I am just drained when I get home after midnight. I’m not even that tired; the brain-juice is gone. I’ve been trying evening snacks at work, fruit and protein mostly. There’s gotta be something to give me some go that won’t keep me awake too long.
Date Night: Why I’m Single
Me: My favorite form of punctuation is the interrobang.
Her: What‽
Spotify
Love the music selection, hate the app
DnD Weapon Proficiency
Thrown Dog
Some Market Notes
I don’t think most people are actually trying to fight the Fed. Don’t get me wrong; some are. But most people seem to be betting the Fed is going to win, just much earlier than the Fed thinks they’re going to win.
If the Fed does get inflation under control, 10/30 year fixed Treasuries have a decent yield. 30yr TIPS are just shy of 1.5%, 30yr Treasuries are just over 3.6%, so with a little fudge they’re predicting a long term inflation rate of 2%. That’s the Fed target.
The long contrarian play is buy TIPS, betting on inflation. The short contrarian play is short 10/30yrs. The Fed play is probably TIPS or tangibles.
Twilight in Heaven: Chapter 2
Chapter 2
I stood on Koru’s balcony. Eight of us, the King of Rats, his daughter Seraphine, wife Astras, facilitator Hoarfast, wife’s counselor Dr Simmons, worthless-imbecile-chasing-Seraphine Mithrak, worthless-imbecile’s-friend Cole, security consultant Agammae, and emissary Kog, me, had just watched our attempt on the life of Mallens, King of the Gods and Lord of Creation, fail. Jermaine, Koru’s son, must now be dead. No one spoke yet. The roar of the river Alph as it fell off Mt Monac and plunged underground provided pleasant background noise.
All of Meru would have been so much better if Mallens had died. I’d long since left prayer behind, given up my wishes, and taken action to make things better. I’d done everything for them. I had found out who could be bribed and bribed them. I’d figured out how Death’s scepter could be stolen and stolen it. I had found heretical blacksmiths who would make replicas of All Things Ending and had titan-killing weapons made. I had done everything to make things better.
I had even volunteered to go with Jermaine. I offered. I had been the first to step up when he’d asked among our group. Sickness and death on anyone who said I sat out because I was a coward. Even when Jermaine refused, I hadn’t gotten angry, and I’d put aside my resentments for the greater good. While the angels prepared their killing party, I’d been in the streets, learning where Mallens would go, how he went there, who came with, and how we could use it. I had done everything for them!
And we had failed, and the world would fall to darkness.
If I had been there, we would have made it.
Something made a scrape and clatter.
Koru kicked his couch back. Seraphine looked startled to see herself casually pushed aside. “Everyone stay still. We need to decide what we’re going to do before anyone goes anywhere or says anything.”
Koru possessed age and power out of proportion with his standing as a lesser god. King of Rats was such a minor title, other pantheons might not claim it. Yet a lesser god had this mansion of Shang Du. In this house they did not even put out plates for manna but feasted on honeydew. Normally a hundred servants filled the polished halls, but he’d sent them away for First Light. We had miles of corridors and rooms to ourselves.
His eyes were dull red, his nose was long and too big, and his mustache looked like whiskers. I think he greased it. All of his proportions were wrong. His arms were as long as his legs, being tall and thin drew attention to the slouch of his spine, and normally, like now, he wore furs to cover up his strange form. I don’t know how he and Seraphine were related.
“What do you want to discuss?” asked Hoarfast. “Our mutual endeavor has come to a definite end.”
“It has,” agreed Koru, “but we are now bound by a mutual secret. No one leaves this house. No one talks to anyone outside this house. We need to decide exactly what we are going to do.”
“I still don’t see what we have to talk about,” said Hoarfast. “We share a secret. We keep it.”
“The concern is someone running to Mallens and telling all, hoping for a reward,” said Mithrak. “Or at least mercy.”
“Mallens isn’t the sort to grant rewards or mercy,” said Agammae.
“Which is an excellent point,” Koru said to her. “Someone might panic and forget that.”
“Then again, we have nothing to talk about.” Hoarfast squeezed his knuckles. He didn’t crack them; he only pressed each fist within the other huge, calloused hand.
Hoarfast was the biggest of all of us and, quite frighteningly, the quickest. He was an old man in a career full of treachery: the arrangement and facilitation of killings. But he dreamed little dreams: money, fine houses, expensive clothes, and fast cars. He didn’t desire Seraphine, the most beautiful of women, but rather wanted women to come and go through his life, themselves impressed by his money, houses, and things.
I don’t know how Koru came to know him. They certainly didn’t move in the same circles. Mallens’s third sister Androche was made of iron and had born one hundred children of alloys. One, Kobold, was a fine steel with a pattern like snowflakes on his skin, and he had sired a line of Celestials in the climes of Theony, a northern range of mountains where the ice lies deep and hard enough to be smelted as metal. Hoarfast carried Kobold’s blood. He had a coarse black beard like iron filings stuck to a lodestone, gray eyes, and dark hair. He wore gray suits, bespoke shoes, and steel pins in his collar to clasp his tie. I’ve never seen him carry a gun, but I’d never seen him use his fists either. I’d made sure he’d never mean me harm.
