College Life

Out of Touch

Tue, 14 Aug 2007 14:00:48 GMT

I'm moving in to a new apartment and grad school starts tomorrow. Yay.

Anyway, I'll be somewhat out of touch for a bit while I get my cable Internet set up. *looks at Charter, shakes fist* So, yeah, no AIM for me. I'll be able to get to my email from UWG's computers (or via the wireless network there) but that doesn't help me much when I'm sitting around my apartment. I don't know how long this will take. Hopefully, not long, but it may take a bit if they have to come out, since I have to schedule around my classes - these are not things you just miss a day of!

Brainstorming

Mon, 25 Jun 2007 17:23:32 GMT

I'm doing some brainstorming for writing a story. I decided to come at it from a different direction this time, by building a glossary of concepts, places, people, titles, etc. instead of trying to define the geography or the characters themselves. This lets me build the world before I start trying to write in it, to understand where the world and nation came from. It's an interesting experiment.

Father's Day

Mon, 18 Jun 2007 03:02:28 GMT

I'd forgotten today was Father's Day until someone reminded me a few minutes ago. That sounds really shitty, and in a way it is, but I've got a decent excuse. Those of you who don't know me may not know that my father passed away almost two years ago on 26 July 2005. His name was Jimmy Ray Ezell, he's the one who taught me about computers but, more importantly, taught me about life.

Dad, I know you're looking down. I love you, Dad, and I miss you. Those of you who still have your fathers, go to them, tell them you love them one last time before it's too late.

Gun Nuts

Mon, 12 Feb 2007 23:16:55 GMT

AJC post about a proposal for gun control.

I posted that link as an example of just how extreme the opinions of some people in this country seem to be regarding gun control. (Look for Brent if you're trying to find my comments.) On grounds of common sense and tactics, it makes no sense for heavy automatic weapons (crew-served weapons, such as an autocannon, minigun, or vehicle-carried heavy machine gun) to be owned by private citizens. I don't recall private citizens being allowed to own field artillery in the early republic period in this country, meaning that I'm not exactly arguing for a fundamental change in precedent, here. (Naval armaments are a different issue; at sea, where you are facing pirates and privateers, private armaments were quite acceptable for private merchantmen. I'm talking about land warfare, not maritime weaponry.)

Further, licensing and firearms safety training has a very simple purpose: guaranteeing that the weapons in the hands of private citizens are capable of being identified when they are misused and, if necessary, returned to the owner and that the owners of these weapons know how to use them safely. (This includes knowing when to use a weapon as well as how.) It is relevant to crime-fighting, not to prevent sales to criminals (although it also has that effect) but rather to figure out what the source of illegal acquisitions is so that the black market dealers involved can be punished as they should be.

Note: I don't advocate removing firearms from public hands. Not only is that illegal, it's counterproductive. I'm only asking for reasonable restraint on the level of force in anyone's private hands. The government exists to protect and serve the people as the will and collective voice of the people. Is that model always followed? No.

But is the situation so far gone that the common citizen needs to contemplate the use of heavy military weaponry? Also no.

Follow up: And now someone's arguing that the proposal is to make owning a firearm as easy as owning an automobile. Does the concept of logic actually exist for some people who engage in public debate? *hangs head*

First Exalted Run

Thu, 25 Jan 2007 06:48:38 GMT

Well, tonight I ran my first session of Exalted, something I've been waiting to do for a while. A chat game just came together and we ran with it.

Reactions:
- My gargoyle conversions from d20 are scaled just about right. Very difficult for mortals to penetrate soak, a nuisance to unprepared DBs, and paste for a Circle of Celestial Exalts within 10 ticks (and these are starting characters, mind you). Here's the link: http://exalted.xi.co.nz/wiki/wiki.pl?MoonSwordCreatures/Gargoyles

- DV 3 is very, very easy for Solars to hit, more so than I expected.

- Initiative isn't that bad as long as you pay attention. It looks complex, and it is somewhat compared to d20 or GURPS, but as long as at least the ST is keeping tabs on it, it won't get out of hand.

- That was fun!

- Solars are the equivalent of bulldozers: when they get done, the land, and everything on it, is flat.

- Ping spamming is a valid tactic. It works. It really works. It hurts. It really hurts.

- Watch out for flurries. They can tear even relatively tough opponents to shreds in very short order if the target is easily hit (DV 3 comes to mind).

- Coordinated attacks are dangerous. It's like the ping spam from hell when you have 25 brass legionaries shooting under the coordination of an Exalt.

- We may become the Anathema Comedy Club if the humor potential keeps up.

Bush now complying with FISA

Wed, 17 Jan 2007 22:59:53 GMT

The Bush Administration has announced that it will now be conducting wiretapping by getting warrants from the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Court, reversing its previous stance on the Terrorist Surveillance Program. As a result, they are now actually complying with the terms of the 1979 Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act.

The FISC is a closed court where proceedings are conducted under strict secrecy. It has proven effective in the past. You can request warrants after the fact; i.e., place the wiretap and then get authorization from the court.

While I applaud the Bush Administration's decision to actually follow the law, a victory the rule of law, Constitutional protections, and sanity, I would like to know which moron thought going outside a court that is traditionally very cooperative and silent as well as possessing both jurisdiction over and unique authority to grant warrants. A wiretap placed before a warrant is gained normally violates American law (see the Supreme Court case Katz v. United States for more information). Additionally, FISA uses very clear language, unlike some federal statutes (the USA PATRIOT Act comes to mind). Furthermore, the 1947 National Security Act specifically states that Presidential findings authorizing covert action cannot violate Constitutional or federal statutory law.

I'm no lawyer but I agree with a number of them when I say that this is a pretty clear issue. The President's authorization of the Terrorist Surveillance Program was illegal and un-Constitutional. A police chief who did that would be tossed out on his ass and possibly straight into a courtroom for a violation like that. There's a reasonably good basis for impeachment proceedings in this mess, depending on what conclusion the courts draw on the program (which have been fairly... interesting). Why did the President find it expedient or proper to violate the law?

Neither the President nor the Government of the United States of America are above the law. A great deal of federal law actually deals specifically with laying out what the federal government is permitted to do and what it may not do, as does the majority of the Constitution. Look it up. This isn't a question of whether or not the existing laws would work: they haven't been modified since this mess started and the government has concluded that yes, in fact, the situation as it stands in American law is workable. Furthermore, the government is accountable (or is supposed to be) for legal wrongdoing.

