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sparkindarknessOk, I tried. I really tried to keep politics out of this. I yelled at them, growled at them, edited, censored and spun like a White House news bulletin or any of Alistair Campbells general conversations; but it cannot be done.
I cannot keep politics away from this! It's just impossible! They don't do 'irrelevant' politics that I can ignore. And EVERYTHING they do is for a political reason. If they wear red instead of white it probably means they're declaring war on someone.
It's like sharing a head with Machiaevelli on speed. Or writing in the middle of a Civil Service meeting.
Edit no.1 because of damn HTML
GAH! Edit no.2 for the same damn reason. You'd think I'd be able to get italics right by now.
“Ok, can we talk yet?” Ilatheril finally said before they had traversed more than one floor of the castle.
Sitharensor gave the Unseelie an impatient look. “Immortals are generally more patient than this. The Norns can still hear us, guard your speech to our tongue or to our minds alone.”
“My head’s splitting with all this telepathy, I’ll be rolling down these stairs if I try to concentrate on both at once.”
“In the grand seas of politics, it is as needful to give speech with mind and voice together as it is to swim in the great field of the Eastern Sea.”
Ilatheril gave the Seelie Sidhe a wry look. “I’ll put it on my to-do list. Anyway, lets play question and answer; unless you think the Norns are listening to us with a decoder ring?”
“No matter how brightly one shines, one cannot understand the sun and stars.”
“That’s propaganda for ‘yes,’ right?”
“In all the blood stained years that time has felt and the moon has shed her tears over, through wars and death and acts to wound the darkest heart; never has their been a crime that causes the soul such grief as that perpetrated by the Unseelie against the innocent tongue of the Sidhe.”
“Yeah, but we can say something without taking an hour to do it. So tell me, why the Centaur?”
Sitharensor tilted a curious eyebrow at the Unseelie. “The Centaur?”
“The Centaur you left in charge downstairs. And why only Hrolf in with us?”
“I believed your concerns lay with the prophecy?”
Ilatheril looked a little offended. “I’m no fool Sith. And I do know enough about history to get through most prophecies. C’mon Sith, interpreting mysteriously worded prophecies is like basic curriculum for fae. Humans get English, maths and basic science. We get magic tricks, politics and weird prophecies & sagas. I’m down two, but I’m good on the last one.
“Now, you don’t do anything for no reason. So why the Centaur? And why only Hrolf?”
Sitharensor smiled. He was learning - there was a reason for everything. And if you did not have a reason to do something, perhaps you should be doing something else.
I chose Arion to lead because his loyalty is in doubt - he is prominent in a faction of Centaurs who chafe under Sidhe rule. They believe themselves unknown to the Sidhe.
Ilatheril slowed slightly to avoid falling on the stairs while keeping mental contact. Ok, why telepathy again? And is it just me, or is it not generally considered a good idea to give enemies authority?
Politics can be dangerous. Les... other fae should not understand our tongue, but that does not mean that they do not understand. Indeed, a secret tongue that the other fae should not know but may is far more useful than a secret language that none of them do know.
Ilatheril tripped, his feet blurring as he regained his balance with inhuman dexterity. Ok, that sounds like advanced class, back up. Gone telepathic because you want to keep this secret. No, why the enemy centaur?
Keep your enemies close. And uncertain. Him getting any post on my bodyguard was a stroke of great fortune for his little cadre... or so it appears to them. But being appointed to lead? Why such providence! But then he will think... his rank does not justify such elevation. Is it because his allegiance has been discovered? But why promote him if so? Maybe it is part of a devious Sidhe plan... some plot against him... or even the whole cadre! After all, promoting someone to such a high place of such responsibility! Surely the Sidhe must be planning something terrible. Surely they are surrounded by Sidhe webs they cannot see! What do they do? What can they do? How can they do anything without knowing what the Sidhe plan... best to wait. To stall. All the while with histories of Sidhe politics, Sidhe victories and Sidhe power running through their heads. All the time under the piercing Sidhe gaze... can the Sidhe read their minds?
Sitharensor laughed. An almost playful light in his eyes. And then one will loose his nerve. He will leave the cadre. And the Sidhe will smile. They’re smiling? Do they know? Has the defector talked to the Sidhe? What do they know? Then another will leave. And I will say something innocuous... but suggestive. Another will leave. And I will treat Arion as my closest friend. Then the group will collapse, broken by its own paranoia and fear of the Sidhe eyes. And how many years will pass before any of the dissidents think we are no longer watching them... before they believe their secrets are safe?
