February 14, 2010

The Totally Not-Canon Adventures of Flairé: Dun Dun Dunnn!

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The Totally Not-Canon Adventures of Flairé: Episode 1: Lost Blackbird: Page 17: Dun Dun Dunnn!

drawn/coloured Feb 13-14

(596)

              Flairé: Flaria, be a sweetheart and grab me some travelling things, would you? I need to go look for Miss Leslie.

              Flaria: What’s happened?

              Flairé: The extremists have snatched her out from under my very nose. They’re an alert gang… I’ll make sure they’re not so alert after tonight… |: (

Hey, guys! Colour will be up later! Obligations now.

Dun dun dunnn! : D

Oh, Happy Valentine’s. Also the Feast of St. Cyril and some other bloke who spread the Good News in Russia long ago.

Kitchens are hard. Flaria puts her hair in a braid when she’s working in ‘em. Good idea, no? And I’m not sure what Flairé does with those long dramatic laces on his gauntlets. I think he tucks them inside somewhere.

Determined Flairé is determined. And sexy. Imo.

We cooked all afternoon. It was crazy. Mom went insane for V-day and made Caeser salad (actually I did that part - anchovies are, like, pure salt) and chicken pot pies with pastry hearts and almond flavoured ice cream and heart shaped cookies. I got to decorate most of them (with pink icing) so I put lots of movie quotes. Like “As you wish”, “I know” (Han Solo), ”Someday my prince will come”, “Kiss de girl”, “So this is love”, ”INDYYYYY!” and “If music be the food of luv, play on”. My brother helped a lot, though he has forgotten Cinderella.

Also I watched a review of The Phantom Menace which is insightful and indepth, and hilarious, but has a LOT of swear words because the reviewer is pretending to be an ignoramus. But if you ever hear me saying “What’s wrong with your faaa~aaaace” it’s from that review because of the Nemodian with the wierd face implants. The one who says “They’ve gone up the ventilation shaft!” D : “How do you know that? Seriously, how do you know that? What’s wrong with your faaa~aaace?”

And I went for a walk today in the bright sun, and my brother and I basically spent the whole walk trying to calculate if it was more sensible to use a single bolt or take advantage of the Warhammer High Elves’ awesome repeater bolt thrower which fires six shots at S4. We determined eventually that there is indeed a higher chance of killing knights (or whatever) by using six bolts. Mystery solved! After much math, including factoring in Lady’s Saves and things like that…

Did you ever realize just how present the piano is in the Battle of Hoth? Awesome.

January 24, 2010

The Totally Not-Canon Adventures of Flairé: Spazz Time

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The Totally Not-Canon Adventures of Flairé: Episode 1: Lost Blackbird: Page 14: Spazz Time

drawn/coloured Jan 15/24, ‘10

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            30 seconds later:

            Flaria: Oh! A person. How old is she? Does she like music? Where did you get the dress?

            Flairé: Her name is Leslie, she’s 19, and she plays music everyday. We got the dress at Avumal’s place. Miss Leslie, this is my over-excitable sister Flaria.

             Flaria: *eyeroll* Hello, Leslie! I’m very pleased to meet you. What do you like to eat?

             Leslie: What is there?

Hi! I need to go do stuff, so here is the finished ink of the page. No colour; that will come later.

AAAAAHHHHH IT’S A FEMALE FLAIRÉ just kidding.

Oh, yes. As soon as Flaria meets the new girl her thought is only hyper curiousity and whether she’s hungry.

This room needs a little more colour. The next time you see it, it will have some red drape-y things. Almost wasn’t going light the candles, but then I figured that it would only be natural. And I’m running out of yellow marker! : ( I will try and fix that for next week but I make no guarantees.

Oh and I don’t think the “switching back and forth” in the first frame was too successful. I will do better next time. I also forgot Flairé’s sword in the second panel. He just took it off really really fast? Those kalmaei are fast, you know.

Successfully played two churches this morning. Not bad. Played the 3rd mvmt of Bédard’s Quatre Pieces en forme du Messe and the Menuet Gothique by Boellmann.

Okay I have rehearsal and lots of practice, so here I go.

December 28, 2009

Christmas in colour 2009 (finished!)

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Christmas in Colour, 2009, finished!

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And now, the finished picture! Ehhhhh… I actually used the tablet a lot less with the shading/highlighting. I used it a lot for the hair, of course, but the clothes… just didn’t work with that. I need to find a way to change the settings so the harder I press doesn’t affect the width of the stroke, but how dark/light it is.

Parts I’m pleased with: Marteth’s dark purple coat; Gullac’s teal shirt; Bayn’s grey jacket. Coincidentally, they’re the ones you can see least of. : P Tam’s jacket is a close second, though. His shoulders came out half-way decent. I’m also happy with all the hair and Flairé’s face, which was worrying me. Doesn’t he look like his parents? X D

I realize that the ink lines only get in the way now. I think I will experiment in the future with not having hard lines at all. With the tablet, I can do that now!

I’m collecting Candy-cane shards in Guild Wars so I can get the Candy-cane daggers (for Gullac, when I make him) and the Peppermint Scythe (because it’s cool). I already have a Candy-cane spear. I wonder if these weapons break if you use them too much? I don’t think so. But I’m a little nervous about actually using them in battle.

Gullac: I’m not! (sproings around like a frog, brandishing his daggers and laughing insanely)

Dude, I haven’t gotten them yet. Give me another hour.

December 26, 2009

Christmas 09 - still a colour WIP

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Christmas in colour ‘09 - still WIP

hair/eyes coloured Dec 26 ‘09

(568)

Wheeee! Still lovin’ that tablet. And the pillow. The pillow worked splendidly. This is my progress for today. Tomorrow I will colour skin, and the comic, which will go up instead, and then Monday I will do clothes. O_O7 And then I will figure out how to shade all the white areas, like Yoeath. Leslie, Flairé, and Rana’s hair is the best of this picture. I had to restart my computer before my tablet would work, though.

If you want a hilarious story, go buy Star Wars: Battlefront: Elite Squadron for Gameboy DS now, because the story is laughable. Ummmm… it’s the story of this Gary-Stu (= unrealistically perfect) clone who’s half-Jedi because the Kaminoians stole some DNA from a visiting Jedi and plunked it into two clones, and the player is one of them. He fights for the Republic, meets his father, questions his life, gets shot by his Empire-loyal brother, their father Grey tries to convert Empire brother, thinks he succeeds, and totally gets shot in the back. Then, “15 years later”, this Gary-Stu of a clone is in command of Grey Squadron of the fledgling Rebel Alliance. And cloney-boy pwns everything in his path while… a) chasing after the Death Star’s laser, which is en route to the Death Star, and he captures the transport, and… the Death Star still gets a laser. What the heck!? b) defends Yavin Base from Imps who magically show up inside the base, where there are no Rebels, and then finds and destroys a jamming device that magically prevents X-wings from taking off. Again: what the heck?! c) flies into space and is in the trench(!!?!) behind Darth Vader who is behind Luke. My brother just flew into towers and didn’t exactly help. So what kind of support was he supposed to provide? At the moment, he’s on Hoth, where they had to defend the Rebel base from Imps BEFORE going out and engaging them in the icy plains canyons. Where he takes a speeder there and then jumps out to fight on foot.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA that’s the lamest story I’ve heard in a long time.

Oh, and Kota shows up for a cameo. And we’re pretty sure cloney-boy becomes a Jedi at some point because you can play as a Jedi, I think, in some parts, so the story’s gotta include it somewhere. We’re hoping he dies gloriously because we think he’s a twit. X D    X D    X D    This story is, like, worse than the new Kyle Katarn games. Oh, and there’s a love interest named Sharra. (facepalm) Whatever.

Merry Christmas in Colour, part 1

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christmas09colour1

Merry Christmas 2009, in colour! part 1

coloured Dec 25, ‘09

(567)

Aaaaaaaaand this picture should make a lot more sense now. Or maybe a little. Depends how much you were paying attention the first time? ^_^7

(sings and dances) I wuv my tablet, I wuv my tablet…

I’m using this picture as a tutorial to teach myself how to use it, and to relearn Photoshop as the version that came with it is similar to the one we have downstairs (Photoshop 5) but of course it’s different. So I will be shading and highlighting and making shiny over the next week or so. When I’m not playing Wii Sports Resort (that is a pretty darn good game, if I do say so). The tablet is very handy in that I don’t have to switch brushes to do the the tiny corners - I just let up on the pressure. It’s great! And of course it feels like drawing which is very comfortable. It’s a pretty cool device.

I’m not sure how I ended up colour co-ordinated with Flairé’s princely outfit. I think it’s because it’s a generally accepted fact that I look decent in black and red, and his outfit just happens to be black and red. Hmmmm. Oh, I just noticed that part of it is not the right colour (silly me), so I’ll fix that tomorrow. Esgalwen, too, is usually in red, but she also likes blue and green. …Marteth looks like his eyes are crossed. I better fix that. And maybe I’d better recolour Jalril’s tunic so it doesn’t look like part of his skin.

Y’know, the more I look at this picture, the more I like it. Is that bad?

Christmas dinner was great. The turkey was extra good this year. The sweet potatoes were mashed, instead of sliced in chunks as we normally have them, and they tasted like pumpkin pie. I have been wearing my contacts for 30 hours and my eyes are not particularly tired or strained, despite staring at screens all day. I wuvs my pillow.

