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C.N. Sebright

C.N. Sebright

@cnsebright.bsky.social

70 followers 40 following 180 posts

Award-losing author-- I swear it is somewhere in this mess-- of "The Man of Elansia" and "Gods Slay the Queen"

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C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · Sep 6

I'm happy to announce that my books are now available on Itch for anyone who would prefer not to buy from Amazon.

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C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 15h

Total power controlled by someone completely inept.

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The Temple of Drentz was a sight to behold, even to those who were not of his flock. There was a reason that it was considered one of the greatest marvels on Steorrata. It had the requisite high ceilings, beautiful arches, and glorious stained glass windows on the ceiling that really made it glow when the sun hit it just so. The architecture was not the finest draw of all the temples across the world, but it was still the most unique. The fact that it was the only point on the Isle of Arothe still above water, as it was the only thing Drentz had bothered to save, was the place where he had officially been deemed a deity.
The four elemental deities-- as well as the less talked about fifth one-- always existed in such a way, as did other deities that tried to pop up when the belief of their followers reached a fever pitch. Many cases did not last long due to either the deities themselves being jerks in actuality, and their believers suddenly not being so enthralled, or other deities being jerks and coming in with their believers and quashing it. In Drentz's case, he was more of an oddity that had not gained true power until the core of his faithful had drowned, but he had managed to save the temple from completely sinking. Not quite thinking that perhaps raising the island back to the surface would have been nice for all his followers, but no deity is completely infallible. In fact, most of them, stemming back to the very creation of Steorrata, have been deemed rather incredibly fallible. The mysticism and air of mystery surrounding the temple and the event that had saved nothing more than a worthless landmark were enough to keep the faith afloat.

C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 2d

Welcome to Wonderland, Alice. Enjoy your 2 to 5 in lock-up.

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“Please, be on your way or you will be beaten and summarily arrested as a co-conspirator,” the uniformed woman said, as if reciting a practiced verse from some child's play. She placed her hands on a rather crude-looking mace that had been hanging off her side. Eliza looked at this and naively thought nothing of it, as if the gesture was not meant for her, nor had any belligerent connotations.
“Co-conspirator? I'm just passing through on my way to Port Savant. You couldn't really want to arrest me,” she said, waving off the guard's statement as some joke. She laughed and gave her a bright smile. The guard gave her a blank look that said more about the woman's intentions than her superiors would have liked for her to. She would arrest her without due cause on something as flimsy as merely resisting the unjustified arrest in the first place. It wasn't as if Eliza could afford to fight the charge. Eliza, however, couldn't take a hint.
Eliza looked at the guard for a moment to parse some familiarity in which to address the guard. Just above the guard's heart sat a name tag made out to look like the seal of Port Savant, a gaudy iron osprey carrying a talon full of fish and a chest-- presumably full of coin-- in the other, and dead in the middle said: 'Hello, my name is Private Peggi Ruefer, I'm here to protect and serve.' Of course, in smaller letters, there was also the addendum 'private interests of the wealthy', but nobody cared to remember that part or carried around a magnifying glass powerful enough to see it. Had it not been for a group of nitpicking lawyers well-versed in Legalese trying to cover the liability of the city as a whole due to the rampant cases of minorities getting brutally beaten or killed, the city could have very well wound up sued into the ground, much like the ancient city of Legale before them.

C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 3d

I'm not sure why one would write a page about a call button, but someone did.

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The fact of the matter was that there had been no intention to design the call button in such a way. Eliza, as smart as she was, was not the only person to think through such a scenario and find the current setup lacking. The lack, however, was intentional, just not by design. It was at Varcc's insistence that this lack of feature was implemented for twofold reasons. Firstly, it was far cheaper not to have those self-explanatory and worthwhile features. Even at the builder’s insistence and assuring that it would only be a few copper more, Varcc would not be swayed, especially because it was a copper more for each floor that was currently residing in The COIN building and a few more for every future floor he would add. Secondly, Varcc hated having to pay the wizard that inevitably had to sit at the other end of said button, literally doing nothing but sitting on his posterior all day-- that job was reserved for CEOs, shareholders, landlords, and their ilk-- and Varcc wanted to annoy that specific person at any given juncture. Not a smart move to do to any wizard worth their salt, but Varcc only hired the cheapest, so had little to fear-- even though most wizards would balk at going up against one of the richest men in the world, even if one well placed Balled Fire, Icy Concave, or Unmake spell would be doing the world a favor.

