Epithets of Ylyoun

The city of Ylyoun could believe in any number of gods, but held with dogmatic rigidity to a scheme of the qualities of the universal man, an image so god-like as to make foreign visitors believe that there was a god behind it all along. The matter, codified by Honux Porphyrystomus, went thus: Men - Mankind - in their fullness could have ten supernal qualities, and their inverses. These qualities would be expressed by epithets, which would be appended to the names of citizens. This may have started as a practice among princes of Ylyoun, but would not remain exclusive to them. 

One might be:

• Victor [Ever-Conquering, Always-Conquering, All-Conquering]
  Which is, inverted: Never-Conquering
• Invictus [Never-Conquered, Conquered by None, Unconquered] 
  Which is, inverted: Oft-Defeated
• Opitalus, [Aid-Offering, Helper of the Needy, Bringer of Help]
  Which is, inverted: Never-Aiding, Unable to Help
• Impulsor [Impelling, Who-Drives-On]
  Which is, inverted: Who cannot Impel, Who makes no Progress, Paralysed
• Stator [Who-Stops-and-Stays, Bringer-to-a-Halt]
  Which is, inverted: Who cannot Halt
• Centumpeda [Stabilising, Establishing]
  Which is, inverted: Whose Establishments and Efforts ever Fail
• Supinalis [Overthrowing, Who-Throws-on-the-Back, Down-Tearing]
  Which is, inverted: Who may not Throw-Down
• Tigillus [That-Is-The-Prop, Upholding]
  Which is, inverted: Who-Upholds-Not, Poor-Prop
• Almus [All-Sustaining, All-Furnishing] 
  Which is, inverted: Who cannot Sustain, Who Furnishes None
• Ruminus [All-Nourishing, All-Feeding] 
  Which is, inverted: Who cannot Nourish, Who Feeds None

Thus: Thalamon Invictus, Polycene Stator, Hupon Centumpeda. The terms could be applied to foreigners: Sopespian Victor, Uvilas Tigillus. These were not strictly titles, to be possessed thereafter, but attributes, notable for a season or a spell. A soldier hailed one day as Ydumee Invictus might be killed the next day without those who hailed Ydumee feeling very foolish: the influence of Invictus, for whatever cosmic reason (or personal fault on the part of Ydumee) had clearly passed out of his life.

The epithets became symbols and artistic motifs, often personified. Due to the popularity of the epithets, scratched graffiti and other hasty markings rendered these in a number of simpler ways.

• Victor was a garland, or a figure in a garland.
  [Often shown as a broken circle of crosshatches]
• Invictus was a shield showing the sun, or a shieldbearer.
  [Often shown as a circle with a stylised sun]
• Opitalus was a jar of ointment, or a figure holding such a jar.
  [Often shown as a jar or rough cylinder]
• Impulsor was a goad, or a figure holding a goad.
  [Often shown as a straight line with a curving line emerging from one end]
• Stator was a trowel, or figure holding a trowel.
  [Often shown as a triangle with a right-angle bend emerging from the base]
• Centumpeda was a pillar, or a figure against or by a pillar.
  [Often shown as a shaft with a simple pedestal and capital]
• Supinalis was a leopard skin, or a figure wearing such a thing.
  [Often shown as a clump of small circles]
• Tigillus was a beam of timber, or a figure holding a beam of timber
  [Often shown as a horizontal, square-cut shaft]
• Almus was a cornucopia, or a figure holding a cornucopia.
  [Often shown as a curled horn]
• Ruminus was a breast or dug, a phallus, or - serving for both, as a vessel of liquid tapering to a point - an amphora; or, as it may be, a figure with any of these attributes.
  [Often shown as a V or U shape]

The scratch-marked epithets were used in a number of ways. Positively, the marks of Centumpeda and Tigillus might be stamped into brick or tile. Victor and Invictus would be cut into the backs of shields, and commanders of the armies of Ylyoun would consider it a poor omen (or, at least, indicative of poor morale and an absence of élan) if none of the scratch-marks appeared in an encampment before battle. Ruminus and Supinalis might appear joined as a coarse boast.

An erased or struck-through scratch-mark was a curse or threat. To daub a struck-through Stator on the wall of a house meant 'You will not stop me; this wall will not keep me out'. Lead discs with a defaced Ruminus were provided as a marker to curse another with infertility or impotence; if such a disc was split, it was presumably so much more malign a curse - though it would only apply if both halves could be inveigled into the target's possession. 

In later artwork showing the Epithets personified, the scratch-marks might even be incorporated as an abstract pattern - one moderately well-known example being the atrium frescos in the Treasury of Cyncybar.

Enestor of Bovrenna, it is recorded, once publicly opined that the Ylyounic Epithets constituted a set of emanations of the Creator God, the fount of all things, and that these had possibly even taken forms before men. He lost two fingers, an eye and three-quarters of his hair in the ensuing riot. The citizenry of Ylyoun are jealous of their epithets, and would not see them applied to the wrong target.

Ylyoun probably fits well with the city mentioned here. Maybe's that Ylyoun a few centuries down the line. 

The epithets used come from St Augustine of Hippo's De Civitate Dei, Book Seven. The neat assortment of the list struck me in a way like these Elementals.

A number of names have come from the Troy Book of John Lydgate (of Bury).

The Falcons that Eat Dreams

 ...I dared not speak of the beak of the King's falcon, but well I knew
how it flew through my sleep as now; a slither of wings beats on my face and
brings a hot iron to my heart....

Thomas Cranmer of Canterbury, Charles Williams

The king is troubled by bad dreams and a unquiet spirit. The usual solution has failed, due to the lack of a nearby shepherd boy with anything like the degree of necessary musical talent. But an alternative has emerged from an unseen quarter.

The falcons of the Argelephantine Mountains are said to be swiftest of fowls. A dream moves as quick as thought; a dream need follow no road or path or any track along the ground; a dream is an elusive thing, fading at the break of day. Therefore that which must pursue them must be keen-eyed, swift and possessed of the power of flight. So the king's falconer reasoned.

He set to training his birds, hitting a number of snags along the way.  Inducing them to pursue dreams was a troublesome process. One attempt, involving quantities of opium smoke, may have made the falcons of the Royal Mews see dreams, but did not do so in such a way as spurred their raptor's instincts. 

An alternative was found; the falconer found a broken-hearted young page-boy - whose dreams are transparently obvious, near to the surface of the mind and (if transient) quite potent in their composition. He was induced by alternate beatings and bribes to recount his dreams over several dead rabbits, which were used in lures to train the falcons in the pursuit and taste of dreams. 

The process needed to be repeated several times; fortunately, the court is a place where many dreams can be found, and the falconer is a strangely charismatic and masterful man who was able to suborn more than a few servants and courtiers for his purposes. In time, the falcons took to the air and began to feed on dreams themselves, removing the need for rabbits. They have developed since a certain, disturbing fixed gaze (even by the standards of raptors) and faintly purple eyes; the falconer has taken to making them new hoods, with a layer of silver leaf. They turn on a gyre woven of maidens' hair. Rune-graven bells ring at their talons.

