The Adventures of Confessions of Sivrian Saavedra (ongoing)

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The Adventures of Confessions of Sivrian Saavedra (ongoing)

Post by Pigasus »

-

"The malice of the act was base and I loved it—that is to say I loved my own undoing."


Foreword:

This journal is a memoir of one Sivrian Saavedra, citizen of Arangoth and an unemployed scrivener at the time of writing. The journal is presented in two parts. Each entry will be posted sequentially, followed by footnotes with editorial commentary on the various concepts or turns of phrase employed by the author.

While Vfn. Saavedra was a professional writer (scrivener, in his words) for most of his career, he had never published any longform works. This inexperience plus his deteriorating mental state at the time of the journal leads the work to bound abruptly between ideas and time periods, occasionally making for some muddled reading. The commentary will seek to clarify and resolve these issues to the best of its ability.

The astute reader will notice that not all of the entries have been included. Indeed, some entries were so badly smudged or crossed out that there was no way to discern their contents. Alternatively, some entries were filled with redundant information that could be dropped in favor of cutting down on page numbers and printing costs.

We sincerely hope that the resulting compilation will be to your satisfaction. May Menxvan watch over you.

Sincerely,

The Redactor


---

Entry 1:

My hands are calcined, my brow is lead.
Suffer me in a gray patina swept along by a crumbling wind to a sad eternity.
My flow, it stiffens; my stride, it breaks.
My quickness turns to sanguine cinnabar that breaks the barometric glass.
I pray the sea to wash me away. [1]

What am I?

(If you answered anything other than 'pretentious shithead,' tough luck, you are wrong. Technically, 'sad tosser' would also work, but with an emphasis on 'sad.' I haven't been able to toss productively in well over two weeks now.)[2]

So where do I begin? I can start anywhere but I've chosen that one early morning at Sun's Dawn. [3] At the dawn [4], the chime crashes through my window, giving shape and order to the world. At the dawn, when all is slick with snowmelt and rosy fingers turn to gray, I wake into the arms of dread cuddling up like an unwanted lover.

I sit up in my bed and the dread sits with me, nuzzling at my bald spot. While the clocktower chimes the world into being, I'm seized with a sudden fear that everything I'm not looking at does not exist. My cone of view swings wildly from my dissheveled head. Reams and heaps of papers everywhere. A pile of empty inkvials under the desk. A halfeaten shepherd's pie on my nightstand, two goblets next to it, just one half-filled with port.

All is as it should be and there is no indication that the world with all its pies, goblets and unemployed scriveners launched into being just minutes ago. But try talking sense to your madness. Why, you'll be laughed out of your own mind.

Seeking to enlist support from objective reality, I plod my bare toes over to the window. The chimes fade out into the clang and thunder of a Southeaster going by. Coaches clatter along the wet streets below. Some urchin waves a paper: "wuxtry, wuxtry, Kingdom of Arangoth is dissolved, Confederacy Restored! Read all about it! Wuxtry! Rumormill! [5]"

Rumormill.

Perhaps I should have started there. On a morning just like this one, I entered the narrow lobby of Drache's most-read publication, wrapped in scarf and overcoat. The place was already a hornet's nest of porters, reporters, campaigners, complainers and plebes with bright ideas. Brexil the Loc[6] was tanking the majority.

Thinking nothing of him, I was a few steps from the safety of editorial when Brexil noticed me, broke aggro and beelined over, mumbling something about the editor-in-chief[7] and new directions for the paper.

A quarter-hour later, I was standing outside, staring past the hornets, listening to the phrase 'other opportunities' bounce in my head. There would be few other opportunities in this age of exploding literacy. For every open scrivener position, there was a score of ones such as I. A good three quarters of whom were younger, congenial and drew less wages.

