Art on deviantArt: Red forest, burrmo, Vrebin

The recently posted Standing Stones of Vrebin (see the article here) are now on dA as well, as are a concept of the red forest - ever so delightful to plan a poisonous forest - and the fierce burrmo (who also already made an appearance here). And last but not least, a repaint of the Watching Tree, an older image showing the Area.

The Lonely Queen, Dil-tona

Perhaps one of the most dreaded people alive, Queen Dil-tona rules in western Lozir. She is known for her elaborate curses. The issue with that is, of course, that curses fall back on the curser to some degree, and the sheer amount of curses muttered by the queen is enough to make anyone else snap. That she still seems more or less sane is puzzling to experts of the field. It is unknown from whence she came, and even how exactly she came by the throne is forgotten, although most genealogists agree she wasn't a child of the former king. They say Dil-tona is a Dohl Churon, which might account for her great supernatural powers.

"My aunt came from only the outer fringes of Dil-tona's realm, and still was caught up in a curse that made her lose words all the time, and that took almost a year to get rid of. She hasn't set foot in Lozir since."
— Grawada Imnirun, merchant

The realm of Dil-tona is not closed to outsiders but few travel there, and few natives leave - not all the neighbouring lands accept them either, because they're afraid of what the refugees might carry. Curse-carrying is unusual and difficult, but the queen masters even that almost effortlessly, feeding the fears.
Nevertheless, the queen is beautiful, and as love goes, some men with heart feel they could save the queen - or the land - by softening Dil-tona. None have succeeded, and by now the row of wooers' graves is almost longer than the line of the wooers themselves.

"Who knows how many of the curses of the Empty Lands trace back to the Lonely Queen. One can only hope the stories about her finding love and being cured by it are true, and that someone endures to give it to her."
— Sraminar, Lozirian noble

Artists' notes
Creepy rulers, cursed somehow, who can only be swayed by true love, or the famous true love's kiss, is a classic in fairy-tales, and as such has of course found its way into Genius Loci. I won't tell if that can actually turn Dil-tona from a bloodthirsty lunatic into a lovable woman. But it would be nice if being loved could do anything, wouldn't it?
The sketch is a design sketch, and I'm not set on it yet. Making an atmospheric illustration for Dil-Tona is of course mandatory, but it'll have to wait since it's been so long since my last article here.

Spirit lanterns

Nature spirits guarantee good health for their homestead, which is most interesting for plants and the people who care for those. A lantern is supposed to attract tiny spirits by burning incense; the then occupied lantern can, very carefully, be taken away and the spirit offered a new home in a plant of choice. Especially plants grown indoors or in greenhouses, or in otherwise inaccessible places, can lack a spirit which would normally turn up eventually.
Larger spirits are not as impressed by lanterns, unless there are many, but apparently they still notice them.

"Those blasted children stole my lanterns again. My crop of famkafeathers will be mediocre at best - but the wild rurgra trees ot the end of the street are just brimming with spirits. They will bear excellent fruit this year, I'm sure."
— Revchira, greenhouse owner

Lanterns are regionally different but often playfully designed to appeal to spirits, and are filled with carefully chosen incense, containing bits of the plant the lantern-owner wishes to become home to a spirit. Some also have windchimes, or are bird-shaped to glide down through hopefully spirit-inhabited spaces.


Artists' notes
These were a random bit in a drawing once, but the idea was pretty. Mostly spirits will just arrive one day, but in the middle of the desert or winter-dark lands, a little help is appreciated. Great Forest children conduct runs, snatching up an many lanterns as they can, and watch how many spirits come to see them. 

Mindsmiths

A mindsmith is someone whose job it is to forge a mind into something less raw. The smiths themselves often laugh at that description, but the name stuck with folks. They are a proper profession - unlike voices, who have a calling - and are taught in small schools. Their methods range from philosophical debate, to torture-like practices best described as brainwashing, to meticulous mental exercises, and each only takes on one pupil at a time. Former voices may take this profession, and all plasmats are seen as mindsmiths.

