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An extended excerpt from Prilkop‘s writings, detailing his treatment by the Servants after his return to Clerres, precedes “Accusations.” The chapter begins with Bee waking in her cell from an unpleasant dream. She steels herself against Vindeliar and directs her energies towards healing before her captors arrive. After she is fed, she considers her deeds of the previous night until the remaining members of the Four arrive to extract her from her cell, betraying Vindeliar’s work upon them.
Soup receives some attention in the chapter. Photo by Campanero M on Pexels.com
Bee listens as the three remaining confer about the death of one of their own and the possibility of her complicity therewith. One of them, Coultrie, is led away, and the other two, Capra and Fellowdy, confer about what Vindeliar has said. The implications of Symphe’s death begin to be discussed, and Bee watches as power shifts in Clerres before she is confined again.
The present chapter is remarkably brief, some eight pages in the printing I am rereading. I am again taken by the desire to get hold of a cohesive print-run of the Realm of the Elderlings novels and to simply count the pages in chapter to see if there is some pattern to be found among them. I am not sure there’s anything there to find, admittedly, but I have the sneaking suspicion that there is something, and I’d have to do the work to rule out anything in any event. Ah, to have such luxury! Alas that I do not and may well never again!
Brief though it is, the present chapter serves useful functions for the reader. It continues emphasizing the hubris of the Servants in Clerres and points out the irony of their overreliance on their interpretation of prophetic foreknowledge. That is, it reminds the reader that the Servants have blinded themselves to ideas not their own, and while it is the case that a person can only come up with certain things themselves, it need not be the case that a person disregard the ideas and understandings of others. The Servants do so, and they do so at their peril, both internally (as witness Vindeliar) and externally (as Fitz and company prove).
One idea does occur as I reread, though. Throughout the Realm of the Elderlings novels, the actions of the Prophets’ Catalysts tend towards eluding prognostication. If it is the case that Bee’s actions confound the Servants’ prophecies, the idea that she is, herself, a Catalyst…tantalizes.
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Following on last week’s activites, I returned to my local library to once again preside over a session of Dungeons & Dragons for a group of middle-school-aged children. When the game had left off last week, there was a fight over a fish brewing within the party, which made for an interesting place to break off for the evening; cliffhangers work to prompt ongoing engagement, after all. When actual play resumed, that fight got addressed; afterwards, the narrative resumed pretty much as expected. Gamers are gamers, after all, and kids are kids–and middle schoolers are still very much kids.
Somewhat ominous in context… Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com
Owing to the need to be more explicitly educational, however, I did not resume play immediately on starting the session. Instead, I addressed a narrative and ludological concern: metagaming. That I would need to do so was prompted by one of the players making a comment in the previous session about trying to read my mind…by pulling out a copy of the source text I was (and still am) using for the current narrative arc. It was clear to me from the remark and the action that the player is trying somehow to “win” the game. I’ve been guilty of doing such things, myself, so I can certainly understand the impulse. While there is some sense to some kinds of metagaming (there’s no way not to do it, to some extent; that there is a game going on is always clear within it, and the tension between the real and the game drives some of the humor that invariably creeps into play), I do find myself somewhat concerned to confront it.
As I play, and as I worked to clarify to the players way back at the beginning of the program, TTRPGs should generally be collaborative endeavors. That is, those at the table should work together to tell a story that is about all of them. The kind of metagaming that seemed to me to be brewing moves more towards things being competitive, with one player trying to make the game about their one character rather than about the group. Some of this will happen naturally, of course, dice being what they are, but there seems to me to be a difference between an organic emergence of such a thing and the calculated contrivance towards the same–and the former is, in my mind, better.
I’m glad that the player in question is actually reading. I’m glad, too, that the player in question is trying to think around things. Both of those are good actions to undertake, and I could stand to see more people doing both of them. And it is the case that the player in question, being one of the more experienced at the table (mine was not the first game in which that player participated, as was the case for several others at my library table), will necessarily know more about how the game works as a game and cannot reasonably be expected not to know it. (Indeed, I’m looking at said player as a candidate to run future games, one of the goals towards which I and the program generally are working.) But I am concerned about the player–and, to be fair, others, if for different reasons–making the game about themself rather than about the group…and I admit to concern about being caught out railroading my players, which is not a good thing to do.