The proper course of action when a law doesn't work is not to ignore it. Breaking laws that are still applicable to society (i.e., not moral blue laws or otherwise significantly out of date; a law regulating stage coaches can be reasonably assumed to no longer be applicable in the vast majority of cases, even if it is still technically on the books), is never legal. FISA most assuredly is a currently enforced law.

So what the fucking hell were these people thinking? If the law didn't work, why wasn't it changed? We know the program existed soon after 11 September 2001. Therefore, it would have been relatively easy to pass revised security legislation, perhaps as part of the USA PATRIOT Act. I'm not referring to extra-territorial operations; that's a different issue. This is domestic wiretapping and represented a fundamental breach of Constitutional rights, explicitly forbidden under Katz v. United States, the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act, and the Fourth Amendment.

Why? I've yet to see a good reason. Exigencies of security can't have been the concern; they were still working through the FISC for other work that was equally sensitive. Response speed? We have secretaries to file paperwork, folks. They can file for a warrant after the wiretap is placed. So, was this simply misplaced concern for national security? Or was someone trying to get around FISA for less wholesome reasons? There have been issues of corruption in this administration before along with Constitutional violations.

Understanding what happened is important in both preventing future violations and evaluating the future proposals of this administration. We've been lied to before. The government has violated our rights. Left unchallenged, this is the root of totalitarianism. Don't get me wrong, we're not there yet. Nowhere near it, in fact.

But it's a step in the wrong direction. I like being free. I'm sure you do, too. So let's ask questions, think about the answers, and consider the situation. Vote. Read. Stay informed. Do your own research.

Let's not let America be destroyed in our own fear. That's the most insidious result of terrorism: in fighting an extremist enemy, we ourselves become that enemy. Don't get complacent, of course, but don't let fear destroy the ideals of our country, I beg of you. The fundamental rule of law is one of them. It's been violated before; that's why FISA was enacted, in fact.

The only way to keep it from happening is the same way we keep from having terrorists in our back yard: paying attention. Keep your eyes open. Eternal vigilance is the price of freedom. Yes, surveillance is important. But so is doing things legally. Without both, America cannot remain free, either from her enemies... or those who are, with the best of intentions, trying to defend her. The government must be scrutinized by the public. It acts in our stead, doing what we cannot but we have the responsibility to ensure that those actions are in our best interests.

If not, we may yet give in to the same fear we are trying to combat. Do you want that to happen?

Democrats Win House and Senate

Fri, 10 Nov 2006 15:37:42 GMT

Well, this is an interesting if predictable outcome. This vote was as much a commentary on Bush as it was the legislators.

Here's my hopes for the new legislature:
* A little less corruption.
* Simplifying the tax code.
* Fix the budget (which, unfortunately, is going to require a tax increase).
* Someone figuring out what the hell we're actually trying to accomplish in Iraq.
* John Bolton's head on a pike so we can actually get something accomplished at the UN.

These are pretty simple requests, at least in theory. Granted, number 2 won't happen anytime soon but it would be nice...

Too many people...

Mon, 06 Nov 2006 15:30:56 GMT

I just drove across the Atlanta area this morning, from Snellville to Carrollton (that's a bit northeast of Stone Mountain to about ten miles short of the Alabama line, for those not from the area). I got up at 5:45, was on the road at 6. At 6:15 am, US Highway 78 was already showing heavy traffic. Not slow, mind you, but quite heavy.

This is whacked. I got up that early to avoid traffic. This crap doesn't peter out until about 10:30 am around here. There are too many people with cars around here...

PS: If the exit has been marked as the two right lanes for the last THREE MILES, get out of the left lanes. Those two lanes are for people on the interstate that aren't exiting to be able to move past the exits without interference, dumbass, not for you to try and get around the line and, thus, hold up traffic for miles and cause traffic accidents.

Firefox 2.0 released

Tue, 24 Oct 2006 21:56:28 GMT

Firefox 2.0's been released in case no one saw it. I've got it running. Seems stable. Of course, I don't really use any add-ons, so there's not much for it to break, but still. Anyway, see you around.

(Also, you're going to have to download it by hand; for some reason, the auto-updater isn't catching it. Go to www.getfirefox.com to get it.)

Tetris

Fri, 13 Oct 2006 11:52:07 GMT

I have made an important discovery regarding the One True Nature of Tetris. (Yes, I play Tetris. My preferred flavor is LTris on Debian Linux, what's yours?)

Tetris is not, as some have surmised, actively conspiring against us (except in bastard/expert mode, which is a rather different matter). Instead, Tetris is the rope merchant outside Suicide Alley, the blind, uncaring mason's assistant who keeps handing us brick and mortar while we build ourselves into a corner.

Tetris does not destroy us, it merely gives us the tools to destroy ourselves. Tetris is not an enemy, it's more of a facilitator for our own destruction.

Tetris is God's punishment for our hubris in inventing the computer. He just got so busy playing it during the development cycle He decided not to include the divine wrath component. He's too busy trying to win (and winning, this is God, after all, He Who Cannot Lose).

An ill wind blows

Mon, 09 Oct 2006 14:16:19 GMT

Well, that was a great thing to wake up to. North Korea is a nuclear power. Lovely. I vote we let China smack them around some and just stay the hell out of it, personally. It's not like anyone on the UN Security Council is terribly amused at this mess and unlike Iran, none of them are likely to do much to stop an aggressive, non-US move about the matter, either.

In other news...

Tue, 03 Oct 2006 14:43:49 GMT

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/5391220.stm

Well, this is better. It seems that recent results have shown that it is possible to do cloning, at least in mice, using cells other than stem cells. If this shows promise, maybe it will help quiet some of the clamor here in the US over abortion. *rolls eyes* Even if it doesn't, it still offers some interesting possibilities, according to the article.

SITS... Incompetence?

Tue, 03 Oct 2006 14:34:35 GMT

For all 1 of you that aren't UWG students, let me explain something. SITS (Student Information Technology Services) theoretically offers tech support by students for free to the students. First, this doesn't cover Linux, which I use and is actually more likely to cause problems for me than Windows because I have actually gotten my computer set up correctly and securely. Second, my doubts about letting a student rut around in the guts of my computer are fairly extensive, including the fact that I've been working with computers longer than a few of these people have been alive (I'm not much older than they are, just more experienced). Third, I've never really been impressed with their general competence.

http://media.www.thewestgeorgian.com/media/storage/paper523/news/2006/09/27/Opinion/S.i-t.s.Is.Here.For.All.Of.Your.Computing.Needs-2309331.shtml?sourcedomain=www.thewestgeorgian.com&MIIHost=media.collegepublisher.com

That was in the student paper. They're trying to let us know that they are Here To Serve.