"It's true that Lady Etto was one of the rebel leaders - she had started the capital's fires. When the mindsmiths returned her some years after her capture, they advised us to not waste her skills. She's been invaluable in the city's protection, and the murder attempts on her become fewer every year."
— Djigferra Solmor, citizen

Mindsmiths are often called upon to educate someone for a difficult position. They are found in royal households, teach diplomats or lunatics, but are also employed to "fix" criminals who seem utterly unwilling to behave. No pupil of theirs ever complained about the treatment, and all agree that it was a strenuous but worthwhile experience. Nobody taught by a mindsmith has not risen to greatness.
Known pupils are the Crowned Aslahenead of Brighthold, or Digaëner from the Summerstar Isles. Among the most famous mindsmiths are the plasmat Kortife of Echamien, and Avaqui Der, who teaches in Gdera.

"I can't complain about the captain's ways, but she sure doesn't seem human - she's nigh-infallible, barely rests, always has an answer, and iron-clad principles. As long as we're on the same side, I feel invincible beside her."
— Quahna, dust sailor

Artists' notes
The danger of brainwashing cannot be overestimated. And it is so easily done. In fantasy however, I can downplay dangers, and reap the benefits of one-on-one teaching with no other goal than perfection of a person. Mindsmiths are the legendary teachers one finds so delightfully often in Asian tales. I don't even want to know what they do with fake mindsmiths, but it can't be good.

Mainalhar II of Tsir

Mighty Tsir in northeastern Lozir is surrounded by the warlike Discordant Cities in the north (which it can easily hold at bay), the wastes to the west (which bring some distance to its more neurotic neighbours south), Urlakal (that has recently been turned into a tyranny by civil war), and Brunnavah (the neurotic neighbour, mortally afraid of speechcraft) to the south, and Starwatch to the east (its only quiet neighbour. Maybe too quiet).

"The proximity of Urlakal's renamed capital Uhlenburg to its Tsiranian border throws a dark shadow ahead. The new rulers claim part of Tsir used to belong to them - let us hope the Tsiranian army can hold its own in that far-flung corner of the map."
— Getnamir, Tsiranian parlamentarian

Mainalhar I was a weak and warlike ruler, under strong influence by his egotistical cabinet. When the much-beloved prince Mainalhar II recently took the throne, he began to change many things. The relatively young gar has so far managed to strike a good balance between a firm hand and diplomacy. If he can keep the country's interests unsabotaged by the Discordants, and make safe the border to Urlakal, Tsir's future is looking quite bright.
Mainalhar II is unmarried, and for the moment doesn't look like he takes any interest in partnership at all, instead investing all his strength into politics.


Artists' notes
I have quoted a stressed Mainalhar before, threatening the Discordants, but that was a rare moment. That corner of Lozir is slowly forming into an interesting place. 

