Word: Tessellate

 

tessellate

[ verb tes-uh-leyt; adjective tes-uh-lit, -leyt ]

 

verb (used with object), tes·sel·lat·ed, tes·sel·lat·ing.

to form of small squares or blocks, as floors or pavements; form or arrange in a checkered or mosaic pattern.

 

adjective

tessellated.

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               The floor was very odd. Every man stood on a large stone square, just big enough for himself. Each square was one of two colors, in an alternating pattern. The King knelt down and ran a hand along the smooth stone.

               “How curious.” He said. “Who could create such fine stonework?”

               “Does it matter dear?” The Queen asked. She stood next to the King. “We aren’t here to admire the floor. We’re here to do battle.”

               “Quite right, darling, quite right.” The King replied, standing upright and surveilling the army.

               There was something off though. Just a moment ago, he had overlooked a vast army of thousands. Now there were far fewer. So few he could count them all. A handful of common foot soldiers, the priests he and his wife had brought, and an unfortunately small number of mounted Knights. And for some reason there were two castle towers mounted on what looked like large wheels flanking them.

               The King looked to the man next to him, a priest with a tall hat and holding a staff with a suspiciously heavy decoration on the end. He forgot the mans name for some reason.

               “Bishop, what do you make of this?”

               “I have no knowledge of this place, Sire. But if we are here, then God wishes us to be here.”

               “I don’t know why we need priests here to begin with.” The Queen said. “Now, I wish divine aide as much as anyone, but couldn’t blessings be given before we left?” She huffed and placed a hand on her hip. A confused look crossed her face as she discovered a fine rapier there. “And why do I have a sword? I didn’t have a sword before. I don’t even know how to use it.”

               The Knight closest to her shouted over the priest at her side. “It’s easy, Your Highness. The pointy end goes into the other man.”

               The other Knight and a few soldiers chuckled. The King was too busy trying to figure out what was happening. He looked to the tower, and saw a few archers on it who looked just as confused as he felt.

               “Lookout! What do you see?” He shouted.

               “The enemy, Sire!” One of the archers replied. “It’s odd, they’re all dressed in black, just as we are white. And they’re in the same formation we are!”

               “How strange.”

               The King contemplated his next move. Perhaps he should have a parlay with the enemy. Maybe they would know something of importance. He tried to move forward, onto the square in front of him. But for some reason, the soldier in front of him always seemed to be right where the King wanted to be.

               “You there, soldier, move and let me by.”

               “Yes, Sire.” The soldier answered crisply.

               He took enough steps that he crossed two of the tiles, and then stopped. It was as if he could not move any more. That hardly mattered. The King tried to move forward himself. But his feet refused to move. He grunted with effort, but nothing he did would allow him to take even a single step.

               “Oh stop it.” The Queen said. “You look silly in front of the men. What is the problem anyway?”

               “I’m stuck. I don’t know why, but I can’t move.”

               “Well, stop trying then. At least try to look dignified.”

               The lookout atop the tower called that the enemy army was moving. But only one of them. One of their soldiers had mimicked their own. The royal couple looked at each other. The Queen shrugged.

               “It seems,” She said, “That each of our armies can only move one solider at a time. It is like some vast game.”

               “Indeed.” The King said with a nod. “And I suppose there is little choice but to play.”

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It's been quite awhile since I last played chess. Pretty sure the last time was in high school. So yeah, it's been awhile. I was never very good at it anyway, so no big loss.

Word: Intramundane

 

intramundane

[ in-truh-muhn-deyn, -muhn-deyn ]

 

adjective

existing or occurring within the material world.

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               Derrick sat, waiting for his teacher eagerly. The man was supposedly one of the greatest mages in the world. Although, Derrick had not seen the man perform any magic in their first meeting, he still held out hope.

               The man in question came into the room a moment later. He had a scraggly beard, his clothes were dirty and it looked like the man had barely slept at all. He yawned and looked around the room until he found a coffee pot. Derrick watched him pour a large cup of the hot liquid before saying anything.

               “Uh, Prof. Windslow?” He asked.

               “Huh?” Windslow looked around, only then seeing Derrick. He let out a long suffering sigh. “Oh, great. You’re still here. Thought you’d’ve left already. Guess that means I gotta actually teach you something, huh?”

               The teacher trudged through the room and plopped down in a seat. He took a long drink of coffee before he said anything.

               “Okay, since you’re here, I guess you know the basics, right?”

               “Yes, sir. I was the best in my class.”