Nice idea, really. Except for the fact that you demonstrate a fundamental lack of knowledge in the damn advertisement!

Second page, they say for desktops, just bring the CPU (tower) in. The CPU does not mean the tower. It means the processor. That's it. Do you want me to just take out the processor and bring it in? That won't help you solve anything unless the chip's melted.

If you want me to trust you with computer hardware that is worth over a thousand dollars (probably more like two thousand), maybe you should try demonstrating that you actually know something about computers in the first place.

Also, to the West Georgian: Fix your ****ing comment system. Ranting on my LJ about this was not my first choice. This is option 2.

Still alive

Mon, 02 Oct 2006 23:04:06 GMT

Been busy lately, not much writing. Just trying to catch a breather at the moment. How are you guys doing?

Political Test Results

Thu, 28 Sep 2006 14:36:54 GMT

Uhm... this is interesting...

I need to go ahead and say something. A lot of the economics questions were things that I really am more liberal about but there was no category for 'don't care' on there. This believes in moderate to heavy government intervention in the economy thing, I'm on the moderate end of that. I don't want heavy government participation in the economy per se. I just want the government to keep the market honest.

Third Way Liberal

You scored 73% Personal Liberty and 36% Economic Liberty!

A third way liberal believes in little to moderate government intervention on personal matters and moderate to high government intervention on economic matters. They tend to be opposed to war, police powers, victimless crimes, and what they may consider to be a corporate state or rogue capitalism. They generally support personal liberty and believes in a social safety net or welfare state. They support self-ownership and privacy. Third way liberals are essentially the "mainstream" left and left of center.

My test tracked 2 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 99% on Personal
You scored higher than 99% on Economic

Link: The Politics Test written by brainpolice on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

Fish used as water purity monitors

Wed, 20 Sep 2006 13:59:22 GMT

Okay, I really don't know how to respond to this one.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/5360612.stm

Essentially, some cities are using fish to check for contaminants in water supplies. This is an interesting idea but it does have some problems. Still, quite interesting and rather innovative. In fact, the system has already proven to be useful.

All the same, fish. We're relying on fish to protect our water supply...

*shakes head, slightly bewildered*

Planet Receives Formal Name

Thu, 14 Sep 2006 13:55:58 GMT

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/5344892.stm

The dwarf planet that started the entire row over Pluto's status has received a permanent, formal name. Fittingly, it's been named Eris, after the Greek goddess of chaos and discord. See the link above for more information.

College Magic Chapter 2

Wed, 13 Sep 2006 14:18:39 GMT

Here's chapter 2. Nothing much to say here, really.
---

Rhiannon's head swam as the pair of them emerged out of the woods into the outskirts of a small town. Built on a more human scale that was largely lost in modern America, the town was also notable for being of an entirely different architectural style from the glass, steel, and concrete that so characterize the post-industrial town or city. The buildings were clustered together and one didn't get the sense that there was much beyond a vague notion of planned development. The tallest building was a single tower, at least half again the height of the smaller towers that lay here and there. At the circular spire's peak was what seemed to be a great blue gem, shimmering with some sort of inner light, distinct from the reflected sunlight on the white stone that seemed to be the main building material in this area.

Two men approached them. Adding to Rhiannon's sense of surreality was the fact that one was nearly eight feet tall with two small horns, slightly pointed ears (but not to the exaggerated degree that Marlowe's were), and blue skin, an immense sword that was probably larger than she was slung behind him, while the other was shorter and quite feral looking with long, pointed ears and an air about him that sent chills down her spine. The taller of the pair seemed to be in charge. "Afternoon, hunter. I see you've found a changeling."

Marlowe chuckled. "Something like that. I rescued this little foundling from a wolf out in the woods."

The feral one snorted. "You should have let it have her." He leered openly at Rhiannon for a moment with a perverse and disgusting mix of lust and animal hunger, not entirely unlike the looks she'd gotten from that one guy who had tried to rape her one time. Unfortunately, she didn't have a can of mace on hand like last time. Hopefully, she wouldn't need it. "On the other hand, she might be fun to have around. I've not fed on a human in a while."

Rhiannon glared at him, as did the other two. "No, Baerion," Marlowe said firmly. "She's a changeling, not a human, and in any case, she's under my protection for the moment. Leave her be unless you wish to taste my sword," he added darkly.

The tall, blue fey growled low in his throat. "He's right, Baerion. You know the terms of your parole as well as I do." Rhiannon, confused and feeling slightly threatened, didn't ask, sensing intuitively that this was not a good time.

"Damn that oath," the fey muttered, sounding more than a tad put out by the entire situation. The others ignored him.

Marlowe gestured at Rhiannon. "We need to find a lore singer. She stumbled onto a trod without realizing it and doesn't know the way back."

The tall one frowned thoughtfully. "I can see the problem. It's not something I'd have expected, Christopher. Honestly, you're the only other changeling I've ever met who's done the same thing," he pointed out. Then, the giant fey turned to her and bowed politely. "Greetings, young lady, and welcome to the town of Blaycliff Tower. My name is Aureander."

Rhiannon smiled and did a graceful curtsey, remarkably impressive for someone in battered jeans, sneakers, and a Lord of the Rings T-shirt, all of it smudged with dirt from her head-first dive from the wolf earlier. "I'm Rhiannon Waters. I go to Gunther Brighton University, outside Rome, Georgia."

The giant smiled down at her. "A scholar, eh? I think you'll find you're well in hand, then, girl. The Tower is home to the White Tower Scholomance. It should be... interesting for you to visit."

Rhiannon frowned and shook her head. "I'm just trying to get home. I'm not interested in any sort of magical training."

Aureander nodded amicably. "Fair enough. There's an expert on finding trods at White Tower, too," he informed her pleasantly enough. "I'm sure he'll be able to help you find your way home."

"Thank you for your help, sir," Rhiannon replied, curtseying again. Aureander nodded and, rather forcefully ushering Baerion to follow him, continued on his way.

Rhiannon glanced at Marlowe. "Just what were they? And what are you?" she inquired, frowning.

