The scribe drummed his fingers on his desk, which he was lucky enough to have to himself. It was a nice desk, a lovely desk really, made of quartzite. In the typical style of his people, it had no legs. A salamander did not stand upright, so there was no need for space below the desk to tuck in the legs, and it didn't stand very high either. So, technically, it was more of a slab. But a very nice slab! Thoughts of furniture popped away in his head and the scribe pinched himself. He wouldn't have such a desk to himself for long if he neglected his training. He'd made it this far in his apprenticeship with a mix of discipline and panic, and now was no time to slow down. He sighed, picked up his crystal stylus, and set the copy-text on the desk in front of him. [center][b]The Hand Tongue[/b][/center] [i]In the fourth year of the reign of the Granite Emperor, Huēy Tlatoani Yaotl the Tunneller,[/i] ...'Tunneller'? The scribe lifted his pen for a moment. Normally the epithet would be something like 'Blood-Generous' or 'the Strong'. Maybe the document had been written before the modern rites of sacrifice- the events themselves had transpired rather early in his reign, after all. How old was this text? Or- maybe the copy-text had just been composed to mix up the words a little, for practice? Nevermind. [i]Now the name of this crone was Zoltic, and of all the village women in the realm of Chicomoztoc, she was said to be the most advanced in years. Her length was measured to be forty-nine cubits, and she had borne eleven healthy children. So cold was the ancient's blood that her voice was as low and slow as a tremor, and the light had gone out of her eyes, leaving her blind. Though she yet lived, she could not traverse even twice the length of her body over the course of a day, and soon it became apparent that she could no longer chew what little food she still ate.[/i] [i]There arose thus concern among the villagers over their elder, who would surely cease to move, and thereafter to breathe. Said some, she is our honoured ancient, and has lived a noble life among us, thus let us petition the Granite Emperor to bring her to the Great Flame, as did the exalted Tlanextic, blessed be his memory, and the explorer-hero Mixpetzoani, who discovered the Maze of Treasure.[/i] Oh. The text was probably fabricated, then, or at least... heavily embellished. The only serious inroads to the Labyrinth had been made in the scribe's own age. No one so far in the past had any real claim to its first explorer, bar maybe some unfortunate miners. But maybe the text [i]was[/i] old, and the great-grandfathers of Chicomoztoc remembered heroes who had since been forgotten. They had lived in the age of Tlanextic, after all, if only in his waning years. The young scribe smiled. His position was an honour and a privilege, but more than that, what [i]fun[/i] it was! To read anything he wanted, any way he wanted- what a mystery! [i]So the peasantry was divided into four groups, according to what each thought should be done with the bodies of their most ancient. So loud was the clamour that the realm of Chicomoztoc became unrestful, and even the Granite Emperor heard of the affair.[/i] [i]It was at that time that the realm of Chicomoztoc was visited once again by the Spirit of Nepetl. She appeared before the [i]huēyitequitiquētl[/i][/i] "Oh, come off it!" The scribe rubbed his forehead, looking back through the door to see if the master scribe had heard him. [i]Huēyitequitiquētl?[/i] Really? No one used that word. Was 'administrator' not fancy enough? This whole text must be some sort of joke. [i]as a beautiful maiden,[/i] Nevermind, this text was fine. [i]veiled and dressed in moonstones. She said to the[/i] The scribe grit his teeth and spelled it out one letter at a time, counting their palm-lines and knuckles. H- u- ē- y- i- [i]-tequitiquētl that she had come to resolve this quarrel, and bring honour to the elders of Chicomoztoc. Said the spirit, let Zoltic stand among the shrines of the gods, facing the whole village, and become as a shrine herself. Let her be a monument to the health and history of the family blessed with such an elder. She shall bear a bowl for offerings in her coils, and her spirit shall intercede between the living and the dead. For a statue is difficult to carve, heavy to move, and worn down by tremor and flood, and there is no carver in the whole of the realm who could produce a likeness of life such as her.[/i] [i]Said the[/i] "Administrator-!" [i]huēyitequitiquētl, how shall this be? For her body is stiff and tired, and she cannot stand long, not even on all of her legs. Her eyelids droop, her tail is hooked, her wrists bent by age.[/i] [i]Said the Spirit, let her stiffness not be a sign of brittleness, but of strength. I will teach her to breathe as the spirits and gods can breathe, to calm her heart, that her blood may flow as quietly and easily as the hottest stream. Meditation will release the pain of her muscles, that even the tallest stance will be as restful for her as being curled up in her own home. Remember that your lady Yoliyachicoztl is an ever-moving goddess, whose coils are never still, and you are sculpted by her hand. Fix your mind upon Her blessings as I show you, and your body will be limber, until it awakes no more.