Sir Elys was standing in the rain feeling sorry for herself. She was on the corner of a tavern, while inside others caroused and made merry, and yet she could not enjoy a single of those damned feelings. She had unhorsed a lord and then saved his life, she had stood in the battle line in her latest wargame, and she was now waiting for Prince Vespasian to call her in and talk to her. They were a urbanite, Elys felt, and had most of their public life in the city. This often meant carousing, and the royal guard were even more familiar with the pubs and taverns than normal, and they were ready for scuffles in the streets that were under construction. Elys wasn't. She drank her mug of beer and stared at the roadbed. Paved road lay at one end, and dirt at the other, and the majority of the road in the back of the tavern was in the process of being ripped up, regraded, and paved over. Of course, since it was nighttime, she couldn't see much of anything, and if she stepped into the roadbed, she might twist her ankle.

"Knight Elys, the Prince will see you now."

Knight. Maybe drunkard tonight.

The guards lead her indoors and up to the third floor, past a couple of curtains and a group of rowdies, and then she was in a small room with a lot of half-finished drinks that had recently been vacated as the revelers had been sent out to go do something else. Vespasian was sitting up on a bench, holding a paper. One of the guards brought Elys a chair, and after bowing to the Prince, she sat, pushing her sword off to the side.

"Your highness."

"Elys, welcome. Please, unburden yourself."

"Thank you, your highness."

"You may speak freely."

Elys sat backwards in the chair and raised her eyes to the ceiling. "You gave me a copy of the Lady's Book of Life last time we met, your highness. I just wanted to apologize. I haven't read a single page."

"You still feel doomed, don't you?"

"Oh, yes. I sure do."

Vespasian somehow sat back a little more. Elys looked at the table, and the open beverages. "Are you making forest fury with those?" (1)

"Yes. Are you asking because you'd like some?"

"Yes, sir. I would."

Vespasian shrugged and found a vessel that was normally reserved for vomit collecting, then began to pour in various drinks. It was a bit of a party foul, but since he was the crown prince of Aelbaion, he could get away with it. "So I think you want to tell me about your time at the war game."

"Not really. It was unpleasant."

"No valor to be won?"

"Your highness, I fought with skill and courage. I unhorsed a greater knight. I showed him mercy and was his salvation to the medical orderlies. That was chivalrous."

"You sound absolutely fucking miserable, Elys."

"...I am not happy, your highness."

"Why?"

"I missed the miracle at the font, Vespasian, and I also felt the terror of the helpless. I am knight, and I was helpless as a pegasus passed over me. I could do nothing, my shortbow did not have range enough. Before that, I watched all the settlements we were sworn to protect-real or not-burn to the ground and be looted. Whether real or acted, it was an awful thing to behold, and the weapons used were unpleasant, to boot."

"I heard my father sent some infernal devices."

"You heard correctly. The pegasi dropped blackpowder bombs, which created explosions, spat shards that rent flesh and armor, or shot out greater ranges of incendiary flame and fluid. Despite the poor weather, their fires burnt hot and could not be extinguished, and the fortified houses that usually held were turned into burnt-out ruins by grenades."

"They sound expensive and effective."

"They are. I do not like being on the receiving end of them. And I was not even hurt by them-"

"Hurt?"

"Yes. There were some accidents this year. Fingers and two limbs were lost."

"Training must be improved, I think. And a manual of arms prescribed..." Vespasian rubbed his chin. Elys shot him a very nasty look.

"Vespasian, are you done mixing the drinks?"

"Ah-yes, yes." He hurridly put the rest together, then poured his subject a cup. She drank it down, grimacing as the taste cut her bad mood down a bit.

"Fuck, this is awful."

"Well, it is Forest Fury..."

"I'll be on the floor in four cups, Vespasian. I guarantee it."

"Least you puke before that..." Elys looked drunk already. "You didn't start in the tavern?"

"Nope."

"When did you start?"

"Don't remember, honestly. Don't care either, your highness. My apologies."

"Why are you fucked up?"

"It's this or a fistfight." She shrugged, and drank. "Truth be told. I felt like I was doomed. I was. I went to battle, I watched everyone get their rears kicked to their fronts, and my own feats didn't matter-and I missed the miracle doing them."

"I heard that the fountain outside the old shrine began to issue water again."

"I heard the same, sire. But it was after I left." Another shrug, this one with her whole body. "I can't confirm anything. I saw it flowing afterwards. It's a nice fountain."

"You haven't read the book."

"Nope. I had to travel safely. "

"You should read it tomorrow."

"Is that a direct order?"

"Yes, after you're done being hung over."

"As your highness commands."

"What do you want to say, Elys?"

"Huh?"

"You're a terrible liar when drunk."

"...didn't even say anything..." She crossed her arms, frowning a little.

"I'm offering you the chance." He was mixing a few more drinks together.

"...I don't want to go to the next games, Vespasian. I really don't. I don't want to get...as you know..." She waved her arms around- "...blown up. All I do is sit there on a horse...then get blown up."

Vespasian nodded. "Not the ideal training experience for a fighting woman."

"I don't regret dying if it is nobly, your highness. I do not even mind an ignoble death. A death in a bed of old age is nice. Illness...meh. Suicide is a disgrace. But...killed from a great distance...with no possibility...of fighting back...it is awful."

"Is this the first time you felt it?" He seemed extremely interested.

"No, your highness. But it is the...worst yet." The knight slumped forward. "More Fury. Please."

He mutely gave her another cup. She started to toss it back. "Do you resent me?"

"You sent me to my doom. Even if it wasn't my doom...but...you are my lord. You needed it."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"I don't know." She drank again. "I can't...answer your question."

"Elys, how quickly do you get drunk?"

"...it's not the fucking beer, Vespasian...I'm fucking doomed." The table was cleared of everything but the Forest Fury and the old cups, and waitstaff were removing them. "I feel the weight of my fate on my spine. I can't sleep. I can't dream. The fountain was supposed to purify me of whatever haunts me." Sighing, she adjusted her hair. "But I missed it. And I am doomed."

"...what happens if I send you to fight in the next games?"

"I don't know, but it is probably something bad."

"Good news, then. You're not going to the Hosts." The waitstaff had finished clearing the table. Down was placed bread, fresh fruit, and tea. Elys stared dumbly. "You want a orderly job?"

"Uh...yes, your highness. I can serve as one." It felt like a demotion.

"Good. Because you've had enough experience to know about how bad air power is. Others are still ignorant of it. They will be facing off against it. You will be able to understand the goings-on without much issue."

"Ah." Practical reasoning, though. "So what will be my duties?"

"Maintain crowd behavior, keep people in lines. Ensure that lunch is served on time. That sort of thing. No umpiring or being an officer, but you shouldn't have to deal with them."

"I will do it, your highness." Elys felt strange, like she'd looked through the church glass windows and seen the sun, and while it had been beautiful, it had also blinded her.

"You'll biouvac there, room and board will be provided." Those eyes of his ran over her a bit too quickly. "Does that feel better?"

"I don't think so. I'm still going." She sighed at nothing.

"I can see your point." The prince served himself, and Elys took the invitation to eat right after. She was hungrier than she'd thought. "Now, your payment to me is done-"

"I have-a question about that-your highness-" The bread fought her on the way down.

"Do ask."

"You're...the Crown Prince. I am...as you know...a signed knight. All we have done is talk in the halls once or twice." The beer was starting to hit bread, and the doom was receeding ever so slightly from a counterattack by freshly baked bread. "Why do you keep me in such confidence? Why are you willing to trade information with me?

"Because you are most interesting, Soir Elys, and you provide good information."

"Is your highness damning me with faint praise, too?"

"Oh, no. You can be interesting if placed in interesting situations, and you have good qualities that make for a fine courtier."

"Thank you, sir. I have another question." Dog with a bone. Knight with cheese.

"Do ask."

"You have not attended the games in person once, Vespasian. You have sent others...given them great opportunities...let them gain good skill in arms...learn about...air terror. But you never...went yourself."

"That is corre-"

"Why did you not-"

"Forigve me, Soir Elys, I did-"

"Your high-"

They both stared at each other, having interrupted the other twice over. Keeping his mouth shut, the prince pointed once at the knight. She resumed speaking. "Why did you not go to the games yourself?"

"I had business in Courouffe." The prince deliberately didn't make eye contact. "Business that someone like you can help me with, if you are interested."

The Knight drank a very long draft from the Forest Fury and gave her superior a dead-eyed stare. "Your highness, please forgive my intrusion...why is a Prince doing business?"

Prince Vespasian changed his sitting position, sighed, and then pulled up an ottoman-like thing and sat on it. "My father's work, and our long peace have given much to the Kingdom, Elys. With what has been given, much has been done. The development of the craft of eye-glasses has been one of them, and this has inspired great faith in medical professions where the doctors employ observation and the devices that support it. Many persons both common and gentle have put stock in the makers of these devices, and become makers of said devices themselves. Are you with me so far?"

Elys knew about what had been happening over the last decade and change in the medical field because plenty of people had never shut up about it. "I understand you, your highness."

"Well, as you no doubt know, these devices are very expensive. They require the creation of clear glass, and of mirrors, both of which are considerable feats to achieve. Mirrors and clear glass are themselves expensive, for their makers are skilled and their materials are expensive; getting them into business is not easy. Much money has been put into doing this...with a desire that the spirit of the thing, that the improvement of medical science itself, be done."

She just nodded. This all made sense.

"They have not, however, put the money in with much...regard to getting the money back."

Oh. There was the catch. There was a problem for-

"Your highness, is it a lot of money?"

"Very much so."

"Is it your money."

"...no, actually."

Drunk as she was, Elys screwed up her face. "It...isn't...your money?"

"No. It is the money of the city folk, of the scholars, and of some nobles. But not mine."

"...but they'll all lose their...money...getting this stuff?"

"Oh, they'll lose their money. And Aelbaion will potentially not see the benefits from observational medicines for decades." The prince was done mixing drinks. "And nothing will come of it. Which is where I am getting involved."

"What if you run out of money?"

"It will take a long time for me to run out of money." The Prince sounded sure of himself. "And by then we will have an escape from this strange event. Or at least it will not be so bad when the band stops playing."

"If you say so..." Elys groaned. "Your highness...I do not have much money..."

"Oh. You will not be putting in your money. You will be using mine."

"Thank you, your highness!" Elys would never turn down spending other's money. "What do I do with it?"

"There are a number of craftsplaces holding up the waltz of spending and selling. The base of this are glasseries, which have set up in cities, and are selling things like tablewares. These are made of colored glass, but they do not serve noble tables, nor do they serve the lensmakers, who are in operation now."

"Uh...your highness..."

"Yes?"

"Isn't making a mirror...more expensive?"

"Yes, but through much maneuvering and clever discussion of the aesthetic virtues of a mirror, I have ensured that many are buying them. The mirror-makers are kept in business. However, the glasseries are in another bind, because they also have spent small fortunes on building up clear glass-firing furnaces, since everyone expects a fortune to be made making lenses, which need clear glass. And if the lensmakers cannot get enough cheap glass, then they are unable to make their lenses and stay in business."

"I know they need clear glass...not everything is gag glasses..." (2)

"...just making sure you are with me. The glass-makers are suffering empty purses from having bought these houses, which means that they cannot purchase more materials easily; they thus cannot make glass offerings to entice the worthies of this land to open their purses."

"...are you making loans to them?"

"No, I am buying on a promise."

"...it is your money..." Elys shrugged, feeling weakened by the world. Around them, the building creaked slightly in the wind. "Do you want me to go and spend it?"

The Prince nodded once. "Go and buy yourself something nice and pricey. Here." Vespasian reached into their shirt and pulled out a small coinpurse packed with silver. "That should cover it. Make sure everything gets spent there. I'll be annoyed if it's not."

The Knight accepted it mutely, nodding. Vespasian continued. "Your letter of service for the next game will come in two months time. I'll make sure you're posted to being an orderly on the coast."

She stood, tucking the silver away. Torches were coming out, the sun had set. "On...the coast? To watch the mock invasion?"

"More than that." He beckoned her close, but did not put up his cloak. "There will be ships anchored in the bay. Our knights of the air will try to sink them."

"Fuck." said Elys. "Now we will all drown."

"You will be on shore, shopping."

The Knight stood, curtsied. She was many things. And now, Elys felt like she was a mule. "Thank you, your highness." Being a mule beat being doomed.

1. Aelbic Jungle Juice.

2. Literal rose colored glasses, worn for a party.

The Aelish are a people who can charitably be described as in the middle of the road; practically, this also describes them accurately. Smoldering looks aside, they are not particularly smart, not particularly hardy, and not particularly efficient or magical-but they are also decently clever, acceptably strong, and capable of putting together any old spell without wasting mana. All of this put together makes them capable of moments of good economic and environmental sense-and sometimes even sustained policy. This policy has been to carefully manage the conduct of the Aelish people in their use of the land, and to not screw up the place where they live. Generally, this means that they are being responsible stewards of their environments, and not alter them too much.

Sometimes, it takes a bit of alteration to avoid a lot more alteration. This is one of those times. With the Aelish having recently come off a building spree of floodwater management channels, they had a first-hand impression about what royal building projects were like-and this impression was generally positive. The work was not glamorous or fun-it was ditchdigging-but to the peasants, ditchdigging was completely fine. It was part of their weekly chore rotation, and it was something to get paid for. The distribution of ale at the end of it all was a welcome celebration, and the knowledge that their work was going to making their homes and fields more safe from raging waters ensured that the corvee summons was always well-met.

Naturally, when the King announced a desire-and shortly afterwards, a plan-to build a series of flood containment basins throughout the Crown Lands, and to then expand these constructions across the Kingdom as needed, there was plenty of labor available. The Crown Lands did not have Counts, but royal officers in charge of the land; they were widely regarded to be a more professional set of administrators who could get things done quickly and reliably. This was partially true, especially if laborers were nearby and willing. Just as before, the corvee format was used to organize them easily and set up payment afterwards.

The projects this time were larger, but not more complicated. While organizing the path of water under pressure had required some extensive planning, or at least map work, this work could then be re-used to determine where the water was going to be while at rest. Since Aelbaion didn't have much swampland compared to other places, and what it had was definitely limited in terms of ability to clean runoff and disperse volumes of liquid. They needed places to put this water, and those places would be ponds-either natural or artificial. While digging a new pond for use would take a bit of effort and require the presence of tax lawyers to determine if a pond was a pond or just a big hole with water in it, digging retaining ponds specifically for this purpose.

A retaining pond for the Aelish is very basic-and it doesn't need to be complicated. Where the floodwater channel ends, a large hole in the ground is dug and then widened out, peasants laboring and sweating to open up space in the ground and free up volume for raging floodwaters to get shoved. A drain is present in the finished hole, which allows for water to be emptied into a field or drainage ditch at a much more controlled rate; often this drain is a pump-assisted apparatus to help keep the peasants busy when the raging floodwaters have subsided. The retaining pond is lined with large stones and speckled in-between with small stones, in some instances, stonemasons were contracted to carve large amounts of similar stones for linings. A cleaning schedule was established for each retaining pool, and maps of the networks of flood control areas were kept up to date.

This was another small feather in the Crown's crown; another sign of listening to the lady, of practiced piety-of patronage. The dukes, already willing to throw down a few flood channels themselves to follow the King's example, were more than willing to take another shot at spreading some coin around to show their largesse and generate goodwill. It was a decent trend to follow, and if there was a flood, it would never hurt to be prepared. A steady flurry of construction was a great way to keep peasants occupied, and some gold was a better way to make them feel rewarded. More gold entered the economy, once again going directly into the market to drive consumption. This was a good trend for economic growth.

But economic growth needs fuel...

Inky black smoke poured out into the sky. From the courtyard of the shrine, Sir Elys gripped her lance and stared down at the patchwork of devastation that had unfolded before her. It was the first day of the yearly War Games, and the Aelbic nobility had come out in all of their splendor to nonlethally fight each other for practice. This year, large numbers of them had once again taken to the air on pegasi, to conduct an airborne chevauchee in miniature against a group of mock villages. Elys was watching those villages burn down right now. Only two of them had survived airborne raids; one thanks to geography, and another to a burst water supply and a fast-flowing stream. The area that the games took place in this year was rocky and broken, a highlands that had only recently begun to feel human erosion and hoof-fall. It was a border area, and the realm of the horse-lords. The assembled knights winced as another cold wind blew into them, this time carrying the stink of ashes. They were not all knights; many men-at-arms and first-levies had come to the games as well. Now they were gathered in ragged huddles, preparing for their final stand.

"Elys." One of the other knights, Bourbonne, got her attention.

"Yeah."

"Fuck are we supposed to do against this?"

"No idea." She was too tense to shrug. "Me neither."

"Fuck."

They pulled their brown raincloaks tighter. The rain was picking up a little more. 'Survivors' of the clashes had been straggling their way up to the shrine area all morning. They had harrowed looks and came in small bunches, carrying their weapons and leading their horses by the reins. The sound of the bombing had spooked many of their animals, and their defense had been hamstrung by the chaos of panicking mounts; the attackers had taken advantage to rain further projectiles from above. Many had routed, been declared wounded or dead by the umpires, or actually hurt themselves in the confusion. Their wargame was over, and they went off to the side to don the bright colors of course organizers or observers, or join smaller scrums. These enrichment activities meant little. The truth was that these games had been rigged from the start. Those who thought that air power was the realm of upstarts had arranged for the airborne chevauchee to start on the first day of the games, to prevent planning and unit coordination exercises and allow for the worst possible weather to roll in.

