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stillsostrangeDudes! I totally cheated my way to the top of an easy 5.11-! It's probably more of a 5.10, and it's on the slab, but still--it was hard enough. I also sent a slab 5.10 that is also definitely rated too high for its difficulty. But hey, I'm getting better with pinchy little holds.
The Bone Palace
Words today: 1340
Words total: 45,411
45411 / 100000 words. 45% done!
Tyop: n/a
Darling: Why yes! Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jmeadows and her fabulous links, I have written a whole scene of fabulous self-indulgence. I fear I may eventually have to cut or trim it, so I will post it here for posterity.
On the first Euterpis in Lamia, she spent the last two hours of the morning in a frigid lecture room that reeked of brine and squid. Several dozen squid lay on slabs of ice all around her, and one unlucky specimen on the dissecting table in front of her, next to several knives and bowls and vials. Glass and steel and pale flesh glistened and glittered under her witchlight.
"As I hope you've already learned in Lyceum, squid use their ink to confuse and escape predators. Scribes, cooks, and poisoners all have different uses for it. In spellcraft, the ink is a valuable component in charms of illusion, distraction, and obfuscation." Had she been in a happier mood, she might have dragged answers out of the students, amusing herself with their wide eyes and stammering. But today her head was still tender, and the stink and cold weren't helping.
"Squid ink can be purchased at any alchemist's, but you never know when you may need to harvest your own."
Her voice carried to the top of the narrow amphitheatre, over the rough susurrus of a hundred students breathing and the rasp and scrape of pens and charcoal against paper. Teaching wasn't the worst profession she could imagine; had any other mage but Kiril trained her, it might have been hers. Exorcists and ghost-whisperers were eight for an obol in Erisin, but true necromancers were rare and much coveted by the Arcanost. It might still become her profession, if she crippled herself doing something stupid. She kept her left hand--ungloved for fine control on the dissection knives--from twitching, but couldn't stop the wry twist of her mouth.
"The squid must be fresh," she said, lifting her forearm-length specimen carefully by the mantle and shaking it so the spotted flesh rippled. Tendrils of magic spread through the corpse, lending shape and animation where it would otherwise be limp and gelatinous. One tentacle twitched, groping cold and wet for her fingers, and someone in the upper tier hissed in revulsion; Isyllt didn't try to control that smile. "If the meat has turned pink or smells like a fishmonger's gutter, throw it out." Half the class leaned back in their seats, grimacing, while a few leaned forward. Some days her purpose was to mark those with strong stomachs and curiosities, but today she wasn't hunting baby spies.
"There are two places from which to extract ink--the main sac in the body, and smaller deposits behind the eyes. To reach the primary sac, pull the tentacles and head away from the body cavity--the intestines will come with them. You're looking for a narrow silvery bag." The squid came apart in her hands, easier for her than it would for the students. With the tip of a knife, she teased the brighter piece out of the gelid white guts and held it up.
Movement at the top of the room caught her eye. There were always stragglers slipping in late, and students from the University or Lyceum trying to sneak glimpses of sorcery--rarely finding it as exciting as they hoped--but this thin dark-clad skulker was familiar. Isyllt didn't comment as Dahlia eased the door shut and slipped into the shadows of the farthest row, or even give the girl a second glance. The school used runners, most of whom were children, but in theory any urchin shouldn't be able to walk in from the street.
"The ink can be mixed with any number of media, depending on your purpose. Linseed for writing or painting, vinegar for cooking, blood, wine, ashes, grease or oil for unguents, and so forth. For today's purposes, we can simply puncture the sac and squeeze it into a dish." Blue-black ink seeped under her fingernail as she did so, and the pungent ocean-smell of iodine cut through the air.
She had the attention of the whole class, but she still felt Dahlia's eyes on her, interest sharp as needles on her skin. Whatever reason has brought the girl here, curiosity held her now. Isyllt remembered being in the girl's place all too well, and found herself standing a little straighter and brightening her witchlight.
"Next, the ink behind the eyes. First squeeze the head to remove the beak. Perhaps I could find a volunteer?"
Deaths: several dozen squid
Mean things: Nope, I love her and gave her squid.
Quirks. Isyllt really likes teaching, and not just with squid. She also enjoys terrorizing underclassmen. Also, I learn that she's very focused during overseas assignments, but will exposit and expound all day at home. She may in fact be Isylltana Jones.
After writing that, I really want to try squid ink pasta. It looks so loathsome and delicious.