Did I mention we toasted marshmallows on the fire in our fireplace? They were nommy. Om nom nom!

December 25, 2009

Merry Christmas 2009!

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Whoa! Lots of pictures today, folks! Hold on!

christmas09

drawn Dec 23-24 ‘09

(566)

First, a very Merry Christmas (or whatever you happen to celebrate) from all of us here at the Adhemlenei. People in this picture: Marteth, Bayn, Gyoriing, Lyrestan; Mathaning, Gullac, Zela, Flaer, Yoeath; Flaria, Jalril, Flairé, Tam, Rana; Ceniro, Leslie, Jennifer, Esgalwen. Quite a number! Didn’t have room to fit in Silver, but we all know she wishes you a Merry Christmas too. Yes? Yes.

Jalril is just embarrassed at standing next to a girl. Who’s dating his brother. She thinks he’s funny. And cute. Tam is a cloooooowwwwn. X D Flairé is wearing his princely-type tunic which you haven’t seen before! It’s red.

Eeeeeee I’m so excited!

Below are the Christmas presents I drew for the various webcomics I read.

 ctsleaf09

Leaf of Chasing the Sunset (and chibi Feiht, Ayne, and Myhrad)! drawn Dec 18, ‘09

 tmjen09

Jen, of True Magic! drawn Dec 18, ‘09

 lintcigarhermit09

The Cigar Hermit (Juan) of LinT! An underappreciated character. drawn Dec 18, ‘09

 wayrifttrio09

Zemi and Kip (with Flairé, who thinks they’re the greatest funny dudes he’s met in the last century,  if not longer) of Wayrift! drawn Dec 19, ‘09

P.S. Were you like this last night? (I wasn’t, but you never know who might be) XD So funny.

December 15, 2009

Adhemlenei: Sword’s Innocence: Chapter 5

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Chapter 4          Chapter 6

 

Chapter 5

 

Flairé was strolling through a dry, grey, rocky valley on his way south when he heard someone calling. He turned, and five kalmaei, dressed in leather with their hair tied back, appeared on a nearby ridge and hurried towards him.

“Sir?” they asked. “Do you have a moment?”

“What’s the matter?” Flairé asked pleasantly.

“We’re miners, searching for iron in these mountains. But we’ve found something truly bizarre: a child, and we don’t know what to make of him. Will you advise us?”

Flairé nodded, his imagination alight.

They led Flairé to a rough hut, built as a temporary shelter against any weather that wasn’t winter.

Flairé entered slowly, stooping to avoid the low door frame (built that way to keep in warmth) and saw a small boy, less than two feet in height, sitting cross-legged on the floor, clad in dirty colourless rags. The boy stared back with defiant brown eyes glittering from under a thick unkempt mop of black hair.

“Who are you?” demanded the boy gravely.

“My name is Flairé,” the elf in question answered.

“No, who are you?” repeated the boy impatiently.

“Why don’t you watch your tongue, you rogue?” one of the other elves said irritably. “This is a prince you’re talking to.”

“What the pixie gas are you talking about?” the boy rejoined, equally irritably.

The miner sighed. “A prince is a great leader in training. This man is Flairé descended of Flar and Stialia, King and Queen of the Moonland, and Lady Zela. I don’t suppose you know who they are, but you must respect him. Tell him who you are, now.”

“Make me,” the boy snapped, crossing his arms.

Flairé sat down next to the boy, who watched him warily. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but I’m a curious person, okay? I was just told that these people had found a boy far away from all settlements, and I thought, ‘that’s very interesting. I wonder who he is and where he came from’. Why don’t you tell me, for curiosity’s sake?”

The boy still glared at him, but it seemed cooled a little, now. “My name is Marteth and I was raised by pixies. I was too!” he added, as Flairé opened his mouth.

“I’m not doubting you,” Flairé said quickly.

“Yet,” the boy tacked on.

“Never,” Flairé answered. Pixies were secretive, tiny little fairy-like creatures, sentient but possessing a simple and other-worldly intelligence. They usually lived in swamps and played tricks on travellers. Flairé had never heard of them raising a kalmaeirin child, but here was one child, ragged, tough, wiry, not ill-fed, in the middle of nowhere. “You know, you remind me of people in my family.”

Marteth looked at him sideways. “How?”

“Well, you look a little like my mother, especially when you’re glaring at me like that.” Marteth scrunched up his eyes with an expression of disgust. Flairé chuckled a little, not unkindly, and went on. “And you sort of act like her, too, when she’s angry. She gets all cold and prickly like that.”

Marteth looked at him frostily. “Well, she has the right idea of how to deal with strange people, then.”

Flairé blinked, trying to connect the two thoughts. “Would you like to meet her?”

“Not really,” the boy answered. “I want to find my mother.”

“Your real mother, or the pixie who raised you?”

Marteth thought for a while. “Both. But preferably my pixie.”

“I see.” Flairé, too, thought, and then came to a decision. “May I help you find your mother?”

“What?” exclaimed one of the miner elves. “You can’t just let him go back into the wilderness. He’ll die!”

“He seems to have done all right so far,” Flairé answered drily. “If that’s what he wants, I’m not going to stop him. He’s his own master. And so young to be his own master…”

Marteth glowered. “Flairé-person is right. I’m not going to die. And I’m my own master. But my mother will only come back if I’m alone. I don’t need you big clumsy people scaring her away again.”

Flairé began to say that he wasn’t clumsy, and then guessed that he might seem so to a tiny, dragonfly-winged pixie.

“Is there anything else I can do to help you out?” the young prince asked, unwilling to stop the spirited boy and yet equally unwilling to not take responsibility for his welfare.

Marteth stood and pointed to the door. Flairé followed the boy outside and waved the miners back when they tried to follow. Marteth led him around to the back of the hut and a little way up the hill. He dug around in a pocket with a grimy hand and pulled something out. “Can you tell me what this is?”

Flairé took it, a small band of severely tarnished metal. “I think it’s a bracelet, a decoration for your wrist. A bit small, though.” He rubbed some of the encrusted dirt off and tried to find out what kind of metal it was under the tarnish; he thought it might be silver.

Then he saw what it was and his heart froze.

“What’s the matter?” Marteth demanded impatiently. “What’s that scared look for? It’s not going to bite you.” When Flairé didn’t answer, he went on. “I might, though, if you don’t tell me.” Later, Flairé would find out that that was a joke.

“This… engraving says… Hciristial,” Flairé whispered. “Do you know who that is?”

Marteth’s expression clearly said “Do I give a hoot?” but in the face of Flairé’s sudden seriousness, he simply said, “No.”

“That was my baby brother’s name,” Flairé said softly. “He was stolen from my mother and father when he was only a few days old.” He looked up suddenly. “How long have you lived with the pixies?”

“Ever since I can remember,” Marteth answered, equally serious. “Am… am I your brother?”

Flairé knelt and looked closely at him. Marteth looked searchingly back, something yearning in his eyes.

“Yes,” said Flairé, pulling his brother into a hug. “Yes, you are truly my brother, and Zela’s son.”

Marteth stood still, unsure of how to respond to the hug. Eventually, his arms crept around his brother, and his proud head lowered until it rested on his shoulder. “I… have… a kalmaeirin family.”

“Yes,” Flairé said again. “Will you at least come and meet the rest of them before you go back to the pixies?”

“I will,” Marteth said, looking his brother in the eye and giving a firm nod of his head.

“And one more thing: do you know of any more children raised by pixies?”

“No, why?”

“I had three more baby brothers, all vanished in the night…” Flairé smiled hopefully.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I’ll go on hoping they’re alive, too, then. Now then! North-east we go! Mother’s in the Dragonland city.”

The miners watched them go, puzzled looks on their faces. Flairé waved cheerfully to them before the two newly reunited brothers climbed the long hill out of the valley.

 

“The frustrating thing is that we can’t keep you,” the elf-woman Youlastal said to Zela and the silver dragon, recovering groggily behind bars in a stone room with golden sunlight streaming through one window. “You’re far too recognizable, Aghazi, and you, Lady Zela.” She tilted her head to one side. “Of course, if you disappeared, it would only begin sooner. Perhaps that would not be a bad thing, but we’re not ready.”

“What would only begin sooner?” Zela asked sullenly. “What’s this all about?”

“You don’t know?”

“Of course I don’t. I’ve been here for months and heard nothing. Obviously you have been going to a great deal of trouble never to let any details slip.”

“I assumed you knew more than that,” Youlastal. “Else why would you come sniffing around here, the way you do, forest woman?”

“Something got out, at least,” Zela said defiantly, though she had to put her hand to her head to quell the pain. “The realms are filled with rumours of unrest. Now tell me what you’re doing!”

“Why don’t you ask Aghazi?” smiled the other, and left the room. “Gilzellen! Are you ready to go?”

“Where are they going?” Zela asked, looking up at the silver dragon’s iridescent blue eyes.

“Probably fleeing into exile in the east,” the silver said. “They will either take us with them, or deal with us here, though… I don’t think they will kill us.”

“I’m not afraid to die,” Zela said. “I’m only afraid of what it will do to Flaer.” She shook away that thought before tears could come to her eyes. “Is your name Aghazi?”