I trudged home then, gathering new phrases like lint from passersby: "...Well I..." "...Factually, it's not a true confederacy..." "...No kingdom, no protection. Any empire will be able to..." "...Watch it, friend..." "...No, look here..." "...Fack off with your 'treason.' Can't a man talk common sense? Treason, forsooth..."[8]

And it was done. I had part of spring and most of the summer to sort myself out before the landlord returned and demanded more money.

Instead, I started journalkeeping, the ultimate act of a failed writer with no friends to talk to. For forty years, I've tried to write about every conceivable subject. In my premature twilight, I find no subject droller than myself. In a book that none but me will ever open.

(Ed: To be continued)

---

Notes:

[1] My hands are calcined, etc.

These lines were derived a snipped of prophetic, non-rhyming verse that had gone through an unknown number of translators before ending up in Drache's University Library, under ancient literature and religious studies.

The earlier translations were alleged to have derived from a glyphic precursor language neither Goxal nor Gemarind in origin, located in Arangothian territory. (Orland et. al.) The prophesy foretells the coming of a new age and all of its accompanying vicissitudes.
Here we see Vfn. Saavedra appropriate the imagery to describe the corrosion and decay of his own life by putting it in the form of a riddle.

Of particular note is a reference to "my quickness," which might be a reference to quicksilver, given the subsequent reference to cinnabar, its solid natural form. Vfn. Saavedra once bore the nickname "Quick Siv" while working for the Rumormill.

[2] Pretentious shithead... toss productively

In this and many ensuing lines, Vfn. Saavedra shows that his considerable self-pity is not without self-awareness and an oblique sense of humor.

[3] Sun's Dawn

Arangoth's 12 months have picturesque names like Hearthfire, Rain's Hand and Evening Star. Sun's Dawn corresponds to the second month after the start of the new year, shortly after the solstice.

Strangely enough, this nomenclature is not encountered in modern or ancient history of any of the neighbors and protocultures of Arangoth, suggesting that it was imported from elsewhere. Scholars suggest that the farfaring Mingits, some of whom had long since lived in what is now Arangoth, are responsible for the influence, which can be tracked to a place or culture called Nirrin.

Interestingly, the months of distant Orjana share a similarity with the Arangothek calendar, being twelve in number, with names like Reaping, Blossoms and Leafturn. A sizable Mingit population is known to live in Orjana.

[4] At the dawn

A mysterious phrase recurring throughout the journal. While one may infer that here it refers to the month, other, later uses have suggested otherwise. Vfn. Saavedra occasionally repeats some phrases he's fond of in the work, perhaps as a decorative literary technique.

[5] The Rumormill

Drache's preeminent newspaper, launched during the Regency period. In its span, it had passed through the hands of at least half a dozen different editors-in-chief.

To its credit, the Sithirate of Transdariania put few restrictions on material that the Rumormill could publish. However, self-censorship by certain editors and writers was not unheard from. True to its name, the paper also ran many wild and unsubstantiated rumors over the years, often trying to entertain more than trying to inform.

[6] Brexil the Loc

Loc stands for Circumlocutor. His job was to placate, threaten and lie his way through a crowd of people who had come in for something, to get them to go home. Employees considered it demeaning if Brexil was deployed against them.

[7] New Editor

In the timeline of this memoir, it's likely that the editor in question is one Driscoll Cathaoir, though it's unclear whose decision it was to fire Vfn. Saavedra. Vfn. Cathaoir's dynamic management style sought to revitalize the Rumormill at a time that its reputation was flagging and after his predecessor had vanished for mysterious reasons.

[8] Treason

The Civil War between Transdariania and Tagrana was controversial even in Drache, the seat of separatist ambition. Many believed that the kingdom's breakup would weaken the major Sithirates against foreign invasion.

A great deal of suspicious rumors also circulated about those in charge of the triumphant separatist faction in government, who subsequently prosecuted the war effort. Chief among these were (former) Magistrate Asnerith Dreth, Tespin Isabelle Auxerre and Baron Ravynetti Necrotheurgica Tivaurus/Tivaurd. Tsp. Auxerre became the head of state while the other two remained important power brokers following the war.

