Word: Dactylogram

dactylogram

[ dak-til-uh-gram ]

noun

1. a fingerprint.

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                Derrick always thought of himself as a practical man. He had always tried to live in a simple way, and had little room for the unusual. It was why he had become a detective. Direct, clear cut, and everything had an explanation. And he saw no reason to change that when he had been inexplicably brought to another world.

                Just because the people around him had magic didn’t mean there wasn’t laws and rules to things. Really all it meant was a greater variety of crimes being committed. Turns out people could still make dumb choices and leave obvious clues, even when they could shoot lighting from their hands.

                “Alright, what’ve we got.” He asked the officers. Sure they called themselves guards here, but they did the same thing.

                “Just a normal knifing.” One of them said. “No magic, thank the gods.”

                That was good. Derrick had always been amazed that in a world with magic, people still got killed in many of the same ways as they did in his previous world. He entered the scene and took a look around.  One of the mage guards had created an illusory image of the victim, which was sprawled on the floor with several knife wounds. Blood, real blood, pooled out from beneath the image.

                “Oh no, what do you want?” One of the mages said.

                “Same thing you do. Catch a killer, go home.” Derrick replied, already looking around. “We got any suspects?”

                “Several. And it’s only a matter of time before our truth tellers can find them.”

                Derrick groaned. Truth tellers. Glorified polygraphs more like it. These people relied on them too much, even with the numerous ways they could be beaten. Hell, Derrick had beaten one on his first day, and the people here were still none the wiser.

                “Great. Well until then, I’m going to do something that actually works.” The mage sneered at Derrick’s words. “Has anyone dusted for prints yet?”

                “Why would anyone clean yet?” One of the guards asked. Derrick felt like kicking himself. He almost forgot this world was woefully underdeveloped when it came to forensics. This would not be the first time he had to explain basic concepts to them.

                “Not cleaning. Dusting for prints. Fingerprints. Get some power, uh, chalk powder will do. Go over anything that’s likely to be held and lightly coat things until we get some readable fingerprints.”

                “That sounds idiotic.” The mage said. “Why would we waste time doing that? It’s not like such markings will be left anyway.”

                “That’s what you said about blood that’s been wiped up. Look, human skin gives off a tiny amount of oil, and that sticks to things. Leaves imprints of out fingerprints on everything we touch. So we find the prints and we find the killer.”

                “How?” The guard asked.

                “Seriously? You don’t even know that? Everyone’s fingerprints are unique. We get the suspects, use some ink to get their prints, and then compare them to what we can find around here. If we can find the murder weapon, that’d be best, but even without it, we can work out who was where. Most of what we find will be the victim’s, but the killer’s should be somewhere. Now get to it. We’ve got a crime to solve.”

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I'm a bit tired right now. Long periods of travel will do that to you, you know? So yeah, this probably isn't my best work. Maybe next time. 

Word: Gnathonic

 

gnathonic

[ na-thon-ik ]

adjective

1. sycophantic; fawning.

               Barrin grimaced at the crowds as they stumbled over themselves to bow and praise him. Each one begged his attention. He gave them as little as he could. Just enough to not collide with the fawning crowds as he walked.

               “The people love you, I see.” Said Verris, the only man who wasn’t trying to gain Barrin’s favor with excessive praise. “That’s good. It’ll make them easier to lead.”

               “You have an odd definition of love, my friend.” Barrin said, dodging around another of the people.

               “What else would you call it?” Verris asked. “They clearly adore you. I dare say they practically worship you.”

               “Worship is not love. And these people are more sycophants and hangers on. No, they don’t love me. They love my power. They love what I can do and have done for them. But me? No. They’ll forget me within a year or two.”

               “I doubt that. I hear plans for a statue in your honor. That’s not the actions of people who will just forget you that quickly. By the way, what did you do that they treat you like this?”

               “Nothing special. At least not for you and me. I stopped some small warlord from taking sacking the town. Enough saw how I did that and now you get people like this. Those who claim to honor and respect me, but only because of what I can do.”

               Verris looked around. It seemed to him that the people celebrated Barrin like a hero of legend. The kind of person who was immortalized in song for generations to come. Maybe even deified long in the future. But he has seen enough sycophants and false respect to understand his friend’s attitude.

               “What are you planning to do here anyway? Even if this is false love, you can hardly just leave these people as they are.”

               “Why not? I’ve done it before.”

               “Barrin, the last time you left a city in this state, it tore itself apart. I know we can’t stay, but you need to give the people something to stand on.”

