{"id":3346,"date":"2016-12-04T00:32:15","date_gmt":"2016-12-04T00:32:15","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/?p=3346"},"modified":"2017-08-22T12:10:35","modified_gmt":"2017-08-22T12:10:35","slug":"os-penitens-place-nine-despairs","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/os-penitens-place-nine-despairs\/","title":{"rendered":"Os Penitens: The Place of Nine Despairs"},"content":{"rendered":"

A brief visit to Os Penitens<\/strong>, the Mouth of War, today. I’m clambering through too many strands of writing and editing at the moment, so here’s a fragment of dark fantasy from a longer work which may become a full tale in its own right with time – or may not. The Gynarch alone knows.<\/p>\n

It’s my favourite character of that city – the unusual Nemors…<\/p>\n

\"label-1499015_960_720\"<\/a><\/p>\n

The Place of Nine Despairs<\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

Th<\/i>ese<\/i> <\/i>are not the hands<\/i> I will use. <\/i><\/p>\n

These hands are old. They do not straighten, nor do they grip with the strength that will be needed. And my daughter would ask me: Most noble father, is that murder, the shadow which clings to your fingers?<\/i><\/p>\n

What would I answer? I have never lied to her.<\/i><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, child. I have made murder on the enemy of my heart.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n

It would not do.<\/i><\/p>\n

So I go to the Place of Nine Despairs. I go to a meeting which no man should want, which most must surely regret\u2026<\/i><\/p>\n

#<\/i><\/p>\n

She stood on the precipice, the heels of her boots on stone, the toes on air. Lichen-mottled strongholds loomed behind her; a three hundred foot drop lay before her. Down there, choked with travellers, the road called Isaine’s Sorrow snaked through the district of Deuseptis and did its duty.<\/p>\n

The Nine Despairs was a terrace of worked stone, less than a spear’s throw wide, but longer than ten brigantines. Looking down, she noticed that the fall-nets were still tended, centuries after the last death here. History paid prentices to scramble up the crags and re-knot the ropes, clear out the nesting gulls, for history remembered cowards and honourable people. There were few of the latter now.<\/p>\n

These days there were entertainments at the Nine Despairs, amusements for the sons and daughters of the gens. The iron baskets which had once held watch-fires were stacked high with perfumed woods, and children climbed on the ballista mounts, scraping their knees on rusted bearings.<\/p>\n

She turned from the edge. It was late in the Hour of the Grey Snake, and tendrils of cloud were gathering in the east, talking amongst themselves of a dawn which was soon to come. Soon, and they would be grey no longer.<\/p>\n

A time and a place for meeting strangers.<\/p>\n

And here was the stranger coming, his cloak clutched tight, his head low.<\/p>\n

I have need, he had said at a gin stall on Isaine’s Sorrow, five hours ago, and pointed up to the heights. When the Grey Snake ends, he added.<\/p>\n

She had no objection to need. It tended to pay well.<\/p>\n

He limped as he came, joining her near the edge but not so near. He was keeping to a section where some of the carved stone parapet had survived.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are Nemors?\u201d he asked, letting his cloak fall. An old face. A sunken face, knots of muscle withered at the corners of his lips, shadows under almost colourless eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cI carry no mark,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, you wouldn’t. Not if you were her.\u201d He coughed, wiping spittle from the corner of his mouth with his cloak. \u201cNemors is not like others.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou will know who I am later,\u201d she pointed out. \u201cWhen you pay me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, of course. It concerns\u2026. concerns the gens Malphebes.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nemors had nothing to say. The pointless, convoluted politics of the great gens held little interest for her.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy name is Urien anIscales.\u201d He showed her the intricate pattern of silver etched on the back of his right hand, the pattern which matched him to his name. In Os Penitens, anyone could hide behind a face.<\/p>\n

A cousin of a cousin, without even inheritance rights in the gens Iscales. Her time was being wasted.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere are others,\u201d she said, and turned to leave. She had no interest in the small vendettas and grievances he was no doubt about to raise.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have mirifics, some of great age.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her robes of ochre and grey swirled as she faced him again.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is a great age?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe Thirteenth Year of the Lammergeier.\u201d He coughed again. \u201cAnd some from the time of Heresen Imperator.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI see. You have provenance?\u201d<\/p>\n

He smiled for the first time, a bitter twist of his mouth. \u201cIf you really are Nemors of the Last Blessing, then you will know them. Would parchment and book really help?\u201d<\/p>\n

The Tower of Falling sounded the end of the hour. Its knell was taken up a moment later by the thousand shrines and towers across the city, the brass mouths of guild bells, the horns of militia at the district gates, a wave of time which washed over the city until it was spent. In Os Penitens, there was no single moment, only fragments which followed another’s lead.<\/p>\n

The Thirteenth Year of the Lammergeier. There were certain items of that period…<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you wish me to do?\u201d<\/p>\n