“That is my dragonname. You can continue to call me Silver. I know, I’m not the only silver dragon,” she said quickly, forestalling Zela’s confused question, “but the rest of my family, especially my clutch brothers, are all named things like Silverwing and Silvertail. My mother is named Quicksilver, and my father is Truesilver. In your tongue, of course.”

“Of course,” Zela said. “I’m glad to know. What is all this talk of treason?”

The silver sighed and shifted. Zela rubbed her aching head again – concussion, at the very least – and saw that deep red blood was trickling slowly from puncture marks in the dragon’s neck. She got up and took off the torn-off part of her dress, tearing it into strips and wiping away the blood from the wounds, trying to staunch them.

“Thank you,” said Silver. “It’s a strange tale, and shocking, but it’s true.”

“Go on,” Zela said, somewhat impatiently.

“Well, in a nutshell – we believe in the Lord God, don’t we?”

“Yes…”

“And in His angels, those who appeared to you and taught you, Lady Zela?”

“Yes…?”

“How many were there?”

Zela paused in her ministrations and thought. “I don’t actually remember. There were a number of them.”

“A hundred? Seven?”

“There were seven great angels, archangels, and some others. Not a hundred. Not more than twenty, I think.”

“What if I told you that there is only one angel?”

Zela jerked backwards in surprise, backing against the stone wall. “What!?”

“That is what some are saying now. I do not know why, but apparently they believe in this strongly enough that they wish to make everyone believe the same, and to remove those from power who believe in seven archangels by the hand of God.”

Zela shook her head in disbelief, and then stopped and held it in pain. “That’s unbelievable. That can’t be. That’s completely irrational.”

Silver’s head drooped. “I know. I don’t know how this idea got started, either. No one knows who first thought it, or else they’re protecting them. I was approached about a month ago, and I went along with them for a while to try and learn more, but when I learned that they are planning to remove King Kiirstril-“

“Truly?” Zela cried. “This – oh, this is awful!”

The silver nodded morosely. “Hopefully my outcries earlier helped, but I doubt it. Only the ones who were attacking us outright will be identified. The cancer will still be there. And we will not be…”

“That’s right,” said Youlastal. “You’re coming with us, into the east.”

“How far east?”

“As far east as we can get. Come on! Come quietly, or we’ll tie you up and carry you like grain.”

“Understood,” Zela responded, standing still. “But I am not like that.”

“You won’t come quietly?”

“No.”

“Well, then…” Youlastal reached behind her back and brought out a needle with clear liquid in a bag. She opened the cage, and the silver dragon roared. “Well, you’re an easier target, anyway.” The silver pulled her nose back and the elf chuckled. “Don’t want to go to sleep? It will make it much easier on everyone.”

“I stand with the Lady Zela,” snarled Silver. “She has fought and suffered for a complete stranger.”

“As would we, if there were others unknown whom we needed to protect,” answered Youlastal openly.

Zela blinked, surprised by the sudden earnestness, and nearly missed Youlastal’s next jab at Silver. She jumped forward and grabbed Youlastal’s arms, grappling with her.

“What?” gasped Silver suddenly. “Lady Zela, I hear someone.”

“So… do… I,” Zela responded, gritting her teeth as she fought against the elf.

“In my head.”

“What?”

“She says her name is Yoeath, and that I should keep talking to her inside my head. She says to keep the sleeping poison away from me as long as you can.”

“Yoeath!” Zela cried. “Thank the stars!”

“It will not be enough,” the elf she was wrestling with responded. “One unicorn will not be able to take you away. Gilzellan! I need the others.”

A dragonish grunt outside was the response, and the other two elves rushed into the room. Silver pulled the cage door shut before they could get there, and held it firmly.

The two elves looked at each other and took out sleeping poison of their own. Silver barked at them, coughing fire over her hand so they couldn’t stab it. But even a dragon needs to breathe to create fire, and they are incapable of circular breathing like the kalmaei, and when she did, one darted in and jabbed her with the needle, squeezing the bag until it emptied.

Silver immediately showed the effects, her hide eyelids half drooping over her blue eyes, and her paw dropping limply to the floor. She still breathed fire, but it was a purr now, a mere trickle that extinguished itself on the floor before her face. Within a minute she was asleep.

There was the sound of roaring outside, and one of the blue dragons stumbled back across the doorway. There was a bright flash of metal, then a bright flash of flame. A tenor shout.

“Marteth, stay back! Yo, keep him back!”

Youlastal’s eyes widened in panic, and she dropped the sleeping poison, wrenched herself away from Zela, and drew a small axe from her belt. Zela’s eyes widened, too, in surprise, and she flung herself back in a ready crouch.

“Tark, Zalmith, we need to go NOW!” shouted Youlastal, advancing on Zela in her corner.

Zela lashed out with a kick, and looked over helplessly as the other two elves rapidly tied ropes to Silver’s four paws and then to a dragon’s harness.

Youlastal swung sideways at Zela, catching her arm. Zela hissed and tried to ignore the pain, punching against the other’s armour with her good hand, and tried hooking her leg, but the other dodged it. Her opponent swung again, and there was no room to manoeuvre in the corner. This blow caught her across the stomach, tracing a long shallow gash.

Zela leaned against the wall, glaring, helpless. She hated being helpless. She hated it with as much passion as anything – except injustice. Her vision was tunnelling.

Youlastal raised her axe for another swing, and something sprang on her from behind, knocking her sideways and to the floor.

Youlastal rolled and came up in a crouch, and the person who had attacked her stomped on her axe before she could pick it up. The elf looked around and saw that her allies had gone in a panic, without taking Silver. She sprinted out of the room.

Zela collapsed, and the person who had saved her cried out and knelt down swiftly beside her, taking her into his arms gently. It was Flairé.

“My son?” Zela asked, uncertainly.

“Mother, oh, Mother, I’m sorry I’m so late. I only just got into the city, and then I found Yoeath galloping along the streets, and I found out you had vanished and I came straight away with her…” It seemed that Flairé had inherited his father’s tendency to babble, though when he was anxious, not embarrassed.

“Hush, son,” Zela said warmly. “I’ll live. Help me up. We need to help Silver, the dragon.”

Yoeath stood behind her, her horn faintly glowing, her eyes alight with worry. “Zela?”

“I’ll live,” Zela repeated, and then caught sight of the boy on Yoeath’s back. “Yoeath?”

“What is it?” asked Yoeath calmly.

“…Thank you for coming to find me,” Zela said. “I’ll never go anywhere without a sword again, though. Or maybe several. But who is that?”

Flairé’s face lit up with joy and pride. “This is my brother, your son, Mother.”

Zela’s face went absolutely blank. “…What?”

“Your son,” Flairé repeated. He went to Yoeath’s side and swung down the boy. “This is Marteth – I mean, Hciristial, who was stolen so long ago by pixies.”

“Pixies?” Zela said. Her mind seemed to be having trouble accepting news.

“Yes,” Flairé beamed. “He still has his bracelet.”

“Is this person really my mother?” Marteth asked coolly. “She’s hurt. You should fix her before it becomes infected.”

“Words of wisdom indeed,” Flairé responded, as Zela raised her eyebrows at her new son’s insolence.

“We need someone to help Silver,” Zela said. “Are the knights coming?”

“Yes,” said Yoeath. “Get on, Zela. I will carry you.”

First, Zela leaned down and studied Marteth. “Yes, I am your mother. I… can recognize my children. And your name is Marteth now?”

“Yes,” replied Marteth, somewhat impressed by his mother.

“Pride,” Zela mused. “It is not far off from the truth, I think. I may still call you Hciristial, and I can’t answer for your father.”

Knights and golden dragons rushed in, and one elf injected Silver with an antidote. She began to come around.

“Mother,” said Flairé, “he wants to return to his pixie mother.”

Zela hesitated, torn by conflict. “We can discuss that later.”

“Of course. I’m sorry, Mother,” Flairé said softly. “Let’s just go home and play music together.”

“No,” Zela replied shortly. “We need to fix the mess here first.”

“I can do that,” Silver said, crawling to her feet. “I thank you very much for your help, Lady Zela, and all your efforts on my behalf. You have probably saved my life, and certainly my freedom, nearly at the cost of your own. Now you should go and rest.”

“It was all I could do,” Zela said. “Thank you for telling me what is going on. They may call me a spy from the Moonland all they like but I am not. I only want to know so that we can sooth the unrest.”

 

They all went back to the Moonland, where Flaer wept with joy to find his son again, which surprisingly didn’t lose him any respect in Marteth’s eyes. Marteth himself needed instruction in almost everything, especially in proper dress, though he was very proud to have shimmering silk clothes. He talked back like anything, sending Flaria into fits of dismay, though she never lost her patience and adored her little brother dearly. Menad was nowhere to be found, and Zela found that he had left to explore the wild with a friend.

Flairé sent a message to Tam, saying “Taking care of Mother. How is your investigation? Come join us!”

Tam sent a message back after a month, saying “No can do. Can you come here instead? Very twisted business. Please come!”

So Flairé saddled his brown horse – his second horse; kalmaeirin horses lived as long as fifty years, and he had already seen one pass away – and prepared to leave for the North, leaving Marteth to the tender mercies of his mother and sister.

“So, be patient with Mother, please,” he asked Marteth before he left. “She’s not so strong in the patience department, and she’s a perfectionist… But she will teach you everything she knows willingly and with love, even if you don’t see it so.”

“I will try, Flairé,” Marteth answered seriously. “I was watching her sparring with Sir Gyoriing yesterday. I want to fight like they do.”

