Dandelyon's Worlds

I feel like it's taking way too long to get things up there, but there's two songs now and more coming. I'd hoped for two this month, to improve on what I managed last month, but am super-tired after going to OVFF. At least now that it's cold outside, recording conditions should be better, as there will be less city-noise. (It seems that motorcycles and other noisy vehicles are less popular when it's cold. Go figure.)

Anyway, these two tracks are a couple of my favorite FAWM experiments.

So, if you want to check out my first offerings, I can be found here: https://wylddandelyon.bandcamp.com/

You can also sign up to be notified whenever I post something new there, if you like. https://wylddandelyon.bandcamp.com/follow_me

I might (maybe) manage to get another one up later today (after sleeping); I want to, but this long covid tiredness is unpredictable and is also so very frustrating!

Bandcamp Friday, when Bandcamp waives its own fees and sends more money to the artist, is today. (Any fees from your source of payment and from paypal are still in efect.) So if you do want to buy music, today is a great day to do it.

So, right now I'm told Bandcamp is the way to go, for self-publishing music. And I now am developing the skills to record myself, so I went to look at setting up an account, which I was told is totally simple.

And the first page, almost the first line, asked for my band name.

And I stopped and stared at that. I'd always figured I'd go with my name if I managed to do a solo album, but lately I've been following the rising career of a musician named Deirdre Murphy in Ireland. And you know, that would probably be OK, she's going for a much more mainstream music career than I'd be planning, but for some things, disambiguation is a good thing.

And it also occurs to me that I've been using the name Wyld Dandelyon for a very long time now, and that it wouldn't make a bad band name, especially for a filker (since filkers use the dandelion as our symbol). Never mind that I didn't create it to be a band name.

Well, I don't have to decide today.

People's thoughts, opinions, relevant experience, and ideas about what I should keep in mind as I decide, are all welcome at this point.

It should cross-post, but in case it doesn't, here's a link: http://wyld-dandelyon.dreamwidth.org/247348.html

Happy New Year everybody!

This is Denel's reading, posted here for ellenmillion. It's a little long to post as a comment in the card draw, so I'm giving it its own post.

Note: Torn World’s language does not use gendered pronouns, and their names are also not marked as one gender or another. As Rai-Kunabei arrives in Affamarg, she has not yet heard any detail that would let her know if Scientist Oranaan is male, female, or no-gender.

The Shaman and the Scientist

Rai-Kunabei looked out of the window as the train rumbled into Affamarg. The thing was noisy and smelly, but she had to admit it was more biddable than a goat. It also moved faster than she could walk, and saved her the trouble of carrying her bag of divination disks and her bulkier, but lighter bag of clothing. The attendant had also helped her improvise a way to secure her staff, with its dangling bells and wraith-scarred spinning balls, so that she didn’t have to hold it all day to prevent it from falling and hitting some poor citizen in the head.

The city was all straight lines and crisp 90 degree angles, and none of the buildings had a fringe of bells strung over the roof. It looked so strange to her mountain-bred eyes. Her people built homes in low, sheltered spots or on gentle hillocks that had good views of the surrounding mountains. Buildings might have four corners, like the ones here, or five or seven. But the biggest difference was the roads—mountain roads curved with the hills and valleys; these each ran straight from the rail line to the horizon. There must be many hundreds of people living in this lowland city, none of whom would understand her sacred role as priestess. Once again, and despite her long-standing desire to see the world, she wondered, what was she doing here?

It was an emotional response, of course, not a logical one. Logically, she knew that the lowland scientists had invited her to this far northern city to learn what she knew of the mysterious danger that haunted her world’s heights. She glanced away from the window to the letter she clutched, like a talisman, in her hand. It had been delivered to her home, high in the Affabreidalam mountains, in a fat envelope filled with special licenses.

The licenses were tucked into her pouch; this Oranaan had promised to meet her train, and she certainly hoped he would do so, or at least would send someone. She had no idea whatsoever how to find her way around that huge city without assistance—all the streets looked identical to her eyes, and she imagined herself wandering for months down the identical straight streets, wasting away into a wraith herself.

