The Thousandfold Notes of Alejandro Benjazar

[Don Nadie]

Ancient Battles

We went to the Nusrum Ramparts again. A big expedition, with the Torchbearers. We had many an old map and, though harrased by the Inheritors, did not want to give up. So, in a bigger group, with the Thousand Clans thankfully distracted elsewhere, we did our excavations.

Battlefields, mostly. Ancient roads destroyed by war. Ancient walls, breached by war. Ancient households, demolished by war. I can't even begin to imagine how devastating the war which the Colossi suffered must have been. Nor against whom. I only know their absence, their bones bleached by ages untold. I only know this was once a garden, and is now a desert.

It was a strange expedition. When I close my eyes, I can almost see that Wall, and the scattered bones of giants, of reptiles, of humanoids. So many people, so many kins...

So much destruction.




[A little draft of a tale is appended at the bottom]
Once, a woman was seeing things.
Scary things, shimmering things.
Things that took the air from her lungs.
(And we couldn't stop it. We couldn't save her)

Once, a snake spoke.
It spoke deceit, it spoke hatred.
It spoke temptation, and it was stomped.
For the Rose needs not tolerate the weeds.
(But perhaps some weeds are culled too harshly)

"I'm on the verge of maddness", she said.
"Perhaps", said another, "you're on the verge of Revelation".

[Don Nadie]

The Other Bard

She went to Luca Ferra, and she's gone now.

"She was happy", said Mari. "She loved it, when a whale splashed us with water".

I do not know exactly what happened. I probably shall ask, interview, write. The Rose needs to know, and so do I. For an expedition meant to be for treasure seems to have turned into many other things. A carnage, for a start.

"She got hurt", said Mari. "But insisted she wanted to go ahead, to continue, to risk it."

She's missing. The bookshop feels more empty without her laughter. The College feels more empty without her irony. The Krak feels more empty without her, tapping her own rhythm on the pommel of her sword, arms crossed, glancing arround with a mixture of irony and curiosity. There's an absence, another, all arround.

"I think she was trying to make up for Kulkund", said Mari. "She had been punished, she wished to prove herself".

She's missed. Her trust was hard to win, as was her kindness. I had found both. She trusted me enough to show me her performance, to let me know about it. I think I know who the song was for. I think I got to know a lot more of her than I'd initially expected, when she was just one more member of The Competition teasing me...

I wish I was still the Other Bard.

[A song is appended at the bottom, along with some beautiful notation for the Lute. The words are notes taken by Alejandro, from a live performance in the College of Balladeers.]

~My lady's eyes are like the skies~ A soft and sunlit hue~
~No other fair could half compare~ In sweet midsummer dew~

~My lady's eyes cannot disguise~ Her tender, gentle heart~"
~She cannot feign, she feels my pain ~Whenever we must part~"

~Now while I live I needs must give~ Her all my love and more~"
~That she may know I worship so~ This one that I adore~"

~And while away, I long and pray~ The days may speed, and then~
~I heart-ward hie, I flee, I fly~ To see her eyes again~

~My lady's eyes, each glance I prize~ As gentle as a dove~
~And would that I could tell her why~ I dare not speak my love~

~Too high, as far as any star~ Her station is to mine~
~Too wide that space to e'er embrace~ Beneath her I repine~

[Don Nadie]

Old Flames

I've been thinking about the Inmolation. It makes me feel uncomfortable. I know that it was established by Vadh I, one of the most praised Caliphs, perhaps due to who his successor was. I also know that it remains in vogue, our current sultan's kin having been prepared for it since birth.

I remember I was puzzled, when I first learnt the term. Even more so, when I understood what it meant, that it was not a metaphor.  I couldn't fathom how or why would anyone do it, I couldn't stop thinking about my own sisters. The idea of something like that happening to them, for power, made my skin crawl.

And then we did an excavation.

Once, there were two brothers.
In the chimney, they were found.
With their hands entwinned, they were found.
Burnt to nothing, they were found.
Their tiny finger-bones still reaching out, for solace.