“You will be able to,” Flairé reassured him. “But it takes many years of hard practice. You understand?”

“Yes,” Marteth answered determinedly. “I will be a great warrior when you come back.”

Flairé almost pulled a face at his brother’s goal in life, and his naivety to practice, but didn’t. “I look forward to sparring with you. Goodbye!”

He arrived in the Moonland city a week later and went straight to Tam’s parents’ house.

Tam was waiting for him on the steps, lounging casually against the rail. He looked cool as a cucumber, but Flairé, looking at him, thought he looked different somehow. His eyes were more shadowed, as if he’d been sleepless for many nights more than he could stand.

“Hey there,” he said, as Flairé left his horse at the bottom of the stairs and sprang up two at a time to meet him. Flairé hugged him, grinning cheerfully. “I can see you’ve been well, at least.”

“Please, tell me what you’ve been up to!” Flairé said eagerly. “I just need to let my horse into your field.”

“Go ahead, and then come up to my room,” Tam said, smiling back same as ever.

 

Flairé took the outside route – climbing the wall – and slipped through Tam’s window and bounced on his bed. “All right. What’s this about twisted?”

“Oh, I want to hear what you’ve been up to first,” Tam said, leaning against the fireplace and running a hand through his hair. The blue dye in his bangs was fading back to brown again.

“Well, not too long after we parted ways, I found my long-lost younger brother-“

Tam leaned forward, eyes alight with interest. “Really? Which one?”

“The eldest. Hciristial. He calls himself Marteth now. It fits, too. He has such a stiff neck for a pre-adolescent, and he wants to be a warrior. Oh, he was raised by pixies. He has black hair and brown eyes, and glares at everyone unless they’re being particularly loving to him.”

Tam laughed heartily. “Well, go on.”

“And then I went to the Dragonland city, because I’d heard that Mother was there, and I wanted Marteth to at least meet the rest of his family before he went back to his pixie mother…”

“What, he’s not going to stay with you?”

Flairé mock-glared at his friend. “If you’d keep your mouth shut, I’ll tell you everything in order.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll shut up.”

“Anyway, so I went to the Moonland, and the first person I met was Yoeath, who’d gone with Mother, and she was galloping down the main road. I asked her what the matter was, and she said that some people had kidnapped Mother. So I followed her, and found Mother fighting three kalmaei and three dragons, and she was in a prison cell along with a silver dragon. So Yo and I managed to distract the dragons enough that they had to leave before the Dragon knights got there, and before they hurt Mother and the dragon too badly.”

Tam opened his mouth and then shut it again.

“Well, they’d been hurt when they were kidnapped, and when I got there, one of them was trying to kill Mother rather than have her escape and tell Kiirstril what was going on. So it wasn’t my fault,” Flairé growled mock-defensively. “Oh, so what was going on was that we have religious revolutionaries in the Dragonland.”

Tam leaned forward suddenly, intent. “Really? About seven archangels or one angel?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I’ll tell you in a moment.”

“All right. So the silver dragon went to tell Kiirstril everything, while Mother and Yo and Marteth and I returned to the Moonland. So we don’t know how long Marteth’s going to stay, either. So I didn’t get to finish exploring the mountains, but I think that’s all right considering the circumstances.”

“I hope you get a chance to go back soon,” Tam said. “It’s good to know the world from a personal point of view.”

“I know,” Flairé said, smiling. “You say that often enough, and Mother too.” His smile faded. “Now, tell me your story! You clearly know more than I do.”

“There is a Black Unicorn,” Tam said softly. “I’m certain of it. It’s out there, in the forest. It is insane, as those people we met were saying. And yet… it’s not completely lost all reason. I don’t know what it is. It’s certainly not natural. And I’m not insane!”

“Why didn’t you ask for Yoeath to come with me?” Flairé asked.

“My father has a unicorn friend. Yowiith, the White Wind. He told me about, well, how unicorns think and behave. If there is a Black Unicorn out there – I could be wrong, you know – it’s completely aberrant.”

Flairé nodded slowly. “So how did you find out about it?”

Tam frowned. “Well, the first thing I did when I got back was prowl around looking for more solid rumours. I know our people travel fast, but the physically closer to the source means more people might agree on what they say and I didn’t trust the mere word of those travellers.” He leaned back against the wall. “I soon found darker tales. People have disappeared from small villages, grown people, not babies abducted by pixies.” He smiled a little. “And there seems to be a miasma of fear in the west. Not oppressive, but noticeable if you’ve lived there for any length of time before now.”

“Then I got caught up in court intrigue for a while and had to leave that chase for a week. Princess Muila has been dropping hints about this ‘one angel’ theory, quietly, though even that seems unusually open for even her combative nature. Princess Layalin is very unhappy, because she loves her twin and believes in seven.”

“And Kylyra?” Flairé asked.

Tam smirked. “Oblivious, lover-boy.”

“Hey!” Flairé cried, hopping up and chasing Tam around the room. “I never said anything about me!”

“But it’s obvious,” Tam said, dodging around an armchair, laughing.

Flairé slowed down and stopped. “I don’t know about that, actually. Not anymore.”

“How so?” Tam asked, stopping and half turning towards him.

“I don’t think she’s the right person, somehow. I don’t think I’ve met the right girl yet.”

“Welcome to my world,” Tam beamed.

Flairé laughed and put a hand to his face. “So how does she feel about her sisters is what I meant?”

“She’s oblivious to them too. She just spends her time playing with her friends, same as ever. She’s growing into quite a beauty, though.”

Flairé waved that away with a roll of his eyes. “Go on.”

Tam grinned, opened his mouth as if to continue teasing, and then stopped, smiling ruefully. “Well, you know the girl who broke into my house when I first met you?”

“The one you never told me about? Yes?”

“Well, I finally found out who she was, though I always knew what she was looking for. She’s Princess Muila’s maid and friend. She was looking for evidence that I am a bad influence on society, probably to get me shut up out of the way.”

“Out of the way of what?”

“I don’t know, and that’s what scares me,” Tam said openly. “So I had to spend a few days tangoing with the political system to smooth things over; Erd is completely confused and distracted over his daughter right now and couldn’t help me out at all. And of course Marotheth hates my guts and would love to see me in prison.”

“Oh dear,” Flairé said sympathetically. “How did you deal with that?”

“Oh, same way I always do,” Tam said with a sigh. “You have to have been raised in the Unicorn-land to really understand, but I’ll tell you later, after I finish.”

“Right, go on.”

“Well, actually there’s not much more to say, really. This last week I’ve been trying to find out what happened to those missing people. I went pretty deep into the forest. I think it was probably too dangerous to do, now, but I’m pretty sure I got back all right. The last two days I’ve been here, waiting for you.”

“And here I am.”

“I want to head out west tomorrow with you and really get into the forest. I’d feel more confident if there were two of us working together, and there’s no one I trust more than you, Flairé m’lad.”

Flairé smiled gratefully. “And I you, Tatamkanai.”

Tam made a face as if he’d bitten a lemon. “Thanks.”

 

Chapter 4          Chapter 6

December 11, 2009

Adhemlenei: Sword’s Innocence: Chapter 3

...

Chapter 2           Chapter 4

 

Chapter 3

All was well in the Adhemlenei again, and Flaer, Gyoriing, Zela, Flairé, Flaria, and Menad had all gone north to the Unicornland in the summer. Zela was looking forward to seeing Princess Layalin for the first time in many years; she had not seen her since Flairé was born. Zela was also carrying her fourth child, and it would be born while they were there.

The moment they rode through the gates of the Unicorn castle, at the top of a great hill in the middle of the forest near the mountains, Layalin accosted them.

“Zela! Prince Flaer! Knight Gyoriing! How lovely to see you all! Oh, and are these your children, Zela? How lovely they are!”

“Thank you,” Zela said, smiling. “It’s all their father’s fault.”

“Not true,” said Flaer, grinning back. “Menad has your eyes to perfection.”

Zela rolled her eyes and swatted at her husband as her children dismounted from their horses. Zela got down from Yoeath as smoothly as ever, despite the extra weight she carried. Flaer was there to help her.

Flairé ran to Layalin and gave her a hug – they had heard much about each other, and liked what they heard. Layalin went to the other two and hugged them as well, and they both returned it warmly.

Then Gyoriing swept up the princess in a tight embrace, and she flushed rosy red. Menad looked confused, but Flairé and Flaria looked gleeful – in a good way. Flaer looked at Zela and hugged her shoulders affectionately.

“Well, come inside!” Layalin encouraged them, once she had made her way free of Gyoriing. “You must be tired after riding so far. We have hot baths prepared, and there’s food afterwards.”

“Lead on!” cried little Menad, shrilly. Layalin laughed.

Flairé happened to be around the same age as Princess Kylyralessa, Layalin’s younger sister, and after the deliciously hot bath, he ran into her in the hall.

“Oh! Hello!” she cried fearlessly, seeing him. “You must be my sister’s friend’s son. What’s your name again?”

“I’m Flairé,” replied he, equally fearlessly. “I’m afraid I have no idea who you are.”

“I’m Kylyralessa,” she said, tossing her long, long golden hair. “Please don’t call me Princess, or I’ll have to lock you in the music room.”

“That would be counter-productive,” Flairé grinned, “since all I would do would dance on all your dancing drums until they broke.”

