

'I was missing among the many whom your misery redeemed
With the blood of your body on the black cross.
When you harrowed the pit of hell and haled them out,
All lifting you praise from Limbo, you left me there.

The Bishop promptly baptises him.

'Now may you, the high God, and your gracious mother be given praise, 
And blessed be the blissful hour she bore you.
And may you be blessed, Bishop, who banished my grief,
And relieved my soul from the loathsome gloom of her life!

[...]

With that he stopped speaking and said no more.
But suddenly, his sweet face sunk in and vanished,
And all the beauty of his body blackened like mould,
As foetid as fungus that flies up in powder.

The people of London go on their way, praising the All-Highest.

Then loftily Our Lord was praised, with uplifting of hands,
Much mourning and merriment mingled together;
Then they paced forth in procession, the people following,
And all the bells in the city bounds boomed out together.

It's tempting to picture the Corpse as some sort of gaudy Mycenaean,
but the text doesn't exactly back that. 

***

Why have I chosen to post about this? Aside from the joy of sharing a chance discovery, of course.

Well, to begin with, the tale of St Erkenwald and the corpse is, to my mind, oddly pulpy. Not in a strictly two-fisted way, but more generally. Think of the advanced morally ambiguous precursor civilisation, the talking corpse, the buried wealth....

It's devoid of either dungeons or dragons, but I think one can detect a streak of both within it. So my mind began processing variations on a theme.

Erkenwald and the Corpse as a random encounter - coming across the townsfolk discussing what to do while they await the return of the Prelate. Will Our Heroes decide to stick their oar in?

Erkenwald and the Corpse as a quest - unearthing and bringing to salvation the Holy quasi-dead of a precursor civilisation.

...as a character class or background - 'I'm not playing a paladin, I'm playing a Lawful Good Barrow-wight.'

...as a social group - what happens when hundreds of virtuous, noble and dislocated quasi-dead beings wake up and try and enter back into society?

...as a Monster - a risen warrior with enchanted weapons and armour with a burning desire for justice, and an idea several centuries old on what justice actually consists of, who can only be stopped by being Baptised.

Anyway, I hope you can see the interest in some of these scenarios. 

Faufreluches: The Audubonian Breached

As suggested last time, a sketch for a 'scum narrative' in the Faufreluches setting. 

A presumed playable structure might be a point-crawl four deep and three wide, with increasing risk the longer one stays in a region. Additions could be made to the cast list, but a dozen will serve to give an impression. 

+++

The Scene

Brachemond is a prosperous world, both from years of cultivation and from its useful position in the topography of Curtmantle space. It is the home of House Ximenzborg, who permit a variety of enclaves in the proud city of Elsinjoz. 

One such enclave is that of Tortuga-Clyne; one of the more wilfully mysterious of the great Magnate Houses. Orbiting the cold world of Audubon-5 is their home: The Moon; Algranesh - from which they dispatch wonders. Best-known of these are their remarkable timepieces: bioclocks or hyperclocks of remarkable reliability even across the gulfs of the galactic void and the dislocation of Curtmantle space. Second are the thousand strange alloys of The Moon; Algranesh, shaped into a thousand ornaments and tools all catalogued and marketed by Tortuga-Clyne. 

As notorious as their products are their prices: a ritual for any sufficiently high status exchange is that they are never paid in mere specie or anything standard or common, but only in goods, services or rights as specific and obscure as the thing or service they provide. The Mint regards them as something between a challenge, a calculated insult and a curiosity - and it is a rite of passage to sit through a high-end Tortuga-Clyne exchange. 

So an enclave was a necessity for them. Thus, the Audubonian Exchange: a net of secure warehouses, private landing grounds and assessor complexes surrounding the great cube of the Praetorium. It is an affectation of Tortuga-Clyne that they are a 'House without Servants', that their needs are adequately filled by a group of antique 'analogue robots'. That this flirts with the Regency's prohibition on machine-minds has not stopped the members of the family from bringing them up. 