The Horr

[...]
After two and a half days locked in their cabins - luxurious cabins, but even a golden cage was still a cage - it was relieving to finally get fresh air again. It had been an unpleasant surprise when the captain had announced they weren't even allowed to watch the takeoff. Furthermore, not leave the preinstructed corridors or make any drawings of the ship, interview the crew, or a number of other, seemingly absurd instructions, that had made Orjugran call them a delusional band of oversuspicious scoundrels, just less polite. Captain Korslamin had laughed about the garren outbreak of disapproval, but only shortly; explained that she expected everyone to follow the rules, and that she would personally put a spell on any deviant.
Now, the maneuvers that might have told the passengers how the legendary dustship flew seemed complete, and the crew was friendly; so was the weather, which was unexpectedly sunny for a spring day in the Pillar Street.
Orjugran, who was happily lolling about in the sun, Vasmir, with an excited Mokri on his shoulder, and Benové met on the middle deck, where other passengers were stretching their legs as well. Vasmir blinked into an almost cloudless sky; the days before and during departure it had rained in varying strength.
"It gets drier towards Lozir", Benové yawned, "in case you're wondering why the rain stopped." The mapper was knowledgeable about climates and could tell them much about their travel destinations besides that. She stretched and, a little more awake, leaned on the railing betweeen Vasmir and Orjugran. Mokri had went to play with some other solano and a ball.
Below them stretched the sea, dotted with single rock spires. Many spots were so shallow the ground could be seen - reefs, shipwrecks as well, countless fish. Vasmir regretted to have missed the seafolk settlements off the coast. But the trip with the dustship was worth some sacrifices. The movement was completely smooth, and the Gral-én'tach was so big it seemed like a village. The crew had leisure while things were calm, and played with each other, the solano, or the many flying animals living aboard. On the afterdeck, the message master was teaching some of the half-meter-tall hallromm butterflies and his apprentice, a handful of yaafs chased each other around the masts. Vasmir followed the hallromms with his eyes to the first of the three floatrocks above the ship. He spotted a stately bush on it, covered in pink blossoms, which was buzzing with the coming and leaving butterflies. Benové sighed blood-curlingly and conversation-demanding. Vasmir noticed she had for the first time taken off her many bags. She looked slim and, most of all, bored.
"No maps? Papers, compasses, measuring tools?", Vasmir bantered. Benové looked to the sailors. Four out of five wore wizard's belts, and she had seen over twenty collectors. After Korslamin's urgent instructions, she didn't want to imagine the reaction if she turned up with drawing tools. She groaned inside. Maps of the Pillar Street were really lucrative, and the air view was fantastic.
"I suspect I couldn't take it as well as you when they threw me overboard, just because my solan dug a hole through two decks", she said loftily. Vasmir looked, made uncertain, for Mokri, who was peacefully playing with her companions. No signs that the pound-o'-rodent would bring doom upon the world's largest dustship. Orjugran giggled.
"Well", Vasmir answered with dignity, "if one will create destruction worthy of mention in history, one should at least survive it to tell the bards the story correctly."
Benové inclined her head to show she yielded, Orjugran applauded lightly.
"The Gral-én'tach will not fall from the skies from a simple digging fit of a solan." The sailor nimbly set down on the railing and took the half step down to the deck. The railing didn't reach the hip of the many raganaj sailors. Her solan, an wiry creature, spryly scurried over her middle wing to the ropes and hurried to the playground. "They tell each other how things are done aboard. Don't worry", she turned to Vasmir, grinning.
The sailor's name was Map'heela, she was amiable and very proud of the ship. It was her pleasure to indulge them with stories about passengers and journeys, the weather was pleasant, the sea colourful in the shallow waters and mysterious in the deep. When Benové had Map'heela about to take her to the navigator to gain permission to map, the sea arched below them. Moments later a smooth island rose, quickly gliding forwards, followed by an enormous tailfin that slapped the water thunderously.
"The horr."