Kylyralessa rolled her eyes. “Well, are you free? Would you like a tour of the castle? I was just coming up here to see you and your sister and brother. Daddy sent me.”

“I would love a tour, but I have to check with Mother.” He turned and ran to his parent’s room. “Mother! Princess Kylyralessa wants to give Flaria and Menad and me a tour. Can we go?”

“Certainly,” answered Flaer. “I’m sure she will get you back in time for supper. Do try to keep out of trouble, hmm?”

“You know me, Father!” Flairé said cheerfully, and then ran back to Kylyralessa, his siblings in tow.

 

The children ran all over the castle, from top to bottom, with Kylyralessa chattering at them every step of the way. She and Flaria were soon fast friends, and invited her to meet her friends sometime soon as they set out to wander the city around the castle.

“We like to meet at the library in the city and do things. We sew and carve and make music and talk.”

“That sounds lovely!” Flaria said. “We don’t know many people our age in the Moonland city. It doesn’t really bother us, but it must be fascinating to be surrounded by people like that.”

“I guess it is,” Kylyra said thoughtfully.

“So are all your friends girls?” asked Menad. “Do any of them dance like my mother?”

Kylyra thought. “I haven’t seen your mother dance that I can remember. But some of my friends do dance, yes. We sing more, though. And yes, almost all of them are girls.”

“Do any of them fight?” Flairé asked.

Kylyra looked indignant. “Do any of them…?” Then her voice faded out. “Maybe. We don’t talk about that much. Well, we do talk about how noble some of the knights are, but I don’t think any of us actually fight much. But I should check. I don’t actually know.”

“I think more girls should know how to fight,” Flairé said.

“Like your mother, I know,” Kylyra said, sighing. “Actually, my oldest sister knows how to fight. She’s really good. But you wouldn’t think it of her on first sight, because she’s always wearing dresses that are really pretty and not very good for fighting in. I think. I don’t know about fighting.”

“Want to learn?” Flairé invited her.

Kylyra looked at him consideringly for a moment, and then shook her head. “Not really. I’m too busy, and I wouldn’t be very good at it.”

“But you have all the time in the world to learn and perfect it, like singing or sewing, and then you don’t have to rely on guards.”

Kylyra shook her head still. “That’s okay. I’m fine the way I am.”

Then something heavy fell on Flairé.

After some confused and muffled squawks from the squished prince, while his brother capered in excitement, and the girls stood paralyzed in shock and giggles, Flairé managed to push the thing off himself and scramble up.

The thing also scrambled up, and Flairé found himself facing an adult elf with long brown hair, almost completely swathed in a light-woven black cloak. He was breathing heavily.

“Forgive me, my Lords and Ladies,” said the elf, bowing. “I fell from the roof as I was attempting to catch an interloper in my parents’ house. I apologize; I hope you are not hurt?”

“No, not at all,” Flairé said, still blinking quickly in confusion. “Shouldn’t you be chasing this interloper instead of hanging around talking to us?”

“Manners cost nothing, and if I don’t catch that person today, there’s always tomorrow,” said the elf, nodding, and turning and vanishing into an alley on the other side of the street with a swirl of his cloak.

“Wow,” Kylyra said after a moment. “I don’t know who he was, but he was amazing.”

“You’re not worried about the fact that he fell on me?” Flairé said, a little jealously.

“You said you’re fine, right? You look all right to me. Your clothes aren’t even scuffed, really. That’s why I said he’s amazing.”

“Never mind,” Flaria said, with a quick look at her elder brother. “We’ll find out who he was later. Maybe he’ll come up to the castle and say hello. He knew who we were.”

“This is boring,” Menad complained. “Is there a garden around here?”

Kylyra laughed and beckoned them onward.

 

That night, after the excitement of the day, Flairé was in his bed, staring at the stars through the open window.

A dark shape appeared at the window, and he quickly pretended to be sleeping, watching through half-closed eyes.

A figure slid gracefully through the window and stood tall over him. A low, warm chuckle filled the room. “Good try, lad, but I can tell you’re awake.” The voice was as warm as the chuckle, deep and resonant, and full of laughter.

Flairé sat up, both hands in his lap, outwardly calm but ready to make a lunge for the sword in its scabbard that hung nearby, if necessary. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“I don’t want anything from you, except a chance to talk a little. My name is Tatamkanai; you can call me Tam if you like. In fact, I really would prefer it.”

“Are you the person who fell on me today?” Flairé asked, curious, relaxing a little.

“Good memory, lad. I wanted to apologize again now that I’m not chasing after that… girl.”

“It was a girl?”

“A girl broke into my parents’ house while I was visiting. My mother went to tell the knights, while I chased, and my father stayed behind to guard the house in case someone else came.”

“What did she want?”

Tam wrinkled his forehead; Flairé could dimly see his face in the faint light from outside. “I can’t tell you that. Not yet. But once I gave up the chase, I must admit I refound and followed you, young prince. You’re an intriguing person, young Flairé. Would you like to be friends?”

Flairé pulled an exaggerated skeptical face. “And to tell me that, you break into my place?”

“Yes,” said the shadowy figure.

Flairé thought about that one for a few minutes. “All my father’s training tells me to kick you out with my mother’s training.”

“Not surprising,” said Tam easily.

Flairé looked up and grinned. “But I’m going to go with my intuition, which says you’re awesome and likely an honest and good friend.”

Tam reached out and clapped him on the shoulder; Flairé didn’t flinch. “I thank you for your trust. I’ll show you you’re not wrong.”

“Besides which, I can’t beat you up from a sitting position,” the boy added.

Tam nearly laughed, but managed to clamp down on it. “You’ll be able to, in time. I’ve heard your mother works you hard to become the best at everything.”

Flairé nodded slowly. “It certainly feels like it. But it’s worth it.”

“May I help?”

“Help what? Help me to get stronger?”

“If you’ll let me.”

Flairé paused. “If you’re as trustworthy as I think you are, yes. Call again tomorrow? We can spar.”

“Why wait?” asked Tam. “Night’s only just fallen. You can go without sleep for one night.”

“Absolutely,” Flairé agreed. “I’d like to be able to survive without sleep.”

“Well, then, get dressed, grab your lanc- I mean, sword, your weapon, whatever, and follow me!” Tam swung out the window again as Flairé shot out of bed softly and dressed, heart pounding in excitement. He had no idea what would happen if he followed Tam. But his statement about his intuition was entirely true. He had no proof that Tam was an honest person, and in fact, much evidence to the contrary. But something in his voice told him that he was telling the truth, and that he truly wanted to help him become stronger.

So he buckled on his sword, as quietly as he could since his parents were sleeping in the next room, and slipped out the window as neatly as Tam had slid through it coming in. The wall was sheer white stone, but there were tiny toe-holds between blocks and a drainpipe nearby.

He found Tam waiting for him at the bottom of the wall, still cloaked in black, now hooded. The taller elf nodded once and set off towards the outer wall of the castle.

He sprang up the side of the wall as if climbing a ladder and vaulted with one hand over the top. Flairé scrambled a little less successfully up behind him, hesitated a moment on the top, and then saw that the drop to the ground was not so great.

“He must be very familiar with the castle,” Flairé thought to himself.

Tam led him silently down the steep hill and into the forest. Flairé kept himself relaxed but alert, one hand on his sword. They went under dark pines that would have been deeply shadowed even in the full light of day. Now it was pitch black and not the slightest hint of starlight reached them. Still Tam lead him sure-footedly through the woods, the prince stumbling slightly behind, following only by sound, until they came to a more lightly-wooded area and began going uphill again.

They stopped at last on a flat area on the very bottom slopes of a great mountain, and Tam turned to Flairé. “Well done, lad. You’re a keen night tracker.”

“I-I am?” Flairé asked, oddly pleased by the compliment. His hand was still on his sword.

“Yes, very. And here we are, on the side of the mountain, well away from prying ears and eyes. Shall we spar?”

“What are you wielding?” Flairé asked curiously, eying Tam’s weapon that he had just produced from under his cloak.

“It’s a spring-loaded lance. I’ve made a point of dealing in long, sharp, pointy things. Lances, scythes, long-handled maces, they’re all the same to me. Now I notice you like swords, like your parents.”

“It gives me greater flexibility, I think, even though my range isn’t as good as a lance or a halberd,” Flairé said. “But how on earth does a spring-loaded lance work?”

“When I touch the catch on the haft, the blade springs forward an extra foot. It’s very good for catching things off guard. I’ve saved more than a few damsels – and gentlemen, too – in distress before now.”

“Neat,” Flairé said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Tam’s teeth glinted in the starlight as he grinned. “I wouldn’t want it any other way. Shall we?”

For answer, Flairé drew his sword in a breath, set his feet in the classic defensive opening, and then charged, feinting at the last moment. Tam countered with the haft of his weapon, springing away, and then sliding forward in a counterattack.

Long they battled, while the stars wheeled overhead. Flairé could feel that Tam was stronger and faster than himself, and that he was holding back. He clamped down on the twinge of frustration he felt at that and hurled himself more fully into fighting, giving two horizontal swings and spinning to lend power to a downwards chop. Tam seemed the slightest bit surprised, but defended successfully, launching the head of his lance into the air under Flairé’s right elbow.

The boy twisted away, swinging his sword behind him and changing it to his left hand. He ducked another attack from Tam, and blocked another with his blade, then stabbed forward, meeting empty air.