C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 4d

200 years for a human is exceptional, for an elf it's like dying in your 20s.

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Oskar Tallmadge, for a human, was almost 200 years old, which would have been impressive if many of the people of Steorrata could easily live longer than that with minimal effort on their parts. Wizards were believed to live longer lives due to their control of magic. This, of course, was not the case. Wizards lived long, petulant lives mostly because they were increasingly stubborn and little else. They were obstinate in life and even more so when death was on the line. In the case of Oskar, he was literally playing games with Death to stave off his inevitable demise. This fact was lost on Goah and Nura, who cared little for 'foreign' affairs, even if Oskar Tallmadge was a rather prominent figure in the sister city-state Thirell.
“Is he the one who works for Valmort out at their farms?” Nura asked.
“No,” Goah replied, “That's Vaskar Valdevec, he's a distant cousin in the Valdevec family, supposedly. Just happened to study magic at some point.”
“Right, right,” Nura said.
“You both don't know about Meister Tallmadge?” Eliza asked.
“Why would we? He isn't from Port Savant, now is he?” Nura said.
“No, I suppose he isn't, but he's rather important in the field of wizardry,” Eliza said. She'd never actually met the man and had only heard stories. Still, even wizards from Otul and Elansia had heard of stories about Oskar Tallmadge and his ever-increasing stakes game of tag with Death.
“Not if he didn't live in Port Savant, he's not,” Nura said. Goah, for once, actually nodded in agreement.

C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 8d

Nim saw right through the scam, but she does have a mild case of coulrophobia.

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“Well,” Zelben said, scratching his cheek, trying to recall exactly what he was told when Assurance was so unkindly thrust upon him. “Exceptions in policy happen. Just the nature of the beast, they can not possibly know to cover everything if they do not know what everything is.”
“You might as well have paid protection money to petty vandals each month so they don't burn down your house,” Nim said, rolling her eyes.
“Nim, come now, there are vast differences between the two,” Zelben said.
“Oh, I have no doubt in my mind. The petty gang YOU pay doesn't use the money to eat, they sleep on the gold in big piles and prevent other people from eating,” Nim said.
“Nim, can we please not have this conversation again?”
“I'm sorry, but you didn't pay your monthly stipend to prevent this conversation-- and even if you had, you'd have to give me fifty gold as an exceptible cost before I'd even think about it,” Nim replied, practically wearing a suit entirely made out of snide.
Doctor Galesong rubbed his temples and gave the two visitors a forlorn look. Eliza smiled dumbly in return. She was having quite an amusing time learning, but not understanding, the ins and outs of the Assurance industry-- which was as much as one could hope for without being privy to the inner workings of the business. Even then, the industry rarely let people who knew the intricacies out alive-- usually they worked them to death, which was-- unsurprisingly-- not covered by their Mortality Assurance.
“I'm enjoying the conversation quite a bit,” Eliza said, looking at Zeippe. Zeippe shook her head and waved for Eliza to leave. “Oh-- well, thanks for your time.”

C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 9d

Last time, somewhere on Steorrata: bsky.app/profile/cnse...