Marlowe raised an eyebrow. "They were fey, just like I am. Well, not exactly," he indicated, gesturing faintly. "I'm a changeling, a fey born of human blood. I'm also a daanu, not a giant or a lycan like Auerander or Baerion."

Rhiannon frowned. "Giant I can understand. He's a big guy. But how is Baerion a lycan?" she asked, still trying to understand what exactly was going on. "Doesn't that word come from the same root as lycaon?"

Marlowe frowned. "Yes, it does. Baerion's nature is predatory and, furthermore, he's a shapeshifter. His natural form is a wolf. We mainly keep him here to prevent him from running amok on Earth. The last time he did, it took us over a year to hunt him down and he killed and ate several people in France."

Rhiannon paled slightly. "Then why didn't you execute him? It sounds like he would have deserved it." The college student's voice was a tad unsteady and Marlowe realized that what little trust she had in him was seriously imperiled by this revelation.

He sighed. "We took the case to the king. For some reason, Baerion was let free on an oath of parole." He sighed again. "I don't know why. Most of the hunters arrayed against him were changelings," he explained. "The only two who weren't were a blood wizard, mainly to counter his powers, and a sidhe knight. The sidhe was there expressly as the king's agent, to prevent us from killing the bastard outright. My best guess is that the damned beast has a patron in the court... maybe even a relative." Noticing Rhiannon's expression, he shrugged. "I'm not going to pretend that I like it, foundling. If I ever figure out who's protecting that miserable wolf, I just might kill the damned fool, noble or not."

Blood wizard? Rhiannon mouthed dubiously. I do not like the sound of that, she decided. Out loud, she asked, "Fine, then. What's a daanu?"

Marlowe smiled. "You might know us as elves. The daanu are one legacy of the elves. The sidhe are another. We're not exactly clans, more like cousins. The old Tuuatha de Daanan, the ancient high fey, like Oberon or Arthur, died out a long time ago. They were never particularly numerous and, unlike the other elves, they didn't really reproduce very much at all. The true high fey these days are sidhe, daanu, and other elves that have a touch of Tuuatha blood in them." He gestured to the city around them. "The elves are the most common of the Seelie. There are some Unseelie legacies that are more numerous but they don't match the average elf's power, longevity, or intelligence."

"Wait a minute. I thought you said that the Seelie Court was gone," Rhiannon asked, very confused.

"They are. The word Seelie is still used as a descriptor for the fey that stood together, that chose living with each other instead of wandering around in small bands." Marlowe shrugged. "The Unseelie are and have always been fairly splintered. They also tend to be much more dangerous for mortals to deal with. Don't get me wrong, Seelie can be damned dangerous and in fact, downright evil. The difference is mainly that Seelie aren't as aggressive or as offensive about it. Even creatures like Baerion or fey vampires aren't as unpleasant as your average Unseelie hag. Worst comes to worst, all a predatory Seelie is going to do is kill you and eat you. Not pleasant but hey, that's life." His dismissive shrug was rather cold-blooded in Rhiannon's opinion. Catching the look on her face, he continued. "An Unseelie wants to prey on a mortal's fear, their soul, or just destroy them for the amusement value, damning them in the process. Some of them actively hate all other life and want it destroyed or corrupted." He gestured back the way they'd come.

"Baerion really is among the worst of the Seelie. Unpleasant, certainly, but even he isn't as bad as some of the milder Unseelie. If you're not inclined to accept that kind of thing and you're an Unseelie you either leave, die, or are corrupted to the point that you do." Marlowe sighed a bit sadly. "It's not something we can really change. The Unseelie are very, very dangerous, very sneaky, and the main reason they haven't managed to just outright kill the Seelie is that evil, by its nature, turns on itself. Our one real edge is that a Seelie can be trusted to watch your back if he gives his word... and, against an Unseelie, he usually will." Marlowe gestured. "It's part of our nature. We can't break a properly sworn oath. If you do... let's not go there..." he suggested.

"If your resources are so limited, why help humans?" Rhiannon asked callously with more than a touch of suspicion in her voice.

Marlowe smiled slightly. "Good question. I'm glad to see you're paying attention." Once the proud teacher moment was over, he continued with the lecture. "Most Seelie, especially non-changelings, aren't humanity's allies out of the kindness of their hearts. The Unseelie are a mutual enemy. If they manage to really harm humanity, it just might be the catalyst that a large faction would need to gain enough power to strike us all down. The last time they pulled something like that off, Earth's native sentient races died and Camelot was devastated while packs of Unseelie rampaged through Arcadia. It took a long time for us to pull back from that brink, especially after the attempts by the last two kings to salvage the situation blew up as spectacularly as they did. We aren't interested in doing it again and, frankly, as much trouble as humans are, we'd rather have someone holding that ground, even if they're aren't well-suited to the job. Some of us need humans to survive, for that matter, and some appreciate human cultre. Like me," Marlowe pointed out, grinning a bit. "While some of the Unseelie need humans as prey, too, the ones that don't generally don't care if man lives or dies, assuming they aren't actively hostile to Adam's progeny. Some of the predators aren't smart enough to realize how dangerous overhunting really is, for that matter."

"So basically, you're watching your own interests? We're just pawns to you?" Rhiannon asked accusingly.

Marlowe nodded. "To some of us, at least. I'm not that cold-hearted, girl. Hell, I spend a fair bit of my time keeping the Unseelie off the trods, just to protect my fellow Englishmen. I'd rather see humanity whole and hale. Some of us don't care that much. I do." He paused for a moment before continuing. "In a way, the Seelie share another trait with the sons of Adam, foundling. We both don't know why we're here or where it is that we're going. Maybe, in a sense, that makes us brothers. Maybe that's why there are changelings; the scholars claim that it was only the hominids that ever birthed fey of their own accord." Marlowe glanced at his audience. "I've seen things that shouldn't be, that only exist to hate. I've seen an angel or two." He shrugged again, something that he seemed to do a lot. "My old friend John Dee once told me that the angels thought the Seelie and the humans were destined for something great, something we could only achieve with the other's help. I don't know what and I don't think he did either. I do know that angels aren't inclined to lying. There must be some sort of plan but the only angel I ever talked to told me that tragedy and triumph are two parts of destiny; without one, the other can't exist. Whatever's coming, there's going to be a storm preceding it." Marlowe looked her in the eye. "I'm trying to help people get ready to weather it."

Faintly disturbed at the implcations of Marlowe's speech, Rhiannon was silent for the rest of their walk to the central tower, apparently the eponymous White Tower that housed the school of magic named for it.

