Welcome, Once Again, to Elliott RWI

It’s been quite a while since I last updated my landing page, and a fair number of things have changed since then. More details are in my bio, linked below, and something of a table of contents for this webspace appears, well, right down there, too:

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A Robin Hobb Rereading Series, Entry 501: Assassin’s Fate, Chapter 42

Read the previous entry in the series here.
Read the next entry in the series
soon.


Part of a letter from Prilkop to the Fool precedes “Furnich.” The chapter opens with Fitz recalling what the Fool told him of his earlier escape from Clerres and attempting to follow along with it. The path laid out, Fitz proceeds, his progress traced and the difficulties he faces reported as he addresses them. Motley rejoins him early in his progress, Nighteyes approving of the crow, although all three acknowledge that there will be no full bond among them.

Such corvid beauty!
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One night, as he rests, Fitz assesses himself through the Skill, noting changes to his abilities since being splattered with Silver. He reaches out through the magic and is overwhelmed by it, even as he notices again the presence of larger entities within its flow. The experience leaves him puzzling over it and himself.

Fitz’s progress continues, and his condition deteriorates. Nighteyes remarks on the presence of worms in him, and Fitz struggles to move onward. He notes additional changes in himself as he presses ahead, and he steals to survive as he does so. At length, he comes to a port and plies his magics to secure a berth on a ship headed where he wants it to go. The passage on the ship is unpleasant for him, and Fitz finds himself in mind of Verity as he goes.

Arriving at last in Furnich, Fitz disembarks and makes for a Skill-pillar that has been reported to him. The presence of Skill-stone in the area hinders him, as the memories the stones exude tell of betrayal and despair. Motley warns him of others as he struggles onward, and he comes under attack–not out of his attackers’ need, but out of their boredom. Exercising his magics, Fitz kills them, although he is astonished at his ability to do so. He takes what he can from them and presses onward, at length finding the Skill-pillar and entering into it with the crow.

As is often the case, the prefatory materials of the chapter attract my attention. The comments about the limited survival of the contents of the library at Clerres bring to mind once again the Cotton Library and lamentation for what has been lost, both what is known to have been lost and what is no longer known. The confirmation in those comments of the rapacious attempted genocide of dragons by the Servants and the effects of the same is perhaps a bit on the nose; again, there is something cartoonish in the evil of Clerres on display, and I am struck again by it.

Further, the seeming assumption by Prilkop of primacy for White Prophets over others and of himself over the survivors of Clerres–“Our Servants,” he writes, and “I assumed the care of the few remaining Whites” (731)–stands out. While it is the case that he is the seniormost among them, Prilkop is also very much a relic of a time that seems no longer to exist, and he asserts a pride of place that the ill-gotten “longevity of the Four” (731) implies is a danger. It is something of a trope that the long-lived and precognitive tend towards evil; they get bored and crave stimulation, or they become fixated on their visions and blind to the possibility that they may be in error. It happened in Clerres already; Prilkop seems positioned to repeat the error, or at least to reiterate the sytems that conduce to the error.

So much said, the comment that “Many [of the refugees from Clerres] have ceased dreaming” (731) is suggestive. Whether this is an opening for potential further development in the Realm of the Elderlings corpus of competing centers of power (not that I expect Hobb to explore that kind of thing; I make no such demands, even as I can see possibilities) or simply a nod towards verisimilitude in that things go on even when others do not look on, I am unsure. But I can see that there are things that could be done with it, given Marvell’s “world enough and time.”

As to the main chapter: It is with some interest that I note Fitz’s comment early on that he has left open a leadership position that Prilkop might fill (731). He does have something of a tendency to play kingmaker across his career as an assassin; for but two examples, early in his training, Chade makes explicit reference to Fitz of possible changes in leadership, and Fitz’s actions secure Dutiful’s succession. That Fitz does such a thing again is telling; he may not be Prilkop’s friend, but it is clear that he does, as averred, respect him.