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“Sect?” Alusius asked.
“Yes, sect,” Drentz said. “Why is this so difficult?”
“Not sex?”
“Well, I suppose if there is more than one, that would make it worse. You really shouldn't lust after things you don't have and just be content with what you need. A lot of people in Smarty Port I'd like to teach that lesson to, let me tell you.”
“So-- I've held this guilt over having an attraction to the Songstress for years because of-- a mistranslation?”
“Wait,” Drentz said. “Is this what this is about? You find her attractive?” Drentz gave the pictures a second look. “I don't see it.”
“In mortal terms, she would be considered conventionally attractive, yes, Lord Drentz,” Alusius said. “I myself just found her music rather good-- for a bard.”
“You've been beating yourself up for years over this?” Drentz asked. “What kind of monster would I be to have you lot stop all that? Quite honestly, it seems like the only thing you lot do that makes you happy, and even then I worry that maybe you like it a little too much.”
“But,” Lindwyn stammered out, still kneeling in the cold seawater, “every time someone mentioned anything rather risque on the ocean, it would rock and roil.”
“Yes, Woodwind,” Drentz said, “that's how oceans work. They push, pull, and move around. I have nothing to do with them most of the time. That's just what they do. They are rather self-sufficient in that regard.”
“But-- you're the god of the oceans and trade,” Lindwyn said.
Drentz shrugged as best he could. “I just make sure they are clean and that the denizens of the waters are taken care of. Sure, I CAN make them move, but I usually don't and really don't have to do anything of the sort.”
“You are really starting to make me question my faith in you,” Lindwyn said.
“No, I'm not. I'd know if I was,” Drentz replied. “So, Lindwyn, can I keep this?”

C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 11d

Camberlund was told how important science was to the future. He picked passion over money.

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Camberlund Delwint wasn't a very important person in the grand scheme of things, though one could easily argue that not a single person on Steorrata would qualify. Scholars and philosophers are rarely invited to important functions that certify such things; so they are best left ignored. Camberlund was something of a menial laborer at Port Savant's famous Titania's Botanical Gardens-- though when it came to Port Savant anyone that couldn't reasonably buy their own small island was considered to be 'menial'-- so in Camberlund's case, even though he had a degree in Planar Plantology, which, in effect, was naught more than a fancy botany degree spiced up in name, he was still merely working class. This was because, despite constant attempts to try and have the botanical garden earn gold, push back from the public-- as well as the threats that having vast amounts of vegetation posed by upsetting druids that were already none to thrilled to see flora and fauna caged, but were elated to see plants from around the multi-planes-- it rarely saw a silver because it was a government institution and not meant to generate wealth. This fact meant it was highly scrutinized by Goldists, who thought everything should earn some pittance of monetary compensation. Failure to do so, in the mind of Goldists, the universe over, was a crime of the highest order – though unprosecutable by law despite their best efforts.

C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 12d

Something needs to grease the gears of industry.

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She scoped out her surroundings again and found that doing so did not help The bizarre room had several paths that she could follow from the main room. Still, none of them were obviously marked, and Varcc could have been on any of the floors of the building-- and with how monumental The COIN was, Eliza could have been stuck there for years just looking for any semblance of the right room. So, she let out a reluctant sigh and decided to try the production floor for some hope of finding anyone who could lead her in the right direction.
The interior of The COIN Production Floor was yet another first for Eliza. With a day that had consisted of two unknown monsters, bizarrely curt citizens, and unexplainable architecture, the often lauded COIN work floor did not cease to amaze. It was very much a technological marvel, the likes of which Eliza had only dreamed of seeing in her lifetime. The enormous magichines that clanked and clattered as they worked were indeed a sight to behold. Many peoples the city over would state that it must be the forefront of tech wonderment across Steorrata. This, of course, is only because the average person is unfamiliar with the city of Rologe, as even those who are aware of its very existence consider the technological prowess of the city and its citizenry as more of an anomaly or Universal fluke than actual progress. Of course, the same people like to ignore the Larnian train system as well as most, if not all, of the Dracos Archipelago advancements. None would even dare mention the dwarf who had launched himself into the sky in a tower. If one even dared bring it up in conversation-- no matter the relevance-- they would have been laughed out of the room for bringing up a fantasy, despite it being very much fact. All of these many wonders would have done well to sate Eliza's growing curiosity-- and would have been leaps and bounds more enlightening-- but the gigantic gears grinding the lifeblood of Port Savant lie directly in front of her

C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 13d

The hardest working pustule this side of the Serul Sea.