Map'heela said it quietly into their astonishment. The tailfin had been just the first, many more backs and fins followed; some horr rose up further from the water and fell back heavily. The swarm was seemingly endless. It was said it was so big, it all but spanned the world. Orjugran was at first stiff with astonishment, then broke into ardent restlessness, ran to and fro and gestured wildly, while she buried Map'heela in questions.
"Do they pass Gdera in the north or south? Do they rest in the Ryaq? How many are there? How old do they become? Is it true they eat ships?"
"That you can check yourself", Map'heela laughed, then jumped over the railing to follow other sailors into the rigging. The shadow of the floatrocks quickly crossed the deck while the ship was lowered, until they were only a few dozen meters from the surface, and could see the young horr under their parents. Some fountains they blew up almost reached the ship, and it seemed to Vasmir like the horr also came up higher out of the water now. The Gral-én'tach was enormous, but the horr dwarfed it. Orjugran hung far over the railing, tail twitching excitedly.
"Can we go too?", she inquired breathlessly and punched Vasmir with the elbow. She pointed towards one of the smaller rocks, which had so far been floating below the ship. Now they were low over the water, and two carried raganaj and other passengers. Vasmir liked flying with Orjugran, but it was part of the game to play hard to get.
"I dunno; with all those fountains and your twitchy tail, we might drop into this grinding apparatus of fish."
"Oh, I'll warn you, and I'll hold perfectly still", Orjugran assured him eagerly. Devotedly, and suppressing a grin, he held open his arms. Orjugran stepped on his foot, stressing to hold her trembling tail still, and held on to Vasmir's arm. Vasmir swung over the railing and let them fall. At least his worries about the fountains were real, but Orjugran kept her word and warned him about every single one. The floatrock was just large enough they could stand on it comfortably, but Vasmir had to use his wings to keep them from falling, while Orjugran was pointing in every direction. The procession of horr endlessly swam past them. After three hours, they had crossed its width and rose up again, and Vasmir and Orjugran returned aboard. Benové and a crewmember sat in comfortable, slightly oversized low seats; she just laid finishing strokes on a map.
"Navigator Pakrahna bought my powerline maps", she said contently, stamped the paper and handed it over with both hands.
"We appreciate quality", said the navigator and returned Benové's politeness. Orjugran loosed her flood of impressions on Benové, enriched with gestures and sound effects. Finally, she sat down exhaustedly. A moment she was still, then started rummaging around in her pockets. Finally, she pulled a paper out that had been folded many times, on which she put two marks with Benové's pen. Mokri, who sat on Orjugran's chair's back, squeaked inquiringly.
"Go on a dustship - check. See the horr - check", Orjugran said more than satisfied and put away the paper. "Now, a hiller in Lozir, and I'll call this journey a success."

Artist's notes
I hope my use of prepositions isn't awful. I'll be happy for corrections. This is one of my first attempts to provide prose for Genius Loci and was written in German first. From names to my personal expressions this was hard to translate; I think it went okay, but I'd love to hear opinions.

Die Horr

Artist's notes
This was the original German text to the translated English version above that I provide here for your interest. While I ususally get along fine in English, I am a native in a different tongue.

