The Shackled Scribes

PROCESSED GOODS

As the gears turned and the belt rotated, the grim caravan of carcasses was moved along the line. Tialina Syntroniphus tried to catch her breath between corpses, as she struggled to keep up on the production line. She held her suction hose at the ready. The body of a Fern Louse, which was suspended by the neck, was thrust in front of her station, and then she sprang into action. She plunged the nozzle of the suction hose into the chest cavity of the Fern Louse. The serrated teeth bit into flesh and bone to reach the soft tissue below.

Tialina never quite could get used to the sight of the Fern Louse body being emptied of its contents by the hose, shriveling like some dried fruit as the hose stole the internal organs and muscle tissue in a matter of seconds. She cringed, but continued her duties. When there was nothing left but an empty bag of skin and bones, Tialina flipped the compressor power off. She withdrew the gore-covered nozzle from the carcass and had only seconds to wash the nozzle in the rinse basin and to check for any blockage in the hose, then, the process was repeated beyond count.

Tialina had never quite understood the popularity of Fern Lice meat, after all, it had no distinct taste. As far back as she could remember, that was all her Mating Pair had fed her from the time of her hatching from the Rune Egg. Tialina wondered if there was any other alternative to the consumption of Fern Lice for the Broxanians. The Olgoikhorkian Masters had always proclaimed that Fern Lice had been their species’ primary food source since before the Broxanians had been raised up from jungle fowl to their elevated status in the civilized world. She had read a forbidden scroll on Fern Louse behavior when she was younger. The white, furry creatures swung through the jungle ferns with perfect dexterity, and hung from their tails while sleeping. She had always been horrified that Broxanians consumed Fern Lice for food, but as she got older, Tialina was desensitized to such notions.

Tialina’s musings were interrupted by another Louse corpse presented in front of her for processing. She fumbled with the hose and it dropped to the platform surface.

Tialina! That will cost you a half vial of Ichor! You’re slowing down the production line. Get your act together! the foreman bellowed from across the production floor.

Yeah, yeah! I’m on it! Tialina cried back. She brushed some loose, white fur from her beak-snout, and then picked the suction hose up to resume her work. Soon, another Fern Louse carcass had been processed, and its hide and bones were conveyed down the line for use in the production of clothing, rugs, and adhesives.

Tialina lost herself in thought of her Rune Scribing ventures. It helped her escape the tediousness of the job, and staved off depression.

This rune configuration will be my ticket out of this dung hole, she vowed to herself, as the wet, slurping sound the suction hose gave off was interrupted by a sudden blockage in the hose.

For the love of the Firebird! The Louse ribs have blocked my hose again. That’s going to cost me a vial of Ichor, she fretted.

Tialina! What’s the hold up? the foreman yelled, as he lumbered over to her workstation. It was going to be a long shift in the Louse Processing Plant.

༅༅༅

Tialina caught a rickshaw pulled by a team of Ichor Imps, back to the Broxanian quarter of Futharkia, the only city Tialina had ever known. She watched the four scale-covered beasts sprint forward, flapping their stunted wings which were too small for flight. The Imps also carried a tank filled with Ichor that was fed to them via a hose connected to the facemasks each Imp wore. The Ichor Imps could not function without the steady supply of the eldritch fluid coursing through their veins.

All I can smell right now is Louse carcass, and that bloody foreman will be the death of me, Tialina complained to herself.

Hey, lady, what’s your coop number again? one of the Ichor Imps hissed.

Thirteen. There on the left, Tialina said, gesturing to the rickety coops stacked atop one another. The Ichor Imp mumbled something under its breath and then the team of imps pulled the rickshaw off to the curb. Tialina opened a vial of Ichor and poured its contents into a tank attached to the rickshaw frame and then got out. The Ichor was payment for services rendered. The Imps trotted off with the squeaky rickshaw in tow. Tialina hurried up the rusted, metal landing to reach the front door of her coop.