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Goah had left Eliza standing in the middle of The COIN building's foyer and then promptly disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. The COIN building, while Goah had held it in some venerable state in his speech, held no love for it in his heart-- it was more akin to a festering pustule, but it pumped blood all the same. It was to Goah like a church was to a vampire. A loathsome and offensive affair, with just an off chance to sear their flesh if they were not fully prepared to enter. Goah could pretend to like hobs all he wanted, but it was evident that even though the current front runner of the game, he continually foisted on others as the only working system of economics-- despite all the data that existed around them-- was no friend of his. If you were oblivious to all the cracks and water damage and focused solely on the entrance hall that lay before Eliza, anyone would probably fall for the same shell game that continued to move and hide the failings behind the veneer of pretty objects and moving them so that when you did manage to peer behind the curtain, there was nothing.
The shell that placed itself in front of Eliza was a grand open room that welcomed all would-be newcomers to the splendor of The COIN. The far-too-vaulted ceilings were glorious, if not just a little architecturally unsound. They tilted and bent at angles that one would expect to see in an abstract painting of how a building might look if one had stumbled into a field of manacane on fire. The only reason it stayed upright was the excessive usage of magical bonds to hold the joints in place. It certainly added to the appeal, but, more importantly, the cost. As was tantamount to the foundations of the monetary system that built the very structure before her, it was the price tag that solidified the beauty. The opulence was equivalent to the magnificence of any given work of art, according to would-be Goldists.

C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 14d

In Lindwyn's defense, she is a witch and not some tawdry bard.

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The two stopped their conversation and looked to Lindwyn as he unfurled his scroll. On it was a beautiful rendition of the Songstress, performing one of her arias. It had been painstakingly drawn in the artistic style of Dracos and wondrous in its own right, but the true pièce de résistance was that the Songstress herself had signed the image. The picture was one of Lindwyn's prized possessions-- the other being a therapeutic pillow that had all but alleviated his back problems.
“Why, High Priest, I find this most surprising,” Alusius said, taking the scroll and giving it a closer glean. “I never would have taken you for a fan of M'fasola.”
Lindwyn cleared his throat and looked embarrassed for a moment. “I know that perhaps it is a little foolish of me to carry around such a thing and a tad on the blasphemous side. I am deeply ashamed of myself, Lord Drentz.” Lindwyn prostrated himself once more.
“For what?” Drentz asked, genuinely confused.
“For not following one of your core tenets, of course. I accept any punishment you wish to hand down. Flogging, hurling myself off the Cliffs of Calero, taking a long walk off a short pier-- whatever you deem necessary to repent for this sin.”
“Well, I don't think you need to do any of that,” Drentz said, “in fact, I'm not even sure what sin you're talking about.”
“The sin of lust, my lord,” Lindwyn said.
Drentz was quiet for a moment and looked over at Alusius. Alusius gave him a shrug.
“I don't remember saying anything of the sort,” Drentz said.
“But 'thou shalt not lust after the bits and baubles of the other sex' is verse 7 of chapter 2,” Lindwyn said. “And I broke it.”
“You stole this from another sect?” Drentz said, looking at the picture.

C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 16d

Hobs used to live there once; trapped with devils and demons as annoying neighbors.

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Fear among the mortal peoples is deemed as a rather quaint necessity by immortals-- not that immortals don't have fears, they prefer to pretend not to fear the unknown, and death has proven to be a rather practical emotion for the likes of humans that tend to be rather susceptible to both. While a very natural and healthy response to such nebulous phenomena, the lengths humans went to rationalize said fears caused far greater problems in the interim. However, with most things human, it caused more problems for others than it did for the ones who created it in the first place.
The fear of death and the unknown grew very strong among humans, and much like deities that were granted unwieldy powers due to the belief of their followers, fear worked far better. In an effort to redouble the belief of their followers, the clergy decided perhaps that they too could tap into the fear market. An assumption that, while technically correct, did not account for the dreadful place they were building in the minds of their followers, which only needed an ounce of magic to manifest itself into something terrible.
No name could really do justice to the place that came into fruition. The Underworld, the Deep Dark, Highwaters, Dibased, Altfolk, and The Fused Land were just a small sampling of the names given by the people who fear to travel there. The only people to have ever been there and returned were the hobs, and they do not speak highly of it; they did not want to make the journey in the first place, and would leave a middling review of it at best. A dark, dank, dingy dungeon of a place, as they would tell it, lacking in anything that one would call original and built on the back of the cultures that created it. The only thing worse than the plane itself was the creatures that inhabited it.