Ilatheril gaped, jaw literally dropping before he could catch himself. I don’t know whether to run screaming or applaud. What about taking Sir Hrolf up with us?
Sitharensor wore his merry smile openly. The Norns and Trolls are both Norse in origin. The Norns will have heard that there is dissent among the Trolls... yet I keep a Troll as my main protector - my only protector, even when in the company of a dangerous Unseelie? Perhaps the Trollen honour still holds them to House Eternal Fire... perhaps the Norns had better be more careful with their displays of defiance. Perhaps Eternal Fire can still call the wrath of the Trolls; not just here, but back in their homeland as well. Perhaps it is better to see what the future holds first.
Have we got to think like this ALL THE TIME?!
Sitharensor slipped smoothly back into the Sidhe tongue. “Yes. Such is the glory of the Sidhe. Now we must speak of the Prophecy.”
Ilatheril shook away politics and dragged the Prophecy whole from his memory. “’Long has he dwelt in the darkness with his fellows. Always they have been creatures of the night. Always they have shunned the light. But the darkness receded. The darkness was driven back. The light waxed and the darkness bled. The darkness bled, the darkness fled. Until the shadows no longer provided safety or succour. Once he lived in chaos, now the chaos lives within, in heart and mind and soul, burning on a furnace of hate, stoked by blood and the killing light. He lurks where the dreams do not go, he hides where fancy will not find him. He hides where iron minds hurt worse than iron swords.’ Well, basic prophecy code - the whole always in darkness, and creature of the night basically means the culprit’s one of those fae who can only be found among the Unseelie. The way it’s overdone makes me think one of the Unseelie who don’t like the sun very much.”
Sitharensor nodded. “Agreed. I believe the light slaying the darkness is a reference to the last war between the courts. It is also overemphasised... perhaps one of those Unseelie fae that the Seelie tried to... remove.”
Ilatheril spat, just as they left the tower. The Honour guard started at the sudden violent motion, hands reaching for weapons. They flinched away as he raked them with a scathing gaze, backed with a stern slap of angry magic. “Genocide, you mean. Ethnic cleansing. A massacre!
Sitharensor did not try to meet the Unseelie’s angry eyes, lowering his head. His tone was mournful in a way that only the Sidhe tongue could convey“I do not dispute it, defend it or condone it. It was an inexcusable act that can never be rectified. A shame that will ever stain us.”
Ilatheril nodded, slowly. His eyes still burning with raging emotion that kept the guard at bay. “Chaos in his heart to me speaks of madness. A fae driven to madness by Seelie atrocity.” He paused, the quiet daring Sitharensor to contradict him. Sitharensor kept his silence. “I’m lost on the iron minds, though... it sounds like a terrible place.
Sitharensor raised his head, slowly, checking the Unseelie‘s simmering mood. “I think I may know. Let us return to the palace. We return to the palace. Excellent work Arion.” He nodded warmly to the Centaur, whose coat twitched, ever so slightly.
Unnecessary praise to stir the pot? Some of Ilatheril’s humour returned to his mental voice.
Naturally.
The journey to the palace was fast and silent. Both Sidhe lost in the deep contemplation of the new knowledge they have gained this day, slowly processing it into their minds. The silence stretched as they climbed the tallest tower of the castle. For near an hour they climbed, followed now only by Sir Hrolf and a fluttering envoy of palace servants. Only when they reached the outside air did the silence break.
“There, what do you see?” Sitharensor stretched one elegant arm out over the battlements. Ilatheril gazed over the city.
“The City. The business centre. There’s not much yet, but I’m told with urban development we may be looking out at a forest of skyscrapers soon.” His voice was indifferent to the idea, but his body sang with tension.
“The City. A place of numbers and logic. Hard facts and cruel realities. Everything has a price...”
“...but nothing has value.” Ilatheril finished voice cold and emotionless.
“Did you ever see a place where dreams and fancy are so unwelcome? Where imagination is so dead?”
“A place where the only hope is for wealth, the only wish for power and the only dreams ones choked with ambition and greed. Every minute not spent on the cold demands of currency is a minute wasted. A place where no-one pauses for the wonderful.”
“A place where dreams die, hope corrodes, imagination is enslaved and sweet wonder and joy languishes unheeded. A place of iron minds.”