What I’m doing, moving forward, is making a few changes to the text I’d originally thought to use; sticky notes are my friend in this. Some of the material was designed to be dice-determined; I rolled for that previously, making notes of results. I have adjusted a few points of narrative, as well, and redone progression through the major puzzle that presents itself in the published text. The player will still have something of a leg up on the others, which is okay, but the ability to simply read ahead and know all of what is coming…that has been removed, now, which should make the playing field just a little bit more level. The others at the table deserve their chances to shine, after all…which is a useful reminder for more people than just them.
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Doesn’t seem very wintry to me… Photo by Elina Nieminen on Pexels.com
I am aware, of course, of broader events of greater importance going on. Winter Storm Fern swept across the Texas Hill Country and other places, dropping temperatures along with rain, sleet, and snow. I am grateful that I kept power throughout the event and suffered no damage (which has not always been the case, as I’ve noted), and I’ll admit to some delight in seeing my daughter get out and play like a much younger child in it. Events in Minnesota also attracted attention, and not only from me, and not only here, even if I have not and do not mean to comment much upon them. Still, I cannot say I did not know, and I cannot say that I am unaware of the juxtaposition at work at present. It’s not the first time; it’s happened before. It’s not likely to be the last.
I think I may be forgiven, however, for focusing more narrowly within the broader contexts in which I exist. I can do nothing about the weather and precious little about the rest, but I can show up for my family, and I was pleased to do so on Friday. My daughter, Ms. 8, sat for her first regional band clinic and concert, which was quite the event for her. She had placed into one of the honor bands composed of middle-school students who sat for a competitive audition process, one of two from her school to do so and one of two sixth-grade students from across the competitive region to do so.
Her mother and I were proud of Ms. 8 for making the attempt, and we were delighted to find that she had placed into the ensemble…but she was quite nervous about the whole thing when I took her to school on Friday, from which she would depart for the day-long clinic and the concert after. I understood as much, having been in a similar situation myself many years before, but she had earned her place in the group, and she had done the work to prepare her music since; she had given her full best effort, so whatever the outcome would be, I said, I would be proud of her. It seemed to help, and she was in a reasonably decent mood when I dropped her off and headed out to the rest of my day.
The clinic seemed to go well for her. By the time her mother and I arrived at the concert site, Ms. 8 was already on stage, ready to warm up with her ensemble. The performance they gave was quite good. I’ve attended a great many wind-band concerts, more than most people, and I’ve been in more than a few; when I say that the sixth-, seventh-, and eighth-grade students in Ms. 8’s band gave a performance that would have done more than a few college ensembles proud, I mean it. My brother, the performing musician, who was able to attend (if arriving belatedly), agrees.
The kid did alright. It made the weather after not seem so bad.
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After a journal entry from Bee, “Unsafe Harbor” begins with Fitz grousing about sleeping poorly in advance of major tasks facing him. He rises from sleep aboard the Paragon and makes his way to the bow of the ship, considering Clerres. His reverie is interrupted by news through the Skill that he is a grandfather, Nettle having been delivered of her child, a daughter she has allowed to be named Hope. Fitz delights in the news, and he delights further in the news that Dutiful and Elliania are now expecting, their child to be named Promise. Upbuoyed by the prospect of his family continuing, Fitz returns his attentions to his task at hand, in which he is exhorted by his king.
Hard not to smile about this kind of thing, I find… Photo by Anupkumar Patel on Pexels.com
Fitz breaks off Skill contact when he feels the touch of Vindeliar’s magic upon his mind, and he hides as he can; the Paragon rejects the touch from Clerres. Fitz is aware through the Skill of how Vindeliar is being questioned about the deaths of Symphe and Dwalia, as well as how Vindeliar lashes out through the magic at those around him. Fitz struggles to disentangle himself from Vindeliar’s mind, roused to awareness in his own body by Brashen, bidding him bestir himself.
