Merry Christmyth

I blame Cadhla‘s Fannish Advent. She has people suggest fandoms to her, and writes little fanfics for them for every day up till the Second Coming. I was going to suggest Mythbusters, but then I went and did it myself. I’m not going to keep this up, though. Go Seanan!

part 22: Be it ever so humble

Part 22: Be it ever so humble

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A small Gnome woman was sitting on the wall overlooking Stormwind Harbour. She’d watched the ship come in all the way from the West, make fast to the docks. The gangplank was laid down, and people ran off, summoned mounts and ran off to goodness knows where. Even the arrival of Doom made flesh, didn’t change that. There was still money to be made, tasks to be completed, cargo to move. War was not about swords. The country that could keep up producing steel, food, soldiers, was the country that won. She craned her neck to see better. Ah. Bird Chick came walking down the plank, followed by some Dwarf girl. The Lieutenant followed. A few soldiers, followed by… Interalia grinned. Oh good. Nails had managed not to get herself killed. She got down from the wall, and ran down the ramps to the waterside.

“Nails! Didn’t find any dragons to leap down the throat of, then?”

Nægling kneeled down, and held Interalia’s shoulders. “He flew off before I could volunteer. I see he has been here. It is good to see that you stayed away.”

“Are you kidding? I was in the park when he went off. I had to carry Nix to safety on my back, after the dragon blew off one of my legs.”

Nægling looked down, then back up into Interalia’s face.

“Well, I got better,” said Interalia.

---

The last chapter. Everybody is heading home, old, new. The calm before the storm. Everyone who is still here, thank you for reading. I have no more chapters, but more will follow. Follow Bannog or watch this space. I will see you again.

part 21: The Shattering

Part 21: The Shattering

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This is Deepholm. It is a place, deep beneath the surface of Azeroth, deep beneath the seas. It is the home of creatures made from stone, moving about with alien expressions on their unmoving faces. There are newcomers here. Soft, squelching creatures made of flesh, or grown from spores. The stone-mother is Queen Therazane, and she is troubled. A little way away from her Throne, there is an area of pain. A red, burning area where there is suffering in ways unimaginable to creatures made of stuff that neither burns nor bleeds. Rivers, seas of magma have flowed from one end of this place to the other while this creature suffered, growing in anger, growing in strength. And now, there are tremors. The force held back will not be held for much longer. Soon it will break free. Queen Therazane ponders slowly. None of her scouts have returned. Sending her stronger servants might be seen as a sign of aggression. Does she care? Maybe. Maybe not. It is always better to take care of problems when they are still small. Perhaps she has left it too late. She considers her children. Are they strong enough to contain the threat? Most likely. Not certainly.

Therazane ponders.

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In the penultimate chapter, I’m afraid we are going to hell in a handbasket. By now, everyone knows who lurks, deep below the sea, below Azeroth’s crust. But not much longer.

part 20: Shards

Part 20: Shards

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Cullan stood on the edge of the Warrior’s Terrace, looking down on the training grounds. Nægling was there, sword out, attacking the strongest of the training dummies. He tilted his head slightly. Something was different about her. Perhaps the difference was that she had no living enemies here. Or Undead ones. He walked down the ramp, to watch her more closely. Some of the sheer ferocity had gone out of her attacks. Also, she was annoyed with herself, that much he could see. She took a few steps back, and Cullan could see her take a better grip on her sword. She took a breath, and leapt at the training dummy again. The Beast within Cullan made him smile to see her strength. She noticed him, looked at him. The Beast wanted him to stick out his tongue and pant at her. Cullan firmly vetoed such an undignified and vulgar thing.

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Cullan seems to be taking quite a liking to Nægling.

part 19: Only a minor set-back

Part 19: Only a minor set-back

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They arrived at Saelienne’s, to find Selena there talking to Arador. Lirael, without a word, sat down on his lap and touched her nose to his, looking deep into his eyes.

“Hello, my sweet,” said Arador.

“I see you found Selena. Did you order already?”

“Soup of the day. Chicken salad, grated cheese, easy on the vinaigre,” said Arador.

“Hmm. Today, you live.”

Selena poked Hieronimo. We didn’t know what you wanted, but Arador says everything is good here. Got us both the scare goats for starters and steak and potatoes after. Can’t go wrong with steak and potatoes.

Hieronimo nodded. “Find cow. Kill it. Hold it over a candle for a bit. Give it to us.”

