Words? Words! WORDS!

[BCalchet]

I have a mysterious condition.

Whenever I pick FFH up and start playing some games, I must take breaks to write down little fragments of stories, detailing what is happening in the little cities and between the little red and green and yellow faces, as well as the various leaderheads.

With all those words written, and no-one to read them, I start to feel sad - why couldn't I be writing something useful instead? I guess I just don't work that way.

Therefore, I'm going to post some of my excess words here, for others to partake of. Feel free to point out things that don't match with the lore, or simply yell at me for all the words.


Sheaim. I like the Sheaim, both in gameplay terms and from a lore viewpoint. Most of my words seem to be about them.

I see Tebryn as a manipulative fellow - a hand in everything, and more than likely involved in any war on at least two different sides. (Helps explain why the AI declares dumb wars, too!)

My first bunch of words, a small part of his day, seen from his own eyes.

Spoiler Words! :

(The dead do not sleep.)
Is it a bad thing, he wonders?
He had dreams, once. Good dreams, and nightmares. Some inspired him, some frightened him. He remembers every single one of them.

(The dead do not forget. They can only remember.)

Even so, if he had dreams now, they would likely be nightmares beyond any he remembers, and they would all be about... that time.
The human mind uses dreams as a way to come to terms with the past, but when there are no such terms to be had?
(Perhaps it is a good thing, not sleeping.)

As he finishes listening to the report from the last of his agents scheduled for this night, a miniscule gestures closes the enchanted mirror, causing
its surface to return to the reflecting you normally expect from mirrors. An interesting trick, juxtaposing one such reflection with another, and quite
useful for communication.

He leaves the hidden chamber - one of many, in this wizard's tower - and returns invisibly through hidden pathways to his bedroom.
It is almost time to awaken for the day.

(The dead do not sleep - but sometimes, it is useful for others to think they do.)

Minutes later, one of his apprentices enters the room to wake him, as instructed.
(Of course, he's close to an archmage in his own right, even though he lacks ambition. At least he makes a competent servant.)

In his hands, a letter from the Clan ambassador that arrived late last evening.

He quickly scans the written message as he rises.
(Quite a wordy fellow, for being of a race that only recently regained the knowledge of letters.)

A meeting, to discuss trading agreements, apparently.

(Why can't that woman deal with these herself? She should be grown up enough not to judge people by what happens to be hanging or not hanging beneath their leggings...
But then again, these meetings do offer some good opportunities. This new Clan ambassador, too, should soon be returning to his homeland... and reporting back regularly, of course.
Orcs are just like humans, in some ways. Neither can resist the lure of power for long.)

"Send him my response. The time suggested will be fine, in the usual place. And make it suitably... wordy."

The apprentice nods and leaves.

(Now, then, the schedule for today. Another meeting with that woman, about her pointless war. She probably wants more mages again.
Perhaps I should have that elf killed, soon... but no, that would be hasty. There are still a few conditions to be cleared before I can have the war end...)

He nods to himself, as he prepares the spell that will take him to the capital. Things are going just as planned, for now.

Os-Gabella is interesting, too.
She doesn't like men, so I imagine she surrounds herself with women. Here, I've attributed some random infant-collecting scheme to the Sheaim, where randomly chosen mothers are visited just after birth, and their children taken away - boys go on either to be trained as adepts, under Tebryn. (Training from an early age might explain the arcane trait~) or more often, as sacrifices in various horrible rituals. Girls, on the other hand, are taken to the palace, where they are raised to work near Os-Gabella, in whatever positions they are suited for... and with that as an explanation, more words.

Spoiler Even more words! :

Imagine a city. It is huge - sprawling, even - and consisting almost entirely of low, dark and dull buildings. Few people are seen moving - and those who do appear,
move quickly and with purpose, wrapped in heavy clothing to keep out the biting wind. When two people meet - friends, perhaps, or relatives - they speak quietly,
in hushed tones.

Look beneath the surface, inside homes, and in shops, and we might see a different city. Slightly brighter, slightly more lively. You might hear laughter. You might see children playing.
They are not so much a people oppressed, as somehow... private.

