As I left the Elven city of Alfborg, I happened upon a colorless man ¹. travelling from the Verdant Land ² He saw my downcast face and spoke to me in a tongue of Anglish I had not heard before. He was more curious than most and seemed keen on a conversation.

I could make no sense of his Anglish, but he managed through bits of Catalan and Portuguese to ask if we could speak Castilian or French. So we spoke about in Castilian and French on the subject of this printing press.

The colorless man was unlike the Iberrians and seemed unfamiliar with their hidden folk. He knew nothing of the Navia nor of Lugus. He had never once crossed even a mortal Moura, let alone an enchanted one! He seemed fixated on my experiences with the golem, though and inquired what I knew of Lilith and her kin.

He was unfamiliar with the Traveler’s Talkabout ³ and seemed unsatisfied at my revelation of this printing press. He claimed it was centuries ago and created by a smith, and he knew little else.

I asked if he had ever seen a printed book and he laughed as though I were the queer ⁴ one. Then he showed me a handful of the marvelous beauties he had brought with him from The Verdant Land.

That is when I came to know that something was amiss with the Elvens ⁵ .

The colorless verdanterman had so many questions about the hidden folk; he knew nothing fair and true of the Elvensen ⁶!

The colorless man was fascinated by my journal and inquired of its origins. He peered at the script and thought it similar to Ebreolit ⁷. Though he was unfamiliar with the Seen tongues, he showed a remarkable aptitude for translating them and asked to have them for himself.

He was shocked when I told him I had signed a non-disclosure agreement and could not share my diary with him. One would think that the men would have discovered that such agreements are important for protecting their intellectual property by now!

But then, oh the blessed man (may he taste the rainbow) ⁸he reminded me that those hats of asses⁹ had fired me. Surely this non-disclosure agreement would no longer apply!

So the colorless man asked if he could have a copy of my journal to share with his fishing net[sic] . I told him this was a queer ¹⁰ request, but he is free to live his life as he wants ¹¹. I asked how we would serve my diaries to his net and he claimed to be a weaver of them ¹² I think he wishes to enchant his nets with my Elven script.

When I asked how I could give him a copy, he gave me his home ¹³ which I thought quite generous.

Given the colorless man’s wonderful kindness, It seems only fair that I copy my journals and send them to him. But it will not be easy.

I gathered from the colorless man that the Seen folk are quite lazy in the Verdant Land. They deliver no messages, speak no truth, and they cry no wars. Man must bear the burden of all three.

Man’s way of delivering messages is quite backwards as it requires the sender to pay while the receiver gives nothing (perhaps this is why he gave me his home). I have no [local currency] ¹⁴ to pay for the post, but I suppose I could do some man-work for a change. The man-work will give me plenty of time to begin copying my journals. I suppose in some twelve months time I can send him my most recent one, and in twelven I could send him the histories of the Þrow.

He will appreciate my work so much more than the idiot Hvalthur.

The colorless man told me of the marvelous fishing webs that Man weaves.

I, too, am eager to learn why so many webs are weaved. ¹⁵

I haven’t visited with the Seen-Folk in hundreds of years. What is becoming of their scribes and scholars? How are they working and supporting themselves? Surely this news of this press has affected them, too.

I am off to the Seen-World to explore and talk to the folk. I hope to report back soon.

I have been writing the histories of our people by hand. It takes me upwards of twelve months to collect an oral history from our peoples, and then another twelven¹ months to write the history down in a common tongue. And then I pass another two years producing eight copies for our eight tribes.

But in a meeting three days ago, where I gathered with the elders, they revealed a discovery: the printing press.

The Seen-Folk have used this machine to rapidly produce books. What required months of me, can now be done in days.

“Llthraim, we’re going to have to let you go. We have found a way to copy our histories by machine,” said Ntryanm, descendant of Nta’al the Grey.

“What,” I exclaimed. “How can this be?”

Ylathfor, of the line of Ylysse the Gold, expanded. “The Seen-folk have a machine, called the printing press. A goldsmith called Gutenberg has created it. Our script is placed on metal blocks and arranged to form words. It can quickly transfer ink to paper. We need not write by hand any more!”

“You have relied on my hand for two hundred years! How can you tell me in a day that you will not need it any more? What am I to do? How shall I pay my debtors? I have property taxes due in two-score weeks!”

“We appreciate all your efforts. Take this candle as a token of our appreciation,” said Vnalthis. “Please, turn your ink, quills, and current works to Hvalthur. Recount to him your current histories of the Þrow. He has already begun copying your other works.”

“Hvalthur is barely of age. He’s not more than 50 years and he can’t read more than but one tongue!”

“One need not be literate to operate the printing press. Please, Llthraim. Turn in your ink, quills, and transfer your knowledge to Hvalthur,” said Ntryanm.

“Fine,” I replied.

So I went to the bureau, found that idiot Hvalthur drinking my ink. Again.

I showed him my quills, my parchments on the Þrow of Shetlands, and transferred to him my knowledge of the peoples. The fool wrote is as “Trow”; he didn’t even know the difference between þ and tr. We’re doomed.

Oh, the candle is scented. It smells of lilac.

I’m allergic to lilac.

Damnit.

In scenes of majesty, there you see the work of my forefathers. In the darkness you find the work of my brethren. In the hollow places, you find the longest shadows that we cast.  Our work is to demonstrate the glory of the world and the earnestness of our Maker. 

My work, as descendant of Lltrya the Black, is to keep a history of our great works. Record them for all time, for all peoples, seen and unseen alike, to enjoy. 

And today, I have been laid-off. 

Damnit.