Reposted by C.N. Sebright

Rhianna Pratchett @rhi.bsky.social · 17d

Dad’s books are full of empathy, common sense, and a healthy suspicion of the powerful. But at its heart his work is also about how systems keep people poor while pretending it’s their own fault. So I hope Kemi’s taking notes as well as reading the jokes.

Paul Haine @paulhaine.bsky.social · 17d

Kemi Badenoch claiming Terry Pratchett as her favourite author is wild

C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 17d

It's a coin flip if a night of binge drinking and moldy cheese will give the best or worst ideas.

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Flik watched with consternation as a guard rushed at him and swung his weapon with all his might at Flik's head. There seemed to be no thought to subdue and arrest, only to pacify. It surprised Flik, though perhaps it should not have, as he was unfamiliar with COIN-branded 'stun' lances. Something that had been marketed as being the non-lethal weapon of the future-- though the idea for them had formed from a wizard’s nightmare after a night of binge drinking and a bit of moldy cheese. They were long rods with high-voltage electricity spells etched into the end, which, when touched to a subject, usually paralyzed the target, leaving them easy to subdue. They were described as ‘safe*’ with an asterisk so small one would have to know it was there to find it. In actuality, it sometimes ended poorly when struck near vital organs-- such as the brain, heart, lungs, or any part of exposed skin. When swung like a broom trying to clean the rafters, as most of the guards were attempting to do, it never ended well. None of the guards seemed to care about the damage they would cause, only the job being done. Though one guard found something to care about rather quickly, staring bewildered at the multi-colored elemental shield that had appeared when the guard had tried to brain Flik.
The guard looked at his lance questioningly and then, with the renewed gusto of the infallible narcissist, tried again. The same shield sparked to life before he could clock Flik in the head, a smattering of fire, water, earth, and air all lovingly crafted together that deflected such brazenly ghoulish attacks. Both Flik and the guard were at a loss as to what they should do. The guard, primarily because this did not seem to make sense, and Flik was now actually ‘resisting arrest’ despite just protecting himself. For Flik, well, attacking a corrupt system of oppression was nothing new; he just never really saw his city as one.

C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 18d

Eliza rolled a charisma check and got the big old critical miss.

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Eliza was a bit surprised at seeing Zeippe here. Zeippe was just as she had remembered her. Short cut ruby hair, long ears coming out of the side of her head like droopy elf ears that were fairly uncommon among hobs. Even Zeippe’s leather armor appeared to be the same that she had worn back then. The only thing that was different about her was that he eyes were not as bright, like they had been dulled somewhat. Eliza couldn’t make out if it was depression, a general malaise, or cataracts. Cataracts were certainly common among hobs, given their larger-than-average eyes and years of living underground, but in this case, Eliza was way off base.
“So, you are a tinkerer?” Varcc asked rhetorically. “The world could always use a few more tinkerers. A very valuable commodity if properly utilized. Lots of good ideas in there, I assume, just bursting at the seams, Miss…” Varcc pointed at his head and then realized he had never bothered to ask her name before trying to butter her up.
“Oh, Elizabeth Vattir, sir. It is a pleasure,” she said, making an effort to wipe her hands on her dirty overalls. She held out her hand and quickly closed the gap between herself and Varcc. The look on Varcc’s face spoke volumes more than any word he could have uttered would need. A mix of surprise and disgust that Eliza had only ever seen in Port Savant, and it was enough to stop her in her tracks. Though Zeippe’s frantic arm motions and general demeanor were a good indicator that perhaps she should stop. “Sorry, sir, didn’t take you for ‘one of those’”
“One of what?” Varcc said, curiosity tinging every syllable.
“Someone who dislikes a hearty handshake. Most people find it oddly comforting, I thought.”
“Well, I do not,” Varcc replied, bending his pen in mild agitation.