Saelienne walked up, and put some strange utensils in front of Hieronimo and Selena. A very, very small fork and something that looked more at home in a women’s physician’s practice than on a dinner table. Selena picked it up. It was a pair of tongs, but what in Azeroth was it for? She looked at Lirael.

“It’s for the escargots. You’ll see.”

---

Selena and Hieronimo are about to get in touch with Darnassian culture. Meanwhile, Nix and Interalia find some fun and interesting activities that they can do together.

part 18: Healing of body and soul

Part 18: Healing of body and soul

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The moon was shining brightly, when Aviana’s Wingbeat drew up to the piers of Rut’theran Village. Captain Andral signed himself in, and was shown where he could lie by for a while, until his orders came in. Arranging for his cargo to be re-loaded onto a ship bound for Stormwind took up most of the night. It would appear that the regular ferry between Auberdine and Stormwind would have the necessary space in the hold. Good. Admiralty orders took precedence over everything, of course, but Captain Andral had a reputation to consider. Goods had to be delivered. And then, there was the other thing to be arranged.

“I have dead bodies on board, Dockmaster. Casualties of a fight with the Bloodsail Buccaneers.”

“Elune save us. And you came out of that alive? Well done, Captain.”

The Captain grinned. “We had passengers on board. They didn’t appreciate their trip being disturbed. Could have got ugly otherwise.”

“Well, that’s the first time I hear that passengers are good for something. Usually, they just complain.”

Captain Andral shook his head. “The casualties are passengers, Elune light their path. I suppose they’ll have to be buried here. So I need one Human size coffin, one Dwarf.”

“Hmm. I heard a story once, where a Human admiral-at-sea died in a battle, and for some reason he had to be buried at home. And they were two months away.”

“That sounds like it could have gotten a bit smelly.”

“Well, they had a solution to that. They put him in a coffin, and filled it with brandywine.”

Captain Andral laughed. “Pickled admiral? By the Gods, why is it that all the stories I hear about the Human Navy include strong drink in one way or another?”

The Dockmaster grinned. “Oh, you haven’t heard the best yet. You know how the Human sailors like their drink? And here was the Old Man, bathing in it.”

Captain Andral stared wide-eyed at the Dock master. “Oh, please. Please don’t tell me. They didn’t!”

“With straws. By the time they pulled into port, the Admiral was dryer than a Tanaris Goblin.”

“Right,” said the captain. “I’m not having that on board my girl. So, coffins please.”

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Well, we’re back in port. Just in case you’re wondering, The story in the teaser above, I didn’t make up, neither did I rip it off some poor author’s story. It is based on the tale of Admiral Horatio Nelson, and told more or less as I’ve rendered it. Whether it really happened is debatable. Nelson was well respected, and if the sailors had really drunk the preserving liquid, the Admiral would have been somewhat… malodorous. It is likely that this story is the basis for the phrase “tapping the Admiral”, meaning drinking rum on the sly, and most likely not your own.

But anyway. We’ve arrived in Darnassus. Old friends to meet, we’ve got a wounded Night-elf in the galley. Lots to do!

part 17: Kill or be killed

Part 17: Kill or be killed

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Captain Andral Fairbreeze looked South with a grim look on his face. Far in the distance, he could see the tip of a mast, and the tops of red and black sails. Navigator Graycloud stood next to him, quiet, an angry look on his weathered face.

“Square rigger,” said Graycloud. “It’ll be on top of us in hours if we head North.”

“Let’s make a tack,” said the Captain. “Put as much distance between them and us as we can, then head South. Just till it gets dark. And then we try to slip by them in the night.”

Dorian Graycloud took a deep breath. “Aye, Cap’n. That’s what I was thinking. Can’t go south for too long, though. Water gets unhealthy there.”

“Orcs or pirates, pirates or Orcs.”

“What about Orc pirates?”

Andral Fairbreeze grinned at his navigator. “Would be consistent with the amount of luck we always have in these waters. Right. Take her through the wind.”

---

Uh-oh. Pirates. As sure to turn up as ants on a picnic. Well, if they think we’re going to take it lying down, they’ve got another thing coming.

Dear Commenters, again…

Gentle Readers,

This morning I logged in to find the following comment in my “pending” list, from a poster named “Orion”:

You sir, are a freaking genius. I have been a major fan of your writing, and always enjoy reading any new ones you put up. I honestly check your site every day to see if you have updated without prior warning. You are an amazing author, and I love reading your stories.

Well, how can I disagree with that? If it’s genuine, thank you very much, and I am currently working on another one where I pick up a few characters I stuck on the boat in this one.