I note, too, that the chapter, proper, reinforces the depravity of Clerres. In Furnich, the memories of the Elderlings fleeing Kelsingra and its cataclysm bespeak the planning of the Servants, who lay in wait to eliminate the refugees of that city. If it is the case that Prilkop was unaware of such planning–and it seems to be so, given his presented nostalgic idealism and the reported timing of his journey to Aslevjal–then it calls into question how good a leader Prilkop can be of even so small a group as he has taken into his care; he seems blinded by his hope no less than were the Servants by their greed. If it is the case that Clerres might well rise again, it seems it will be on a shaky foundation.

If.

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A Luckily Regretful Limerick for #NaPoWriMo2026

I often have let slip away
The chances I have had to play,
And now, it’s too late;
My erstwhile playmates
Now cannot make time in their days.

…sure. Why not?
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The month progresses, and my efforts continue. Perhaps you’d like some on your behalf?

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A Twelfth Regretful Limerick for #NaPoWriMo2026

I should have done more work before
The work piled up. It’s a chore
To slog through it all,
And I must recall
That some did my efforts implore.

Yep.
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An Eleventh Regretful Limerick for #NaPoWriMo2026

Thrice a week, I have gone to the gym
That I might regain my fighting trim,
But I grow ever older
And I have hurt my shoulder;
I’ve lost one more chance to grow slim.

It’s a familiar sight.
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More than a third of the way through, and I’ve still got more to give you!

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Hanlon Hasn’t Hied Away

Following on from last week’s session of the tabletop roleplaying game I am running at the local library, I reminded the players that the current “term” ends on 30 April 2026–three weeks hence. I also revisited the question from last week of why so many roleplaying games continue to employ ambiguously (neo-)medievalist settings, such that doing so is the dominant model of the genre. That is, there are tabletop roleplaying games that get away from the (neo-)medievalist–Deadlands and Traveller come to mind as examples–but most have operated and continue to operate with the base assumption of a vaguely feudally stratified society (with interestingly poly- or henotheistic tendencies); why this would be so was the focus of the brief preliminary discussion at the table. Such concerns, speaking to genre-features and -histories, as well as to some philosophical considerations, allowed the stated need for overtly educational content to be addressed well enough, I think.

Pretty typical.
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As far as play goes, the players continue to fall into a common trap: overthinking. It’s a natural enough thing to do, of course; access to information within a game is limited by narration, so asking many questions to elicit additional information is a good and useful thing. But, like most things, it can be overdone, and easily. Take, for example, an exchange from a previous game, in which one player’s character repeatedly investigated a small altar because “there has to be a button.” Given the context, the character was unable to find such a button and was told as much in more or less those words; failing a check when one is present and succeeding at one when it is not will yield the same result. That there was not such a button present flatly did not occur to the player; only reluctantly did that player move on to the next thing, and even then, the player was certain there was something to find.

In this week’s session, there was another example of such. The party, still second-level characters, faced a gelatinous cube. One of the players sought to have another player’s character, bolstered by magic, pass through the cube to see if it could be bypassed rather than engaged, thinking to use a rope to pull other characters along. The thought process was that the available magic would allow moving through what is, in essence, a sliding open stomach without injury and without it pursuing the party–none of which was evidenced by the creature’s behavior, and all of which ran counter to actions taken up to that point, including by the player’s own character. Dungeon crawls do, admittedly, constrain action, such that they provoke thinking of ways to get around things, but there is often no way but through.

There is some amusement in watching such things happen, of course. Players do it to themselves with very little prompting; I know this well, having often been a player, myself, and not seldom having fallen into such traps both in games and in “real life.” It does make for ease in planning out games, too, as things will take longer than might well have been anticipated–and there is no telling what will prompt such zeal. And it can open other narrative avenues, to boot; what players take interest in is ripe for expansion and development into future games…if there are future games. In such situations as the present, with a seemingly clear end looming, it’s not quite so good, even if it is seemingly inevitable.

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I Regret to Inform You We’re One-Third of the Way through #NaPoWriMo2026

Once again, the time is rushing by;
I can’t stop it, and I shouldn’t try.
It ever moves on,
Each new moment is gone,
Slipping by me; how much I could cry!