It's hard to say how many detractors there were, as many preferred to remain silent, fearing the consequences.
Last edited by Pigasus on Mon Aug 14, 2017 3:32 am, edited 3 times in total.
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The Adventures of Confessions of Sivrian Saavedra (ongoing)

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Entry 4

A thought occurs. By taking my career, they deprived me of my name. I could continue being Quick Siv but it'd look like as vulgar as a dishonorable discharge trying to strut about under a borrowed uniform. Or a codger trying to carouse, clad in twenty-something foppery. It wouldn't do. So then, no job, no name. How primordial.

I must use the backup name provided by my parents. But even with the Siv-Sav, Ria-Edra pairings, it's too purple, too foreign to describe me.[9] One pictures some tragic, swarthy count in exile from Elluria, not this paunchy, balding vision of a grammar school clerk.

In childhood, I once asked about my surname. My father, who knew not his line, couldn't answer. Well what about Sivrian, I persisted? We thought it'd sound nice together, my mother said. Also, there's a city in Arania called Sivriana.[10] Full of wonder and plenitude, I asked? No, father said, it was actually the profaned stronghold of the accursed Beady Eye.[11] Then why name me for it, I persisted? Go weed the garden or I'll give you five across the face, he replied, and he didn't mean fingers. I never raised the issue again.

But at the Rumormill, the names fit with our reality. I was brought on shortly after Sly became editor.[12] Sly gave most of us our nicknames and instituted the policy of anonymous bylines, which is around to this day. I was actually quick then: paranoid, ambitious, sensation-seeky and hopped up on all the Clarity [13] that I could afford at the chemist's.

Good days. Oh, they were terrible, to be sure. Anonymous bylines or not, people got hauled in for slander all the time. Simpe the Imp got his head cracked for revealing that love-affair.[14] We barely made enough to keep our roofs, wharf-roofs no less.

But there was purpose. And I wasn't yet completely dead inside.

Years brought polish and refinement; newer editors. But none of them were Sly.

Speaking of dying. In certain weather and a certain light, I can look myself in the eye and admit that in the past five years, I pushed nothing, took no initiatives, never went above nor beyond even once. The routine was one of those dreams that you instantly forget upon waking.

And now, Editorial finally got decorpsified. And the dead weight now sits at home, decomposing memoirs, wasting valuable ink. And to add levity to that notion (and waste more ink): boingo boingo whoopsie knickers.

Fuck.

(Ed: To be continued)

---
Notes:

[9]Too foreign

Saavedra is a rare name, even in the Southlands and Southsea Islands, where it's most frequently encountered. It is primarily in use by Ellurians and Tollorians, as well as Arrants, who descended from both. Linguistic analysis suggests that it comes from the combined proto-Ellurian terms vert (green) and house (saaf).

Vfn. Saavedra appears to acknowledge the pleasing alliteration of his name but finds it too fancy for the plain, uninteresting man that he considers himself to be.

[10]Sivriana

From 'Geography of the Realm Vol 5,' (Sandrusso et al):

The Province of Arania encompasses the southwestern portion of Arangoth, from the Grey Fang Mountains bordering Elvendeep to the border between Sresar Vale and Transdariania, marked by the Lathri River. From ancient times, this rocky stretch of shore harbored some of the most cunning and ruthless pirates to sail the Southern Sea. Perhaps there is yet much buried treasure to be found, left to recall their exploits in bygone days. Their constant raids along the coast and up the Darian River kept this part of Arangoth from developing beyond a few small fishing towns; this is perhaps why Drache itself was never much of a city until the Alysian Era.

This area remained a pirate stronghold until the Order of the Beady Eye brought it under Arangothian control in around the year 330 as the new Province of Arania. Countless gallows where pirate leaders were hanged still stand along the shore as a warning to would-be criminals. The Order had its principal fortress here, a formidable castle which they took from the pirates; it still exists, serving mainly as a lighthouse, and is known as Sivriana.

