The Dead Letter Musings on the Xenology of Nations (Part Four)

Misfits

Simply because of their variety, the dissection of Misfits occupies a great deal of time and attention during every Keeper scholar's study of Xenoanatomy. In fact even at the primary school level, Misfit organs are often brought into dissection classes as an attention-getter. However, it is a dangerous and somewhat frustrating discipline. Misfit organs have been known to explode, flee, or begin to speak during a dissection. In fact, when I was a young student in Bar-Thadarak, during a dissection of a Misfit who had lived in Keeper country, the presumed pancreas began to loudly criticize the professor's performance in fluent Northern Middle Keeper, driving the old hound to distraction while we students tried to suppress growls of laughter. In extreme cases, determining when Misfits are in fact dead, or which parts of them are dead, is often quite demanding in and of itself. And it is a discipline never really mastered.

I know of nowhere in the world where Misfits follow the Keeper Code, so most of the sample Misfits we have are taken in battle or simply expire while living in nearby areas. Misfits' lifespans seem to be as variable as their other attributes. Though misfits take great joy in one another's company, they seem to neither grieve for their dead, nor to have any attachment to their remains. Misfit corpses are most often abandoned, sometimes eaten, and other times recycled into housing materials, jewelry, and so on. Generally speaking, even in strict Keeper-Code areas, enforcement of the Code seems useless against Misfits. Keeper legions, attempting punitive action against Misfits for failing to yield their dead, are sometimes victorious, but since there is never a governing body with which to negotiate (Misfits claiming to be leaders or their emissaries invariably turn out to be kidding), and Misfits generally never sign nor keep contracts, nor do they seem to fear retribution, there seems little point.

They do become angry at what they see as meanness and injustice, and flock to each other's defense, but when the battle is ended or the other side attempts to negotiate a peace, they tend to lose interest and wander off. I was once involved in such a negotiation, with an extraordinarily straightforward and reasonable Misfit named Thud Thud (in fact he had been a Djinn, and left to embrace Unmaking of his own volition, after coming to the conclusion that Truth lay in Freedom, and Unmaking was the true path to Freedom), who explained to me why Misfits don't sign treaties or contracts: because they find the notion of predicting their own behavior laughable. This is also the reason that they do sign treaties, when they do: because it's so funny.

It is easy to mistake the Misfits for fools, or their society's utter disorganization for weakness. Certainly they are foolish, but they are extremely formidable. They lack social organization, but not society; information travels fast between Misfit encampments, and in a sense their society does make decisions, largely by means of the fashions, tales and rumors that race through the Misfit nation constantly. The Impish secret society Izithikum, or Last Blind Gurgle, was entirely wiped out by Misfits after they had done something particularly horrible to the well-beloved Misfit bard Goldfish; jelly made from Izithikum spines and mulberries instantly became the fashion, and collecting the ingredients struck innumerable Misfits as endless fun (though others were equally amused by trying to disguise themselves as Izithikum Imps and have their spines harvested; those who actually succeeded in putting one over on their fellows in this manner were widely (though posthumously) regarded as hero-jesters). I am relatively sure of the accuracy of this story, having heard it not only from Thud Thud, who of course might have been kidding, but also certain details from a Shadow who was involved with Izithikum, who was definitely not kidding.

Satyrs

Technically, satyrs, dryads, nymphs, mossy goats and magic grey birch trees comprise the five genders of a single extremely complex pentamorphic species, or at least that is the current theory among most Keeper and Dwarven xenologists, though I have the vague suspicion that it may have originated as a vulgar joke, possibly told by the Satyrs themselves but more probably - given its abstruseness - by Elves. Then again, other such extremely complex interactions have been observed where the House of Nature is particularly potent, as it is in the Satyral Groves. For all practical purposes, at any rate, these five genders, only three of which are sentient, comprise five different societies, and so may be treated as separate peoples for ethnographic purposes.

I note that, with typical djinni delicacy around the functions of the body, you comment only tangentially on the Satyrs' legendary sexual exploits (indeed, you employ the somewhat ambiguous term "maidens", to which one is forced to add, "not for long…"). In addition to each other and the other four purported members of their technical species (though what they do with the birch trees was never clear to me), Satyrs exercise their extraordinary libidos on just about anything willing to undergo the experiment. I think they draw the line at Imps, and at Shadows after the first such attempt.

The fact that, of all the peoples of Nature, only Satyrs are traditionally numbered among the Twelve Nations, has of course been the subject of much debate. Often it is simply asserted the Nature is so fecund and prolific, her sentient and nonsentient species do uncountable, that Satyrs are simply taken as representative. The economic argument has been made that Satyrs tend to enter into trade with the other Nations, whereas the other peoples of Nature find her immediate bounty sufficient; this fact has largely to do with the Satyrnine predeliction for fermentation, a process that is best achieved with some degree of technical sophistication. I have even heard advanced the theory that Satyrs are tool-using, whereas the other Naturals are not; this is simply inaccurate, for brownies and apparently also Utaban Foxpeople use tools, whereas Visions are extremely reluctant to do so. I think in the end it is simply that Satyrs, like the other eleven, will take up swords and bows on the battlefield in the service of Mages; that and the absurd need for the devotees of Clarity for everything to work out neatly in the end: twelve Houses, hence twelve Nations, there you are.

I would disagree with your assertion that the Satyrs serve Nature best. If the peoples of Nature were as judgmental as yours and mine are, they might well argue that in trafficking with made things and with planned battles, the Satyrs have fallen from the ideal. But Naturals seem inherently pluralistic, and they respect that the Satyrs' efforts defend the Groves.

Satyrs and Keepers rarely find themselves on the same side of anything; they are lazy, ridiculous creatures of the wilderness, and we are solemn, disciplined masters of great cities. Satyrs make exceedingly poor slaves: they pine away quickly but loudly in our quiet, empty lands. They have none of what we call courage. But I cannot find it in my entrails to truly despise them, for they are not hypocrites. Their lusts are open, wild and honest, not like the cloying decadence of Elves; they clutch as desperately for life as do the Humans, but at least they do not affect to relish the battlefield. Although it is the sort of opinion which one no longer barks aloud in Bes-Tharal, I say leave them to their groves and their orgies, where they do not trouble us; let them sweeten their lives with those strange things that are as sweet to them as the dark peace is to us. They will all be quickly Tasaral, buried badly and forgotten; let them have their spring evenings.

It is a dangerous sign for me, old friend, that I can appreciate, even at a great distance, the pleasures of a Satyr; it means I have spent altogether too long studying the Tazash of other Nations. I have turned one eye away from my steadfast, longing gaze into the sweet grave; one eye watches the nymphs and bears dancing in a green grove, and finds it utterly alien, but fascinating nonetheless. Infatuation with Tazashun is the most fatal psychological disease that can befall a Keeper.

Some Satyrs who reach a great age become somewhat more solemn, like earthier versions of the proud Centaurs. Their hair turns white, their flesh gnarls, moss grows upon them and birds nest in their hair, and they become quiet, laughing sages of Nature. Usually they leave the lowland groves and settle in forested mountain country. They leave the nymphs and brambles to their grandsons, and carry out subtler dalliances with dryads, Witches, and heroes and heroines of various Nations who seek them out.

~ Zaduth-Jar, Keeper of the Dead

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