“Iron Minds that hurt far more than ever iron swords ever did.”
I cannot keep politics away from this! It's just impossible! They don't do 'irrelevant' politics that I can ignore. And EVERYTHING they do is for a political reason. If they wear red instead of white it probably means they're declaring war on someone.
It's like sharing a head with Machiaevelli on speed. Or writing in the middle of a Civil Service meeting.
Edit no.1 because of damn HTML
GAH! Edit no.2 for the same damn reason. You'd think I'd be able to get italics right by now.
“Ok, can we talk yet?” Ilatheril finally said before they had traversed more than one floor of the castle.
Sitharensor gave the Unseelie an impatient look. “Immortals are generally more patient than this. The Norns can still hear us, guard your speech to our tongue or to our minds alone.”
“My head’s splitting with all this telepathy, I’ll be rolling down these stairs if I try to concentrate on both at once.”
“In the grand seas of politics, it is as needful to give speech with mind and voice together as it is to swim in the great field of the Eastern Sea.”
Ilatheril gave the Seelie Sidhe a wry look. “I’ll put it on my to-do list. Anyway, lets play question and answer; unless you think the Norns are listening to us with a decoder ring?”
“No matter how brightly one shines, one cannot understand the sun and stars.”
“That’s propaganda for ‘yes,’ right?”
“In all the blood stained years that time has felt and the moon has shed her tears over, through wars and death and acts to wound the darkest heart; never has their been a crime that causes the soul such grief as that perpetrated by the Unseelie against the innocent tongue of the Sidhe.”
“Yeah, but we can say something without taking an hour to do it. So tell me, why the Centaur?”
Sitharensor tilted a curious eyebrow at the Unseelie. “The Centaur?”
“The Centaur you left in charge downstairs. And why only Hrolf in with us?”
“I believed your concerns lay with the prophecy?”
Ilatheril looked a little offended. “I’m no fool Sith. And I do know enough about history to get through most prophecies. C’mon Sith, interpreting mysteriously worded prophecies is like basic curriculum for fae. Humans get English, maths and basic science. We get magic tricks, politics and weird prophecies & sagas. I’m down two, but I’m good on the last one.
“Now, you don’t do anything for no reason. So why the Centaur? And why only Hrolf?”
Sitharensor smiled. He was learning - there was a reason for everything. And if you did not have a reason to do something, perhaps you should be doing something else.
I chose Arion to lead because his loyalty is in doubt - he is prominent in a faction of Centaurs who chafe under Sidhe rule. They believe themselves unknown to the Sidhe.
Ilatheril slowed slightly to avoid falling on the stairs while keeping mental contact. Ok, why telepathy again? And is it just me, or is it not generally considered a good idea to give enemies authority?
Politics can be dangerous. Les... other fae should not understand our tongue, but that does not mean that they do not understand. Indeed, a secret tongue that the other fae should not know but may is far more useful than a secret language that none of them do know.
Ilatheril tripped, his feet blurring as he regained his balance with inhuman dexterity. Ok, that sounds like advanced class, back up. Gone telepathic because you want to keep this secret. No, why the enemy centaur?
Keep your enemies close. And uncertain. Him getting any post on my bodyguard was a stroke of great fortune for his little cadre... or so it appears to them. But being appointed to lead? Why such providence! But then he will think... his rank does not justify such elevation. Is it because his allegiance has been discovered? But why promote him if so? Maybe it is part of a devious Sidhe plan... some plot against him... or even the whole cadre! After all, promoting someone to such a high place of such responsibility! Surely the Sidhe must be planning something terrible. Surely they are surrounded by Sidhe webs they cannot see! What do they do? What can they do? How can they do anything without knowing what the Sidhe plan... best to wait. To stall. All the while with histories of Sidhe politics, Sidhe victories and Sidhe power running through their heads. All the time under the piercing Sidhe gaze... can the Sidhe read their minds?
Sitharensor laughed. An almost playful light in his eyes. And then one will loose his nerve. He will leave the cadre. And the Sidhe will smile. They’re smiling? Do they know? Has the defector talked to the Sidhe? What do they know? Then another will leave. And I will say something innocuous... but suggestive. Another will leave. And I will treat Arion as my closest friend. Then the group will collapse, broken by its own paranoia and fear of the Sidhe eyes. And how many years will pass before any of the dissidents think we are no longer watching them... before they believe their secrets are safe?