Certainly, there are darker spots here.
In a square, the remains of a pyre, the grey stones tainted with the dull black of charcoal. But no cracked bones. Those have already moved on.
In an alley, the only signs of a foreign spy, long since beyond reporting home. Four fingerprints in dried blood.

Night falls. Little changes. The occasional burst of laughter from behind heavy shutters - flashes of light, as a door is opened and quickly closed again.

There might be four shapes moving quickly along, in the dark. Thieves and murders? No, not this night.
Upon closer inspection, they are all women - black hoods, black clothes, only broken by a glimmer of reddish metal or a pale exposed face, now and then.

They stop before a door, and knock. They know who lives here - a seamstress, and her husband, a butcher. They also know this night is when she is due
to give birth to a child.
The door opens - a man faces them. He knows what is going on, and while he is obviously worried, he lets the four women inside. In the light, with their dark
hoods pulled back, they are little more than girls, none of them a day older than seventeen.

They are early, the butcher explains. The midwife is here, but she thinks it will take a few hours more. Would they like to come inside, have a seat, while waiting?

No, they would rather go outside, the leader responds. Two of her companions are casting nervous glances in the direction of heavy-set butcher, as were he some dangerous animal.
If he will let them know when it is time, that will be good enough.

He understands, and will do so. The four girls head outside, and the door is shut. Waiting motionless in the shadow of the building, they are almost invisible.

Hours pass.

Then, sudden but expected, the faint scream of a newborn from behind thick walls. A minute or two passes - this is to be expected, the girl who appears
to be the leader tells her companions - give them this time, and the rest will go more smoothly.

The door opens. The butcher, relief written all over his face, invites them back in.

Through the door, and a hallway, and another door. A small room. A bed, an old woman on a chair, and another on the bed.

In the arms of one of them, a new-born baby. They all know what is to happen, but for a moment, no-one speaks.

Then, the midwife raises her voice. A girl-child. Healthy, and without flaws. On the face of the mother, sadness mixed with relief, as she speaks soft
words of parting to her daughter. The child is wrapped, tightly to protect from the cold. A small keepsake - a silver ring - joins the child as two of the
black-clad girls take her from her mother. They, too, have similar tokens of affection back at the palace, gifts of parting from parents they only met
at birth. Some more words - a promise that the child will be well cared for, and similar courtesies - until the guests leave, carrying the child.

On their way home, they exchange quiet words as cobblestones move swiftly beneath their feet, the streets of gavleholm soon giving way to the
palace courtyard.

Good thing it was a girl. Boys... are much more difficult.
More pain, more tears and screams. And sometimes, the parents take up weapons.
They all remember a sister who was lost to an enraged father, only a few weeks ago.
It is one thing with the ones to be sent to the catacomb libralus, to one day join the mage cadres of lord Arbandi,
but the other ones... none of them would like to claim such a child, but even so, it must be done. Perhaps as soon as the next night.
Mother must know what she is doing, they agree.
They arrive at their destination, and hand their newborn charge over to one of the sisters who care for them, then retreat to their quarters.
One of the new sisters, on her first mission this night, remarks that men weren't as scary as she'd imagined.
Her elder sister smiles. Most are harmless, for a trained sister, but you should be on your guard when you leave the palace. There are many kinds out there.



As for the newborn? She is washed, and fed. Tomorrow, she will be presented to her new Mother, who she will one day serve.
Perhaps as an agent and assassin, like the girls who brought her here.
Perhaps she will care for the new arrivals, or work with her Mother in governing the nation.
Perhaps as a soldier, stationed at the palace, or a general, leading armies to war. A cook, an entertainer, a groundskeeper - everyone at the palace, bar only one, once arrived like this.
Only time will tell.

The one tasked to care for her during the night smiles as she handles the keepsake ring - it is a twin of her own, given ten years ago.
"Sister", she whispers, a small hand coming to rest on the sleeping new-born.