C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 19d

Humans would later use this war to justify decades of goblin harassment. Sadly, you know why.

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“She means to say that she’s hardly a girl, Gerund. Please keep up.”
“Oh,” the gnome rubbed his temples. “Apologies. That’s still rather young for a gnome, you understand. We don’t consider our children to be fully grown until they have a wrinkle or two.”
“That seems like a rather arbitrary way to determine adulthood,” Eliza responded. “And I’ve never met another gnome that justifies it in such a way.”
“I was being hyperbolic. We don’t actually determine it that way,” Gerund huffed.
“Oh-- sorry,” Eliza said, blushing.
“It isn’t any more arbitrary than stating a single age should do it. Sixteen, eighteen, eighty-five, two hundred and sixty, what's the difference?
“Oh, just hundreds of years, Gerund,” Rais said, chuckling.
“Look, if I don’t think children should be considered adults well into their first century, that’s my prerogative, okay?” Gerund said, pointing a wild finger in Rais’s direction.
“His daughter just started dating and he’s not taking it well,” Rais said.
“Oh,” Eliza said, nodding-- though she failed to see the problem.
Dating practices-- gnomish or otherwise-- were not in Eliza’s purview. She was familiar with a few of them, but every group of people had a myriad of cultural practices from the funeral rites to how and where one should store the flour-- for gnomes it was bottom shelf and to the right, for goblins, bottom shelf and to the left, which unfortunately led to the War of the Flours. No one died, but someone was bitten and lots of flour was lost. Up until that point, no one had thought of gnomes as all that contentious a people, but their love of baked goods overshadowed everything when their sweets were threatened.

C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 20d

Making fraud only viable for companies was easy for politicians; it let them dodge it, too.

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"People of Port Savant," Commander Duens said, cupping her hands to her mouth and shouting. Her voice would not have reached the entirety of the crowd had it not been for the magic she imbued into their voice, much the way Flik had done to get them all together in the first place. "Disperse and return to your areas of work. You are all committing the grievous crime of--" she had to look at the list of laws they had given her. "Stealing clocks? That can't be right. Who wrote this?"
"Nobody is committing any crime here. We are lawfully gathering into a group to put a stop to some evil that is brewing north of town," Flik said.
"Ah," Duens said, nodding, "an illegal witch hunt. Witches are a protected class in this country, so you are, in fact, doing something illegal."
The crowd was growing restless.
"Witches? Two of my sisters are witches."
"Yeah, so is my Auntie."
"My nana is too; I would have never come if this were about witches."
"This isn't about witches!" Flik said, trying to draw the crowd's attention back to the matter at hand. "The evil isn't witches; all I know is that some ancient evil is gaining strength north of town, and it has something to do with the ocean churning the way it is."
"An ancient evil? What proof do you have of that then?"
"Ah, well, just the word of Jealatesh herself, Queen of Laaktis, Mother of the Elements, I'll have you know."
"Oh, her word is it? We're just supposed to believe that you, of all people, know the Queen of Laaktis, and that you are even worthy of speaking for her in this capacity. Fraud is a serious crime; I'll have you know."
"Only fraud against Assurance groups and large companies, ma'am. Fraud against the working class is perfectly legal," said one of the privates who had been studying to jump up the ladder hopefully.
"Shut up," Duens said, "I'll bust you down to private."
"But I am a private," the private said.

C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 21d

Sleepy politicians blame sleepy dragons for sleepy policies.

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C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 22d

If you were stuck in the face of a deity, you'd be a little cranky, too.

