The Heart is a Void: Ashes to Ashes - Chapter 100: The Tao of Writathon

Chapter 100: The Tao of Writathon

NP: Demilich – The Planet That Once Used to Absorb Flesh in Order to Achieve Divinity and Immortality (Suffocated to the Flesh That It Desired…)

“That snake was one of a rare breed, the [Mad Ascai Python] of the Western forests,” said Sharak Constantine Desmond Nikola Irving Davids Blaine Ali Mansart Serendipity Rodriguez Gonzalez Khan.

“Excuse me, didn’t you just repeat that sentence twice?” Danemy interjected.

“Ahem. Please allow me to finish catechising you, before asking questions,” Sharak Constantine Desmond Nikola Irving Davids Blaine Ali Mansart Serendipity Rodriguez Gonzalez Khan said in a disgruntled tone.

Fahiz made his way back to the room on the left, where Crucis could hear a faint mechanical hum. He assumed that this was the automatons. I – I – I – ahem, excuse my stutter, I can confirm that it was um the automatons indeed. I hope that this does not surprise you, gentle reader. And a warm thank you for being so gentle, as it pads my word count by one simply to mention you. And they say that chivalry is dead!

We now join our protagonists, who are no doubt having some sort of exciting adventure. I wouldn’t know, to be frank, because I can’t read. While ordinary mortals were learning to read, I was trained by Ra’s al Ghul in a secret base until I became a master of the ancient art of rapidly pressing the spacebar key interspersed with short strings of letters that may vaguely resemble words. Or is it Ras al’Ghul? No, I must have had it right the first time. Ah well, the confusion need not matter, since the training is over and I doubt that I shall ever see him again. Huh, it’s awfully foggy tonight — how peculiar, I haven’t seen such weather here before.

But yes, we now return to our protagonists, who are having a dramatic, action-packed adventure with Poké- well, whatever is happening, I’m sure that it is exciting. So that is why we now join our protagonists, although in all honesty we should instead focus on the adventure of Ash Ketchum, who [SPOILERS] has become the Champion of some region that I know nothing about, by winning based on doubtless some power-of-friendship tomfoolery which overcame some enemy whom he had no business defeating. Through such contrivance, Ash has seemingly gained an unearned title. This primarily devalues the meaning of the Champion title, since in Ash it now belongs to the closest analogue to a Disneyland Mickey Mouse ever to exist, and therefore approximates a Mickey Mouse title enough to be even less prestigious than Tottenham’s dour trophy cabinet. It’s just not cricket. Verily, one day a sad trainer shall look upon this event and mourn the ashes of Pokémon training.

Anyway, w/e, we now join our protagonists in the middle of some enthralling adventure.

Sharak Constantine Desmond Nikola Irving Davids Blaine Ali Mansart Serendipity Rodriguez Gonzalez Khan, after a brief pause, continued more calmly. “Thank you. As I was saying, that snake was one of a rare breed, the [Mad Ascai Python] of the Western forests. While it was um at first um a normal python, it er transformed to become y’know venomous as a result of a strange phenomenon known as um urgh errrrr erm ‘armadilloisation.’ A strange name, to be sure, but there is a tale behind it.

“In the thick forests near the Southern sea, near the traditional pirate port town of Ascaiha, there was a raid by a King* who had sworn to eliminate piracy from this sea. As his men landed nearby, they brought swarms of um exotic, thick-skinned creatures descended from a rare kind of erm elephants, which were used to transport goods and ensure a sturdy supply line to the soldiers. These creatures, especially the smaller ones, tended to look um er like misshapen armadilloes with tusks. So a bit like boars.

“(*well, King was one of his titles, but he had several others as well, including The Most High Immortal Benefactor, Appointed One Of Gods, the Emperor of the Fated Empire of Empolia, and the Lord of Danyeb Castle and the Southern Seas.)

