Dear Mr Curly, I have done little travelling lately because I have been so dreadfully weary. Can it be true as the old Ecclesiastes said; that all things lead to weariness? Surely not. Perhaps the opposite is true: that all nothings lead to weariness. I have a peculiar feeling, Curly, that I am worn out from something I haven't yet done and the more I don't do it, the more exhausted I become. How strange. Could it be something I haven't realised? Perhaps it's something I haven't said? Something I haven't finished! It must be very large and true whatever it is and a lively struggle in the doing but I look forward to it immensely. I know I need it. First, however, I must curl up in my chair and sleep deeply with the duck. Perhaps I'll dream of this thing and wake up refreshed and do it. My fond wishes to you Mr. Curly, and to all Curly Flat. Yours sleepily, Vasco Pyjama xxx P.S. Not having breakfast can make you weary. That's for sure!
Gallus left the meeting in the direction of his tent. He gave a short, agreeing hum with Ri'vashi's sentiments regarding the plan, but he did not answer her questions immediately. He gave her a quick glance before looking ahead and answering. "I know I'll be keeping the pack together where they're in the fight, so I'll have Uthri and Peiter alongside me. Irenya approached me with the desire of being a healer on the field, so she'll be nearby as well. As for where we're placed...?" Gallus paused again and shrugged, "I've not had the liberty of choosing before. Wherever we're needed is where we should be, really. I imagine we'll not be joining Meesei's pack, as putting all the werewolves in one place is unlikely to be as useful as distributing us. Especially with the choke points at the keep. So...with you or Ra'jorr, probably."
Gallus gave Ri'vashi a sideways look and a smile. "Where do you think I should be?"
It took a moment for Fendros to respond with any words. He just shook his head and opened his palm as if it was easy to see. "I can't speak for her," Fendros said defensively, before extending an upturned hand in Irenya's direction. "What has she got to gain?" Fendros asked Ahnasha, "What is she going to do? Insult us again?"
Fendros felt rude for arguing about Irenya right in front of her as if she was not listening, but Ahnasha seemed to want to talk about it then and there.
Satisfied enough with the outcome, Gallus pushed off the table. "Hopefully we can get more insight as we approach." Gallus sniffed, "Let's just hope they don't have an escape tunnel we don't know about."
Gallus tried to shake off his apprehension about this plan, given what had been said about the enemy commander. He attempted to play it off with a smile. "Right, so, that's the strategy. Is there anything else to discuss?"
All Fendros was looking for was an apology from Irenya. She provided it in the end, but Fendros was surprised to hear how Ahnasha reacted.
A few tense seconds passed after Ahnasha finished before Fendros placed a hand on her shoulder. "Ahna," Fendros said quietly in an attempt to calm her down, "Irenya's just trying to apologise. It doesn't have to be anything more than that, okay? You remember the words I used for you and Meesei when I first joined the pack?"
Toun recalls the memory where he trips balls during phantasmagoria, comes up with a faceless dance waifu, and makes the world's first and greatest flash-mob with his slave hain.
The time it would take to bring Majus and Minus to confront Violence was something of a lull in Toun's schedule. He flexed his recently working fingers in front of him, trying to distract himself while idle. He hated being idle. It forced memories forward. As much as he preferred to block them out, they would burst up like gas from an underwater volcano and leave an unpleasant smell. One memory, in particular, was unpleasant, not because it held regret, but because Toun found it distracting. He would catch himself boiling through his memories to find it, for it was the one instance where the result was different. It was more recent than most memories, as well.
Toun's fingers stopped moving as the memory came forth again. He remembered the music first. All that was attached to that melody sent a looseness down his shoulders.
He was seated, seated on his wheel. Eye closed and deep in thought. The notes that wavered forth might have been the wind for all he noticed. The way that the zephyrs danced across the odd acoustics of his fortress tended to play tricks. It was not noticed either, the way that the winds seemed to repeat themselves, growing in volume as they approached. It was not a malign presence, merely stirring and weaving sensations here and there. It was music, he knew in retrospect, unlocking faculties that had been starved by silence.
The sensations had no meaning to Toun at first, but his distracted state had brought unwitting thoughts and unvetted orders to his servants. The slave hain opened their eyes and found themselves compelled to walk to the expansive, empty courtyard. Their scraps of independence had been marvelling at the sight that Toun did not see as the music wended its way through the fortress grounds.
The first change that had been apparent was the sky above Cornerstone. The heavens were painted in gradients of pink, blue, purple, and grey. The blank surfaces of Cornerstone's floor only reflected and amplified the colours in a pastel that caused the slave hain a strange sense of relaxation. Or perhaps it was Toun, still giving thoughts and orders.