Those are all my words, for today. Oh, and this went in the lore section, because lore is made from words. And stuff.

 

[Tyrs]

I'm impressed. An interesting view of the Sheaim if nothing else. Still though, very good writing

 

[ÆNEAS]

I enjoyed reading it. Thanks for posting it =)

 

[Kael]

Good stuff, I really liked the Sheaim girls story.

 

[Fenboy]

I'm hoping that when the Tebryn entry is written we'll get some more information on how he came to work with someone who in all probability despises him.

 

[Ozbenno]

That's really good work.

You could try starting up a thread in the Stories and Tales section, or even take up a NPC role in this sucession game (no Sheaim though just crazy clowns).

 

[BCalchet]

Still stuck on the Sheaim, I played around with a few different ways of writing Os-Gabella. I've still to decide on one, and I've nothing polished written on any of the personalities I gave her, but here's one version if anyone feels like reading it. It also touches slightly on her relationship with Tebryn.

(She doesn't seem all that evil, does she?)

Spoiler Lacking polish and substance, read at your own risk. :

The ambient brightness of a summer's night can be beautiful and enjoyable.

It can also be a huge bother. She turned over once again, facing the wall and
closing her eyes as she waited for sleep to take hold.

She never could get the trick of sleeping in a bright room down. Some of her sisters
- mostly the soldiers, though she talks to few of them - can sleep even during the day,
catching what rest there is to find between battles, but for her, it's impossible. Even
during the winter, she has a hard time falling asleep, but without darkness, it is near impossible.

From behind, a soft chittering, the almost-snoring of her sister and closest friend who is soundly
asleep - as always - adds its weight to the elements conspiring to keep her awake.

Minutes pass.

With a final sigh of resignation, she leaves her bed - taking care not to make too much noise, though
not really worried about waking her roommate from what might best be described as hibernation -
she pulls on a robe and leaves their room, heading down the silent stone hallways towards the kitchen.

No other sisters stalk the quiet building - she knows some will be in the guard room, near the entrance,
and yet others patrolling the outer walls, but here, near the sleeping quarters, all is quiet.

The kitchen. Quiet as well - the cooks will be getting up in only a few hours, to prepare breakfast, but right
now, not a soul in sight. A bit of searching manages to turn up a piece of bread, some cheese, and a mug of
water (wine is reserved for visiting foreign ladies, under most circumstances, and she never really understood
why some of her elder sisters choose to drink that vile mead). Pulling out a chair in the dining hall (there is a
*grand* dining hall in the palace, as well, but that is only used a few times a year when everyone eats together)
she starts to break off chunks of bread, eating with an unexpected appetite for her small body.

About halfway through her meal, the door opens behind her, and footsteps announce the arrival of a fellow
sister of sleeplessness. A kind of greeting - muffled by a mouthful of bread, which is soon devoured - before
turning around and seeing... no one? Sounds from the kitchen beyond solves that mystery - obviously, someone
else also found themselves looking for something to eat at this time of night. Reaching for her cup, she finds it
empty, and so goes to join her unknown companion in the kitchen for a refill.

Through a doorway, and in between the long rows of benches, storage cabinets, large furnace-like ovens and
other various implements used to feet a palace-full of girls, she stops. And stares. Twitches as if to turn
and run, then stops dead once again, eyes wide open.

The Mother, Os-Gabella, Undisputed Queen of the Sheaim Nation, Scourge of Heathens, the Dark Goddess,
and probably several dozen other titles given by enemies and allies alike, in a plain black dress, rummaging
through a cupboard before, with a satisfied nod, pulling out an onion and a loaf of bread.

She turns, long back hair framing that pale, ageless face all her daughters know and love - and speaks.

"Oh? My daughter... Linn, is it? How is the night treating you?"

No response. Mother, who most only ever meet in person during their introduction as newborn, and
during the ceremony when they reach fifteen years of age... speaking to her? Rummaging through
the kitchen in the middle of the night? Linn stares, mouth slowly opening, then shutting again.
Like a fish, she herself thinks, unable to speak.

