Corren the Librarian

Part the First: And Now for Something Completely Different
Wooby and I were relaxing in the Hall the other day - she sharpening arrowheads, I repairing a boot-turned-lasher-chewtoy - and she mentioned that I tend to start in the middle of conversations. I imagine that I must have done just so to her at the time - I think I was telling her about a particularly nice meal I'd once had, only I hadn't bothered to tell her why I was suddenly reminded of food, or what the food was, or, for that matter, where I'd eaten it. I believe I said, "That was a delicious meal."

Wooby is used to these sorts of un-started conversations, but she made mention that it is "an annoying habit."
It is confusing, she explained, because starting in the middle bears the result of having left my listener (or supposed listener) to grasp at whatever the beginning of my tale might have been. I observed that this is a failing of the listener, not the story teller, because they have not had the foresight to learn telepathy and glean from my thoughts what they have missed. Wooby hit me in the head with an arrow she'd been toying with.

My mind tends to run a little ahead of my mouth I suppose - which is hardly as bad as my mouth running on ahead without ever consulting my mind - but I grant that it does lead to confusion. Now there was a time when confusion -- Wait, that's what I was expressly trying to avoid.

To be fair though, I do generally get to the point of my stories - though I know that I generally tell much of the story out of order and with little regard for the natural flow of time. As a tip, being so experienced in telling pointless stories, I find that when the story ends and your audience is obviously unimpressed by your narrative, it is best to end with this surprise: "And then I found a thousand gold pyreal!"
This conveniently ends any story with the added bonus that it makes your listener feel as though the whole pointless bit was rather meaningful, because, hey, you found a thousand pyreal! What's not good about that?

Anyway, back to the topic at hand -- without any further tangents. Or very few tangents, in any case. Wooby thinks I should introduce myself.

There are some who call me . . . Cor.
My full appellation is Corren of Thistledown, and though by rank I am a count, it hardly matters, as my family has quite disowned me and rank means little these days besides. I live in Kehan these days, though I once resided in Esper and for a few months I lived north of Ankoro. I would tell you a story of living out of doors, cooking grub meat, and refusing to wear anything but boots and a loincloth for all those months, but I am being prodded with an arrow to remain on topic.

By trade, I am a Bounty Hunter and sometime entrepreneur. I am probably one of the older ones around, having taken up the trade as my first profession and having been around since before the rediscovery of the Hero Shrine. I make ugly swords in my spare time, and spend the rest of the time repairing the various objects that Wooby's lasher, Pet, chews on. Wooby, by the way, is not some security blanket, as many have assumed, but is my wife and hunting companion. We met near Cavendo - at least, I think it was Cavendo. I was lost and she was looking for wasp wings. We've been inseparable ever since. Well, there was this time . . .
I can go no further on that subject, as I must stop now to dress a rather vicious arrow poke in the leg.

So, that is the beginning of the story, and only time and the economy and how this whole Knorr Expedition thing goes will tell the end.

Part the Second: Pride and Extreme Predjudice
My leg has stopped bleeding, but the Healer says I should stay off it for a while, so I am taking up some of the books that Wooby has been telling me to read. Wooby is always prevailing upon me to read more and kill things less. I can see how she might see this as being worthwhile, as she is a Ranger, and can sit far away from battle and perhaps take up a good book or two while her fellows dispatch any enemies that might come calling. As a Bounty Hunter though, I find that it is best not be caught reading when a chaos-twisted beast attempts to fangoriously devour you. That's just me though.

But I do try to read once in awhile, which is how I came to read a book that Wooby has long wanted me to read called Pride and Prejudice. Most of you probably recognize the title. For those of you who don't, it's an account of a family of poor Lugian women in the Golden Age who try to get themselves married off in an attempt to live well and such. There's many twists and turns as the main characters have a variety of misunderstandings and cannot decide whether or not they really like one another. Though very well written, even by Golden Age standards, it is lacking something, which is why I am writing my own version of the story, called Pride and Extreme Prejudice.

Unlike Jann Austenek's story, in this version the Lugian women don't sit around and wait for some gentlemanly Lugian lord to come calling. They take matters into their own hands. Take for instance, this excerpt:

"Wikkam," shouted Elizabeth hoarsely, "Come and face your doom!"
"What?!" said Wikkam, looking rather alarmed. "I'm practically your brother-in-law now," he whimpered.
Elizabeth crossed the sunlit grounds quickly, her bloodstained swords gripped tightly in her hands. No pansy soldier would stain her sister's honor and get away with it. Wikkam stumbled back from the enraged Elizabeth, wringing his hands while attempting to make light of the situation.
Elizabeth paid his babbling no heed. Blood would be spilt.
Wikkam fell to the ground, his pitiful cries of the Golden Age value for life passed unheard. Elizabeth advanced on the now sobbing soldier.
"You should have joined the Clergy when you had the chance," she growled.

You get the idea.

I'm also writing a new version of another of Austennek's works, Sense and Sensibility, that I call, Sense and Senseless Violence. Here's an excerpt:

"Willobi," shouted Elinor hoarsely, "Come and face your doom!"
"What?!" said Wikkam, err, I mean, Willobi, looking rather alarmed. "I could have been your brother-in-law," he whimpered.
Elinor crossed the sunlit grounds quickly, her bloodstained arc staff gripped tightly in her hands. No pansy hunter would act a part to her sister and get away with it. Willobi stumbled back from the enraged Elinor, wringing his hands while attempting to make light of the situation.
Elinor paid his babbling no heed. Blood would be spilt.
Willobi fell to the ground, his pitiful cries of the Golden Age value for life unheeded. Elinor advanced on the now sobbing hunter.
"You should have joined the Clergy when you had the chance," she growled.

Wooby, who has been reading over my shoulder as I pen this, interrupts to say that in the original, Willobi never wanted to join the Clergy. To which I can only respond with, "Well, he should have joined while he had the chance!"

I'm also writing a new children's book called, Peter the Brown Rabbit Destroyer versus Farmer MacGregor. After a grueling battle, which ends with the final defeat (though of course not too final, in case there needs to be a sequel) of the chaos twisted farmer, Peter learns that sometimes it's okay to fight. Or maybe he will learn that it's not okay to fight, unless the thing you are fighting is twisted by chaos. Or if they have some eeps that you want. Or some money. Or you think they are ugly . . . or, ummm . . . a farmer.

And then I found a thousand gold pyreal!