Brashen relates that Amber has absconded from the Paragon, and Fitz realizes he was drugged. He finds Spark similarly befuddled, and the two confer about Amber’s likely progress. Fitz doses himself with carris seed rather than cindin, and the two realize that one of the tubes of Silver that had been given Fitz has been taken.
Given the assertion of two new Farseer names, I am reminded in the present chapter of Hobb’s predilection in the Realm of the Elderlings novels towards emblematic names (most recently discussed here). The names in question seem uncommonly optimistic for the Farseers; Hope is something of a contrast to Nettle or Bee, and while Promise is not necessarily at odds with Integrity or Prosper (or Dutiful, for that matter) denotatively, the connotations of the latter three names are somehow sterner and more rigid. They certainly contrast with Chivarly, Verity, and Regal, and with Shrewd before, but such sequels as are hoped for by many of Hobb’s readers may well show how clear but uncommon associations of those names can be brought forward. Shrewd’s shrewdness, Chivalry’s chivalry, Verity’s verity, Regal’s regality, and Dutiful’s dutifulness can all be read in some ways as back-handed commentaries on the ostensible virtues the names represent (perhaps another scholarly someday for me), and it does not stretch credulity to think that integrity, prosperity, and promise can be similarly regarded. All that lies in a future that may be hoped for but may not come to pass, however.
The present chapter also presents a certain irony, again, of Fitz being drugged (and from his own stores, no less). It might well be thought that someone who had drugged his own companions to rebuke and had not long ago been drugged by another of them, to strong effect, would be wary of it happening again. That Fitz was so trusting…I’m not sure how to read it, honestly. On one hand, he knows and should be expected to know that Amber is problematically fixated on things; on the other, Fitz is himself publicly fixated on things and has fatigue and grief to contend with, to boot. The oversight makes some sense…but not as much as it might. At least as I read the chapter this time.
I also note, as a minor point, the extended list of effects of cindin use in the chapter. I’ve commented before on the substance and the possibility of it paralleling cocaine. The comment in the present chapter that one of the effects of cindin use is increased libido seemed to confirm it for me to some extent; I recall claims about cocaine driving sexual behaviors from my work alongside substance use disorder treatment, and a short search of formal research finds at least one study appearing to confirm the anecdotal evidence. That study–“Cocaine Administration Dose-Dependently Increases Sexual Desire and Decreases Condom Use Likelihood: The Role of Delay and Probability Discounting in Connecting Cocaine with HIV” by Johnson et al. and appearing in Psychopharmacology 234 (599-612)–might possibly have been available to Hobb during composition of the present chapter; an electronic version appears to have been in evidence in 2016, although formal publication did not occur until 2017. Even if Hobb lacked access to it, though, the fact of it…it amuses me.
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As noted a few weeks back, my local library opted to bring me back on board to run its after-school TTRPG program. One weekly session is confirmed, with its first meeting happening on 22 January 2026; the possibility of a second starting up remains, although interest and enrollment have yet to be determined at this point. For now, sessions are scheduled through the end of April; I can hope that things will extend past that point, but I cannot count on them doing so. Whether they do or not, however, I am grateful for the continued opportunity to live the dream: earning money for running a game. Being able to legitimately claim to be a professional DM is a nice thing, indeed.
Gonna be more of this… Photo by Stephen Hardy on Pexels.com
There are some things to note about the renewed gaming. One is that I am working to do as has been requested of me and integrate more overtly educational materials. The 22 January meeting, in addition to taking care of some required bookkeeping (leveling up a character takes a little bit, especially for still-new players), attended to some discussion of narrative structures. For the sake of convenience and ease, I worked largely from Freytag; experience suggests that his narrative arc structure is likely to be presented to students in middle and high school, and students at that age are the participants in the game I’m running at the library. We did talk a bit about how the pilot program and its short adventure fit into it, and the shift from a fundamentally one-off adventure into a longer campaign received some attention. I think we’ll revisit the topic at intervals across sessions; I think, too, that we’ll talk a bit about character- versus plot-driven stories and the continuum or spectrum between them.