Vadh I started it. The one who praised Izdu as the Shining Sun. Was it once, so long before Zohjir, an acceptable metaphor for learning and Logos? Perhaps, once it wasn't quite so illegal but an[The speculation is scratched and cut short, continuing with something else entirely.] His son, the Dissapointing... We also saw remnants of his work. A tax office and, in the records, evidence of his caliphate's decay.

I feel I know too much I'm not meant to. And, at the same time, I know even less than when I started. Time turns and changes, and we read texts long rewritten, long re-read. So many layers of misdirection it becomes impossible to tell propaganda and record appart. Here, the Storyteller's talent may shine, for truths can be embroidered within a Tale. Truths can be shared within fiction. Hidden, whispering truths.

Once, there was a door.
Behind one door, another two.

[Don Nadie]

The Sublime Buttocks

We were in a gloomy mood, after some excavations, so we decided to do something fun, for once. We chose to drink, and enjoy ourselves... Participating in S/ra Zaniah's riddle contest. I am terrible at riddles. Snorri and Jamileh, however? They are excellent. Quick like lightning, and tremendously ingenious. Some of the riddles were excellent, some were funny, some were neat.

I offered my own riddle, perhaps less ingenious, but I loved the idea of everyone discussing its content...


Sublime and well-plumped
by feasts beyond count.
Well-rounded and pale
never touched by sun.
In ointments well-washed
since most tender age.
It sits now above us,
on Gardens so great!


It was, of course, the Sublime Buttocks.

When the contest ended, with S/ra Mari winning, another vote was given for best riddle. I am sad to say the Sublime Buttocks was wiped!

It was amusing. I had fun. I forgot for a bit of... Everything. And then, D/na Jamileh whispered to me: "Careful. You do not want them to notice you".

Danger lurks, I suppose.

[Don Nadie]

A Whole Lot of Talking

Election season has begun, after the Princess so declared. Apparently, we have to wait for their Sublime Majesties to authorize us to self-govern, it'd seem. Annoying as it may be, I suppose it is a compromise which must be made... No member of the Accord would stand to win in confrontation, and none can deny that the Sultan saved our collective buttocks during the Ash-Storm.

The thing with elections, though, is that it means a lot of talking, talking and talking. And even more talking in the Bellows. S/ra Isabella, for instance, has put all her considerable energy into making grand declarations on the Bellows, roaring about this and that. She left the League of White to join the Purples, in honor of her husband, which in turn made me decide it was about time to officially join the Whites. I'll admit the rumors of intrigues and the betrayal of their once-Legate make one hesitate... But, on the other hand, things only improve when one does something to improve them.

As candidates of each League begin gathering their signatures, talking circles become impromptu assemblies. Apparently, we can sign more than one petition. Some have remained loyal to their chosen candidate, while others have embraced every single one. Perhaps in a display of compromise, I have chosen to support one candidate from each League, each a person I like most from amongst their competitors.

In the Golden it was Sol Auk. With S/ra Ophelia dead there was, really, no other choice. In general, though, he is an interesting and keen man. I gave him a lecture on humanoid artforms with D/a Jamileh and S/ra Mari which was informative to us both (despite the licking of a poor painting). Apparently, Stonefolk only like sculpture. The thing with Sol Auk, though, is that he is also tremendously ambitious and extremely astute, whatever his speech-pattern may make one think. His foreigness allows him liberties others lack. He could be an asset to the Well.

In the Purple, it was easy. Amidst a growing number of people obsessed with order and kissing the Sultan's behind, S/ra Sephidra was the most convincing. She cares about refugees, she cares about improving people's lot. We may not agree on everything, but I think she'd judge wisely, and her policies are appealing.

And in the White, it was also no contest. With the alternatives being S/ra Lynneth of the Balladeers and S/r Cyrille, the screeching, I barely had to wait. I did listen to them debate a little, which was a show of contrasts: the grace and patience with which S/ra Lynneth endured his assaults against the screeching, improvised policies of S/r Cyrille. "A chicken in every pot", he said, as though that actually was policy, and not empty promises. Where does one even /get/ chickens? The only ones I've seen are from mad herbalists!

At least something good came out of all this talking. As we waited for about two hours to set off, while every member of the Competition crossed with one or another candidate and were stopped, S/r Snorri asked if the Balladeer seeking to repair a mithril chainshirt was still arround. He wasn't... Which meant S/r Snorri repaired it for me.