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The two men pushed open the door to the large gathering area set for just such occasions. Inside the room, the two were surprised that the sea had managed to find its way here. Which, on brief inspection, made even easier by the colored light dancing in from the large stained-glass ceiling above them, was a pillar of water. A pool would not be surprising, given that water always finds a way to leak in, what with a temple in the middle of the ocean; a pillar of water was far more suspect. The fact that it was quickly moving the large benches and seating around was unusual to the non-ordained.
“Lord Drentz,” Lindwyn said, prostrating himself even in the water that was quickly trickling in from the entryway.
“Yes, yes, get up before you drown yourself,” Drentz said. When Drentz stood up to his full height, the pillar of water suddenly became a tower of water with a vaguely humanoid shape. Every bit of him was made up of pure salt water, save the portions that some unfortunate sea creature had been sucked up into during his travels through the ocean. In his abdomen, a shark bit impotently at a school of fish that swam in benign circles. The god of waters's head had a monstrous cephalopod that gave him the only semblance of a face that he would ever have. The deity knelt forward to get a better look at his guests.
“Oh, I know you. You're from the smarty port,” Drentz said. In a sudden motion, a single tentacle lashed forward from his face to within a mere arm's length from the High Priest's neck. Lindwyn's face paled as he looked on in horror at what he could have done to anger the god he had served his entire life. The threat to his life was neutralized as quickly as it came with little more than a snort reminiscent of a child sniffing up a latent tendril of mucus.
“Sorry about that. He's a bit cranky today,” Drentz said. “So, what brings you two here to bother me? I'm a little busy today.”
“Port Savant, my Lord,” Lindwyn said, still shaking.

C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 24d

The dreaded tijear from the far-off Dracos Archipelago is something between a tiger and a bear.

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“Who sealed this?" Camberlund asked the arcane energies that be as he struggled to open the lid. He switched hands to no avail and finally began using his shirt. He had not wanted to do so lest he accidentally smell like pickles the rest of the day, but in times of crisis, one usually has to test one's mettle. Finally, the jar ceased its stubborn persistence, and with a satisfying pop, the spell was complete.
The front of the crate clattered to the floor. The duo peered in the box with nothing short of bewilderment. Instead of any animal-- living or dead-- it appeared as a statue of a creature that neither of them had ever seen. It was a stout beast of a thing that took up nearly the entirety of the container. It stood upright on powerful tree trunks for appendages that could crush anyone who dared look at it the wrong way. The paw that was caught mid-stretch was massive and powerful enough to swat a person's very skull from off their neck as effortlessly as one took a grape from the bunch. Its face had been captured mid-roar, looking very much like a feline with an elongated snout. Wrapped around its round, roly-poly torso was a long, bushy tail. One didn't need a university education to tell that this beast was intelligent, but both Cumberland and Albaten could tell by the two eyes that stared back at them that it was not thrilled to see them in the least.
The eyes twitched.
The two men followed suit.
Stone fell from the orange and black striped tail, which rapidly began to wiggle to and fro.
Both men suddenly felt very parched.

C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 25d

The Bipartisanship - A boat equipped with two magic polearms that destroy anything in its wake.

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The governor finished signing the document with all of the grace and aplomb of a drunken baby bear that was suddenly extremely cognizant that he was not supposed to be anywhere near this place. The crowd clapped and suddenly startled the governor into realizing that he was supposed to be doing something of great import-- even though he had little recollection as to what that was-- nor was it actually all that great in the long term, as bipartisanship had seen to that. The governor looked up wide eyed and handed the quill to one of the main representatives that had been fundamental to getting the bill passed but only so far in the way that said representative had briefly stood in the way of the door it had needed to go through to get signed and had trimmed out anything rather substantial for the betterment of the people as a whole in doing so.

C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 26d

In Steorrata, all too often, the only good bard is a dead bard.