Unconsciously, Toun's mind conceived an image to put to the sounds. It was a featureless dancer in a large, wispy white dress, leaping and floating in time with the wind. She was distant, but each leap and twirl of the music brought her a step closer. Toun did not open his eye, hypnotised by the movements.
The slave hain found themselves driven into a formation, but their bliss was interrupted by its foreign nature. This was not the rank and file that Toun often demanded. Unusual. Their stunted consciousness recognised a spiralling pattern. The image of the dancer found its way into their minds as well, confusing as it was.
For all the strangeness, Toun felt no confusion himself. The music had layered upon itself with winding streams and tones that made him tingle. The dancer was close now. Toun reached out for her hand. She spun away. When Toun stepped to follow, the dancer continued to dodge around him in step with the music.
The slave hain did not know what they were doing until the movement brought an excitement to their hearts. As one, they were moving with leaps and twirls. The spiralling formation had them jump through the gaps between each other's positions, nearly colliding, but never quite touching. It was so foreign. The movements were graceful but were doing nothing. Normally their orders were purely pragmatic. The only grace they experienced were kaolokinetic forms. The blatant waste of energy in this jumping around began to form an anticipation of punishment.
With his mind still lost in the movements of the dancer, Toun stepped after her, each time being out of reach and each time out of position. He did not understand. He was moving with the right trajectory to reach her. His steps could close any distance. Yet there she wasn't, every time. Toun tried adjusting his timing, trying to head her off before she could dodge away. She evaded him. What must I do? Toun nearly cried out to the dancer.
The dancing never seemed to stop for the slave hain. Toun was giving them the energy to go on. As time passed, the vigour of their dance shook out their previous worries until their expected punishment faded away. They gave way to primal emotions brought by the endless dance. They were grinning and chuckling to one another. Though their minds were servile and simple, this dodging and weaving and stepping and twirling and leaping and dodging and bobbing and thrashing and weaving and moving...it was so much fun!
The sheer joy and excitement around Toun were completely unknown to him through the distracting puzzle in his mind's eye. He moved as much as he could in every different way to reach the dancer. She continued to evade. In a rush of realisation, Toun stood still. He found his mind, not sending, but receiving. No messages of gods, no prayers of monsters. Just leaping, dodging, thrashing, weaving, laughter, fun. He was transfixed, utterly confounded by the power of the thoughts. And yet, he felt connected to them at a deeper level. He was unsure how to react but he saw something in the thoughts that would solve his little puzzle. It was not intuitive, not direct, not efficient or logical.
The slave hain converged as they continued to dance through the night. Their spiral formation was making its way to the centre, where Toun sat. They found their excitement increase as the formation contracted to make their near-misses closer with each pass. At this point, their simple minds were not insightful enough to ask why this was happening. They simply continued to dance in the daze of colour.
Toun's solution had begun to evade him just like the dancer. It was because he was thinking about it too much. That was why it was so counter-intuitive -- the less he thought, the closer he got. The dancer weaved by once more as if waiting for Toun to act. Toun quietened his calculations and his temper. Every other thought flowed out with an exhale from his non-existent mouth. And then, he reached and caught her hand.
The first thing Toun felt was a rush as the dancer pulled him into a whizzing spiral. He nad no control over where he moved, but he didn't mind. He was with the dancer, spiralling through his empty mind with no perceived end. That was all that mattered. All the joy and the excitement that he felt in his mind resonated in a feedback loop, casting itself out to all listening at twice the volume.
Out in the courtyard, Toun's servants were now hand-in-hand as they leapt and twirled and dodged and thrashed and weaved. Their minds were flooded with pure joy, now amplified with Toun's empathy. Toun sent it back and forth in rapturous waves with the music until they were all lost in it. They were all in touch with the happiness of one another in that moment, beyond the ken of any other mortals.
Toun's dance with this figment in his hands was beyond his own reasoning as well. Regardless, he revelled in this gap in his purpose for all the hours it lasted. They danced in Toun's mind as if they were never to separate. Never did they exchange words or expressions. But the music did fade. And with it, the joy did diminish.
Toun began to stir.
He opened his eye to greet the sun. It was yellow and harsh, nothing like the joy of his previous thoughts. He saw the slave hain gathered around him, holding the hands of one-another in an inefficient formation. Within the next moments, awareness of all that had happened caught up with Toun.
The slave hain had slowed to a stop. They all looked at Toun in the centre of their formation with uncertainty. One fell to one knee, letting go of his neighbours. Another collapsed completely. Exhaustion overtook them one at a time, even as they tried to remain standing for their master's instructions.
Toun looked slowly to his right as the hain fell to the floor with dull clinkings. Then, his head shakily panned to the left as he blinked and tried to gather his thoughts. More hain fell, some fainting, some simply trying to dull their aching limbs. Toun was speechless.