The region experienced a period of decline during the fifty years' interregnum when there was no king or queen of Arangoth, but it regained its importance under BLKDRAGON and AngelSin when General Lysira Farraige built a new citadel there, known as Aran Keep. In the time since the Alysian Period, the settlements around Aran Keep and Sivriana have grown to considerable size. Still under the thumb of the Sithire, Arania stands as an impressive and fast growing province of Arangoth.


[11]Beady Eye

While many tomes can be written about the Order of the Beady Eye, there is hardly the space to do so here. This Redactor recommends the excellent "From Tagran to Arlok" by M. Quarkelet and "Histories of the Realm" by V. Ferlux.

Concisely, the Watchful Eye were an order of knights and nobles, who offered their services to Arangoth during its war with the Assi and other invaders. With victory secured on the tips of their swords, members of the Watchful Eye were granted massive territory and wealth, which initially flourished under their guidance.

However, when King Dorn sent his three sons to the far provinces to learn to govern, they found the order had long been abusing its powerful position. King Dorn vowed to oust the corrupt Order from power; the Order in turn gathered its forces to resist. About the same time, Prince Arlok and his fiancee Melinxa Swanneck turned hungry wolves on a group of girls of noble birth who were conspiring to murder an innocent peasant; this was the infamous Slaughter in the Maze. As a result, both the Order of the Beady Eye and a large part of the Arangothian nobility rose up and, in an attack upon Tagrana in the year 415, murdered King Dorn as his three sons fled from the destruction of the city. For the next fifty years there was no monarchy in Arangoth.

Brutal actions taken by the Watchful Eye during this period turned much public sentiment against them, which was reinforced by the return of King Arlok, one of the three aforementioned princes. By the time of the Arlokek Era, the order was universally known under the name Beady Eye and came to stand for corruption and betrayal.

[12] Sly

Vfn. Sivrian refers to Sly Hacker, whose real name remains a subject of debate. While he was not the founder of the Rumormill, he was its best-known and most-colorful editor-in-chief, whose decisions continue to influence the paper's ultimate style and direction to this day.

The Sly Hacker dropped everything 'boring' from the paper and retooled its staff into a team of anonymous investigators who sought sharp and shocking exposés. While this led to what some critics call "yellow" journalism, it has also turned the paper from a tool to the scourge of the establishment. As a friend of many wealthy patrons, Sly also secured a great deal of funding for the burgeoning company.

The flamboyant editor frequently relied on lawyers to defend against libel claims brought by powerful parties. Since the names of the authors weren't publicized, the paper itself took on the plaintiffs in court and its rate of successful defense increased considerably. He served as editor-in-chief for about five years before, reportedly taking a better job offer overseas.

There are some who claim that Sly was actually a woman but there is not enough evidence to support this allegation.

[13] Clarity

Also called Celerity: A stimulant extracted from a concoction of plants in the Arcanthoxylum family, especially Arcanthoxylum Verdigrain. Its names are imperfect homophones in International Common, both suggesting its alleged effect on humanoid imbibers.

[14] That love affair

An investigator known as Simpe (from the Arangothian word Simp-ua, "to know") the Imp exposed an affair between Floxod Apsordov Abturre and female merchant Neskessa Dintovath, which resulted in the pair colluding to rob other merchants and service providers in Transdariania of profits and opportunity via unfair procurement and arbitrary crackdowns. The Imp was found slain by assassins shortly after the ensuing trial.
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Re: The Adventures of Confessions of Sivrian Saavedra (ongoing)

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Entry 6

Went through eleven places through the week. Seven said they aren't interested, four said they would get back to me after they sort out their applicants.