Even if no servant will ever set foot in the Praetorium, that does not mean there is no need for labour in the Exchange. Supplies go into the Praetorium, rubbish comes out. Guests are escorted, directed and pampered. Diplomatic signals are collected, goods packaged, customs officials accommodated, boundaries are patrolled, motorcarriages refuelled and spies identified. 

Throughout it all, the handful of Tortuga-Clyne residents are watching from the dusty halls of the Praetroium. Stooping eccentrics and hypochondriacs, frequently veiled, they are the talk of any visitor to the Audubonian.

 +++

The Overture

But now they are the talk of all Brachemond. Last night, following a conference in the Praetorium, Ximenzborg forces moved rapidly to seize the Audubonian. No whiff of hostility had been detected before this - not so much as one look askance in the Seigneuria. Something has changed very, very quickly. Ximenzborg has acted with absolute certainty: witnesses report not just household armigers but also the Fortunate Companions - the honour guard of Dagmar Ximenzborg, conspicuous in honey-coloured battle-plate and war garlands about their brows. The lantern-jawed face of Dagmar Ximenzborg herself has been seen leading the assault on the Praetorium. 

Come the dawn Secretariat minutemen are picking through the Audubonian, cataloguing everything. There are rumours of Pastorate ministers in the red coifs of witchfinders entering the cracked cube of the Praetorium. The House of Ximenzborg is certain, so certain as to be incautious, bringing the attention of these notoriously neutral organisations to the attention of a Magnates' feud. Certain, that is, or scared. The citizenry of Elsinjoz take their cue from their masters, and make a nervous breakfast. 

But what do you know of this? Last night you had a job, perhaps even a good one. Today you don't. Today, you are tainted by association. Your quarters are on the edge of the Audubonian Exchange. It is time to leave.
  Transport out of Elsinjoz has crawled to a halt, as a cordon tightens its hold. The dress, skills and mannerisms of those even remotely associated with Tortuga-Clyne will give you away. There is one place you might make for. About a hundred and fifty miles outside of Elsinjoz is a district given over to the Stadtholders - a permanent reserve. Ximenzborg reach into this backwater will be slow and tangled in a legal quagmire. Maybe you can go to ground there. 

But the reserve is a long way off, and you have only what is about your person.... 

 +++

The Cast

Of Tortuga-Clyne

You were a....

Cellarer: take a corkscrew, jigger, apron and a decanter of spirits (technically worth quite a lot, were it not for the gilt Tortuga-Clyne symbol on it).

Chambermaid: take a trolley of assorted linens, an iron and a demijohn of caustic cleaning chemicals.

Moneychanger: you have managed to carry with you small sums in six different currencies, only two of which are approved by the Mint and only three of which anyone's ever heard of. 

Shipping Clerk: take an exquisitely minimalist tea service, an off-world carved boxwood ornament, two cans of paraffin, four preserved freshwater fish and a pocket perpetual almanac. Your warehouse had some interesting things in it.

Gardener: take a pair of comfortable kneepads, a trowel, a pruning knife and a handful of exotic blooms.

Bouncer: take a shock-glove. Get close enough and you can render unconscious anyone not wearing powered battleplate. However, you were selected for your brawn and imposing presence. 

Server: take a tray of assorted, rather soiled nibbles, a palette knife, a ThermoPad ("Keeps your Soup Simmering on the Sideboard!") and several old guest lists. 

Perimeter Guard: take a wide-band secure communicator. You'll be able to listen into Domestic Service Corps chatter, at least for a bit. Also take a sidearm and one clip of ammunition, as well as a very smart uniform with lots of well-placed badges.

Schematician Process Avatar: you know exactly how to produce high-quality canvas according to a variety of timetables with almost any workforce and the right motivation. You also have a clipboard.

Glossatrix Aide: your senior was supposed to her have finger to the pulse. You just arrived from off-world. You have a beautiful outfit, a winning smile and a stack of fancy magazines geared to a variety of Brachemondian tastes. 