With a flick of her wrist, Os-Gabella sends the onion flying. Years of training take over, and Linn reaches out
and grabs it deftly out of the air. Her Mother turns back to the cabinet and withdraws another onion for herself,
then turns back, an unreadable look - as usual - on her face.

"Ah--- It--- Um, all is well, Mother. I am merely having trouble sleeping, with the night being this bright."

The ancient queen nods, and picks up a bottle of wine she apparently placed next to her, before heading past
Linn towards the dining room.

"Please, come, sit with me."

"Ah, Yes, of course, Mother."

They make their way back - Mother is suprisingly short, Linn thinks as she follows - she might be taller herself, and
there are many among her sisters who are taller yet. Os-Gabella takes a seat opposite where Linn has left her
unfinished bread, and gestures for her daughter to sit, before pouring wine for them both.

Linn, still in shock, sits straight and stiff. Unsure of where to rest her gaze, it flickers back and forth, but is mostly
concentrated on the regal woman before her.

"Try to relax. I am not so frightening, am I?" Her voice is soft, kind, much different from the powerful and decisive Mother
of official speeches. And there is sadness. So much sadness...

"Oh--, no, not at all." She tries to relax, and reaches some form of compromise between that and wide-eyed disbelief.

Os-Gabella finishes peeling her onion with a small knife produced from somewhere, before cutting a small piece
and eating it - gracefully, with no sound whatsoever. Somewhat calmed down, Linn continues eating, and tastes
the wine - it is good, if a bit unusual. Her mother speaks again.

"Linn. You are one of my agents in this city, are you not?"

"Yes, Mother."

Os-Gabella nods slightly as she continues.
"There is no need to be so formal - this is not an audience, or anything. How are things, down in the streets?"

The situation might be unusual, but this, she can do. Reports are part of her daily routine, after all.

"Things are mostly calm. The riots from two years ago are almost forgotten, and we keep a tight leash on
almost all the groups that might cause trouble again. There is still the occasional disturbance, and we know
several of our neighbouring nations have unturned spies in the city, but those are the only major problems."

Another nod from her Mother. "Good... that is as good as can be expected. How about you, daughter?
How are things with you?"

Slightly more hesitation, but she feels a bit braver (could the wine be getting to her already? No, the cup is almost full)
and answers quickly. "It is well, there are no problems."

A slight, sad, smile - the first she has seen from her Mother, so far - and a nod. A short pause.

Linn finishes her bread, and is starting to work on the onion.

"I just now finished another ritual. A complete failure, but things are progressing, if ever so slowly.
Tell me, Linn. What do you think of the world?"

Squirming slightly as those sad eyes come to rest on her, Linn hesitantly opens her mouth.
"The world, Mother? I... I don't know.
I love you, and my sisters. I like this palace, and even the city.
But the world? I don't know."

"The world... is old.
It is still a place of beauty, and of pleasure.
There are still things to discover, places to go, people to meet, and to love.
But it is... old. I have lived for a long time, my daughter.
I have lived for a very long time. I have raised children, and seen them prosper,
grow old, and die. I have seen fire, and I have seen ice. Light, shadow.
Good, and evil. The wonders of nature, and the wonders of man.
I, too, am old, and this world is older than even I.
My time has come, and my time has passed.
My child, I wish to die. And with that wish, I saw something else, something...
no other had seen before me. This world and I, we are similar.
The time of this world, too, has passed. This world, too, wishes to die.
They say I am selfish, and evil. But it is not merely for myself I wish an end upon this world.
I want to grant this world's wish. I wish to give it the gift all others withhold, and in doing
so, grant myself the one thing I wish for, these days.

Sometimes, I waver. Sometimes, I look at my children - look at you - and I think,
"These girls, who I would live for, could do the same for this world.".
Then, I look outwards. I see man, and orc, elf and dwarf, all crawling across
the face of the world like locusts. Then, I know again what must be done.
For the sake of this world, I must die with it.