Roll in it had. Elys was annoyingly cold, and the men at arms nearby were huddling around a taper that gave off some extra warmth. She gave them a stern look, and their leader pointed to the cloth that they had put up above the cloth. It hid everything but the smoke; and the rain was taking care of the visibility of the smoke.

"Bourbonne. Raithois. Elys. Champois. Banneret three. Manfredde. Apion. Banneret two."

"Yes, captain." Elys took her orders and moved to the banneret's staging area, which had been semi-hidden from view with some hemp tarp. As they did, another band of stragglers came in. They were panting, wide eyed and sweaty, some shaking. Raithois grimaced, thumped twice on his shield as a challenge, and split off to stand in front of them.

"Watchword."

"Chammois." The second figure of the group spat it out quickly, remaining stoic.

The Aelbic word for shammy cloth was too long, and yet it did it's job here. The men at arms fell in behind the knight on his horse, and were escorted into the shrine's rear area. Everyone massing at the building had a stink to them; a stink of either cowardice, or being green. Elys was no stranger to killing, even if she preferred not to do it; she knew what spilling blood was like. But the blast of the bombs that had been dropped before them was different. It was loud and had a crack, and it was not just stone, or burning brands, or even flaming concoctions or magical munitions. It was blackpowder, blasting firebrands everywhere and splitting open roofs, terrifying horses and making a wreck of shield walls. The King had made sure that the airborne knights would have blackpowder bombs to drop on their foes. He had rigged the games back in their favor.

A short horn blast sounded, high and sharp. Everyone's head jerked up.

"Their riders are coming!"

The group of knights assigned to defend the Shrine had set scouts around the perimeter to keep watch. They had reported one by one about the other bombings and sackings, and now they were falling back. The 'attackers' had not all come by air; the majority were on foot or horseback, sacking the burnt-out 'villages'. Elys' head snapped up, and she joined her peers in an attack column.

"Finally!" Finally. They got to draw swords, to put a lance down into their foes. They'd been waiting all afternoon-

More horns. The riders were already closing. Elys heard archers rushing out of cover and to positions.

-to cross blades. Waiting under bombardment made people go mad, but fighting was a release.

"Fire!" The archers showed this, letting out volley after volley of arrows, peppering the raid party. They were exhausted, and clambering uphill. Umpires ran about, declaring rank after rank of men dead. The defenders, ranks swollen with game survivors and fresh for the fight, charged downhill. Elys was in the first rank, and her blunted lance found it's mark, a figure in magnificent plate with white banners on his lance. Hers partially broke, but he was launched right out of saddle and onto the ground.

An umpire slid between them, waving their arms over head.

"Down! Anddd knight, stand down!"

Elys tossed her lance to the side, and raised her hands. Another knight who was going to strike her with a mace promptly turned and went back to the fray. The umpire ran over to the downed pile of plate and nobility, checking around their helmet. The victor carefully walked her horse over, looking at the person she'd unhorsed.

It was Jeffrey de La Mare, a major Trade Lord. She'd unhorsed someone of his stature, and-he wasn't moving.

"Ump-"

"What?"

The melee behind them was rapidly wrapping up as the defenders smacked the tired attackers every which way they could. "Place him on my horse. I'll take him to the healers' tent." It was only chivalrous.

"Do it."

Elys wrapped white cloth around her weapons and tilted her shield upwards, voluntarily disarming herself; she tied brown cloth over her own coat of arms. The umpire was dragging the unresponsive lord over to her rose, grunting, the two hauled him into place and lashed him onto the animal. The war was only a game, but this was life and death. Injuries in jousting were known to kill; Elys has seen it happen. She couldn't act the jester-the knight vaulted onto her horse, raised a shorthorn and spurred her beast into motion, making for the medical tent. As she did, she raised the shorthorn and blew out a rapid series of calls that signaled that she was not playing the game, and that she was bearing injured. It wasn't the first time she had a hurt person on her horse-ride like hell, and get to the healer. Ride like hell, spur the animal on-

-a shadow dropped overhead.

It was a Pegasus, obviously. It had to be. The wingspan, the shape, the fact that it was practically hovering over her, wallowing in the air but not even coming close to following. The rider was watching her, Elys knew, finding the range, lining up a shot-again she blew her horn frantically, but the shadow did not move or change from it's glide. There would be no pity, and she screamed and beat the side of her horse with hilt of her sword, spurs dug in to urge the animal into an even faster gallop-

-just like that, the shadow was gone. Her horse took the bends at a crazed pace, as scared as she was, and the medical tents seemed to suddenly rear up in front of her, more white flags and a gaggle of orderlies waiting for them. Somehow, she got her horse to stop, got herself to not fall off, and the orderlies were quickly taking the stricken man off of the horse. Elys realized that she was panting, exhausting, and her mount was equally as exhausted. The smoke was off in the distance, and she couldn't hear the fighting any more. The world felt far off. An orderly tugged at her arm, and she startled, raising a hand-

-It was just a wineskin. The orderly was just offering her a wineskin. She was exhausted, and in shocked. There was no battle, no war, and the pegasus was gone. She was sitting on a tired horse, in a muddy field, as people swarmed around her on their own mission. There never had been. They had just been playing a game.

Thank you for playing.

The Aelish are a people unaccustomed to raging floodwaters, but very used to politics. The nobility are constantly stabbing each other in the back, cutting each other off, and sullying each other's reputations-so when the chance to burnish one's reputation comes around, they take it. In the case of his majesty, who powerbase is partially dependent on his excellent public reputation, these chances must be capitalized on whenever they occur; better yet, he must make them. This is another example of making one of them: the digging of large, extensive flood management canals throughout Aelbaion, particularly in the Crown Lands, which are most prone to flooding.

These canals are based on a very simple principle: it's a bad idea to fight a massive onrushing flood of water. This water can plough into an object with the force of liquid concrete and bury them underneath for days. Giving this water somewhere to easily go is a far better choice than to fight it head on. The Ogragille knows this in spades. It is smarter to let the water rush through and spend it's strength on it's destiny than to fight what cannot be stopped. It is wiser to ensure that the water's rush is directed where you want it to go. And it is frankly clever to do all of this by spending money that will then be put into the local economy while making yourself look good. The Crown intended to do all of this with a limited campaign of floodwater channel construction.

Each flood channel was a decently sized and scaled engineering project. It began with a large channel dug into the ground where the flooding could happen. While not all floods come from rivers bursting their banks, most of them do. Channels are typically located 50-200 yards from the river, and situated in areas where the water will want to go. Often, they follow, mirror, or even extend streams; sometimes they connect reservoirs or lakes. The Aelish have kept the sacred layouts of the land in mind as they dig these channels; some areas are either off limits on account of their sanctity, or encourage the dumping of flood waters. And of course, there's always the possibility to refill the ponds in defensive fortifications...

The channels themselves are not particularly complex or special. They begin life as ditches, dug by large groups of peasants who are paid for a few days' of hard labor with shovels and wheelbarrows, and then lined with large and small rocks to prevent erosion and keep the channel from collapsing. The liner of the channels is not too hard, so it won't turn the channeled water into a focused torrent but it is able to redirect water and doesn't get washed away easily. This is a story of engineering compromise, and frankly, of budgetary and work force management compromise: rocks were not too hard to locate, and while proper quarries tapped and stonemasons engaged in carving out rocks, the materials all had to be manhandled into place. Many channels had an impromptu road laid down the center of them for carts.

All of this activity took roughly three years to carry out-although it looked like it had taken a summer's worth of time to get much of the work done, mapping had been done by the Church for the past year, and planning with the Crown for another. The King had merely seized on what was a normally non-interesting internal improvement and made it special; raising the wages paid to the peasants to ensure that more gold that went back into the economy and his approval ratings went up. Most of these channels were made in the Crown Lands, or around the population centers-humans lived around water, and the Crown needed to hire enough hands to do it's work anyway. When it was done, the Aelish had a defense against surging waters-and they also had a sudden outbreak of economic activity. The Crown had spent plenty of money, and now it was going to see some of the upsides of that spending. Water that could pool was already being channeled away.

Of course, there are always downsides...

Like most people, the Aelish are big users of water for more than just drinking, and like most people nowadays, the idea of water is tied to their understanding of the world. Their understanding of the world, both it's basic facts and it's overarching mythology, came from much of the Lady's own wisdom. They were commanded to know, required to, and that meant that they had to hit the books, or at least pay attention when the old morality tales were passed down. The tales referenced the Lady's wrath in it's myriad ways: the withholding of water and the coming of a great flood, the infliction of plant and animal diseases, and maybe even human maladies in her greatest spite. Sometimes it was said, she would test the Aels, and to neglect the areas that she tested would make her wrath certain-and earned.

One of these was flood defenses. The Aelish enjoyed the water, but they knew about it's power. The devastation from a flood was not too common in living memory; though some remembered what water could do from local flooding, the nobility was mostly not in the know. However, they did not like small floods, and they took steps to protect themselves from it. Most of the time, this meant building on higher ground, putting four to six feet of earth between their buildings and the water. They also kept forests in the area in decent shape, and used rammed earth walls to handle the possibility of surging waters. There was no sophisticated engineering that the Aelish were using yet, but they kept decent records of these flood barriers.

King Aeldebaric was a pious man, and like all of the nobility in the land, he was a little paranoid about how well things had been going for so long. Anxiety is an unorthodox defense against decadence and moral decay, but it was working well here, and while his majesty could not pursue his most ambitious goals, he could dot his I's and cross his T's. After all, fashion was fine for him, but someone chasing after a title of 'the Good' or 'the Wise' had some work to put in. Radiating common sense and good ideas, he addressed the nobility at their yearly meeting and advocated for some more good stewardship. This included things like flood management and performing inspections.

To the Aels, organization usually started with a calendar. Most of their calendars were Julian in nature, although not entirely like ours, since this is Ashagon, not Earth. The calendars are usually displayed using a circular diagram, which is a pain for finding out dates; normal calendars are typically put pinned underneath and kept on desks. The Aelish have a calendar for monthly and yearly inspections of flood barriers, which was revised in 10 CE and made official in 11 CE; further minor revisions were recommended by the Church after the conclusion of an investigation from an independent committee of loud, drunken monastics in 13 CE. This was largely a success, since drunken monks poll well in the Kingdom.

The calendar would be supplemented by a roll of flood defenses that each Duke kept, a supplementary map, and then by marked columns dropped into the river with markings on them. These columns typically protruded out of the river, and had both markings for low levels and high levels of water. A 'sight ring' was carved into the column that would allow a surveyor to check if it was sinking into the river, and up and down it were further marks. These marks would be revealed if the water levels dropped, or sometimes covered up if the rivers rose. Sometimes, they took on the appearance of screaming faces; the most macabe resembled faces of drowning persons being covered by potential floodwaters, or looking down in horror at them. Similarly, those faces seen below looked up at a potential viewer, mourning an oncoming drought. Occassionally, these carvings would be pressed into the walls of riverbanks, and include inscriptions.

The King's message of tending to flood defenses and management scehemes was not rejected; it could not be in good faith or even in common sense. Again, he claimed a religious mandate for his maintenance edict, as well as a common sense setup. Where the Crown held power and the King had the most political presence was also where flood management was also the most rational and necessary. It was also not too ambitious: the Crown was still 'in check' from having approached it's political limits with prior reforms. 'Take care of the flood defenses and be pious' was not too bad.

What the Crown did was something of piety-driven economic stimulus plan. Spending money was easy for a King; after the general inspections and repairs were complete, upgrades were a nice way to get a bit of royal gold. The commissions of calendars were a start, the development of the water level columns was popular, and the ordering of stone liners to prevent erosion kept the money flowing. This was well received. Feel-good assignments, ranging from commissions to corvee labor jobs, were a feather in the cap of King Al. Overall, the program worked out. The peasants were happy, the Lords given something to do, and the Kingdom got a little better. But King Al wasn't finished. In fact, he was barely getting started. His paranoia ran deep, and he knew that the Crownlands were vulnerable to a 'once in a century flood', and that royal power could be wiped away in an instant. He had sent Prince Vespasian away to be educated in the Orgraille-and the Prince had stayed there for four years, and brought back new ideas. Some of these ideas were radical. Nearly all of them were about engineering.

And they were going to start showing up very soon.

The King and Queen of Aelbaion looked out over a dingy moorland and wondered-

"Why do we have a vacation home here, anyway?"

"...it was free, I believe." The King scratched the back of his head.

"I think I know why." Her Majesty was probably right. "At least the amenities have been improved." She was talking about the tennis court that had been recently installed. The two enjoyed a game or two, but the serving staff had told in no uncertain terms that the rain would prevent a deciding game three. Both retired, pouting, to their chambers in the upper level of the manor house. On the surface, it was a stately manor with a slight style clash going on; underneath, it was a very fortified house. Three watchtowers of stone protruded well above the main hall and living quarters, multiple hidden arrow-slits made approach up a sloping hill a path of guaranteed bloodshed. Even the retaining walls provided no cover, they were painted white towards to the manor to allow for easy spotting of people trying to sneak by. Like all royal residences, it was not to be taken lightly.

"...I have to confess that games are on my mind lately."

"A game of thrones, my dearest husband?" A bit of wind blew over the balcony.

"Oh, nothing so trite. Just practice for the crossing of swords."

"That sounds important." The royal couple had a penchant for under exaggeration. "Perhaps we should move indoors."

"I agree, dearest." The King sighed, then stood, Ethellebelle following him. Servants pushed in their chairs, signaling an end to formal dinner, and they recessed to the basement of the building, where a certain room with a specific lock on the door was waiting for them. Only those who took the required oaths could enter, and the papers inside could not be handled outside of the room. It was the perfect place for royalty to discuss sensitive things, like the efforts that they had been putting in on that particular royal estate.

"There's a very, very important wargame being held this year...I think in two months." His highness was perusing a map of the Kingdom. "Higher up in the mountains, with a set of mock villages. The peasants have been working for most of the year to complete the course this time. There are going to be more features."

"It sounds as if the Knights will have great sport this year." Her Majesty was sifting through her mail. "Will you be in attendance?"

"No, but Vespasian will be."

"Ah. Is he participating?"

"I do not think so. But he is observing, or plans to. He is very busy, it seems." Servants walked about them, lighting lightly scented candles.

"What is he up to these days?"

"Oh, the usual strange pursuits of a sophisticated courtier. I am quite proud of him. Anyway, the Games. They have...quite a lot of attention aimed at them."

"Is it about the Affair of Carts?" They both knew it wasn't about the Affair, but it had to be mentioned. The nobility were characters, after all. "Or something else."

"Oh, the Horse Lords are trying to rig the games."

"The entire body of the Horse Lords are trying to rig the games?"

"Yes, love. It's stupidity. They fear the future of air warfare, and they're putting obstacles in the face of the pegasus riders-no group communication, no synchronous timekeeping devices, random attacks on launch parties, changing objectives, and bad weather, above all. Oh, and fighting at evening."

"Are they mad? The costs of a pegasus is far too much to even risk-"

"Yes. They've gone mad." The King was half convinced. "To me, anyway."

The Queen sighed. "So this is how the Peace ends. With one party driven mad-"

"The truth is, the games were rigged from the start." The King was sitting on a large couch, looking pensive. "Once the year's training and sport passed into their hands, they could set the course and the rules. Their madness will have free reign, yes. But..."

"We should poison them before they ruin the horses." The Queen was toying with her quill pen. "I shall also catch a cold, and Vespasian as well, we shall mingle with the dolts and give them all influenza."

"Madness is not a competition, dear."

"I would win."

"Oh, yes. But you would leave them disappointed-I have decided on something simpler."

"Do tell."

"I have decided to rig the games right back."

"How?" The pen was poised to write. "Not drugging them, or fouling their attire?"

"No. I am going to equip the players with blackpowder weaponry. I shall send them with bombs and grenades and firepots and hand-gonnes, and they shall rain devastation upon their simulated foes."

The Queen began to do some calculations. "We are going to need to send that load by donkey. After the Affair of the Carts-"

"Aye. I'll prepare many of the creatures." His majesty rubbed his forehead. "This will need to be done with secrecy and speed."

"It shall be done with secrecy and speed. Unlike our renovations here, which were done loudly and publicly."

"The...ah. yes. We were in Couroffe for much of the time, I believe."

"Yes. During which we got gossiped about a good deal, I will say."

"Well, the tennis court is nice."

"We ordered laid four miles of roads, five miles of drainage ditches, two new storage facilities, a new river jetty-"

"Yes. But how this is noteworthy?"

"It was attention-worthy for the duke and everyone that he talks to; so they saw what came next."

"Are you going to tell me what came next?"

"Yes. You have the proofing range, and the prototyping workshop, and then the hand-gonne making workshop. The housing for forty-five persons is underway, and the site of another shrine to the Lady has just been chosen."

"So we have the attention of every Contracteure-Generale in the Duchy, and we have booked them all."

The Queen sighed. "The site also took delivery of three cargo barges of reagents for the making of blackpowder. Conspicuously, I might add. "

"Ah." The King rubbed his forehead. "That. We should exercise more secrecy in the future. Perhaps we should plant some trees."

"We also do not have a place to make blackpowder. I am going to order a workshop for it's production, and a safe storage outbuilding." The Queen kept making notes. "Since we are apparently already discovered, we should choose speed rather than any tattered secrecy."