Another thing to note about the renewed gaming is that it is the first time in a long time that I am working from published adventure materials. One of the holiday traditions my family observes is that of Jólabókaflóð, giving each other books and sitting around reading them; my wife bought me a gaming supplement, having heard me talk about the need to come up with materials for the game I am running for the library. The current plot works from a selection out of that book; I have done a bit of massaging on the front end of it to offer a way into that story that makes sense against the previous games, but after the added prelude, the game will more or less follow the printed materials. Such materials are meant for such use, so I do not feel badly for making such use of those with which I have been provided. But it is an unusual thing for me to do; most of the game-running I have done, I have done a lot more work to generate. How it will work out in the longer term, I do not know, but I look forward to finding out.
So much said, the pre-printed materials have led me to an idea (something else to note about the renewed gaming, in the event). Working from what is on the page, I find that there are some fairly obvious hooks for further development. Without going into too much detail, because it is possible that my players might take a look at what I have here (hi, kids!), I can note that there are references to things in the pre-printed materials that are not developed elsewhere that I know about. This means that there are things for me to develop, using not only the springboard of the pre-printed materials to get started, but also feedback from players, to flesh out the milieu in which we, together, will tell the lies our rolled dice suggest.
One other thing, and related: I mean to start to develop my players as game-runners, themselves. I will not always be on hand for them, alas, and I might well want to play as a player, myself. Both require that there be someone else ready to run a game, and getting someone or some people ready to do so takes some time. Best to start early, right?
As matters progress, I will, of course, be making more comments here. I might well also read those that get left by my readers along the way…
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Following a letter regarding the Kendry and the challenges recently besetting the ship’s crew, “Feather to Blade” begins with Bee, imprisoned, regarding the passage of time in her cell and considering her situation. After lamps are lit, Prilkop speaks to her of dreams, particularly prophetic ones, and relates ominous portents. Wolf-Father rebukes her self-pity as her mind turns towards Fitz, and Bee suddenly realizes Symphe stands outside her cell door.
Such a thing to harden… Photo by chabraoui el hachemi on Pexels.com
Bee regards Symphe as the latter undoes the locks holding her captive. Symphe offers candy as if Bee is a foolish child, and Bee, urged by Wolf-Father, follows her amid Prilkop’s jeering. Bee is taken to a chamber Wolf-Father recognizes as smelling of blood, in which Dwalia and Vindeliar await. Symphe confers with them about what will be done with and to Bee, and Bee acts in her own defense. A brief melee ensues, with Symphe being burned, her throat slashed, and Bee coming into contact with a vial of serpent spit that Symphe had purloined. Its power adds to her inborn Skill, and she revels in it, accepting the proclamation that she is the feared and foretold Destroyer and killing Dwalia with a word.
Bee returns to her cell to await a better chance for escape. Prilkop recognizes what has happened, and Bee weeps for what she has had to become.
The present chapter is not the first mention of the Destroyer, although I would appear to have failed to mark mention of the figure previously. Said figure is mentioned as an imminent threat to Clerres and the society that centers on it, the coming of which is foretold in an increasing number of recent prophetic dreams. Its approach is certain, especially given the Servants’ hubristic belief in their own correctness; the irony, recognized in the present chapter, that the Servants have brought their Destroyer into their stronghold themselves is delicious in no small part because it does proceed directly from that hubris. Bee points out (540-41), rightly, that she had a life from which she had been torn that would have kept her from Clerres save for the Servants’ need to control every possible bloodline of White Prophet and every possible outcome that could be foretold. Had the Servants been content to leave well enough alone, they would not have invited their own unmaking–but they could not, being as they were and are.
That is, of course, the point of all of it. The Servants, by relying so heavily on prophetic foreknowledge to guide themselves, inevitably place themselves into the position of making their prophecies come true. By not only accepting foretelling, but actively working to enact and guide it, they subject themselves to it, and by exerting the kind of ruthless control over it that they seem to have for generations if not far longer, they have made themselves unable to conceive of their own actions as being potentially in error. They are trapped by the very thing that they have used to accumulate power.
