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memento-morianon · 8 days ago

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Quetzalin

my bird folk! I do love info dumping about my own creations. Took a while to make all the art and figure out the best way to present the info!

(image description: under the title "quetzalin worldbuilding", there are two bird-like humanoids flying together. One has blue and black feathers, the other has blue, green, and yellow feathers.)

The quetzalin are a tropical people, found exclusively in one rainforest. Almost all of the quetzalin live in the same central location, in a particular stand of trees that are exceptionally large and sturdy.

They are a peculiar people, having traits of both avians and mammals, and they are the only known species of their kind, though there are known cases of quetzalin producing offspring with elves on rare occasions. These mixed offspring are always infertile and typically take after their quetzalin parent in terms of coloration, and might be mistaken for full quetzalin by those who have never met one, but they have distinct differences in the structure of their bodies that make them stand out from full quetzalin.

(image description: sketch of three bipedal humanoids. from left to right; an elf with monkey-like features and a long tail, a half-elf quetzalin who looks quite bird-like and barely resembles the elf, and a full quetzalin who is distinctly more bird-like and even stands with a different posture and foot position compared to the other two. the main differences between the full quetzalin and the half-elf one are that the half-elf one is a little taller, has a smaller beak and more drooping tail, and stands straighter with flat feet. end description.)

One reason that half-elf quetzalin are so uncommon is just that quetzalin are born from eggs, so any quetzalin with an elf parent, especially a mother, may not develop correctly and is more likely to be miscarried or born prematurely. They're meant to develop within the egg, not a whole womb. The shells of their eggs are quite soft and semi translucent, making them fragile things that require round the clock care. Adult quetzalin communally care for unhatched eggs, so they can be incubated properly and have the best chance of hatching. New hatchlings are helpless, naked, and blind, only able to make a loud peeping sound to beg for food, and they are fed via regurgitation, which can be done by any adult.

They grow downy feathers and open their eyes within their first month, but even as they learn to crawl and walk and speak, they remain quite small until they hit a growth spurt in the early years of puberty, between the ages of 10 and 13. Their flight feathers come in through a series of childhood molts and they can fly proficiently by their teenage years, when they begin to experience the courting season hormone shift and start to grow courting plumage or produce eggs.

(image description: two pages of sketches depicting baby bird people. the first page shows the development from egg to hatchling, as well as two sketches of an adult caring for an egg and an adult feeding a hatchling via regurgitation. the second page shows sketches of a hatchling growing into a fledgling. the initial hatchling looks very scrungly and squinty, the second step is a fluffy baby covered in downy feathers with their eyes open, third is a toddler standing up with stubby wings, and finally is a child crouching as if to leap into the air, with their flight feathers grown in. end description.)

Not all eggs hatch, of course. The majority of eggs laid each courting season are completely unfertilized, especially those produced by young quetzalin still going through puberty. These unfertilized eggs are discarded in a variety of ways. Some are offered up at the temple of their deity, and subsequently made into fertilizer for the trees they all live in. Some are used as a form of emergency food for anyone who is suffering a nutrient deficiency. Many are used to feed the local drake population; a species of flying lizard that spits burning acid and raids nests. The quetzalin have sort of been domesticating them, finding them adorable and feeding them freely.

(image description: a colored drawing of a flying lizard with a crested head. its wings bear resemblance to those of a pterodactyl and its tail also has a wide membrane around it. it is green with stripes and spots of pale yellow and dark orange. next to it is the title "crested drake". below the colored drawing is a sketch of a quetzalin handing an egg to a gleeful looking drake with a wide open mouth. end description.)

Quetzalin are a sexually dimorphic species, but the difference is only clear during their courting season. Half the year, all the male quetzalin grow fancy courting plumage. Some females experiencing menopause also grow similar plumage. Individually, all quetzalin have their own unique coloration, and those who grow courting plumage also have their own unique styles. but for the sake of comparison, I've depicted two quetzalin that look exactly alike so I can show how the courting plumage works.

(image description: two images of matching bird folk with blue and yellow plumage. in the second image, one of them is now sporting many curled orange feathers on their head, wings, and tail, while some of their yellow feathers have also been replaced with orange ones. end description.)

Though they do have a binary form of biological sex, the quetzalin do not identify themselves by their sex. instead, they use genderless pronouns, differing between children and adults, and add a prefix to the adult pronoun to denote their preferred courting role each year.