But the falcons did exactly what they were meant to: plunging and seizing the fell dreams out of the sky at twilight. The king sleeps soundly. The falconer basks in acclaim and royal gifts. The page-boys are both beaten and bribed less. 

Of course, the applications for this kind of oneiro-accipitrarian technique have not gone unnoticed. What else is a spell, that sits in and over the mind of a wizard, but a kind of dream? Could not the falcons have some wider use?

City of Libations

You must never call it a necropolis, for it is no such thing. It is merely the city where the dead dwell. No memorials, no tombs, no graveyards are to be found there.

The dead dwell there, and have a sense of obligation to the living. At set intervals through the year, therefore, the dead make offerings to them. Shrines radiate out from the city like the spokes of a wheel, set at the end of long roads of white stone. Before the shrines are gardens and covered arbours. The shrines themselves vary in ornament and detail, but not in form. There is a broad double door at the front, facing a back wall with a shallow stage. In the left and right walls are small doors, facing one another in line with the stage. It is usual for a bench to run along every wall other than the back.

Each shrine is associated with a village or the quarter of a town. The people of the region go to their shrine, which they furnish and decorate with painted patterns, geometric motifs and local symbols. Sometimes they sweep out leaves or cobwebs, but the shrines themselves remain curiously free of decay. 

On the days when the dead make their offerings, everyone in the village is meant to come. It is known that the very ill cannot or should not, and that women heavy with child may not - no stigma is attached to this. The misfortune of illness, the laborious necessity of childbirth and the empty gap in the year's cycle is considered burden enough. The wayfarer is not compelled to come, neither are they told what day is coming. A resident outsider, as a foreign merchant, may in time become part of the ritual. 

In the early morning, the village will rise, dress and march the long miles to the shrines. There, they do two things before entering. In the gardens before the shrine are set long troughs of rainwater, with which they wash hands, face and feet. Then, they sit to eat at long benches. The food varies with season and locale - but it is generally both portable and plentiful. Often it is cooked on fires in stone braziers. Flatbreads are not uncommon. 

Aside from the usual business of the daily meal, this has two functions. Firstly, it prepares the villager for the effects of a libation. The wine of the dead is strong and it is largely considered best to have something in your belly before you imbibe. Secondly, the wine of the dead is not of the living; it is otherworldly. Therefore, it is best to face it with a ballast of the mundane within you. There is the tale - invariably passed down from the teller's grandparents - of a lean season, and men eating balls of clay before entering a shrine.

When they have eaten, all enter. Those that tire readily are seated on the benches; most stand. The main door is closed and the shrine is lit only from high windows. after some time, the side doors open and the dead enter. A prominent villager stands nearest the stage, holding a large bowl. Unseen, the dead cross the stage, and moisture is seen condensing on the bowl. Eventually, the last of the dead passes by. In local tradition, this may be the newly departed, the oldest in recollection, the famously tardy, the notably dutiful or something else entirely. The bowl is now full and the side doors close.

Within the bowl is a strong, pallid wine. The taste has been compared to plum brandy. Villagers each extract a small travel cup from their clothing and advance to take a measure. Slowly or quickly, they drink and leave. It is consider well-mannered to pause briefly outside and see how your companions are doing, but this is not a place for conversation. The last out will close the doors and clear any remnants from the garden.

Curiosity is expected of men, and this includes villagers. It is quite common for a youth to walk a ways down the white stone road where the dead walk - but not generally on the day of a libation. Some eventually become brave enough to enter the city itself. 

Those who do report back on two things. Firstly, the white stone which makes up the roads is used for the houses as well. Secondly, the lack of any of the patterning and motifs that artisans would employ in houses or clothes or other worked items in the village. Third, the half-silence that moves in a slow bubble around them as they pass through the courts of the city. Fourth, the cypherbirds. Cypherbirds are seen outside of the city as well, but clearly make the city their home. From a distance they appear to be peafowl of a sort of drab cream colour. Those who actually make into the city have seen them fan open their tailfeathers, displaying inscrutable symbols on a pallid screen. No-one agrees quite what these mean; to the bold, they are pictograms of courage and strength - to the splenetic, they show spite and insolence. To the fearful, they confirm each contradictory fear.*

Those that go the deepest into the city report a taller building with three arched entrances at the front. No light can be seen from within these, nor any sign of a door or side passage. Some have thought this a vault; some a great meeting hall, some a temple. Faded glyphs cover the outside, which may be the same as those on the cypherbirds. 

Curiosity is expected of men, and this includes those not from the villages. Bandits, treasure hunters and bravos have long assumed that the city of libations has within it fabulous wealth. So, they attempt to cross the walls, avoiding the open roads of white stone and the shrines. They find themselves confronted by dense walls of cut thorn, rather like those reported on the savannah. However, these thorn branches appear to be petrified.  

If they can safely cross these, they must climb the walls, and then they must navigate a crowded cityscape of toughly-built homes and high walls. Further thorn clumps are found within. They will be followed - by the cries of cypherbirds, by swarms of insects, by dull roaring that may or may not be the wind, by footprints - and by the open eyes of the dead. 

You must never call it a necropolis, and tomb raiders are unwelcome. 

*   'To the melancholy this sound is melancholy and to the hysterical it is hysterical. To me it has always sounded like a cheer for an invisible parade.'
Flannery O'Connor writing in 'The King of the Birds' on the peacock. 

Humanity's Elementals: Necessary for the Life of Men

The principal things for the whole use of man's life are water, fire, iron, and salt, flour of wheat, honey, milk, and the blood of the grape, and oil, and clothing.

Ecclesiasticus 39.26, Authorised Version*. 

(The Book of Ecclesiasticus is to be found in the Apocrypha and is also known as the Wisdom of Jesus the Son of Sirach.)

***

Water

Appearance Not the water of the deeps, not water of the torrent, not the water of the hillside spring, not the water of the life-giving rain. Man's water. Five legs, made of pipes, bottles, jars and jugs support a large sphere of water. Within the sphere is a curious face, with the fluid features of a brush-and-ink work.

Assorted Sense Data Strong light through the elemental's body casts a strange glimmering pattern on the ground. It has a voice like water chugging through a borehole. 

The Subtly Supernatural Wake this Elemental can Produce A scatter of droplets - either refreshingly cool or startlingly cold.

Disposition Serious-minded, slow-moving, lucid.

Threats and Assorted Offensive Capabilities Kicks from five legs, jets of high-pressure water.

Gifts the Elemental may Offer A small stone carved with the elemental's face. This can purify a tun of water.

Trophies gained Once the Elemental is Dispelled Five small stones that will each reduce a tun of water to a fine grey powder.