Tick. Tock.
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One third being gone means two-thirds still remain, and I’ve still got more to give you!

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A Ninth Regretful Limerick for #NaPoWriMo2026

Its pinnacle now has passed by,
That conference of scholars that I
Thought to make a home
Ere I was forced to roam;
I think on its pleasures and cry.

Who will know will know.
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I still mean to keep this going, and I’ve still got more writing in me if you need it done!

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A Robin Hobb Rereading Series, Entry 500 (yay!): Assassin’s Fate, Chapter 41

Read the previous entry in the series here.
Read the next entry in the series
here.


Comments from Bee’s journal about her journal and her reaction to the Fool reading it preface “Vivacia‘s Voyage.” The chapter follows Bee and her companions as the Vivacia bears them away from the ruin of Clerres, the liveship communing with her briefly. More survivors of the dragons’ attack, including Althea, are recovered, and Bee marks the shift in how others relate to the Fool-as-Amber. She also muses on her own multiplicity of names and identities.

I need to do more of this, myself.
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As the voyage continues, Perseverance tends to Bee, and she spends much time sleeping. This occasions concern among her companions, but Bee is reticent in discussing what befell her. Perseverance relates as much of his own story and Fitz’s to her as he can, and Bee is comforted by the knowledge of her father’s love.

Later, the liveship summons Bee to her foredeck, where Brashen and Althea watch their son suffer. After some discussion, Bee works another Skill-healing on their son, mending many of his injuries. Amber arrives at the foredeck with warnings, and Bee reluctantly accedes to them. As she begins to recover from the experience, Amber and the liveship argue briefly, and Amber later confers with Bee about her abilities. Bee turns the conversation to the love between Fitz and the Fool, and the Fool attempts to turn it to her training as a White Prophet. Bee vents her resentment at the Fool, lying to him about Fitz’s words.

I do note with some pride having gotten to half a thousand entries in my rereading series. I do not expect at this point that nearly so many remain–but I have as much expectation about the days I have lived and will live, so I suppose that’s not something out of line. In both cases, there is still a fair bit for me to do, and I do look forward to getting at least some of it done. (Not that I expect something to happen that would prevent it, mind, but the possibility always exists.) There are many somedays.

Part of me wants to find the way time moves in the present chapter to be overly rushed. Some of that, much of it, is simply that I want to spend more time with the characters, my affective-reading self being as it is; I’ve spent a long time with Hobb’s work, invested much in it (though not so much as some, certainly), and it’s a familiar comfort that I don’t think I’m entirely out of line for wanting to keep hold of for a little longer. In terms of narrative structure, however, it makes sense; the voyage away from Clerres is not, itself, a focal point, but simply transit between focal points, a hastening towards a denouement over which there is no need to linger. It needs done, and there are a few items of interest along the way, but this is an instance where the destination matters far more than the journey. (That I have gotten sucked into rereading at length as I have written this is also a factor; I know what carries me away.)

To continue on with the affective reading: I’ve commented more than once about the ways in which my experiences correspond with Fitz’s, particularly as regards his interactions with Bee, and I find that the present chapter shows Bee growing in some ways I see my own daughter moving. She’s not got much trouble with people trying to stand in loco parentis with her, which is good, but she does have a way with words, and when she decides she will be sharp with them, I find swiftly where I am quite tender, indeed.

Then again, if I cannot be tender with my daughter…

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An Eighth Regretful Limerick for #NaPoWriMo2026

With squats, I went perhaps too far
In doing them holding the bar.
I added some weight
That my knees now do hate;
How they told me is not so bizarre.

I am sometimes ambitious.
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I mean to keep this going, but I’ve got more writing in me if you need it done!

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A Seventh Regretful Limerick of #NaPoWriMo2026

I ate too much cheese yesterday;
How now I am obliged to pay–
Not in coin or with check,
But my belly is wrecked!
Will I learn from this lesson? O, nay!

Pictured: An assortment of my jokes
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I’ve got more in me; get some of it while it lasts!

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