The King nodded. "An intelligent decision, Belle...what should we set for our goals after these renovations are completed?"

"To go for greater things, I think." The Queen steepled her fingers. "A bigger gonne. A much bigger gonne."

The King leaned in, grinning. "You have liked your handgonne-"

"Oh, absolutely. It's terrified a third of the people around me when I fired it, and most of the horses, but it'll put a hole through a man and the wall behind him. You would need an extremely powerful engine of sinew to accomplish such a feat otherwise. And it is easy to do."

His majesty found a cup of wine and quaffed it. "Can you tell me what you mean by easy?"

"I learned how to use the weapon in seven days-and use it on the battlefield. I have learned it's full maintenance in a month. And I have shot it from a deaf horse, no less."

"If you learnt it in seven days, you could teach it to a peasant in four days." The wine had not yet settled in.

"Yes. I was learning as much as my weapon master was." She had finished writing, and set the pen aside. "Let them gossip, Al. The games are rigged, and they are rigged in our favor. Such is the sheer power of the weapons that you have given them."

He leaned back. The wine was starting to warm him up. "Dad, if you could see us now..."

"He'd tell you to listen to your wife and not shave your beard any further."

That got a smile out of him, bringing him back to the chair, and away from wargames on social faultlines and infernal devices. "I'll listen to him."

"Listen to him. When all avenues are closed to your original goal, do as he did, King Aeldebaric. Find a new path, and go down it. But do not squander your power. Wait until it is time to loose your shot."

"Is this about the opposition to further labor force development?"

"Yes. Do not try their strength again. Distract and tire them, then split them. And these games..."

"Aye. As good a place to do it as any..."

The Crown-not the Kingdom of Aelbaion, but it's rulership-is currently deeply in the middle of a push to improve the Kingdom's industrial base through a process of limited labor reforms. These reforms are targeted at the guilds, the hierarchal organizations of labor in the Kingdom that organize specialists and their assistants; they address the conduct and place of each 'rank' of person in the guilds. Recently, the Crown has pushed out a series of rules aimed at the 'day-worker', who do the majority of the work and handle most of the contracts in Aelbaion. By number, they are the absolute majority, and the Crown is in it's rights to pass laws that will apply to them. The King, backed up by his advisors and the group of losers that make up the Royal Party has had his Queen write the legislation-because she has passed law school with great honors. Technically, the writing originated from her coterie of handmaidens who have been hired for this task alone.

The reaction has been fairly negative. Regulation is seldom well received, but the Royal Couple has recently regulated the practice of sending wood down the river with great finality-and presented a threat to the power of other parties, namely the entire nobility of the Kingdom. Sensing a chance to check the Crown, the nobility put their tacit power behind the guilds that would resist this legislation, setting them up for a fight-or an attempt to force compromises by the Crown. No outright civil war would result from the King and Queen not getting their legislation passed, it simply wouldn't be enforced by the Dukes, who would plead scarcity of resources or the presence of ancient laws binding their hands. The King and Queen considered backing down, but the King's Party objected and stiffened their spines in a last-minute spate of lobbying.

Teeing off for a major confrontation, the Royal Couple surprised the nobility enough to get to the bargaining table. The benefits of the regulation were obvious, but the threat of looming royal power was too much to tolerate for the nobility. This instance of regulation, they said, would be the end. The King countered with 'unless there is a dire threat', and the combined nobility of the Kingdom of Aelbaion said that they would define the dire threat. To this, the Queen simply said 'we acquiesce' and saved her husband from running his mouth. This was by far the best outcome for them both. In truth, the regulation would help everyone, but the perceived threat was too much to bear. Now everyone could get something.

At this point, it is worth talking about regulation passed. To our, more modern eyes, it seems light, even basic. It is, and it largely seemed that the Aels, but it was also a point of contention. The regulation had four parts, and all of them dealt with the public aspect of the crafter in some way or another. The first part is the 'Signage Requirement'-the crafter of things must have a publicly visible sign on their workshop that identifies them as such. There would be no more options for back-alley shops or unlicensed work-areas, something that the guilds liked to do to avoid taxation. The sign-requirement set them up to be more publicly acceptable citizens. Furthermore, each guild had to have a presence in the public marketplace where it did business, and not operate under the proverbial radar. There would be no 'brothel-brothers' or 'carriage-house-cousins' operating in semi-secret.

The original aim of the regulations was to improve the skill of laborers substantially and thus build out the high-tech industrial base that aelbaion needed to make airships. In this regard, the King had two big ideas that he had purloined and brought to the waiting quill of his queen: the 'final project' and the 'crafter's symposium'. The final project was the most influential: each crafter needed to produce a 'finishing piece' of work needed to graduate from apprenticeship. They were essentially making a basic masterpiece to prove themselves. This 'finishing piece' was to publicly visible proof of their skill, to allow the public to appraise them. To improve their skills, the average crafters were also to have guild-sponsored 'symposia' twice a year, to discuss the state of their work and any improvements in the field, and to show off their skills. These were all positives, and it made Aelish guilds better able to do business, improved their reputations and skills.

And it stopped there, for now. The King and Queen did not rule absolute in Aelbaion; while their reputations were great, their power had limits, and the nobility was more than willing to remind them of that. They did not want their sovereign to rule alone, after all. That would be disloyal.

A politician's life is sometimes not fair. They must deal with everything under the sun, and usually exasperated constituents are one of them. However, things get truly unfair when the cause of the constituent's consternation comes out of left field, and they aren't involved in any of it. In this case, it's about the rapidly burgeoning practice of exporting trees across county and duchy lines by cutting them, chopping off all assorted limbs, rolling it to the river, and then floating them down the river to their destination. This reduced the difficulty of transportation-now a boat was not needed, and the effort of carrying logs could be reduced. It seemed like an easy solution.

In practice, it was a recipe for a first-rate mess. Loggers would take their logs to the river, offload them into the current, and steer them down with little warning and nary a care in the world. This resulted in a series of episodes of massive, literal logjams as rivers that acted a core internal shipping lanes were literally jammed with logs. This rogue timber would cut off boats in the middle of the river, jam up river ports, and eventually beach itself in the most obnoxious way possible. It would either need to be cut up and thus wasted, somehow dragged off to be made use of-even if they had started rotting a bit, something had to be done with them-or left to decompose over years. This mess jammed shipping, halted travel, and worst for the King, heavily delayed some of the internal rebuilding of Corouffe.

While the King reigned with great power in Aelbaion, the mood of the capital was still important, and the King had to pay attention to it. His majesty was also extremely pissed off by this; the carelessness of the timber traders was enough to get under his skin, and the prospect of further traffic jams was more than enough to make him blow his top. The only person beating him out of the room and into calling a meeting of the dukes of Aelbaion; normally something of this importance would merit war or a yearly meeting. However, the weight of the entire capital and the Crown swinging into the nobility of the land was enough to move things.

What got moved exactly was a historical unwillingness to regulate inter-duchy commerce in any way. The Dukes had historically preferred a very laissez-faire approach to movement between the duchies, because it let them get up shenanigans that involved stabbing each other. Regulations of movement of any kind were not good for these escapades-but this time, Queen Belle and King Al were out in front, and behind them came a tidal wave of people, ranging from city-dwellers to peasants who lived by the river to those who kept the Kingdom's good flowing. There demand for regulation-and the for 'good order on the rivers' had the potential for the Lady's rules to get invoked-

-and his majesty did invoke them. Luckily for the lords, it was a singular subject. The transportation of logs down the rivers of the Kingdom was too efficient to not do, but it had been done in a way that ruined it for everyone else. Regulation was to be imposed. Felled trees were to be dumped at specific times, in specific spaces, and guided the entire way there. They were to be bound together and escorted on rafts, and then dragged out by waiting peasants to drying grounds. In this way, structural timbers and the rare ship-ready wood could be sent down the river and made use of immediately on arrival without disrupting too much of the Kingdom's internal shipping. The Dukes were responsible for this, of course, and they shoved the duty to their Counts.

Overall, the regulation worked. Trees were felled, prepared, and sent down on time. Transit of wood throughout the Kingdom for various uses improved in scope and efficiency markedly. Wood was now where it was needed much more often, and the Aelish rivers were not a mess. Construction resumed in Couroffe. And the minds of the Dukes were split. The King, backed by a true populist movement, had imposed regulation on them. They were benefitting from it-they could not have won against it, not a wave of sentiment lead by Queen Ethellebelle, who had just gained the epithet the Wise. However, the prospect of a similar wave taking aim at their power another time was enough to make some people worry. After all, the Dukes did not keep their power by ignoring history.

The printing hall almost glittered in the candlelight. While the Aelish were not the inventors of any epochal technology, they were more than capable of putting it on display. Prince Vespasian had worked his rear end off to find a nice, new hall-like building for the device, and everyone else had been involved in getting the equipment set up. The weight had been a major problem; both moving the press and getting it affixed on a decent foundation had required months of building preparation by up to fifty-four persons. Once the press was in place, the Aelish were able to start fully moving in everything else; the layout of the hall was designed around the press and it's operations. It had been partitioned with moving walls and large storage shelves, but clear lines of sight remained. At the end on an elevated plinth was a statue of the Lady dressed as a scribe, holding up a lamp and a quill. She did not have an aspect as a scribe, but She ended up writing enough to do the job.

Prince Vespasian was not in the social thick of things, but he was a very public presence nonetheless. It had been his efforts that had found the building, after all, and his parents had kept him involved so that he couldn't go off and get distracted doing something unadvisable. Having a creative project of some kind-any kind, really-to work on was good for Vespasian. He was slowly finding this out, and he didn't like it. But helping to get a piece of civilization-changing engineering in full use was a good way to spend one's alloted hours, and Vespasian had to be pleased with himself. Somewhat unfortunately, his habit of making announcements to in public about the opening of the printing house had resulted in him inviting random people from all over the city. This had the effect of drawing a large, very mixed crowd. The occasional slum dweller and peasant rubbed elbows with local nobility, while the average Corouffois complained about the traffic with this or that Count.

The printing press was only one thing that had been loaded into the hall. After the heavy equipment had been moved in and the carpenters had finished re-sealing the building, they had installed very large amounts of furniture and storage racks. Making a printed item of any kind would require type storage and setting, paper preparation, inking of the typeface itself, drying the print, and then preparing the dried print for final use. In practice, this meant a large area for typesetting benches-and a checking point, to make sure that there were no errors. The area in front of the printer was worked to allow for rapid loading and unloading of paper and prints. Almost a quarter of the hall was set aside for drying of finished prints, and a station was placed after the drying racks for the cutting and handling of these prints. Signage had been placed right before the cleaners had started setting up for the event; these fresh efforts made it possible to give tours.

Vespasian had gotten a tour first, and he was giving one now. Sir Elyse showed up after having missed the initial round of partygoers, shuffling in awkwardly to keep the mud off of her ermine cape. It wasn't the rarest creature in the Ranks of Furs, in fact, stoats were extremely common animals. However, their fur looked very, very good on her, and Elys wanted to look good. The cloaks were all the rage with the road knights, which cheapened them and made them even more common, but not everyone was in the know-

"And like I said, your Knightship, there's only so much I can take! There's only so much I should take! I'm a merchant same as any-"

Elys very strongly doubted that the peasant woman was a merchant, she only sold flowers in decent amounts to the Couroffois, the citizenry of the city. "Aye. Tis annoying."

"This is my livelihood, your Knightship, I'll tell you that! It's more than annoying."

"What would you like me to do about it?"

"Complain to the King is what you'll do about it!" She placed both hands on her hips and glared at Elys. "Let him know he can't be so careless about these kinds of things! They're a pain to everyone!"

"I have complained to the King. Multiple times. And why are you telling me what to do?" The tension in the conversation hadn't ratcheted up. Yet.

"Because you seem to need the advice, I'll tell you that."

"...really." Elys put a hand on her hip, on the side where she wore her sword. "Pray tell...why." What she really meant was 'do shut up'.

"Well, look at you. Half of you isn't even here. You're not thinking about this event." The flower-seller finished her beer and held up her hand in exasperation. "You're not even in the room, your head isn't even thinking about anything else here."

Elys shrugged. "I guess. It does not matter, flower-seller."

"Is it a lover?"

"Oh. No." The Knight wrinkled her nose. Someone walked past, bearing cheese for the workers.

"That's fortunate. Is it duty?" Right to the point.

"Yes." Elys rolled her eyes. "Why do you care?"

The hall itself was mostly filled with the printing press and the support apparatus for it's operation. The typesetting alone took up a sizeable amount of space, as did script review and inspection; the drying racks themselves consumed even more than the typesetter's desk. The press itself wasn't too large, but everything was centered around it-and this was Couroffe. Space was at a premium in the dense capital, and the movement of paper, ink, and finished printings around the city were complicated by more than the culmination of the paving projects, they had to deal with the dug-up streets and the parked carts and the piles upon piles upon piles of paving stones. The printing hall had two big storage closets; one for paper and one for finished, dried pages. The type was stored in something far more organized, the results of fairly painstaking design. While the hall could crank out prints at a good pace, it was a little cramped, even more so with the crowds-

"My tenth-share got you that swanky cape." Elys and the flower-seller had been lumped into another tour group, and were being walked around.

"Sure." Elys hadn't gotten that ermine cape from any form of taxation, her pay was a pittance. The lord she served under had rush-ordered these capes for his entire lower-ranked knightly retinue, and she was just a face in a column when wearing it. "We do owe you responsible spending."

"You're more than that." The flower-seller was at her elbow. The two had a height difference that was significant; Elys was wearing four inches of heel. "You knightly lot are the best thing in Aelbaion. And the worst thing."

"What does that mean?" Elys was very interested in some wooden shelves. "Hopefully nothing disloyal."

"You stopped fighting each other and look where we are right now." The building creaked around them slightly. "I guess you can do that too."

"Well, we are exemplars of the best of Aelbaion."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. King Al told us."

"What about King Aldebaric-"

"It's his majesty to you!"

Elys' lip curled. "...what about his majesty?"

"Well, his majesty isn't thinking about things too hard. Like you are. He thinks about them as much as he needs to, and then he's done."

The knight moved a foot on the floor as their tour guide talked about a sign. "...and what if I'm not as good at thinking as he is? What if he can get it all out and be done?"

"You go pray. He prays a lot, the Queen plays a lot. You should too."

The Lady never talks to me, Elys wanted to say. She talks to others, but never to me. "Ok. I'll pray more."

"Start there. It'll help. And don't be so dour. That also helps!"

"Thanks." Elys actually meant fuck off.

Night had fully fallen, and the party had turned into a proper party. Elys was in no mood for a party, and if there wasn't any free alcohol, she was leaving. The worries on her mind were too damn much, and she couldn't even figure out what they were. Pausing, she turned and faced the printing house. Crowds were still there, and someone was standing on a box, loudly listing out their qualifications for working at the building as a laborer. Apparently, the people of Couroffois wanted new jobs. The ones that they had had for years were boring, or annoying, or both-and never mind that the jobs of dung-collector and porter still needed to be done. She sighed inwardly. When had they gotten so rude and presumptuous? The role of the knight meant many things, but it also meant not getting sassed by flower-sellers with-

"Elys!" Fuck. It was Vespasian. FUCK.

"Oh, hello your highness. I didn't think I'd run into your here."

"At my own party? Poppycock!" He was in a good mood. "Of course you'd run into me, Elys. I'd want to make sure that you're having a good time."

"I am."

"I saw you talking to that flow-seller." He stood where the sidewalk was going to be sometime in the future. "Did you-"

"She's a presumptuous bint. I should have set about her with my gauntlet, Vespasian."

"I take it you did not get to bed-"

"..."

"That bad, hrmm?"

"...no, she was rude to me. Lady's sake, Vespasian." She looked at the hall, with it's doors flung wide open. "And told me what to do."

He nodded once. "She is opinionated. I still talk to her, of course. Did you get a good start to your conversation with her?"

"No."

"But you know of her, and she knows of you. So you can order flowers from her."

"...why would I do that?"

Vespasian shrugged. "It's nice to have fresh flowers in the house, and they're great at events."

"I guess."

"Elys...what's wrong?"

"I..." she swallowed. Couldn't get it out. "Alley. Come."

They moved into the alley. The Royal Guard were already there, and they gave the two a bit of space. She swallowed again.

"Elys, are you in debt?"

"I feel doomed."

"What do you mean, doomed?"

She stared at the ground. "I feel doomed. Every day I wake up, and I feel doomed, and I don't know why."

He nodded once. "I'm...look. I can't pull too many strings. But after the wargames, I can send you to a good doctor. They can look you over."

Elys nodded once. "Ok. Thanks. Really don't want to go to the games. Really, really, really don't want to go-"

He sucked in a breath. "Chivalry means doing what you are required to do, even when it is terrible. I'm sorry, Elys."

The knight nodded once. He would still send her to her doom. "Yes, sir." There was a bow, and-something landed in her hands.

"your highenss...what is this?"

"It is Aelbaion's first printed book. The Lady's Book of Life."

Huh. It was. The cover was firm. It gave her something to focus on. Not just the doom.

It...it would do.