Kunabei laughed at her own fancy, drawing cautious looks from the people in the same train car. Logically, she knew she could ask for directions, and any Monitor would take a look at the letter and licenses, and help her on her way. You’d think she was a crochety great-grandmother, lost a bit in her age and incapable of dealing with the slightest challenge.

In reality, she was a young woman, but definitely old enough to be past letting nerves make her fanciful, except, she thought, that she was bored. For days, she’d been whizzed along, passing the countryside so fast she couldn’t examine the wildlife and plants, much less enjoy their beauty or see how they differed from the ones she was used to. And though there was plenty of time, not a single person had asked for a reading or requested more mundane advice.

She looked again at the letter and wondered who this Oranaan was, besides an important, brilliant, and, by people’s reactions, eccentric scientist. She imagined someone like her grandmother, vibrant despite age and experience, with a sassy sense of humor. Or maybe someone like her grandfather, who compensated for his wife’s fame as a priestess by dressing in the gaudy, bright-colored clothing and jewelry, and flirting with all the old people. She remembered the tales of Oraaan blowing up things and setting his workplace on fire, and decided the scientist must be more like her grandmother.

The train started to slow, and Kunabei checked to be sure her bags were tied securely shut. The people running the trains had little tolerance for people who weren’t ready to disembark promptly. Travel was a privilege and required special licenses, so travelers were expected to be prepared for the normal events of a train trip.

The train pulled into Affamarg Station and lurched to a stop. Kunabei stood and untied her staff from the wall of the train. She slung her clothes onto her back and lifted the divination disks. They made a satisfying weight for her hand. She followed the other passengers to the door and into a room where a Monitor checked licenses.

The Monitor, a tall, very pale man, read her personal and travel licenses carefully, glanced at her priestess license and stopped, looking up at her. “Rai?”

Kunabei nodded, using every bit of calm authority she had learned since killing the wraith. “It’s a traditional title.”

He started to leaf through the multiple pages dubiously.

Kunabei smiled, and offered her letter. “I was asked here to meet with Scientist Oranaan.”

“Oranaan, huh? What does the Scientist need with a--a Priestess?”

Rai Kunabei was pretty sure he had a different word in mind. “I do not believe he wants to consult me in that capacity. I believe he has questions about certain phenomena I witnessed in the mountains.”

The Monitor apparently found her answer dull, which didn’t disappoint Kunabei at all. He folded her licenses together and tucked them back in her pouch. “Here you go, Citizen.” He handed her the pouch and then a small booklet of local rules and regulations. “Be careful, Citizen. Oranaan had a fire in the laboratory again just last week. My sister’s kid said Oranaan was tasked with teaching safety in second form.”

She laughed at that. “Teaching is a good way to learn, actually.”

But the Monitor had already turned to the next person in line, so Kunabei strode toward the door.

At the far end of the waiting room, she saw two people in Indigo scientists’ robes. One was a demure-looking woman, and the other was a very young man with tousled hair. The man was waving his arms, talking animatedly, and barely missed knocking a hat off of a passing matron. Though she couldn’t hear them, from the look on her face it was clear that the woman started scolding him, and he dropped his hands to his sides, then she saw Kunabei and gestured, stepping past him to walk toward her.

Kunabei smiled with relief, and walked forward to greet the woman. “Scientist Oranaan. It is good to meet you and your assistant.”

The woman blushed and dimpled. “Rai Kunabei?“

Kunabei nodded.

“Welcome to Affamarg. I am Scientist Denel, and this,” she gestured to the young man, who was gaping at her, “is Scientist Oranaan. How was your trip?”

Up close, Oranaan looked a little less like a scatterbrained teenager, though it was clear he’d never been mistaken for his own assistant before.

“I’m sorry, Scientist Oranaan, no one ever told me what you look like.”

He suddenly grinned, an expression that didn’t exactly make him handsome, but was so very alive and genuine, Kunabei grinned back at him. He turned to the other scientist. “You see, Denel, you should have more faith in your ability to impress people. She thought you were me!” He turned back to Rai Kunabei. “Here, let me help you!” He reached forward and grabbed the bag of divination disks, just under where Kunabei held it, swinging it toward him before getting her permission.