He came closer. \u201cMy daughter has been dishonoured.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMalphebes will no doubt pay recompense. They’re used to doing that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou think that I would seek out Nemors for a matter of some foolish copulation?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt has happened,\u201d she said, beginning to lose interest again.<\/p>\n

So he told her why he needed her. She listened. It was a common tale, in its beginning, but it twisted as it went. When he had finished the telling, caught in a racking cough again, she swept back the hood of her cloak.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour daughter is alive, at least.\u201d<\/p>\n

The old man managed to look at her face.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe are nothing to them. We are stripped of rights and dignity.\u201d<\/p>\n

She tasted rain on the dawn breeze, considered Os Penitens laid out before her. The first few drops of a long morning spattered her face.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou wish this man, this Tetherian, dead?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExposed, shamed.\u201d he said. \u201cBrought to some sort of justice. The magistrates will not act.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis might be done.\u201d<\/p>\n

He leant against the nearest crumbling section of parapet, his hand hardly keeping him upright.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe mirifics,\u201d he said, \u201cAre our last treasures.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI heard you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat else must I do?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cComfort your daughter, I suppose. I would not know. Tell her that all will be well.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWill it? Will all be well?\u201d he asked, tiredness replaced by a sudden eager tone.<\/p>\n

\u201cI imagine not. But as for your dishonour, I will consider the matter.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you not care?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot unless I am paid to do so.\u201d<\/p>\n

He levered himself up right.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey say\u2026 they say that you are no longer human.\u201d<\/p>\n

They stood in the grey-pink shadows of the dawn. Eventually she smiled.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood.\u201d<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

She was not as I had expected. A hard voice, and a harder face, yes, but she was not so greatly different in height or build from my Cristia. <\/i><\/p>\n

I could not see her eyes, though. <\/i>I had heard <\/i>that there are colours <\/i>in those eyes<\/i> which no longer belong in this world, Gynarch protect us. I do not understand this, but I am relieved not to have seen such things. <\/i><\/p>\n

I must beg the skinbinders. My chest is worse, and they raise their prices every month. There is little money and little honour left to anIscales. <\/i><\/p>\n

One of these at least might soon be remedied.<\/i><\/p>\n

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A brief visit to Os Penitens, the Mouth of War, today. I’m clambering through too many strands of writing and editing at the moment, so here’s a fragment of dark fantasy from a longer work which may become a full tale in its own right with time – or may not. The Gynarch alone knows. … Continue reading Os Penitens: The Place of Nine Despairs<\/span> →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"iawp_total_views":1,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1],"tags":[74],"class_list":["post-3346","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-fantasy"],"yoast_head":"\nOs Penitens: The Place of Nine Despairs - greydogtales<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/os-penitens-place-nine-despairs\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_GB\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Os Penitens: The Place of Nine Despairs - greydogtales\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"A brief visit to Os Penitens, the Mouth of War, today. 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What else is there left for mere man?\u201d Today we get lost in Scotland and its folklore with Shiela Crerar, follow a plucky young woman's psychic endeavours,\u2026","rel":"","context":"In \"classic horror\"","block_context":{"text":"classic horror","link":"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/tag\/classic-horror\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"shiela crerar","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/07\/doll-626790_960_720-300x200.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":7509,"url":"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/clarks-world-the-willvent-bin\/","url_meta":{"origin":3346,"position":3},"title":"CLARK\u2019S WORLD: THE WILL\u2019VEN\u2019T BIN","author":"greydogtales","date":"November 5, 2025","format":false,"excerpt":"We\u2019re always pleased to see a new book from Alan M Clark, not only a talented author but also, as it happens, an award-winning artist. The Will\u2019ven\u2019t Bin, just out from IFD Publishing (15th October), joins his other intriguing historically-set works, this time with a Young Adult focus and science\u2026","rel":"","context":"Similar post","block_context":{"text":"Similar post","link":""},"img":{"alt_text":"alan m clark","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/EbookCover_TheWillventBin_small-200x300.jpeg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":2610,"url":"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/shades-of-sherlock-holmes-pastiche-paranormal-or-piffle\/","url_meta":{"origin":3346,"position":4},"title":"Shades of Sherlock Holmes: Pastiche, Paranormal or Piffle?","author":"greydogtales","date":"August 17, 2016","format":false,"excerpt":"In which we consider the Holmes pastiche, for better or for worse... Holmes forced more of the vile Turkish tobacco into his pipe, wincing as he realised that yet again he was smoking the damnable stuff in order to keep up appearances. \u201cDespite the fact that you are secretly my\u2026","rel":"","context":"In \"sherlock holmes\"","block_context":{"text":"sherlock holmes","link":"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/tag\/sherlock-holmes\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"Huty1913428","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/08\/sherlock-holmes-basil-rathbone-300x200.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]}],"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3346","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3346"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3346\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3350,"href":"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3346\/revisions\/3350"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3346"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3346"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3346"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}