Fire

Appearance Not the wild fire, not the elemental fire, not the sorcerous fire, not the heavenly fire. Man's fire. Picture a being like a goat. This goat has a stone hearth for a torso, two fire pots for protruding eyes, two candelabra for horns, a clay oil lamp for a brief tail. A mouth of curiously unconsumed hot coals. Each leg is an iron poker, terminating in a human hand made of four fire-strikers and a pointed flint thumb.

Sense Data Walking over stone the elemental makes little clicks. A small trail of smoke follows the elemental, growing thicker in moments of conflict or stress. The elemental speaks in the voice of a furnace. A faintly caprine furnace.

Wake A startled elemental can create a great cloud of sparks. 

Disposition Hungry - ravenous, even - but curiously affectionate, not to say clingy. 

Threats Flame, Iron-shod knees, two big horns, sparks, four sharp thumbs, a mouthful of burning coals.

Gifts The elemental coughs up an ember. This is perpetually just shy of bursting into flame, needing only a good strong puff and may be extinguished only by magic. Storing it? That's your problem. 

Trophies Twelve of said embers, but they all hate you.

Iron

Appearance A tottering pile of iron plates, gathered around a handful of iron spits that rise up like a thick neck. About this, two overlapping slopes of plates descend to two ingot-like feet. Two sets of tongs protrude from left and right about the midriff.

Sense Data A voice like tuneless chimes, as of metal on metal. Thumping heavy footsteps.

Wake A strange cold sensation in the air, and a subtle oiliness.

Disposition Stubborn, inflexible, cold and reassuringly firm.
[Iron and Salt were once lovers. Or siblings, possibly twins. It's a little difficult to tell. They had an affair of alarming torridity and concerning intensity. Or a family quarrel over the supramundane equivalent of father's pocket watch. Either way, whenever Iron encounters Salt, the elemental goes a strange reddish-brown colour.]

Threats An iron-hard body. If provoked, the elemental can also make a noise like all the hammers of the Nibelungs, except so loud you can feel it like the mother of all migraines. 

Gifts The elemental gives little, but will reshape metal implements as desired. The elemental can also get just about any Fairy junior to Oberon to shove off.  

Trophies As much iron as you can carry.

Salt

Appearance Imagine the armour of a hoplite, but make it white, crystalline and translucent. Fill it with rock salt in the shape of a department store mannequin. 

Sense Data A soft white trail on the floor. A briny scent in the air. A voice like somebody taking rasping, softly crunching steps in fresh snow.

Wake Out of the air, something begins clinging to you, coating you, causing little tensions on your skin.

Disposition Melancholy but interesting. Occasionally florid, never insipid. 
[Iron and Salt were once lovers. Or siblings, possibly twins. It's a little difficult to tell. They had an affair of alarming torridity and concerning intensity. Or a family quarrel over the supramundane equivalent of father's pocket watch. Either way, whenever Salt encounters Iron, the elemental becomes highly flakey.]

Threats Ever been in a sandstorm that hated you? Plus two salty fists.

Gifts  The elemental can also get just about any fell spirit junior to Mammon to shove off.

Trophies A pile of white powder. If you shove your hand it, it comes out covered in razor-sharp flakes. They will not cut you, and they will not come off readily.

Flour of Wheat

Appearance Shaped as a human, wearing a skirt or apron that reaches to cover the feet. The wedge of the lower body appears to practically hover over the ground. The surface of the elemental's body is dusted in fine flour: if you wipe this away, it reveals a body of plain dough. Cutting into the body reveals a sticky, over-watered dough. Much like hair, a golden sheaf of wheat sprouts from the elemental's head. A set of facial features and muscle-mimicing details are formed by scores much like the top of a country loaf.

Sense Data If burnt by sorcerous fire, the elemental may begin to cook and give off the smell of fresh bread. The speech of the elemental is like wind through a wheat field.  Divots in the body of the elemental are easily made and easily smoothed out. 

Wake The flour on the surface of the elemental can be shaken into a concealing cloud. 

Disposition Placid as a pig; graceful as a deer.

Threats Two big doughy fists. An engulfing body. 

Gifts A pie-crust containing fine white flour. The flour may be used to create high-end baked goods; the pie-crust may be refilled with something more interesting to create a delicious pie. 

Trophies The flesh of the elemental taken without permission is a tasteless toxic paste.

Honey

Appearance A camel, the colour of brass, bearing on its back in the place of humps a hive and a large clay pot. The camel's eyes and hooves are hexagonal. 

Sense Data A tuneful but inescapable buzzing. A sweet scent on the air. The voice of the elemental has a certain sweet clarity.

Wake A sudden swarm of bees.

Disposition Charming, Optimistic.

Threats Hooves, angry and focused bees. 

Gifts A wax ampoule containing honey: a taste will sate any human hunger, a dressing of it will cure most wounds.

Trophies A vast pot of honey - which will attract ten times the amount of flies even the sweetest vinegar does.

Milk

Appearance A floating vesica piscis or pointed oval, apparently made of a hundred pats of butter shaped like rose petals. Milk flows perpetually from a spot near the centre. 

Sense Data The sound of dripping. The voice of the elemental is smooth, its diction unhurried.  

Wake You have the horrible, almost overwhelming sensation that something is wrong and it will not be fixed. 

Disposition Irritable, but mercurial. The mood will not last. 

Threats A bombardment of cream. Lots of it. Enough to clot in your throat. 

Gifts How much milk would you like?

Trophies A puddle of clarified butter, contaminated with whatever detritus was on the floor at the time. This makes an excellent - nigh-on supernaturally effective - grease.

Blood of the Grape

Appearance A voluptuous but androgynous humanoid form, the colour of red wine. It wears a crown of vines and had green eyes. Cutting into the body spills wine: if this is not drunk, it clots into a black scab (which tastes strongly of raisins).

Sense Data Songs pass the elementals lips at almost all times. It has a deep-throated voice. 

Wake The smell of brandy worms into your nostrils, bringing you to the point of giddiness.

Disposition A jovial host, by turns caring and attentive or wildly exuberant.

Threats Intoxication, the possibility of choking on wine, two fists each with the weight of a hogshead behind them.

Gifts The elemental sets a silver spigot into a finger tip and pours out some of the best claret you've ever drunk. 

Trophies A skeleton, soaked in what appears to be Malmsey. It's even in the marrow.

Oil

Appearance A hooded figure, with numerous folds in the cloth of its voluminous garment. The folds have the static quality of sculpture. The hood and cloak have the colour of dull gold. The cloak seems to cling at the ground. 

Sense Data Glistening traces of oil on plant matter where the elemental has passed. The voice of the elemental hisses and fizzes like oil in the skillet. 

Wake The air becomes startling humid. Movement in armour becomes tiresome. 

Disposition Ingratiating at first, but easily nettled. 

Threats The floor below you becomes suddenly frictionless. Your sword-hand coated in a glaze of lard, the pages of your grimoire stuck together. Life becomes very difficult, even before your mouth is stopped by a glistening hand. 