The Bone Palace
Words today: 1340
Words total: 45,411
Tyop: n/a
Darling: Why yes! Thanks to
jmeadows and her fabulous links, I have written a whole scene of fabulous self-indulgence. I fear I may eventually have to cut or trim it, so I will post it here for posterity. On the first Euterpis in Lamia, she spent the last two hours of the morning in a frigid lecture room that reeked of brine and squid. Several dozen squid lay on slabs of ice all around her, and one unlucky specimen on the dissecting table in front of her, next to several knives and bowls and vials. Glass and steel and pale flesh glistened and glittered under her witchlight.
"As I hope you've already learned in Lyceum, squid use their ink to confuse and escape predators. Scribes, cooks, and poisoners all have different uses for it. In spellcraft, the ink is a valuable component in charms of illusion, distraction, and obfuscation." Had she been in a happier mood, she might have dragged answers out of the students, amusing herself with their wide eyes and stammering. But today her head was still tender, and the stink and cold weren't helping.
"Squid ink can be purchased at any alchemist's, but you never know when you may need to harvest your own."
Her voice carried to the top of the narrow amphitheatre, over the rough susurrus of a hundred students breathing and the rasp and scrape of pens and charcoal against paper. Teaching wasn't the worst profession she could imagine; had any other mage but Kiril trained her, it might have been hers. Exorcists and ghost-whisperers were eight for an obol in Erisin, but true necromancers were rare and much coveted by the Arcanost. It might still become her profession, if she crippled herself doing something stupid. She kept her left hand--ungloved for fine control on the dissection knives--from twitching, but couldn't stop the wry twist of her mouth.
"The squid must be fresh," she said, lifting her forearm-length specimen carefully by the mantle and shaking it so the spotted flesh rippled. Tendrils of magic spread through the corpse, lending shape and animation where it would otherwise be limp and gelatinous. One tentacle twitched, groping cold and wet for her fingers, and someone in the upper tier hissed in revulsion; Isyllt didn't try to control that smile. "If the meat has turned pink or smells like a fishmonger's gutter, throw it out." Half the class leaned back in their seats, grimacing, while a few leaned forward. Some days her purpose was to mark those with strong stomachs and curiosities, but today she wasn't hunting baby spies.
"There are two places from which to extract ink--the main sac in the body, and smaller deposits behind the eyes. To reach the primary sac, pull the tentacles and head away from the body cavity--the intestines will come with them. You're looking for a narrow silvery bag." The squid came apart in her hands, easier for her than it would for the students. With the tip of a knife, she teased the brighter piece out of the gelid white guts and held it up.
Movement at the top of the room caught her eye. There were always stragglers slipping in late, and students from the University or Lyceum trying to sneak glimpses of sorcery--rarely finding it as exciting as they hoped--but this thin dark-clad skulker was familiar. Isyllt didn't comment as Dahlia eased the door shut and slipped into the shadows of the farthest row, or even give the girl a second glance. The school used runners, most of whom were children, but in theory any urchin shouldn't be able to walk in from the street.
"The ink can be mixed with any number of media, depending on your purpose. Linseed for writing or painting, vinegar for cooking, blood, wine, ashes, grease or oil for unguents, and so forth. For today's purposes, we can simply puncture the sac and squeeze it into a dish." Blue-black ink seeped under her fingernail as she did so, and the pungent ocean-smell of iodine cut through the air.
She had the attention of the whole class, but she still felt Dahlia's eyes on her, interest sharp as needles on her skin. Whatever reason has brought the girl here, curiosity held her now. Isyllt remembered being in the girl's place all too well, and found herself standing a little straighter and brightening her witchlight.
"Next, the ink behind the eyes. First squeeze the head to remove the beak. Perhaps I could find a volunteer?"
Deaths: several dozen squid
Mean things: Nope, I love her and gave her squid.
Quirks. Isyllt really likes teaching, and not just with squid. She also enjoys terrorizing underclassmen. Also, I learn that she's very focused during overseas assignments, but will exposit and expound all day at home. She may in fact be Isylltana Jones.
After writing that, I really want to try squid ink pasta. It looks so loathsome and delicious.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-07-09 11:38 am (UTC)Makes me want squid ink paella. Mmmmmm, paella.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-09 03:34 pm (UTC)::cracks up laughing::
no subject
Date: 2009-07-09 03:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-10 12:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-10 02:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-10 03:20 pm (UTC)