Kunabei let go of the bag—he was a lowlander, after all, and didn’t know he was being disrespectful.

The bag swung into Oranaan’s shins. “Ow!” He gave Kunabei a measuring look. “What’s in here?”

Kunabei smiled, deciding that she liked this impulsive young man. Despite giving himself what would doubtless be substantial bruises, he had not dropped the bag. “Those are my divination disks.”

Denel laid her hand on Kunabei’s arm. “Are you hungry? There’s a restaurant near here that claims to serve Affabreidalam-style food, or we can go get some traditional Mojeveterk specialties if you prefer.”

Oranaan’s stomach rumbled. “Oh, yes! Can we get you some food?”

Kunabei nodded. “I’d like to try the local food, if that’s all right. I’ve never been further than Affabreidalam before.”

They guided her across the street and Oranaan was greeted by name at the restaurant. Soon, they had a good-sized table and Oranaan presented a chit and ordered a sampler plate.

When the server left, Oranaan started to untie the bag of disks.

Denel put her hand over his. “Oranaan, my boys know better than to open someone else’s luggage.”

He blushed. “Ah, I apologize, Rai Kunabei. It’s just I’ve never seen divination disks before.”

“I could do a reading for you, but our tradition is that the Rai should not do readings for the disrespectful. And as Rai, it is my job to uphold the traditions.”

Oranaan’s face fell. “But I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

“That’s all right. You can ask again tomorrow.”

He looked woefully at the bag, and then back at her face. “Wait—Denel wasn’t disrespectful, was she?”

“That’s right.”

“Then you could do a reading for Denel!”

“I only do readings for people who ask for them.”

The server arrived with a large platter of food, and set it in the middle of the table, placing small plates in front of each of them. Oranaan turned to Denel, “You will ask for a reading, won’t you?”

Denel thanked the server and shifted the topic to the different foods on the sampler plate.

Oranaan sighed, “Denel? Will you?”

Denel smiled at him fondly. “I might ask after lunch.” She pointedly turned to Kunabei and asked, “What would you like to try first?”

Lunch was pleasant, and most of the foods were very good, if a little sweeter than Kunabei was used to. Oranaan threw himself into the role of host with evident enjoyment of the food, but his eyes darted back to the leather bag holding the disks even while he related hilarious stories about his mostly-failed first attempts to cook the dishes she was tasting.

Kunabei started to wonder how much of Oranaan’s reputation for carelessness was really a reflection of his joy in being outrageous. Did this reputation let him achieve more leeway to do unconventional experiments than he would otherwise get away with?

The server brought out some after-meal pastries, which proved to be even sweeter than the lunch itself.

Finally, when the server had cleared away all the food and left them with hot drinks (Kunabei had managed to score an unsweetened tea, to her relief), Denel asked Kunabei about the divining disks.

“It would take too long, I think, to try to talk about all of them now. But I could give you a reading, if you like.”

Denel paused just long enough to see Oranaan biting his lower lip, and then responded, “Yes, please. I would like that.”

Rai Kunabei untied the bag. “Do you have a particular question?”

“I—do I need to?”

“No. But you can choose to.”

Denel thought for a minute, but then shook her head. “No particular question—no, wait—tell us about our research, if you can.”

Kunabei nodded. “All right then. The simplest reading is three disks. The first one shows you the nature of the situation the reading is about.” She started to reach in to the bag, then paused, glancing rom Denel to Oranaan. “You do have the right to privacy if you want it.”

Oranaan opened his mouth, holding up a hand.

Denel laughed. “No, no. It’s fine for Oranaan to watch.”

He sat back in his chair.

“That’s what I thought you wanted, but you can’t learn the traditions unless I share, since you did not grow up in the mountains.”

Denel nodded. “That makes sense.”

“All right, I shall begin.” Kunabei reached into the bag and pulled out a disk. It was big enough to cover her entire palm, and was made of soft, shiny bronze. She turned it over to show an enameled image of a hammer smashing some piece of wooden furniture.

“The nature of the problem is Destruction, the embodiment of human-made endings. Whatever you are studying, human actions have made the situation worse, or perhaps caused the situation, either recently or in the distant past.”