The sad thing is that this is precisely the kind of thing that spammers use to get their posts approved. If it would include something like “Was that ‘The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner’ you were referring to?” or “Hang on, I know another guy with a beard and a bear named Ben. Grizzly Adams?” Then I’d know for certain that this was an actual commenter.

It is a sad situation that these days you have to prove that you are really human and not a spoambot, but unless I can tell that this is a real Human, I’m not adding these to the Chronicles.

part 16: Songs of sorrow

Part 16: Songs of sorrow

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She took the last arrow out of her quiver, when something stirred in the corner of her eye. She looked up, to see a huge sea-bird pass over the ship, then circle round and follow them. Almost before she knew, she’d fitted the arrow to the string, and raised the bow. Finally, something to eat besides ship’s biscuits and dried meat.

Someone’s hand hit her arm, and the arrow went flying, and disappeared below the surface of the ocean. Selena looked round, startled. She saw the look in Navigator Graycloud’s eyes, and shrunk on the spot.

“Are you mad? Don’t ever shoot at albatrosses! Never.”

Selena swallowed, surprised and startled by Graycloud’s anger.

“I’m sorry. Is it bad luck to shoot an albatross?”

“The worst of luck. I heard tell of a ship once, where some stupid bugger shot an albatross…” Graycloud touched his forehead, then his breast to ward off the bad luck. “And the wind failed. It failed for weeks on end, and everybody died of thirst, except the mariner who shot the bird. And just when he was ready to die, the ship moved, without wind, and all the dead sailors groaned, and stirred, and rose again, but they didn’t speak or move their eyes.”

“But…” A cold chill ran up Selena’s spine as she looked into Graycloud’s eyes. “But how?”

“Nobody knows,” said Graycloud. “So don’t shoot at albatrosses. Especially not this one.”

There was a noise behind Selena and she looked round to see the albatross standing on the deck behind her, folding its wings, then preening its feathers. It looked at Selena with one black beady eye.

“Why? What’s special about this one?”

There was a sound as a rushing of the wind, and blue lights whirled round the majestic bird. It grew, changed shape, raised itself to stand upright. Then he looked at Selena, waving a finger disapprovingly.

“It’s the Captain,” said Dorian Graycloud.

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Well, Gentle Readers, this week’s exciting episode has everything! Song and music, the illustration made by Lindsey Batdorf, and fulfilled promises.

The song sung by the Night-elves on board Aviana’s Wingbeat is George Brassens’ song “Les copains d’abord”, describing a group of ship-mates on board of a sailing ship. It was used as the theme to the movie if the same name. I’ve never seen it, so I don’t know whether the song was ironic or not. When you read it, it does seem a bit too good to be true.

The second song is a translation, by your humble Chronicler, of a traditional Dutch smartlap called Ketelbinkie. The cabin boy was from Rotterdam, not Westfall, and I’ve changed the telegram to a letter. Apart from that, it’s fairly accurate. The English have their sea shanties and sad folksongs, the Americans have the Blues, the Dutch have the smartlap.  Certain kinds of music are able to bring a quiet tear to the eye of the listener.  The true smartlap (literally grief-cloth, after the piece of cloth on which the lyrics were shown so the audience could participate), wrings every last bit of sentiment out of the miserable dregs of Life itself, leaving hardly any listener with dry eyes. For one reason or another.

part 15: Sailor’s hornpipe

Part 15: Sailor’s Hornpipe

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“But what is it that worries you? Is it the difference in size? I assure you, true beauty cannot be measured in hands, or inches.”

Berrin quietly nudged Freja with his elbow.

“That girl is not old enough for that kind o’thing. If he puts a finger on ‘er…”

Freja sighed. “Don’t worry. There’s never any danger of that. He’s all talk, but…”

“Bugger off!” Hieronimo glared at Kuryon.

“Ah,” said Freja. “There. All solved. It does help to have a frank talk, doesn’t it?”

“Aye it does,” said Berrin, satisfied.

Kuryon hung his head, turned towards Sandra Pike, who was sitting on his other side. He opened his mouth to say something.

“Any port in a storm, Sailor?” Pikeman Pike gave him a steady look with eyes made of steel. “Do feel free to tell me just how pretty I am. You’ve told everyone else. Is it my turn now?”

Kuryon sadly turned his eyes away. Freja chuckled.

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Able Seaman Kuryon Swellrider is working his magic on the passengers. Lesser Elves would have given up by now. So would more sensible ones. Oh dear…