Now I'm wearing a chainshirt, fixed by a friend and mentor, of the same metal that keeps him.

I'm... Well, it's stupid. I know it's dumb.

(But I'm proud of it.)

[Don Nadie]

The Buttock's Trial

I woke up to an unpleasant surprise. Turned out that, while I slept, a trial was held over the most important matter: whether my dumb riddle was Treason.

Now, I knew the Jannisaries were exploring the issue. S/ra Zaniah had mentioned, and demanded on our friendship that I don't tell anyone my involvement. I had been interrogated myself, and danced circles arround the handsome Janissary who did the questioning. I was very clear that  not only was that a silly thing to investigate, but that it had happened in the Krak, and hence was under our jurisdiction. I never thought it would get to trial on the face of the whole thing's foolishness...

How wrong I was!

It seems S/r Zaniah decided to force the hand of the Janissaries, and, according to her, S/r Rennik was forced to bring it to trial by pressure from S/r Sol Auk - who is said or feared to have the Fourth in his pockets. The trial was obviously farcical, with the entirely of the public incredulous that the Accusation was asking Death for allowing a silly riddle to take place in the Krak - and not giving up its author. The screeching increased when S/r Velan took to the Bellows to encourage everyone to "admit" authorship, and talking about the Sultan's "ass".

Eventually, the Trial was dissmissed by the Princess. Presumably aware that such a trial was more harmful than kind to the Sultan's authority, she descended and dismissed everything. I have mixed feelings about it: on the one hand I fear it is stupid that she gets to just stop trials of our City. On the other, I also feel like the fairness of our justice was being... Held hostage... By idiocy. So I suppose dismissal was for the best. And it spared S/ra Zaniah of any danger.

I am also concerned that it was S/r Sol Auk's who pushed for the trial. Whether to hurt S/r Lynneth's chances, to hurt S/r Zaniah or to ingratiate himself with the Sultan, I don't know. But he certainly was the one to denounce. That's a worrisome choice, for one of the most likely candidates to become Legate...

That said... There's something endlessly amusing about all this. I wrote the riddle as a silly, amusing joke...

I was not expecting the Sultan's Buttocks to be in everyone's mouth.

[Don Nadie]

The Slippery Pebble

I think we're all a little scared. Word of assassins, of Janissaries in pockets, of conspiracy. A meeting, in relative secrecy.

"Stay in the Krak", she said. "And treat the rest of the Well like hostile territory".  We all were nervous, sitting arround the table, while D/a Jamileh set golden coins on the floor, trying to draw a triangle within a circle. "I can't ensure your safety outside the Krak. This goes for all of you", she added. Nobody can say that the Banda doesn't know how to cheer up a party.

They were angry at me. At my stupid riddle. It saddened me, that misplaced anger... Why should I not do something silly and stupid, just because it was the Sultan? Why should I cower in a corner, like a little scared child? Instead, I was angry, too, at the idiocy of the whole thing. At the treachery of Sol Auk attempting to kill a woman over something so stupid. At the Sergeant, cowering under threats and giving way to a trial. At the City, which ought to be Just, using its systems to oppress.

At their thinking I should not get involved. Not mock that idiocy in rhyme and jingle. "That's how Tyranny works", I tried to argue. "It makes you fear its reach, and fear extends it". I tried to argue, but I still couldn't shake their fear for me, and my love for them. My original insults, more scathing, went limp. What would've been an angry song turned celebratory, of the Princess. More astute a maneuver, perhaps, and still far from what they wanted...

But a bit cowardly. And still a bit brave. I suppose one must deal in compromise, between friends and duty.

[Mixed in this entry are a few papers, with a long-form draft of a poem, with numerous scratches and notes]

It seems in the evening
while this singer slept
our Princess did save us
as our Justice wept.

A Sergeant who failed
a vile snake to choke
sought treachery again
in a simple joke.

More thoughtful than him,
I shall not be crass,
but Colmes saw treason
to the Sultan's... Dignity.

