Detours

 I cannot say that this came as much of a shock, but a number of days ago I was given the most unfortunate instructions to turn back from my route to Qoriga and head to La'ai'isan to respond to an important request of one of the colleges there (whose identity will remain undisclosed) to check up on a series of mysterious disappearances in that area. Though my reconnaissance mission would have to be postponed until the future, I felt honor-bound to investigate this particular case. After a while of doubling back, I decided to take my route through Yamiradan as I was keen on visiting one of my favorites cities, Isabella Port (which is really just downtown Hagabo). The Port always delivers the best whitefish the domain has to offer and because of its large Vete population, boasts a fine grasp of seafood handling and preparation. Truly a must-visit for seafood lovers.

During my detour, I debated whether to take meal at a sit-down restaurant or scrounge the night away on the street. My wishes were answered soon as a Vete man stopped me in the street and invited me to dinner. He, of course, recognized me from some of the pro-Vete intermarriage discourse I had engaged in back in 1207 (I was an audible figure in the proceedings) and attributed his own, successful marriage to my intervention here, though I believe, had I not been there, someone else would have taken my place. Why shouldn't they have, for as I stepped into his home, seven of his beautiful children greeted me at the door. For those further removed from the Vete populations, maybe you reading from the Ugur and Hanjin continents, might not know, but half-vete/half-humanesques are graced with gorgeous facial markings and tend to be completely hairless. Even these, half-grown ones were as smooth as proposes and boasted some of the most elaborate ripple patterns that intermating can produce (I would recommend my book The Mark of the Vete which I wrote in the 1197 for more information about Vete markings and their significance in rituals and religion). 

I was invited to sit at their table and, given there was only one room in the house, I could see just how small and cramped it was, especially for nine people. Nonetheless, they all seemed very happy and we all had much to eat despite their modest dwelling. The wife cooked us a fantastic, steamed whitefish, one of the kind with the light orange stripes, and it was expertly spiced with cinnamon and goat cheese and dill. Besides a small helping of spinach curry, we drank sea water, though I guessed the man must have filtered it himself because there was not a hint of impurity in it.

The way that the Vete purify their water is by the large, gills on their sides. Vete are one of the most evolved beings on the 6th Earth, having both in-water and on-land respitory functions, and are able to inhale water through the mouth and pass it through their gills. For those taken aback by the...intimacy of this method will find that there is nothing fishy about the water (excuse my pun) and it is quite safe to drink.

The sun was setting by the time we finished after dinner drinks and the wife had put the children to bed. The three of us sat out on the dock in the night's air and spoke of some of the politics in the city. I do not keep a close watch on local politics (I visit too many domains to keep track of) so I was shocked to hear of a ressurgance in the Dehumanization movement, propagated by Anjótsen governer-candidate, Jop Gratska. I find behavior like this despicable and motivated by feelings of humanesque supremacy as well as political motivation to appeal to the high Human and Indolan populations (as they are wide-spread throughout Endala). It is especially hard to hear from someone like Gratska as the campaign against Anjótsens' status as beings back in the 80s is still fresh in so many minds and if it hadn't been for the change in law then, both he and I would not see the remarkable comforts we enjoy today.

I call on all those backing this movement to consider the consequences to come. For my fellow Anjótsen, it is our duty to be accepting of all beings, no matter how different from us, because there may come a time again, should this movement see itself through, that our value in society is called into question again, and we will most sorely regret the things we say against are brethren in Endalan identity.

The Road to Ashadi

 Often on my travels, I will encounter all sorts of people, and though I have experienced more exciting encounters in the past, I still wish to recount this one as an example of the hidden treasures one finds within his fellow man even within the simplest of interactions. 

I was traveling towards the Ashadi border during a particularly arid day. I can remember the scorching sun on my bare arms and shins, and the feeling of sweat dripping down the back of my shirt. The only head protection I had was a strip of linen I had picked up at a bargain and it would not stay over my eyes. I was barely conscious even as I approached a sparse tree and sat beneath it. Let this be a word of warning for those attempting to cross the Seken desert or any desert for that matter, be prepared. I was far from ready for this journey, but my haste made me reckless and I ended up out there for a half-hour before I saw someone approaching. I had no food, having to underestimate the distance I would travel, my spending money was drying up with every stop I made. Attempting to travel like this left me to no advantage to anyone and as the old woman ambled towards me on a squat donkey, I knew I had nothing to give her in exchange for help. But as people tend to do, she surprised me that day and made for my direction. The woman, seemingly part rock nymph and therefore much cooler than I, allowed me to lean against her for a moment to cool off. Then, she took from her pocket a bag of little, yellow fruits. They were watery and refreshing, hardly sweet, not too sour, and just enough to get me on my feet and to the border. She walked with me on the way there and let me know I could request a mule for the rest of my journey. When we got there I thanked her and offered her the coins I did have, but with kindness in her dim, clouded eyes, she refused and simply continued on her way. I thought about her all the way to Glick and could not help but be glad I met such a good stranger on the road to Ashadi.

Dinner in Al'uru's consulate building.