Oranaan held out his hand. “May I look at the disk, please?”

Kunabei let it slide gently from her own hand to his. Most people, faced with the image of destruction, didn’t want to touch it, but this young scientist was fearless. He turned it over and over, running his fingers over the metal and enameled sides of the disk.

Kunabei turned to Denel. “The second disk has to do with the tools that are involved in the situation, which, in this case could be either the tools that were or are used to bring about this situation, or it could be the tools you need to address the problem.”

Denel nodded her understanding.

Kunabei reached into the bag and drew out another disk. This one was gold, and showed an elder seated on the ground, a bag by her knee and holding scorched ball whistles in her hands. It was a tolerable likeness of Kunaei’s grandmother, though the artist who made it had never met the old priestess. “This is the Shaman, who is the embodiment of abstract knowledge. From this, I would say that physical tools are of limited use in addressing the problem you are studying. Human perception, intelligence and the knowledge handed down from our ancestors will be vital to understanding what is going on. That is interesting, because usually the knowledge and attitudes that shed light on the topic at hand shows up as the third disk.”

She passed the Shaman to Oranaan, then reached in a final time and brought out an iron disk. The image enameled on one side was a sheer cliff, with a tiny figure clinging precariously to the rock. “The Cliff, which is the dangerous aspect of borders.” Kunabei fell silent, considering the disk. “It might be that the knowledge you need has been passed down by people in very different parts of the world, so that the social divisions remaining from the old borders are a barrier to obtaining the information you need. Or perhaps this is more literal, and the old borders have something to do with the problem. Or maybe,” she looked over at Oranaan, “it could simply be a warning that pushing your licenses to their limits is perilous in and of itself, and the chaos you cause could be threatening your effectiveness to obtain the information you need.”

Oranaan frowned at that. “You’ve heard stories about me. Is that all this is, stories?” He gestured at the disks.

Kunabei shrugged. “Stories are an effective way to teach, and to get people thinking about their problems in a new way. If you are asking me is there some science behind which disk is drawn when, all I can say is that if there is, I don’t know it. All I can offer is my personal observations that people who ask for readings do get some benefit from the experience.”

She placed the final disk into Oranaan’s hand, and unhooked her own scorched ball whistle from her staff, which was leaning in a corner. “It’s similar to this—I didn’t see what scorched this whistle, but something did. It’s not very satisfactory that I cannot tell you what a wraith looks like or why it attacks people in the highlands, but I take comfort from knowing that the whistle protected me.”

Oranaan dropped the disks into Denel’s hands and reached for the ball. “This—this came into contact with an anomaly? And you were there? You survived? You’re not mad?” He stopped short of touching it. “May I hold it?”

Kunabei nodded. “I met a wraith in the mountains and survived. That is how I came to be the shaman for my people.” She put the ball into his hands. “Certainly you can look at it. But remember it is sacred to me. You may not subject it to explosions or laboratory fires or do anything else to it without letting me know exactly what you plan and getting my prior approval.”

Reluctantly, he nodded, but still, Kunabei watched him carefully as she took the disks from Denel and returned them to her bag. As she tied it up, the server walked up and bowed to the scientists. “If you are finished with your lunch, we would like to clean this area and get set up for the dinner crowd.”

“Oh, of course. I apologize, we didn’t realize how late it has gotten. Denel took the ball from Oranaan and handed it back to Kunabei, who tied it securely to her staff.

Oranaan smiled at the young woman and reached into a pocket, taking out a thin sliver of metal that shone with swirls of bright color, almost like the mystery disk in Kunabei’s bag.

Oranaan stood and pulled out a pen and signed the rectangular bit of metal, then handed it to the server. “I’m not much of an artist, but this is part of a plate that was damaged in the last laboratory fire. It is, if nothing else, unique.

The server’s eyes grew round, and he took the slip of metal. “Thank you, Scientist. You are welcome to return any time.”

They guided Kunabei back outside into the sunlight, and turned left. Denel started laughing as soon as the door closed behind them. “You turned your—your slag—into tip cards? Oranaan, you are incorrigible!”