The institution of the guild has been around for ages in Aelbaion. No one knows where it comes from. The process of apprenticeship, journey-work, and judging for mastery has presumably been around for centuries. Maybe it came from the Land of the Three Guilds; whatever happened, it probably came through Freeport. However it got to Aelbaion, it is exceptionally well entrenched, a custom without question. This makes it hard to address any faults-or improve any areas of focus with it without entering a political quagmire. To continue an industrial policy that would touch influence guild-based labor would require a very careful touch, one that everyone could agree with. To this end, the Crown set up a package of overhauls that consisted of the best traditions of multiple guilds around Aelbaion, which could be boasted about when put into place. The legal standing for these regulations was based on previous acts from the Crown, with the language supplied by Queen Ethellebelle and freshly created team of 'maidens to the bar', whose purpose was to act a personal legal advising team from the Crown. The language of the Act may have been developed by the Queen, but it was run through the Maidens until she plausible deniability.

Because oh what changes it brought. Building off of the previous changes to how the Crown recognized guilds, it imposed regulations on said recognized guilds 'for the virtuous, just, and effective treatment of all those apprenticed'. At the heart of this was the 'public apprenticeship registry'. Said registry required the public statement of all persons apprenticed to each guild, and their collection in a list available both in the main guild headquarters and the dwelling place of the apprentice. This would ensure that each Guild-and by extension, the Crown-would have a close eye on local operations, which would let anyone in charge allocate labor more effectively. Practically, this would not happen very often; the Aelish economy was either left alone or steered by the religious rules that the Lady's servants were giving out in her name. Individual projects were often 'ordered in'.

The next rule was the official adoption and enforcement of the unofficial 'rule of three'. Each master was only to have three apprentices at a time, and could not take on more, no matter the size of their operation or the amount of other hired hands that they had. Each apprentice was going to get a proper teaching session, and the King was rumored to have personally shouted down multiple guild representatives about this. Apprentices were also to be taught to read and write, and to do math, although the exact method was to be left up to the guild-roving tutors or small part-time schoolhouses were good options if they got results. Finally, the Crown instructed guilds to offer a slightly more easy path to apprenticeship: those working for the master in other roles, such as cleaner or shop assistant, were to be given additional weight if they applied to be an apprentice under the master. The method for giving someone more or less consideration was not explicit; the Crown was not going to overhaul every aspect of guild life and governance, nor did it even want to.

The introduction of this new set of regulations for all recognized was a major change, and it was a moderate test of King Al's political power. It was written into law with a strong public relations campaign, as the regulatory framework was drawing from the best aspects of the guilds across the Kingdom. The educational requirements were drawn from the schooling practices of the Cobbler's guild; and the hard limits of three were part of the high quality student classes of the Furriers guild. All parties were equal parts leery of the apprenticeship registry, but they sensed it could be a significant benefit to their own internal governance. Some persons have also warned that the Regulations will greatly decrease the amount of apprentices being taken on each year, slowing the growth of the guilds. And everyone knows that the Crown has not tried anything so governmentally ambitious for much of it's life as an institution. The King still needs to see how far he can go in regulating aspects of Guild organization; and much of his limits are political.

Crown Prince Vespasian and that strange Midnight Reader Pentalos sat in the rafters of an inn and tried to have a discussion where the Prince didn't become so aggravated that they didn't throw Pentalos off the beam that he was sitting on and into the waste bucket. Instead, he put away a handkerchief, sighed, and reigned in his desire to slap the man silly again.

"Pentalos. What the fuck is a 'bubble'?"

"A bubble is an economic phenomenon where the prices of the assets, physical or non, exceeds that of the actual, intrinsic valuation-that which the nature of the business or endeavor justifies, especially with it's longevity." The roof over them creaked a little as someone walked on it.

"Ah. You are saying nonsense." The Prince carefully shifted his wine glass down the splintery beam.

"I am speaking the truth, sir, I will have you know." His companion had already emptied his.

"The truth of a man who inhales incense while looking at the stars for an 'aesthetic experience'. Please, you devote yourself to competitive math problems so much that you wear one as a face mask to challenge everyone-"

"And what about it?" The noble psuedo-scholar thought he really had the prince with that retort. He didn't.

The prince just sighed. "Pentalos. More non-numerical nonsense. Please"

"As you can doubtlessly see, there have been many persons setting up glass-based endeavors in the more populous parts of the country, and even some in the forests themselves. This shall result in an excess of glass, and no one to buy it. They shall lose all their money and go into arrears, and we shall be left with no glass and ruined furnaces and ruined crafters-that is how it shall go." Down below, a waitress walked by, leading in a new group of customers.

"Are you sure, Pentalos? You're prone to believing the worst sometimes."

"Oh, yes. Absolutely. There is only so much glassware one can sell to the city before one has to cut prices to keep selling it! Glass dishes, glass cups, maybe a glass window or two-but they cannot fill the town with glass! And Freeport is right over there! They make glass, too!" Neither of them noticed the new arrivals, too bound up in his morose story.

"Well, couldn't they sell to the countryside, or the lords further up-"

"Some can, Vespasian, but these lords have taste! They will not accept every single little guttersnipe who is casting half-baked ashes into a tray of sand! And they certainly won't export it. The Trade Lords cannot afford to export rubbish!" In this, he was right.

"Why?" said Vespasian, with a genuinely quizzical air, "Wouldn't they just make more people want to buy glass?"

"Who wants to buy something that looks like a fornication instrument?"

"...someone who wants to use one, I don't know-"

"Unless they are publicly displaying it, they would not buy it-" Raucious laughter from someone else's joke down below cut Pentalos off.

"Pentalos, are you drunk?" The question was not a bad one; Pentalos was swaying back and forth.

"No, sire, but last night I consumed a handful of the most marvelous beans! I have never been more energized, and I did not sleep once!"

"...Ladysakes, Pentalos, you're off your rocker on some beans-"

"Yes, but they allow me to have a reasonable idea of seeing the future-well, guessing it, not scrying it-"

"So you're three sheets to the wind-"

"No, my lord, I am repeating what my friends say!"

"Ladysakes..." Vespasian put a hand to their face. "Your friends...are they also eating the beans?"

"No. I obtained the beans myself-"

"Good. No more beans for any of you lot. I'm not a Reader and even I can just say that-"

"Just because you command Paladins, oh Prince-" Pentalos raised a hand to condemn him.

"I command your mother, who would put a shoe to you for your idiocy without my saying anything. Ladysakes, I am doing this for your own good."

Multiple veins throbbed in Pentalos' forehead, but the mask concealed it. "I will refrain from consuming any more beans, prince Vespasian."

"Thank you. Now...this glass...what else were you talking about? You mentioned-"

"Clear glasseries, Vespasian-clear. glasseries. The establishments are enormously expensive to operate, for they require reagents from across the Kingdom, and they must be stocked continually to operate. They would drag an entire line of suppliers after them, and they would all go into arrears when they go into arrears-a chain of broken chains, your highness! These fools seek to make glass for all, and they plunge ahead without wisdom!" Pentalos did some wild gesturing, but not too much.

"Glasses for all doesn't sound like the worst thing in the world if they can pay for th-"

"They can't!" Pentalos waved his arms around. "They absolutely can NOT-" The beam he was sitting on creaked in a manner similar to his knees.

"Stop waving your hands, idiot. You'll fall!" Vespasian reached out an arm and steadied the ranting man. "There. Now-"

"...and they are founding doctors of eye-medicine, too." Pentalos was still in a huff. "Doctors."

"...Doctors of eye-medicine?" The Prince was modestly intrigued. He had taken the mild frenzy in the devleopment of optical technologies as a positive sign, and had un-wisely allowed himself to feel optimism over the breaking of the Dentists' curse.

"Yes!" The nerd's irate humor was plain in his posture. "They examine eyes and determine the glasses that people should get-"

"That's not a bad thing, either-"

"No, no, no, you don't get it-their jobs are bad for the economy."

"What's the economy?" The prince was lost in the insane rambling; he was also a little drunk.

"It...what-I-you-it is...the combined sum of all exchange and generation of goods and performance of actions, with a value of gold assigned to them...by...by a market price-" Despite being a delusional nerd who thought he had discovered modern economies while eating religiously dubious mushrooms and drawing diagrams at the end of a three day period of sleep deprivation, Pentalos was could still fabricate a definition that one could win a debate off of.

"Pentalos, I'm fucking with you." Vespasian once again gave into the impulse to troll his hanger-on by pretending to believe him.

"You...you do understand!"

Vespasian thought about trying to deceive the man further, but opted out of it. "I like your funny words, magic man. Two more truths, please!"

"...these jobs are...they require many years of training. They send someone to school for tens of thousands of florins, and when they graduate, they are only employable as eye doctors." The mad geometer seemed to be deciding whether or not to pitch himself off the beam and onto the ground.

"I somehow do not think that this is true, Pentalos. But go ahead."

"Furthermore, they will not make much money in their sales, and unless they have some other form of income, they will all be ruined, for glasses and corrective cloths will take time to be made, and be sold at high prices. Thus, only those of means may afford them, and thus they shall be sold only in limited number. This shall limit or stop their business-and they shall be ruined."

"I'll ruin you, you masked up twat!"

Both looked down. Standing underneath them were a trio of fat persons in semi-expensive robes, distinguished by large hoods that indicated some form of academic. Pentalos saw them, swallowed, then threw back the rest of his drink-

"You hypocrites! Vagabounds! Oath-fakers!"

"Drunken pest, come down here and say that-"

"No! Barn-mongrels! Cow-tippers! Come up here and face my wit-"

Vespasian locked eyes with one of his guards, who had been sensibly loitering down below this entire time, then made a single 'T' with his hand. Time to go.

"I'll best yon knaves with a-"

"Pentalos!" Vespasian clapped a hand to the fired-up fools' shoulders. The wannabe mathematician jumped. "Are you ready to go yet?"

"S-sir! Below us are enemies of-"

"Aye! Let us retire!" Below, the royal guard moved in to prevent the hooded hoodlums from throwing things at Pentalos, another to help the Prince drag his wild-eyed friend out of the rafters and to the ground. They gave the doctors a polite bow, and then sashayed over to a semi-open table and stood on the unoccupied end.

"To yon literatteurs and louts-I bring an invitation! To everyone else here: please forgive my interruption! The Crown is most pleased to announce the opening of a House of Printing in one months' time! A public day of display shall be held, and tours shall be provided! I shall be present and present the work of the press!"

A beat.

"There shall be no free alcohol. Bring your own."

Price Vespasian was booed out of the room.

From the far west of Ayetho, from the arid Yuxi lands, a Yuxite by the name of Ilusa Mitlamak Nowashaytsi from the city state of Sulianti would happen upon a rumor that the wingmen in the distant land of Trezera have managed to conduct trade with the Demons of the mountains.

Mitlamak, ever the curious soul, has long been searching for a way to converse with the Demons, having gone out of his way to interview those who claim to have interacted with the strange flying race in the mountains, as well as working intermittently as an administrator to access archives of data on the Demon race, only to turn up empty handed when it came to what they actually do in their own lives, only that they do not like people taking from their mountains, like wandering woodland spirits.

Owing to this curiosity, Mitlamak would begin to make his way to those Trezeran lands, if with some strife, but that is a story for another time. This journey would come to a head when Mitlamak would have a fateful encounter with one of those very wingmen of rumor, the merchant Oriol.

Which, while the encounter sounds as of legend, in actuality was much less glamorous for those involved, mostly not for Oriol, even.

On the edge of the Ietravan realm, a mere week's journey by boat to the coasts of Svartaya, Mitlamak encounters Oriol at a city market, drawn by familiar, yet foreign goods known to him from his studies.

“You are selling goods from the mountains?” Mitlamak asks.

“Why yes!” Oriol greets, “What would interest you?”

“Everything!” Mitlamak gets ahead of himself.

“Everything?”

“Yes, but-”

“Nonsense, I'm sure something can be arranged,” Oriol insists.

“Oh, I should introduce myself first,” Mitlamak decides. “I am a scholar from Sulianti, and I am researching the hill Demons. These are from one of their bastions, yes?”

“Bastion…? They have their nests, ayet, I think they were called?” Oriol answers. “Yes, these are goods from those Demani.”

“How did you come about these goods?”

“By trading, of course,” Oriol answers. “I don't mean to hurry you, but I can't keep speaking with you if you won't be buying anything, I have customers to sell to.”

“Ah!” Mitlamak pulls out a coin purse, “I'll pay for the conversation as well as some goods, don't worry.” He sets a few coins down in advance.

“You don't have much experience with Arpe, do you?” Oriol doesn't assume ill intent, he is clearly trying, after all. “We exchange ‘contracts' through song, the contara will record the terms of our agreement, and will be recorded in a Ccelimbar, a stone which records sound.”

Mitlamak nods, “I see, like a lender. Do show me how to do so, I will gladly partake if it means hearing more.”

And so, Oriol guides Mitlamak through the process of forming a contara, and then shoos him off out of the way so he doesn't interrupt business until closing time. A merchant has to work, after all.

Once the sun is setting and Oriol has sold her wares for the evening, the two finally get to reconvene to chat once more.

“So!” Mitlamak begins without hesitation, “You'd said you traded with the Demons?”

“Yes, the arrangement is a few years old now,” Oriol confirms, perching comfortably for what seems like it will be a long conversation.

And a long conversation it is, Mitlamak asking questions as simple as what foods the Demons eat and as complicated as their internal anatomy, as if the poor arpe is meant to know all of this off the top of her head.

After a winding discussion, and much being noted down on rather quality paper by Mitlamak the entire time, Oriol finally has to put some stop to it if she is to have any hope of resting before the sun rises.

“Enough! I am a merchant, Mitlamak, you aren't asking questions even an information broker could know,” she lightly scolds the overly curious young man. “If you wish to know so much about the Demani, why don't you travel with my company back to Trezera when we leave? There's something there I'm sure will interest you.”

“I can't imagine what could be more fascinating than those Demons, I've never met someone whose gotten to interact with them as you have,” Mitlamak replies, curiosity still far outweighing any shame he might have for keeping Oriol up. “What is it?”

“There is an ancient relic used by the Sphinxes which can transform people into almost whatever they desire.” Oriol tells. “If you're so curious about Demani, why not become one? I even know someone who might serve as your gestivo if you do.”

“I'd love to do that!” Mitlamak has yet to learn of how permanent or impermanent such a change might be, let alone what a gestivo even is, but he has a passion for his research, and what better way than to fully become one of the species which has enthralled his interests for so many a year?

Oriol almost rolls her eyes at his eagerness, almost. “We leave in a few days, prepare your things.”

As time passes on, and Mitlamak gets to ask further questions here and there from various members of Oriol's crew while he prepares for the trip, the company soon enough journeys back to Trezera in their airships, another new experience for Mitlamak, who has never left solid ground in such a way before.

And upon arrival, Mitlamak makes his way to the place he was told of, the Vale of the Sphinx. While the city along the way is impressive, and the Vale itself is a monument to behold, none of those are what he is here for, so he pays it little mind.

Upon entering the Vale, Mitlamak gets in line much like any other might, though isn't so knowledgeable about Trezera to know not to just stare at the Sphinx present. So after some time gawking in line, it is finally his turn to speak to that very Sphinx.

The elder Sphinx speaks in a deep, gravely voice, “You have come quite a distance to make it here, little Yuxi. What has brought you to me?”

Mitlamak straightens his posture. “Good day, good Sphinx,” he recalls that he is meant to express some honors at least, “I am told you are capable of a so-called ‘Change', and I would like to schedule such with you.”

“You come seeking the Change from so far afield?” The Sphinx ponders. “You are in good health, and are quite the able little Yuxi to make it this far. What is it you desire to become?”

“I am told you are able to transform me into one of the Demons found in the mountains of my homeland,” Mitlamak answers, seeming more energetic at the idea. “Would that be feasible?”

The Sphinx nods at that question, with some amusement at the peculiar request. “You wish to become what you call a demon? I do wonder what has inspired such a request.”

And with that leading statement, Mitlamak seizes the opportunity to infodump his research and speculation, “I do not believe the Demon race to truly be hostile! They do not go out of their way to invade, nor steal, recently there's even been a man who claimed to have been taken in by the Demons, and-” the rambling continues for much, much too long.

“I understand your excitement,” the Sphinx says wryly at the rambling man. “What will you give in return for this opportunity?”

“Ah! I have heard knowledge is highly valued here. I would like to share a copy of my research as payment,” Mitlamak answers.

“That will do, you may schedule a time with the attendant on your way out,” the Sphinx can't hold up the line too much longer, Mitlamak did ramble.

“Of course, thank you!” And with that, he is off, scheduling his time and rambling a bit again to the poor clerk. At least he is earnest.

With the appointment scheduled, Mitlamak has some weeks before he may finally have the opportunity he so sought. He spends his time further pestering Oriol and her company for information on Demani, taking notes of his experiences, and simply living life in Trezera for the short time he will be here, until the wait finally comes to an end.

When that day finally comes, Mitlamak once again lines up to speak with the Sphinx, this time not gawking quite so much.

When it is again his turn to meet the Sphinx, the Sphinx speaks to him, “Welcome back, little Yuxi. Come forward.” The Sphinx holds out a hand to him.

Mitlamak comes forward, and assumes he is meant to do something with the Sphinx's outstretched hand, so he rests both his hands atop it.

The Sphinx says with some amusement, but with seriousness, “The Change is both a blessing and a burden of the People. It allows us to walk on four limbs, to swim with three, to fly or run with two. It opens our eyes to the lives of others. It grants us the ability to choose what we are. Take this gift.”

With those words, the Sphinx exhales onto Mitlamak, the breath warm and moist, smelling of a greasy breakfast. It makes his skin feel prickly.

“Be the bridge of understanding among the People. Be brave, little Yuxi,” the Sphinx then stands, rising like the great elders Mitlamak has seen his father help up in his youth.