The apartment is paid up through the end of the summer. It's mid-spring. Coincidentally, I have about enough savings for that span of time, plus a little extra. I've until then to sort me a job.
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Re: The Adventures of Confessions of Sivrian Saavedra (ongoing)

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Entry 7

Well, I can forget about that little extra. Was it worth it? Twelve hours of forgetful bliss.
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Re: The Adventures of Confessions of Sivrian Saavedra (ongoing)

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Entry 9

None of the four places got back to me. Gough's Accounting Bureau, Klempt's Kontora and Barclev General Goods[15] didn't give me the time of day, said their owners are out. The fourth place had been shuttered and may have been a front.

I don't know of any other leads for now. Going around town asking around is requiring lots of energy. Not the kind that puts strain on my legs. The kind... I just can't face them. I have to face them. Or I'll be facing them every day as a beggar of coin instead of work.

I'd rather be dead.

---

[15] After being surveyed, neither the managers of Gough's Accounting Bureau, nor Barclev General Goods remember a man by Vfn. Saavedra's name or description applying for a job there. Klempt's Kontora seemed to be nonexistent. Perhaps it closed its doors like the last place the scrivener had mentioned, but it's odd to see a clearly Orjani word paired in with a name that distinctly isn't.

These findings suggest one of three possibilities. Either Vfn. Saavedra made such a forgetful impression that he left no memory of his coming; that the businesses refused to recount his existence; or that he never applied to work there to begin with despite what he wrote in his journal. It remains unknown what is the true reason for the discrepancy.
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Re: The Adventures of Confessions of Sivrian Saavedra (ongoing)

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Entry 11

Droplets on my face
Tis only the rain
or I have something in my eye
The storm cleansed every thing
and my sodden spirit
filtered through me liquefied
Flowed out as a stream
off toward the meadows
'mid the sunlit grassy whorls
Turning into steam,
flew up with the tempest
unto undiscovered worlds
[16]

---

[16] Droplets...

The entry corresponds to a period of an intense squall in Drache following a very stuffy week.

It remains unknown whether the poem is a quotation or an original work. On the one hand, when verse appears in the work, it is mostly quoted. However, the author is very inexperienced with verse, which is demonstrable in the above example (especially with the unsubtle allusion to rain masking tears.) At the same time, the journal entry was heavily crossed out, with only the above segment--roughly a quarter of the poem--legible enough to salvage.

This characteristic self-consciousness suggests that it is a Saavedra original, an attempted rhapsody to the emotional power of thunderstorms and rain. Here as in many places, the author expresses his intense longing to be purified and escape his reality, to be able to go far away 'from all this', preferably by means of rapturous flight. The meter appears to ape the work of Uriah Sev, a wandering bard with a moderate body of work, capable of blending a sardonic tone with a genuine human passion.
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Re: The Adventures of Confessions of Sivrian Saavedra (ongoing)

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Entry 15

There are some evenings in early summertime when a man can step outside, inhale the trees, look at the twinkling stars and be transported, for a few magic instants, to the past. He can walk down the street unburndened with guilt and regret from a thousand bad decisions, feeling like an adolescent reveler enroute to some great and mysterious party, where he'd lock eyes with a beautiful stranger and the first stage of a wondrous destiny would unfold.

Then he'll run into something and it'll all come crashing down, remind him that he is getting past middle age, his innocent revelry already took a thousand tolls and a thousand doors are forever closed to him. And that he never had a chance to begin with. And the people with the keys to the secret garden aren't content with their unreachable superiority, they just have to rub it in.

I was walking, having one of my rare good moods. Ruby dusk fell on the city, mild caressing breeze, the notion that things just might work out, all that romantic fucking bullshit. Right? So I slow down near the reserve, just minding my own business. Then I see the eyes.

I won't lie, she's not the most beautiful woman in the world. There are tons of women better looking but she has this unique combination of features and a slim figure and these great breasts and peridot eyes, both of which I could stare into for hours. Her looks aren't impossible, which inspires hope.