Once all of the hain had fallen, Toun blinked again and stood up from his wheel. Rather than rage and shout at this lapse in his duties, he was surprisingly calm. "We have become...distracted," he intoned with an unsure waver in his voice. He swept his right hand out and lifted the tiles around him to transport all the slave hain back to their shelters on the wall. "Rest. We continue tomorrow."
As conflicted as he was about his experience, it had left odd residue in Toun's thoughts. As he mildly recognised the end of the memory, he began to flex his fingers again, waiting for Majus and Minus to finish their journey. He hated the coincidence of the calligraphy used to create them happening after phantasmagoria. Those powerful symbols were not recalled by chance, in all truth. He also hated that he kept going back to that memory, as if there was something beyond Fate and beyond improving the world in that little, inconsequential dance. It served no purpose. He truly hated being idle.
Toun looked through the eyes of Majus to check their progress. Upon mental command, Majus' head turned from the rushing ocean below to Minus flying beside it. Minus looked back blankly with a certain sheet of billowing, wispy white fabric crackling furiously in the wind from her shoulders.
After a quick pause looking at Ri'vashi, Gallus stuck out his lower lip, glanced away, and turned his hand slightly. "A fair thought, to be sure. Could you propose that after this meeting, Miranor?" Gallus turned to the werevulture present, "I trust you'll be needing volunteers for your team in the first place. If more than you can use step forward, we might still make use of them if they think they can do it."
Gallus turned his head to the map and let out a breath through thin lips. "Right then. What does that leave?" Gallus recapped, gesturing to the map. "The saboteurs fly in and jam the gate open, give a signal, then the mist can come in-" Gallus swept his hand over the map, "-cover the area. We advance and surround the walls with ladder teams. A vanguard rushes the gates, werevultures run harassment. If they get the gate closed we bring a ram forward, but that would cause a lot of losses. We take the gatehouse, then the walls. We advance the rest into the walls and the courtyard, and then try to assault the keep." Gallus took a slow breath in. "The last thing I want to do is overcomplicate a plan, but this does not feel complete."
After it was made clear in her silence that Ahnasha was not convinced, Fendros spoke up once more. "Irenya," Fendros said severely, but not threateningly. Irenya's seniority appeared to no longer hold him back. "If you don't want to leave things how they were, you know what needs to be said."
"If you are confident with freezing it, I'll trust you," Gallus answered. "I'm sure we can strike a balance with the numbers in a group. Now, I can't advocate for werevultures colliding into each other in the sky if they are invisible, but would it perhaps be possible to have more than one invisible group strike at the walls while the sabotage is taking place? Aside from the distraction it could provide, if archers on the walls could be threatened down, the sabotaging party would be under less risk. It needn't be a full attack, just a skirmish while the gate is dealt with." Gallus looked to Miranor in particular, "You would know best how to organise the werevultures, what do you think?"
Fendros wished he was less embarrassed than he was about Ahnasha's honesty, but he should have expected nothing less. He tried to laugh it off softly. "That was a lot of unlikely circumstances bundled into one, but yes," Fendros said, "it turned into something more."
The dark flush that had crept onto Fendros' face faded and he seemed to only then realise that Irenya's reaction was far removed from what he expected. He angled his head curiously at Irenya at this. Perhaps it was time to get to the point. "You know, Irenya, I feel like we're dancing around something here." Fendros took a moment to try and find the right words, holding his breath uncomfortably. "When you spoke to me in the clanhome a while ago, it was almost hard to believe that you had changed as you said. The way you're acting now, even, it's...not what I expected." Fendros' brow curved to worry, "But you did say some hurtful things to myself and Ahnasha in the past, so...this is strange for us. Has anything developed since we last spoke?"
Gallus nodded. "We'll have to fall back on a ram if the sabotage fails, it would seem. I do not like our chances of just using ladders or relying on our beast forms."
After a moment of deliberation, Gallus spoke regarding Meesei's words. "As far as I can see it, the advantage gained from the mist will wear the cost of having less magic on the field for the fight. Using the mages directly will make them targets for archers that would otherwise not be able to see with the mist in place anyway."
"I wonder..." Gallus rubbed his chin, "If so much hangs on the sabotage, is there a way to improve our chances? How many werevultures can we make invisible? Is it possible to have a hit-and-run force elsewhere in the stronghold at the time? Is there any method for destroying the mechanism beyond just using strength to break it?" Gallus looked to everyone for ideas.
Fendros knew as well as Irenya did why the topic was uncomfortable for her, so he didn't mind changing the subject. He exchanged a glance with Ahnasha and smiled, wondering how much to reveal. Fendros had one word to give to Irenya when he turned to face her. "Necessity. At first, anyway." Fendros continued before it sounded like something it wasn't, even though he did not intend to include Rhazii's conception, "Meesei found me outside of Cheydinhal the day after I was turned. I was...resistant, but Ahnasha mentored me and helped me to embrace a different mindset. She taught me real archery, fine points. We ended up spending a lot of time together and we...grew very close."