Secretariat Cypher-clerk: you have trained very carefully to memorise absolute gibberish, so that someone may quote the correct keyphrase to you in order to decode it. You will remember nothing afterwards. (Also, your shorthand is amazing). Take a smart blue tabard and a string of mnemonic beads. 

Praetorium Staffer: take a dusty robe, a Tortuga-Clyne bio-abacus and a mask. You will not remove the mask.

Of Ximenzborg

The Domestic Service Corps of Ximenzborg's armed forces is divided into two commonly encountered groups. 

The Intramurales are local enforcers, usually older troopers rotated out of frontline service. They patrol their own districts, largely focusing on minor issues of civic order. They have the reputation as fiery Chauvinists in the name of Ximenzborg, happy to raise fist or club in defence of their liege-lords - and in protection of their own little sphere of influence. 
    Their matt cream box-backed motorwagons have won them the curious nickname of 'Dairymen'. It is a long-standing joke that the family, spouse, favoured paramour or crony of an Intramurale will run a liquor shop, gaming parlour or other licensed enterprise. 

The Extramurales go where required within a given region, or indeed beyond. They are dedicated long-service professionals, focused on come in several kinds.
    Extramurale Investigators appear doing standard information-gathering and detective work, lightly armed and clad in the distinctive blue-black service tunic with chest ornaments of rose-pink and dove-grey braid.
    Extramurale assault teams are not seen until they want to be. They are heavily armed and practiced in swift, powerful operations against their targets, distinctive in the irregular gaze-warping cross-hatching of their ash-grey body armour.
    Extramurale Informants are not seen. But they're definitely there.

The Fortunate Companions don't care about you. Really, they don't. They're busy going through purity exercises with the Pastorate or on honour guard duties. But if they happen to be nearby when you manage to make your presence known, their wargear lets them break through a house wall, leap over road vehicles and perform improbable judo throws with a charging aurochs.

Also: divers families of yeomen, burghers, freeholders, villeins, metics, guard dogs and mendicants.

 +++

The Places

Nearmost the Audubonian Exchange

Procyon Terrace

A street or so of large, well-built buildings, given over the years to the offices of the Pastorate - administrative offices, the Metropolite's Residence, a Seminary, a carefully inconspicuous barracks for Wardens. 
   Witchfinders walk openly in the dull dawn light; clerks and Ministers emerging from the offices have clearly slept little. No Intramurales can be seen, and it would be odd indeed for them to show their faces here. 

Fabian's Conduit

Even if the Audubonian had it's own generator, most enclaves in Elsinjoz do not. The Conduit is the great sunken channel for power cabling, the provision of water, the removal of waste. It reaches directly out of the quarter to splice into the main arteries of the city. A row of narrow, elegant trees sits over it and ornamented pillars have subtly placed entrances down into it. 
    The Conduit channels are unattended most of the night. Maintenance engineers are only now arriving. In places, the desperate or the tormented make temporary shelter.

The Diplomatic Penumbra

About the Audubonian and the other cluster of embassies and consulates are a series of little specialist shops, set in winding crescents of terraced houses.  Uniform tailors, pastry cooks, discreet little banking houses, high-end vintners, places where you can hire footmen for a banquet or dancers for a party. 
   You know people here. Everyone knows what happened. No-one will help you. None of them are badly off, but most would like a little more and all would suffer from the attention of the Extramurales.

***

Firmly within Elsinjoz

The Campanologist's Tomb

A housing district for the loyal middle-rank, dotted with small shops. Many of the streets have little piles of Tortuga-Clyne goods, carefully smashed and discarded. Young men, possibly cadets in an Ximenzborg military academy lounge in the courtyards.
    A minor house named Laagercruz owns many of the vendors here; their current paterfamilias is a younger man who is flirting with defiance of Ximenzborg. 

