That Dixieland jazz loving, Jack Vance’s story – Liane the Wayfarer – carries the torch for many an old school game. Only nine-pages long, the wayfaring is just a start. *** There’s Liane. He’s no good – killed a merchant this morning then fussed about blood on his shoes this afternoon. Got good advice from a wanderer, then killed him: ...dropped a block of granite large as his head. A thud, a croak, a gasp – and Liane went his way. No good and yet he's human. Confronting unknown, arcane power, Liane panics. Enraptured by a golden witch, he swoons. Preening with newfound power, he oversteps. *** Liane the Wayfarer ’s a tale of (un)courtly love. Liane’s no Lancelot, not Sir Gawain. In Vance’s tale, Lith (as in lithesome) is Liane’s lady – and he must serve. ‘I am Lith,’ said she, ‘I am what you say I am. I ferment, I burn, I seethe. Yet I may have no lover but him who served me. He must be brave, swift, cunning.’ He serves her with a quest, or, for Liane, “wayfaring” ...
While you were away, I was talking about you. https://main--sweet-figolla-586142.netlify.app/
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