More importantly, her sweet, kind, smart disposition was a delight every time, which, at my age, is what matters. Neskessa Lelianthe Pallod. We had met twice when I was still at the Rumormill, as she was the aide of an important subject.

Our eyes met and she smiled in a warm yet mischievous way. I wavered in disbelief[17] for a moment when she extended one arm invitingly, so I came closer.

"Hello, stranger," she said through the inviting smile. Lilacs bloomed somewhere, the moons were out, et cetera, et cetera.

"Hello, Nes," I said, managing a smile of my own.

"Um... hi," she said, tilting her head as her strawberry braid fell over one shoulder.

"You know, I've been hoping to catch you outside work," I blithered on. "Because..."

"Excuse me?" Her smile wavered. Foreboding feeling but I pulled the reins back on my words much too late.

"...Found you fetching." I paused. "Is something..."

"I'm sorry, vorfon, do I..?" She took a step back, with a dubious expression. Everything turned to ash.

"This one being a bother?" I heard a male voice behind me. I turned around and beheld a specimen the likes of which... She glanced sheepishly his way and furrowed her brow at me. The true recipient of her greeting stared at me with masterful amusement.

"I don't know. I don't think so. Let's just go," she said.

The male of the species came to stand next to his date, protective like. The gates were closing in my face. So I did what any coward would.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I mistook you for someone else."

And I tucked my tail between my legs and scurried off. The thing is, I didn't mistake anyone for anyone. She knew who I was.

I was pursued the rest of the way home by every other similar dredged up memory, of which there are dozens but I'd rather slam my dick in a doorway than have to think about this any more for the evening. Menxned give me peace.

---

[17] Wavered in disbelief

Based on the study of Vfn. Saavedra's portraiture, he was never a classically handsome man. While there is no accounting for taste, the looks with which he was born did not flatter him. He had a nose longer and more beak-like than average, a weaker than average chin and jawline, average eye shape and color, a large forehead, a predisposition to prematurely thinning hair and a height slightly below average. His ashen-hued skin and mild scoliosis rounded out the ensemble.

At the time of writing, it is known that Vfn. Saavedra also carried a visible paunch while remaining skinny in the extremities. Given his advancing age at the time of writing, it is fair to assume that this too played a role as, according to his own accounts, he did not age gracefully. Even correcting for self-criticism, the author's physical self-assessment must be considered more reliable than some of the other content of this journal.
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Re: The Adventures of Confessions of Sivrian Saavedra (ongoing)

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Entry 16

I once interviewed an adventurer for a weekend feature.[18] One time, dungeon monsters chased him into a room with a single doorless entrance and he was forced to stand in front of it and keep them out by thrusting his spear. If his thrusts were too slow, the monsters tried to grab the spear and wrench it out of his hands. He kept this up until his arms were falling off with exhaustion and it nearly cost him his life.

I can think of no better analogy for trying to keep a swarm of shameful memories from invading my mind every hour of every day.

There are the classic ones that set the stage for what kind of life I'd have. Namely the time I asked to be excused to go to the outhouse and the teacher said no. Disobeying meant being beaten both by the educator and my parents, who paid a lot of money for me to attend. So, of course, I pissed myself, much to the delight of the other boys, who, from that day forward, made me their chew toy and never let me forget.[19]

Or that disastrous ball game between our two townships, which will need its own entry.[20]

Last night's episode with Neskessa summoned a swarm that was woman-themed. There was the obvious memory of both times my peers made me a laughingstock with some crude bait and switch techniques. I became inured after the second time and no one ever since managed to falsely convince me that they liked me, just to get a laugh at my false hope. Until last night.

And there were the ancillary memories.

'I think I found the clitoris!' I exclaimed triumphantly, my arm up to the elbow in poor Nimpet's birth-canal. She squinted at me and then asked the fatal 'Are you sure you've done this before?' Which led to that conversation. Which led to a lot of tail-tucking and apologies.

A disdainful 'that's it?' one of the first handful of times I did it with my ex wife, Sheila.