“These smaller creatures were necessary to bring supplies to soldiers fighting among the thick forests around Ascaiha, but they turned out to be more stubborn than the large ones and soon many escaped into the vast forest. The result is that the King’s forces, without a reliable supply line, had to retreat from the fight around Ascaiha. While they still drove pirates out of the surrounding area, in places where the larger creatures could tread, Ascaiha itself remains a pirate town. Since the pirates were incensed by this King’s vain attempt, the Kingdom soon found that it’ maritime trade ground almost to a halt. Since they were along the coast, this was a fatal blow to their economy, and they were soon betrayed by their neighbouring allies who invaded and deposed the King.

“Leaving aside the fate of Kingdoms, the sudden presence of these hard-shelled, resilient armadillo-like creatures, who became a dominant part of the forest wildlife, meant that the [Ascai Python] had difficulty with trapping its prey and dwindled to a small population. After a decade of this, they began to change, becoming harshly venomous. The slow-moving ‘armadillo’ could resist this poison, but it weakened them enough that they could be suffocated. They are all extinct by now. However, the few pythons remaining after this struggle typically reverted to their previous form. I have a rare example of [Mad Ascai Python] remains, and it is a deadly weapon forged in the vicious struggle of that forest.”

“So did the creatures um ‘evolve’ over generations, or -?” Grisier started.

“They transform. You will perhaps be familiar with the transformations of rats and smaller creatures, which are instantaneous — in the right circumstances. However, for larger creatures, this transformation takes time.”

“Yes, sometimes a transformation requires a specific condition to uphold for many years,” Starfighter said. “Maybe 3, maybe 5, maybe 7, maybe 15, maybe even more — indeed. It often requires a lot of effort to bring about artificially, and may be rare naturally as well. What a mighty creature, by the way, quite impressive. I wonder what it looked like in the wild.”

“Thank you kindly. I am told that it was quite a sight.”

“A good story about Ascaiha,” Crucis said, “and, to be frank, it’s about time that we had a wise Mage giving a long, expository dialogue.”

Sharak Constantine Desmond Nikola Irving Davids Blaine Ali Mansart Serendipity Rodriguez Gonzalez Khan gave a deep nod. “Indeed, it would be foolish to overlook this important stage of the hero’s journey. You must find a dealer — ahem, mentor, who will induct you into this whole new world. Although the protagonist is reluctant to take on a new life and leave what he knows, the mentor will show him the way forwards. However, it is my view that your young teenagers often require little spur to experiment with alternative lifestyles, especially in this day and age, and in that sense the monomyth is outmoded.”

“It is not only outmoded, it is ridiculous.”

“Quite true. Anyway, as to the exposition, it is a simple principle. Consider an arch without a keystone, and how it falls apart. Yet say that there were um a phantom, imaginary keystone, which purports to hold this together still. One need only describe this keystone and its magnificent effects, and one has automatic exposition: for one can easily and poignantly imagine how the effect of the erm keystone would spread to the rest of the arch. Often, this can be as simple as the following generic outline.

‘Around the Great Trident, the large city of Azta grew, its large, white buildings supported by towering colonnades. After a short time, the city had grown for miles in every direction, forming a home for the displaced Ethni people who gathered in their millions. In its centre still stood the Trident, and its power blessed the city’s inhabitants with greater strength and increased produce, while summoning a barrier around its borders whenever a disgruntled neighbour chose to attack. Faced with this insurmountable city, which was soon a central hub of production and trade, the tolerant Emperor Azizkafir made Azta the capital of the Kiyer dynasty’s Empire.

‘However, as soon as Azizkafir visited the city, the traitorous vizier Iaglol stole the Trident. He had been paid to do this by the neighbouring Kingdom of Gethsema. As the Trident was lost, the armies of Gethsema flooded towards the city, trapping Azizkafir. As they tore through the unprepared, peace-loving citizens of Azta, the Gethem forces — led by the Emperor Jokiya — finally managed to intercept a fleeing Azizkafir and kill him. The city was ravaged, to prevent it from rising again, and it now stands in ruins. As for Iaglol, he became a powerful General under Jokiya, but was seen drowning himself mysteriously a few decades later. It is not recorded what happened to the Trident.