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Varcc’s office was far larger than Eliza had imagined it would be—or even could be—given how high they were up. It was a spacious room with lush carpets, ornate statuary of no particular theme—the rich man’s gambit—bookshelves filled with tomes that would turn a wizard green with envy. The irony of it all was that Varcc knew nothing about any of it—other than the exact monetary value of each item in the room at almost any given time of day. The carpet was made from the endangered Daythumese Vole, which, by being possessed, increased in value through the continued rage of the Daythumese people. The sculptures scattered throughout the room were all from artists of unknown recognition, whom Varcc had summarily killed to raise the prices. Even the books on his walls came from the most powerful wizards who owed Varcc some vast debt or from some bard just starting out who had hoped to make it big and never would. In the case of the books, Varcc didn’t need to kill the authors, as they were far more prone to drinking themselves to death at even the slightest hint of criticism or, ironically, lack thereof. Varcc could provide the latter tenfold to them, as he had never read a single word printed, scribbled, or inked in any of them. They were all just investments that he knew would pay off because he had the money to guarantee it.

C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 27d

In Steorrata, everything is an 'oddity' to some degree. 'Bardic agent' is just a nuisance.

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Eliza Vattir was a country girl, born and bred. She had lived in Medisool all her life, and her family had been there for generations, which made the moniker all the more prominent when one looked at her. They had all been farmers, carpenters, lumberjacks, miners, and almost every job that the countryside could want or need. Though one of her uncles had taken on the job of 'bardic agent' and was swiftly cast out of the family as being a job nobody needs or wants. They were all creatures of the earth, and none of them had ever really dreamed of changing that. Even Eliza loved her hometown, tucked away as a small reprieve from the big city states, smack dab in the middle of Thirell, Alabastion, Great Plains, and the once-great White Mountain. She had no real desire to leave Medisool, but she had grown up with an unhealthy fondness for the adventuring set.
Adventurers were an oddity. They were called that, mostly at their behest, and because people had a rather unhealthy relationship with the word mercenary. The Guild of Adventurers had bandied about the idea of calling themselves 'contractors', but the negative connotation of that naming convention bounced between overpriced gouger from the independent set to indentured servant amid the larger businesses, so it was quickly dropped. The name 'Adventurer' still had a unique quality that danced between real life and fairy tale, which worked out well for those who would deign to wear the moniker-- even if the jobs rarely met with such lofty aspirations. In most cases, the life of an adventurer was a trivial but rewarding one-- in the cosmic sense, not so much in the monetary sense that most would-be adventurers hoped.

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C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · Sep 6

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C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · 28d

The irony is that ifrits, or fire djinni, were put in those gems by wizards.

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Flik looked similar to how Eliza remembered him, even if it had been a few years. Elves and their half-kin maintained that veneer of youth well into their prime. He even wore the same top hat that he always had in hopes it would make him appear above his class. He had just been a poor orphan boy wanting nothing more than to lift himself out of the muck and mire and become a wizard of some renown. But, of course, wizardry requires learning; learning-- for reasons that scream of greed-- costs money. Money, for those not fundamentally familiar with the socioeconomic status of most orphans-- save the tomorrow-loving redheaded ones-- is something they very much lack in large quantities if they want or need to eat. Not everyone is born a magic savant and just happens to get a scholarship by impressing some wizardly stuffed shirts; some people have to indenture themselves to ifrits trapped in gems that pretend to teach them magic. Something that, while bizarre, does happen more often than one would expect.

C.N. Sebright @cnsebright.bsky.social · Sep 24

Make like a tree and get out of here.

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A little way off the beaten path was a group of Port Savant's finest encircling a group of rather plainly dressed individuals. Their manner of dress mainly consisted of various pieces of old, common cotton clothes that had been adorned with multiple bits of leaves and nothing that would dare use anything from an animal. Eliza recognized them instantly as druids-- mostly because only druids would honestly take such pride in that manner of representation. Though the manner of dress really varied depending on what sphere the druid themselves had been brought up in, as she had seen druids that argued among themselves on whether or not one could arguably use anything from an animal, or if it was violence. The very argument Eliza found a bit silly, as they were one of the few groups of people purported to be able to communicate with animals and plants. When she had asked this rather innocuous question to two druids who had been arguing about it at the guild one balmy afternoon, she had been promptly hushed and told that there were things that she would not understand. Which was true, she didn't, but that was why she had asked.