Inside, the tower was cool and dim, lit only by floating blue flames, like some sort of magical cross between a light bulb and a torch, but it was a comforting sort of darkness, like a moonlit night in one's own backyard. Apparently, Marlowe knew his way around and simply led Rhiannon up several flights of stairs (for some reason, even though she tried, she was unable to count exactly how many). Once on the desired floor, they walked up to a dark-colored wooden marked in a language Rhiannon didn't recognize. Marlowe smiled fainly and knocked.

She heard someone grumbling inside, too faintly for her to pick out the words, and stared as the door creaked open slowly. The person peeking around it was the single strangest man she had ever met. From the waist down, he had the body of a small billy goat, almost like a centaur. From the waist up, he was dressed in robes that were so ornate and fancy that they struck her as absolutely ridiculous. His dark-skinned face, weather-beaten and grave, had several intricate tattoos that reminded her of pictures she had seen of the Maori. Topping this entire spectacle off was the one-foot-tall conical wizard's hat, rather like the one that Merlin was usually pictured wearing, made out of purple felt and decorated with silver stars. To add to the sense of hilarity, even with the hat, he barely came more than midway up her chest.

Rhiannon made the only possible response on seeing a creature this hilarious for the first time and burst out laughing. The centaur-like creature glared at her. "Oh, very amusing, laugh at the little wizard," he grumbled, sounding rather put off.

Marlowe, a tolerant smile on his face, let her get it out of her system. "I think that's enough, Ms. Waters," he commented mildly after a bit. "This is the fellow we're looking for, Wizard... Telmaryn?" he trailed off, getting a curt nod. Privately, he agreed with Rhiannon's response. Telmaryn's over-blown sense of gravity and personal dignity was rather ridiculous, especially with that laughable hat on his head. At the same time, he had a bit more self-control and a rather greater sense of just how gauche that reaction was in Seelie culture.

Rhiannon finally stopped giggling after a minute or so and stood up holding her sides. She brushed a few tears out of the corner of her eyes and giggled a bit more. "I'm sorry," she wheezed. "I'm sorry. It's just... that outfit is so..." she trailed off, still giggling a bit, trying to get herself back under control.

Telmaryn's dirty look deepened and, as Rhiannon was finally calming down, Marlowe decided to intervene. "My apologies, Telmaryn. She's had a very difficult day, the poor changeling," he told the wizard soothingly. "First she wandered down a trod without realizing it, getting terribly lost, and then was attacked by a fey wolf out in the woods. I'm afraid the stress of it must have gotten to her a bit."

Telmaryn's glare softened slightly as he glanced over at Marlowe and then took a closer look at Rhiannon, noticing for the first time that she was in a human form and just how odd her clothing was for a fey. "Ah, well, that's rather a different matter," he said, frowning. "Hmm..." The little centaur turned around and paced back into his office. "Come in, come in, poor dear," he added, bustling about. Marlowe smiled faintly as Rhiannon tried to keep from giggling again. "I'll get some coffee made and we can see what we can do. Yes, yes, trying day indeed."

Following the wizard into his work area, Rhiannon grinned as she looked around. It looked more like a professor's office than anything else, just scaled for the little centaur who was currently hanging a small pot over what looked like a gas burner linked to a small tank. He looked up and caught her grin. "You like my rooms, dear?"

Rhiannon nodded. "It looks like the offices of professors back at GBU, especially one of the chemistry teachers."

Telmaryn smiled at her. "Well, I am a teacher, dear." Rhiannon smiled back at him. "Now, sit down, sit down! I know I've got a biped's chair around here somewhere," he mused, looking around frantically. She helped him clean some books out of a chair and settled into it. "Well, now, what seems to be your problem, dear?" he asked. "I didn't happen to catch your name, either."

Rhiannon started to stand back up before he waved at her to stay seated. "My name is Rhiannon Waters. I'm a student at Gunther Brighton University in Georgia," she explained. "The last thing I remember before I wound up here was walking out into the woods. I sort of got a chill down my spine and then that blasted wolf attacked me."

"Yes, that probably was a trod," Telmaryn told her, nodding before he grabbed a pad of paper from a nearby worktable and started scratching some notes on it using a mechanical pencil. "How far away was it?"

"A mile or two, I guess," Rhiannon hazarded, shrugging.

Marlowe nodded when Telmaryn looked over at him. "About a mile and a half or so, wizard," he answered. "Northeast of town."

"Very good, then," Telmaryn said affably. "Ah, yes, I've been wondering about that one," he mused, bustling over to one of the tables and looking down at a map. Intrigued, Rhiannon stood up and walked over to look down over his shoulder. While she was almost entirely unable to read the map, he was pointing at something.

"Is that the trod I followed?" she asked. Telmaryn jumped and spun around, looking startled. She reached over and seated his hat back on his head where it had come askew, carefully adjusting it to fit back over the small billy goat horns on his forehead.. "Sorry," she apologized. "Was that the trod I followed?"

"Don't do that!" Telmaryn snapped. "You nearly startled me out of my horns! Anyway, yes, that's it, almost certainly. That trod was basically closed and no one, not even the rangers like Marlowe here, could tell me where it went. It's probably a new trod since even the elders didn't remember it." He shrugged dismissively. "New trods, especially the unstable ones like that one, tend to act up a lot when they first open. You probably just got caught in it and followed it by accident. It happpens to foundlings, sometimes."

Marlowe spoke up from where he was leaning against a bookcase. "It happened to me, for that matter, Telmaryn, although Scarborough is neither unstable nor unknwon. You should have seen my surprise when I stumbled out of an alley in London into Tara," he recalled, chuckling. "I assure you, I reacted worse than our little foundling here."

"That makes me feel a little better," Rhiannon said dryly. "What's a foundling?"

Telmaryn clucked like an irritated mother hen. "You haven't told her anything, have you?" he said, annoyed. "Poor dear has a shock like that and you don't even bother to explain most of it!" The revelation of Telmaryn's grumpy grandmother side made Rhiannon smile while Marlowe tried to decide how he wanted to respond.

"I've answered a lot of her questions. She just hasn't asked that one. I told her that she's a changeling, just an unawakened one," Marlowe finally responded. "I don't even know what she is! That sort of thing comes at its own good time, Telmaryn."

Rhiannon frowned. "Before you two boys get to the chest-beating stage, would someone mind actually answering my question?"