[...]
Nach zweieinhalb Tagen eingesperrt in ihren Kabinen - verschwenderisch ausgestatteten Kabinen, aber auch ein goldener Käfig war ein Gefängnis - war es wohltuend endlich an die Luft zu kommen. Es war eine unerfreuliche Eröffnung gewesen als die Kapitänin angekündigt hatte, sie dürften nicht einmal dem Abheben zusehen. Außerdem nicht die vorgeschriebenen Korridore verlassen oder irgendwelche Zeichnungen des Schiffs anfertigen, die Mannschaft ausfragen und noch eine Anzahl anderer teils absurd scheinender Anweisungen, die Ordschugran dazu veranlasst hatten die Mannschaft als wahngeplagte Bande von vermutlichen Halsabschneidern zu bezeichnen, nur weniger höflich. Kapitänin Korslamin hatte über den garrischen Unmutsausbruch gelacht, aber nur kurz, erklärt, dass sie Folgsamkeit erwartete, und jeden beflüstern würde der die Anweisungen missachtete.
Jetzt waren anscheinend alle Manöver abgeschlossen, die den Mitreisenden hätten verraten können wie das legendäre Staubschiff flog, und die Mannschaft war freundlich; ebenso wie das Wetter, das unerwartet sonnig für den Frühling in der Säulenstraße schien.
Ordschugran, die sich wohlig in der Sonne räkelte, Wasmir mit einer aufgeregten Mokri auf der Schulter und Benowe trafen sich auf dem Mitteldeck, auf dem auch andere Passagiere herum spazierten. Wasmir blinzelte in den fast wolkenlosen Himmel; die Tage vor und während des Abflugs hatte es wechselnd stark geregnet.
"Es wird trockener Richtung Lozir", gähnte Benowe, "falls ihr euch wundert warum es nicht mehr regnet." Die Kartnerin kannte sich mit den meisten Klimalagen aus und hatte auch sonst viel zusätzliches Wissen über ihre Reiseziele zu bieten. Sie streckte sich und stützte sich etwas wacher zwischen Ordschugran und Wasmir auf die Reling. Mokri tummelte sich mit einer Handvoll Solano mit einem Ball.
Unter ihnen erstreckte sich das mit einzelnen Felsnadeln gepunktete Meer. An vielen Stellen war es so flach dass man den Boden sehen konnte - Riffe, auch Wracks von Seeschiffen, unzählige Fische. Wasmir bedauerte dass er die Seevolksiedlungen vor der Küste verpasst hatte. Die Fahrt auf dem Staubschiff aber war einige Entbehrungen wert. Die Bewegung war absolut glatt, und die Gral-én'tach war so groß dass sie den Eindruck eines kleinen Dorfs machte. Die Mannschaft hatte Freizeit während die Fahrt so ruhig war, und spielte miteinander, den Solano oder den vielen Flugtieren die auf dem Schiff zuhause waren. Auf dem Hinterdeck bildete der Botenmeister einige der halbmetergroßen Hallrömmfalter und seinen Lehrling aus, eine Handvoll Jaafe jagte sich um die Masten. Wasmir folgte den Hallrömms mit den Augen bis zum vorderen der drei Flugfelsen die über dem Schiff hingen. Er entdeckte einen stattlichen Busch darauf, mit rosa Blüten bedeckt, um den ein emsiges Kommen und Gehen der Schmetterlinge herrschte. Benowe seufzte markerschütternd und gesprächsheischend. Wasmir fiel auf dass sie das erste Mal ihre vielen Taschen abgelegt hatte. Sie wirkte schmal und vor allem gelangweilt.
"Kein Kartenwerk? Papiere, Zirkel, Messgerät?", fragte Wasmir neckend. Benowe sah zu den Seglern. Mehr als vier Fünftel von ihnen trugen Zauberergürtel, und sie hatte über zwanzig Sammler gesehen. Nach Korslamins eindringlichen Anordnungen mochte sie sich nicht vorstellen wie die Reaktion ausfiele wenn sie mit Zeichenwerkzeug aufkreuzte. Sie stöhnte innerlich. Karten der Säulenstraße brachten wirklich viel Geld ein, und die Luftperspektive war fantastisch.
"Ich glaube nicht dass ich so gut wie du überstünde wenn sie mich über Bord würfen, nur weil mein Solan ein Loch durch zwei Decks buddelte", erwiderte sie leichthin. Unsicher blickte Wasmir zu Mokri, die friedlich mit ihren Gefährten spielte. Keine Anzeichen dass der pfundschwere Nager den Untergang des größten Staubschiffs der Welt herbeiführen würde. Ordschugran kicherte.
"Nun", erwiderte Wasmir würdevoll, "wenn man schon geschichtsträchtige Zerstörung anrichtet sollte man sie wenigstens überleben können um danach die Dichter zu belehren."
Benowe neigte den Kopf um ihre Aufgabe zu bedeuten, Ordschugran applaudierte verhalten.
"Die Gral-èn'tach stürzt nicht von einem einfachen Grabanfall eines Solan ab." Eine Matrosin setzte leichtfüßig auf der Reling auf und ging mit einem halben Schritt aufs Deck hinunter. Die Reling reichte den zahlreichen Raganaj an Bord nicht bis zur Hüfte. Ihr Solan, ein drahtiges Geschöpf, wieselte flink über ihren mittleren Flügel in die Seile und beeilte sich zum Spielplatz zu kommen. "Sie erzählen einander wie's an Bord läuft. Keine Sorge", wandte sie sich grinsend an Wasmir.
Die Matrosin hieß Map'hila und war freundlich und deutlich stolz auf das Schiff. Bereitwillig erzählte sie von Fahrten und Passagieren, das Wetter war angenehm, das Meer farbenprächtig im flachen Wasser und geheimnisvoll im tiefen. Als Benowe Map'hila schon fast soweit hatte sie zum Navigator zu bringen um eine Genehmigung zum Kartieren zu bekommen, wölbte sich unter ihnen das Meer nach oben. Augenblicke später erhob sich eine glatte Insel die schnell vorwärts glitt, dann folgte eine gewaltige runde Schwanzflosse, die mit einem Donnerknall aufs Wasser schlug.
"Die Horr."

