rix_scaedu | Entries tagged with erima

This follows on from “A Negotiation” which can be found on Dreamwidth, LiveJournal, and Patreon. The entire series of these stories is tagged ‘Erima’ but the complete set is only on LiveJournal here. This story comes out of kelkyag’s Dreamwidth prompt for “the next segment on an open multi-part piece” and it runs to 1,929 words. I hope that you enjoy it.

The visit to Chatham had gone well. Denfia Sarobrast had discussed new siege machines with the workshop supervisors and managers, while Erima had talked delivery schedules, space requirements and maintenance needs. Alvithis Mordvill had made notes about floor space and clearance requirements. When they were done, Erima and her little retinue of experts moved on to the stone quarries at Sudentenvale, travelling in the cart supplied and driven by Temus Porter.

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Crossposts: https://rix-scaedu.livejournal.com/327339.html

As part of my September Prompt request, which can be found here, here, or here, I have written this 802 word story with foot notes to Kunama's prompt of "Erima continuing to spring unexpected surprises on people." It follows on from Hiring Commences. Let's see if the foot notes work.....

“There’s no guarantee that I’ll be joining you in this undertaking of yours,” pointed out Denfia Sarobrast to the younger woman sitting opposite her. They were eating in a tavern in the town that backed the fortress of Treblesse, and the meal was boiled smoked hocks with boiled root vegetables and cabbage. Denfia was drinking hard beer and her companion was enjoying cider. “The commander isn’t happy that you’re making off with Harrandil Evan as it is. I’ve no doubt he’ll make it worth my while to stay.”

“I’m sure he’ll make an excellent counter offer,” agreed the younger woman, nodding her head with its drudge-short brown hair. “I was hoping though that I could beg a few days of your time to help me recruit the man I want to build the undertaking’s fortifications for me. I can’t speak to the details of our needs, but if I can bring people with me to demonstrate that I can get the right questions answered, then I’ve got a better chance of getting his help.”

“So, you don’t want to recruit me,” Denfia gestured with her fork at the younger woman.

“Oh, but I do.” Her dining companion smiled. “I need ballista teams and experienced people to run them. You’re the best fit around for what I need in a ballista captain, and so the commander and I are in competition over you.”

“Do you know that there are some very strange stories beginning to run around about you?” If Denfia’s greying hair wasn’t being held tight to her scalp in St Kwitchi’s braids[1], it would have swished as she turned her head to check who’d just walked into the tavern. “Is that Orratram Baanthazar?”

“Yes, it is. The man with him is my architect. They’re the other two members of my delegation to see the fortifications expert.”

“You’ve gotten Baanthazar to work for you?” Denfia’s interest was piqued. “How did you manage that?”

“I was persuasive, and I had references.” The younger woman smiled, then asked, “Do I need to provide you with references?”

“If Baanthazar is working for you, then that’s reference enough for me,” replied Denfia. “Doesn’t mean that I will work for you, though. The commander here might still make me a better offer.”

“He might,” agreed the younger woman with a smile. She turned her attention to the two men who were now standing by the table. “Get your business done, gentlemen?” They both nodded. “But have you eaten?”

“No,” admitted the man with a patch over one eye and the straggly beard. He turned to Denfia and asked, “Do you mind if I take the chair next to you, Captain Sarobrast?”

“I don’t mind, but you have the advantage of me. Should I know you?” Denfia looked at him critically, trying to place the face and voice.

“Denfia, this is Alvithis Mordvill, my architect.” The younger woman chuckled. “He keeps telling me that my expansion of his circle of acquaintance will be the ruination of him.”

“Lady Erima, you keep introducing me to respectable people,” shot back Mordvill. “You’re going to ruin my professional reputation!”

“You’ll have to introduce me to the people who think that, and then I can explain to them exactly what your choices were,” suggested Erima.

“Lady Erima,” said Denfia slowly. “How true are those rumours I mentioned earlier?”

