Rowley's Roar #2

For today's blog post, one of the fictional characters from my novels will be sharing a few messages. No, I'm not going crazy. I'm just having a little fun with writing from the perspective of one of my characters, to explain her music.

Without further adieu, please once again welcome Captain Edwina "Roaring" Rowley, who shall be taking a moment to explain another song from an album we're compiling.

A Technical Discussion on Mythril

Hello again, little itches.

To begin, I ought to teach you a little something about mythril, but I'll apologize in advance, because it's...really technical and scientific. I know it bored the living crap out of me in school and I barely got passing grades on this stuff, even though it became rather important, later down the road.

If you'd rather get straight to the music and my story, skip ahead to the section below, titled 'Mythril Guitar (Outcast)'.

Anyway, mythril is one of the heaviest metals in existence, with an atomic number of 176, which firmly places it in something known as the Island of Stability. However, I'm told the only thing that keeps the atomic nuclei from spontaneously exploding is the natural background magic of the galaxy, just like all the super-heavy elements.

The Seeding Process

According to the old bats running The Order of Newts, many of the super-heavy elements, mythril included, were artificially seeded in our home star system, using ancient relics of enormous power, which are completely beyond the understanding of modern witches.

Each of those little things is a metal hexagon, which resembles a coin. They're made of orichalcum, which is an alloy of mythril and another super-heavy element, which are totally indestructible in that form.

All attempts to analyze their magic only causes them to speak, saying, "I am Kurg." And that's not exactly helpful. So, these "Kurg" things hold massive amounts of magic and can be coaxed by witches into disgorging it in rays of insanely powerful magic, which can force elements to go through a cold-fusion process that prodoces a good dozen or so elements from the island. Really scary stuff, if you ask me. Who knows what would happen if you got caught in the rays... I'm told it's a sickeningly slow death.

Of course, all of that is a closely guarded secret, but I don't care! Screw those old bats and their stupid secrets, because everyone should know!

Anyway, getting back to the point, when my ancestors settled in the Solus system and completely rearranged the planets to their liking, they blasted every rock with Kurg rays from those ancient artifacts.

However, once the reaction is kicked off, it keeps going on its own, because the enchanted elements naturally draw magic into themselves, feeding the process in nearby elements susceptible to the effect. Mythril usually forms in veins of argentiferous galena, for example, from the fusion of lead and silver, if memory serves.

Mining

With that out of the way, all that's left is to mine the ore, which is incredibly dangerous work, because even small accumulations of mythril without restraining runes can produce random surges of magic, which can be shaped by the imagination of any intelligent being.

Incidentally, that's how it's usually found in the ground; the Order regularly investigates reports of poltergeist activity, which often leads to mythril deposits.

Dwarves are the most reliable way to mine mythril, since they're more resistant than average to magic and fairly unimaginative. With a certain amount of training, they're able to keep their minds razor focused on mining and manage to avoid shaping the surges

For other races, it takes exceptional concentration, usually with a self-hypnosis technique, to keep the imagination shackled for the duration.

Processing, Forging and Dragon Breeding

Again, dwarves are handy for this, because until mythril is stamped with runes to restrain its magic, it can cause all sorts of trouble.

The only problem with that is the incredibly high melting point, requiring a plasma furnace. Yes, you read correctly, a freaking plasma furnace!

However, since most of those the Order has built are powered by mythril, I bet you're asking the obvious question: how did anyone shape it in the first place?

I'm glad you asked, because it's something that's a part of my song, Mythril Guitar. It takes a dragon. The only thing in the universe with a flame hot enough is dragon fire, and even then, it takes a real exceptional specimen, with hotter than average flame, far beyond the mundane.

According to my reading, that particular sub-species is a cross-breed of the common fire drake and the exceedingly rare arc-spitters, which eschew flame and instead have over-amped electrical organs in the back of their throat. Most dragons only spark to make a flame, but that breed push that ability to the absolute limits, producing electrical arcs that can reach as far as thirty feet and burn as bad as natural lightning!

That cross-breeds encompasses all that's dangerous in a dragon, able to spit both flame and lightning, but when they're coaxed to mix the two, they form plasma. Even worse, their temperaments are utterly awful and they're spiteful little...ahem. Turds. I don't know why, but Owen keeps telling me to stop cursing. I guess he doesn't like it.

Regardless of how the metal is melted, once some runes are added, the surges stop, because the magic gains a natural outlet and the runes generally only activate when required. That can cause the magic to build up in the metal over time, which makes any enchanted item made from it exceptionally powerful.

Mythril Guitar (Outcast)

Mythril Guitar, which is also alternatively titled Outcast, is one of my favorite songs. It continues my life story as started in Twinkle and Spin, which you can learn more about in my previous "post" (I don't quite understand what Owen means by "posts" and I keep thinking of paper mail).

So, during my last days in The Order of Newts, I got involved in a mythril mining and smelting operation and my payment was supposed to be a small percentage of refined mythril, for any purpose I might put it to. I set aside most of my earnings to give my new star ship a more powerful spell-core.

However, as I worked, I began drawing up plans for a very special guitar, which would be capable of all sorts of magical effects, based on sound manipulation, ranging from amplification to enhanced bone-transduction spells, to send my performance over long range. Part of the design involved being able to alter the sound, to make it extremely adjustable, based on whatever I might imagine.

