Word: Arcane

 

arcane

[ ahr-keyn ]

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adjective

known or understood by very few; mysterious; secret; obscure; esoteric: She knew a lot about Sanskrit grammar and other arcane matters.

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               The old man perused his collection of writing implements. Which one should he use today? There were so many options. A good sturdy ball point? Or maybe something more elaborate, like the feather quill? He supposed it depended on what he was writing. Different tool for different jobs and all that.

               He Turned away from the wall of writing tools and to the book. It was blank, as always. But that would change soon enough. It always did once something to write on graced his desk. Yesterday it had been a dusty old scroll. Today was a book. The cover was good, but cracked, leather, and the pages were yellow with age. An older book then. He closed his eyes in thought. Something obscure then. Something with weight to it. Nothing fancy though. No, that was reserved for newer texts. Sure some embellishments and flowery language was expected, but the core should remain accurate.

Maybe something with some real power to the words? He had not penned a good grimoire in…well, he forgot. It had been a long time. It had been so long since he had written out so much as a magic scroll that he almost forgot he could sometimes. But, then again, as time wore on magic was becoming less and less important. Technology was to modern day magic, but it just lacked that certain special oomph that a real spell had.

And this was not a modern book, so he might even be able to get away with it. People would have a fit. Opening an old tome and expecting an old record book or story, and getting the method to turn people blue. That would be great fun to watch. Then again, with the way the world was these days, he supposed that someone could get in trouble with even simple magic.

It was not as interesting, but maybe it would be best to stick with something mundane. Maybe a book of songs to some minor lord would be good? He could write one of those quickly enough. But it was so boring. Sure a bit of obscure knowledge was always fun, but still. There were so many of them that if he wrote that, the best he could hope for was the book being stuck in a museum and copied by people who did not appreciate his work.

He had written enough dusty old books and cargo manifests that he was itching to break out the really interesting writing tools for once. Sure it might cause problems, but they would be entertaining. And that was good. It was living up to the purpose of books. The two purposes he knew well, to entertain and to inform. A book of magic would do both of those things.

The old man smiled and nodded. He went to the wall of writing implements and chose the one he wanted. It was long and thin, made of a material mankind had long forgotten about. It was a tool used for writing magic. He took it almost reverently, brought it to the book, and began to write.

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So does this guy write every book in existence and "send" it to the author? Or is it more of a general muse situation? I wonder. Maybe someday I'll figure it out. 

Word: Ailurophile

 

ailurophile

[ ahy-loor-uh-fahyl, ey-loor- ]

 

noun

a person who likes cats; cat fancier.

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               Dave looked around Jenny’s apartment. It was larger than his, and had much nicer decorations. She had done wonders with the place in terms of interior decoration. Art and plants were plentiful, and all were of high quality. But there was something else that caught his attention. Several small shelves and platforms were set high up along the walls.

               “So, you have cats?” He guessed.

               Jenny poked her head out from around the corner. “Huh? Oh, the platforms. Yeah, I do. I’ve got three, actually. They’re probably hiding from you right now.”

               “That’s great!” Dave exclaimed. “Well, not that they’re hiding, but that you have them.”

               She entered the living area and sat on a couch. Dave continued to look around, but never went very far. He peaked around a corner and saw a marvel of engineering that took the form of an large, sprawling cat tree. Although in this case, it was more like a cat forest.

               “Now that’s a hell of a thing.” He said.

               “What can I say? Nothing’s too good for my babies. How about you? Do you have any pets?”

               “No.” Dave said heavily. “My landlord doesn’t allow them. Says he doesn’t want to deal with allergies or noise complaints or anything.”

               “Ouch.”

               “Yeah. But if I could, it would definitely be cats.”

               “Really?”

               “Oh yeah, I grew up with them. My parents used to foster kittens when I was a kid. They don’t anymore, since they’re too old for it. But thanks to that, I’ve always had a fondness for felines.”

               “Aw, that’s so great. I wish I could’ve known your family back then. I would totally have come over just to play with kittens.”

               Dave nodded in understanding. That was one of his favorite forms of entertainment growing up. The two continued talking for a little while when the conversation was interrupted. One of Jenny’s pets chose that moment to make itself known.

               “Ah, here’s Jules.” Jenny said.

               “She’s a beauty. I’ve always loved calicos.” Dave said, watching the cat as it slowly made its way into the room.

               The cat watched Dave cautiously, but chose to slowly approach. Dave leaned forward and held out a finger for her to sniff. Then, in typical feline fashion, Jules lost all interest in Dave. Instead, she jumped on the couch Jenny was sitting on and crawled onto her lap. The cat spun around a few times before finding a place to sit. Then she simply luxuriated in the attention Jenny was giving her.