               “Yeah, great, good, wonderful.” Windslow finished off his coffee and set the cup down. He pursed his lips and blew out a long breath. “Okay, what do I teach you? Guess I should start with something simple, right? How about the planes of existence.”

               “That’s a simple topic?” Derrick asked. It sounded complicated, that was for sure.

               “Kind of. Depends on how deep you go. There’re people who spend their entire lives studying just one plane. Those people suck though and never do anything fun. All a mage really needs to know is the basic three, and maybe a bit about whichever plane goes with their magic.” Prof. Windslow did not elaborate further. His eyes grew distant.

               “What are the basic three?” Derrick asked, brining his teacher back to the present.

               “I was getting to that.” He said quickly. “Three basic planes of existence, let’s see, there’s the physical, the mental and the spiritual. Physical’s easy, so let’s focus on that one for now and do the other two when I figure out what the hell you’re supposed to be learning. Okay, so the physical plane. It’s where we are. Some people call it the material world, or the universe or the world or whatever else. The point is, we’re in it. Our bodies are anyway, but that gets weird really quick once you get to that stuff, so we’re not gonna for a while.”

               Derrick had gotten out a small notebook while Windslow was talking and was furiously taking notes. The professor paused to rub his eyes, yawn and then kept going.

               “So yeah, it’s pretty easy. Everything you can see, touch, hear, smell and taste is the physical plane. Not much else to say about it. Most of what we’ll do, even the magic stuff, will be here too. So yeah, for now, you’re gonna be sticking pretty firmly to that one. The other two are pretty important too, but you probably won’t be able to access them for a while. Probably. I don’t know what you can do.” Derrick opened his mouth, but was interrupted. “That wasn’t an invitation to brag, kid. It’s way too early for that stuff. Anyway, for now, that’s pretty much all you need to know about the physical plane. So yeah, lesson over, I guess. See you tomorrow.”

               “Wait, that’s it? That’s the lesson? There has to be more to it than that.”

               “There is. But you don’t need to know it yet, so I’m not gonna teach it yet. I guess you can, I don’t study…something. I’m gonna go take a shower.”

               And with that, he got up and shuffled out of the room. Derrick was left sitting there, wondering if he had made a terrible mistake.   

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You just know once the teacher gets his act together and actually starts teaching, he'll be amazing at it. That's usually the way these things go. I see no reason to change that here.

Word: Amendatory

 

amendatory

[ uh-men-duh-tawr-ee, -tohr-ee ]

 

adjective

serving to amend; corrective.

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               It was done. The essay he had worked so hard on was finally done. At least, the base version was done. The first draft. It would be finished with a bit of editing. He went back to the beginning and read. There were a few errors in spelling and grammar, but nothing that could not be fixed easily enough. And a few lines here and there that were not needed. And there was an entire paragraph that was in the wrong place.

               His breathing quickened as he read it. Had he really written this? There were so many errors. So many mistakes that needed to be corrected. He needed to fix them. He would not rest until it was done. He began to work, going over everything with a fine-tooth comb. He mercilessly cut everything that was not needed, allowing only his core idea to come out and really shine. Words, sentences, entire paragraphs were discarded until only the single, central jewel of the essay remained.

               When he was done, the essay had been trimmed down from ten pages to a mere three. He took a few deep breaths, centering his mind and allowing himself a moment to calm his wild thoughts. He had done it. He had condensed his ideas to a few, easy to read pages. It was clear, concise. It was a thing of beauty. He read over it and his eye twitched.

               It was wrong. It was all wrong.

               Not just the spelling and grammar. Not just a few sentences too many. No, the entire essay was wrong. In fact, the very idea of a mere essay was wrong. He needed to correct it. His ideas would not, could not, be contained by simple ink and paper! No, he needed something else. This mistake must be corrected. He had to fix it. But how?

               What method could he possible use to ensure all knew his brilliance? It needed to be big. It needed to be bold. But it also needed to show the elegant simplicity of his ideas, so that anyone could understand them. It also needed to be something he could do within his limited means. He might have ideas that could revolutionize the world, but he still had a college student’s budget and resources.

               He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, he knew what he had to do. The idea was rough and unrefined now, but he could work with it. He could fix the mistakes and make it everything he needed to to be, and more. He leaned forward and closed his flawed, misguided attempt at an essay.

               He would not discard it though. No, he needed it as a placeholder. A way to store his ideas until his new idea could come to life. And for that, it was adequate. But for now, he had more important things to do. He cracked his knuckles, placed his fingers on the keyboard, and began to work.

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No way this doesn't backfire on this guy, right?