Gifts An unguent that comforts and speeds the healing of a great many wounds and infections. 

Trophies A vast tarpaulin - that is, an Oilskin.  

Clothing

Appearance As an octopus made of several bolts of cloth knotted together into a central mass which is bounded about with a broad leather belt. 

Sense Data An octopus made of cloth makes very little noise unless it wishes to. Naturally, the only odour from the cloth is a slight smell of cedar shavings. It has a voice like a shuttle being drawn through a loom. 

Wake The feeling of a dozen loose threads in your clothes, tickling and twining in inconvenient places. It becomes difficult to concentrate.

Disposition Fussy, detail-oriented, perfectionist. 

Threats Eight ensnaring tentacles and a great resilient head with which to butt.

Gifts A beautiful and nearly indestructible ribbon. 

Trophies Eight bolts of fine but fragile cloth, prone to ripping. 

***

*Cf. Douay-Rheims: The principal things necessary for the life of men, are water, fire, and iron, salt, milk, and bread of flour, and honey, and the cluster of the grape, and oil, and clothing
and the Revised Standard Version: Basic to all the needs of man's life are water and fire and iron and salt and wheat flour and milk and honey, the blood of the grape, and oil and clothing. I think the Authorised Version has the most fantastic possibilities with that pairing of iron and salt, and the 'principal things... of man's life' phrase. 

Six Strange Rivers

All these rivers resemble and behave like water. Most of the time. Sometimes it's murky water, luminescent water, weed-choked water, &c, but still water. Each river has a single course: there are no or few tributaries. Some may have gates, dams, cataracts and the like.

The Styx*

Flows Into: The Underworld.

Is the River of: Unbreakable Vows, Supernatural Boundaries.

One may cross it or travel it by means of: A dark, low, boat.

Piloted by: A grim, greasy, bearded ferryman.** 

At a charge of: A Coin, held in the mouth.

A Child dipped in the River: becomes Invulnerable.

Charon and Psyche, 1883, John Stanhope

The Bhallduin 

Flows Into: The Celestial Realm.

Is the River of: The Course of the Sun, Day and Night.

One may cross it or travel it by means of: A floating palace of mirrors and mosaics.

Piloted by: The Signs of the Zodiac, commanded by a Solar Hierophant.

At a charge of: The recitation of a litany from approved scripture.

A Child dipped in the River: Will never suffer the loss of his or her senses, other than by outright mutilation.

The Izonn

Flows Into: The Realm of the Forms.

Is the River of: Supernal Order.

One may cross it on: A giant bearded snake, with the voice of every single one of your schoolteachers speaking at once.

Piloted by: The snake decides where to go.

At a charge of: You must argue why you should get to ride the Snake in a dialogue with the Snake. 

A Child dipped in the River: Will always know what time it is, where they are and what is around them.

The Novar

Flows Into: The Prelapsarian Garden.

Is the River of: New Souls, the UnBorn, Virgil's Fourth Ecologue

One may cross it on: A canopied litter wreathed with plants carried by muscular tritons.

Piloted by: a pearl-white Pelican perched on the front of the litter.

At a charge of: One pomegranate per triton. (It is considered good manners to offer the pelican a fish.)

A Child dipped in the River: will be 'bonny and blithe and good and gay'.

The Thyrss

Flows Into: The Land of Cockaigne.

Is the River of: Intoxication, Second Helpings.

One may cross it on: A polychrome barge with numerous pavilions.

Piloted by: A mob of Maenads.

At a charge of: All the booze on your person.

A Child dipped in the River: will never suffer a hangover, or gout, or indigestion, or food poisoning.

The Sennus

Flows Into: The Dying Earth, the Age of Rust, the Æon of the Red Sun, the Slow Ragnarok.

Is the River of: Bitter Resolve, Leaden Darkness.

One may cross it on: A floating chariot decorated with Baroque statuettes pulled by moth-eaten mer-lions.

Piloted by: An old wounded soldier in a worn uniform.

At a charge of: A small bowl of your blood, mixed with myrrh.

A Child dipped in the River: will only die in battle.

The Eilex

Flows Into: The Blessed Lake and the Isle of Crowns.

Is the River of: Healing Rest, Useful Dreams.

One may cross it on: A carrack with an elaborate crenellated fo'c's'le. 

Piloted by: Twenty Assorted Medieval Kings under the command of a beautiful Damsel.

At a charge of: You must throw away all your weapons. Especially the magical ones.

A Child dipped in the River: will become a judge, a priest or a captain - if perhaps not literally, and in accordance with the circumstances they grow up in. 

***

You may decide for yourself what surrounds the river, and where in the realms of men it emerges. 

The cost of the ferryman's fee may be low, but actually making it as far as the ferry is hard. 

It is assumed that none of the various ferrymen below will drop you into the river accidentally.

This post is rather in the vein of Rheingold, et al - but somewhat less focused. 

* There's a bit of both Acheron and Styx here, admittedly. 

**Aeniad, 6.300

Riddles and Housekeeping in the Red Chamber

I have been reading the first volume of Cao Xueqin's 1760 novel The Story of the Stone, better known perhaps as The Dream of the Red Chamber. The translation is by David Hawkes, first published in 1973. It's one of the great classics of Chinese literature and a novel of manners; it even has its own field of study: Redology.

Anyway, Chapter 22 has a number of riddles, told as part of a game. I shall list these, with answers below under the picture - they all have fairly mundane answers, but Hawkes's translation, and the anthropomorphism of the riddles mean they could be used to describe divine messengers or elementals or other spirits.

1. My Body's square
   Iron-hard am I.
   I speak no word,
   But words supply.
   [A useful object.]


2. At my coming the devils turn pallid with wonder
   My body's all folds and my voice is like thunder.
   When, alarmed by the sound of my thunderous crash,
   You look round, I have already turned into ash.
   [An object of amusement.]


3. Man's works and heaven's laws I execute,
   Without heaven's laws my workings bear no fruit.
   Why am I agitated all day long?
   For fear my calculations may be wrong.
   [A useful object.]


4. In spring the little boys stand up and stare
   To see me ride so proudly in the air.
   My strength all goes when once the bond is parted,
   And on the wind I drift off broken-hearted.
   [An object of amusement.]


5. At court levée my smoke is in your sleeve:
   Music and beds to other sorts I leave.
   With me, at dawn you need no watchman's cry,
   At night, no maid to bring a fresh supply.
   My head burns through the night and through the day,
   And year by year my heart consumes away.
   The precious moments I would have you spare,
   But come fair, foul, or fine, I do not care.
   [A useful object.]


6. My 'eyes' cannot see and I'm hollow inside,
   When the lotuses surface I'll be by your side.
   When the autumn leaves fall I'll bid you adieu,
   For our marriage must end when summer is through.
   [A useful object.]

1. An inkstone.
2. A firework.
3. An abacus.
4. A kite.
5. An incense-clock.
6. A 'bamboo wife' - that is, one of 'those wickerwork cylinders which are put between the bedclothes in summertime to make them cooler'.