Muinadona Fields

Dense housing in a grid of overcast alleys, defined at one end by the low bulk of the Pastorate Hall of St Yoshifusa [EDIT: This should now be 'Celb. Yoshifusa'] and at the other by the broad field with the two opposing stages for the scrum-based ball game 'Hounds and Mastiffs'.
    The Intramurales attend here in large patrols, to prevent the possibilities of outflanking in tight alleyways. No-one here really knows or cares about goings-on uptown.

Esquiline Park

Recreation grounds, flower-beds, promenades, tea-houses and vendors of sweet-meats. A gap between wards, tended into green splendour. Statues of Ximenzborg dignitaries, Brachemond grandees and abstract personalities of the Regency's virtues dot the pathway. 
    The barracks for the Ximenzborg Foot-and-Motor Guards are nearby, and it is their custom to spend free-time in the Esquiline, generally clad in their distinctive walking-out dress. The number of them that are armed, alert and active will vary from time to time. 

***

Just beyond Elsinjoz

SW167 Livestock Processing

Where pigs, or things that might as well be called pigs, are sent. An area of vehicle parks, feed ramps and stockyards gives way to slaughterhouses, boiling vats and curing halls. 
    The best-known product of Elsinjoz are the 'void-cured' sausages. Specialised containers are packed with sausages and the assorted flavourings and preservatives and slowly mature to completion in the course of interstellar travel. 
    Occasionally, stowaways try to hide in the void-curing containers. They are generally found having choked to death in a cloud of pulverised herbs and spices. 

The Cinnabar Brakes

A long belt of dense red cane snakes round the North and East of the city, cultivated as a deliberate environmental and defensive measure. Immaculate gullies of jade-sheened concrete water it, where rangers in slow flat punts slowly patrol.
    The brakes are far too dense to move through swiftly, but discourage pursuit very effectively. You would not be the first to note this, and miserable red shacks may be found in various states of repair. The residents will have fled at your presence. 

Tollyard 5

Like a concrete tag hanging from the knot of a major junction. Vehicles are checked, permits are issued, drivers fed, maps checked, bladders emptied. 
    A small Intramurale station may be found here. Screens in the main concourse display pictures from the sacked Audubonian, and speculation about what was happening there is splenetic and rife.

***

Nigh on the Reserve

Glazed gullies

A series of shallow valleys in the landscape. Ximenzborg have found that quickest way to make use of these was to roof them over and turn them into vast greenhouses. The fresh fruit and vegetables from these find their way to maintain the working population of Elsinjoz in relative health.
    Shabby camps for the labour parties exist outside, where the inhabitants shiver when they leave the heat of the gullies. Concealment in the gullies would be difficult, and deeply uncomfortable for those unused to the conditions within.

Danstal Lodge

The Brachemond Mint has a back-country centre here, used (variously) as a retreat, a discreet locale for sensitive exchanges and an examination centre for promising candidates. The grounds are largely kept wild, with only a few trails through the mix of wood and heath being maintained. 
    Danstal Lodge is at present empty, barring a maintenance and security team. The Mint being who they are, the lodge grounds are under intense surveillance with reliable data feeds to Elsinjoz.

Iagkyrkan

A settlement connected to the main rail artery. It largely serves to act as a depot for outlying farms and freeholdings. One fabricator station, one wholesale store, one retail store, one dairy, one hostelry, one gaming parlour, one projectionist's hall, one Pastorate Hall the size of a racquet court, one admin hub and four barbers. 
    Rural Intramurales have far more leeway than their urban counterparts. The Station Chief in Iagkyrkan is intelligent, proactive and bored. 

The Reserve

Shelter? Perhaps. The Reserve is bounded by a trail of sensors, intended to track animal movements - and trespassers. The Stadtholders will be on the alert, but the reserve is a big place. A discreet life might be possible. And there are ways through and out of this province. 
    Of course, life here for any length of time will need tools of some kind; likewise some raw materials. You know where to find those, don't you?