Telmaryn, completely unfamiliar with the idea of a gorilla, gave her a blank look. He shrugged after a few moments and answered. "A foundling is a young changeling, like you, who hasn't come into their fey legacy yet." He cocked his head a bit. "Most changelings are located after they change, either by a nearby fey noticing the awakening, a mortal mage, or simply finding a trod on their own and following it."

"Okay..." Rhiannon trailed off, shrugging.

"In your case, though, you happened to 'trip' and follow a trod by accident," Telmaryn continued didactically. "This is quite rare, I assure you, and can be rather dangerous. Arcadia is not a place to wander unprepared," he pointed out, "as your own experience with our local wolf population shows, let alone if one should arrive in Unseelie lands. The Unseelie either love or despise changelings, for they have none of their own by birth," he explained. "This inspires either a jealous hatred or a desire to twist the changelings to an Unseelie mindset." He shook his head, a grave and sad expression on his small, dark face. "'Tis not a pleasant prospect, my dear, of that you may be assured."

Rhiannon shivered. "That sounds very painful," she finally answered.

"I assure you that it is," Telmaryn said gravely. "Now, then, since you've been warned not to travel unprepared, dear, let's get down to business." He smiled, a proud look on his face. "We need to find a way to get you home. Of course, we could simply try to follow the trod you came here by," he said, cutting off Rhiannon's suggestion of the same. "That would not be a good idea," he explained gently. "An unstable trod is often not easy to follow properly and is rather unpredictable. We might manage to follow it and take you back where you left from. We might wind up in, say..." Telmaryn trailed off, trying to find an analogy that she would understand.

"The Orient, such as China," Marlowe suggested mildly. "Or even Paris or Berlin, if I understood where you're from, my American friend."

"The Far East would probably be bad. There's some places over there that they really don't like Americans," Rhiannon replied.

"Right. And of course, there's a ruler's dislike of having a stranger wandering his lands," Marlowe added, getting an emphatic nod from Rhiannon. "So, naturally, we'd prefer to simply take another, more reliable road."

"Hmm... Are you from anywhere near Atlanta, dear?" Telmaryn asked, looking at another map. "There's a trod from Tara that's marked as leading to somewhere called Maranos, where there are several areas around a human city named Atlanta in Georgia," he explained when she nodded. "I've never been there, of course, but Maranos is supposed to be in eastern Kalmora."

"I've never heard of Kalmora," Rhiannon replied. "If you'd tell me where those trods lead, I might be able to help you a little more, though."

"Oh, I'm sure you'd be able to, dear," Telmaryn told her. "However, most of my charts are for Antara, Brell, and Torvane. I don't have the information you're looking for. I'm a wizard, not a cartographer," he reminded her, "and my specialty is in the magic related to trods, which is why I know so much about them. You'll have to find someone to guide you to Maranos from Tara and then a local to walk you down the trod you actually want to use. I'm afraid I'm of no further use to you."

Rhiannon's expression fell. "Thank you for your time, then," she told him sadly.

Telmaryn caught her disappointed look. "Now, now, dear, there's no reason to be worried. I'm sure that someone will help you. Kalmora has far more traffic with America than we do here in Antara but rest assured, you'll find your way home."

Rhiannon smiled bravely but as Marlowe watched her, he noticed that it didn't reach her eyes.

Curriculum change.... so sleepy...

Wed, 13 Sep 2006 13:47:44 GMT

Just a note. It sounds like the Geosciences department here at UWG just might be considering curriculum changes. No idea if this is more widespread or not but... *shrugs* I'm graduating soon. It's not a big problem for me.

I really, really need to get more sleep than I have this week. This is really getting annoying. So sleepy...

College Magic Chapter 1

Wed, 13 Sep 2006 00:46:11 GMT

Here we go. This is the opening chapter of a story of modern fantasy, horror, and a touch of madness and magic. Read, enjoy, leave comments if you want. Oh, by the way, the current mood reflects what I'm going for with the chapter, not my mood when writing it, at least with stories.

(On a slightly geekish note, this whole thing was written with a programmer's text editor and hand-coded for HTML. There's not even any rich text in here.)

----

It is a universal constant that by the time you realize that you should have just stayed in bed that morning, it is far, far too late to actually follow that advice. As may be imagined from that little gem's prominence in this narrative, someone was about to rediscover the tragic accuracy of that timeless pearl of wisdom. That someone is a young woman.

This young woman, let's call her Rhiannon Waters, was not having a bad day, until the afternoon. Indeed, it might be said that she was having a good day. Classes went well, her professors didn't assign very much work, and so forth. She was enjoying her walk back to her dorm at Gunther Brighton University. The campus at GBU was, to say the least, well-landscaped. Unlike some campuses, which are all asphalt, concrete, and litter, GBU had decided that its campus would have greenspace, actual trees, flowerbeds, and similar features, all maintained by the tenacious (some might say fanatical) efforts of the Facilities and Grounds Department. As a result of this decision, GBU was truly a beautiful campus, excepting certain (probably inevitable) aberrations like Smythe Hall, which had few windows, a concrete exterior, a rectangular floorplan, and had an exterior painted roughly the same shade of red as the bricks of an old schoolhouse. All of this gave rise to the building's popular name, "The Brick", which was used by nearly everyone on the campus, even proper, crusty old Dr. Simmons of the Literature Department, elected most despised person on campus twenty-two years in a row by both students and faculty.

On her way home from her evening LITR-2104 class, Survey of British Literature, Rhiannon ducked out the west door of Smythe as a shortcut back to her dorm instead of exiting through the front entrance on the east side of the building. In a mostly-futile effort to reduce the Brick's impact on campus's visual appearance that predated Rhiannon's birth, the groundskeepers had planted a number of oaks around Smythe to obscure the building's hideously blunt lines. Over the ensuing two and a half decades, they had grown large, casting a great shadow on the ground. While the main entrance was kept mostly clear of shrubbery, going through the western door of the building deposited one into a virtual forest, aptly nicknamed "the Grove". Occasional efforts by faculty members (usually the aforementioned Simmons) to get the "ghastly, animal-ridden copse" removed were always stymied by some combination of student protest, the fact that at least one endangered subspecies of squirrel had a few habitats in the Grove, and sheer bureaucratic inertia. Beyond that, the Grove was actually quite a nice little stand of trees in the eyes of most people, encompassing part of Appling Stream as the babbling brook wound its way through campus to deposit its flow into a river that eventually flowed into the Chatahoochee.