I remember having innocently left my blueprints out one day as I worked, only for Matron Talbot to wander into the smelting facility. While I was oblivious, because I was wearing protective clothes and a darkened mask to shield my eyes from the intense light of the plasma furnace, the old bat looked over the plans, her frown growing worse.

Eventually, she commented, "It is bizarre!"

I switched off the furnace to set aside some rune-stamped ingots to cool, then lifted my mask. I was surprised to see the old bat in charge of the entire Order staring back at me, her frown having grown even worse. She was holding the plans for my mythril guitar.

"You will not build this." She declared, then threw my blueprints into the furnace, causing them to flash into flame, "Mythril is not intended for music. You will use your earnings for something serious and important, not your foolish flights of fancy."

You would not believe how angry I was. Within the confines of my own mind, every bridge between myself and the Order burned, just like the plans for my guitar, because Matron Talbot had not only insulted me, but also declared war on my identity. She had no right and I vowed to prove that fact to her.

Nonetheless, just because the Matron said something, didn't make it law and to make something actually illegal takes time.

The coming days were a political power struggle like no other I'd ever seen, because I'd earned a full pound of mythril, above and beyond what had gone into my ship's spell-core and Matron Talbot couldn't strip me of my pay on a whim.

However, what she was able to do was get me fired from my job, denying me access to the equipment required for the work.

On the other hand, my old boss didn't like what she'd been forced to do and she stuck by me. For three days, we wracked our brains for a way to build my guitar, while the old bats running the Order worked as hard as they could to make using mythril for music illegal.

Can you imagine a more cracked set of old bags? One of them decides what I'm doing is too frivolous, then all the rest back her up, while the younger witches seemed to think my plans were at least interesting, even though they thought I was crazy.

In the end, we found a dragon breeder that had one of the plasma-spitters and I bought one. That was a crazy day, because while I was also sold all the gear I needed to work with the high-strung beast and keep its fires running for hours on end, I didn't really know what I was doing. Fortunately, my old boss was good with earth magic and managed to shape a rocky hill into restraints for my new pet.

And boy, was he mad! He didn't like being held down, which was exactly what I needed! He spat flame at me every chance he got and I managed to get the mythril melted and poured into a few carbon molds.

I still can't believe I spent half a morning with my arms inside an angry dragon's mouth, using his flame to heat a crucible.

An hour after I finished pouring the mythril and had carefully set my angry pet free, my old boss approached and told me, "The old women have cast their votes and there's a new law being written. Your guitar... It may be against the law! Last I heard, the city watch were gathering to come for you, just as soon as the ink dries."

I cursed, "them. I don't care."

I cast a quick frost spell on the molds holding the mythril parts, then smashed the molds, freeing the parts. Fortunately, each and every one was correct.

The two of us worked to put all the parts together, which kept us awake well into the night, then I had to tune it.

However, when I began to strum, I knew it had been worth it, because the sound was unique, like nothing I'd ever heard before, a wonderful screech like an animal, though far more harmonic.

Unfortunately, since I didn't know how to handle it, just yet, the sound was amplified and carried to every skull of a witch for a hundred miles.

In the distance, I saw soldiers led by witches and I knew I was no longer welcome on the world I'd called home for most of my life.

While my old boss ran to warm up my ship, I used my mythril guitar to hold off the other witches. That's when I discovered my roar: a high-intensity blast of sonic magic carried directly to the skulls of other witches, via bone-transduction.

They never stood a chance and I left them screaming, with their ears covered, not that it did them any good.

When I boarded my ship, my partner in crime asked, "Looks like you can hold off the small fry as long as you need, but what about the old biddies? They're real powerful witches."

I grinned and answered, "Let 'em burn!"

We shot into the sky, two anarchists with no idea what we were going to do, but we knew there was no going back. It wasn't long before we had a much faster ship hot on our tail, but that's a story for another day...

Here's Myhtril Guitar, which is also known as Outcast, in honor of my hasty retreat from the Order, for you to enjoy:

Lyrics

Feverish dreams in the night,
Inspiration comes for me,
Until dawn of early light,
O muses mine, why from me flee?

Chorus:
Heated by the dragon's fire,
Metal's myth for my guitar.
The old women filled with ire,
They decry, "It is bizarre!"

I work forge in dragon's maw,
Shaping myth for fever's dream,
"It may be against the law!"
Says the woman on my team.

(Chorus)

Old women are my millstone,
Judging every waking thought,
Dragging me down with their drone,
To ocean's depth, I would rot!

(Chorus)

Freedom's siren song calls out,
I would soar ever higher!
But old women chain with doubt,
And shove me into the mire!

(Chorus)

She is now done, my guitar,
Singing sweetly in the night,
Yet her song wakes women far,
And the law has come to fight!

(Chorus)

Run and fight, blast every one!
Myth guitar, show what you are!
Ready my ship and let's run!
And let the old women char!

(Chorus)

Here's a link to the MP3 file, if you'd like to download it.

Mythril Guitar (Outcast) is copyright 2026, Owen Tyme, all rights reserved, but free for your personal enjoyment. Lyrics by Owen Tyme, music generated by ACE-Step 1.5. E-mail me if you want to use it for something else.

Tags: audio, music, roaring-rowley