Yesterday, I reached the capital of Al'uru, Tik Ha, where I was invited to dinner by city planner Xho Findah, his wife Tui, and their son Dakher, set up to take over his father's position when he retires (if he ever does). The consulate building, which I had only seen from the outside during my visits to the city, was more extravagant on the inside than its bare outer walls and simple archways indicated, though its blue dome which was gilded with the most magnificent patterns was still most magnificent. Inside, marble statues, bronze fixtures, and a jungle's worth of plants demonstrated the power of Consul Yabloka and the riches he had accumulated in Al'uru's twenty-year-long streak of prosperity. I met the Findah's at the bottom of a seemingly endless staircase that stretched up, past the decadent fountains and chiseled figures, into the ceiling. We ascended the stairs and I could see just how massive the entrance hall was. As the most physically fit in our group, I reached the top first and saw that the restaurant must have been within the dome itself. Large windows, almost twice my size, ran along half of the dome and led out to a railed balcony where the entire city of Tik Ha was visible. I could even see as far as the outskirts of the city where grain and lambs were cultivated. My party regrouped and we all made our way towards a table. I was surprised to see that it was constructed to accommodate my size, raised tall for a large chair, and was grateful upon finding it a comfortable seat. The Findah's sat upon bar stools and everyone seemed quite happy. Though I cannot discuss what we spoke of at this table, I will say that Dakher Findah seems to be quite arrogant. and as a former IDL commanding officer, I feel a responsibility in making sure he matures before he takes office.

About seven young nymphs, All with short stubble on their heads, approached our table laden with golden plates where beautiful spread was laid before us. A whole lamb had been killed in my honor and its steam was mouth-watering. It came surrounded by dolma, turmeric rice, and seared potatoes. To make the meal all the more enticing, a gilded casket of wine was brought to the table. It was opened and upon its blue velvet lining laid a sloshing bottle of locally produced date wine. As a nymph raised it up, it caught the sunlight and sent orange light cascading down upon the table. My goblet was filled near the top, which I think must have been a mistake, but I carefully brought it to my lips before taking a gulp. It was a smooth and sweet drink, with a kick that only set in later on in the night, sending the smallest of tingling sensations and barely indicating intoxicating powers. I was careful to not drink all of the wine before finishing my lamb. The meat was so tender it felt almost as if I had sunk my teeth into butter. I remember specifically pressing my spear into a sliver of it and watching the juices spill out upon my plate. The potatoes and roughage were well seasoned and I even liked the dolma, though sour flavors are not usually appealing to me.

When we had gorged ourselves fully and felt the soothing effects of the wine wash over the collective party, four small plates with a little square of cake were throughout out. The cake had a jelly-like consistency, and when I tasted it I got the impression of cocoa, earth, and plantains. It must have been imported which I found disheartening as I wanted to try whatever the staple dessert of Tik Ha is, but it was satisfactory none the less, if not a little bland. By the time the sun had gone down, we gave our parting words and left for the night. I walked to the hostel alone, feeling content.

(Afraid I have been, yet again, cut out of the picture. I don't blame the poor girl though, it would be hard for me to capture us all in the frame if I were on my tiptoes too.)

A simple meal in Al'uru

 I was passing through a small Alian city called Valhezakan today on my way to Qoriga. During high noon, my stomach started to grumble, and having glimpsed stands selling fresh fruits and vegetables from a distance, I soon found myself drawn there, peeking around for something to eat. I nearly missed it and had to double back after noticing the little inn's sign, a woman, with half-moons for eyes and the words "Aseera's Lounge, come and eat", written in small letters underneath. The sign was succeeded by a long alleyway, at the end of it was a door. It was a tight squeeze. The door frame only reached my chin, but I was relieved to find the ceiling was higher (though not by much) inside. The place was rather spacious, sets of circular tables with little stools were spread out across its dirt floor. On the other side of the room, archways led out to a dusty courtyard where a fountain trickled weakly, its mosaic faded and chipped. At the bar, a man with a cloth wrapped over his eyes stood, absent-mindedly scrubbing the counter, but though his vision seemed obscured, he noticed when I walked in and pointed to a large stool where I could sit, though his nose was still pointed down at his work. I sat where he directed and didn't wait too long before I was served a steaming plate of flat, dry bread on a tray for which I paid only two rose pieces. He brought out a dish with a thick, whitish sauce where a pile of red chili paste and bean curd lay as well as a plate of seared asparagus. Despite the simplicity of the meal, I was pleasantly surprised to find it quite satisfying. The sauce, which I mixed the curd and paste into, tasted like garlic and olives. It complimented the asparagus oddly, but the taste wasn't unpleasant. Though it was not much food, I felt well-fed and thanked him for his hospitality. He said nothing in return, and with a start, I realized where there should have been a mouth, there was only the indentation of a line and lips, but the skin there was completely fused together. I wanted to make note of this specifically because the only time I ever saw something like this was 12 years ago during my time as an officer in the city of Dianda, and the man with the false mouth there had electrocuted me. Needless to say, I left the place in a hurry, but now I wonder if I should have looked around some more. But since I don't have privileges of search and seizure anymore, perhaps it is better I refused to let my curiosity get the best of me.

Some Introductions!

   My name is Julia Schäfer. If that sounds familiar, you've probably picked up my book Peoples of the Endless Street, Travels with the N'ra, or any other of my works. I am an author with Pathways Publishing ltd. and specialize in the analysis of the various cultures of the six realms. I grew up in a little village in northern Tabka'ali and, as you can probably tell, am of mixed Anjótsen/Human heritage. Growing up, I tended to run off to neighboring villages to meet the different creatures and peoples that lived in my area, and when I turned 15, I moved by myself to the capital city of Isikarr to get closer to some of the vibrant culture that clusters in metropolitan areas. Due to my size, it was easy for me to find work and the first year I lived in Isikarr saw me working in construction, metalwork, and as junior assistant to the Consulate Guard. Eventually, I was picked up by the Intercontinental Defense Leauge and served on the force for 11 years before I decided to dedicate my life to the study of language, culture, and people. In the past 8 years, I have written around 150 works including multiple textbooks and research papers for colleges throughout the 6th Realm, and am an honorary professor of polyanthropology, cultural studies, and Endalan history in over 50 colleges. Though I cannot disclose my location for reasons of privacy, I now live in an apartment with a view of the sea, my only companion being my cat, Yogan.