There are three standard courting roles. Those who Dance, Those who Watch, and Those who Mix. I haven't developed their conlang yet, but these roles will have their own titles. It is most common for Dancers to be males with their courting plumage, while females are most commonly the Watchers. But this is not always the case. Many quetzalin males prefer to watch, many females prefer to dance, and quetzalin of all sorts will take the mixed role, never settling fully on dance or observation.

(image description: digital painting of several bird folks. two in the foreground are perched on large branches, watching three others fly around in the background. they all have colorful and unique plumage. A few of them have flashy courting feathers on display, while others are using flashy props like streamers instead of natural courting feathers. end description.)

(this post got so very long, putting a readmore here)

The role of a Dancer is to show off and be flashy, performing aerial tricks to catch the attention of potential mates. Dancers who don't have natural courting plumage make up for it with flashy props and extra accessories. Dancers avoid each other in the air, as collisions are a common cause of injury to both parties and a detriment to their performances. But they will compete with each other by having dance offs, and many dancers actually flirt with each through paired dances.

(image description: colored drawing of a quetzalin with red and yellow feathers, as well as some darker blue striping. they have a few showy courting feathers on their head and the edges of their wings. they are wearing colored paint on their face and limbs, and wearing a lot of jewelry. end description.)

The role of a Watcher is to perch around the dance arenas and observe the dancers, while also trying to catch the attention of the best and prettiest dancers. They might heckle the dancers, use props or courting plumage to catch the eye of a favored dancer, and compete with each other to gain the best perches and keep their competition away to have a better chance of gaining attention. They may even flirt with each other, bantering playfully.

(image description: colored drawing of a quetzalin with brown and white feathers, striped on the lighter underside of their wings and torso. they are wearing simple dark red accessories and a patterned red and cream skirt, as well as red and cream face paint. they're sitting casually and making a beckoning gesture with one hand, which has a bell tied to the forefinger. end description.)

The mixed role is versatile. It may be someone hiding amongst the watchers, suddenly turning their perch into a dance stage and drawing attention away from the arena. It may be a dancer swooping close to the audience and finding someone to banter with as they hover in place, blocking the view of the arena. They are clever, and flexible, using any means available to them to gain the attention they desire.

(image description: colored drawing of a quetzalin with blue and grey feathers, with their back turned to the viewer. they are wearing purple and white clothing and accessories, including streamers tied to their legs. end description.)

Casual hookups are the most common result of all the courtship performances. Quetzalin find a mate in the arenas and fly off together to have their own private fun. There are also indoor arenas where adult quetzalin hook up in less private ways, performing more explicitly sexual dances and enjoying the voyeurism.

Younger quetzalin going through puberty and experiencing the courting instincts for the first time are kept out of these venues, encouraged to perform only in the public arenas while they are carefully instructed in standard courting etiquette and informed of all the health risks that come with casual hookups.

Young egg layers in particular are at risk as their hormones might spike from sexual interaction and cause problems like excessive egg production, which drains a lot of nutrients and energy from the body. They may also produce malformed eggs, some of which could get stuck. Fully grown quetzalin are less likely to have these problems.

Most long term relationships are built outside of the courting season, established through emotional bonding and platonic intimacy all through the year. Quetzalin who bond in this way may choose to become permanent partners and seal their bond through a ceremony performed in the temple of their deity. Bonded partners often get matching forearm tattoos, depicting intertwined tree branches. They believe these deeper relationships are blessed by their deity, and that they help keep the community strong in the same way that the tangled branches of their sacred trees strengthen their home territory and keep it safe.

Communal preening is one very important form of social bonding, done between friends, family members, and lovers alike. Every quetzalin home has a preening space, and public preening spas are everywhere in their territory. They do have special rules for who can preen which body parts. Young children are preened fully by their caretakers. Casual strangers and acquaintances may preen each other's wings. Close friends and family can preen the feathers of the head. But only lovers and bonded partners can preen each other's whole torso, back, and tail.

(image description: sketches of quetzalin engaging in preening behaviors with each other. on the top, one quetzalin runs their beak gently through the feather on their partner's head, next to the caption "preening with beak = very close relationship. below, one quetzalin uses their hands to preen the feathers of another person's wings, next to the caption "preening with hands = standard politeness". end description.)

For the most part, the quetzalin are an isolated people. In recent generations, they have begun to venture into the world, using their own molted feathers as a major export, but locally they only interact with two groups: elves and centaurs. The elves are their main trade partners, exchanging goods and offering services to each other. The quetzalin mainly consume fish, insects, and other small creatures, though they can eat fruit and nuts as well. Their home trees grow more food than they need for themselves, and they are masterful fishers, so they often trade away food in exchange for things like elf-made cloth and jewelry. They also deal with the drakes that elves consider pests, because they like to raid the coops of domestic birds.