She looked toward a carved symbol situated on the surface of her door. The curious symbol had a structure composed of wedge-shaped and sharp end-caps that looked as if they could cut if touched. Tialina placed her taloned, four-digit hand against the runic symbol that had been embossed into the center of the door. The rune glowed with ethereal beauty, and then the door unlatched. She pushed the door open the rest of the way with a low, creaking noise.

Tialina put her hand to a second rune situated on the wall that shined brightly at her touch, which illuminated the interior of her one-room coop. Years of wear and tear had chiseled away vast swathes of varnish from the floor planks. Most of her furnishings were weathered and scarred as time took its toll. The one piece of furniture that had been kept in meticulous shape was the multiple-tiered, polished fernwood desk that featured gilded inlay of mud moth ivory. The top of the desk was covered with a pile of clay tablets and containers filled with odd tools of various lengths. Above the working surface of the desk was an oval mirror fixed in place with a frame, flanked by shelves.

Tialina gazed at her reflection in the mirror.  She traced the lines of the hardy flesh around her large, neon green eyes to the smooth, lacquer-like surface of her short beak-snout. The narrow, white feathers that ringed her face were well groomed and bright. Tialina wore the standard-issue collar for Broxanians, which featured the wearer’s runic name displayed on it. She looked down on her clay and collection of styluses, and soon she felt the urge to get to work.

I will work for as long as it takes to create a rune configuration of consequence, even if it costs me my job, she thought. Tialina threw her work uniform on the floor behind her chair and then she settled in at her desk. She fingered her collection of styluses and searched for just the right one. Even though Tialina owned a variety, she always seemed to want to use the same stylus. Tialina picked up the ebony and golden-tipped stylus, rolling it between her talons. Finally, she reached over for a clay tablet that was warm to the touch, and placed it on the desk in front of her. Cosmic Clay, thought to have descended from a comet to an ancient world that us Broxanians used to inhabit. At least that is what I had read in some banned scrolls. Tialina recounted to herself. Heat emanated from the clay tablet.

Tialina leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, while in her mind’s eye she visualized a complex rune configuration that seemed to be on fire. The rune illuminated the dark corners of her mind. Suddenly, her eyes sprang open and she was ready to begin scribing. She pushed the golden tip of the stylus into the malleable clay. With each careful push and pull, she rendered the first bar. She hunched down close toward the clay to gage the symmetry of her work. Tialina began to labor on an adjacent cross bar, shaving away fine pieces of clay and casting them into a small pile.

Hours passed as she toiled away, engrossed in her rune project. She had the perfect image in her head and she would not rest until she had transposed it perfectly into the clay.

༅༅༅

An entire solar and lunar rotation had passed before Tialina had finally finished her rune configuration. She felt like she had been on an Ichor bender due to lack of sleep. She wanted to shower but her she couldn’t summon the will to move from her chair. She nodded off several times, but then the realization that she had skipped the previous day’s work jarred her awake.

That job can squeeze a rune egg from its rear end! she thought. Tialina got up and stretched, then looked down upon the rune that she had scribed into the clay.

Did I actually make that? Tialina surprised herself at the intricacy of the rune. She had been in a trance-like state as she worked the night before.

Now is the time to check the quality of my work, Tialina outstretched her hand and held it over the rune configuration on the clay tablet. Almost immediately, it began to glow with a low intensity. Tialina was pleased that the activation process started well. But then, the tablet vibrated and rattled the tools resting on it. A faint hum could be heard throughout her coop that increased in volume, tone, and pitch as the seconds passed. The noise and the light became overwhelming and her whole coop quaked. Ornaments and scrolls plummeted from shelves, crashing to the floor. The entire neighborhood shook violently now.