Tam whirled and ended up behind Flairé. Before the prince could turn and react, he found himself on his back on the ground, with Tam kneeling over him, his lance touching the dirt under his left arm.

“All right,” Flairé said tranquilly, “I guess that’s only to be expected.”

Tam laughed. “You’re fearless.” He got up and helped Flairé up. “That was great fighting, lad. You’ll be the wonder of the Moonland someday.”

“Maybe,” Flairé returned cheerfully, dusting himself off. Tam helped. “Thanks. Now what?” He began to dance to his heartbeat, lilting with his shoulders.

Tam quirked an eyebrow. “Now we get you home before dawn. If your mother finds out I took you out of the castle she’ll have my hide.”

“Do you know my mother?”

Tam shrugged non-committally and flashed a grin at him.

“Well, I knew you’d be a good idea.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Flairé asked, some suspicion returning.

Tam laid a hand on his shoulder. “I want to become better myself, and what better way than to take on a pupil? I swear to you, Flairé, that I have no secrets from you – save about that situation earlier today. But ask, and I shall answer to the best of my ability.”

Flairé nodded. Tam had used his name for the first time seriously, and seemed solemn and sincere.

“So… are you a knight?” They began walking.

Tam groaned and rested his face in his hand. “I was afraid you’d ask that. Yes, I am a knight, and a friend of your father’s friend Gyoriing. He’s a bit straight-laced for me, though. In fact, the whole organized knight-hood is too straight-laced for me. That’s why I’m not in the castle.”

“Oh, I see,” Flairé said, nodding. “That explains a lot.”

Tam looked at him anxiously. “It does?”

“You were holding back when we were fighting.”

“I’m older than you, lad.”

“Yes, but my mother’s had me training well-nigh every day until dark since I was… much shorter than I am now. I think I’m pretty good for my age, though.”

“You’re great for your age,” Tam told him. “And you have a great attitude. That’s why I asked to be your friend.”

Flairé looked up with wide, deliberately innocent eyes, and then grinned from ear to ear. “Thanks. You’re not bad to talk to yourself.”

“Oh, get along wi’ ye’,” Tam chuckled, pushing him over, slipping facetiously into a far-north-east accent.

They walked in silence for a while, through the black part of the forest, back up the hill to the castle. The outer wall was too sheer even for Tam to climb, so he led the prince along the wall to a side door, locked – but Tam had a pick, and Flairé looked on with great interest as his new friend jabbed it into the lock and flicked it back and forth. The door came open, and Tam and his black cloak floated through, Flairé a lithe shadow behind.

Flairé went up the wall to his room first, now that he knew the way, and Tam was right behind. The sky was beginning to grow light and he could see where he was going clearly.

Flaria was waiting, sitting up perfectly straight on his bed. When she saw his head appear above the sill, she shot him an unimpressed look and left, her skirts swishing.

“Uh-oh,” Flairé said, clambering in and giving a hand to Tam. Tam pulled himself up and Flairé gasped.

“What’s the matter?” Tam asked, tilting his head. Beneath his long, loose black cloak, he wore a purple tunic with white trim, and the metal parts of his clothes were all of gold. He wore black finger-less gloves on his hands, and his lance was strapped to his back in a peculiar holster that looked as if it would fall off his shoulder any moment, but didn’t. His eyes were a mismatched brown and dark hazel, and they glittered the hollows of his lean face. But above all this, trailing over his face…

“Y-your hair… it’s blue!” Flairé said.

“Oh, that?” Tam said, reach up to push pale blue locks behind his ears to join ruddy chestnut strands. “Actually, it’s brown. I just dyed the front for fun. Looks good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, actually, it does,” Flairé said in admiration. “Doesn’t it get to be a huge pain after a few years, having to re-dye it every month or so?”

“Yeah, but it gives me an excuse to visit my mother. And besides, it’s not difficult and it looks fantastic.”

Zela came in, followed closely by Flaer. “Oh, Tatamkanai. I should have known.”

“How many times have I told you to call me Tam, m’lady?” Tam asked, bowing.

“Well, you haven’t told me at all in the last century, considering my children have been growing up and you haven’t so much as sent a letter,” Zela retorted.

“Hello, Prince Flaer,” Tam said to Flaer. “How is it with you?”

“I’m very good,” Flaer replied. “And you?” Menad peeked around Flaer’s legs, saw the stranger in the black cloak, and ran.

“Everything’s wicked smooth around here,” Tam said, though he made a strange gesture with his hand that Flairé didn’t recognize, that didn’t look like it matched his words.

Flairé had been looking back and forth, and now he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. “So you mean to tell me that you all know each other, have known each other for a long time, and never thought to tell me? And what by stars does ‘wicked smooth’ mean?”

Zela waved a hand. “Oh, Tamkanai wasn’t terribly important to know about, was he?”

“I take offense, m’lady,” Tam responded instantly, grinning. “And ‘wicked smooth’ means ‘fabulous’.”

“Well, it’s time for you to go back to bed, then,” Zela said, shooing her son away from the wall and towards his bed, which Flaria had apparently neatly made a few minutes ago.

“No, let him keep going,” Tam said. “He can take it. He needs to be able to do this as well as dance like a fire.”

“You’re not allowed to tell me how to raise my children,” Zela told him. “You’re not even married.”

“I was a child once,” Tam replied cheerfully.

“A vast age ago,” Zela returned.

“So?” Tam said. “Anyway, let’s ask him what he wants to do.”

“I’m fine, Mother, Father,” Flairé responded. “We were sparring, but I’m fine. Really.”

“I think it will be all right, Zela,” Flaer said.

“Fine,” Zela said. “But if you’re determined to develop the skill to go without sleep, I don’t want to hear any complaining, or see you drifting off.”

“I understand, Mother.”

Flaer looked around. “But I need to find Gyoriing. He’ll want to see Tatamkanai.”

“You’re making me feel old in front of the children,” Tam complained as Flaer and Zela left with a wink and a wave. “I mean, not-children. People my own age. Right?”

“I’m third generation,” Flairé pointed out.

“And what has that to do with your age?” Tam asked, flopping on Flairé’s bed beside him. “Nothing. Age is all in the mind. Your mother’s still as young as you are. She pretends she’s not, but she is.”

Flairé chewed on that one for a while. “Well, let’s go have breakfast, then. I’m hungry.”

“Hey, that’s a great idea!”

 

And after that day, Tam and Flairé were always in each other’s company, bantering, showing off, and sparring with each other, even in public. Tam seemed to be the kind of person who made things light when they were serious, though he also had perfect self-control and patience, which confused Flaria, who had never associated the two before. Gyoriing was forever chasing the mischievous group – Tam, Flairé, Flaria, and often Kylyra and Menad – trying to get them to behave with a little more dignity, but Tam flat-out refused and ended the discussion by ruffling Gyoriing’s hair, earning him a growl and a reluctant grin from the tall knight.

But Tam was also whole-heartedly earnest and kind, and Flairé admired him all the more when he showed that side of himself.

Flaer and Zela had known Tam for a long time, but never very well. Now they grew to know him as if he were their own brother. Over the weeks, as Zela waited to birth her child, Tam gradually took over Flairé’s physical and philosophical training, and both together served as temporary parents to Flaria and Menad.

The child was born, a strong boy, with black hair like his older siblings, and brown eyes like his mother but darker. The whole family, from Zela and Flaer to Kylyra and Layalin, gathered around him constantly to adore him, except when he was sleeping. Zela and Flaer named him Hciristial, Firegleam, and gave him a silver bracelet with his name on it.

 

It was late one evening, and Tam was telling the whole family stories. Gyoriing and Layalin had been with them earlier, but had gone off together, Layalin saying she felt tired and Gyoriing saying he would escort her back to her room and then turn in himself.

Tam waved goodbye and went on with his dramatic tale of sea monsters and the giant cat of the land of ice, who had helped him defeat them. “And then, you know, she started asking for pets. And how am I supposed to pet a cat twenty feet tall at the shoulder?”

Zela smiled and went back into her room to check on Hciristial.

Flaer suddenly felt cold, as if that room had stopped breathing. It was dead silent. Tam’s story hesitated, then stopped. Flaer jumped up and went to see what was wrong.

Zela was standing above the cradle, frozen like a statue in disbelief. The cradle was empty.

“How-?” Flaer began in a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Zela answered. “Dear stars, I don’t know.” Suddenly she whirled and headed for the door.

“Tam, did you take Hciristial?”

“No, ma’am!” Tam responded promptly. Then his brown and hazel eyes widened to unbelievable sizes. “Wait, what happened?”

“He’s no longer in his cradle. The room is exactly as it was half an hour ago, and nothing smells or sounds or feels out of place – but he’s gone.”

Tam jumped up. “Search the room again. Flairé, you three-“ Flaria, Menad, and Kylyralessa “- come with me and we’ll search the castle for people with babies.”

“Get Gyoriing to help you,” Zela called, following Flaer back into the room.

 

Her hands were shaking. Her son had been stolen, and for the first time, all the tracking skills available to her – her own, Yoeath’s, her friends’ – had failed her. She didn’t know what to do, and that frightened her more than anything else.

Flaer embraced her silently, and she laid her proud head back on his shoulder. Flaer was her greatest comfort. He felt what she felt, and offered no hollow words of comfort. Tam had tried, after returning empty handed, but his usually strong voice had faded into stammering and then silence, and then he had left. Her other children had looked at her, and then tip-toed away to their rooms.