 +++

Other Notes

• Tortuga-Clyne is the the work of Patrick Stuart, of False Machine. Among other things. He may make the briefing document on them available in time.... [EDIT: He did!]
• House Tortuga-Clyne's symbol is a tortoise carrying the sun on its back.
• House Ximenzborg's symbol is a black tower on white surrounded by drops of green-gold chrism. This is all shown within a quatrefoil frame of carmine. (Variations exists, generally replacing the tower with another object or symbol). 
• The 'scum narrative' layout comes from the sources mentioned in previous posts, though the 'Fall of the Embassy' theme comes from a few sources. The atmosphere of Ice Cold in Alex, an early chapter of Use of Weapons. And, once again, the mix of urban and rural evasion in Rogue Male.
• Though, of course, given the various parties who might club together to get out of Elsinjoz, Stagecoach might be an interesting comparison.

Conquistadors of Tartarus

There was a great wind, and darkness on the face of the sea. Then the proud ships vanished.

In 1571, the Holy League was fighting the Ottoman Empire. Their ships met in the Gulf of Patras, atop the Peloponnese. Spaniards, Savoyards, Venetians and Tuscans all fought the forces of Selim II from an assortment of ships. 

And then they didn't. They disappeared, on the cusp of victory. A great enchantment fell upon them, and  they were sent below.

Rumours abound: some say the spell was cast by a Turkish wizard. Others, that it was a disaffected Christian, a Transylvanian woman with a fixed grin. Some set the blame on a wizened Egyptian. One piece of esoteric gossip places the blame on a blank-faced boy North-East of Babylon. One utterly discredited suggestion suggests the culprit was a disgraced German academic. 

What happened to them? Where did that battling knot of warring ships end up?

They went below.

Tantalus, by Hendrick Goltzius

The ships fell. And then they slipped into the Styx. Thousands of confused, bloodthirsty knights and marines and sailors thrust into Hades. They found there sulphur and charcoal, and lead from fetters - and so there was gunpowder and shot. And there were allies among the Shades of the Dead, and the heroes of legend: Alexander and Pompey and Agamemnon.  

Ixion, by Hendrick Goltzius

 

So there are fiefdoms in the underworld, and rivalries - at first good natured, but developing swiftly. And there is struggle, against giants or beasts or furies or demons. 

Some of the Holy Alliance, driven by Renaissance ideals of the Classical World have banded together with the 'Virtuous Pagans' to create a New Rome. Yes, another one. 

Those Turks that were taken down into the Underworld have formed their own enclaves, and follow the old patterns of trade and conflict with the Christians. 

Set against both are the hardliners and restorationists, dedicated to crawling out of the shadowy pit they find themselves in. 

They all find themselves, it must be said,  in a world where Cervantes is allying with the Giants to destroy dark Satanic mills.....

From Matteo Perez D'Aleccio's Engravings of the Siege of Malta.

SO, WHAT IS THIS?

Conquistadors in the Classical Underworld of the Renaissance. Mannerist in style, muscular and elaborate. Ghost-fighting Spanish tercios supported by centaur squadrons and led by Julius Caesar. 

This guy's probably there. He got that sash for cutting one of Cerberus's Heads off. 

Alchemy and diabolism. Penitent brotherhoods in conical fire-proof robes. Jesuits arguing with the shade of Heraclitus. Achilles getting into arm-wrestling contests with landsknechts. Stray Protestants keeping very quiet. 

Imagine these guys lobbing rocks at descending Furies. 

Inspirational Media:

Dante's Inferno.

I guess some of the guys from The Faerie Queene are there. 

16th Century depictions of Classical Antiquity. 

[This post written after trying to figure out where the River Acheron was said to emerge on the west coastline of Greece, and a hazy memory of Lepanto being in the area.]

Coffin Nails: "Oh, so you like Feudal Weirdness, Solomon? How about you smoke the Entire Pack."

It should have happened the other way round.

Last Saturday I saw Part Two of Dennis Villeneuve's adaptation of Frank Herbert's Dune. I enjoyed myself, and think I shall do so if I rewatch it. Regarding adaptation, it goes deep in some places rather than shallow all over, to its credit. A decent enough picture.