The Sphinx then moves forward, Mitlamak being guided by an attendant into a pitch dark passageway, the attendant's torch barely lighting far enough to see one's feet. It isn't until they arrive to a wide cavern that it becomes illuminated again, a shimmering cocoon lighting the space, large enough to perhaps fit a tree. It pulses with golden and wine tinted light, at the pace of a beating heart, so it would seem to Mitlamak.

The Sphinx is already awaiting them beside it, addressing Mitlamak once more, “this is the Relic. What is it you wish to become, little Yuxi?” With those words, he slits the chrysalis open with one claw, the attendant holding it open like a temple curtain.

Mitlamak has no concerns answering this again, understanding that there is ceremony to this occasion, “I wish to become a Demon like those of my homeland, to understand everything there is to know of their kind.”

…

When Mitlamak next opens his eyes, he finds himself laid out upon a bed, covered in a linen cloth and some strange bracelet on his wrist. New appendages extending out of his back, his knees feeling as if they are put on backwards, and the room smelling strongly of something he cannot quite name, but causing him some distress for reasons he does not understand.

He attempts to move, opening his eyes to a blurry scene, causing someone nearby to announce, “He's awake!”

As Mitlamak's eyes come into focus, he sees many healers and clerics busying about, the tension in the room making him feel dizzy.

A pair of the clerics help Mitlamak upright, taking hold of his arms either side of him, but the suddenness causes his new wings to flutter in distress like a startled chick, the sensation of being lifted being far more acute than anything he had ever felt before.

His back feels foreign, wings sensitive to every little touch, some orifice foreign to Mitlamak sensing every little movement of his new body and of everyone else nearby, his legs bending in ways he had thought impossible, and the room itself seeming to imprint emotions onto him, so many things all at once leaving him terribly disoriented.

The clerics examine him while Mitlamak gets the opportunity to calm down and look at himself. His skin, is it skin? He cannot tell, being vibrant reds yellows with darkened patterns, looking unusually youthful and bright compared to the very darkly colored Demons known to him from written records. His new wings span further than his arms can reach out, and his frame must be smaller than it was when he last opened his eyes- the harpies amongst the clerics are much too big compared to him for him to not have gotten smaller.

After the clerics slowly let him get his footing in his new body, settling in cautiously, and when he has calmed, checking his breath for something he does not know and pressing his wrists enough for him to feel his heartbeat against their fingers. They have Mitlamak stretch his new and changed appendages one at a time, or at least, as much as he can manage, and take measure of his body, something he is quite curious of himself. Though even with all these measures, the true extent of change is hard to describe with how much change is unable to be seen.

Once the tension in the room has more thoroughly settled, someone new enters the room, another Demon. Smaller still than Mitlamak now is, similar to the harpies, and less vibrantly colored, but not darkened like the Demons in his city's records.

They approach Mitlamak quickly, getting much closer than anyone has ever stood before, yet still far enough that he cannot help but permit it. He can practically feel their excitement, like the emotion is carried from their breath.

The Demon speaks, “O'e! Au Tswa asangefwashia! “Eyninyao nya evsnyeschn, we evtwaschn leschnwe?” Mitlamak doesn't understand, but can tell the Demon- she, means well, able to sense the curiosity and excitement from her.

“Ah…” Mitlamak speaks, his voice much less deep than it had been. “...Hello?” He tries, unsure.

The Demon, Eyninyao, seems to understand the issue, thankfully, and tries to speak properly this time, “You don't know how to speak yet? I'll help you.” Its much more direct and unexpressive, but he can still sense her excitement for some reason.

“Oh, thank you?” Mitlamak is still getting accustomed to speaking like this, it feels different, but in a way he cannot describe, like it is coming from a different place in his body than as a human. “I am Ilusa Mitlamak Nowashaytsi, it is an honor to speak to a Demon such as yourself.”

“The honor is mine!” Eyninyao insists, “I am Eyninyao, I will be your Gestivo.”

“It's good to meet you, Eyninyao,” Mitlamak says cheerfully, and almost begins baraging thing poor girl with questions, but Eyninyao gets a word in first.

“To begin, we get you clothes. Something nice.” She decides, radiating amusement at Mitlamak's excitement.

…

As things settle in, and the new reality for Mitlamak comes to truly show itself, he learns many new things from Eyninyao, both about his body and Demon, or rather, Demani culture.

As for his new body, though, the first thing Eyninyao explicitly taught him is that he is, in fact, no longer a he. Very few Demani are a he, and Mitlamak was not likely to become one of those few to begin with at his, rather, her size. Instead, She learns she is specifically an alate now, or an oajash, as Eyninyao calls it. Eyninyao has likewise taken to calling Mitlamak “Ajalusa,” in line with Demani naming practices, as well as to prepare her for meeting other Demani, who will not so readily call her by a nonstandard name.

Along with this, Ajalusa, as she is to be called whilst in this form, learns to control her center of balance without using her sight, relying on her new senses instead. Likewise, she learns to use her wings, take off, fly, glide, and land. …landing needing an assistant to catch her when she fails to land properly, quite a few times even. As well as how to understand and give off her own pheromone signals, which takes quite some time thanks to no one really knowing what they are other than a part of language just yet. Too early in history for advanced biology.

As for Demani culture, Ajalusa learns of their language, their many roles in society, and of things such as food and living arrangements. However, what is taught is limited by Eyninyao, who has never lived in an ayet herself nor even lived in a feng in some time.

Ultimately, though, Ajalusa learns enough that Eyninyao considers her ready to meet the wider public like she so desires. That trust is misplaced, in part because of Ajalusa having her own misconceptions, and in part because Eyninyao does not actually understand what she became an oajash for, but that's not important! It's time to set off!

Ajalusa joins up with Eyninyao and Oriol's company for one of their ventures in Ayetho, flying out on machines far beyond her comprehension for the trip, though she is grateful for them, as it saves her wings quite a deal of strain, and Eyninyao has been quite fussy about her getting hurt, though she doesn't know why.

Sailing through the skies rather than seas, Ajalusa does notice some minor commotion in the waters to the south as they near Ayetho, but thinks little of it. Instead, her focus remains on the many wonders she hopes to see once able to see an ayet for herself up close.

And as they land, Mitlamak, now Ajalusa, may begin a new chapter of her life. And more importantly, her studies! She already has note paper out.

The Aelish have been enjoying a peace with plenty, and a peace with plenty begets a peace with good problems, the kind that lead to some difficult problem solving down the line for logisticians and accountants. One of these good problems was about the methods of woodland management: the Aelish it should be aggressively conserved and assertively managed, and now they had to figure out how to do it without too much sustained cost. By now, they had become familiar with the growth of bocage, of it's use to support both fields and some sowed crops, and of how it could help keep fields in order. It required some tending, but this was well worth the payoff once shelterbelts were fully established. The Aelish had to solve how they would integrate this burgeoning bocage with their infrastructure.

Since the growth of woods could not be stopped by natural obstacles-even if it did move slowly-any infrastructure that the Aelish developed would need to coexist with the woods, at minimum. Designs would need to work with the woods at minimum, ideally they would integrate it in such a fashion that maintenance would be minimized and that the benefits would be easily reaped. Of course, this was only an ideal-but the Aelish had a sense for what their bocage did and didn't need, and what they could get away with. Already, it had knitted together their fields and farms, spreading across the country in fits and starts. The very nature of the woods meant that it would link up to waterways, it would also show up alongside roadways without being stopped.

There is a critical phenomenon in these woods that the Aelish are enjoying the benefits of when it comes to encouraging biodiversity: that of edge effects. Edge effects are effects that occur at the boundary of two different habitats, ecosystems, or other differences; this is because the characteristics of the immediate area differ and vary, as opposed to the insides of the habitats, which do not. This allows for high biodiversity, which is essential in ensuring the resilience of the ecosystem against shifts in climate or immediate natural disasters-things which according to the priesthood, would occur when the Lady turned her wrath upon those who displeased her. By maintaining areas with these characteristics, the Aelish can maintain the virtuous practices of the past, when roads of this nature existed with the Lady's full blessing.

For the Aelish, the sunken road, eroded down by cart tracks and with boundaries by the woods, had existed for centuries. Whether this is true or not is a matter of interpretation which the author is not going to get into, because it is more fun to get into cool flying machines and large infrastructure projects instead. To the Aels, these roads had sheltered them as they fled and helped them escape the depredations of the Predecessors, until their own forces under the first banner of the Lady had burst from them to finish destroying their old enslavers. They had always desired to return to the wood-covered areas, and in a time of perceived rising virtue and greater peace, they were able to return to them once again. Careful craft and continued cart crossings were a catalyst for the reconstruction of the sunken ways, this time under their own direction.

Direction of these roadways was not always to the idyllic sunken way, of course. The mundane work of ensuring that bridges were present on broken terrain, making sure that villages were connected, laying out roadways, and maybe reducing some parts of the toll network. The Crown was always willing to help with the last, because the nobility having slightly less income didn't hurt it's power-and the popularity gains of reducing tolls were always very nice when the King depended on the will of the peasants to maintain some of his overall legitimacy. The burgeoning population of Aelbaion means that more hands are available to work on the roadworks on aspects of the project that are not essential; the Aelish can make their roads more accommodating. Passing-places, areas for a wagon to pull off to the side and allow for more riders to pass can be put in by a coordinated force in a weekend's period of time. The Aelish also thought that secondary embankments had been constructed around the roads as a way to keep cattle in in times past; this had not occurred. However, they did not let this fact stop them from doing what they thought that their ancestors had done.

As the sunken lanes mature, there are two final elements to cover. The first is the general increase in prosperity that the roads have brought. Good roads, based around sunken lanes, have improved the transportation of goods and the movement of people; they have made it easier for regional markets to operate by selling their bulky agricultural products to various merchants and minor nobles. It has made put more currency in circulation and resulted in more business being done, more storage areas being emptied and filled, less starvation. The Aelish have further improved their food supply, further gotten a little better at making money, further improved their prosperity. Each sunken lane has two lanes, with carts passing each other regularly. At the same time, the sunken lanes are a stark example of the other force in Aelbic life: the staunch tradition-following of the average person, particularly in the religiously-influenced cultural sphere. The roads are not 'metalled', or covered with spare stones from mining, in any area. This is due to an almost Romantic desire to keep the past the present, because it was nice to experience, as well as to the general lack of production of processed waste stone. Ultimately, the use of these sunken ways is a reaffirmation of the same ethos that they had in the past. The sunken lanes of today are just more of the same, just better done.

NAME:

“The Corruption”

Lovomascicko

FLAG/SYMBOL: N/a

LOCATION:

https://imgur.com/a/igmvn1M

GEOGRAPHY:

An endorheic basin where the stone near the surface has mutated into glassy crystals and sharp crags, the soil is extremely acidic and alkaline in alternating waves. The rain comes down a dirty grey from the miasma, and the plants are any color but green, yet not dead. A region that lingers with the corruption of old magic which no one can comprehend nor undo.

BIOLOGY/ETHNICITY:

Gremlins: One (1) meter tall, feline eyes, enlarged canines, dark leathery skin, large droopy ears

Goblins: One and a Quarter (1.25) meters tall, feline eyes, enlarged canines, pale leathery skin, elongated ears

Orcs: Two (2) meters tall, ape-like eyes, short tusks, pale leathery skin, pointed ears

Ogres: Two and a Half (2.5) meters tall, ape-like eyes, moderate tusks, pale leathery hide, small ears

Trolls: Three and a Half (3.5) meters tall, ape-like eyes, large tusks, dark leathery hide, very small ears

HISTORY:

After the end of the era of magic, the former rulers of the corrupted lands vanished alongside the high magic. In their absence, plants, animals, and, of course, people moved in, hoping to escape the turmoil.

At first, few noticed the small oddities of their new home, the animals seeming larger or smaller, plants seeming sharper than usual or curled up strangely, but nothing that raised alarms with how things had been during the previous era. However, in time, people would begin to corrupt all the same as the flora and fauna. Some would grow large, into hulking behemoths, others becoming stout and thin, into gnomish little things. 

As the settlers came to adapt, the beginnings of the modern Lovomascicko would form.

SOCIETY:

Despite the immense physical differences between the changed peoples, the different goblinoid races intermingle on equal footing, no member of society able to be discounted with everyone being subject to the same fate.

Lovomasci society is conservative, still recognizable as the same as when they founded after settling the corruption. The people are divided into Ribe, groups who have allied to form a decentralized state, once with a king, but after the first dynasty fell to mental corruption, a permanent interregnum has settled in, the government fundamentally broken as Ribe lords continue to act as if a king exists, whilst never having a true monarch for longer than a decade at a time.

Most Lovomasci live pastoral lifestyles, but some Ribe have rediscovered agriculture in their poisoned lands, and produce strange produce for their villages.

CULTURE:

Lovomasci culture, faith, and beliefs center around the great changes they have undergone. The least human yet still conscious being considered highly spiritual beings, and the least altered being considered the finest able bodies, leaving those in the middle of the two extremes being considered less attractive regardless of gender.

Those who have their minds corrupted are considered to be returned to nature, and are simply released like animals, for their souls have ascended already. This does, however, lead to goblin raids outside of Lovomascicko at fairly regular intervals, those lost to the miasma having little regard for status nor property rights.

OCCURRENCE OF MAGIC: 

Lovomasci magic is centered around glamours and charms, with minor illusions being used to convey information, for not all inhabitants can speak, and charms being used in socialization like second nature, though perhaps seeming like tricks or swindles to those not accustomed to their mannerisms.

The illusions used take the form of sounds, scents, and simplified visuals to convey intended meaning clearly.

The charms used take the form of weakly implanted emotions, used to convey tone in day to day use, and for manipulation and negotiation in some situations.

FADED WONDER:

Within the very heart of Lovomascicko, there lies an unknowable wonder of a bygone era. In appearance, it resembles a pristine obelisk of solid black stone, inscribed with symbols whose meanings have been forgotten to history. 

This obelisk leaves the air around it thick in miasma, visible to the naked eye, and is said to be the origin of the corruption which defiles a wide radius from its epicenter, leaving no person, plant, animal, or even rock untouched should it remain within its domain too long.

The actual function of the obelisk is to curate the environment around it to suit a race that has long since perished and been forgotten. It makes the land and its inhabitants toxic to most outaide life, but not universally. The air can still be breathed, and with preparation the mutated foodstuffs may be consumed without issue by outsiders safely, though staying too long is not recommended for non-natives.

IMPORTS, EXPORTS, & MAJOR INDUSTRIES:

Exports; medicinal herbs, acid, lye, “monster” parts

Imports; grain, iron, quality textiles

Industries; animal husbandry, monster hunting, stoneworking, subsistence farming

Welcome to Origin! I hope it was an engaging voyage! My name is Sep, and I can help you to find your way around the city. Should your first stop be for food, lodging or rest, head this way towards our nearest city centre; I recommend an order of honey milk chips and scented baths!

If you've never been to Origin before, our local balms are strongly recommended for lips, hands, snouts, eyelids and any other flesh you've found drying out on the way here. Take care to seek cover from midday sun - stay under the awnings or purchase a parasol!

Should you be carrying an auspicious object for our Wayfinders' appraisal, there are multiple sites set up to do so around the city - look for Xanoi in our city's tabard. Or, if you're here for the relay, go ahead and settle in, then take this street straight to the original bridge. We've got four days before it begins - plenty of time to investigate the best viewing angles, as well.

We thank you for making the trip to Origin! May you have many happy returns ✋✨

The City & Surrounds

Origin occupies a wide valley at the base of a cleft mountain; that same fissure runs through the city as a narrow canyon, dividing the place into eastern and western halves. Rather than distinct or competitive, these are noticeably similar - both halves boast their own tall city cores, gardens, grand temples and industries. Similar services and supplies can be found in both east and west.

While the outskirts are mostly scrubby pastures, hunting grounds and semi-nomadic structures, the city proper is well organized and easy to navigate - aside from signage, which is provided almost exclusively in one of multiple Xanoi scripts. For the occasion, flag-bearing Seekers proficient in some of Ashagon's other languages and pidgins are widely available to assist with directions, trade, or other needs.

The Xanoi are fairly obviously split into two groups: those who have seen other parts of Ashagon and its people, and those who have only heard stories. While most Xanoi are interested in, and accepting of, cultural differences, they tend to be used to sameness, and they don't hide their surprise at those who look or behave differently. There are not a lot of accommodations for people of unusual size or those who are ill-adapted to the dry climate. That said, all Xanoi are used to a mix of foreign currency, and trade is a semi-barter system using trade tablets: a separated dish for the ware on one side, and the customer's offer on the other.

Even outside of the special festivities, Origin feels busy and colourful, and the Xanoi are generally pleasant. Foreigners will, however, be questioned if wandering too deep into purely residential areas.

Object Assessment

Anyone from anywhere in Ashagon is invited to have auspicious objects assessed by Origin's Wayfinders; these are people trained in determining whether an object is a lost piece of the Xanoi deity, Hollik, who fell from the sky many years ago and whose fragments are scattered across Ashagon.

Most people outside of Origin might call these bits of a falling star, or meteorite, but it's quite rare (and fairly heretical) for any Xanoi to refer to the fragments in this way!

A reward is promised for trading in Pieces of Hollik, as the Xanoi are determined to rebuild their deity. Some say it's to be lauded a hero; others say it's riches; others say it's finder's choice. Look for a Waysfinder if you think you've brought a piece of a god!