The power being released from this room will destroy Futharkia City if I don’t shut it down! Tialina pulled herself upright but stumbled as she was rocked to and fro. She fell and crawled desperately to her desk while small bits of debris landed around her. Finally, she reached the clay tablet that the rune was carved into, held her hand up, and concentrated to extinguish the raw power that emanated from it. Nothing was happening and Tialina began to doubt that she could contain this rune, but then the light and shaking died down. Tialina felt a wave of relief wash over her as the intense quake subsided.

Tialina rose to her feet and stood over the rune on her desk, staring down at it in deep contemplation. She snapped out of her thoughts when she heard commotion outside. She rushed to her coop’s terrace through two battered, slatted metal doors. When she reached the rusted and corroded wrought iron guardrail, she took in the spectacle below. There were bewildered Broxanians scrambling about and shouting in terror and anger. Some inspected the exterior of their coops where potted plants had been overturned and windows shattered. Some of the Broxanians had been wounded by fallen debris, while others were just terrified by the quake.

Looks like I caused a little disturbance, Tialina chuckled to herself. She walked back into her coop and secured the metal doors. All the activity had drained her and she felt the need for sleep. She settled into the circular nest that she had constructed herself from organic fibers harvested from plants she grew on her balcony, whereas most Broxanians bought nests made from the fur of Fern Lice. When she was comfortable, sleep overtook her.

༅༅༅

Tialina’s peaceful slumber was violently interrupted when she heard the deafening crash. She shot upright and caught sight of the source of the disturbance. A red, glowing rune was affixed to the bulbous head of the mammoth figure. Its skin was yellowish-brown, and was pockmarked with impressions and the scraping of serrated tools. Except for the ambiguous shape of a humanoid, the body and head of the titan possessed no other distinguishing features.

The creature took one long, panning look at the interior of the coop. It seemed to search for something but she did not understand what. Then, the behemoth fixated on her desk.

It’s going for my rune! she thought. The monster lumbered slowly toward her desk. Tialina darted over to the desk and swiped the clay rune tablet just as the monster tried to snatch it, then she paced backward and bumped into the metal doors leading to the balcony. The red rune-faced giant drew near. Tialina unlatched the doors and spilled out onto the balcony, falling on her backside to keep the clay tablet safe. She shuffled backward and hit the guardrail. The creature reached down for her. Tialina could see more detail now, and she realized the figure was composed of the same cosmic clay as her tablet.

A Rune Golem! she thought. Tialina had read about the Olgoikhorkians commissioning famously skilled rune-scribes to produce these automatons, but she thought it was just Master propaganda. Just as the creature was about to grab her, she rolled out of the way. Tialina looked over the edge of the balcony, took one glance back at the Rune Golem, and then she jumped.

FRAGMENTS OF FORTUNE

The intense tremor had knocked framed pictures off the wall and rattled tools. He was thoroughly roused from his slumber. He shot upright too fast and a jolt was sent down his spine, a reminder of his age. Cyesko Limariar reached for his magnifying spectacles and placed them upon his beak, and then stumbled to his feet.

By Stymphalides! What is the meaning of this racket? My coop! Cyesko muttered as he took stock of the damage done to the interior. He paced about his single-room coop, distraught over the mess that he would have to clean up.

What could have caused such a quake? Cyesko asked aloud. He decided he would get ready to go about the business of the day. He pulled his nightshirt up over his head and looked at himself in the mirror on the wall. The years had not been kind to his white feather-covered frame. The muscles of his midsection were ill-defined, and he needed to walk with the help of a cane.

Cyesko hobbled to a dark wood armoire, and opened its doors. Inside, he gazed upon his wardrobe. The musty smell of the old garments reminded him that he needed to purchase new clothing, although his meager amount of Ichor on hand made this prospect a low priority. He pulled a roughly-spun, gray tunic that had been made from Fern Louse fur from the armoire and donned it. He tightened the drawstrings near the collar. Cyesko reached for a conical, short-brimmed hat that was emblazoned with his runic name in gold embossing on the front, placing