The streets wonder, though,
why did he pursue?
Seems Sol Auk denounced:
a Golden! Who knew?

Strange, one does think:
the may-be Legate
would seek, from a riddle
"a example to make"

Since when do the Golden
call death from stealth,
pursuing silly rhymes
instead of new wealth?

Since when do our guardsmen
obey his commands?
Is Golden their leash?
Where does Purple stand?

It's odd, I do fear,
that our Golden rock
would so seek to kiss
the Sultan's firm... Hand.

Sol Auk's silly intrigues
our wise Princess stopped,
Magister against it,
his "example" flopped.

Our slippery pebble
the Bellows then took :
"Wise decision this",
claimed the trial's cook.

The being who almost caused
our dear Zaniah's death
claims now to be against it:
all in the same breath!

Happily ends the tale,
of trial most silly
with Sol Auk kept far
for what he sought really.

Should you care for Justice,
my public, you must
remember this song:
the fool and the just.

For we, with the Princess,
in this stand aligned
against silly Sol
for the plump... Riddle.

[The jingle is a longer, and certainly more crass version of the song which eventually rang in the Bellows: The Princess and the Pebble.

[Don Nadie]

Campaign

This is getting tiresome. Part of me loves the energy and the rummor-mongering of elections, but even I grow weary of having to hear an endless parade of speeches on the Bellows. Truly, one almost feels tempted to put the chips aside.

Worst part is, of course, that you are forced to participate in it, too. The less you speak, the more space you concede, so adding to the noise both in person and in public becomes necessary. I've been making my own rhymes, and talking to people, trying to sell them on the importance of the White League. Heck, I've even added another little song:

A woman who hears,
to all lost, a guide:
Lynneth, Waradim,
takes the future in stride!

On White now she stands,
both patient and bold:
to channel the Voice
which belongs to us all!

Go talk, let her hear!
Go read what she wrote!
She'll stand for us all:
so go give her your vote!

Not sure how good it is, but I'm quite convinced Lynneth will be a good - if reluctant - Legate for the White. And as maneuvers continue, with Sephidra retiring after (maybe?) being poisoned or (maybe?) pretending to be poisoned, it seems likely that many will feel inclined to vote for her. After all, her substitute is none other than Cyrille, who has swiftly dyed his cloak from White to Purple just to get a chance. I doubt many will vote for him, which means that Lynneth has a real chance of winning.

So who knows? Maybe it'll all end well. But whatever happens, I hope it ends soon.

[Don Nadie]

On the Road

Today was a lovely day, if not without weirdness.

S/ra Lynneth was just exhausted from all the politicking, so she decided that we all ought to do a frield trip. With S/r Kragg and S/r Delafosse, we set on to explore a few distant locales. It started well: clear skies, its infinite blue full of promise... And then got interrupted by the appearance of a poor woman in our cart.

I thought she was wounded or something, so I approached, while S/r Delafosse (who had apparently endured something similar) insisted that we don't tell her our names. I... Maybe should've thought more carefully, but I also felt the poor woman seemed in distress? Well, it turns out she was in distress inasmuch as she was a damm djinni! The wagon filled with a thousand, maddening whispers and I had to draw my sword but, thankfully, the djinni lost interest fast. Perhaps because we didn't say our names.

Despite how shaking that was, the rest of the trip was lovely.

Spring's Gift was a beauty. In the middle of the desert, a garden which seemed almost a mirage. How could it be so sudden, so different from anything else? It seemed something out of a fairytale... Which, to an extent, it may have been. One local said it had been a Wish, someone wanting to give elves a refuge.

[An abrupt change, as a story is noted]

Once, there was a Gift.
It provided Life. It provided refuge, shelter, safety. I sated their thirst for a home.
Once, there was a Gift, for someone, once, was generous.
And from the MisClouds, they emerged, fully formed.
Made for a life of meaning.
The mist, the clouds, the waters, the rivers. They flowed
Until they dried, too, with their garden.

From there we went to Bafnasi, which was a real pleasure. Such a large and nice city! And so... Familiar, in a way. I always remember, when I'm there, how beautiful the Sea of Pearls is, and how much I miss it. The rumor of the waves, its murmur, its secrets... It felt like coming back home. Except home is nowhere to be found. I feel like there is a word for the nostalgia one may feel for a place that makes them feel so at home it reminds them home is out of reach. Or there should be.

