Kal Brass

In high school in the early '00s, I read a webcomic called 1/0 by Tailsteak. It was a postmodernist, completely fourth-wall-less comic that did things with metafiction I had never seen before. I haven't reread it super recently but the last time I did, it held up pretty well, although with some... caveats. I'd recommend it with reservations.

1/0 also referenced other contemporary indie webcomics extensively. At one point it referenced a Christian furry webcomic (stay with me) called Under the Lemon Tree, that would later rebrand as Goblin Hollow. It featured what was, in retrospect, an incredibly plural premise: normal guy suddenly finds he has a bunch of headmates that only he can see. I found that very interesting for Some Reason. I think that UTLT probably doesn't hold up very well, for a number of reasons, and even in 2004 or whatever I had somewhat icky vibes about the dude's politics, but I still read through the archive once. He apparently passed away earlier this year.

UTLT had a crossover with a science fiction comic called Schlock Mercenary, which at that point was about three years old. Schlock Mercenary was and still is a damn good piece of science fiction, starting from a fairly comedic and episodic beginning and going all sorts of wild and wonderful places. It ended in 2020 after exactly twenty years of uninterrupted daily updates. I absolutely recommend it, although look up a good place to jump in because the beginning can be a little rough. Just be prepared for. Y'know. 7,305 comics.

The author of Schlock Mercenary started a writing podcast with a couple author friends of his, called Writing Excuses. This was my introduction to later cohost and common answer I give for "favorite author", Mary Robinette Kowal. (It dithers between her and Becky Chambers, kinda depends on the day.) That would be impactful enough, but it was also my introduction to one of those other two cohosts, an up and coming fantasy author by the name of... oh what was his name again? Oh right. Brandon Sanderson.

I checked out some of his books because what he talked about on the podcast sounded cool. They were incredibly good, very up my alley. The first book in his new big series, The Way of Kings, was about to come out. I went on Tumblr to see if anyone else was excited about this.

Like I said, the museum was a pretty snotty institution. It’s got a LOT of objects it’s way famous for possessing, but nobody knew about the absolutely massive collection of Moche erotic pottery it had because the curators were totally embarrassed by this stuff.

Some examples:

Pretty hot shit, right? They never, ever put any of this stuff on public view or published it in any catalogues but - we legit had like several hundred pieces of Moche ceramics in the “dirty pots” category. Anyway, I was left alone to just do my job with regard to the database for several years, ok? And I figured, well, these’re accessioned objects in the museum’s collection - better get down to bidness. 

I catalogued every goddamn bestiality, necrophiliac, cocksucking, buttfucking, detached penis, and giant vulva drinking cup in that collection. I’d be like, 

A drinking vessel in form of a standing man wearing a tunic and cap. He holds an oversized erection in his hands and stares into the distance (note I did not say “like he’s hella-constipated”). The vessel has a hole at both the tip of the penis as well as around the rim of the figure’s head, thus forcing the drinker to drink only from the penis or risk spilling wine all over themselves from the top of the vessel. Red and orange slip covers the surface of the piece.

Pretty straightforward, right? Apparently the deep seated fear of these objects that the curators exhibited was meant to spread to me as well, but - no one ever gave me that memo, because I guess Midwesterners reproduce asexually. When the curators understood that I had catalogued all of these objects in addition to the other, non-sexy pieces in the collection, they were apparently livid, but knew they had no legs to stand on in terms of getting pissed at me for it. 

I visited the museum’s online public access database a few years back and - every single description I wrote of these pieces has been totally neutered to say something like Male figural vase. 

So… if we say a human comes of age in fantasy worlds at 16, that means it takes an elf 6.25 years to age one human year. If we say the age of maturity is 18 that’s 5.55 years.

So then… okay with people that live a long time have to see their human friends die and probably see them like pets yeah that’s been explored to death. But what about a human just seeing their friend not grow up?

An elf toddler and a human toddler become friends at a playdate. At the time the human is two and the elf is 13. Emotionally the elf is just a little older than the human. But then the human grows up. He grows up and as he grows up his friend doesn’t. Not much, anyways.

She’s still sucking her thumb and throwing tantrums the entire time that he grows up. When he reaches the age where he’d choose a trade or go to an academy he’s earning extra money by babysitting her. During his initiation into adulthood on his 18th birthday she’s there with her parents holding a stuffed animal. Later that afternoon he sees her being shown some colorful flashcards with letters of the elvish alphabet on it by her father.

The human gets older. He learns how to fight, he goes from town to town getting work. At some point he joins the army. Every time he visits his hometown he has at least one more scar and by the time he’s 30 and the elf girl is mentally seven by human standards she starts to understand that something is wrong. Even after he settles down to be a home maker for the local blacksmith something feels wrong.

And she watches him grow old. When she’s in her 80s she babysits his grandchildren for extra cash after school, coming over in her school robes and ruffling his hair. She doesn’t remember why she became friends with this human or when but a strange sense of jealousy fills her heart.

Now she realizes it. She realizes it too late, on the day her friend learns that he is dying. The first day of her 100th year and the start of his last. Humans’ lifetimes may only last for the childhood of an elf if they’re lucky, but they learn so fast. They do so much. They cram their days full of love and hate and learning and wonder.

He knew this was coming. He knew all of this decades before she did, because elves are slow. Not stupid, certainly not stupid, but very very slow. She holds her old friend’s hand as he lays down on his bed. A man that has led such an ordinary life but feels so extraordinary to her. Because he has always, always been there and now he just won’t. Because in her eyes he became so wise so fast and now he’s just gonna be gone.

On an elf’s 100th birthday they are allowed to choose a new name for themselves. It can be important, or not. Usually it will follow them until the end of time. She stands in front of her family’s elders and is asked what name she will be called from now on.