Relic's Relay ("The Race")

Relic's Relay is a regular biannual event in Origin; however, this time is extra special, because anyone from across Ashagon can enter. The race requires a team of nine, and each team will be given an object to carry to the end of the race. Each team member is responsible for one challenge along the way; historically, these have been extremely varied, such as solving a riddle, fighting a beast, crawling through a hole, swimming, sawing, etc. Rumours are rampant but no one can be sure of the events until the day of the race, when teams are given a short time to assign roles.

Report to the original bridge if you've brought a team for the race (or if you're LFG).

We are probably going to shift into a monthly schedule for these posts, rather than the biweekly schedule I have been more or less failing to keep up with.

During the Schedule Sunday we typically recap moderator announcements, update major events within the shard, set the clock, and assign slots for our weekly event posts.

News

A labelled map of all our seas and geographic regions can be found here

Reminder that NPC claims are open. The way NPCs work is, you can use it as you wish in your own posts, as an ally, an enemy, or a bystander to whatever you're up to. If you want to build a story around a particular trade relationship but haven't gotten it worked out with a player, NPCs are good for that. You just have to be aware that other players might be using the same NPC claim for different reasons, so you can't make really major changes (eg. toppling their government) without mod approval. (Anyone who is inactive for 60 days, and who doesn't respond to the messages from the mod team, will have their claim become an NPC).

Reminder, we have opened up expansions. If you wish to expand your territory, make a post with the [Expansion] flair, indicate the territory you want to expand into, and include a good-quality post explaining the significance of the new land. Expansions are not as formal or as rigidly formatted as claim posts, so your post can focus on the things you feel are most relevant/interesting. Still, mods might ask you to revise your post if we don't feel you've included enough content to accompany the new territory.

Players are allowed one retroactive expansion. That means that you can add in new territory and, after it's approved, we will act as though it was part of your claim all along. Otherwise, you'll need to explain how and why you acquired this new territory now. (If you are making a normal, non-retroactive expansion, you should include a year in your post.)

Players will only be approved for expansion if they have made at least two posts since their claim went up.

IMPORTANT LINKS
Claim Template
Welcome to Ashagon

Ashagon Check-In

Current map

Current Year: 9 CE
(Time usually progresses organically in accordance with player posts. If you have an event happen, you can attach a year to it. The furthest advanced year will become the current year in the next Schedule Sunday post, unless the mods decide someone jumped unreasonably far ahead.)

Ashagon News:

Prompts: Follow the Leader
What's in the Box
An Alate Goes Abroad
Knights Errant

ACTIVE CLAIMS

The Kingdom of Aelbaion ([u/OceansCarraway](u/OceansCarraway))
Audio ([u/BoobooMaster](u/BoobooMaster))
Ayetho ([u/Harfordplanning](u/Harfordplanning))
The Faerie Court of Cwmyteg ([u/JFritz2308](u/JFritz2308))
Dragon Republic of the Gold-and-Green Fields ([u/adminscales1155](u/adminscales1155))
Freeport ([u/goop_lizard](u/goop_lizard))
The Mangroves of the Crones ([u/SPACEMUHRINE](u/SPACEMUHRINE))
Origin and the Xanoi ([u/madicienne](u/madicienne))
Orgraille ([u/Rocket_III](u/Rocket_III))
Star Cities of Paroma ([u/DartMonkey](u/DartMonkey))
Periwald ([u/MapleTopLibrary](u/MapleTopLibrary))
Rexdom of the Saur-kin ([u/gingecharmander](u/gingecharmander))
Rockborn ([u/palmtree219](u/palmtree219))
Kingdom of Sarmeqarki ([u/SgtWolf01](u/SgtWolf01))
Empire of the Six Cities ([u/Northrnr](u/Northrnr))
The Sovereign Corpus of Tarrnakkan Monopols ([u/mauricejc](u/mauricejc))
Trezera ([u/PhoebusLore](u/PhoebusLore))
Tritechniquon ([u/Cereborn](u/Cereborn))
Kingdom of Verdantis ([u/joec533](u/joec533))
The Wuavreni Mercantile League ([u/Soapybint](u/Soapybint))
Wingdom of Cheelia ([u/TinyLittleFlame](u/TinyLittleFlame))
Y Chruine ([u/thefuzzsakenone](u/thefuzzsakenone))

NPC CLAIMS

Cyrenthia
The Steros Archipelago
Tathini River Valley

Weekly Events

MARKET MONDAY
Market Monday is an open interaction post that anyone can join. The host chooses a setting somewhere within their claim. Quite often this is a market/bazaar/merchant harbour, but it can also be a religious or cultural festival, or any other event you can think of that has reason to bring people from around the continent. As host, you should set the scene with a fairly detailed intro post that informs us of how the physical space is set up, what points of interest there are, and what event is happening. You are not required to DM interactions and you’re not obligated to interact with everyone who comes in, but you should have enough ideas that players have something to dig into and develop their own stories.

Most recent:
Monday, September 14th (/u/madicienne)
Monday, September 21st (unassigned)
Monday, September 28th (unassigned)
Monday, October 5th (unassigned)
Monday, October 12th (unassigned)

TECHNOLOGY TUESDAY
This post is, as you might expect, focused on technology. For this shard, the TT post will be able to cover both conventional technology and specialized Ana-Tech. That doesn’t mean that you need a Tech Tuesday slot to write about your technology. There is a “Technology” flair and you’re welcome to apply it to a lore post at any time. Tech Tuesday is intended for significant inventions that have the potential to change things across Ashagon (provided you’re willing to share). We also expect Tech Tuesdays to keep a certain standard of thought and detail. (Anyone requesting a TT slot will need to let the mods know a general outline of what technology they will be introducing.)

Most recent posts: Atomic Seed Storage
Tuesday, September 15th (unassigned)
Tuesday, September 22nd (unassigned)
Tuesday, September 29th (unassigned)
Tuesday, October 6th (unassigned)
Tuesday, October 13th (unassigned)

THAUMATURGY THURSDAY
This is similar to Tech Tuesday, but it is for significant creations of a magical nature. Anyone wishing to introduce a Faded Wonder not included in their claim will need to book a Thaumaturgy Thursday slot. It can also be used for interesting applications of Faded Wonders you’ve already introduced. You can use one to talk about magic apart from Faded Wonders, but since this is a Low-Power shard, it will be more about complexity and interesting applications rather than showing off something shiny and explosive. (Again, you will just need to give the mods a short description of the idea when you book a slot.)

Most recent posts: Thursday, September 17th (unassigned)
Thursday, September 24th (unassigned)
Thursday, October 1st (unassigned)
Thursday, October 8th (unassigned)
Thursday, October 15th (unassigned)

FEATURE FRIDAY
This is our oldest weekly event post. This one has no particular rules around content. You can write it about anything you want as long as it displays more thought, care, and detail than a typical post. People have written about major historical events, the culminations of wars or revolutions, conlangs, pottery, music, art, or introduced fascinating narratives. The FF post will be stickied at the top of the front page for the following week.

Friday, September 18th (unassigned)
Friday, September 25th (unassigned)
Friday, October 2nd (unassigned)
Friday, October 9th (unassigned)
Friday, October 16th (unassigned)

The Kingdom of Aelbaion is not a modern state, nor a unified polity, and if you asked them about these things, they'd ask you what the hell you were talking about. Aelbaion is a medieval kingdom, run as a series of family-centered fiefs, with governing an eminently personal thing because the title was literally connected to the person. This made the execution of policies-referred to as a corpus of thoughts and laws that the individual lord in question is using to make their decisions-very personal. Previously, King Aeldebaric had asked his circle of absolute losers for advice on how to get airships constructed, and they had come through with some basic policy concepts that would guide his majesty-and frankly everyone else-on how to end up making airships. Making airships, King Al decided, needs to start with getting the workers who can make them because Aelbaion is genuinely starting from nothing.

To add to the obstacles involved, the Kingdom itself has rarely done policy-otherwise called 'assembling a corpus'-on a wide scale before. In the past, it has taken on the form of crude, unconscious mercantilism, setting tax quotas to consist of manufactured goods, imposing tariffs and embargoes, and rarely preferred trading partners for certain goods. Corpuses adopted by this or that lord are either immediately vacated whenever the office changes hands, or if they are perceived to be good, held onto far beyond reasonable use. The Crown must now make a foray into a blind swamp that it has rarely ever entered: industrial policy.

Governance being personal in the past had lead to the targets of governing being equally as personal. This was both inefficient and ineffective; the 'corpus' would require continual updating and be especially vulnerable to lobbying and perturbations in the individual fabric of the people that the 'corpus' was trying to address. It also relied on individuals to do all of the inspection and regulatory enforcement, which could quickly fall apart. Most of the previously successful 'corpuses' of policy did not have much regulatory and enforcement for the issuer to undertake; it was either unnecessary or self-performed. Immature Aelish philosophy did not take a systemic or psychological approach to understanding why enforcement was needed or that incentives existed, relying instead on moral approaches that disintegrated on contact with the real world. Only in cases where someone was indoctrinated into 'moral behavior', like a knight's chivalry, would things be different.

This past history of failure, along with the politically limited nature of the Crown, made King Al reluctant to start simply spitting out decrees like a water fountain at half-tile. Instead, he decided to use the fact that the Crown to set precedents when it acts that trickle down over time for good. With the support of his actual advisors, the King has officially changed the way that the Crown recognizes guilds of specialists in the Kingdom and the Crown Lands. If a guild wants to be recognized by the Crown in any way, it would have to play by the Crown's rules. To preserve stability, the King had not really changed any of the requirements; he had only cleaned up and simplified language. It was clear that his wife had been involved; her fingerprints were all over the language, and it read easily. However, he had changed one major thing: guilds were now classified in two broad categories. These were guilds of manufacture and guilds of service.

The reason for this was to better coordinate labor. Aelbaion had a good problem: working in agriculture was both secure and profitable. Like any preindustrial society, the vast majority of people worked the fields; even if the Aelish had developed the industrial production of fertilizer far before when they were supposed to, they weren't necessarily drowning in yields. Plenty of people were still needed on the farm. Skilled craftsfolk were more plentiful in the city, but they were a hot commodity and could command high salaries. Those were typically in the manufacturing guilds; while splitting off the service guilds to induct more of the steadily growing urban population into jobs. This will keep them from causing trouble, and allow the Crown to make use of their services more easily.

Naturally, a big change like this is met with scrutiny-until everyone realizes that it isn't really a big change. The only question-why is the King wading into this minor issue now-is rapidly answered by some self-important and factually true replies about the Crown wanting to better organize it's craftsfolk and labor to keep the improvements of the Kingdom on pace. This was basically true-no one besides the King and his cronies was actually fully aware of their goal to make airships; and even if they didn't meet their final aim, the Kingdom of Aelbaion couldn't really have any bad outcomes by getting a bit more organized when it came to managing it's workforce.

...right?

[TL;DR at the bottom; this gives some background to my upcoming Market Monday]

Seated at her small but official desk in the corner of the Wayfinders' Chamber, Xeem arranged her workspace: she sharpened her two pens, placed her inkwells and opened her tall record book to its next blank spread. The western temple was cold in winter, when the desert's winds carried only a chill and a promise of the sun's return. Xeem carefully tucked in all the edges of her woolen blanket and shawl - she'd have no time to adjust anything while she worked.

Aside from being an accidental icebox, the chamber was otherwise comfortable: the walls were lined with heavy tapestries, and the floor with thick carpets. A temple assistant had come round to light the lanterns, which filled the space with a pleasant glow and faint perfume. At the Wayfinders' table, there were cups of wine and milk desserts for all - and Xeem would get hers at the end.

The door opened and shut gently. Xeem didn't have to look up to know it was Hepithir, Master Wayfinder for the Realm of Void. Hepithir was always early, and despite his official place on the opposite side of the table, he always stopped by her desk.

"Early winter, isn't it?" he said, his voice slightly muffled by his mask. The tradition was ancient and somewhat contentious, and he was the only one of the Master Wayfinders who adhered to it. Even here, in the sunken corner of the temple, no one knew what he looked like, and every rumour was more ridiculous than the last. He handed Xeem an object wrapped in soft cloth. "I brought you this."

It was warm - a bladder of hot water. What was more: their fingertips touched. Xeem's mouth fell open.

"Oh - you needn't have--"

"It was no trouble," Hepithir said, and he leaned back against the centre table, as though to put distance between them again - or perhaps just tired of standing; his shoulders sagged under his colourful winter coat. Xeem hugged the bladder between her hands.

"How is Jot?" she asked. About his cat. She hated to ask about his cat instead of about him, but there was very little else she knew to even ask about. She'd spotted the cat's hairs on his clothes only a few months prior, and the animal's antics had become their usual, if limited, topic of conversation.

"Nine kittens," Hepithir said, and Xeem swore she could hear a smile. He wasn't a monster - who wouldn't smile about kittens?

"You'll have shoes full of dead mice soon," Xeem teased, and the door opened again. Three more Master Wayfinders entered and, sure enough, this was the end of their conversation. Hepithir gave her a masked nod, and turned to find his seat in silence while the other three talked about some Seeker gossip. As the last six Wayfinders trickled in, the conversation traveled through upcoming holiday meals, delayed shipments from abroad and a nephew's birth; Hepithir was quiet, and Xeem pretended to focus on her papers. It wasn't until all ten Wayfinders were seated that the room finally quieted again. It was Inimika, Master Wayfinder for the Realm of Patterns, who opened their session.

"Thank you all for your attendance," Inimika said. She had a soft voice but a commanding presence, like a stern teacher, hardened by her unusually dark eyes and thick, serious brow. "I've called this session because I have heard concerns - and tabulated the same - that successful Returns are too few and too far between. We should decide whether to act."

Xeem's hands worked while Inimika spoke - the left page for notes, reactions, references, tone; the right for the session's transcription. She used a special shorthand that, for most people, would amount to code, and was uncommon even among scribes. But she was a master of her craft, too.

"The reconstruction of Hollik's body is not a race," the Wayfinder for Roots said with a relaxed shrug. "As you said, it's been expected that Returns would slow down. This is a work that has spanned lifetimes and will span more."

"Returns have been slowing down - for decades - since before my time. Before all of our times," Inimika said, and she produced from her person a tubular case and, from inside, a long vellum, which she rolled open onto the table. Here were tabulated, year over year, the pieces of Hollik returned to Origin. Even with only a distant view of the hash marks, Xeem could see that there had indeed been a significant decline. Inimika summarized: "Reduced to a trickle."

"A seeker came back and woke us all up at night just two months ago," said Zali, Wayfinder of Tides. If the bags under her eyes were any indication, one of her children wasn't sleeping anyway - Seeker or not. "How often is it really expected we should be throwing city-wide parties all night?"

"It used to be multiple times a month. And then at least once. And now..."

"A few times a year," said Bamot, Wayfinder for Breath. The eldest of the Master Wayfinders, he had a certain gravitas even if his opinion was technically not more important than anyone else's.

"Yes," Inimika said, relieved for Bamot's attention if not his certain support. "And it's not just about a decline in partying - fewer Returns means more missing Seekers - missing family. They must question whether they should keep looking? Our youth must question whether this is a vocation to pursue? Even in my lifetime the city has changed - prospered, certainly, but it feels to me that we are no longer a people with our hearts set only on righting the cosmic imbalance."

"Is that... bad..?" Every head turned towards Eblit, Wayfinder for the Realm of Star. He grimaced, but proceeded boldly: "I just mean to say that... every one of us was born under a sky without Hollik in it, and nothing feels out of balance. To your point, Inimika, the city has prospered. Perhaps we don't need to make Hollik whole again."

There was a pause. Maybe they were waiting to see if the temple would collapse. Luckily, it didn't. When Bamot spoke, it was not with cruelty or anger, but with a grace that had no doubt come with his years. After all, for balance among the Wayfinders, a certain amount of heresy was required, too.

"True, Eblit, that we have made ourselves at home here. But Origin is not playing at the same table as other civilizations of Ashagon. To say that we've prospered is a commendably proud but naïve perspective. It has been many years since I have seen the cities, castles, treasures and magics that exist beyond this desert, but they were glorious then, and I don't doubt they have prospered, too. To say that Hollik is an unimportant piece of the tableau is to admit that anyone could be - that we could be."

"And you think rebuilding Hollik will somehow correct our place in Ashagon?" Eblit said.

"It might," said the Wayfinder for Dark, quietly.

"It doesn't matter," cut in Aulip, Wayfinder for the Realm of Red. Usually the most dramatic at the table, they stood to make their address. "Pardon me, Wayfinder Bamot, but the Xanoi are absolutely at the same level as the rest of Ashagon - and what puts us there, importantly, is our singular devotion to each other and to our task. That it's Hollik's return doesn't matter, and the result of our success doesn't matter - our unique strength comes from our ability to align with each other, to trust each other, to assimilate new technologies, philosophies and perspectives without losing our identity or direction. And that is why the parties matter."

"Of course," Bamot said - this time with a teasing smile.

"I mean, not the parties, but what they represent," Aulip said with a laugh. They sat, and gestured to Inimika. "What's your idea?"

Another pause, during which Inimika hesitated. Xeem made a note of it.

"A... party," she said. "An event. We invite outsiders to the city - facilitate their travel. We invite any errant Seekers home, even if they've found nothing. We invite anyone with an auspicious object to have it tested here - for glory or for a reward, if it's found to be a Piece of Hollik."