‘However, when I was younger, I explored and found a large inscription on a Temple of Poseidon upon a high mountain nearby. The inscription — by Poseidon’s greatest follower, the wandering sage Mandir — had been hidden low on a massive pillar which stretched far beneath the ground. The pillar had been left in place, out of reverence, for years, but I was in such despair and anger over Poseidon abandoning our people that I gathered a group to excavate the old religious site and uproot its pillars from the ground.

‘It said that Poseidon had died a long time ago, but left his Trident to dedicated Ethni followers so that they could build their city around it. However, he knew that it would one day fail, and the Trident be soon returned to the sea. He prophecied that one day a hero, who hates the gods but was descended from an Aztan family, will seek the Trident and be able to revive Poseidon himself, as well as the great city of Azta. Well, even as a youth, you infamously hate the gods, Lineker, and — as I revealed yesterday — are descended from a great Aztan family. But I’m sure you would take umbrage at being nominated a hero. Nevermind, if you are destined for it, then it will come to pass. There shall be a war soon, where all able-bodied men shall be called up, and I shall help you to prepare.’

“Yet I am more cynical, and less fantastical. In my story, the King attempted to assert order, this phantom keystone supporting the arch, but it turned out that this was not there and there was instead collapse. It is a true story, and no surprise, for Kings oft seek to summon an order — a keystone — that is not there and never will be. Now, someone ask me another question.”

“You don’t appear to read much fantasy schlock, so I’m surprised to see you narrating it. Though I get your point,” DicingDevil said. “It’s an elegant way of putting it.”

“Well, by now I am almost part automaton,” Sharak laughed. “I will compose the story in such a form, like a machine producing a pattern, even if the story’s genre itself is far from my interests.”

“What was that spell you used, by the way?” Grisier asked. “I understand that it’s a reanimation spell, but why is it named ‘Irvian’?”

“Glad you asked, ha. It is named after Irvis, an old necromancer. He was known to keep a vast bestiary, and after a great persecution of necromancers he vengefully sent his creatures into the nearby city to kill its youth. When a few, scared locals ventured towards his bestiary home, pleading with him to spare the children, he came out to meet them expressionlessly. He picked up a skeletal viper from the ground, placing his hand inside its mouth, and it did not bite.

“He turned to the locals and said, ‘See? It is a harmless creature. You complain over nothing.’ He then walked away, and on the way back to the city the locals died as a dozen such vipers followed them and bit them with deadly venom. Did this episode occur? Yes, in fact, during the heady times known as the ‘Beast Plague of Irvis.’ Now, there is also plenty of slightly wild mythology around Irvis, but I cannot verify that.

“The [Irvian Animation] is something first discovered by Irvis, but also characteristic of him. It reanimates an animal, in such a way that they will respond closely to the caster’s control and are highly responsive. It is the typical way by which a high-level necromancer trains his skills and his creatures, because it comes with minimal risk. However, creatures animated this way are not as powerful as in other forms of animation, though they can be used to precisely seek out and ambush targets.”

“I see. So, what dangerous creatures have you kept around as pets?” Starfighter asked.

“Nothing too fancy. It is theoretically possible to tame a powerful lion or even a wyvern like this, but it requires a lot of power and would be dicey at my current level.”

“I applaud this expository turn,” Crucis said. “I am sure any onlooker will too, for without hand-holding most people turn out to be both illiterate and deaf. Alas, to be watched by fools! It is like Hamlet, whose audience in the court is a bunch of dullards who think him simply mad, and whose audience in the theatre are probably also knavish fools.”

Fahiz shuffled quietly back from the room to the left, and handed a couple of sheets of paper to Sharak.

“I set up Adonais to write a quick piece about DeathGang, and Ibis is writing a Q&A about them as well. It seems that Adonais is done with the poetry book, but there’s some quotations and such and we’ll have to check on it,” Fahiz reported.