               “Don’t worry, she’ll warm up to you.” Jenny said.

               “Hey, I get it. I really do. It takes a lot of effort for a cat to warm up to someone. But, well, you know.”

               “Yeah, I do. It’s so worth it when it finally happens.”

               “Oh yeah, totally. There’s nothing else quite like it, is there?”

               The two continued their conversation, mostly about cats and their respective enjoyment of the animal. But other topics were spoken of as well, although not as much. But, as much as they were enjoying each other’s company, Dave eventually had to leave. He did so with the promise to bring cat treats the next time he visited.

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I must admit, I'm more of a cat person myself. Now, don't me wrong, I do enjoy dogs. They're fun to be around and all that. But I just don't want to own one. It wouldn't be fair to the dog. They're high energy animals, and I'm a very low energy person. Any dog I ended up with would be bored out of its little doggy mind, and that's just not fair to the animal. 

Title: Wizen

 

wizen

[ wiz-uhn; wee-zuhn ]

British Dialect

verb (used with or without object)

1. to wither; shrivel; dry up.

adjective

2. wizened.

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               The old man looked like a skeleton. Maybe a ghoul. Just a bunch of bones wrapped in a layer of dry skin. His eyes were milky white, and it was clear he had no teeth left. The click of his cane on the stone floor was the only sound. Even with the help of the tool, his steps were slow and halting. He walked with a noticeable limp and a hunch. All together, the man looked ready to drop dead at any second.

               He looked around the room. There was only one other person in it. A person who was not sure if they could be seen by the old man. The younger man sat still and silent as his elder slowly looked around.

               “You there?” The old man eventually asked. His voice was thin and weak.

               “Yes, elder. I am here.” The young man asked. He spoke loud and clear, giving the old man time to recognize the words.

               “Ah, yes, I see you now. I think.”

               The old man was looking slightly to the left of where the young man was actually sitting. But it was close enough.

               “So, you ready for this?” The elder asked.

               “I…no, elder. No I am not. I know it is an honorable duty. Worthy of only the best. But I am scared.”

               The old man nodded. Or at least, he tried to. His head barely moved. “That’s understandable. What you’re about to go through is not something everyone can handle. The fact that you showed up at all is a sign of your bravery and loyalty. You will be honored properly when this is all done.”

               “Yes, elder. I know that. But still. This…are you sure this is right? I know this is our tradition, and how we have always done things. But I still wonder. Maybe there is a better way? A different way that can be just as good.”

               The elder’s eyes closed, and he took a long breath. “I used to wonder that exact thing. I still do. Quite often, actually. But the thing about new ideas is that very few like them. At least at first. People will argue and fight about them. New ways can tear our people apart.”

               “So then there is no way to progress? No way to change? Are we destined to stay the same forever?”

               “No, no. Of course not. The thing about new ideas is that you cannot bring them out all at once. You have to lead up to them. Make a few tiny, easy changes every so often. Build it up slowly over time and people won’t even know change has happened. But for that to work, you need some form of stability. Something that stays the same throughout, so that nobody complains about it.”

               “I see. And that’s where this comes from? Giving people that one form of eternal stability?”

               “Of course, lad. Do you think our people are the same as they were when we were founded? No, of course not. The other elders and I are the glue that holds us together while we bring forth new ideas and practices over lifetimes. But we cannot do it alone. We need young men like you. Men willing to go through the process. Do you understand?”

               “I think so. Thank you elder.”

               “So? Shall we begin?”

               The young man took a long, deep breath. He felt the air in his lungs and blood in his veins. He nodded. The elder did not react.

               “Yes, elder. I am.”

               “Good, good.”

               The elder held out a gnarled, shaking hand. The young man took it. Both closed their eyes and began to change. The elder stood straighter. The deep wrinkles in his skin smoothed. His thin hair grew and darkened. His flesh filled out, gaining the size and form of youth.

               The younger man, however, looked like he was drying out. His flesh sagged and shriveled. His bones creaked and shrunk. His teeth and hair fell out. It was as if he aged a hundred years in an instant.

               When the process was finished, the elder opened his eyes. They were now clear and sharp. He opened his mouth, showing a full set of teeth. The younger man, now a dried out husk, fell, and did not move.

               The revitalized elder spoke in a deep, strong voice. “Don’t worry, you will be honored in death. And your sacrifice will not be in vain.”

               He turned and left the room, tucking his cane under his arm. He would keep it close for the next time he needed it.  

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Not much to say right now, so I'll just end it here.