There are political comments to be found therein, I’m sure.
To pivot: the idea of the Destroyer as a figure of imminent menace is hardly new to Hobb, of course. I grew up and again live in the Texas Hill Country, where there were and are an awful lot of people who claim to be convinced that the End Times are a-comin’, and soon; it’s the kind of thing that lends towards apocalyptic figures. It’s not the only one, either; it’s an archetype for a reason. While Hobb does have a tendency to play with tropes and archetypes, this one seems to be pretty straightforward. At least at this point…
As might be expected after more than a decade of writing in this webspace, I’ve commented a fewtimesbefore on today’s observance in the US. (I probably ought to have done so more times than I did, to be honest.) Still a federal holiday dedicated to the legacy of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., the observance still implies that the United States is still working towards the realization of the ideals he espoused. It is still the case that I am not the person best-positioned to comment about any of it, even though I do feel some obligation to mark the observance. And it is still the case that I–and many others, but I have no say over their actions, only mine–have not done enough to make things better.
That there is still much to do should be clear. Whether or not there is an “enough” is less so; I tend to think there is not, since it will be “enough” only when all is right, and I doubt I will live to see such a thing, if it ever comes to pass. (I’ve known a few people who would make the case that my living to see it necessarily means it hasn’t come. I’ve mellowed out in my old age, but I’ve not always been the mild and pleasant person I now am; there’ve been people as have professed their hatred of me to me, in voice and in writing. I really ought to have kept some of the latter.) But that’s my viewpoint, not all of which emerges from reason; others’ results may well vary.
What there is to do, for me and for others, is relatively clear, even if present circumstances make its achievement difficult. I know that, given what I have to do on the small scale at which I operate, doing more would be a challenge; I would have to let go of things I want to hold to open my hands such that I could do the work that needs doing (and the verse suggests itself to me: I would have to / Let go of things / I want to hold to / Open my hands / Such that I could / Do the work that needs doing; I don’t know why it does, now.) Doing so would doubtlessly lessen my already-little effectiveness at doing what needs doing on larger scales; how much, I probably overestimate.
I try not to overestimate myself. Though I do well the things I do well, I know that there are others who do more things better than I (and others who are seen to do so, whether rightly or not). To think that I, alone, might accomplish something substantial in such line as King sought is…excessive. Even he did not, being one among many who did such labor. I am not so much a one as he, as I note; what I can do, I do, knowing it is little and not enough.
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I wrapped my hands around it Broke the seal And saw the ascending pile Flattened where the lid had pushed it down Slumping flaccidly into the jar And was excited for a moment Seeing something I had not before
I‘m sure I’ve not made a secret of having a daughter. I’m sure I’ve not made a secret of her involvement in a number of community organizations, of which one is the Girl Scouts. For her troop, today marks the beginning of cookie sales; she’s sold one case already (because I like the Peanut Butter Patties more than is good for me), but she could stand to sell more of them.
You know you want them. Photo by Lisa from Pexels on Pexels.com
In lieu of my normal stuff, I’ll urge folks in areas that have Girl Scouts to find their local or area troops and buy some cookies (or just make donations; that’ll work, too). For those who don’t, be on the lookout for online advertisements; online ordering is available, and delivery can easily be arranged.
(I’ll note, too, that Girl Scout Troops in the United States count as charitable organizations, possibly as listed under Councils. There are tax implications for donations; consult a tax advisor for details.)
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Too long still I and others stood; no word We might have uttered, yelled, or screamed was heard– And not alone by those who are inured To violent force, by its commission kept From joining those who have too often wept And who still weep. Events have overleapt Their telling. Who can see to speak or write Such words as lessen Stupid God’s delight Before new evil jumps into its sight And all’s who live where it holds growing sway? The hues of vapor’d sodium each day Shine brighter; colors faster fade away Into a sickened monochrome facade That limns the shambling dance of Stupid God.
It’s probably more apt than most will want to admit. Photo by Mu00fccahit Beyhan on Pexels.com
Whether in metered rhyme, able alliteration, or some other form, the poem you need is one I can write; get yours going today!
Elliott RWI 