Rhiannon shivered, even in the warm September afternoon, as she ambled through the quiet woods. Cold here all of a sudden, she thought, glancing around curiously at the sudden nip in the air. A chill ran down her spine, reinforcing the oddly cool wind threading its way between the trunks. Too cold, she added, running a hand nervously through her ebon locks. Just to make her even edgier, a long, mournful howl sounded in the distance. Rhiannon's instincts screamed wolf before she could reminde herself that first, that was probably one of the Alaskan Malamutes that, like GBU itself, was owned by the Brighton family, and second, that Georgia was well outside the usual modern range of Canis lupus lycaon, the Eastern Timber Wolf, which had historically lived in the area. But there are black bears not that far north of here, Rhiannon recalled fearfully, forgetting that bears don't howl.

Rhiannon gave herself a little shake. Stop that! she firmly commanded herself. Bears don't howl and anyway, there aren't any bears in here. This whole stand of trees is enclosed by a college campus. Hell, the Brighton estate employs rangers to manage the wildlife. They don't want bears wandering around on the populated part of the estate, she added, remembering that part of the student handbook. While Gunther Brighton University was somewhat more expensive (and far, far more exclusive) than, say, the relatively nearby University of West Georgia, it was also better managed. Letting bears wander around in the more populous areas of the Brighton estate's grounds would have been dangerous for everyone involved, including the bears. There were a few bears in the northern part of the estate but all of them wore radio tags which were monitored to head off the possibility of the 'known' bears from getting too far south. Unknown bears were usually warded off by the locals, without the need for the rangers to do anything, and a set of IR cameras watched the campus with the intention of discriminating between humans, machine traffic (such as the golf carts that were used as light utility vehicles on the campus), and animals. If something classified as animal was over a certain size threshold, a patrol unit from Campus Security was dispatched to look into it. The campus really was about as safe as it could be from wild animals, considering its relative isolation from the nearest decent-sized town.

That being the case, Rhiannon was understandably quite shocked when she turned a corner and ran smack into a large animal. She was not, unfortunately, so shocked that she was unable to scream. Screaming is not generally a recommended means of greeting a wild animal or keeping it calm and in a generally positive and non-aggressive mood, of course.

The animal in question was built on the same general lines of a wolf but scaled up a tad from your average timber wolf. Her quick estimate placed the animal's height at about four feet, a good 50% over the average timber wolf, and the length was probably longer than she was tall. The creature's fur was mostly red with splotches of white on its face and paws and a white underbelly. The face, it should probably be mentioned, that was currently twisted in a snarl. The lupine creature gave a short, percussive bark at her before suddenly lunging.

Rhiannon stumbled backwards, ducking the thing's jump and barely staying on her feet as she tripped over a tree root. The creature paced menacingly, growling at her. "Good doggy, good doggy," Rhiannon said soothingly as she continued stepping back. Her tormentor matched her step for step, seeming to enjoy the fear it was evoking in her. Rhiannon cringed when she felt herself bump into a tree. The wolf-thing's next bark almost sounded like a condescending laugh as it jumped at her. She dove sideways, landing face-down but at least not being trampled by the creature. The creature seized on the opportunity presented by Rhiannon's prone position and pounced on her.

As she closed her eyes, mentally preparing herself to die, something happened. The lupine suddenly reared up, howling horribly. Rhiannon cautiously opened her eyes and stared at what she found.

The creature yelped and scrambled away from her as a bowstring's distinctive snap sounded, launching an arrow into its hide to match the green-fletched arrow already there. Running from its new foe, the creature disappeared into the woods. Tracing the arrow's flightpath back to its source, she saw a tall man, slender but with a wiry build. His narrow, angular face was made hard with concentration as he stared after the creature that had attacked her, having already drawn a third arrow. His long blonde hair, swept into a ponytail, failed to conceal his long, pointed ears. Satisfied the creature had retreated, he turned his attention on the girl he had rescued while he returned the composite shortbow to its place on his back. "I trust, foundling, that you're quite alright?" asked this strange man, looking her over for wounds. "I fear those cursed wolves have been something of a nuisance of late."

Rhiannon found her breath and nodded, too weirded out to worry about the fact that her savior was either a very determined cosplayer or an honest-to-Goddess elf. "Yes," she answered, still staring at him. His clothes, a dark forest green jerkin over brown leather pants, were simple but extremely well-tailored. The gold trim on them completed the image of a man of elegantly simple tastes.

"Good." He took a longer look at her. "Where did you come from, then, girl?"

Huh? What does he mean where did I from? she thought to herself, puzzled. "From Smythe, back that way," the coed replied verbally with a vague gesture back towards the Brick.

The man frowned and then, after a moment's thought, shook his head. "I know of no place named Smythe," he answered. "Men yes, but not a place."

"Smythe Hall? The Brick?" Rhiannon clarified. "You know, that ugly red thing?"

Her interrogator shook his head. "I've no idea what you're talking about, foundling," said the elf, frowning at her. "What trod did you follow to get here?" He didn't seem terribly concerned about the fact that she wasn't an elf herself.

"Trod?" Rhiannon asked, baffled. "What's a trod?" And isn't trod a verb, anyway? she wondered privately.

"Trei'vale," the stranger breathed in a mild oath. "Come with me. We'd best find a lore singer," he told her, setting a quick pace through the woods.

Rhiannon stayed put where she was. "Uh, no, I don't think so," she finally pronounced. He stopped, turned around, and gave her a quizzical look. "I don't have any idea who you are, what the hell that thing was, or what's going on here. Just what makes you think that I'm going to follow you on a hike through the damned woods?!" snapped the girl, losing her patience.

The elf considered her words for a moment before responding. "If you don't, you aren't going to find your way home," was his reply. His piece said, he shrugged at her irked expression, turned around, and set off again, seemingly not caring whether she followed him or not. For lack of any better ideas or any pressing demands on her time, and certainly not wanting to get caught alone if that wolf chose to come back, Rhiannon snatched up her bookbag and then jogged to catch up to her rescuer.

Why me? she asked herself as the pair trotted along. For that matter, aren't these damned woods supposed to be smaller than this? Out loud, she asked, "Where are we, anyway?"

Her companion chuckled lightly. "I'm not surprised you're lost, child. You must have followed a trod without knowing it. I did the same thing my first time, girl, though it's been some time since I've been back to England." A brief shadow passed over his features. "A long time, indeed. Tell me, girl, who rules in the Isles?"