Anyways. Banafsi was interesting. Its history was quite curious (they may or may not have dealt with their Tyrants in a very direct manner). They had a lot of mermen and merwomen, apparently refugees from some horrors beyond the waves... Which I guess means the world is not only dying aboveground... And their markets were really full of terribly fascinating things.

It was an interesting trip. I left feeling... Both satisfied and melancholic.

There should be a word for that feeling, too.

[Don Nadie]

The Door

[Another little Tale, quickly scribbled. This includes a rudimentary drawing of a tall statute.]


Once, again, there was a door.
And behind that door another two.
And below that door another statue.
Old history wrapped in code and metaphor.
They sifted through shreds of evidence.
And came to know an inch more than before.
And came to know the gulf of their ignorance.

Behind each door, another two.

[Don Nadie]

Dangerous Accords

She's been threatened.

They, of course, denied it, but she's been threatened.

I do not trust S/r Kergal, I do not trust S/r Oro. Even if S/r Alexander iswas an idiot, I can't just dismiss his claims. Much as I may want to. The fact that Alexander is dead now doesn't help. The fact we're doing what we're doing doesn't help. Alexander iswas perfectly able to make it up out of spite, to hurt Astronomers. Kergal and Oro are perfectly able to order an assassination, out of fear, envy or a desire for control.

Where does precaution end and paranoia begin?

What's the right time to be scared? And angry?

What I know is that the Astronomers seem to be putting their weight behind Sol Auk and the Golden League. It is likely that they shall become the single purveyors of archeological licenses, though what will happen to those who /already/ hold them remains unknown. We shall see.

At least it seems the Cinquefoil did... What it should: Oppose any and all powergrab by the Eagle's Mount.


The petals serve refuge
to friends in the Rose.
Keep those we want close
safe in dire deluge.

While starlocks gather
from all for their greed
the Rose, at the lead,
must their plans all shatter.

[The remainng of this entry seems to have been added at a later time. With worse handwriting, it is not unlikely this was written not on the table, but in bed... After much tumbling and turning.]

I don't know what I'd do if it happened, though. Nothing nice.

[Don Nadie]

The Golden Victory

He won. Sol Auk, that is. Though it was significantly closer than anyone - S/ra Lynneth, among others - seemed to believe. In the end, it was a matter of five votes in the election, and it was only won because the Golden League decided to gift Voices to those who would vote for them. Eight voices they bought all in all. Enough to change everything.


Once there was an election: charity against independence.
"We must earn our own voices", said the Gold.
"All deserve a voice, like a gift", said the White.
And so they argued and argued and argued.

And when it came to voting, the Gold gifted their supporters voices.
For they were too few to win otherwise.
And hypocresy is the purview of the merchant.


Still. I call this a victory: none gave Lynneth a chance and yet the Golden League had to spend 45 thousand dinari in winning the election - and prove, for it, their own hipocresy. While this is a temporary setback, it will certainly come back to bite them.

Some in the College are sad and angry. Some are sad. I, however, think nothing of this defeat: a minor setback is just a stepping stone - a bit of conflict necessary to make victory all the sweeter.

[Don Nadie]

The Steele and the Laws

A new name engraved on the Steele, over the markings of the Wyrm.

Sol Auk made a show of calling priests of the Wheel to argue which was the one most deserving to be engraved once more. Many priests, however, didn't bother: it was evident this was but a show, considering one of his closest advisors, the priestess Mari, was a servant of The Sabotage.

It was no surprise when, shortly after, Their name was carved upon the Steele. There were deals he made to win the election, and one of them was certainly with her.

Almost inmediately trouble began. Paper vanishing, things rattling and those who cursed the current Patron of the Well finding themselves in all sorts of troube. Things became even more difficult when an attempt was made to inscribe a Law: something meant to forbid the Accord members from running for Legate excluded (deliberately or not) the Janissaries. And in the void between the stars, They smiled with amused, as we fell into discord.