***

A brief piece of housekeeping for the blog - there's a number of posts I've written, on city or a region or a location, some moderately popular but without being tied to any given setting in particular and (generally) written to be quite self-contained. These are now under the label Translucent Polities, which seemed correct. Browse at your leisure.

The Sedentary Catacombs

When we say that the funerary customs of Assar-Ytite were egalitarian, it is important to clarify what we mean. Foreigners, even long resident respected merchants and publicly-feted ambassadors who died in that city would be required to pay for their own funerals and monuments in the cramped strip of ground set aside for that purpose. Likewise, the unransomed war captives who raised the great walls of the city and quarried the four reservoirs in the Houndstooth Hills - and ended their days in slit trenches. The cadaver of the executed criminal was thrown into a dedicated section of the city's midden, as was the criminal who died in the course of corporal punishment: the gods had clearly decided that the justice of men was insufficient for them. 

However, every burgher of the city, every cultivator, every weaver, every child-rearer, every coppersmith, every scribe, every priest and oracle, every citizen-soldier and captain of the host - every hereditary magistrate and anointed clansman was buried in the same place. 

If, that is, they could be. There were separate rites for the shipwrecked, the unreturned traveller, the devoured, the unrecovered war dead, the sorcerously befouled. These ceremonies were similar in form to those across the whole South-West: centred on the temple, formed of tearful addresses to the psychopomps and gods of the underworld, accompanied by sacrifices, dances and dirges. One famous chronicler of the last century has asserted that these are of a foreign origin - developed only with the growth of trade in the region. However, it is unlikely that so highly specific and focused a set of customs would be devoid of practices for when citizens died away from Assar-Ytite, even if they did come to be influenced by neighbouring beliefs. 

The dead of Assar-Ytite were buried in catacombs of the city: long tunnels dug into the rock, running under the tiled houses and arcaded plazas into the wilderness. Each corpse was dressed and placed on a throne - throne after throne stretching on either side of the long corridors.

After its customs, the city provided the burial place. The family (or the coffers of the season's magistrate) provided the throne. Naturally, thrones differed. Brick thrones were the norm for the poorest. Glazed tiles patterned the visible sections of the middle ranks. Carved stone was for those who could afford it. Panels of beaten metal were a common ornament on thrones of any rank, and almost every throne will bear a clay tablet with the name and rank of the dead. Further details of the deceased's life and prayers to the gods of the afterlife were seen only one the thrones of the upper ranks (or professional scribes). 

Curiously, plaster and paint - despite being commonly found in the temple precincts and clan quarters of Assar-Ytite - were not employed in the catacombs. 

The thrones of dead infants are the same size as those of adults. All but the smallest children would be placed sitting just as an adult, perhaps set in place by cloth-wrapped wooden blocks. The greater space accorded this offers on the body of the throne is typically given to a greater number of prayer tablets for the departed. 

Some thrones of unusual form have been seen in the catacombs: the anchorite oracle Yezerit was buried in an enclosed booth of common brick, with a ornamental hatch. Archoptala, the greatest astrologer of her century, who led the fifth calendrical revisions, was buried on a throne with a baldachin studded with quartz pins showing the constellations. The Adamant Twenty who died at Esaul Pass were buried together on a replica barracks bench, with their arms on the wall behind them and clutching the bowl for the evening rations in their hands. At one end of the bench was set the tall issue jug for barleywine.

The dead within the catacombs tend to be dressed as they were in life. There were exceptions: wounds are very deliberately covered by folds of cloth or daubs of pale clay. Fallen soldiers tend to be dressed not in real armour,  but carefully painted and fitted clay replica armour: exceptions are only found among the heroic or very wealthy dead. The manufacture of mock-armour seems to have been a good trade in Assar-Ytite. 

Unlike the reservoirs, the catacombs were dug out only by the labour of citizens. Tunnels ran far ahead of the number of thrones - ensuring that the work of the diggers did not disturb the dead - or allowing, perhaps, for the arrival of many new residents at once. 

Unsurprisingly, it was the young and spry who dug the tunnels, carried away the rubble and paved the floors with the slight slope and necessary drainage tunnel. It was not necessary for a citizen over their majority to serve the Year Given to the Dead in one chunk; indeed, it was considered positively outré to do so. There is even a case mentioned in surviving records of a magistrate issuing declarations of censure against a band of young men of the same age who worked in the tunnels all at the same time, chattering and chanting work-songs as if they were working at any common task. 

The Year Given to the Dead also allowed for recruitment to the societies of guardians, surveyors and guides of the tunnels. Different extended clan groups would, at a set phase of the moon, be allowed access to the catacombs to say prayers for the recently departed or maintain the tombs of famed ancestors. Entrances were flanked by images of the weeping serpent-goat Wahv, but that appears to have been the only formal signage within the tunnels. 

In the life of the city, there is no evidence of the catacombs being used as a shelter, or a sewer, or a smuggling route. The extramural refuse dumps beyond the Bitumen Yards show many centuries of eager use and a paved road leading to them, attesting to a robust waste removal service. 

There are no written accounts of the theft of grave goods, and, equally, there are no written accounts of the dead protecting their treasures, nor of dedicated sentries. 

Whether this means that such thefts did not occur, or that someone was very good at protecting the catacombs is, at present, unclear. 

***

"What if Conan skeleton but everyone?"

 

Wilderness of Taroc

The Wilderness of Taroc: maybe it's over the mountains, maybe it's behind the hedgerow. Maybe you reach it on the wings of dragons, maybe you simply step through a door. However you get to it, the wilderness is divided into four parts.

The Forest of Swords

Acre upon acre of sabres, falchions, rapiers and gladii. Each taller than a man, and at least as broad. They stand point-down in the earth. Each sits at a slightly different angle. Material blown on the wind drifts into them: it might stick to the flat of the blade, or snag on the hilt, or get sliced by the sharp edge. Moss and lichen cover some surfaces, and vines link the hilts, covering the ornaments. Some say that the hilts become brighter and more decorative in Spring and Summer. Others say that the summer light merely shows the hilts off to better advantage.

The Swords do not need oiling or sharpening. They only appear to start rusting after they have been up- rooted. 

Do not travel the Forest after heavy rains. Soil erosion means that the top-heavy swords can fall unpredictably. It would be like walking through a thousand hair-trigger guillotines. Do not travel the Forest during a Thunderstorm. 

The Chalice Mountains

At a sufficiently large and well-resourced party, coupe glasses may be stacked in a pyramid and sparkling wine poured to fill and overflow the bowl of each glass, filling each with some of the bubbling wine. 

Whatever made these mountains was clearly a very large and very well-supplied party. Deep goblets stack one on another until they reach higher than the trees, higher than Church spires, higher than the flight of small birds. Thicker-stemmed than the glasses above and made of darker materials, no light penetrates the piles of cups. 