Erima considered for a moment as she gestured to get the waitress’ attention, then replied, “The versions I’ve heard have been reasonably accurate.” Turning her attention to the waitress she said, “Two more plates of hocks and vegetables, please. Oh, and could we have a pitcher of hard beer with two more mugs, too?”

Denfia said flatly, “You really are a female Godson?”

“Well, yes. A goddaughter.” Erima smiled sunnily at her.

“And you want me to work for you?” Denfia wanted to grab onto something solid.

“If we can come to terms, yes,” agreed Erima. “Given that my cousin, Commander Lord Ourim, doesn’t know exactly what he’s counteroffering to, yet.”

“Indeed?” That was Baanthazar.

“Interesting,” was Mordvill’s contribution.

“I thought that on our way to see the fortifications man, we might stop at Chatham[2] and see how my siege engines are getting on.” Erima smiled at the older woman. “Are you interested?”

Denfia looked at her again, harder this time. “You’re getting your own siege engines built. New.”

“Well, yes.” Erima spread her hands and sort of shrugged. “Everyone who’s already got them, needs them. So, I had to get more built.”

“I would very much like,” said Denfia with great deliberation, “to take a side trip to Chatham.”

[1] These are cornrow or canerow braids. In this world they were popularised by the well-venerated martial saint, St Kwitchi, who wore the hairstyle.

[2] Pronounced Cha-tham, because I say Bathurst as Ba-thurst. 😊

This is now followed by Engaging With Family.

Crossposts: https://rix-scaedu.livejournal.com/307414.html

This follows on from "Putting Together A Project Team" and has been banging around in my head for a while. It comes in at 2,001 words.

The Belencoury brothers were arguing. Normally, Grancir ran the show and Del followed. Grancir was the elder of the two, the better archer, the more charismatic, the one the rest of the band followed, and the front man for when they were seeking work because potential employers liked him. Del got stuck with the paperwork; applying for licences and permits when they were needed, checking the terms of their contracts, and holding onto the money long enough for everyone else to get paid before Grancir went out and spent it. The argument was about money.

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Crossposts: https://rix-scaedu.livejournal.com/293982.html

This follows on from Putting Together A Project Team 1 and comes from kunama_wolf's prompt "More Erima please." It came in at 632 words.

Erima was sitting in a Bedraze tavern with Alvithis Mordvill. He was drinking hard beer while she had a mug of cider in front of her. The Fallen Foe was the sort of place that served greasy stew with bad bread if you wanted to eat and where drinking the alcohol was safer than drinking the water. Erima had looked hard at the first black fly that had ventured onto the tacky-feeling table top after they’d sat down and that had been the only fly they’d seen, while around them other patrons were constantly brushing the things away.

“Not what you’re used to, eh kid?” Mordvill the architect was trying to be unpleasant.

“Of course not,” Erima agreed. “They let me drink cider,” and she suited her actions to her words, “although I believe I could get these tabletops cleaner than they are right now. Of course, it all depends on how many hands they have and what else there is to do – there are only so many hours in the day after all.”

Abruptly Mordvill asked, “Why did you agree to come here, really?”

“You recommended a man to transport the supplies we need,” replied Erima. “My father had the same name in his list. I don’t see that I had much choice.”

“So while we’re waiting, what is it like having this voice in your head, telling you what to do?” Mordvill took a long mouthful from his mug.

Erima smiled. “It’s not like that, really. Hang on, isn’t that the one we’re here to meet coming in the door? In the striped vest and with silver buttons on his coat.”

“Aye,” agreed Mordvill, and he made a small gesture that the man in the doorway acknowledged. They watched as the new arrival bought a drink at the bar and made his way to their table. “Erima, this is Temus Porter. Temus, this is Erima whose father has commissioned me to design him a temple.”

“Congratulations,” offered Porter. “So what’s that got to do with me?”

