The Mizzenmast Letters (Closed)

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First I speak of what youâ€™d given.

I fear Iâ€™d seen them late. And thusly write in kind even later. But.

What lovely letters you had priorly given me~

Timely events turning betwixt trouble and intrigue tangled me taught in their tethers. Iâ€™d not yet time to match your words with my whims on where this library might be. Yet I yearn for it. The excitement I felt when you would have given me a puzzle, a riddle, a challenge to search for, with such a place of no small greatness by end. I found myself filled with sparks, those quite apt in your presence, wished to head out soon when I could. Yet, it is something I must put aside days for, as gods know where-when I will end up even remotely near. Not that I mind. It will be such a gift to find. But I had seen them late, [a few blots]

I instead write now just to write to you.

It is a strange thing yet, that which letters do.

Something soothing in their making, burrowed Words shake themselves in waking
and with small shudders rise from beneath
sand, sea, and leaves where theyâ€™d once sleepâ€¦

But now from here they peek instead to greet you on this page.

[blot]

I am no good at being soothing. Not like writing letters, or letting free the Dancing Words.
I cannot presume to be, nor do I. For messes are never simple. And I know little.
So instead, I can merely offer something I hope you might enjoy.

Even in its novice stages of telling, as itâ€™s never been told. Something small to take your hand for a little while.

A small story for you.

A tiny grandling.

[blot]

It was the Moving Day. Doors opened, eager hums and whispers echoed through the caverns, the rhythms of running, walking, and shuffling abound. A particular door was let open too, as all was being collected within to ready for the journey; tomes of young and eld in comfortable rare-wood boxes, small wands and their crystal companions, unbelievably teensy adamantoise shells collected from travelers whoâ€™d tended nests, spheres of glass that shown in the candlelight, tiny chimes, pens, inks, and pages. And from sound, it came to view. Everything out there, everything yet to leave, the bustle of Moving from one place to the next.

A Young One hurries out excited, walking stick in hand and feet lightly chattering against the stone floor. Heâ€™s packed as much as he can be, full of little pouches and strapped bags that make little thumps when he runs, and looks about wild-eyed at the chance to see where theyâ€™ll all go. The familiar steps of his family are heard, many heading the same direction, so he falls into step with them. Many of those who saw the family in, welcome, now bid their travels be well, hoping to see them once more. The Young One recognizes only a few faces, the ones who came to see him, and gives them little hums in passing.

With the farewell hums complete, the Young One starts to hear the Guiding Songs, lightly ringing out from the front of the Moving line, a soft tune to guide the shuffling bodies through the tunnels of stone. It is then that they are off.

Much is passed. Small underground rivers that trickle and glisten with the bioluminance of the moonweeds are passed, wide caverns of crystals, many path ways, and minerals are passed, ruins of prior caverns, having tumbled from duress and disrepair are passed, until they reach a wide, spacious place; trickles of moonlight spot through the ceiling, and the enormous hole of the place runs deep. The Guiding Songs guide the movers to stop moving, to be careful along the formed paths, to not fall down below. And they slowly begin to head onward, carefully, quietly, over these cliffs, before the Guiding Songs bid stop once more.

Something was down there. Furthermore, something was around them.

Surrounding these makeshift stone bridges and the abysses below are golems. Huge, lumbering stone golems, that previously had been silent, then began to stir. It seems they were like to be judged. The Young One was not part of the discussion on how to proceed, but surely they had noticed the piles of odd stones along the bridges and crossways. Noticed similar ones scattered about the way. They decided to make an offering.

Each one Moving picked up an odd stone, and placed it carefully on a pile of them. There was a small formation of them as the line pressed on, each and every urged to do it, each one must help. An odd gesture at first. But when it came time for the Young One to do the same, he noticed something gleaming about the stones. Some sort of Aetherical coat, almost like it was being pulled towards the pile, and then it became clear. The odd stones were parts of a broken golem. It was a peace offering, showing they were not here for destruction. And as it was, they judged the Movers well, and let them pass. It was left to mystery what would have happened to those judged less well, though the answers may have been in the pit beneath.

The Guiding Songs led the movers the rest of the way on, and the Young One couldnâ€™t help but ponder the matter of the crossing. How at times you can collect all you have yourself to be on your way, but others, perhaps, you need someone else to pick up those pieces for you, and bring them to you instead. And maybe, sometimes, itâ€™s both at once.

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