However...

It goes quite hard on the minimalism. That works well for Arrakis, well for the acquisitive mania and pared-down souls of the Harkonnen, but not for everything. The first part had scenes that mystified and captivated more. The arrival of the herald (shown here) had me squinting up at the screen, examining the crowds of courtiers. What are they wearing? Why are they wearing it? What does it convey? Where did they find a carpet that long? Are those helmets functional or symbolic? See also the meme-spawning introduction of the Sarduakar. 

Spoilers of a mild kind - but the Imperial Court, as shown in Part Two, should share twin elements of both those scenes and doesn't quite. It looks a little spa-like. Which is a proper comparison with Arrakis (created by God to test the faithful) but still a little disappointing. Though there would be something interesting in an Imperial Court which wasn't full of Rococo decadence or Feudal display but full of athletic, highly religious, pleasingly-natured types. Everyone in it a superb physical, social and mental specimen, for good or ill. We've not had a really good Shaddam IV yet, in any of the three Dune screen adaptations. Not that it's necessarily a plum role, mind you. 

But before last Saturday, I had read Vladimir Sorokin's Telluria. 

This was picked as part of an ongoing reading group I tie into, so I read this in tandem with other people and their thoughts online. 

I will reproduce the back-cover summary of the above edition (New York Review Books). Written 2013, translated 2022.

Telluria is set in the future, when a devastating Holy War between Europe and Islam has succeeded in returning the world to the Middle Ages. Europe, China and Russia have all broken up. The people of the world now live in an array of little nations that are like puzzle pieces, each cultivating its own ideology or identity, a neo-feudal world of fads and feuds, in which no one power dominates. What does, however, is the appetite for the special substance tellurium. A spike of tellurium, driven into the brain by an expert hand, offers a transforming experience of death; incorrectly administered, it means death.

***

Well, what to say of this?

Telluria is deliberately lush. It colours feasts of a reborn Knights Templar, drugged indulgences by starving Bohemian artists, woodland rural scenes, entranced Russian peasants. Tailormade as a counter to Villeneuve's Dune? Not quite, but the contrast is stark. 

There is no main character: barely any ongoing narrative. There are fifty chapters, and perhaps forty-four stories. 

An early thought of mine was to compare it to Neal Stephenson's The Diamond Age. A book that hit me at just the right age, I think. There's an obvious comparison between the teaming phyles of The Diamond Age (Chinese, Japanese, Anglo-American Victorian, Boer, Zulu, Ashanti, Mormon, Maoist-Gonzoloist....) and the new feudal states of Telluria. Aside from a range of set dressing and interesting technologies bespoke crafted for the new states, a historical or geopolitical interpretation reveals itself: Stephenson writes 'after the end of history': The Diamond Age is a 1995 work, looking to the end of nation-states and the rise of distributed republics. But it sees the surpassing (in symbolic plot terms) of free-wheeling cyberpunk anarchist types and is a thematic (and possibly literal) sequel to Snow Crash. Telluria doesn't see the end of history, but does see the collapse of the great powers. There is the repeat of the Crusades, even as there is the repeat of the Boxer Rebellion. There are long stretches of Telluria discussing the fall of Russia, its post-imperial nature, its rapacity. Travel in The Diamond Age is rapid and frequent; in Telluria, rare, difficult and often reserved for the rich - cue reference to climate change, even if this is unmentioned in the text.  The Diamond Age looks beyond (from the American zenith of the mid-90s) to the collapse of states in a world of slickly manoeuvring corporations to the rebirth of state-like entities. Telluria looks beyond the final collapse of Russia, after the Tsar and after the Soviet Union (in a Russian moment of buttressed decline) to a variety of new polities.