“I am concerned someone might not keep their secrets well enough,” said Koru.
Hoarfast looked up at him through his coarse eyebrows. “Then either you take our mere promises or start killing people, King of Rats.”
King of Rats met the lesser Celestial’s eyes. Even as a lesser god, Koru stood high above Hoarfast’s station, but Hoarfast killed gods for a living.
“Let’s not go there,” said Astras, breaking her own silence. “Once that starts, it does not end. Besides, I have a better idea.”
When no one reacted, she pressed.
“Look at me. I can help you both.”
After a longer pause Hoarfast said, “Lady of the House,” like she wanted to pull his teeth. He turned and nodded.
Koru let Hoarfast look away first before turning to Astras as well.
She had sat back down but didn’t recline. The chairs would have made it uncomfortable anyway. “No one knows we had anything to do with it. All of the agents died. They are martyrs for a better world, and we will get them their better world. We have time. But we won’t if we turn on each other.”
Everyone considered this. I scowled.
“You mean to try again?” asked Hoarfast, raising one coarse eyebrow.
“Of course,” said Koru. Hoarfast may have been answering Astras, but the King of Rats answered. “Mallens killed my son.”
“Of course,” said Astras. She smiled. “Remember, no one outside Shang Du knows any of us had anything to do with it.”
She looked magnificent. On credentials alone, I understood why Koru chose her. The Sylph of the River Alph had given up her domain to marry Koru and now wore a deep-cut dress with high slits on either side. She’d crossed her legs, trapping the narrow front-panel of fabric between her thighs and exposing her long, naked leg to the seat of the couch. She wasn’t wearing underwear.
“Except for one,” said Astras, pointing at me. “Him.”
I had done everything for them.
RPG-FH
Online learning of role playing games does not work. The people who don’t already know the mechanics don’t learn.
Reading
I need some new books.
Karesh Ni: Ch1
Chapter 1
Alyssa and Satre argued about whether to give me a job, and I didn’t know who I wanted to win. The job sounded terrible. Even if Alyssa won, I should decline. The problem was she knew this. When I’d mentioned I didn’t need their money, she counter-offered with, “What if we gave you a lot?”
And looking for a diplomatic way to say no, I asked, “How much is a lot?”
One of those things that weirds me out but I can’t explain to anyone is that Pallas has offices. When I go talk to a sorcerer or a wizard, we often meet in their office, and it’s an office. Alyssa’s office had a desk breaking the space in half, and a little sitting area by the door with five comfy but mismatched chairs. On that side she had bookshelves of mostly modern law and a wine sideboard. On her side of the desk, she had maps and files. In each corner of the wooden room and before the full-wall window behind her desk, she grew catnip and owenge, an orange pitcher plant that smelled faintly of lavender. There were two small fireplaces, one for each side. Baroness Alyssa, ruler of Citi Kageran, had an office. It wasn’t even an office of doom; it was an office-office, where you get advice about your taxes or to update your will. The last was good because I was going to need one if I broke into a sorcerer’s prison.
After Trui had left, Alyssa asked me to explain why I had sold a bunch of wheat options when I was obviously not a wheat merchant. I said that’s why I’d sold them. I didn’t want them. She asked me to explain, so I laid bare the entire ordeal of Bloodharvest. The Baroness listened to with polite interest while Satre, her husband, made us a round of drinks. I asked for quarter wine. Well-water in Kageran occasionally gives you dysentery, so drinking straight water wasn’t an option. Three drams water to one wine is about as non-alcoholic as I care to go.
Alyssa moved around to our side of her desk and took a slightly-lumpy oak chair, knees together, shins at a slight angle while she faced me, holding a stemless wine-glass in both hand like a teacup. When I finished, she asked, “Could you rescue someone from a prison that isn’t run by goblins?”
And I, like an idiot, said, “That would be even better!”
Which was true, but I should have said something like, ‘No, I’m done breaking people out of prison.’
Satre had taken an armless chair beside her and sat at an angle. He leaned against the chair-back with his left shoulder. His right hand bore the huge signet ring of Kageran he’d used to officiate the transaction, and he hadn’t used wax. Satre had held his hand over a fire, then smashed his fist into the document to burn the Crest of Ozymandias into the paper. Now the same hand swirled the water and wine because their wine wasn’t very good, and sediment kept collecting in the glass-bottom.
He looked from me to Alyssa and cocked an eyebrow.
Alyssa said, “Like the sorcerers of Whitefire.”
My brain caught up with my mouth, and I put up a hand. “Um, I don’t know.”
Satre squinted. “Who’s there? Other than a bunch of sorcerers?”
“Kyria,” said Alyssa.
“Good!” he exclaimed, loudly and unexpectedly enough to startle me into squeaking.
“But Elegy could get her out,” Alyssa told him.
“Or she could not and let Kyria rot.”
Why were they bringing me into this? “I don’t know Kyria,” I said.
Alyssa ignored me. “But we could help her. Elegy rescued Prince Aehr from Bloodharvest. We need to check, of course, but we can ask the elves. No offense.” She smiled at me.
