It's nice to see you catch up with the comments so swiftly! I can certainly write a little more about the Empire of the Dawn and Government of Bright Hope. I'm not quite sure where to take it, but for the moment I've given you another episode with an Assessor. Let me think of a plot and I'll plan to start next week. Unless something else appeals to you in the meantime!
The eye of the beholder The Assessor, whose power was granted by the Emperor of Dawn itself, -- there were rumours about the Emperor's gender, identity and even true-shape, but they remained only rumours -- tapped a pen against a clipboard on which was held two thin sheets of yellowing paper. Their corners were dog-eared and there was a faintly musty smell as though they'd been stored in a damp room for a long time. Fabian considered that the smell might be coming from the Assessor and then cleared his mind and starting thinking very hard about strawberries. Plump, red strawberries with a tight green calyx just pulled from the plant. It was rumoured -- the Empire of Dawn seemed filled with wonders and rumours -- that the Assessors were telepathic. "There is a beholder listed on the inventory," said the Assessor. Its voice was dry and rustly and sounded like leaves shifting against one another as small, unseen animals skulked beneath them. Fabian made himself think of strawberries again, mounded in a bowl and lightly sprinkled with sugar like the first frost of autumn. "Yet there is no beholder here. Can you explain?" The Assessor's voice creaked like an oak in a storm on the last word, which Fabian took to be emphasis. "The beholder rotted," he said, his voice shaking a little at first and then steadying. "About two hundred years ago, in fact. We -- well, I -- have been petitioning to have the inventory updated for the last twenty years." "Rotted?" The Assessor seemed perplexed. It was hard to tell as all Fabian could see was a long blue-green robe that fell from shoulders to floor like a cylinder. Two gloved hands poked out of the sleeves, which were attached perhaps a little higher up the robe than might be expected for a human, but it was always possible that the Assessor was elven vermin. Some of them had eight arms if they didn't have surgery to fit in better. The hood of the robe was pulled up at the moment and there was only cowled darkness where the face should be, but Fabian had seen the Assessor in the break-room before work started and then the hood had been back and there had been a normal looking, if anciently wrinkled and white-haired, head and face there. It could have been a mask of course, or even a metamorph, but... strawberries. Cream, freshly poured over them, dripping off brilliant red fruit and pooling on the floor of the bowl containing them.
"It was never preserved," said Fabian. He sighed and regretted it instantly. His eyes darted to the Assessor, but they weren't moving, so probably weren't upset. Too upset. "According to the records it was supposed to kept in a stasis cylinder instead, but they all failed during the War of the Turnips. I guess someone should have had it pickled -- I mean, preserved in formaldehyde -- then, but I can't find any work order or purchase order to match it. So it appears to have rotted away. I have documented all this and submitted it. Six times." The Assessor tapped the clipboard, then inverted the pen and made a little tick gesture. "I shall update the records," it said, and Fabian wondered if it had a mouthful of leaves to achieve that sound. No! Strawberries! Think of strawberries! "However, there is the matter of the eye of the beholder." "Which one?" asked Fabian cautiously. "They have several, you know. Well, you might not since you can't see one, because it rotted." "The central one," said the Assessor. "Which doesn't rot because of its strongly magical nature. And is rather valuable and listed separately on the inventory." "Ah," said Fabian trying hard to think of strawberries again. Instead all he could imagine was the interrogation cells of the Assessors. "That one."
3 comments:
It's nice to see you catch up with the comments so swiftly! I can certainly write a little more about the Empire of the Dawn and Government of Bright Hope. I'm not quite sure where to take it, but for the moment I've given you another episode with an Assessor. Let me think of a plot and I'll plan to start next week. Unless something else appeals to you in the meantime!
The eye of the beholder
The Assessor, whose power was granted by the Emperor of Dawn itself, -- there were rumours about the Emperor's gender, identity and even true-shape, but they remained only rumours -- tapped a pen against a clipboard on which was held two thin sheets of yellowing paper. Their corners were dog-eared and there was a faintly musty smell as though they'd been stored in a damp room for a long time. Fabian considered that the smell might be coming from the Assessor and then cleared his mind and starting thinking very hard about strawberries. Plump, red strawberries with a tight green calyx just pulled from the plant. It was rumoured -- the Empire of Dawn seemed filled with wonders and rumours -- that the Assessors were telepathic.
"There is a beholder listed on the inventory," said the Assessor. Its voice was dry and rustly and sounded like leaves shifting against one another as small, unseen animals skulked beneath them. Fabian made himself think of strawberries again, mounded in a bowl and lightly sprinkled with sugar like the first frost of autumn. "Yet there is no beholder here. Can you explain?" The Assessor's voice creaked like an oak in a storm on the last word, which Fabian took to be emphasis.
"The beholder rotted," he said, his voice shaking a little at first and then steadying. "About two hundred years ago, in fact. We -- well, I -- have been petitioning to have the inventory updated for the last twenty years."
"Rotted?" The Assessor seemed perplexed. It was hard to tell as all Fabian could see was a long blue-green robe that fell from shoulders to floor like a cylinder. Two gloved hands poked out of the sleeves, which were attached perhaps a little higher up the robe than might be expected for a human, but it was always possible that the Assessor was elven vermin. Some of them had eight arms if they didn't have surgery to fit in better. The hood of the robe was pulled up at the moment and there was only cowled darkness where the face should be, but Fabian had seen the Assessor in the break-room before work started and then the hood had been back and there had been a normal looking, if anciently wrinkled and white-haired, head and face there. It could have been a mask of course, or even a metamorph, but... strawberries. Cream, freshly poured over them, dripping off brilliant red fruit and pooling on the floor of the bowl containing them.
"It was never preserved," said Fabian. He sighed and regretted it instantly. His eyes darted to the Assessor, but they weren't moving, so probably weren't upset. Too upset. "According to the records it was supposed to kept in a stasis cylinder instead, but they all failed during the War of the Turnips. I guess someone should have had it pickled -- I mean, preserved in formaldehyde -- then, but I can't find any work order or purchase order to match it. So it appears to have rotted away. I have documented all this and submitted it. Six times."
The Assessor tapped the clipboard, then inverted the pen and made a little tick gesture. "I shall update the records," it said, and Fabian wondered if it had a mouthful of leaves to achieve that sound. No! Strawberries! Think of strawberries! "However, there is the matter of the eye of the beholder."
"Which one?" asked Fabian cautiously. "They have several, you know. Well, you might not since you can't see one, because it rotted."
"The central one," said the Assessor. "Which doesn't rot because of its strongly magical nature. And is rather valuable and listed separately on the inventory."
"Ah," said Fabian trying hard to think of strawberries again. Instead all he could imagine was the interrogation cells of the Assessors. "That one."
Greg - sounds good to me!
Hah, the repeated attempts to focus on strawberries, just in case, are delightful. Almost work to distract from the peril Fabian finds himself in.
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