"Maps are a human thing. They like to make simplified models in which things are labelled, placed on grids and details are glossed over. I assume it is because their minds are spatial and not mathematical. Things to the human mind are defined by there relation to other things. That is why they need two points to draw straight line, whatever that is. Sincerely, though I don't understand the utility of it, but I don't fight it. The Captain says go to grid space 10-K, and I can discern what he means."
-Lagrimal-0201020101, Chief Navigational Program for the FTO freighter Mtuzanizibar.
100 Word Piece of Sci-fi Minutia
“Top, my name is Brock Figglewater, I knew your aunt. I tap a piece of pillow that belonged to your aunt, and I jump belongs to you now. You see, I just bought this Stimech, and I jump it was stolen by a bruce named Horace. Horace was a pream tattle of mine. Three weeks ago, I let Horace take out my pream stimech to go bounce along the billibong looking for bubblely-bobs to bring to the spitter’s patch. Horace says he ran into some boom sauce and had to hop out of the stimech in just a tater sack. I cannot jump that Hoarace bounced 5 kims across the pillow in a tater sack. I have tapped spitter dops on the Big Under pillow for years, I ain’t no trainer. I ain’t rigged to swallow dry sand, and I washed Hoarace. But I need my stimech back, and I ain’t got the press to go all over the Big Under boiling Hoarce’s peals of truth. I need your help.”
A 100 word past time
One day a man named Koret claimed to realize what was wrong with humanity. Shortly after that he claimed to have figured out how to fix all the world problems, and he wrote down a series of commandments aimed at saving humanity from themselves. Over 500 years after his teachings were literally set into stone people are still talking about what he wrote, and some are even trying to follow it.
An annotated play list for Bards, Musical Mages, Sirens, and Supernatural Musicians regardless of time frame or setting.
Time is measured for most by the events that are both constant and special. "How many Christmas's ago was that?" It should be no different for Halflings.
Jemas Lorne, the most celebrated poet of the age, was found dead, clutching a fragment of verse torn from his journal. The tantalizing fragment spoke of wealth:
Golden sands, empty and cold,
Treasure's crypt, forgotten gold.
Under stone, ancestor's doom,
Noble's prize, troubadour's tomb.
Rumours claim that the poet's father, an eccentric nobleman, had hidden much of his wealth before his death. Perhaps the missing journal has more clues?