“We need someone to transport construction materials and spoil for us,” Erima’s hands indicated paths crossing in opposite directions. “My father says he’s heard good things about you and Master Mordvill recommends you. It’s legal work for appropriate pay and probably good for your reputation-.”

“Sweetheart, it doesn’t sound like it pays enough for my tastes and I don’t need no help with my reputation.” Porter started downing his drink in preparation for leaving.

Erima replied quietly, “My Father said to tell you that Blackwater still thinks he counted wrong.”

Porter almost choked in mid swig, recovered, put his mug down on the table and took a long, hard look at Erima. “Skin and whiskers! Why don’t you glow in the light like those other Gods’ born?”

Erima smiled back at him over her mug before sipping and replying, “I get to meet much more interesting people this way?”

“Your old man,” Porter pointed a finger at her, “has me by the short and curlies, and he knows it. What am I moving for you?” He sighed.

“Stone. Lots of stone,” replied Mordvill. “We’re not sure what kind of stone yet, so we’re not sure of the destination or the distance either.”

“And I’m getting paid?” Porter sounded sceptical.

“I’m not sure how he got it,” admitted Erima, “but my Father does have coin, legal tender, that he has made available for me to pay people with.”

“Where do you think he got it from?” That came from Mordvill.

Erima drank a mouthful of cider and said, “If I had to hazard a guess, and it’s only a guess mind you, I’d have to say from playing cards with his brothers, my uncles.”

“Tears and glory,” said Porter, “I’m glad I’m not a theologian.”

This now has a partial sequel at Hiring Commences.

This follows on from Cheering News and was written to kelkyag's prompt "Where is Erima supposed to build a temple?" It's come in at 910 words and seems to contain a lot of geography.

The Yarn Wall defended the highlands from the demon-controlled lowlands, a vast bulwark blocking the broad pass that had once carried the commercial lifeblood of the continent. It was anchored at either end by the black stone fortresses of Treblesse and Fire Bright. The fortifications at Inyarn held the centre of the line where once an overnight stop on the highway had stood. The highway still ran north and south, to and from the wall, and was used by both the demon-controlled armies to the south and the unconquered humans to the north.

Fire Bright sat on the western end of the fortified line, snuggling up to Pollcar, the first of the mountains whose precipitous southern faces made the pass the only way north. The height of that ridge kept winged enemies at bay and out of the fertile Poll River Valley on the other side. After you passed the peaks of Pollcar and Mundberg going south, the valley’s western wall of mountains joined with its eastern one and the two ridges marched south together: Thunderhead and Meckeljoy; Stonedrop and Naerie; Stormsplitter and Stargrazer before the wall of mountains turned west toward the Massif; the Seven Sisters leading off into the chain of mountains with forgotten names that ended, finally, in the peaks of Stugert, Abrack and Limmermeet at the Massif’s edge.

On the lower southern slopes of Stormsplitter and Stargrazer there was a shelf. The demon hosts hadn’t made use of it as a staging area into the highlands because it was still more than 300 long feet up a sheer cliff above their territory. The humans knew about it because it was exactly the sort of place that stray sheep or goats would wind up, after passing through some of the most difficult country they could find. The terrain was complicated by a sheer-sided fissure that dropped all the way to the level of the lowlands and ate into the space above.

Erima reread the letter from Argenthan, General of the South, and smiled. “I must write back to your Commander,” she said to courier, “and thank him for his greetings. Is he always so enthusiastic about flanking positions and siege machines?”

The man smiled back faintly. “Not when they’re being used against him, my lady.” His stance may have wavered slightly.

“For hearth’s sake, where are my manners? Hang up your cloak over there and sit down.” Erima gestured from a row of wall-mounted hooks to a table with chairs drawn up to it. “Have you eaten since dawn?” When the man nodded she asked, “When?”

“At dawn, my lady. Nothing since. I was on my way here,” he pointed out.