That damned bunch of bones, who call themselves a mage - he, if anyone, serves
to remind me why this world must die. If this world was still young enough, alive
enough, still wishing to live, it would not allow such as he to walk its surface...
He a skulking shadow, a miserable pile of secrets, representing the ugliness of man,
which heralds the end of this world...

I would spare you if I could, my daughter - you have not yet lived to become
too old - for you, there is still life to be lived. But this world, it is not a place for such.
So I cannot. For the sake of this world, and my own, I cannot...

I am sorry, my daughter. To have you listen to the babbling of an old woman.

Please, speak not of this night, to your sisters, lest they falter in their steps,
knowing the madness of their mother."

A smooth pale hand reaches out - flawless, as if carved by the hand of a master
sculptor - and touches the cheek of a young woman.

"Go now, daughter. You - and each one of your sisters - are ever too beautiful for what I
have you do, in mind as in spirit."

Linn leaves, and returns to her room. Perhaps she is able to sleep, now.

In the dining room, for a few minutes, an old woman drinks alone.
Tomorrow, she has a war to start, more of her daughters to send to unmarked graves
in foreign lands. But it must be done.

 

[Monkeyfinger]

Good writing but there's no way I can buy Os-Gabella being like that.

Also, her children didn't die.

 

[BCalchet]

Wait, what? Sure they did!

I killed one off in the first post of the topic, even, and I can assure you, plenty more have died.


(Since you apparently didn't notice, I gave her a few more apart from the vampires.)

 

[thomas.berubeg]

I can buy that being Os-gabella.

Good job, BCalchet, it was nice to read

 

[MagisterCultuum]

Well, I don't think she ever had any real, biological children. Her children were the adopted/kidnapped Alexis and Flauros, who, through Alexis's discovery of vampiric rituals, are still alive.

Although non-canonical, she may have later kidnapped and adopted other children who did die, maybe even large scale as bCalchet asserts.

 

[vorshlumpf]

Awesome stories! Keep them coming, please.

What do you mean by non-canonical, MagisterCultuum?

- Niilo

 

[BCalchet]

I reckon that'd be non-canonical as in non-official - basically, if something isn't written by Kael or someone designated by him, it's not true in the "real" FFH universe. These stories are more like what-ifs, on the same level in relation to the "real" world as what happens in any one game, say.



Anyway, I've been sort of lacking that whole "Words!" mood lately, which is why these things dried up. Even so, I do have a few more short stories I'd like to explore and share - one might appear in this post a little later, if it ends up sufficiently readable.

 

[nihonjeff]

I really dig your interpretation, BCalchet, and the writing is great. A fantastic read.

I love what you've done with Os-Gabella. One problem I always tend to find with dark fantasy and purely "evil" empires is rationalizing why people would want to live and/or fight in them. I'm sure some power-hungry folk would gladly serve a demon empire for the chance to pillage and profit, but what about the hundreds of thousands who sow the land and forge the armor? Fortunately, FfH does a brilliant job in giving everyone -- even the so-called "evil" civs, realistic motivations. Great job humanizing the rank-and-file of the most "evil" empire in the game.

I can definitely see Os-Gabella as you've described her -- old, sad, but steadfast in her determination to end the world. The argument that she makes to Linn, as far as the world being tired and ready to die itself, I see as being no more than a rationalization... an attempt to assuage her own guilt at her selfish motives by pretending that it actually is not about her at all... Was this your intent? Or do you consider her to truly believe that she's doing the right thing?

 

[vorshlumpf]

Yes, that was help for me, too. I've often tried to picture what Sheaim communities are like if their overall goal is to destroy the world.

 

[wilboman]

I imagine most Sheaim are not aware that their overall goal is destruction of the world, I imagine many join for the possibilities of unlimited power and forbidden experiments.

 

[evanb]

Great read, BCalchet! I loved the rhythm of the stories and it's kinda funny (in a good sense!) that they all take place at night. The story with Linn definitely puts a twist in the possible interpretations of the overall story.