[/i] [i]So the shrouded maiden went in unto the crone Zoltic, and showed her the art of dying. The very next day, the elder stood tall in the garden of the shrines of Yoliyachicoztl and Tlanextic and the Heavenly Flame and the harvest, with her tail curled around a bowl of offerings at her side. Her arms were raised before her, and a smile was upon her face, and her blind eyes were open, and none knew the moment she passed away from this world, for her body was asleep in perfect peace.[/i] [i]Thus the elder's death brought lasting honour on the village of Zoltic, and her figure stands there to this day.[/i] [i]The Spirit of Nepetl travelled the realm, teaching the dying arts to the ancients of Chicomoztoc. Much veneration was given her, and talk of the shrines spanned the empire. Many delinquent youths of the realm even changed their ways for a while, hoping they might evade disease, accident, and execution long enough to become a towering monument.[/i] Much good that must have done. Maybe some kind of cautionary insert. [i]It came to pass that the shrouded maiden was invited to dine at the table of the Cihuacoatl himself, Yolyamanitzin, the brother of the Granite Emperor. They feasted together, and spoke, and the Spirit gave unto him the a gift of a wolfram spearpoint, and he gave to her an amulet of the most precious turquoise.[/i] [i]And the Cihuacoatl said, stay with us, and marry among our family, for your very presence is a blessing to us. But she was sworn to other duties. And the Cihuacoatl said, stay with us, then, until my brother the Huēy Tlatoani returns from his campaigns. But she could not stay. So the Cihuacoatl said, then let us call upon on hundred skilled stonecarvers, that we may devise a way to preserve your teaching in the picture-words of emperors.[/i] [i]And the Spirit of Nepetl answered, o Cihuacoatl, architect of the Granite Emperor, the power to preserve is already in your hands. Behold, what I have given you is not a spearhead but a stylus. Take before you a plate of soft tuff, and observe the raised hands of the monumental dead. For the name of each ancient is held in the shape of their hands, and the names of the ancients comprise many words. Thus in the shape of your hands may be the names of many other things, even words for which there is no image known to the carvers.[/i] The scribe stretched his fingers and set down the stylus, looking at his own weary hand. It didn't look much like a letter, but the curves and joints were all there. Turn the thumb, bend one finger, and that was a single sound, 'mo'- as in, Chicomoztoc. Almost the same sign on the other hand- 'ku'. Raise a mid-limb, turn the wrist, incline the fingers a little, put them together, and... well, that could spell a very rude word indeed. He laughed. He put his stylus away. Time for bed. [hr] [hider=Happy newt week!] We see an unnamed apprentice scribe salamander in Chicomoztoc practicing his letters on an old story of questionable veracity. A village elder, Zoltic, has grown to great age and size, and has lived so long and grown so cool that it looks like she might just petrify completely. The community is divided on what should happen to her body. Some suggest throwing her into the volcano, but that's a place for heroes to make a dramatic exit, not an old lady. Enter Ea Neb- uh, the Spirit of Nepetl. She teaches the old lady the 'art of dying', which is a form of physical meditation that allows the user to rest comfortably while holding a serene pose as their body eventually crystallises into hardened stone. The elders of Chicomoztoc can now petrify into shrine statues painlessly and with dignity. Of course, not everyone makes it this far- most salamander peasants probably die of a disease, sacrifice or injury before becoming a century-old living statue. After exchanging gifts with Yaotl's brother Yolyamanitzin, still a very prominent figure, she turns down a tacit marriage proposal and says it's time to go. Yolya asks for a way to record her teachings, and she says that the statues' hands are arranged in a phonetic system to spell out their own names, and tells him to go jot them down with a stylus and invent non-pictographic writing. The Chicomoztoc alphabet is thus a combination of logographs and syllables, a bit like hieroglyphs or Japanese. This should be less labour-intensive and quicker to teach. There's also a hint that some salamanders have at least discovered and possibly explored parts of the Labyrinth. Also, apparently 'mokuitl' might be a cuss word in Nahuatl. 8 Vigour start. +1 Vigour gained from Yesaris Week contribution. -1 Vigour spent on teaching the salamanders of Chicomoztoc the practice of death meditation. Demi-aspect action. -1 spent on inventing a phonetic alphabet for Chicomoztoc, helping them formalise their pictographic system into true writing. -1 demigod penalty. 6 Vigour remains. [/hider]