“Then we need to get a solid meal into you,” said the First Born practically. “If you’re going back with my reply tomorrow, then it will have to be on a different horse.”

“As you say, my lady,” the man nodded in agreement, “but I thought to have your reply back to my lord General today.”

“I agree that would be ideal,” Erima replied, “but I’m expecting my father’s choice of architect this afternoon, and after I speak to him I may need to ask for the General’s help and advice. Overall we save time if you stay here until then.”

“As you say, my lady,” the man nodded again.

“So, we feed you then introduce you to a warm bath and a bed. You should feel much better in the morning.” Erima walked to the door and called for someone.

While they were waiting for that someone to come in reply to Erima’s summons, they began to hear the sounds of a disturbance. There was a lot of shouting, swearing in multiple voices, and then, “No! No! No! This is a temple! I don’t do temples! You said I had a client!” At that point a scrimmage of four men came into view at the doorway and the shouter was revealed to be a darkhaired man with a straggly beard that matched his hair and a black patch over one eye. He and his captors were wearing normal clothes for unarmoured men in the uplands: closed-in leather boots laced up to and around the ankles; soft, ankle length trousers of woollen cloth; a linen or woollen shirt under a vest and a coat; the vest sleeveless and made of wool, linen or silk to allow movement but provide extra warmth to the torso; and the coat of wool, summer weight at this season. The man with the eyepatch wore perceptibly duller, cheaper, and more worn versions than the other three.

“Alvithis Mordvill?” Erima’s voice was pleasantly light. “I’m sorry, but you’re here because you do ‘do temples’ as you put it. To be precise, you tell other people how to break into them. My father’s looking to build a temple and he wants to put your delightfully wriggly mind, his words I must point out, to work. Not that he has any treasure to protect,” she added.

The eye patched man stopped struggling, “If your old man has a job for me, kid, he can come and see me himself. I don’t deal with intermediaries.”

“You misunderstand,” Erima’s voice remained pleasant. “My father isn’t to be the temple’s patron; he will be the enthroned god. I am his First Born, this will be his first temple and he wants you to design it.” Her mouth twitched. “There may be some access issues to be resolved….”

This is now followed by Putting Together A Project Team 2.

Here is the first of the two background pieces - I took kelkyag's suggestions and rolled a dice. Please let me know if you have a preference for which I should wrte for the second background piece, or I'll roll the dice again .

The Lords of Hell have vowed to bring the mortal world under their physical dominion and the result is a slow burning apocalypse of war, fire and death.

They gained an initial foothold in the south of the planet’s continent at a place called Halendorf, now known as Hellmouth, then their forces overwhelmed and overran the kingdom in which Halendorf sat. Demonic generals and captains directed and drove lesser fiends across the landscape, adding human soldiers to their forces as they went. After a generation they produced a new abomination, the demonspawn. Sired by high ranking demons on human women, the powers they inherited from their fathers were coupled with a greater understanding of humans than those fiends were capable of possessing and they joined the ranks of Hell’s greatest generals and spies.

Faced with foes of mixed human and demonic blood, the embattled humans prayed to their gods for assistance. The answer to those prayers was the godssons, demigods born of mortal women. The gods would only act on receipt of a petition from the mother to be and so the Rite came into being, regulated by their priesthoods and with some variation for individual gods. Although it is treated as a solemn ritual, in fact the initial part is a supplicatory prayer and most of the rest is to satisfy the participants that the supplicant is human, and not a demon or demonspawn, and that the responder is, indeed, a god. Occasionally the god that the supplication is made to is not the god who responds, resulting in confusion and sometimes introducing the influence of a previously unworshipped god.

Needless to say, persons of unconfirmed bloodline who exhibit powers and abilities beyond the human norm are regarded with suspicion by the general population and authorities alike.

Erima was not the child her mother expected and turned out not to be what anyone thought she was. Stories in this fantasy setting are:

A Step Too Far;

Next; and

Cheering News;

Putting Together A Project Team 1;

Putting Together A Project Team 2; and

Hiring Commences.