The centaurs are an interesting case. This is a population of centaurs who fled southward when the conflict between their people and the orcish ancestors escalated to war. They are quite at home in the rainforest, being very large herbivores who consume a mixture of leaves and fruit. They have developed a special bond with the quetzalin, allowing the small bird folk to harvest any external parasite or biting insect that find centaur blood to be a tasty meal. The quetzalin appreciate the centaurs' ability to deter predator animals and aid in the care of their home trees. Quetzalin eggs have also become a useful protein source for the centaurs, who do require some level of non-plant food to sustain themselves. This may be the only known case of centaurs openly bonding with a whole population of other people, even crossing the line into a potential symbiotic relationship. It is a very unique situation. For now.

(image description: sketches of a sloth-like ogre, an orc, and a centaur standing together. Both images have a connected caption that reads "bird folk will see megafauna folk and ask 'is anyone gonna perch on that?' and not even wait for an answer." and in the second image, all three of the larger people now have quetzalin perched on their shoulders or backs. end description.)

The quetzalin people believe in just one deity, Ithia. They are a parental deity, depicted as a living tree which crafted the quetzalin out of wood and feathers, beginning only with pairs of solid singular colors. As time went on, of course, the children of each one-color pair mated with each other and gradually mixed their colors more and more with each generation, creating the unique varieties of color and patterns in modern quetzalin. Ithia is believed to have gone dormant after creating the quetzalin, sleeping beneath the earth and giving them their home trees which are sturdy enough to protect them from the region's seasonal storms. In thanks to Ithia and to help maintain the sacred trees, quetzalin offer up their excess eggs for fertilizer and burn molted feathers as well. Every home has a private shrine for Itihia where offerings of food, incense, and trinkets are left in the hopes that Ithia will answer their prayers and grant them aid. More important prayers are given at the temple of Ithia, where various ceremonies are also performed. This includes the bonding ceremony for committed partners, a coming of age ceremony where young quetzalin offer their first eggs or courting feathers, and community prayers pleading for safety whenever the storms come through or other major troubles strike their community.

The quetzalin also have a culture of secret, sacred names. When a quetzalin comes of age, they are to think of their own secret name; a private title for themself which embodies their soul. They perform a private ceremony to give their name to Ithia and the priests, and if they choose to have a bonded partner (or multiple bonded partners) then their secret name may also be used in the bonding ceremony.

"Quetzalin" is itself a public name, while the people actually have another secret name only known to themselves. They learn it when they come of age. No outsiders are told the true name of the quetzalin people. Ithia is also said to have another name, only known to the priests. The quetzalin believe that having a secret name protects their souls. If they die without this name, their soul may be lost and disappear. But with this name, they believe they can make it to the afterlife properly and rest.

The names given to hatchlings are not secret, but they also have a spiritual intention. It is believed that any egg named too early will not hatch, and so they are only named when it is certain that they will survive. As a result, they're usually given names on the day they hatch, to be extra safe. Unhatched eggs are a common occurence, and they are also offered up to Ithia, who will take the lifeless embryos into the earth and give their undeveloped souls another chance.

And now for the truth behind all of these details:

Ithia is no myth. It's just a mispronunciation. The quetzalin cannot pronounce bilabial sounds without great effort, such as M, B, P, F, and V. Ithia's true name is Vivian. Vivian was once a mortal human, and could by modern standards be considered afrolatina. She lived at the peak right before humanity began to fall and go extinct. She studied genetics and evolution and mutations. She was granted the role of an immortal Life entity, one of the last humans to gain this position, one of the only humans to take it while being a highly educated scientist. Vivian was ambitious. She saw the fall of humanity, and she wanted to preserve her people. She aided in tweaking the genetics of the only other hominid species, the dwarves, to ensure that humans could leave some legacy behind through mixed offspring. Then took things a step further and tweaked the genetics of the elves for the same purpose, which was more difficult because elves are primates but not hominids. It worked, though, and this success fueled Vivian's ambitions.

(image description: digital painting of a humanoid woman with brown skin. She has gained extra eyes and has four skeletal arms instead of two living ones. Her hair has been replaced by leaves and flowers. Instead of legs, she only has a skirt of leaves. There are wrinkles on her face, showing her age. Between one pair of hands, she is holding a depiction of the DNA helix. end description.)