Oranaan smiled, and offered his free arm to Kunabei. “Let us take you to the room we reserved for you, and then we can go find an Assistant to take notes while you tell us all about your encounter with the wraith.”

_____________________

As usual, this is posted prior to Canon-Board review, so it may be edited for coninuity. There are other stories about Rai-Kunabei, Denel, and Oranaan over at www.TornWorld.net

Over here: http://crowdfunding.livejournal.com/548844.html

What crowdfunded things have you been enjoying? So far, there's only one fiction and one patron nominee. Here's your chance to tell more people about your favorite writers, artists, and patrons!

Next weekend is Torn World's monthly creative jam, when our online storytellers create new fiction, poetry, and art to share with each other, our friends and our readers.  To help  us get in the mood, I thought I'd share this new bit of writing:

Story Time in Torn World
By Deirdre M. Murphy

In the far, cold, North:

Ashari wiggled on her blanket, looking up at the Itakith furshirt. "Tell us a story!"

Tarl rubbed his round belly. "I want a bread story."

Ashari giggled. Tarl always wanted a bread story, because then they got to eat the illustrations.

"How about the tale of Avoku and the moons?" Tarl smiled fondly--it took a lot of bread to illustrate that story properly.

"I'd rather have a teaching story." Ikaluu smiled up at the furshirt. "Tell us about the Others!"

Alainya tied a small ball of blue yarn to the end of her knitting. This bit was a lighter blue than the last one, which made her smile. Her sky-colors blanket needed to be longer to cover her growing legs. "Yes, tell us about Others. They're pretty."

The furshirt gave her a stern look. "Others are dangerous."

Ikaluu grinned fiercely, and returned to scraping hairs off the hide she wanted to turn into a map. She was going to get her teaching story.


In a busy Empire city:

"Daddy! Daddy!" Kivegei ran up to Jerumal and hugged his knees. "I don't want to go to bed."

Amanel joined his brother, hugging Jerumal's thighs with one arm and his brother's shoulders with the other. “Let’s play!”

Denel smiled at her family. “Play time’s over. It’s time for bed.”

“But—” Amanel looked at his parent’s implacable faces. “All right, but first a story!”

“A story in bed!” Denel countered.

“One now and one in bed?”

Jerumal laughed. Already his son was learning to negotiate. That should be rewarded. “All right,” he started, but catching the look on his wife’s face, he added, “two stories. But both in bed.”

There were protests, but it really wasn’t hard getting the kids washed up and into bed after promising two stories. Once they were there, Jerumal sat in the bedside chair. “Now, what story should I tell?”

“I want a story about—” Kivegei scrunched up his face and said it slowly, carefully, “anomalies.”

Denel bit her lip, but Jerumal nodded. “I even have a new story for you, in that case. Up in the mountains, near the City of Lights—”

“But it’s not, any more—a City I mean.” Amanel commented.

“That’s right. It’s a restricted zone now.” Jerumal said, sadly.

“It’s a ruin!” Kivegei said, enthusiastically. “The ana-anomalies ruined it.”

“Do you want to hear a story or not?” Jerumal asked.

“Yes, yes, a story!” Both boys bounced in their beds.

“Then settle down.”

They laid down and pulled the covers up obediently.

“There was a day last summer, a particularly fine day. The wind was blowing, and the sun was shining, and Oranaan was working in his laboratory when two of his school friends came to see him.”

“But Science Master Oranaan is a man, not a school boy!” Amanel protested.

“Or a teacher,” Kivegei added.

Jerumal glared theatrically, and the boys pulled the covers up over their mouths.

Yes, Science Master Oranaan is a man, but he used to be a boy, and when he was a boy in school he had school friends. Two of those friends, now scientists, came to talk to him about cllimbing a tree…


In the far, warm South:

Megruu was sitting in one of his mother’s unlikely-looking driftwood-and-monster-bone chairs, showing off his new prostheses to a very young cousin, Druula. A young scientist had developed a method of heat-treating the tough fin-membrane of a deathfin or thunder whale, bending it to form a springy angular “foot”. The things were expensive, and only lasted about half a year, but they were worth it.

Two families of tourists walked by, and the children ran right to Megruu. “Were you a war-sailor?”