The Wayfinders looked around the table at each other. Inimika forged ahead.

"We time it for the Relic's Race, and we invite outsiders to take part - for a fee. We tax foreign purchases. This should give us some bank to pay out anyone with a Piece they wish to sell rather than trade or give away."

"You've been thinking about this a while," Zali laughed.

"It will take some work to convince the rest of the city's Masters," Bamot said, but he was nodding along.

"And years to organise," said the Wayfinder for Roots. Inimika smiled.

"Ideally, yes," she said, then delighted in, "But it's not a race."

There were no more arguments, after that - just planning and problem-solving. They would need to convince the merchants, trades, scholars and the general populace that this was a good idea worth the work. Invitations would need to go out - not just to significant figures across the continent, but to anyone with an heirloom, treasure or so much as a lucky stone that could be a piece of a deity - and to Seekers long since departed from Origin. The Relic's Race, and indeed the whole city, would need special preparations.

By the time the Wayfinders had ended the session, Xeem had multiple spreads of notes, her hands were aching and her feet were frozen. The bladder of hot water had completely cooled. She packed in a hurry while the others departed, eager to return to any room with a flame bigger than lanterns and candles. Still, she spared a moment for her wine and snacks, and she was halfway through her cup when she noticed Hepithir was still there. She spluttered.

"Oh--"

"Apologies," Hepithir said. He sucked a breath behind the mask - Xeem heard it. She gave him space to speak, mostly because she was trying not to choke on wine. "Since the theme of the evening is unprecedented things, I wondered... if you might like to see them?"

"Yes," Xeem said without needing to think. She abandoned her cup of wine.

"The kittens, I mean," Hepithir said, and Xeem laughed.

"I would love to."

--------

TL;DR: an upcoming event (Market Monday) will invite everyone to

- bring an object to Origin (to be tested to find out if it's a piece of their missing god)

- participate in the city's biannual race event (details to come, but anticipate a relay of different skills, requiring nine individuals per team).

Suggested Listening Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5yopHD7vF3ESir

Elys picked her way through a half-finished street, stepping over ditches and piles of stone. The repaving of the entire capital city of Couroffe at once had triggered bouts of 'paver's madness' across the entirety of the Kingdom, and it was not always in the best of taste. Right now, she was in Tourfois, a bigger trade-lord aligned city that was close by the vacation estate of Magritte. And Magritte was close by the towns that had been half rented out to host the Kingdom's yearly war games. This was not Elys' first time attending, but it had not been her easiest games. She was bruised from head to toe, and had a pair of fractured ribs-a sword pommel to the gut, of all things, had done some nasty damage. But Prince Vespasian had requested the pleasure of her company at a gaming house, and so she would attend. For her part, Elys knew that there would be no pleasure for herself, just plenty for his highness.

Because she was having a meeting with her gossip-monger.

Sir Elys was well dressed: good boots and a single piece of armor on her thigh, a half-cuirass, a scarf, hair put into four braids, woolen shirts, an arming sword on her waist, and the tattered blue cape that had survived the wargame and designated her as a member of the blue team. She carried her helmet, a sign that she did not do useful work; her spurs were ceremonially affixed to her shoulders. This and the scarf signified her noble status, and probably let her get away with actual murder of anyone lower-born.

Not that she wanted to. With a grunt and a gasp, Elys hopped a divot and then abruptly got up on a side-walk. She came around the corner, nearly bumped into a milk carrier, and then followed the sidewalk to a large tavern. The abrupt lack of drop between the street and the building left Elys stamping her feet, expecting a foot long drop instead of stone. It was surprising to feel a street shaping up underneath her feet; the Aelish had been long used to dirt and mud. Stone took a moment to learn how to navigate, and she had to squeeze up a series of steps to get to the gaming house.

It was unlike any gambling operation that she had been in before. Typically, Elys would go to a hall with drinking and dice, or card games, and gamble there-if she wanted to gamble. This was different. The games here were kept behind the counter and rented out, and if you wanted to play for longer, you had to pay more money. There was a full service bar and kitchen, and when she came to the door, the Royal Guards present were brushed aside by a waitress.

"You, Sirsomething-"

"Elys."

"Got a party?"

"Vespasian-

"Yerp. Follow the bellboy."

Elys chased something that looked like a street urchin up the stairs. There were four floor to the establishment, lashed into existence from powerful oak trunks. Vespasian was on the third, and the urchin brought her to one of the sections blocked off with painted cow-hide screens. Behind it were some more royal guard, and one hanger on, a man in a weird looking mask.

"Pentalos, go fuck off for a few hours."

"As my lord wishes!"

The man with the mask left, and Vespasin beckoned Victoria in. One of the guard took her sword, the other thoroughly searched her, and a serving maid offered her a chair. She sat down, and Vespasian poured tea for them both. Elys curtsied, then took the tea and bowed before drinking it.

"Good afternoon!" He was chipper. Oh, balls- "I've missed your company." The prince sashayed back to their seat and with one leg crossed over the other. His smile, enhanced by chalice-magic, was extremely energetic. The tea must have something potent in it, or he must be having a good time.

He was probably having a good time.

"And I yours, your highness. Would you like to hear a story?"

"Always-but Elys, how are you? How's your health?"

"I have been better, sir." She'd taken her seat with an ache and a groan. "The most recent war games were very high paced, and I matched my opponents blow for blow."

"Were they fun?"

"In a way." Elys winced as she sat down. "In a way. I was tested and had the chance to improve. I learned much of my weaknesses. And we-all of us-"

"Your cadre from Lord Mountformois?"

"No, I mean all of Aelbaion-all who were there-they learned of the effectiveness of attacks from the air on soldiers on the ground."

"Ahhhh." Vespasian nodded once. "I have heard about that."

"Vespasian…" she swallowed. Her cadence of speech changed. "We were not expecting…well, this nature of effectiveness against persons on the ground. At all."

"You're rattled." Their eyes bored into her. "Why?"

"We were a mighty host, and then our…'foes' harassed us from above and rained arrows and stones and firepots. We had been harrying our enemy wherever the appeared, and yet, whenever we were close to victory, there were wings and we were beset, driven back. There was nowhere to run to, precious little to hide, and the weather was not in our favor, either. The knights of the air had the better of the knights of the ground." She gave Vespasian a pointed sigh. "And I was on the ground."

"How did that part of the games go?" Vespasian was non-judgemental.

"They were the largest part of the games, yes?"

"Oh, they were fine." She drank some tea, then brushed away the memories. "I fought on foot for four hours without rest, unhorsed two men, and I tagged Lord Lechfois with a chalk powder ball. We also participated in a small chevuachee, before we went out of bounds and got chased off by the peasants."

"I remember being chased by the peasants." Vespasian was smiling. "Did you apologize properly?"

"Yes. They sent three big lads with pitchforks and a village matron. I talked to the matron and got it down to fifty wallops between the five of us. It's my second-biggest bruise."

"You've a silver tongue, Sir Elys. Show me." Elys held out her hand and showed the prince a series of nasty green-blue streaks across the back. He sucked in a breath. "Ah…memories. Willow tea for you, then. Or beer."

"I will be alright. Don't. Please."

Vespasian gave her a very raised eybrow, then continued. "As you wish. So…force of arms from the air was enough to send whole banner-groups fleeing. You had some fun times as a young knight. Tell me more, then-was there a fairgrounds?"

"No, unfortunately."

"No fairgrounds?! What are they doing? I should complain to my father-we don't even joust for the peasantry, or shoot targets?!"

"No. Peasants who were not sworn in or hired were banned from the grounds."

"Ladyfingers, what are they doing?!" The prince threw a hand to his eyes. "We're ignoring our social responsibilities! We should be showing the peasants what we can do in their defense-and reminding them why they shouldn't face us in revolt." The hand arched up, he looked at Elys-"we do that when we put on our tournaments, by the way. Always remember that when you're on the tourney field."

"Thank you, sir. I will remember that when I am entered."

"You haven't competed in a tournament?"

"Nothing but the castle yearlies."

"Huh…have you done the usual milestones of a young knight?"

"Which of those do you observe, sir?"

"Well, there's bugger and been buggered, been unhorsed by a rival, unhorsed a trainer, killed three bandits or a rival knight, saved a life, kissed a paramour, and put down a horse."

"I've done all of those, sir. I've also taken prisoners and lead them back, and rescued a heard of cows."

"How did you save a life?"

"There was a woman in her sixth month of pregnancy, sir, with triplets. She caught a fever, and couldn't travel by foot. As we were passing through, her husband appealed to us, so I put her on the back of my horse and rode like mad through two towns until we got to the healers at Ouilliame. It rained hard halfway there, but I didn't care."

"Good! And the paramour?"

"Oh, we kissed on a summer's evening. And then four days later the bloody pox came through. I got it, two of my fellows in the page-group died of it, and her brother died, so she left to go take up lordship. We still talk. The Lady favored nothing that year."

The prince nodded once. "There are years for that. At least you have done the basics-but the social parts of knighthood-the ones in public-what of that have you done?"

"What do you count for that, sir?" Elys was confused. She was not expecting to be quizzed on this.

"If you have been errant, if you have competed in a tourney or gone on campaign, if you have Walked for a couturière, if you have made pilgrimage-that stuff. Marriage also counts."

"Ah. I have done none of those, sir. I signed on with a lord immediately after finishing my Page-hood."

"Shame. You should have experienced more of the world."

"I am a knight, your highness, and I owe service to my lord. To be bound to him is my responsibility and my lot."

"You're quite dutiful." Vespasian's eyes bored into her again, almost seeming to glow. A small breeze passed over the candles. "What else would you recount from the war games?"

"Well, air-based forces need visibility to attack. But they cannot be properly opposed by anyone on the ground, not without great weight of arrow-fire. Some have suggested making walls of smoke to hide from their site, but to be seen from the air is to be put in great peril. Your enemies may know where you are, and your spotters will be unseen. Your pursuers may come from any direction, you go from hunter to hunted."

"This sounds like a very great shock." The prince settled back, eyes still searching. "Do your fellow knights feel this way?"

"Yes. It is common. If we had met this in the field, then I am uncertain if our wills would be here still. This is not a chivalrous kind of war, sir."

He sighed. "What it is remains to be seen, and we are just seeing the start of it. There are more war games of this nature planned, and you will need to attend, along with your fellows-I will have my father increase the list. Maybe there will be a second iteration-no matter. Right now, your life is not so chivalrous. You are just a soldier in your lords' army. This is no way for a knight to live. Gather your courage, Elys. You will see horrors and wonders beyond-"

"This is no way for a knight to be treated." While she hugged her arms, Elys was still resolute. "You call me here, you ask me to recount a stinging, demoralizing defeat, and you tell me I am a footman, not a knight. You tell me I am not living a good life, and you chastise me for it, all while staring at me like I am an odd bug, with those eyes of yours-"

"I do." Vespasian shrugged. "I apologize."

"Now stop looking at me like that!"

"Like-oh. Ah. Well, I am unwell and have recently consumed a draught to deal with it."

"You are sick and still asking me to attend you?!" Elys nearly jumped out of her chair. "You-"

"I'm constipated." The prince shot back. "Relax. I would not hold meetings if I was ill. Three of my crowned ancestors died of blocked bowels. I am not going to be a fourth."

"Ah." Elys felt a bit stupid. "Forgive-"

"Forgiven. Now, I must ask you for your courage, again. You are going to confront your fear on a wider scale. This is the age of engines, and of movement-the next war game will address a chevauchee from the air, a drill to see how destructive it can be. You have already experienced air-fear, so you will attend, along with your cadre. That fire has tempered you some, and it will prepare you. I believe in you, Sir Elys."

She inhaled. "You will secure my passage, and the passage of everyone who my lord sent last time, then. If you want me to do this."

"Oh, easily. And safely. No dalliances on river boats. I'll pay you all a sinecure."

She shrugged. "That is good. I only get 5 per annum after retainer's rights."

"Five per…cheapskate." The prince waved a hand. "Almost makes one want to quit and go into dung. You know he makes 500 per annum now, and he's bought a second coastal house to turn into an entertainment resort?"

"Good for him." Elys shrugged. "May the Lady keep his fortune virtuous."

"Indeed." The prince nodded once. "You've given me good gossip, Sir Elys. I suspect you want repayment now."

She wanted to slap Vespasian in his arrogant, too-alert face with a steel gauntlet so hard that his nose was inverted. "Why not? You have placed great value in what I told you. Give me something as world-altering."

His face turned, and he looked strikingly sober. "Alright. Come here." They stood, meeting in the center of the room. Vespasian looked around and clasped her left hand, threw his right over her shoulder, covered them with her cape.

"The Church has managed to find some…old wisdom of the Lady, and confirm that it is true. They have been able to replicate it, and to perform the old works she supervised centuries ago again. I think that they have touched the mereset examples of this power. It is something to be very cautious about, especially if you are involved in Church business."

"Vespasian…are you worried?"

"Yes.""Fuck."

"You can get in on it by loaning the Church some money. If you want to. Always some room for being a dare-devil." He shrugged underneath the cloak.

"Fuck…"

"I've got more pedestrian concerns, if you want to talk about those some other time."

"That power…how dangerous is it?"

"Think about how she brought low her enemies with invisible light and cold fire in the days of old. It's power of that nature." She slumped forward. Vespasian gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "It is a lot. Pray tonight. It will help."

"Yes, your highness." He took the cape down. In the middle of the room stood a worried crown prince and a scared looking young woman, their armor and stations hanging off them like so many toys. "We'll see you at the next games, Sir Elys."

"Thank you, your highness."

She left with her eyes sliding towards the ground, but often darting to the sky.

Suggested Listening Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RarY35jvdfc

The Aelish owed not everything, but quite a damn lot to the woods. And under the gaze of the Lady, they continued to pay their dues. While arguments over the range of noble forests, peasant hunting grounds, and totally protected areas would continue for quite some time, one thing that was absolutely settled was how useful the woods was to the average farmer, peasant, town-dweller, and even city resident. They were a guaranteed supply of critical resources and nutrients, and the health would partially dictate the health of the people around them. This had begun to be taken as maxim of governance by 5 CE, but by 10 CE, it would be a de-facto element of noble and crown policy. At the same time, the realization had seeped in that most of the woodland areas were somewhat known well enough to be mapped, and by 11 CE, the first up to date maps had been distributed throughout the Kingdom. Only on the borders were forests still mostly unknown.

However, the presence of the woods around occupied areas remained, paradoxically, a mystery. This mystery was not conventional, nor was it even a true mystery, but it was a cause of sustained thought nonetheless. The woods, ostensibly, were not contiguous. There was human habitation across Aelbaion that interrupted them, longer lines of houses and worked fields and tended areas that make nature somewhat less dominant than it otherwise would be on Ashagon. However, there was still hard, ongoing connection, and this couldn't just be put down to the animals of the forest walking across open fields without giving a single fuck. The Aelish searched around, and soon enough they realized that the rise of treelines and hedgerows between the areas that they tended were very, very special indeed.

The politics of land ownership in Aelbaion are complicated and bloody-because they are tied up in the politics of land use, the permission to till and harvest, the right to access resources afforded in feudal oaths, and move across the land in multiple capacities. This has often resulted in very large scale stabbing events, otherwise called wars. A big part of claiming land was erecting barriers to passage, with everything from bocage and wild thorned plants to entire forest belts installed to deter movement by people and animals. The right to plant hedges is coveted in many areas; in the Crown Lands it is the subject of multiple laws. The King and the nobles themselves have the right to destroy hedges using multiple means, and the propriety of these hedges and barriers is hotly contested.

This is because of the benefits that they bring. A proper hedge can keep grazing animals out, and it can also keep them in. Even better, it can guide herds around, doing some of the work of the shepherd and preventing costly accidents from happening. Typical Aelbic practices lead to animals that get caught in hedges getting caught headfirst, they can be easily dragged out by their hindquarters. Fields can drain into hedges, which will often spring up around small brooks; this, combined with the shade and windbreak, allows for the microclimates to form. The Aelish are not ignorant of the effect, however, they are aware that it takes effort to make happen, and that it must be constantly maintained. However, one does not need to spend a great deal to reap the benefits of a hedge-a strong windbreak is beneficial against storms.

And so, as the wealth from the Thirty Year Peace is channeled into some certain things, the hedges rise around Aelbaion. They connect forests, channeling the power of the woods around the country to tie things together. The fields between the hedgerows are wider than before-except when the hedge forms a lattice or grid that protects valuable plants. Someone looking at Aelbaion through a permaculture lens might find quite a few things that they recognize; until they find the Aelish themselves. Then the positive comparisons halt. But for now, Aelbaion will enjoy mild boosts to fertility-if they pair the trees right-and some greater protection of their crops from roving animals and weather damage. At the same time, they will enjoy the approval of the Lady...and her blessing.

The King's Party was meeting on a balcony on the royal palace, looking down at the city. In the foremost portion of the city, the roads were starting to be cleared. The renovation projects were showing a bit of progress; much of the initial paving by the city gatehouses had been completed, and work crews were heading up and down the roads dragging yet more stone pavers into place. Yes, they were off schedule, but the city was getting brand new road surfaces.

And King Al sat on a palanquin. The palanquin itself was not being held by anyone, rather, it was up on stilts. Various members of the Party milled around; Tremaine de Lechfois and Cauldwallere were pouring wine into each other's glasses and laughing, Dr. Laeventine was singing a drinking song while chopping fruit poorly, and Paladin Larois had started juggling. Ladysakes. At least two of them were sober, unbecoming members of the King's Party.