She met Death. They were stricken by her passion and they became lovers for a time, though their personalities clashed and they often fought. It was a turbulent relationship. Vivian took advantage of the connection to learn how the afterlife worked, discovering that it was also the source of new souls. When dead souls dissipate, the essence of the creature they once were is sent through the flow of ambient natural magic and latches onto new life as it forms in the womb, creating a soul that matches the creature. Life entities can capture and manipulate this essence a little, influencing the path of evolution. The essence of extinct species is archived in the afterlife, but cannot form a new soul of its type while the species remains extinct.

Vivian decided to extend human kind by crafting a new type of human with their soul essence. Her concept was a little over the top. Humans with wings. But she was determined to go beyond the logical and more reasonable route of making the arms into membranous wings. No, she wanted something more. She wanted to create a people that were truly unique, only possible by the use of her powers now that she was an immortal being. Something mortal science could never have achieved. So she crafted the quetzalin.

(image description: a series of sketches showing the development of the quetzalin as humanoid bird folk. it begins with a more typically human figure that has a pair of feathered wings attached to the back. next, a similar figure but now with a larger wing shoulder making them hunch over and a short tail at the base of their spine. the second image shows the addition of elf genetics followed by a shrinking of the body size and the addition of more bird like features, all of which makes the tail longer and the feet more grabby. the final image shows the quetzalin as they are, with longer tails held more parallel to the ground, raised heels to give them a bent leg posture, a smaller body plan, and much more bird like visual traits. end description.)

It took many attempts. Much to her frustration, Vivian found that she could not make humans with feathered wings that were fully capable of flight without greatly altering their DNA and body shape. She was too ambitious to give up, cobbling together bits and pieces from other creatures. Elf genetics, dinosaur traits, more bird biology, on and on until at last she had the quetzalin. She recycled the souls of her creations by her own power, bypassing the afterlife and disrupting the natural order of things.

(image description: sketches comparing the body shapes of a velociraptor, human, and quetzalin, with the quetzalin in the middle. end description.)

This caused the biggest and final clash between her and Death, and they never spoke again. But Vivian had achieved her goal, even if the end result was much different than her original plan. She rested, going dormant beneath the trees and gradually letting go of the last remnants of her energy to strengthen them and keep her creation safe.

Life entities are not eternal. They cannot be killed or die of natural causes, but they are not eternal. They eventually run out of the power given to them, and their souls dissipate into the ambient magic of the world. Vivian is gone now, though the quetzalin still worship the idea of her. Their knowledge of her has been lost little by little, changing a bit with each generation. This is the origin of most deities in the world. Some grain of truth, some memory of a real Life entity that favored a particular species but eventually faded away, leaving them in the hands of a successor or leaving them on their own.

Death mourned the day they felt Vivian's soul vanish.

And as for the secret name of the quetzalin, it too is a mispronunciation. They know themselves as the Onaxelu. But the name Vivian gave them, the name that embodied their true origin and purpose, was Homo Angelus.

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memento-morianon · 9 days ago

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(image description: digital painting in shades of brown, beige, and blue. it depicts a gnomish woman standing in front of a mirrored wall. instead of a normal reflection, there is a skeleton in the mirror. both the woman and the skeleton are touching the surface of the mirror together. there are matching halo designs drawn around their heads. end description.)

artober day 29, reflect

despite the majority of my story's plot being a cozy slice-of-life type of story, the title is still Memento Mori and it does open on a death and funeral. Death remains a lingering theme throughout the plot.

this particular illustration is of Evarin, one of my protagonists. at the opening of the story, she helps her mentor pass on; a man who taught her the ancient language used for vocal magic. she is married to Morianon, who has been close to death several times in his life for various reasons, and who she knows has a naturally shorter lifespan than herself.

and though it isn't super clear with that painterly style, Evarin could also be reflecting on the little differences between her body and those of other gnomish women, illustrated here as the skeleton. Evarin is both a trans woman and a quarter orc, so her body does not line up with the standard expectation of a gnomish woman. she's a little taller, her body puts on fat and muscle a little quicker, she has tusks that she keeps filed down. even in a diverse community with a broad support system, she struggles to reconcile all the pieces of her own identity.