               Barrin sighed. He knew Verris was right. Even if they would forget about him the next time some great hero came along, he had some sliver of responsibility for them. He did not like it, but that was the way of things.

               “Fine. I’ll give them a few…” He paused, not liking what he was about to say, “rules and laws. Things to help get them through the coming days. Maybe even help set up a few local heroes that they can actually love and not just give false worship to.”

               Verris nodded. “That would be best, I think. Leaving a legacy never hurt anyone, and it will help these people going forward. No need to save them only to see them crumble under the weight of your memory.”

               Barrin huffed. He hardly cared. Truth be told, he would likely forget about this town even fast than its people would forget him. But his friend was right. A few stories and tales about him would not be so bad. Probably. 

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I'm on vacation! Something I really needed, but never really had the will to do. So yeah, I'm doing this in a different country. Neat.

Word: Coalesce

 

coalesce

[ koh-uh-les ]

verb (used without object)

coalesced, coalescing.

1. to grow together or into one body:

   The two lakes coalesced into one.

2. to unite so as to form one mass, community, etc.:

   The various groups coalesced into a crowd.

3. to blend or come together:

   Their ideas coalesced into one theory.

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Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Several people held their breath. They watched the tiny motes of light as they moved aimlessly around the sealed and warded room. All their research told them this would work. All the long months of constant trials and failures all brought them to this final test. Most of them thought even this would fail. Others dared to hope. 

        The head researcher looked at his colleagues. He could feel their nervousness. It was practically a physical force. His own stomach was practically a giant knot of tension. And there was only one way to undo it. He reached out and started the activation sequence. 

        For a brief moment, nothing happened. Then the room came to life. Carefully placed lights on the wall, arranged into exacting shapes, colors and sizes, all activated. The drifting motes reacted slowly at first. They stopped moving. Several of the researchers leaned forward in anticipation. This was one of the first points of failure. 

        The motes began to move. Unlike the slow, aimless drifting from before, this time, they moved in patterns the wall lights guided them in. Neat circles, large loops, straight lines. The motes moved perfectly and without deviation. A few researcher’s eyes widened as they watched. The first step was successful. The motes were doing what they needed to. 

        The second step was harder. The wall lights changed. More were added. Colors and patterns shifted. And with them, the movement of the motes. They sped up and moved in ever more intricate patterns. The room was a blur of light and color, both from the walls and the motes. A few researchers gasped at the spellbinding sight. The second stage was progressing perfectly. 

        When the third stage began, some of the researchers could barely watch. This was the hardest part. The single biggest point of failure from all the previous tests. If this did not go right, then everything else was for naught. The wall lights changed again. This time, they shifted and moved. They were dynamic, ever changing. And the motes reacted with these changes. It was like the wall lights were shepherds guiding the flock. The motes moved in elaborate patterns at blistering speeds. Some even changed colors as they moved.  

        The motes were guided inwards towards the center of the room. They swirled and danced around each other, never touching any others. The head researcher bit his lip as he prayed to whatever god was watching. And then, it happened. 

        Two motes rushed into the center of the contracting sphere of moving lights. And they collided. There were only two ways such contact could go. The most common result was the motes burst, releasing the stored power each one possessed. This would result in more and more motes bursting. The damage such an event caused would be devastating.  

        Eyes widened and breaths were released as the second result of the collision occurred. The motes fused. They joined together to form one larger mote of shifting light. And once that happened, more of the tiny motes of light rushed in, each one joining the ever growing mass. 

        They coalesced, forming a shifting, pulsing ball of pure light in the center of the room. Several of the researchers wanted to cheer. To celebrate even this success. This was the first time the third stage had ever been successfully completed. If they stopped the test now, it would be a rousing success. But they could not do that. Time was running out. The fourth and final stage needed to be completed. 

        The wall lights shifted one final time. All of it focused and bathed on the single large mote of light that had formed. The lights were harsh and seemed more solid than light should be. Like walls keeping the super sized mote in place. And squeezing it. The pulsing ball of light stopped moving. And it shrank. Solidified. Became something that could be held. A single, perfect orb of light that could be held in the palm of a child’s hand. The wall lights held the ball in place for a moment, letting it settle and fully stabilize. And then they shut off. 

        The ball fell, landing with barely a sound. And the researchers cheered. Finally, they had done it. It had taken close to a year, but they had done it. All the time and effort it took to make this one single tiny object would all be worth it. And now so much more could be done. Because there was always more to learn. More experiments to run and more tests to perform. This was just the first, and largest, step to a better, brighter future. 

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What does this thing do? I have no idea. Just a magical and/or technological maguffin that can do whatver the reader thinks it can do.