"Gentlemen!" The King called out loudly. "Attend me!" They did, shuffling around with their various items to surround the King.

"Why are we not building airships?"

There was some coughing and harrumphing. Eventually, Larois spoke up. "Well, sire, it is because the making of these flying devices relies on the secrets of two engines, neither of which we know, as well as the proper use of them. For the harpie, it is the secret of their lifting gasses; for the Audoi, their motors most powerful. Neither of them are easily accessible; both are guarded. Our artisans are barely beginning to piece together the skills needed to make aerial vehicles of any kind, much has to be learned."

"Is much being learned, Larois?" King Al stared down at him from the palanquin. "Tell me. I wish to know."

"I suspect that it is." The Paladin had been occupied with the King's commands in between their gatherings. "I have made a number of journeys throughout the land, and specifically throughout the Crown Lands seeking out persons who are working on creating flying transportations-"

"Oh?" The King slid down from the palanquin. "Do tell."

"Just as there is an entire town of persons whose principle profession is to produce les accoutrements des aires, it appears that another town may be given over to such a similar purpose. There has been much discussion of such, and a location has been found. Already, we are investigating moving materials to it, and commissioning bungalows for the workers to live in."

"Bungalows?"

"Bungalows, your highness! They fit the countryside well, and can be fit into the rolling hills-"

"That is..." His Highness got off the palanquin. "An architectural decision that has been made...by whom?"

"By me, my lord!" Cauldwallere raised a glass of wine in a toast. "Bungalows are most suited to the countryside of the new town!"

The King gave him a look that would have made non-inebriated men crumple; proving his temperance, Cauldwallere looked down at his shoes. "Bungalows...and that is a fine thing to found a town on. Not wells. Not markets. Not a main road, or a river. A bungalow."

"It does get warm in the summer, my lord..."

"My arse gets warm in the summer!" Servants brought over a cheese platter, artfully arranged. "Are these houses actually being built around anything? Are there workshops, are there inhabitants? Does the local reeve patrol?"

"...the inhabitants will request workshops, and the patrols of the reeve will be started after the first twenty buildings are complete. There is also a Service-Church."

"Ah. So it's not half-cocked." King Al sighed. "I'll just need to come up with everything else, then. Thank you, Cauldwallere. Do fuck off into the corner." As the Duke shuffled away, the King beckoned Larois forward. "Larois, you pain in the tits. I have a job for you."

"Your royal highness." He bowed most elegantly.

The King resisted throwing a fork at him. "You. Do you see this palanquin upon which my royal ass has sat?"

"I do, your highness."

"Take it there, and get it flying in some way. You may take some time. You shall write me letters of your progress. Lechfois!"

"Your highness!" Tremaine was absolutely wasted. "How may I serve?"

"Cauldwallere's town of crafty fellows will need wood. Go there with Larois; it should take you about three days."

"My lord, Lechfois may not be able to provide." Despite the beer, Tremaine had a very good point. "Most of our wood is for vessels, and is not light enough-"

"I didn't tell you to get it from your duchy, Tremaine." The King raised a finger and wagged it. "Listen to me. I told you to go and look, then write me a letter. I will make the arrangements."

The Duke opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Thank you, your highness." He said at last, then went for another beer. His majesty had let him off the hook.

"Take that wit with you." The King continued. "Laeventine! Doctor!"

"Your highness." The recently retired doctor of theology braced for a raking over the coals.

"Pass me that pear you're going through."

"Ah, of course." While the King made a wise old man serve him a pear, Laeventine thought about his next move. "Do you have any questions for me, your highness? Are there any assig-"

"Yes. I have a question."

Laeventine swallowed, then returned to the cutting board and sat down. "I am at your majesty's service."

"That amazing breakthrough you have made restoring knowledge of the Lady's blessing to seeds-was it done in competition with the Tarrnakkans, against their Entropy Dust?"

The Confessor swallowed, then confessed. "Yes, my lord."

King Al glared back down at him. "I am extremely fucking disappointed in the Church right now."

"I...I understand, my lord."

"You have unleashed the greatest powers of the Lady for...for foolish vainglory! Competing with another people for glory instead of health and plenty-"

"Have you no care for the prestige of the Kingdom, your highness?" Cauldwallere spoke up from the corner. "Please, give-"

"There. Is. A. Line." The King shut him up. "There is a fucking line, Cauldwallere. This line dictates when you fuck up, because once you step over that line, you can not go back. There are consequences. The Church has unleashed some of the greatest powers in the world that the Lady ever introduced to us. We are living in a world that has been changed completely. And you did it to beat some Tarrnakkans on the world market! Of all the worthless-witness-mindless-ugh!"

And he dramatically toppled a stool. King Al was Aelish, after all.

Tremaine stood, wobbling very slightly. "What...powers...have been unleashed?"

"The Lady has given to her learned and faithful certain information, contained in sacred codices-"

"Give him the short form, Doctor. He's drunk."

Laeventine swallowed again, clearing his throat. "The Lady has informed us of the alchemies of the world, to a small extent. One of these enables certain stones in Her Holy of Holies to give off strange, invisible light that changes much of which it contacts. If the light is too close, it kills. If it is far away, it can bless. We have figured out how to harness it's blessing for-"

"You can keep the cathedral." Tremaine du Lechfois did not wobble anymore, and he tossed by wine with a look of contempt. "You can have your loan."

"Are you..." Laeventine couldn't finish the sentence.

"Yep. Just drop off a chalice. I'll give you an additional 100 Florins as well." He tried to pace off to join Cauldwallere in the corner. Laeventine just went and sat, looking stupefied. The King sighed, trying to adjust his hair.

"So...air ships." The sentence hit the ground with a thud. "And the people who make them." More wine was being poured out. Everyone was getting drunk now, even the King. "We should return to this topic. It is of great interest to the future of Aelbaion."

Fuck.

"Your highness, may I come out of the corner now?" Cauldwallere looked a little pathetic. "I have some advice that your majesty may find most useful."

King Al took a bit of pear and then moved over the to where the Duke was. "No. But I will come to you." The most powerful man in Aelbaion shuffled his way into the corner. "Go ahead. Oh-Laeventine, take notes."

The duke straightened his robes, cleared his throat, and began. "I, and so many more of my fellows, engage in exchange of that which our lands produce with others for silver and goods. We derive great strength that way, and we have made peace without dishonor. To best do this, we have constantly put into place laws and carried out acts for the making of goods more desired by others, and for the virtuous conduct of trade. These actions, when brought together, may form a 'corpus' of a Lord's ideas and decisions that may influence the people that they govern. We should set a corpus of actions to lead to the making of airships in Aelbaion."

"That's the first sensible thing that's come out of your mouth this afternoon." His Highness shuffled around a bit, making himself a bit more comfortable in the corner. "If our goal is to make our own airships, then there must be a part of our labor and wealth spent on making these things. It must be nurtured over years."

"Aye, your majesty. There are two parts to this, as is well known: those making the ships themselves, and their grounds-"

"Wait. What about the markets in which they are sold?" Laeventine had a point. "They cannot escape the eye of the Lords-"

"Flying items of this nature will be sold as bespoke objects." The Duke nodded, convinced of the rightness of his point. "They will trade in a market of reputation, which will require them to congregate in public and build a market in which they contract and trade. They will govern themselves part of the way, and we shall govern them the rest of the way. However, these craftsmen are not yet here to make such a market."

"...is that why you started plopping down bungalows?"

"Yes, your maj-"

"Horseshit." That was Laeventine. "You wanted to defraud the Crown."

"If I was to defraud the Crown, I would commit stable-fraud. The bungalows-"

"You wish to sell them to the Crown as write-offs." The retired confessor gave Cauldwallere a glare. "And then buy them back-"

"No, they will belong to the count."

"And that is the basis of your scheme." Laeventine pointed a finger at the Duke. "The Count is in on it."

"Both of you shut up and eat food. That is an order."

The two looked at each other and then began to eat from a cheese board. "Gentlemen, you have managed to annoy me inordinately. Congratulations. However, you are correct about building up a Corpus of decisions and laws to carry this out. Beyond this, however, must be ideas. And we are going to have an idea or two-as well as a goal. This goal is that we shall make our own airships. Now, what are our ideas?"

Paladin Larois thought for a moment. "Quality of workers, sire. It must be our foremost goal-to have the best persons for the work."

"That is...one. What else?"

"I think that they should be Home-Made." Lechfois pushed his pronunciation a bit, then tried to expand on it. "As much as possible, we should make whatever flying engines we make here, and use our own resources. If we have to use something from abroad, we should learn to make it here, or set up colonies, or even invest their lands."

"That is a bold statement. Anything else?"

"We should try to uncover as many secrets and develop as many techniques ourselves as possible." That was Laeventine. "It will have a good effect on the workers, by building our abilities through focused effort."

"Cauldwallere. Redeem yourself with something."

The Duke swallowed some cheese, then thought for a while. "I think that we should aim to make more simple, easily made things, instead of pursuing an entire airship. We should hone our own strengths, not rush out to follow someone else's."

"Thank you for your contributions, gentlemen-now, we are going with Laroi's idea, because we do not have a workforce at all and we must get one."

There was muttered asset. King Al also sighed. "And with it, we must pause our efforts to obtain greater skill and knowledge about life itself. Much has been spent to do so, and much has been gained. We acknowledge our subjects pursuit this knowledge, and they may continue it with our blessing-the Crown approves-but it must be done wisely and rationally. Much of the Crown's efforts are on fulfilling the requirements of the Land Charter. This is the Lady's will."

"...then what are we to do?"

"The Crown is not absolute in Aelbaion. But...it is a maker of tastes, a setter of trends, and a spread of practices. We, in the royal sense, do not need to legislate when we act." King Al smiled, and while his face may have through the motions of looking malicious, it was surprisingly benevolent. He made a poor villain. "Let us give the menagerie a few years to find it's footing. Let us build a force of workers who can make this palanquin fly. And then...let us see what it can do."

"Are you taking it to Magritte for the wargames?" Duke Cauldwallere looked quizzical. "That would be most intri-"

"That's a good idea. I think I will."

Before the modern dynasty came to rule Ayetho, it is told that Demani still ruled the lands it now is spread amongst. In this ancient time, there is a story of an individual said to be the father of Demani philosophy. Tsazejoa, the One who knows Beauty.

Though it is not known if Tsazejoa truly existed, or if he is a conglomeration of beliefs from that period, it cannot truly be said, but regardless the ancient beliefs attributed to him continue to effect the ayet and feng in modern Ayetho.

The core of Tsazejoa's teachings revolve around his namesake, beauty. To be beautiful is, in itself, a moral act. Not because beauty is moral, nor because ugly is immoral, but because Demani are innately drawn to that which is beautiful. Likewise, an upright individual should strive for to be beautiful, for their beauty will draw their nestmates to themselves, ensuring the unity of the ayet.

One may argue; if beauty is only useful for unity, how is it moral?

To this, Tsazejoa had an answer, so it is told.

The ant, separated from its own, will inevitably walk back to its burrow without fail. The bee will build an endless array of combs, which it will defend fiercely. The bird will take and weave the fur of the deer into its nest.

If beauty is not one and the same as unity, which is undeniably good for one's self and one's family, then why is beauty inevitably seen in all those animals which gather together time and time again? Why does the ugly repulse us so?

And so, the argument continues; animals surely know not of beauty, and we are greater than animals! Why would we take note of the values of a fowl?

Yet again, Tsazejoa had an answer.

Take notice of those wingless ones, who are deaf to our words and mute to our tongue, much like the animals of our woods. The wingless still build ayet and feng of their own, using wood, stone, daub, and thatch, much like ourselves. Those wingless, too, put great effort into beauty, putting upon their homes and their clothes beads and knots in patterns which please them. If those who are our equals on the land are even yet bound by beauty, why must we not be?

And so the argument waxes and wanes, like the rising and setting of the moon and sun, for which the philosophers of more recent Demani history then have more to say on the behalf of those ancient thinkers.

Suggested Litany Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XR68p_k_I88

Dr. Laeventine sat in his office, and penned a letter. His handwriting was very condensed, if still elegant, and it had to be read using a reading stone. The reason that he was writhing this letter was to ask for forgiveness. For the Church had been somewhat active in their study of history and historiography of late. This was an academic positive, and a balance sheet negative-and a very, very big passtime for the few members of the Church that weren't part of the general priesthood and the service clergy. Those in the cloisters, gathering supplies, or in the libraries, sorting out texts, had been involved in the examination and organization of the collection of literature that had been glued to the Church over it's centuries of existence.

Atomic gardening is the practice of exposing a seed or a plant to sustained gamma ray emissions, the purpose of which is to induce mutations that will result in improvements to the plant that make it a more commercially viable cultivar.

Finding out who had written what was one thing. Finding out who they were citing was another thing. And finding out who was influencing them was a third thing. When taken together, the members of the Church were able to recreate an idea of what the history of their scholarship was. In turn, this allowed them to chart out what the history of their scholars was. That started to give them some things to think about: the first being that they were able to decisively confirm the identities of a number of people who had been writing history of the Church immediately after it's founding, and to support their hypothesis about who had been writing the history of the Church after the dust had settled. It also let them ascertain the identity of the scholars who had been occupied with a particular branch of study: researching the wisdom of the lady.

Gamma rays occur from the decay of radioactive material. These rays are emitted as specific atoms break down, and discharge high-energy photons. These photons can pass through normally solid objects, and carry enough energy when they hit a molecule to detach various atoms, changing things. One of these changes is the formation of a blob from DNA molecules called a 'pyrmidine dimer'. This damage results in genetic mutations.

The Wisdom of the Lady can be considered a branch of philosophy that lays out how the natural world works. It is not completely correct, but it has enough wiggle room to let things slide. Most of it is eminently practical; there are prescribed ways to fold clothes and wash dishes, for instance. However, it goes much deeper if a student pushes, and in many cases, the students of the past locked themselves away and studied philosophy in lonely shacks on the countryside. This was the root of much of the Aelish cloister tradition, despite them wanting to pretend otherwise. These writers were content to describe the world and the meaning of things according to Her words. Current Aelbic studies of historiography had recently tracked these writers down, and had been able to determine who their contemporary influences were.

In radiation gardens, plants are typically arranged in a ring that expands out from the radiation source. Intense exposures to gamma rays result in damage to the organisms' DNA that is incompatible with life. Seeds exposed never sprout; plants do not grow. Plants further from a gamma source develop significant tumors and break down, withered by radiation. But plants further enough from the gamma source show mutations that are considered interesting. These are set aside for further study.

And here was where the trail went both hot and cold. Dr. Laeventine had received a report about the findings of the Church's contemporary scholars. Before the official paper was given for his seal, he also sat in on the three day long oral report, and gave questions to the scholars. Their work pointed to one thing: these surviving philosophers had been directly influenced by the last of the old messianic preachers, who were rumored to be conduits of the Lady's influence in the world. The information that they had obtained was supposed to be direct from the divine source Herself.

The source of gamma radiation at the center of a radiation garden has historically been either Cobalt-60, or Cesium 137. Typically, these sources of radiation are in the form of rods. These are harvested from the waste of nuclear reactors, which are sometimes run specifically to produce these end products. The operation of a naturally occurring nuclear reactor will leave some interesting byproducts, and they can be collected and used in prescribed methods. These methods include purification and processing.

The fate of the Lady was known-she was supposed to be very much alive, but upon the air of the world and within the spirits of her followers in traces smaller than they can know. To be able to recite her wisdom, the modern-day Aelish had to rely on written or memorized records. She would sometimes appear in dreams or in a gut feeling, but she was not giving itemized lists of instructions outside of a strict set of methods to make cool water products. There were plenty of other spells and artifices that were attributed to people who had received divine inspiration, but they hadn't been confirmed to be likely divinely inspired-until research had placed them in the right place to receive it.

In the practice of the Aels, radiation sources are typically uranium or natural fission byproducts, located by dowsing while chanting continually. These products are then separated out, cleaned, refined by crude chemistry, and then treated using simple, logic-proof-circumclosed alchemy. Once it's color had been improved, it would be physically concentrated in a single-use, disposable Chalice. The resulting solution was then placed upon an altar in the center of a garden in an open container.

In the past, those who had received the wisdom of the Lady had sometimes spoken of developing marvelous cultivars of plants; one or two of these cultivars were still in use today. A frantic search over a springtime had seen to that. It had also found that anyone who used the cultivars had gotten great yields, however, the plants had looked significantly different from the surrounding organisms. They had been touched by the power of the Lady, and had been turned to a form that She desired.

Radiation gardening did not dominate commercially for two reasons: it was extremely scattershot in it's effects, and it's outcomes were not nearly as competitive as rationally-executed plant genetic modification. However, when the gamma ray did strike true, it produced spectacular commercially viable cultivars, such as the big red grapefruits we all love today. The technique remains popular in Asia, and it has contributed greatly to human quality of life.

And now, the Aelish radiation garden is active. From the center of a pure white altar in a garden set far away from civilization and behind well guarded walls come gamma rays from sunup to sundown. At dusk and dawn a cadre of priests, garbed in white robes and protected by armors of lead enter to take the radiation source to and from a lead-lined niche in the wall. Animals are kept away with bows. And the plants closest to the source die, and those further from the source develop tumors, and those further away grow new flowers and colors.

...and the Church also finds itself in arrears, which is why Dr. Laeventine is writing his letter. He does need to ask for forgiveness, after all.

Thank you for playing!