Not every cup is set neatly upright, but enough remain set so that the bowl of the cup catches material - rainwater, snow, seeds, guano. Birds may nest in them. Plant life has developed, drooping great beards of lichen from cliff edges. Accordingly, those climbing these mountains are recommended to wear waterproof boots and heavy waterproof gloves - thrusting your hand into cold puddles over and over gets rather wearing after a while.

Most cups, if extracted from the mountainside, are no larger than most ornamental vessel you may might encounter. However, there are rumours of vast, lake-sized cups set high in the mountains like gilt tarns. 

The Desert of Coins

There's gold in them there hills. And nothing else. Piled in glittering dunes are a myriad myriad coins - of a variety of different sizes, but all seemingly the product of the same mint, with similar eroded features - which don't quite correspond to the legal tender of any state you ever recall having heard of. 

There is no shelter unless you can melt or stick coins together. There is nothing to eat. Sometimes at dawn and dusk you can find water condensing on the heads or tails of coins. At noon everything stinks of hot metal.

Also, the sun in the Desert of Coins looks like one of these smug bastards.

If you want to travel the Desert of Coins, bring sun goggles. Watch your footing - coin-dunes can shift unpredictably. Even a flat surface can be treacherously smooth. You'll need a big baggage train. You can see where others have been, where the piles of dried dung provide some of the few places where little plants grow (it is considered good form to create a midden and perhaps one day encourage vegetation). 

It is possible that first-timers (when they are finally deep enough into the Desert to lose sight of the border) will suffer the Ecstasy of Gold. 

The Plain of Clubs

There is nothing between you and the horizon. There is the wind and the sun and the open sky. Perhaps you hear the cry of a hawk. But look down: high as your knee, for miles in each direction are row upon row of knobbly wooden clubs. If you push one, they are as light as a blade of grass, but if one hits you, it will at least bruise. As you watch, they sway in the wind. There is a dull knocking as they strike one another.

Travellers on the Plain of Clubs must use robust stilts, or wear heavy leg armour. Taking a horse or a draught animal into the plain is considered either cruel or very desperate. Some have designed transports with a heavy roller in front, pushed by patient oxen, but this is a slow means of passage for the wagons behind. Still, you won't go short of firewood.

***

Made with reference to these two recent posts over on False Machine. And bearing in mind that musing about the practicalities of turning the world to one substance is scarcely new.

If all the world were Paper,

And all the Sea were Inke;

If all the Trees were bread and cheese,

How should we do for drinke ?

If all the World were sand'o,

Oh then what should we lack'o;

If as they say there were no clay,

How should we take Tobacco ?

If all our vessels ran'a,

If none but had a crack'a;

If Spanish Apes eat all the Grapes,

How should we do for Sack'a ?

If Fryers had no bald pates,

Nor Nuns had no dark Cloysters,

If all the Seas were Beans and Pease,

How should we do for Oysters ?

If there had been no projects,

Nor none that did great wrongs;

If Fidlers shall turne players all,

How should we do for songs ?

If all things were eternall,

And nothing their end bringing;

If this should be, then how should we,

Here make an end of singing ?

Eight Pious Arachnids

1. During the years of strife, the Prophet Erimon was in the service of Argoz, High Prince of all Letarmine. When Erimon failed to obey Argoz in a matter of the interpretation of his dreams, he threw Erimon into a dark stone pit which contained giant spiders, there to be devoured. The seal of Argoz was placed over the pit, and Erimon was left there. But Erimon despaired not, and a veil of light was placed about him, and he sang of the Highest Heavens. When Argoz came to re-open the pit, he was shocked to see Erimon alive and well; he had even taught the spiders to make gestures of blessing, and to stamp their feet as if they were at the Festival of Palm Fronds. Great was the astonishment and sorrow of the High Prince!
2. The blessed hermit St Arilan is said to have cast aside his possessions to take up a life of prayer and contemplation, living in peace with every beast of the earth and bird that steps upon the winds. However, the Hagiographies speak of him dressed in plain robes, for in the land of Rhoopagno the winters can be cold indeed. Rhoopagno tradition holds that these robes were woven for St Arilan by spiders that visited him in his cave; however, research by ecclesiastically-approved natural philosophers has demonstrated that this would be quite impossible.
      It is far more likely that the spiders provided thread with which the Saint was able to sew together the bolts of cloth given to him by the charity of the region. This does not stop tailors and weavers in Rhoopagno from dressing up as spiders on the Eve of St Arilan. Moreover, it is a custom of the region that every bobbin should have carved into one end an eight-legged image of a spider.
3. The War of the Chalcedony Kings kept the pious daughters of the sage Octesian from maintaining his tomb shrine in a proper fashion. The tomb was of course complete, but the Ten-Day Seal had not yet been set in place. They were driven from their lands under the Caustic Edicts. However, when finally peace settled again over the land, they were able to return. They rejoiced, but were saddened that the tomb was still unsealed: creeping things could have entered the tomb, and flies - which, as any reputable sage will tell you, are merely a curdling of the Widdershins Force. 
      Yet when they reached the tomb, they found that no fly - neither the gadfly, nor the horsefly, nor the cranefly - had entered that place. All had been blocked by the webs of a benevolent spider - who was, through sad circumstance, better able to manifest the virtues of filial piety than the daughters of Octesian.
4. By the accounts given in the Hymns of Drinian, the 11th Avatar of the Preserving Sovereign appeared on the Fifth Day of the Sixth Month, mounted on a heavenly steed. The steed took the form of a great spider of marble countenance, but four of its legs terminated in gold hoofs, like the hoofs of a mountain goat, and four of its legs terminated in bronze talons, like the talons of a forest hawk. Each of its eyes had the colour of a flawless pearl; the chittering of its mouthparts was like the temple sistrum and it span indigo silk to cover the body of the Avatar. This spider could run faster than the pheasant-flighted arrows shot by the Passarid Mothers and of all earthly foods would eat only dates and scallions.
5. One summer month the hero-sage Mavramorn began a series of extreme ascetic exercises, designed to purify her soul. She threw down bow and spear, and retreated to the woods. She forsook the company of all comely youths and sweet-mouthed singers, deigning not to even look upon them. Even when not in a period of fasting, she would pluck a berry from a bush and then wait an hour and a half before consuming it. Her days were spent in prayer and meditation. 
      Beyond the woods were she did this, however, demons descended from the mountains, riding upon war-wagons pulled by tusked swine. Mavramorn knew of their presence, for her eyes saw clearly after her asceticisms. But she was bound to remain in the woods. Then, one afternoon as she sat in contemplation under a tamarind tree, a spider with its own notions of defence policy bit her upon the tricep. Mavramorn let out a highly unpleasant oath and batted at it. Having spoiled the effect of her ascetic exercises she sighed, sorrowing exceedingly, and went to retrieve her bow and spear.
6. The maiden Prismia dwelt upon the farm of her father, a heathen. Her wish was to enter into a convent, yet her father wished her to make an advantageous marriage to the son of another heathen landowner. She sighed at this, and her sighs were lifted by a passing angel to the ear of the Pancrator. The Pancrator then caused a message to be taken to a certain spider in the barn of Prismia's father. One morning when Prismia woke, she saw that the spider had written the first two-thirds of the Sistine Creed in a vast web in the barn door. Her father was baffled, enraged, and then bowed to the inevitable.
7. When Uvilas was driven from the city of Miraze, he fled to the rocks of Belisar, there to shelter among the jagged boulders. He reached the rocks and found a place to lay his head but was stricken by a fever and lay among the boulders for a month. No food had he, and only dew to quench his thirst. Yet spiders among the rocks came and found him stretched out and still and fed him on certain roots and berries and nourishing gums of that region. Therefore, no man of wisdom and respect goes among the rocks of Belisar, in memory of the sustenance given to Uvilas. 
8. A bravo of the city of Glozellea was lounging near the Plaza of Fractured Stars. He spotted a fair maiden of sound health and radiant beauty passing by, and called out to her "Fair One! One whose hair falls like blossom! Tarry a short while. I have a sack of newly-roasted beans, but none to prepare mocha for me. Use those long-fingered hands, quite devoid of imprisoning rings, to prepare a brew of pleasure for us both!"
      The maiden hissed at him like an irritated cat, and directed her chaperon to make the signs of scorn and vexation towards him. Puzzled, the bravo slumped against a wall. A spider descended from a web and began to laugh at him "Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!"
      "Why do you mock me so?" said the young man. "Surely you know I could crush you beneath a boot-heel."
     "I merely thought," said the spider "that when my kind mate, the man has his head bitten clean off. It struck me as funny that you run so fast into the arms of your doom. Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!"
     The bravo, hearing this, resolved to live a healthier and more circumspect life.