Enough of the ripped-from-the-headlines material. That's not quite adequate for our purposes, anyway. I should also say that neither The Diamond Age nor Telluria are meant to be viewed as Eutopia or Dystopia. But I suspect Sorokin experiences higher highs and lower lows in his vision of Telluria than Stephenson for The Diamond Age. Some bits of Telluria would definitely look preferable to the present day to Chesterton or Tolkien, but by no means all of it. A deified Stalin (among other things) sees to that. 

Telluria is also thoroughly fleshly. I said lush above: there are some moments straight from Jonathan Swift, detailing the various horrors of human bodies and appetites. Orwell's essay on Gulliver's Travels is worth reading for detail and comparison. My mind also goes to Anthony Burgess - see his 'eschatological spy novel' Tremor of Intent or the lurid dystopia The Wanting Seed (that flips fascinatingly on its axis part way through). There are also some moments that seem as if they needs must come from a world that has had a time to saturate in widely available pornography, thanks to the internet. That's not that were Sorokin writing ten years earlier it would have been sexless, or even that I think Telluria too sexy for the Middle Ages! But the tone of variety, explicitness, repetition and niche appeal suggest a particular background influence. Gulliver is also worth mentioning because of the post-human appearances: Lilliputians, ogres, centaurs, cynocephaloi and more: engineered as toys or slaves. There is a thorough-going range of grotesques - all enjoying some of the same appetites and pleasures of baseline humanity. Which is as unmoored and adrift as the various polities of this new age.

Then there's Telluria itself. The shining nails. It's possible, tempting even, to see this as some sort of symbol for the Past's Inspiration (I resist the term nostalgia). Hazardous, intrusive, captivating, capable of inspiring love and courage and great deeds. That seems too simple - it is a way of accessing dreams, of achieving a fresh vision. It may be the fault of the age that so many of its dreams are so terrible. There's some portions that make it look redemptive, mind you, including some Ginsburg pastiche in the penultimate chapter than perhaps reframe earlier portions. Is the coward who 'bangs a nail into his head before battle' really an absolute coward, if his dreams of courage can be manifested? Of course, Telluria itself comes from a post-Russian republic in the Altai mountains. This is led by a remarkable caudillo, a former French soldier - and an 'Alpha Male' two short steps from being tongue-in-cheek (Cf. The Eiger Sanction?). It's difficult on to imagine that his policy with the nails is definitively good or redemptive (contra some interpretations), however red-blooded and life-affirming (a blasted slippery term) his chapter seems.

There is an awful lot of meditation and consideration - by foreigners and natives alike - of dead Russia, the scattered remnants of its culture, the appetites and drives and genius of the Slavic Soul. It doesn't actually conclude much about it, mind you. I'm almost certain missing one element or another of all this, thanks to reading this outside that cultural context. 

That said, Sorokin feels willing to dart around Europe (with some exceptions - the British Isles, Italy, only a sideways look at the Balkans and Scandinavia). There a variety of languages used in such cases to offer the proper tone for that locale. This is something of a polyglot work. There is no common language or culture - even the looser culture of international liberalism. 

Throughout there are smartphone like devices and AI assistants. It's unclear to what degree these are plugged in to something like our internet, but they certainly seem to be capable of an awful lot. Traditional literacy seems to have slipped out the window with their arrival - another link back to the Middle Ages. Or The Diamond Age. At any rate, they appear largely benign - and are unlinked to any one set of norms of cultures, which makes them a trifle more charming that the Alexas of this world. 

In the end, though, a frustrating piece. Theoretically, Telluria should be like walking through a room at the museum: Room 43, Art of The Low Countries, 16-17th C. Some of the paintings are religious scenes, some still-lifes, some group portraits - maybe there's one or two busts or cabinets with painted panels. But it should all be of a kind, share a family resemblance. I'm not sure Telluria really does always. In any case, in a gallery I can keep half an eye on other paintings as I examine one particular pieces, have an awareness of things. No such luck with Telluria: no sooner than you take your eye off it, it vanishes. 

For a contrast, I direct you to Patrick Stewart's review, to be found here.

And to this recent relevant image of his.