 

[Aoleleb]

I've never really been able to picture what Os-Gabella would be like, but for some odd reason, I love your interpretation of her

 

[BCalchet]

One of the characters from a previous bunch of words returns, and this time, in daylight. Consider the piece with Linn and Os-Gabella a prologue to this.

The beginning of a longer story, this one probably delivers more questions than answers.

Again, it is rough and in need of more editing, and my writing style may well be even stranger than usual.

Spoiler Words, once again. :

A lone cloud, against the deep blue sky.
It should be blood red, with a setting sun still hours off, or perhaps black, bristling with thunder.
That would be fitting.
But it is small, completely white, and looks... fluffy. Like a lamb.
She'd touched a lamb once, years ago, when she was still a girl helping out in the kitchen. It smelled a bit funny, but it was very soft.
The kitchen was nice - during the days, full of life and warmth, and a quiet retreat during sleepless nights. She would like to see her big sister,
who is the head cook now, and tell her why she couldn't come back.

Now, though, this cloud is the only thing she can see - there is nothing else in that deep blue sky, after all. Perhaps the cloud will listen?
Slowly, with trembling lips, she begins to speak.

We last met after I received my orders, when I was preparing for the journey. (But, she was speaking to the cloud - had she met it before? When?)
The mission was a secret, then, but now it no longer matters. Telling you should make it easier:
Linn.
Travel to the village of Caelbairn, three leagues south of the newly captured Korrigan, as the raven flies.
Join with the sixty-third company, and watch them closely for suspicious activities.
Your contacts will be the captain, our sister Erin, and the company adept, a man named Allen. Neither is likely to be your target.
Should you find any unquestionably foreign spies, terminate them, and report to your contacts before returning.
Should they instead report through magic to an unknown master, then do nothing, speak of it to no-one, and return to me with the report.
Should you find no evidence of spies, remain with the company until it returns to Gavleholm, where you take your leave and return home.
Destroy these instructions once perfectly memorized.
And, stay safe out there.
In the name of the Eternal Queen,
Fiona, Minister of Internal Secturity.
I memorized it. Then, while preparing, we spoke as you packed my rations, remember? I'm sorry I couldn't tell you where I was going.
We joked about it. And, if I am lucky to get to see the world, I would rather be unlucky, if it would let me see you, and everyone else, again.
Also, I'm sorry. For not being able to keep my promise, to tell you about it when I can: This cloud will have to do.

Jina at the stables seems cold, when you talk to her - but she did bring me a calm horse, as I asked her. Perhaps she is just shy?
I have never been very good at riding, but with a reasonable horse, the first leg of the journey was easy. I rode by day, making good time,
better than expected, and stayed at a different inn each night. They have rooms reserved for us, you know - no questions asked, no money required.
I had a calm horse, and the ride went mostly smoothly, but even so, by the second night I was as sore as I've ever been.
I remember thinking I would never ride such a distance again. (I will never ride again.)
Once in our newly conquered lands, I could see burnt-out farms on each side of the trail, and some corpses here and there.
There was a recent pyre in each village I passed, though none were lit anymore.

By the eve of the third day, I reached Korrigan.
The gates were charred, broken open, and then crudely repaired - outside the walls, the bone-field was still untouched, and countless ravens
still wheeled above the area, searching for any remaining flesh.
I went through the gate without stopping.
Inside, the destruction was less complete - burnt-out buildings, certainly, and a faded pyre in ever street crossing, but bones and corpses had
been removed, and most buildings were only lightly damaged. Outside what had been the courthouse, most of the town square was now glass,
encasing badly-burned bones and skulls - I know not if by their fire or ours, though I would expect it to be theirs, the result of the final desperate defense.

The sun is rising higher - it is almost mid-day, now. Its rays fall directly on Linn's face, and she raises her arm to ward them off. The sun does not care, and keeps burning her eyes.
With a sigh, she attempts to spot the cloud, her sister, again - it is difficult, with the sun there - but after a moment, she resumes her almost-whispered tale.

 

[PPQ_Purple]

I don't care if I get baned for tread necromancy or what ever. But will this guy ever post the next part of the story or not?