“Ah, excellent,” Sharak said, laughing quietly as he read over the papers. “These are splendid. Was there any progress on the Genie Eye novel?”

“Some, but I have temporarily halted it. The skeletal-novel automaton, Endymion, is now working on the vampire novel. You know, too much French upper-class shenanigans can become an exhaustingly effete affair. And, even architecturally, such aristocratic drama is a structure that is ultimately airy and insubstantial. Paris does not vaut bien a whole novel.”

“Quite true. A story of French upper-class romance and psychology seems to me quite like a folly in a garden. It purports stirring emotions, hysteria, mad hope, wonder — but all of this shows pale and sickly, for it is simply the display of that vaunting ghost, Aristocracy. Be it the soul’s Gizan pyramid, or temple, yet in the garden of the nouveau aristocracy it is merely a dead ornament. It is as if the pig of Smithfield Fair were dressed up as the fallen bird.”

“An astute observation. Ah, but even a folly is composed of bricks or some such, not of perfume. Sorel’s architecture is built of such stuff as noble aspirations are made of — nothing. It would be more correct to say that the architecture of the piece is halfway between a folly and a mirage — for a folly is like a kind of mirage. Or, if I were to express it otherwise, Monsieur Sorel is a bit like an automaton trained on folly — even if there is no folly in the garden, still he will write of one. The ghost of a folly. Near or far, the folly will go on.”

“Is this to suggest that you have some plan for this novel?”

“Aye. I think I should characterise the mansions at the beginning — which he stares at — in terms resembling a garden folly, from Sorel’s perspective. The rest of the large settings, indeed even the theatres, shall despite their grandeur be described in terms echoing the previous, like a ghost of the mansion’s folly — a Humean succession of images all returning to the keystone of his transfixed ambition. But alas, these Frenchmen delight me not — no, nor French women either. So I have instead put to Endymion the task of writing more of its strange poetry, perhaps we shall someday figure out what these irregularities mean.”

“Ah yes. We shall see. Well, it is better than when you spent 10 pages on having it produce lorem ipsum.”

“But, monsieur, that was great literature. ‘Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit,’ etc., etc. Doubtless a deep reflection of some sort upon pain, and its relation to the human soul. Pain for pleasure, Satan is his name. The true ‘The Red and the Black’?”

I would like to end this Chapter, um — sorry, I try to avoid using filler words, but it is difficult — um, by praising the ability of a first-person novel with a stuttering protagonist and wavering, colloquial tone to increase word count by an order of magnitude. One could type this up, like myself, or could ramble into some voice-to-text mechanism until you tire of the sound of your own voice. Either way, it is an astouding methodology, and makes one wonder if God granted humans free will and subjectivity — despite the attested disadvantages of this grant, for giving humans free will in Eden is like arming terrorists — because he was racing to complete NaNoWriMo.

However, though there are many ways to inflate word count, I ask that you use this black magic for good and not evil. Because being good and not evil is what this whole book is about. At least, from my point of view, since I can’t read.

And I would like to meditate upon this.

If one cannot read, then one is on a webnovel website a mere second-class citizen. All of these words belong to the reader, none to us. It is our battle of haves and have-nots. It is the class struggle of our age. To be illiterate is the crown of suffering that belies the regal airs of the written word. Now, some have said that my main character is not relatable for them, and further that this is a problem. But I doubt not that such people will find this story perfectly relatable now that I take the stage, to mourn my inability to read. And though it is sorrow, yet someday the non-reader shall be acknowledged as the true arbiter of literature. We shall expropriate the oppressive reader, and claim the words as our own and as subject to our judgement. In this way Hegel will be turned on his head, because — upside-down or right side up? — it is all the same when you cannot read.

But until that day, we shall suffer in our chains, as, ‘Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow / Creeps in this petty pace from day to day / To the last syllable of recorded time.’

But I hope that this manifesto does not cause offence.

If we shadows have offended, then, well, that’s a shame, because I would then be Insecure. If so, we would end on this thought: ‘I hope you come to me, just wanted to show you the same, the same.’