Rhiannon blinked. Of all the questions he might have asked her, that was pretty far up the list of unexpected ones. "Elizabeth," she answered hesitantly.

"Surely not Elizabeth Tudor?" asked her companion, somewhat surprised. "I would swear before man and God that I'd attended her funeral," he said, perplexed. "While I've certainly heard strange tales before, girl, this would be among the oddest."

"What? No," Rhiannon replied, shaking her head. "Elizabeth I died four hundred years ago," she pointed out. "This is one of her distant relations, a cousin or great grand-nephew through James I, I think. I'm not that familiar with the monarchs after James," she added. "I know a little bit about the English Civil War but other than that?" She shrugged. "You weren't kidding when you said you haven't been back in a while, have you?"

The elf turned and regarded her with a small, sly smile. "Does the name Marlowe mean anything to you?" he asked whimsically.

"Vaguely," Rhiannon told him, frowning thoughtfully. "Wait, you mean Christopher Marlowe? Wasn't he stabbed to death?"

"So is that how I'm supposed to have died?" the stranger mused thoughtfully, chuckling lightly. "Truth be told, I'm not surprised the scholars don't have a good record. I had enemies, girl, and some of them wouldn't have been averse to making it seem they'd arranged my end. I wasn't stabbed. That little scene in the tavern was meant to help me disappear." He gave Rhiannon a frank look. "There was fairly unpleasant business going on around that time. Not just the Spaniards, although they weren't exactly being very friendly," he added, smiling a bit wryly. "Things you don't want to know about, really." He shivered in rememberance of some old horror.

Rhiannon frowned at him. "And I'm just supposed to believe that you're Christopher Marlowe, returned from the grave?" the girl asked suspiciously. "The fey aren't exactly known for honesty, elf, even the Seelie."

'Marlowe' shrugged. "I don't care what you believe and as for my being 'returned' somehow, I never died in the first place, girl." He looked off into the distance for a moment before continuing. "The Seelie Court's been gone for a long time, even by our standards," he added. "Arthur's fall wasn't a story of England. I've heard tell that your scholars have tried to fit it in there but the myth was garbled by some incompetent debtor, from what I understand. Arthur was the last king of the Seelie, and that of a realm already shattered by civil war."

The historian in Rhiannon was fascinated. The skeptic in her was rapidly approaching paranoid. The rest was just plain confused at the whirlwind of facts surrounding her. "Uhm..." she trailed off, trying to marshall some line of interrogation, any question, just to keep him talking.

"Don't worry about it," Marlowe advised. "You'll figure it out soon enough and you've more than enough time to learn our ways."

Rhiannon blanched as a couple of things occurred to her. "What do you mean I've got more than enough time to learn the ways of the fey?" she asked in a voice grown reedy with looming fear.

Marlowe raised an eyebrow. "I may as well tell you now," he said, sighing. "You're a changeling."

"And just how would you know that?" Rhiannon demanded sharply. "You don't even know who I am, Mr. 'Marlowe'!" she went on, snapping at him. "I've seen several damned strange things today, I'll admit, but I'm not so far gone as to swallow that nonsense!"

Marlowe sighed again. "Why do we never believe revelations like this?" the fey asked rhetorically. "Girl, I'm not the one to show you this sort of thing and I apologize for it. However," he continued, holding up a hand to stem her objections, "there's simply no other reasonable explanation. No one can wear a mortal form here... except changelings or mortals who've somehow found a trod. An experienced changeling or paranormalist would know better than to go unarmed, as well, and you carry neither blade nor gun," he pointed out. "Combined with your genuine surprise and there's little else you could be other than an unawakened changeling who stumbled down a trod by accident. Humans can't find trods by accident. They have to go looking for them."

Rhiannon sighed and decided to ask another question. "If you know about guns, why not carry one?" she asked, slightly curious about his decision to carry a shortbow instead of a firearm. "They're a lot less obvious than a bow like that," she pointed out.

Marlowe looked amused. "Back in America, maybe," he answered. "Not here, though. Carry a firearm and people assume it's loaded with cold iron. Guns are seen as nothing more than instruments of murder. A changeling who still plays a role in the mortal realm has more liberty about that," he added, "but then, I've not left Arcadia in a century and more. Bows are traditional weapons for us, foundling, and we've neither need nor desire to change that. The time of the sword has not ended for us," he concluded, smiling. "Some say it never will... and personally, I don't see any reason to disagree." His whole manner, so tolerantly and condescendingly pleased by her bemused expression, gave Rhiannon the sudden, strange desire to punch him in the nose, just to get rid of that smug smile.

Marlowe, clearly enjoying her annoyed glare, grinned a tad wider. "There's magic in the air here, foundling," he explained, "and an arrow and a sword will get you farther than a gun ever would."

The girl cocked her head, thinking. "You mean that a sword is more, say, mystically powerful than a gun?" she inquired, frowning thoughtfully.

Marlowe smiled like a teacher pleased by a student. "Exactly. A gun is just so much metal, no magic to it all, just the base elements it's made of." He shook his head, gestured at the sword on his hip. "A sword, though, is a work of art. I'm not saying that your various handmade guns aren't well-made. Some of them are masterpieces of mechanical design," he pointed out. "But they don't have the simple grace of a true sword. A gun is a tool. A sword is artwork. We, the fey? We prefer the art." The old spy smirked a bit. "It helps that, thanks to that very attitude, a gun is somewhat less useful here in Arcadia than it might be on Earth."

"Why?"

Marlowe's smile was still that of the teacher. "Good question. Magic... sometimes, if enough people want something, deep down, they can make it so, without spells, without fetters, without any of the tools of the sorcerer's trade."

Rhiannon nodded, as if it had just clicked into place. "And that restriction on firearms is part of that?"

"Partially. Again, though, a gun simply doesn't have the mystic weight to it that a sword or a bow does, anyway," Marlowe reminded her. "Since most of us have the time and resources to acquire enchanted arms, that means that a gun is less useful to us, even without the fact that guns just aren't terribly useful to begin with. That fact is probably why firearms never caught on, actually," he added thoughtfully. "We're not as different from humans as we like to think, not in that respect, that we're unwilling to forego a useful weapon simply for the sake of tradition."

Rhiannon looked at him doubtfully. "Why not? The French did it at Agincourt."

Marlowe burst out laughing. "Quite so, girl." His chuckles continued for a good time as they walked through the woods.