There is also Background Piece: Erima's World.

I wote this to aldersprig's second prompt request, "The son of a god." This follows on, finally, from A Step Too Far and Next.

Argenthan, General of the South, was sitting at the map desk in his tent trying to work out what the enemy was planning. The enemy was equal parts vicious and desperate, being both demon led and driven. His opposition had the stated intention of bringing all the world under Hell’s dominion and generation by generation they seemed to be succeeding. When Argenthan had been young someone had described their situation as a slow burning apocalypse and, now he was older, it was a view he agreed with. Being a godsson, the child of a god and a mortal woman, he had a longer lifespan than those of pure mortal blood and he had seen the slow erosion of the demon-free world, not just heard about it as a backdrop story to this never-ending war.

His problem at the moment was to hold the Yarn Wall. It blocked the pass up from the lowlands, now completely demon controlled. If they could push the demons and their slave armies back, that would be even better but he didn’t have the men and none of the other Generals was in a position to lend him troops. If anything, he might have to lend one or more of them troops he could barely spare. What he needed, right now, was for his younger half-brother, Norvaz, to be here to lead a sortie against the enemy’s forward observation post but he was off at Father’s nearest temple dealing with a demon spawn. Argenthan wouldn’t have let him go if the temple wasn’t so near and, realistically if the Yarn Wall fell, the temple wasn’t their fall-back position.

The sound of someone arriving on horseback carried through his tent walls and then came the sound of Norvaz’ voice. He hoped the younger man would be able to ride out almost immediately but first he had to hear what had happened with the demon spawn. Norvaz didn’t keep him waiting and was still pulling off his gloves when he walked into the tent and bowed.

“Eldest brother.”

Argenthan took a good look at him and Norvaz was grinning broadly. “So, Norvaz, the thing with the demon spawn went well?”

“Not a demon spawn at all, my lord General.” Norvaz was almost laughing. “A First Born, and none of them knew until she walked on air to save their training master from certain death in the earthquake.”

“Will she be joining us here?” Argenthan cracked a smile himself. “Even if she’s not war trained, the abilities of a First Born…”

“I’m afraid not,” Norvaz told him, not particularly regretfully. “She’s under orders from her Father to build Him a temple,” he leaned over the map spread across the table and pointed with his index finger, “there.”

Argenthan felt his smile broadening across his face into a grin of his own, “Why, that’s…brilliant.”

This is now followed by Putting A Project Team Together 1.

This is a continuation of this story.

We were seen, of course. Firstly by a couple of people who’d been thrown on their backs by the earthquake then by anyone who looked at the falling tower. Should I have gotten back to solid masonry faster? Probably, but I’d never walked on air before.

Then they threw me in the cell the temple has just in case we ever actually have a demon spawn prisoner. A little experimentation convinced me that I could walk straight out, if I wished. For the time being, I didn’t wish. For one thing I had no desire to lay all my cards on the table at once – if things didn’t go well I’d like to have some unexpected tricks up my sleeve.

They also had the courtesy to tell me what they were planning, although they may have considered that a threat. Essentially, they were going to ask our divine patron who my father was. They acted as if I was putting them to tremendous expense and perhaps it would cost them more than they would have preferred in god debt and mana. That would explain why they hadn’t done it before but I did wonder why they didn’t try asking me. Did they think that I wouldn’t know or did they think that I might lie?

“Erima?” It was Tulie, another of the drudges. She was sweeping the floor and talking to me under cover of the action. All the drudges could do it. Some of the priests and warriors thought that we shouldn’t talk while we worked. Some of them occasionally needed reminding that we aren’t slaves. “They don’t know what to make of you. You’re not Our Master’s child but you saved someone. They don’t know whether you’re demon spawn who can be bound to service or something else. They’ve sent for someone who can tell with out having to consult Him. Thris had to leave the room while they were still talking so we don’t know who.” The priests and the warriors also tend to treat the drudges like furniture and talk straight over the top of us. Collectively, we know almost everything there is to know in the temple.