We use Every Part of the Dragon

So, you've killed yourself a dragon (Ahem). Or maybe it's a sphinx. Now, you are going to want to do something with the carcass. It is well known what happens when you roast a dragon's heart, but what about the rest of it?

Sigurd sucks his burnt thumb, while Reginn sleeps. 
Carvings from the Hylestad Stave Church, photographs by Wikipedia.

Conditions: you must be the first person to taste of the dragon's heart (or other organ). If a beast larger than an ear of wheat tastes even a little of it before you do, they gain the powers mentioned below. Only one person may gain such powers from the organ in question. It must be roasted over an open fire. 

No part of a dragon prepared thus is actively poisonous, but the consumption of large quantities of dragon will cause severe (not to say fiery) indigestion.

You roast and eat....	You can now...	You might learn about...	But generally in the form of....
The Dragon's Heart	Understand the speech of the birds	Threats to your life	A smooth, unhurried radio newsreader
The Dragon's Lungs	Understand the voices of the wind	Adverse weather conditions	Hymns with too many verses
The Dragon's Liver	Understand the distant booming of the earth and rocks	Civil engineering	Blank verse
The Dragon's Stomach	Understand the speech of mammals	Threats to your sanity	A precisely-worded sermon
The Dragon's Kidneys	Understand the songs of the rivers and streams	Direct routes downhill	Patter songs
The Dragon's Intestines	Understand the creaking chorus of the trees	Threats to the environment	A local government meeting
The Dragon's Brain	Understand the speech of Dragons	Gold prices	Light opera
The Dragon's Spleen	Understand the eternal dialogue of fish	Shipwrecks	Sardonic, quip-heavy remarks
The Dragon's Pancreas	Understand the sibilant speech of reptiles	Sources of information and fresh fruit	Compact, smug, maxims
The Dragon's Sparkgland	Understand the dry monologue of flame	Things around the fire that you can't see	A theatre review

The Gods do not smile upon mixed grills or kebabs. You eat one organ at a time. Do not add any sauces or seasoning to the cooked organ, other than perhaps a little salt. 

It is generally thought that anyone who can accomplish the feat of slaying a dragon will be able to procure a suitable set of butcher's knives to joint the beast with relative ease.

An image from the 2015 film Tale of Tales. 

Successful dragonslayers dispute the proper drink to accompany the dish: answers vary from 'Mead' to 'Fresh stream water'. Some suggest 'Two healing potions, one drunk quickly before you eat, the other sipped slowly afterwards'. Perhaps the most popular response is 'Anything you can get your hands on'.

Of Chalices and Choices

You are a Square-Jawed Adventurer. You have been seeking the Sacred Cup. 

You are in a Mysterious Cavern filled with Goblets, Chalices and Other Vessels. Most are made of gold. One is made of wood. There is a stone bowl full of clear fresh water. There is an Ancient Guardian clad in dusty armour watching you closely.

Your Duplicitous Adversary has drunk from one of the gold goblets and died horribly. 

There is a Loved One outside the Mysterious Cavern who urgently needs the healing properties of the Sacred Cup.

What do you do?

1. The Holy Man who used the cup was a simple man who spurned worldly things. You reach for the wooden cup.

1a. .... wait. This wooden cup is too simple. It flatters your modern Bauhaus-influenced Protestant-inflected norms with its cleanness of line and distinctive lack of ornament. 

1ai. No. There can be only one Sacred Cup, there is only one wooden cup. It is the clear exception among all those present - the only golden cup you have seen used caused your Duplicitous Adversary to die horribly. It's the wooden cup.

1b. ..... wait. The Sacred Cup is a metaphor.  The divine needs no such physical vessels, only conceptual ones, which the enlightened may transcend. You don't need the Sacred Cup, all you need to do is to seek it, If you truly do that, all blessings will be with you and you may bestow all blessings. Thrumming with new found power, you smile politely at the Ancient Guardian and turn to leave.

1bi. But if all blessings are with you, do you even need to leave the Mysterious Cavern? You kneel, and begin to think about your Loved One in perfect health. Surely they will soon be healed. 

The Ancient Guardian is watching you, expressionless. 

1bii. Hang on, your Duplicitous Adversary just drank from a cup and died in a clearly supernatural manner. There is a man in there wearing medieval armour who just addressed you in fluent Old French. Metaphor, my eye. Time to go back in there and pick a bloody cup. 

2. Hang on, you're a scholar. You've....

2a. ...seen reliquaries before. You inspect the gold cups. One is quite bulky; a catch on the side reveals that it is a chalice-shaped tabernacle, inside which rests a simple small clay cup on a velvet lining.

2b. ....seen reliquaries before. You inspect the gold cups.  One of them has a darker band in the middle of it. On inspection, it turns out to be a golden stand and framework supporting an older wooden cup, enhanced with a large gold lip. The cup itself has a small coating of gold leaf on the outside. 

2c. ...read some of the literature on the subject.  Often, the old poems describe the Sacred Cup as having been transformed after it was used by the Holy Man. So before then, it would have been a fairly normal Levantine cup from the beginning of the 1st millennium. You inspect the gold cups, and find one that adheres near-perfectly to the shape of Levantine cups you have seen in the Museum.

