10 March 2005

The Saga of Chtomelji

My creative bowl seems to be runneth-ing over these days.

Some months ago (inspired by November elections) I had a wild dream. Of that dream I can remember little of value. Shortly afterwards I fleshed it out a bit in my mind, then committed it to paper during rare idle moments at work. It actually came out a lot better than I could have imagined. It is most of an opening scene - potentially a particularly riveting one if it ever hits the Big Screen - in what could be a fairly promising novel. A political thriller at that. I had been at a bit of an impasse for a while - I knew where I wanted the story to go, but knew knothing of the trade that I wanted the character to become involved in. To wit: lobbying.

Lobbying, prima facie, rather offends my sensibilities. What and where, precisely is the fine line between lobbying and bribery?

'Blood and Oil' (current reading) may be the key to progressing. I'm starting to understand how the bastards think. Its personally disappointing for me to learn that the foreign policy of our puppet master administration is merely the fruition of doctrine planted by Roosevelt and developed by Carter and Reagan. I prefer to continue to blame the current administration anyway. Its just as well; their flawed policies and pathetic denials are my muse.

Where was I?
Oh yeah, mind racing and like that.
Well, that germ of a novel seems to have been only the beginning.
As you've probably noticed, my participation in .... oh very well, I'll just say it...
This GAME I've been playing lately (Ryzom) has also proven a willing conduit to my imagination. Lets see... best to start at the beginning for the story to make sense.

I groused earlier about Ryzom having a problem with documentation (in many cases, its absent). I was very impressed with how my first character was going. I had created an entity, and its success was the fruition of my will. Lack of documentation caused more than one misstep though, each one very costly. Finally, I was simply too far behind; skill points that I needed to spend wisely had been wasted, putting me at a severe disadvantage to the 'leveling' curve. Each successive level requires gaining approximately double the experience of the previous level to advance. Had I chosen better, I would have been gaining exp much faster, but instead I was stuck. So I had little option but to discontinue the character and start over. I wasn't happy with that decision, but it made the most sense. I did, however, wish to somehow retain membership in the guild that I had joined. To that end, I created a 'backstory' to explain the relationship between my old character and my new character. What made this a real act of creativity was that the new character was of an entirely different race. That wasn't too hard to explain:

The Saga of Chtomelji

My mother and father met in a wild place between great civilizations. She was a great forager for the Fyros people and he a Matis of Noble house journeying to discuss an alliance with one of the friendlier renegade tribes. That very tribe raised me, and still holds great feasts and tell tales of that day.

A lesser bandit tribe had ambushed them (whether he came to her aid or she to his depends on whom is telling the tale!) and together they fought. The rage of the bandits increased as each of their tribe fell. As they perished, their numbers seemed to be replenished, as others came to avenge the fresh losses. [Many bandit lives ended forever, since neither the Kami nor the Karavan, will succor those that prey on their servants.] The furious commotion that was that shambles quickly attracted much attention. Wild beasts, predators, scavengers and grazing animals, came to witness the fury that raged on, and also to prey on survivor and victim alike. The sun began to set, making the two bloody swords of my mother gleam red with her vengeance as they sang through the air. My father smashed men together or rent them apart with such fury that it was difficult to properly count those he slew. The suns last rays were all that illuminated the scene when the woman I call "grandmother" arrived with guards of her tribe.

The few remaining bandits were driven off. My mother and father were bourne back to safety, as they had been seriously wounded and needed healing. Their wounds required many days of resting, yet they fell in love long before that time was complete. They stayed with the tribe, who welcome them as family, mostly to raise me where I might be shielded from the bigotries of either race. Father knew the Matis people, and his family in particular, would never approve, for they are ever suspicious of the Fyros; even now the peace between them is tenuous at best. My mother is loath to keep him far from his people and position, since he has been a great force in easing tensions between the great peoples. He is away often, in the great city of Yrkanis, but returns as often as he is able. He laughingly complains that every time he returns to his beautiful women he must endure a three-day hangover following the tribe's celebrations.

This troubled time has brought a shadow, even over this happy tribe. A time has come to forget our differences, homins, because unity is all that will shield us from Oblivion. I must now leave these happy people so that I may prepare and grow in strength, for every one of us will be needed in the coming battles. There is much preparation to do, the battles will be hard, and many will fall.

It is my dearest wish that when we finally win (for we must) we will recognize the new bonds between us. Bonds of blood and bone, forged like steel in a great fire. From that moment on we must be true to our new bond, or our precious victory may degenerate to hollow irony.
The old times will be done, friend homins, and a new era began. The old rivalries and hatreds must also die with the past, giving way to our new bonds. We will have a new Golden Age to build bridges and mend fences, and Atys will prosper in ways not seen since before the Great Fire.

When I was born, my parents agreed to name me in a language of the Old Tongues, spoken on Atys long ago - all but forgotten even before the Great Fire of Coriolis.

I am Fyros, and I am Matis.

I am Chtomelji.

It means bridge.

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