“Thank you.” I was as quiet as she had been and the guard watching her didn’t seem to notice anything. Mind you, most of them aren’t stupid and they probably know almost as much as we do.

I spent three nights in that cell. Most of the time I was alone. No-one came to see me on their own, apparently they were afraid I might be able control someone’s mind. Maybe I could, I’d never tried.

It was about lunchtime after the third night when I had a new visitor. New in that I’d never seen him before. Never seen anyone like him before.

I heard him first though. “I’d rather get this over with as quickly as possible,” came from the other side of the door in a voice I didn’t know. “I do have to get back to Inyarn as soon as possible.” A pause while another voice spoke, then, “I hope to be on the road again almost straight after lunch. We have to hold the Yarn Wall.” Then the door opened and he came in.

His teeth glinted and his eyes gleamed. He had a face and body that made maidens dream. Potentials wrapped him like a cloak. The sunlight gleamed on his hair and we were two floors underground and nowhere near a light shaft. This was what my mother had been trying to produce when she had me, a godsson. I stood.

He bowed. Deeply. Then turned to the senior priests and priestesses of our temple who were clustered as close to him as moths could come to a flame and asked in a mild, puzzled voice, “Why is she locked up?”

There was a buzz of responses. About half of them said “Demon spawn,” while the rest of them blended into a general ‘rhubarb’ noise. The Master of Novices’ voice cut through all of that with a knuckle-rapping, “Why shouldn’t she be?”

“She’s a First Born,” he bowed to me again, “Elder Cousin.” Then to them, “I don’t know whose she is but,” he rubbed his head in a problem confronting tell, “She does out rank me.”

This is a continuation of this story.

“Thank you.” I was as quiet as she had been and the guard watching her didn’t seem to notice anything. Mind you, most of them aren’t stupid and they probably know almost as much as we do.

It was about lunchtime after the third night when I had a new visitor. New in that I’d never seen him before. Never seen anyone like him before.

This is my response to Day 18 of http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/'s 30 Days of Flash Fiction, the list for which can be found at http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/221684.html?view=1245940#t1245940

My mother wanted a boy when she underwent the Rite. I understand why, a strapping holy warrior was just what we needed. We’ve always almost lost the war. She got me. When I was presented at the altar for Recognition the divine response was, “Cute little thing, but she’s not mine.” My mother would never join the upper echelons of the priesthood – the Rite’s a one shot wonder.

My mother didn’t remind me that I’d stymied her chances for promotion – often. Only once or thrice a season. She ensured I wasn’t picked for the priesthood, or anything that would’ve made me higher than a temple drudge. I wasn’t sure if she was being petty or if she was worried someone would decide I was demon spawn and that we‘d suffer the consequences of that.

I swept floors, polished armour, cleaned dishes, avoided warriors who wanted girls and was a general dogsbody. I slept in a corner of my mother’s quarters so I was right under her thumb and safe at night.

I told no-one about my dreams of Father or the things I could do.

The earthquake shook the Eastern Tower off the temple. I could see it falling before it moved, one of those things. The training master was up there and would fall to his death. We needed him. So, in the panicked confusion, I did another of those things and jumped to a roof then on and up until I reached the walkway leading to the tower. I grabbed Ersno, a hairsbreadth from safety, as the tower fell underneath him and hauled him to me.

I looked him in the eye and said, “That was close.” Looked him in the eye. He’s a forearm taller than me. I looked down. I was standing on air. “Oh, bugger.”

I told no-one about my dreams of Father or the things I could do.

I looked him in the eye and said, “That was close.” Looked him in the eye. He’s a forearm taller than me. I looked down. I was standing on air. “Oh, bugger.”