Ahnasha may or may not have wanted to add to the story, but at least all of it was more or less truth.
A smile crept onto Gallus' face as Ri'vashi fused the previous ideas into something that would be very unlikely to expect. "I like it. Their archers' power will be diminished, as well as the mages slinging spells from the walls, they'll have no idea of our numbers, the infiltrators will have less distance to cover to get out safely, they'll be spread out, werevultures can harass the walls without exposing themselves overmuch..." Gallus stopped to breathe, clapped his hands, and laughed triumphantly. "This will be grand if we can execute it!" He then looked to Meesei, "I guess the question there would be how long it would take to set up a mist like that."
Gallus dipped his head to one side, slightly diminishing his mirth. "Of course, we ought to consider...contingency plans as well. For the sabotage and such. I am not sure if there is any way to improve that approach, or if there is a better way to get in."
Gallus did not look up from the map as Lorag rebutted his suggestion. He curled his lips, but only gave conceding nods. Lorag was blunt, but he was correct. Ri'vashi's idea, on the other hand, held more water. Gallus at first glanced to her sceptically, but as he breathed in to respond, he stopped and furrowed his brow. "Oh...that could work, actually," he said in a low, anticipating voice. "Yes..."
Gallus stepped back from the table and extended an arm. "If we position troops on the edge of the tree line with ladders, feinting with a token force using the terrain, the defenders may be redirected to repel them from the walls." He glanced to the others, "But what if the ladder teams simply...stand there? What is the commander to do? If he redirects to the gate, the ladders might advance and take the walls. If he doesn't, his forces are displaced." Gallus looked to Ri'vashi for confirmation, "Was that what you were thinking?" Gallus also gave Lorag a look to see if he thought it would work.
"Hm," Fendros stopped to try and remember something. "I remember seeing that village on signs and maps, but I'm not sure if we ever visited it. I think we've passed by it through the woods on our way between Bruma and the Imperial City, perhaps."
There was a pause where Fendros found one detail curious. Irenya seemed still very much a Dunmer in beliefs, with ties to ancestors and such. However, if she didn't know about what her mother was doing now..."Have you ever thought about trying to visit your mother?" Fendros asked.
Fendros mildly acknowledged how funny it was that Irenya had told much more about herself than he or Ahnasha had revealed to her. Still, at least Irenya seemed open and honest. Perhaps the conversation would turn around again.
[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HPjJCVylFBo[/youtube][/center]
[quote=Michael Leunig. The Curly Pyjama Letters.]
Dear Mr Curly,
I have done little travelling lately because I have been so dreadfully weary. Can it be true as the old Ecclesiastes said; that all things lead to weariness? Surely not. Perhaps the opposite is true: that all [u]nothings[/u] lead to weariness. I have a peculiar feeling, Curly, that [u]I[/u] am worn out from something I haven't yet done and the more I don't do it, the more exhausted I become. How strange. Could it be something I haven't realised? Perhaps it's something I haven't said? Something I haven't finished! It must be very large and true whatever it is and a lively struggle in the doing but I look forward to it immensely. I know I need it. First, however, I must curl up in my chair and sleep deeply with the duck. Perhaps I'll dream of this thing and wake up refreshed and do it. My fond wishes to you Mr. Curly, and to all Curly Flat.
Yours sleepily,
Vasco Pyjama
xxx
P.S. Not having breakfast can make you weary. That's for sure!
[/quote]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="bb-center"><iframe src="//youtube.com/embed/HPjJCVylFBo?theme=dark" frameborder="0" width="496" height="279" allowfullscreen></iframe></div><br><br><blockquote class="bb-quote">Dear Mr Curly,<br>I have done little travelling lately because I have been so dreadfully weary. Can it be true as the old Ecclesiastes said; that all things lead to weariness? Surely not. Perhaps the opposite is true: that all <span class="bb-u">nothings</span> lead to weariness. I have a peculiar feeling, Curly, that <span class="bb-u">I</span> am worn out from something I haven't yet done and the more I don't do it, the more exhausted I become. How strange. Could it be something I haven't realised? Perhaps it's something I haven't said? Something I haven't finished! It must be very large and true whatever it is and a lively struggle in the doing but I look forward to it immensely. I know I need it. First, however, I must curl up in my chair and sleep deeply with the duck. Perhaps I'll dream of this thing and wake up refreshed and do it. My fond wishes to you Mr. Curly, and to all Curly Flat.<br>Yours sleepily,<br>	Vasco Pyjama<br>	xxx<br>P.S. Not having breakfast can make you weary. That's for sure!<footer>Michael Leunig. The Curly Pyjama Letters.</footer></blockquote></div>
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