Druuli drew herself up as tall as she could. “Megruu is a war-sailor! You should have seen him saving people from a tooth typhoon on Rejoining Day!”

“A what?” A tall boy lifted up a partially-carved shark from Megruu’s table.

“On those things?” A girl pointed at the prostheses with a dark-skinned hand.

Megruu took the carving gently from the boy. “Now, there were a lot of people fighting the monsters that day—including my mother!”

“Really?” The girl gasped, looking at Neteilyu with something like awe.

“Tell the story, Megruu!” Druula urged.

“Yes, tell us the story!” The tall, skinny mainland boy plopped down in the sand in front of Megruu’s chair.

“A story! A story!” The younger children all pushed forward.

“All right then,” Megruu smiled, “If you’ll all sit down.”

The children cheered and settled, and Megruu picked up a small carving chisel and set to work detailing the shark’s teeth as he began. “It was the morning of Rejoining Day, and my stomach was grumbling. There was plenty of food—but just sundered times stuff, at that hour, and so I was saving room for the good food that wouldn’t be set out until lunchtime…”
________________________________________________________________________________________________

The links above are to  the Torn World stories and poetry I wrote that the characters are referring to.

I look forward to seeing many of you at the Muse Fusion.  Feel free to ask for the kinds of stories, poems, and art you'd like to see.  I also plan to offer one of my subscriber-only stories to be made public as follows:  Once the Fusion opens, for every linkback you tell me about and for every new prompter, I'll make 100 words of one story public in my journal for at least a week, and if the whole story is revealed, I'll leave it public here and have it made public on the Torn World site as well.

I'll run a poll in a few days, including all of my stories and poems that are suggested here, so you can vote which story should be the link-back story.  Here are three to start with:

An Afternoon of Stories
Madness
A Monstrous Feast

Let me know if I should add any others before setting up the poll!

Small print:  As always, this brand-new draft has not been approved by the Canon Board.  The final version that appears on Torn World may be different!

The Hues of His Days
a Torn World poem
by Deirdre M. Murphy

Deep blue skies, delicate green seedlings
Crops pushing upward through brown dirt
Tended by golden bees and orange butterflies

Rijorl remembers tendays rowing
Between endless grey skies and gray water
The intense dark of night was a relief
The silvery flash of a serpent-monster
Was more color than they prayed for then

The fields around him now
Offer a wealth of colors
Compared to the sea

Rijorl composes verse for the sky blue snakes
For squatty geese with their clash-colored feathers
Bold bright songbirds and dazzling lizards
He sings for the flowers that hid his scant hair
During the birds’—and humans’—nesting season

After the rainbow rainforest
The Empire’s verdant fields
Seem very nearly monochrome

If you enjoyed this, please consider voting for us at Top WebFiction.

More free story-bits for the prompting are being written by rix_scaedu at http://rix-scaedu.livejournal.com/66191.html

Also, you can check out addergoole for prompted and unprompted ficlets nearly any time!

I want to share the bounty before I return to the Torn World Muse Fusion, where there are some new prompts.  We'll see how many more words I can come up with before sleep overtakes me.

By the way, if you're enjoying my Torn World stories, please vote for us at Top Web Fiction, since that helps new readers find us.

I took a break from indoor chores and writing to pick up the trash that blew in and snagged in and under the rose bushes.  It's March, and the roses are all leafing out nicely! Our first big bloom of the roses will be at least a month early, if we don't have a frost killing all that new growth.  But here are some of the daffodils, before they're gone for the year, and some of those leaf buds too:

I hope to see you all at www.torn_world.livejournal.com!

I'll hurry home after work and open things up, hopefully by 6:00 central time.

Readers: If you're not sure what to prompt about, remember we have Sea Monster Month coming up, we're in the middle of the Fantastic Critters of Torn World Contest, some of us love challenges, and questions, words, moods, settings, characters, photographs, and even music can be offered as prompts.

Writers and Artists: Sharpen your pencils, dust off your computers, or ready whatever strange tools and materials you might want to use! Knitting needles? Clay? Paint and canvass? Or "just" pixels appearing on a blank screen? I can't wait to see!