“Come,” Flaer said at last, releasing her and taking her hand.

They walked through corridors together. Flaer came upon Gyoriing in the living area of his quarters and spoke quick, soft words to him. The knight nodded and left the way that Flaer and Zela had come in.

Flaer took Zela’s hand again and led her out of the castle, across the dark grounds, through the main gate, the one that didn’t lead into the city.

They wandered long alone together under the stars and the dark trees. The moon was shining, at half-light.

Another light appeared in the distance, and Flaer turned toward it. Zela followed, not really registering at first. Then she blinked as if waking and saw a distant bonfire. Flaer continued steadily on, and she followed him.

Deep in the heart of the woods was a great bonfire, and around it in the shadows clustered people, figures she could hardly see. One of them came forward, and it was Gyoriing. He had brought Zela’s violin, and held it out to her. She took it, feeling the smooth wood under her fingers, and brought it slowly up to her shoulder, curling the fingers of her other hand around the bow. Flaer and Gyoriing stood back.

Music began to fall from the five strings, slow and measured and grieving. Zela loved the violin; it mimicked the voice while having even greater range and, like the voice, reflected every emotion the musician felt and amplified it. If their hand shook, the world would know.

Her hands did not shake now, as her fingers found their way surely to the places to make the sounds her mind improvised. They had shaken before, all through the walk in the woods, but with her instrument in her hands, that all changed.

The music gradually quickened, breathing deep and soft like a tree. Guitars and soft bells joined in from the crowd that stood around the clearing, and Flaer began to dance. At first he danced alone, but others from the crowd joined in as the music sped up.

The Zela began to sing too, a song with gentle words but fierce melody, and it was as if the fire spread to the dancers. They began to intertwine and leap, hands twirling gracefully and skirts flying. She lost the words of the song and just sang a passionate wordless melody.

Zela passed her violin back to Gyoriing, who put it back in its case, and joined the dance while still singing. To her surprise, she found herself dancing with Tam, who gave her such an unhappy look like a scolded dog that she actually managed a brief smile for him. Then she moved to Flaer and forgot everything else in the pulse of the dance.

 

When Flaer and Zela went back to the Moonland, Flairé begged to stay behind and live with Tam, and after much discussion, his parents let him. Flaria proclaimed herself jealous until Flaer told her what a terrible thing jealousy was. Then when she saw her brother, she would give him a haughty look and told him to take care of himself now that she wouldn’t be able to do it for him.

Flairé took it all fairly cheerfully in stride, secretly entertaining thoughts of finding his baby brother.

Three more sons were born to Flaer and Zela over the swift cruel years, named Zeastal, Idmwenn, and Mui-ila, Brightsword, Swiftflight, and Deereye, and each time, the baby vanished after only a few days. Idmwenn, the third baby, they never left alone, but even the kalmaei must sleep sometime, and Idmwenn vanished out of Flaer’s arms one night, and they wept. Mui-ila, likewise. Some questioned why they were spending so much trouble on children when the pattern was as predictable as a road, but never aloud, for which Zela was grateful.

The prince’s family troubles were not the only thing bothering the Moonland. Rumours of social unrest in the east were filtering through the unofficial lines of communication, and strange, vaguely unsettling tales of monsters – or perhaps a monster – from the north. But they were only stories, and no one had any proof, so there was nothing to do but to go on with life as it was, and wonder.

 

Chapter 2           Chapter 4

December 10, 2009

Adhemlenei: Sword’s Innocence: Chapter 2

...

Chapter 1          Chapter 3

 

Chapter 2

The tournament was nearly called off after the tragedy of the morning, and the tensions now rampant – for no true reason – between the dragon people and the griffon people, but the knights had all travelled a long way, and were less than thrilled at the prospect of returning all the way home without so much as brandishing their weapons in less serious conflict.

There was a two day pause to attend the funeral of the two kalmei, as each nation mourned in the way that they felt most appropriate; most of them through dance, some at noon, some at night. The dragon and griffon each were sent home, utterly unconsolate and still potentially vengeful. But after this, the tournament went on.

The sun was shining brightly, nearly dispelling the feeling of gloom that had settled over the camp the previous days. Gyoriing, Zela, and Flaer were all sparring at one point or another, and Zela took to wandering off at random times to practice by herself. Flaer found her before her first match, dancing in full armour, her sword humming around her in glittering circles. His breath stuck in his throat and he remembered the day he had first seen her.

“Do you want to spar with me?” Zela asked, coming to a halt and smiling.

He ignored the shadows around her eyes as he answered. “Shouldn’t you save your energy for the fighting later? There are much more difficult opponents than me, you know.”

“I’ll be fine. I don’t care if I win or lose-“

“Well, that’s not true,” Flaer interrupted, eyes twinkling. “I know you.”

“Very well, but I still want to spar with you.”

“I’m no match for you, but as you like,” answered the prince, smiling easily, unsheathing his own sword.

Zela came at him with a leap and a bound, and he found himself hard-pressed to defend against her.

After only a few minutes, they fell apart again in separate heaps of laughter.

“I wish everything could always be like this,” Flaer said suddenly.

Zela cocked her head quizzically at him. “Are you still upset about the day before yesterday?”

“Everyone is,” Flaer answered softly. “It’s only when I’m concentrating very hard that I can forget, like when I’m duelling…”

Gyoriing appeared from behind a tent. “Flaer! What have you been doing? It’s time for the first match! Hello, Lady Zela. Come, both of you!”

“I’m coming, we’re coming,” Flaer sighed with amusement. “Gyoriing’s better than my mother.”

“What was that?” Gyoriing asked.

“Nothing important,” Flaer answered. Zela shook her head.

 

The rest of the week passed in gleaming silver and the meditation of combat. But the sadness was not forgotten, nor the anger that each of the families felt. On the surface, everything looked normal, if a little more serious than usual. But underneath, the Dragonland people and the Griffonland people, even subconsciously, distrusted each other now.

The representatives from families of both the fallen showed up at the Moonland castle the day after their return, however. It was customary to choose a judge from another country for disputes, though there had never been a dispute as serious as this one. Flaer went to talk to the Dragonland family, and his younger brother Lyrestan went to talk to the Griffonland people.

“But how can you ask for punishment?” Lyrestan asked the brother of the murdered elf. “The Dragonland people have lost their brother as well.”

“Suicide is not a punishment,” the brother said angrily. “We want them to pay for what he has done to us.”

“They already pay,” Lyrestan said earnestly. “They grieve for their brother as well. He’s dead! You can’t bring him back and kill him again. That’s impossible and, were it possible, it would be wrong!”

“We still want reparation! It is not enough to say that everyone is very sad. We want justice as well!”

“There is nothing they can give you!” Lyrestan answered, trying not to raise his voice.

He felt a blow on the cheek and was knocked to the floor.

“What was that for!?” he demanded, picking himself up slowly, rubbing his cheek where he had been hit, and then pushing his long golden hair out of his face. He was still very young, hardly more than a full-grown boy.

The brother of the fallen elf towered over him. “It’s no good arguing with you. I lost my temper, Prince. We would like to speak to your brother or your father. Perhaps they will be more willing to listen to reason.”

“My brother is speaking to the family of the elf who killed himself. My father and mother are already occupied in annual city planning.”

“I don’t want to speak to you, you stubborn brat!” the elf shouted, winding up for another punch. His sisters and cousins watched impassively, though two of his three sisters and one of his two cousins looked distressed. But they did nothing, and Lyrestan was forced to duck. “I notice you weren’t at the tournament! No one in your family knows anything about strength or justice. You and your family should not be rulers of the Moonland!”

At that, the two sisters winced, and the cousin looked shocked. The other sister and cousin nodded, though. Lyrestan ducked another punch, turned, and grabbed a curtain pole. “I don’t need to take that kind of talk, sir. My family are true upholders of justice. Just because they choose not to fight doesn’t mean they’re weak!” He began blocking the attacks of the other elf with the pole.

“Besides, he’s only a boy,” said one of the sisters softly. “He couldn’t have been at the tournament, Seya.”

“Your brother was beaten by his fiancée at the tournament. He’s pathetic!”

“My brother is not pathetic!”

The other elf began to draw his sword. Lyrestan paled and backed away, holding his staff with a death-grip and clearly thinking about calling for help. The sisters and cousins backed away too, suddenly afraid.

“I’ll ask for the last time. Will you let me speak to someone older than a mere boy?”

“A-are you going to try and kill me?” Lyrestan managed to squeak.

The elf looked down at the sword in his hand. “No. But I will beat some sense into you, kid.”

Lyrestan’s eyes widened, and he gave a little whimper of fright just before he blocked the first strike of the elf’s sword.

Then a dark-blue blur shot into the room and hooked an arm around the Griffonland elf’s neck, trapping his sword arm behind his back.

“What are you doing?” Zela hissed in his ear. “Why are you attacking the prince? Are you stupid?”

Lyrestan vanished out the back door of the room, his face white as a sheet. He dropped the dented curtain pole behind him.

“Lady Zela,” said the Griffonland elf coldly. “Come to defend your future family?”

“I was only passing. What were you fighting about?”

“Well, perhaps you’ll be reasonable. I doubt it, though. Who around this castle of stupid pacifists will give us reparation for the wrongs done us?”