Ilatheril gaped, jaw literally dropping before he could catch himself. I don’t know whether to run screaming or applaud. What about taking Sir Hrolf up with us?
Sitharensor wore his merry smile openly. The Norns and Trolls are both Norse in origin. The Norns will have heard that there is dissent among the Trolls... yet I keep a Troll as my main protector - my only protector, even when in the company of a dangerous Unseelie? Perhaps the Trollen honour still holds them to House Eternal Fire... perhaps the Norns had better be more careful with their displays of defiance. Perhaps Eternal Fire can still call the wrath of the Trolls; not just here, but back in their homeland as well. Perhaps it is better to see what the future holds first.
Have we got to think like this ALL THE TIME?!
Sitharensor slipped smoothly back into the Sidhe tongue. “Yes. Such is the glory of the Sidhe. Now we must speak of the Prophecy.”
Ilatheril shook away politics and dragged the Prophecy whole from his memory. “’Long has he dwelt in the darkness with his fellows. Always they have been creatures of the night. Always they have shunned the light. But the darkness receded. The darkness was driven back. The light waxed and the darkness bled. The darkness bled, the darkness fled. Until the shadows no longer provided safety or succour. Once he lived in chaos, now the chaos lives within, in heart and mind and soul, burning on a furnace of hate, stoked by blood and the killing light. He lurks where the dreams do not go, he hides where fancy will not find him. He hides where iron minds hurt worse than iron swords.’ Well, basic prophecy code - the whole always in darkness, and creature of the night basically means the culprit’s one of those fae who can only be found among the Unseelie. The way it’s overdone makes me think one of the Unseelie who don’t like the sun very much.”
Sitharensor nodded. “Agreed. I believe the light slaying the darkness is a reference to the last war between the courts. It is also overemphasised... perhaps one of those Unseelie fae that the Seelie tried to... remove.”
Ilatheril spat, just as they left the tower. The Honour guard started at the sudden violent motion, hands reaching for weapons. They flinched away as he raked them with a scathing gaze, backed with a stern slap of angry magic. “Genocide, you mean. Ethnic cleansing. A massacre!
Sitharensor did not try to meet the Unseelie’s angry eyes, lowering his head. His tone was mournful in a way that only the Sidhe tongue could convey“I do not dispute it, defend it or condone it. It was an inexcusable act that can never be rectified. A shame that will ever stain us.”
Ilatheril nodded, slowly. His eyes still burning with raging emotion that kept the guard at bay. “Chaos in his heart to me speaks of madness. A fae driven to madness by Seelie atrocity.” He paused, the quiet daring Sitharensor to contradict him. Sitharensor kept his silence. “I’m lost on the iron minds, though... it sounds like a terrible place.
Sitharensor raised his head, slowly, checking the Unseelie‘s simmering mood. “I think I may know. Let us return to the palace. We return to the palace. Excellent work Arion.” He nodded warmly to the Centaur, whose coat twitched, ever so slightly.
Unnecessary praise to stir the pot? Some of Ilatheril’s humour returned to his mental voice.
Naturally.
The journey to the palace was fast and silent. Both Sidhe lost in the deep contemplation of the new knowledge they have gained this day, slowly processing it into their minds. The silence stretched as they climbed the tallest tower of the castle. For near an hour they climbed, followed now only by Sir Hrolf and a fluttering envoy of palace servants. Only when they reached the outside air did the silence break.
“There, what do you see?” Sitharensor stretched one elegant arm out over the battlements. Ilatheril gazed over the city.
“The City. The business centre. There’s not much yet, but I’m told with urban development we may be looking out at a forest of skyscrapers soon.” His voice was indifferent to the idea, but his body sang with tension.
“The City. A place of numbers and logic. Hard facts and cruel realities. Everything has a price...”
“...but nothing has value.” Ilatheril finished voice cold and emotionless.
“Did you ever see a place where dreams and fancy are so unwelcome? Where imagination is so dead?”
“A place where the only hope is for wealth, the only wish for power and the only dreams ones choked with ambition and greed. Every minute not spent on the cold demands of currency is a minute wasted. A place where no-one pauses for the wonderful.”
“A place where dreams die, hope corrodes, imagination is enslaved and sweet wonder and joy languishes unheeded. A place of iron minds.”
“Iron Minds that hurt far more than ever iron swords ever did.”