Now, I have some soft spot for The Sabotage, Them being the patron of poets and satyrists alike, and thus I believe it is idiocy to curse Their name. Rather, all complaints should be brought to Sol Auk, for engraving Their name in the first place. The Sabotage is not a deity whose attention you want to call, but one you ought to keep safely at bay, praying to avoid Their mischievous glance. It is Their nature to be a deity of whim and chance, and both the Legate and his voters should've known better.

Honestly, the same applies to Astronomers. Who would've guessed the man who has shown he is suceptible to bribe would be suceptible to bribe and betray them the instant dinari were set on the table? And now, they hasten to seek an alternative.

Foolish.


Once, a man took a snake into his home.
He gave it food, he gave it drink.
He gave it a place in his bed.

"Why did you bite me", he asked, as he died to its poison.
"Why would I not?", asked the snake.

[Don Nadie]

The Beast of the Oasis

Once, travellers began to vanish.
So the Rose, the Mount, the brave: they set off.
For Warad smiles, when travellers are saved.

They found, on the road, hobgoblins.
Travellers they hunted, monsters too, for they cared not for their victims.
Flesh, flesh, flesh: that was all they wanted.
Fresh blood to spill into the waters.

And as the valiants made their way...
As they cut through hordes of their grunts...
As they duelled their greatest heroes...
The waters were dyed red with fresh killings.

"T-the chains are breaking!", screamed the Mouse.
And all could see it: in an corpse-filled oasis, a djinni of blood and waters.
Struggling to break free of its chains.
All knew, for a moment, the weight of fear.

Blessed waters were spilled, holy hymnals sang.
With wisdom and craft, the Nadiri wove their spells.
And though the monster pulled its chains.
And though is roar promised a thousand deaths.
Wisdom and bravery prevailed, and the djinni was trapped once again in the Mother's embrace.

And so they left. A tragedy avoided, but not all.
Hundreds of lost lives still littering the oasis.

[Don Nadie]

The Names of Betrayal

Today was the first time I felt truly dissapointed by one of my fellow Balladeers.

We've had differences in opinion before. I was deeply annoyed when S/ra Mariet felt she could no longer be with us, and very angry when S/r Delafosse insulted the kindly Acolytes who followed - no doubt with wisdom and the best intention - the League of Purple. But those were, ultimately, disagreements of oppinion. A family can bicker, after all, and when everyone's passionate, it is normal to disagree behemently. 

But I was not expecting what S/r Aubrey did.

I found them by chance, by superiors in rank, the three sitting with D/a Jamileh.

Was it deliberate? S/r Aubrey wielding friendship like a knife? Past actions which ought to have been performed with generosity, turned into the coins of an exchange? She wanted her to make a clear alignment, to take a stance. I disliked that. I may wear the cloak, but she has fought hard for her independence, and a friend ought to understand that. Ought to respect that.

I felt dissapointed in S/ra Aubrey. In the rhetorical tricks she used. In the way she turned friendship into a weapon. I understand she's angry at the Election's results, but that is no reason to let go of the Ideals we ought to represent. Were I of a superior rank, I may have reprimanded her... Though at least S/r Velandis and S/ra Lynneth remained proper, and did their best to stop S/ra Aubrey from burning every bridge.

But I was angry, and felt betrayed by S/ra Aubrey. Were it not for the others remaining stalwart representatives of our Ideals, I might've been tempted to return my cloak. It was an unbefitting show.

And the worst was - [the narration is stopped, for a short draft of a Tale]


Once, there was a friend.
She was trusted with secrets.
Dangerous secrets, deep secrets. Secrets carefully buried in the sand.
She died. She was mourned, and missed.

Once, there was an angry woman.
"She told me about it", she revealed, "Your friend told me".
And the mournful could only answer with silence.

A knife, in the back, from the grave.
Betrayal from one long-gone.
Where goes the anger we may feel at someone dead?


Perhaps she was playing a role, S/ra Aubrey. If so, a painful role, a deeply offensive role. A role which hurt me, and made me trust her less.

Whatever the case, with our ranks and despite my lowly Student status, I must keep arguing the same:

Defeat cannot embitter us.
Darkness cannot scare you.
Burning bridges make terrible torches.