The times I tried to find relief in the hands of professionals and consistently failed to achieve a workable arousal. I even broke down in front of the last one, thankfully without tears. She made a few sympathetic noises, then told me to kindly stop bringing her down, at least I didn't have to sell my body for a living.

And so on and so on. Nimpet was my best chance at something even approaching real, a (let's face it!) homely girl by any standards, though sweet and wronged by nature. She let herself be deceived too easily by my writerly pretensions, hinting at her rather low self esteem. It was a mistake from day one. Her trail was lost after I moved to Drache but I heard she found someone in the end and was happy. [21]

Sheila was an attempt at being a normal, respectable citizen, who must have a spouse. I believe it was the same for her, thanks to her family's pressure to marry a literate, literary man. It worked about as well as you can expect. I've never felt such cordial loathing from another sentient being in my life. The divorce, an ugly-drawn out thing, even managed to taint the great relief we both felt. We never did learn who was the barren one.

And now it's too late and I will be childless. And companionless, for I spent the past decade barely going through the motions of life, and that's with a job. Now...

I heard that there are arcanists specializing in the magic of the mind. Perhaps I can reach out to them, if I ever manage to save enough money.

Oh Menxvan thou pluckest me out. [22]

---

[18] The featured adventurer, Romza of Verdigrain, was a moderately accomplished tomb raider with criminal records in several jurisdictions for removing national artifacts. He met his end in the plains of Thontaran while attempting to delve into the ancient megaliths of power there. See Rumormill Last Seed 468.

[19] The author is likely referring to The Blue Gymnasium, a male-only boarding school on the outer edges of Transdariania, attached to the Brannissod Township, then under the rule of Floxod Brannissod.

An inconvenient fire destroyed the student records, rendering it impossible to check his attendance rolls. Several former students recalled that pariah figures at the school tended to switch every few years and that there was usually one or two social punching bags. None of V. Saavedra's former classmates could be reached for comment.

[20] The Game, a loose marriage of Grubball and medieval-era warfare, played between Brannissod and Ker Lakra townships. While the complete rules are too torturous to describe here, the point was to get a large ball into the rival's goal zone. The two zones were separated by at least a mile of varied terrain. The event was held every several years, being played by almost all the residents of these two towns.

Winning elevated the prestige of the triumphant town, gaining them greater privileges from the reigning nobles, which also used the game as a contest of ego, with commoners being their pawns. Said pawns took this game very seriously.

Given his description, V. Saavedra is likely one of the incompetents who committed a mistake in his defense of his town's goal zone, contributing to a defeat. This would earn him a great deal of scorn and ostracism from his fellow townsfolk. It also may have convinced him that he was unathletic and unsuitable for winning the heart of a fair maid, given this entry's romantic focus.

[21] Nimpet Kanonth ul-Ker Lakra died of consumption not long after V. Saavedra moved to Drache.

[22] A common snippet of Menxvanic prayer used throughout the rural parts of the Transdarianian plain.
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Re: The Adventures of Confessions of Sivrian Saavedra (ongoing)

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Entry 19

I was hired on a trial basis! A small law firm specializing in mercantile disputes needed a transcriber and record keeper with a pay that's modest but very much acceptable. I start two days from now.

Perhaps things are looking up for me. Perhaps Menxvan dost plucketh me out!
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Re: The Adventures of Confessions of Sivrian Saavedra (ongoing)

Post by Pigasus »

Entry 20

First two days at work went well, if uneventfully. It's a bit of a trudge from my building but at least it'll provide decent exercise.

It's strange how much a comparably small human word affects. A simple yes or no, spoken by the right lips, can determine the fate of a man or a thousand men.

The new environment takes some getting used to, as I haven't had a job other than the Rumormill in well over a decade and a half. It's good for me. Quiet. Of all my meager talents, writing quickly and accurately is the foremost.

Well that's one weight off my shoulders. Now to sort out my teeming mind.
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