“They said they’d provide references,” I replied quickly, but as soon as the words escaped, I tried to slow down. “But how does that lead to Whitefire?”
“Because you just said you can rescue someone from a different prison.”
I….dammit.
“Who’s Kyria?” I asked.
“My sister,” said Alyssa.
Looking for support, I glanced at Satre.
“Alyssa, this is a terrible idea,” he said correctly.
I nodded.
He continued. “If Whitefire turned on her, leave her to them. She tried to kill you.”
That’s a pretty strong argument. Points for Satre. He spoke wisdom.
“No!” said Alyssa. She waved a hand at me. “I am not going to let my sister die in captivity, while Elegy here makes a profession of getting people out!”
I mean, I had done it twice. I don’t know about making a profession of it.
“Who cares?” yelled Satre. “Elegy just got paid! Elegy, did you just get paid by Hyrma Trui?” He looked at me, following Alyssa’s wave.
“I did,” I said.
He turned back to Alyssa but waved at me. “See? She’s happy. She doesn’t need more money.”
Well…
“Elegy, are you interested in taking another contract?” asked Alyssa. Both of them looked back at me: Satre shaking his head and Alyssa nodding.
I stammered. “I’d like to take a little time off right now, you know, just to spend a little money–”
“What if we gave you a lot?” interrupted Alyssa.
I froze, and when I unfroze, I made my mistake. “How much is a lot?”
A lot was two hundred and fifty Celephian marks. I’d gone through Bloodharvest for sixty three in options, nine over seven as elves do numbers. I’d resold them for twice that. A Celephian mark is a gold coin about the size of my palm, stamped with Kuranes the current on one side and the White Ship on the other. Each coin weighs about half a pound. Alyssa was offering me a me in Celephian gold.
Satre said, “We are not going to give her that,” and they started fighting.
I’m Elegy. I’m a normal-sized woman surrounded by tall people. Some of y’all think you’re cool when you reach high shelves and see over horses. You walk like you’re being chased, trying to get away from me because I have little legs. You should! I’m fierce down here.
Normally I keep my hair short, but it had grown out over the last half a year. Now it wasn’t long enough to pull back but long enough to get into my face. I was considering putting it up in pigtails, but then I look like I’m twelve. I wear a reversible cloak of gray and green, loose clothing, and everything I have is stitched in curves. I don’t have a clear outline to break up. I hide small knives in boots and belts, and one, the Blade of Luthas, up a sleeve. That knife frightens me, and I’m a hair shy of throwing it into the sea and forgetting it exists.
I could do that in Celephias. It’s an island. They make money. I could throw the Blade of Luthas into the ocean and drink something in a coconut mug. I listened to the married couple fight, thinking about drinks in coconut mugs on beaches with warm sand. Winter was cold in Kageran, and even with the fireplaces warming my face, drafts scurried around my feet with the chill of outside. I could also go back to the Solange, elvenhome, with elegant lords and ladies. I had royal friends there.
Hell, I could hide in a ditch and pile rocks on my head. It would be better than sorcerer prison.
I spaced back in. The married couple were still fighting.
Satre said, “And isn’t she dead?” Which I guess is a question, but he didn’t say it like he wanted an answer.
But he got one.
“No, she’s not!” said Alyssa. “For years now people have been accusing me of killing her (which I didn’t!), but the only defense I’ve had is ‘she probably died when she set her own tower on fire.’ Van’s raising an army because he says I’m still settling old scores, and I didn’t settle scores in the first place. Besides, I just found out she’s alive. If Elegy rescues Kyria, the twins have nothing to say.” Alyssa threw an invisible something at Satre, a silent chew-on-that gesture.
“Until they all team up to try to kill you. Again.” Satre didn’t seem to be chewing-on-that.
Alyssa made a face. “Team up? Gods no. They hate each other.”
Satre scowled. “Didn’t you just say they were defending her?”
“Yeah. Her memory! No one likes Kyria in person. Didn’t you ever meet her?”
Satre sort-of grumbled. “Yeah.”
“Do you hate her?”
Satre scowled to the left, right, and center. “Only because she tried to kill you.”
“That’s very sweet,” Alyssa said. “But you just don’t want to agree with me, do you?”
Satre took a hard, tense breath and held his hands up, open but shaking. “Alyssa, she tried to kill you!”
“We were at war. A lot of people tried to kill me.”
“That doesn’t make it better!”
Satre thew a fake smile at me; his face looked like cracked wood. “Could you excuse us, please?”
Alyssa looked from him to me too. “Thank you.”
“Okay,” I said, and we all stayed perfectly still.
Oh right, they were royalty. ‘Excuse them’ meant I had to leave.
I stood up and moved to the hallway, shutting the door behind me. A page standing outside smiled at me. He would see me if I tried to listen at the door. I smiled back, stepped a polite distance away, and tried to decide if the royals were running a blind or if this was a real argument.
Let me bring you to now.
Cool Big Jets
DARPA decides to build giant wing-in-ground-effect (WIG) ekranoplan.
https://www.ga.com/ga-asi-selected-by-darpa-to-support-liberty-lifter-program
Okay, like, that’s awesome.