Prosatio Silban and the Tourist Trap

MOST DEVOTEES OF HOPMON, GOD of the Ever-Filling Purse, were honest souls. However, woe betide any who encountered their seeming opposites.

Prosatio Silban was sweaty, thirsty, and famished. The dust of the ostensibly endless road filled every visible wrinkle and crevice on both him and his dray-beast, and he longed to stop for refreshment. The pair were making their hot and uncomfortable way through a forbidding and sparsely populated part of the Uulian Commonwell’s northwestern periphery. Dry grass and scattered stone-scrub filled the eye, the random shrieks of carrion birds filled the ear, and conventional travelers’ wisdom held that halting there was ill-advised at best.

All I want is something wet for my buopoth and myself, the cook thought. A momentary pause wouldn’t hurt anything. Would it?

Prosatio Silban and the Leg Up

THE NAME “EVERFAIRE” DESCRIBED THE village perfectly. It was a centuried and perpetual trading-center on the border dividing the lands and villages of epicurean Pormaris from those administered by cosmopolitan Soharis, and its shops, inns, and taverns never closed. Some said that dark deals were struck in the dead of night by mad scriveners, insomniac alchemists, braggart thieves, and others of dodgy but useful talents.

Daytime was a different matter, by degree rather than kind. The sprawling settlement roared with the sound of happy and fervent commerce, as sellers and buyers engaged in their ancient and eternal game.

L’Shana Tovah!

THE JEWISH LUNAR/SOLAR CALENDAR begins the New Year 5782 tonight at sundown. The classic understanding of that number reflects the years since the world’s creation, but many of us find that explanation somewhat problematic. On the other hand, humanity’s recorded history began, by definition, with the invention of writing nearly 6,000 years ago. And since we cannot easily separate and/or reconcile the worlds inside and outside our heads, isn’t that a difference of degree rather than of kind?

Prosatio Silban and the Curious Artifact

MISTAKEN IDENTITY AND MISTAKEN IDENTIFICATION are two entirely different things – but both have the potential to spark unintended consequents.

Prosatio Silban was driving his galleywagon along one of the Uulian Commonwell’s little-known and lesser-used roads, though not far from the city of epicurean Pormaris. The day was as beautiful as one could wish: sunny but comfortable, with the sort of tumbling clouds that beg to be serenely watched by hillside-spread picnickers. The mercenary cook and his quaint lumbering dray-beast, Onward, were making good time (for traveling in no particular direction), when their eyes were caught by a sharp red glint just ahead.

365 Names: “Ain Sof”

AIN SOF is the Name given by Jewish mystics to G?d’s most transcendent (read: non-immediate) aspect. Meaning, literally, “without end,” it falls short of describing the Indescribable by admitting with honesty that it can’t be done. “There is no way to praise G?d in a manner that is suitable, ” says Rabbi Nachman of Breslov. “But a little is also good.”

Once upon a time, in 2011 in fact, The Metaphorager aspired each day to feature a different name for that-which-passes-for-God. Some were creative, others traditional, each unique; so we’re going to attempt that project again (though not every day) until we run out of the names we’ve collected so far. If you want to see your favorite here, but haven’t, send it along with the subject line “365 Names” and let us know whether or not you want to be credited.

Prosatio Silban and the Great Wasting

SENSITIVE SOULS BEWARE: ALTHOUGH MOST of Prosatio Silban’s adventures are whimsically lighthearted, this is not one of them.

We find the once-beefy cook in his galleywagon at the side of a lately untraveled road, stirring the rather malodorous contents of a small saucepan. He purses his lips as he lowers a pair of tongs into the pot, then lifts with them a steaming, dripping – and empty – leather coin pouch.

Lunch, he thought. And not much of one either. But as the locusts have taken everything else, we must make do however we can.

He was not alone in contemplating a desperate meal. But he was one of the lucky ones who could.