Map'hila sagte es ruhig in ihr Staunen hinein. Die Schwanzflosse war nur die erste gewesen, es folgten viele weitere Rücken und Flossen; einige Horr stiegen weiter aus dem Wasser empor und ließen sich schwer fallen. Der Schwarm schien kein Ende zu nehmen. Es hieß er sei so groß dass er fast die Welt umspannte. Ordschugran war erst in Staunen erstarrt, dann in begeisterte Unruhe verfallen, wuselte hin und her und gestikulierte wild, während sie Map'hila mit Fragen überschüttete.
"Schwimmen sie nördlich oder südlich um Gdera herum? Rasten sie im Ryaq? Wie viele sind es? Wie alt werden sie? Ist es wahr dass sie Schiffe essen?"
"Das kannst du selbst überprüfen", lachte Map'hila während sie über die Reling sprang und anderen Matrosen ins Segelwerk folgte. Die Schatten der Felsen liefen übers Deck während sie an Höhe verloren, bis sie nur noch wenige Dutzend Meter über dem Wasser hingen und die Jungtiere unter den Eltern ausmachen konnten. Einige der Fontänen reichten fast ans Schiff heran, und es schien Wasmir als ob die Horr jetzt auch höher aus dem Wasser kamen. Die Gral-én'tach war riesig, aber die Horr waren um einiges größer. Ordschugran hing mit erregt peitschendem Schwanz weit über die Reling.
"Können wir auch?", fragte sie atemlos und boxte Wasmir mit dem Ellbogen. Sie zeigte auf einen der kleinen Felsen die bisher weit unter dem Schiff gehangen hatten. Jetzt waren sie nur noch knapp über dem Wasser, und zwei trugen Raganaj und Passagiere. Wasmir flog gern mit Ordschugran, aber es gehörte dazu dass er sich zierte.
"Ich weiß nicht; mit den Fontänen und deinem Schwanz stürzen wir womöglich in dieses Mahlwerk aus Fisch."
"Oh, ich warne dich, und ich halte ganz still", versicherte Ordschugran eifrig. Ergeben und unterdrückt grinsend hielt Wasmir die Arme auf. Ordschugran stellte sich auf seinen Fuß und hielt mühsam den zitternden Schwanz still während sie sich an Wasmirs Arm klammerte. Wasmir schwang sich sitzend über die Reling und ließ sich fallen. Zumindest seine Sorge über die Fontänen war echt, aber Ordschugran hielt Wort und berichtete von jeder einzelnen. Der Fels war gerade groß genug um bequem darauf zu stehen, aber Wasmir musste die Flügel einsetzen damit die in alle Richtungen zeigende Ordschugran nicht fiel. Der Zug der Horr schwamm unendlich an ihnen vorbei. Nach drei Stunden hatten sie seine Breite überquert und stiegen wieder höher, sodass Wasmir und Ordschugran an Bord zurückkehrten. Benowe und ein Schiffer saßen in bequemen, etwas übergroßen Sitzpfuhlen; sie legte letzte Hand an die Legende einer Karte.
"Navigator Pakrana kaufte meine Kraftlinienkarten", erklärte sie zufrieden, stempelte das Papier und überreichte es beidhändig.
"Wir wissen Qualität zu schätzen", sagte der Navigator und erwiderte Benowes Höflichkeit. Ordschugran ließ ihre Flut von Eindrücken auf Benowe los, unterstrichen mit Gesten und Lautmalereien. Schließlich ließ sie sich erschöpft in einen Pfuhl fallen. Einen Moment hielt sie still, dann begann sie in ihren Taschen zu kramen. Schließlich zog sie einen oft gefalteten Zettel hervor, auf dem sie mit Benowes Stift zwei Markierungen setzte. Mokri piepste fragend.
"Staubschiff fliegen - jepp. Horr sehen - jepp", sagte Ordschugran überaus zufrieden und räumte den Zettel wieder weg. "Jetzt noch einen Berger in Lozir und ich nenne diese Reise einen Erfolg."