3. You examine the chalices on offer. Each has been kept clean and well-polished, even the one your Duplicitous Adversary drank from. But one must have been used more often, if the Ancient Guardian drinks from the Sacred Cup - and how else could he be so Ancient? You lift a chalice to examine it in the light, and see the the subtle wear from hands and lips over the centuries. Comparison with the neighbouring cups makes this plain. You take the chalice over to the stone bowl and fill it. 

4. The ancient texts say.... 

4a. ...that when the Sacred Cup was first blessed, it was shared. You grab a chalice at random, fill it from the stone bowl and turn to the Ancient Guardian. "You first."

4b. ...that when the Sacred Cup was first blessed, the Holy Man was drinking wine. You point this out to the Ancient Guardian. He produces a flask of wine from a cupboard that you hadn't spotted. 

5. Think about the journey you've been on to reach the Mysterious Cavern, and the perils you braved within. This is a test of faith....

5a. ....so you should not think about it overlong, but reach out with hope in your soul and take up a goblet. You grasp one, and trying not to look down at it, take it over to the stone bowl and fill it.

5b. ....that ends the journey you and your Duplicitous Adversary have both been on. But even if your choice of companions differed,  the course of your travel and object of your desire was the same. The main difference was in your motives. Knowing your motives to be good and your faith sound, you should submit yourself to judgement in exactly the same way he did. 

You pick up the golden cup your Duplicitous Adversary drank from.

6. You gather up each of the cups, pour a little bit of water in each, mix it all together and drink. The Ancient Guardian smacks you over the back of the head with a chainmail glove and tells you (in Old French) not to be a smart-arse.

****

You have chosen ◼︎◼︎◼︎◼︎ly. 

Of Faith and Fences - A Visit to Saxherm

What is this? A few days ago Christmas Knight over at Grand Commodore threw together a 'Maximalist dreampunk weird fiction city-state creator'. I got out the dice, and over the course of a sunny afternoon put together the following. 

The below was originally posted on Grand Commodore in the comments of the original post. I have presented it here in one package, with screenshots of some of the comments for context. It will be of use to read or at least skim the city-state creator first.

A herm is, of course, a sort of statue 
- and saxum, saxi is Latin for rock.
An unsubtle name, but it sounds right.
[Source]

(2) Name Afterwards: Saxherm

Government

70          69-71 Religious Order

Religious Demography

65      61-75 Majority/Minority                     5%

Religions

74         74-76 Exemplar Polytheism (Maj)

95            93-97 Tutelary Deity   (Min)

Sources of Wealth

54     53-55 International Black Marketeer         3. Stolen goods

11         8-11 Beauty                                                            4. Ubiquitous statuary 

Distinctive Cultural Elements

94     93-100 Traditional Costumes  

Prevailing Conditions

53             52-53 Massive Economic Surplus

69         68-69 Predatory Entity                                 4. Destroying their memories

Biome

22     22-25 Distributed over several walled hilltops with bridges and/or tunnels

Most Prominent Architectural Feature

84     81-84 Theatre 

The city of Saxherm was founded on a series of hilltops, each with its own guardian spirit. As the burgeoning city spread between the hills, each court - each garden - each road - earned its own tutelary, carved in a distinctive style. Saxherm became known as a city of statues.

In the third century after its founding, flooded with the teachers and sophists of a neighbouring polity, the local faith was transformed. There were not countless gods of the road, there was one god of all roads. Then there was not a god of all roads, but a god of communications and travel - an archetype of trade and wayfaring. 

    The new faith found a home in the wealthy of the city - those who wished to look up-to-date and could afford the tutelage. The informal associations of sacred masons, iconographers and artisans gave way to well-connected sacred fraternities. The old Assembly and district regiments had bowed to the iconographers or been led by them in many matters. Assemblymen, municipal officials and regimental leaders saw a way to escape that influence now. 

    Through the fourth century, low-level conflict between the new faith and the old was the rule, as were ongoing spats between high and low. In time, however, temples to each of the archetypical deities were erected on each of the fortified hills, cementing their place in the hearts of Saxhermenes. The Assembly now largely overlapped the sacred fraternities; rather than blossoming in its own right, it withered once again into a junior partner.

    Each from their hilltop districts, the fraternities extend their rule of the city. Rather than all bowing to a given hierarch, a governing council made up of the heads of each regularly changes their chairman according to the calendar. (This is a complex thing, taking both lunar and solar influences into account, along with certain anniversaries and seasonal observances. Alterations to the calendar are fraught constitutional debates.) For a week it may be the shrewd-eyed grey-locked Matriarch who casts the final vote, then the sinister Grand Psychopomp, then a pale Vestal chosen by lot, then a masked Oracle from the copper domes of the Vatic Quarter.

    However, in the depths of the Plebeian districts, there are those who have never forgotten the Tutelary Deities. They petition for funds to maintain the statues and for a legal protected status, they decorate them with garlands of flowers, they leave coins in outstretched hands, they touch sponges soaked in wine or milk to stone lips. If this is condemned, it is generally as an unfortunate and stubborn superstition rather than as an appalling heresy. This minority is protected by a measure of civic pride in the statues, which are now an inseparable part of the city's character. The wealthy Assemblyman who has spent a lifetime in the Brethren of the Armed Ploughman will happily delve into his coffers to repair the statue of a tutelary deity he has only ever walked past. 

The traditional garb of Saxherm has taken a rather strange turn. A translation of philosophy into costume has taken place, and the custom is (for those who are not in some other uniform or practical garb) to wear an indication of the abiding technological influence on one's life on the person. This can be as simple as a smith wearing a sash decorated with hammers - but the owner of a textile company could as equally wear an embroidered badge showing a loom or a ledger. Foreign scholars have sometimes suggested that this Saxhermene custom could be an evolution of the tutelary concept, although all but the highest of the fraternities and religious societies embrace this form of dress. 

Aside from the numerous statues, Saxherm has been known as a clearing house for stolen goods. The Sodality of the Broken Threshold has long acknowledged the valour of the thief in challenging the wealthy and complacent; to steal, to trick, to count coup - these are sacred and praiseworthy acts. And the Sodality, in benevolent fraternal agreement with its peers, does not encourage too many sacred and praiseworthy acts in Saxherm itself, but will happily protect and assist the faithful of other lands. 

All this has meant that Saxherm is now a very well-to-do place (the Sodality of the Broken Threshold does not consider itself to be at all wealthy or complacent, but acknowledges its recent good fortune). Great wealth may be seen on the corners of the street, or in the new theatres. But someone must have stolen something they should not have. There are those in the Vatic Quarter who scream in the night with premonitions of what lurks among them. Plebeians and Society members alike have been set upon in the night and wake without knowledge of who they are. The lucky ones can still walk and eat. 

The statues have seen something, no doubt. But they aren't saying anything.