“Keep up this kind of behaviour, and I’ll tell the prince to demand reparation from you,” Zela replied, keeping the elf pinned.

Flaer and Lyrestan entered, with Gyoriing and several guards. Lyrestan was still pale and stood close behind his brother, but more relaxed now that he was not alone. Flaer looked tired. Evidently the Dragonland people had been having similar discussions with him.

Zela released the elf and he stood still, a guard on either side of him.

Flaer took a deep breath and motioned his brother forward. Lyrestan nodded and spread his hands.

“Go home and cool off. It’s too soon to think straight. Mourn your brother! In a few years, think it over. Think whether you want revenge on a family that has lost as much as you have.”

The Griffonland elves made no reply, but at a nod from Gyoriing, left the room without arguing.

Lyrestan ran his hands through his hair and sighed. “I have no idea what just happened. Why can’t I negotiate with reasonable people?”

“Reasonable people are harder to find than you might think,” Zela said.

“I disagree,” Flaer said, sitting down; Lyrestan followed, but Zela remained standing, pacing slowly back and forth with the skirt of her dress swirling around her legs. “But I’m not happy with today’s outcome. Will they get over their anger, or will they let it become bitterness? Murder is like a poison, spreading its touch to all who even hear about it.”

“Two weeks ago, we didn’t even have a word for it,” Lyrestan said sadly. “Brother, I don’t think you’re pathetic.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Those people called you pathetic. Maybe you should practice swordfighting more.”

Flaer looked over at his younger brother. “Why should you care what they think?”

“Well, I think I can only be a diplomat as long as the people I’m talking to respect me. First I need to get older, obviously,” he said, smiling a little.  “But I’m going to train with my axe until I’m as strong as anyone. I don’t need to fight anyone, and I don’t need to go to tournaments-“

“Though it might be entertaining,” Zela put in.

“But I can still be good at fighting, and that might help. Though maybe it’s already too late.”

“It’s never too late for anything,” Flaer said warmly.

 

Flaer and Zela were married a few years later, and Zela left her woodland home permanently to live in the Moonland castle. Yoeath followed her, but left often to return to the northern forests.

Their first son was born many short years later, and they named him Flairé, that is, Son of Valiant. Soon after his sister Flaria and his brother Menad followed. Flairé grew into an active, mischievous bundle, climbing the highest trees within the castle grounds, or chasing the wind along the walls. Flaria was much more reserved, but Menad followed his elder brother. Flairé noticed, and together he and Flaria kept their darling little brother out of trouble.

Zela and Flaer were busy much of the day, but kept their duties to separate days so that every day one of them would be with their children. Flaer instructed them in music and literature; Flaria especially would often come and curl up on her father’s lap with a book they would read together. Menad was less interested and would run and hide, playing on his own with stones and dolls, or practicing music in private, away from his father. Flairé took up playing wind instruments and percussion, though he also learned well in strings and harp. He was always playing, eager to show his father some new thing he had learned or made up.

Zela was a harder teacher. Unlike Flaer and his natural empathy, she treated everything seriously, and without much tenderness, challenging her children to strive for more and more perfection, just as she drove herself.

Flairé, of all people, didn’t mind, cheerfully undergoing increasingly rigorous exercises in dance and swordplay. Often, Zela would have him practicing one series of dance steps for a whole day, and he would finish at dusk and come in from the little dance stage he had set up in a corner of the garden, exhausted but triumphant; while Flaria, who would take the time to practice her harp playing to provide music for her brother, would follow less enthusiastically, flexing her tired fingers. Flairé loved dance, even more than he loved pipe, and he tried doing both at once until he was good enough to be able to keep music going for himself, even when Flaria decided she was busy.

Menad, again, was harder to find; he often snuck off to climb trees, and Zela let him, seeing that he was growing stronger by this. Sometimes, though, he would come of his own accord and beg for sparring lessons, though he was only a little boy still, and that was the time that Zela and Menad most enjoyed.

One evening, when it was just growing dark, Flaer appeared in the door of the garden – he had just returned, from discussing the placement of a new orchard with a group of farmers, to the Lilemlen castle.

Zela was watching Flairé practicing his dancing; before, he had only done it for fun, but Zela had begun teaching him a few years ago the proper way to move, and now he spent hours a day perfecting it.

“All right; Father’s home; can I take a break?” Flairé asked, breathing heavily as he paused on the edge of his little wooden stage, twisting his head to look upside down at his mother.

“No; keep going; show Father what you have practiced today. Your sister and I will sing for you.”

Flairé sighed and let his head flop, then twisted back upright. “Yes, Mother.”

“You love it,” accused Flaria, rubbing her hands together as she came hurrying out from the alcove where she had been reading, sitting down at her harp to play.

“I do, but ten hours a day… Haven’t I learned it well enough by now? I have years ahead of me to keep perfecting it. Why does it have to be perfect now?”

“You’ll thank me later, when you can move as you want with grace and ease,” Zela told him, her eyes glinting. “It’s how I live, and I didn’t have anyone to push me along.”

“You don’t need to push him,” Flaer said gently, sitting down on the grass nearby. “He’s doing fine.”

“I agree with Mother,” Flairé said unexpectedly. “It will be super when I can go anywhere in any way, perfectly safely, because of my amazing strength.” He laughed at his own flippancy, then hid his smile as Zela raised an eyebrow at him.

“One must be prepared for anything,” she said simply.

“But where is Menad?” Flaer asked. “Is he up a tree again?”

“Here I am, Father,” called a thin, high-pitched voice from somewhere above. Flaer looked up, and saw the dark head of his second son peeking through the branches of the pine above him. “I did a little dancing, but I’d rather be up here.”

“Why don’t you come down and join us?” Flaer called to his son. “It’s nice to be together, isn’t it?”

Menad hesitated, then nodded, skittering down the tree as if he weren’t even holding on.

“Careful,” Flaer said automatically when his son reached the ground.

“I’m always careful, Father,” the little boy replied, sitting down behind Flaria. “You know me, always comfortable up a tree.”

“I know.” Flaer began to say something more, but Flairé had begun to move, and Flaria was already playing. Zela’ voice rang out strong and glad, and Flairé took off.

Spinning, leaping, the young princeling of the Lilemlen showed just how graceful, quick, and inventive he was.

Flaer applauded when he had finished.

“Now can I stop, Mother?” Flairé asked, panting even harder. “I’m hungry.”

Zela watched him with narrowed eyes, then smiled and nodded. “I suppose a growing boy can’t go without food. Come along and we’ll make supper.”

Flairé smiled happily and hopped down from his stage.

Zela looked at the sky and sighed. “And I guess you can have the evening off, too. It’s getting dark, and you’re not ready for night dancing yet. You might hurt yourself.”

“Oh, Mother, you say that every day.”

“In two months, when the night begins to lengthen, then you can start learning.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

 

The family had not heard of trouble in the Griffonland or Dragonland for some time. Whenever they visited either land – Zela had taken up a habit of wandering everywhere in the Adhemlenei, the Four Kingdoms, and memorizing each place as if she’d lived there for years – people seemed content and busy, making music or food or houses or ornament. The Griffonland grew the most food in the Adhemlenei, and mined jewels from their western mountains, while timber and gold and epic poetry came from the Unicornland. The Dragonland was famous for their metalworking and general craftsmanship, and the Moonland, besides its fame for music, exported fish and other jewels, and woodcarving.

Gyoriing and Layalin were still courting, each cautious about the other’s feelings, but equally sure that they had all the time in the world to find out.

 

Chapter 1          Chapter 3

November 6, 2009

Dolls

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flairedollzeladollflaerdollflariadoll1menaddollmartethdollbayndollgullacdollmathaningdoll1cenirodollranadollesgalwendoll

Dolls from the Lunaii Dollmaker

flairedoll2

Flairé from the Candybar Dollmaker

created Oct 25, ‘09

posted Nov 6, ‘09

(549)

Hi, guys! I made these… a while ago, actually, and I was going to put them up right away, but then I decided not to because I still had stuff I had drawn first. Then I got impatient and put them up today. But here they are now, and I think they’re very cute. From left to right; Flairé, Zela, Flaer, Flaria, Menad, Marteth, Bayn, Gullac, Mathaning, Ceniro, Rana, and Esgalwen. Flaria and Mathaning were saved at a smaller size in order to get the birdies in. Ceniro’s staff is a bit wimpy, though. XD

lunaii3

 

There you are if you want to go make your own. This dollmaker is easy and completely unfrustrating, although you can only get head and shoulders as shown here. But you can also get tails and horns and things.

The big one is from the ridiculous Candybar Dollmaker… very flashy, and a little frustrating. By the time I finished with the face, I was getting into it more. Lots of clothes that make Flairé look good, too. He looks super hot good dressed up, or dressed down! I even added his strap-on wings. One convenient feature is the ability to save a few options in a menu and quickly access them to try different looks.

Tomorrow I will post the class recital poster up here. And everywhere else, too. Exciting!

I’m exactly one day behind in NNWM. Well, I will be if I manage to write 1200 more words today. Which I can totally do. I think I can finish this chapter in 1200 more words, though I’m not sure what I’ll write about. But right now I’m going to have lunch and practice piano, then go to rehearsal, then come home and practice more piano, then write NNWM, and then go to salsa because salsa is awesome and it seems the Rueda club really wants me to come. Yay salsa.

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