#writeblr #mm illustrations #mm characters #artober #artober 2024

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memento-morianon · 10 days ago

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(image description: two digital paintings of a humanoid man with feathered wings. the first painting uses dark shades of green, pink, and midnight purple. it depicts the man falling backwards into a deep pit of water. feathers are scattered in the air above him, trailing off his flared wings. he is reaching upwards with a desperate expression.

the second painting uses lighter shades of green, purple, pink, and yellow. it depicts the man soaring upwards over a forest, with the sun behind his head. a crest of courting plumage curls up from his back and there are two long ribbon feathers in his tail. he looks joyful. end description.)

artober day 27 and 28, fall and rise

this is Morianon, one of my protagonists. I did have a specific plot scene in mind for these paired prompts, but I decided it was too much of a late-story spoiler to depict in full accuracy lol. gotta keep some of my secrets, right?

so instead, I'll call this a visual metaphor for his seasonal depression. Every year, Morianon undergoes a major hormone shift. In the spring, he molts every feather on his body and grows fresh ones, alongside special courting plumage. all through the summer, he is at his peak. he feels energetic and happy and eagerly seduces his wife every chance he gets.

and then the autumn comes around and the courting plumage falls off and his hormones drop, leaving him far more vulnerable to depression and anxiety. this is the time of year when he is most likely to experience relapses in self harm, something he has struggled with since childhood because of the trauma he went through.

so every year he goes through this rollercoaster of highs and lows, and it is very difficult to handle. luckily, he does have a broad support system in his community to help him through the worst of it. or at least, the worst of it that he allows them to see.

#mm illustrations #mm characters #artober #artober 2024 #writeblr

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memento-morianon · 11 days ago

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(image description: digital painting made with a five color palette of bright red, yellow, bright olive green, light blue, and dark blue. the dark blue acts as an undertone to mute the other colors, providing greater depth of shade. the painting depicts two characters meeting on a street with festival decorations overhead. on the left, a gnomish woman in an elaborate layered dress holds a hand to her chest and smiles in delight. on the right, a humanoid man with feathered wings, wearing a fancy embroidered dance costume, bows with a flourish and holds out a flower. he is also wearing a mask that resembles a bird head. around his feet are a few dropped feathers, and his wings and tail look ragged and uneven. end description)

artober day 26, flower.

in the community where Evarin and Morianon live, there is a multicultural new year's festival on the day of the spring equinox. it has been going on since their interspecies community was first founded about a century before the main story begins. one of the elvish traditions of this festival involves people dressing up as the bald ravens, called "banshees" by the elves, and running around pulling pranks and tossing out trinkets. the role is typically given to younger elves, teenagers who feel too old for the children's activities and have a lot of energy to spend. it gives them an independent role and allows them to wreak a little havoc in the name of fun. Morianon here, being the only bird person in town, grew up feeling very out of place even with his loving adoptive family. he felt worse when he molted, which always happens the most in early spring. becoming a new year's banshee really helped him overcome his insecurities and made the molt more fun, as he can scatter the old feathers anywhere he likes and it's just part of the game.

he still plays the role even though he's about 30 years old now. the younger banshee players look to him as a mentor figure.

handing out and trading trinkets is a community tradition for the festival. the more a trinket is traded, the better luck it will give to whoever keeps it at the end of the night.

#mm world details #mm illustrations #writeblr #artober 2024 #artober #mm characters

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memento-morianon · 11 days ago

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"No one wants to see art of ocs" If I dont see art of peoples ocs at least once a day I DIE. Do you want that to happen? Do you want me to DIE? Draw your ocs.

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memento-morianon · 12 days ago

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| "Go have fun, dear banshee." Evarin kissed his cheek and waved him off, watching him leap into the air and scurry along the rooftops, scattering feathers as he went. |

@ anyone who wants to join!

Out of Context Line Tag

I was tagged by @trixierosewrites :D

I decided on my WIP for an AU of one of my characters, in which they are a character in manga Dungeon Meshi >:))

“How could you forget? I do not slay. I do not kill. I destroy, I exterminate, and, most importantly, I heal. I stop the spread of the disease that has a hold on each of us and, one day, I shall be cured for my efforts."

hihi

ohhh who to tag <:p no pressure though!!! I am never sure if it's okay to tag ppl sksks

@dragonfelling @memento-morianon @writingamongther0ses

but!!! if you see this post and want to do it too! you can tag me in your post I will love to see the line!!

#out of context wip quotes #writing tag game

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memento-morianon · 12 days ago

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Happy STS! What part of your story has been your favourite to write, or what part are you looking forward to most? (feel free to share a snippet 👀) - @trixierosewrites

oh, ooh, tough choices. hmmmmm favorite parts so far in my current draft:

the dramatic entrance of a centaur arriving at the orc village to pay respects to their dying patriarch

terrible orc dude almost gets murdered at the funeral of aforementioned patriarch and it's cathartic but also heartbreaking because the patriarch was his father and a great man, so it hurts to see how he is so disrespectful of his father's legacy

character who isn't so good with magic watches his two beloved ones perform a feat of magic together and finds himself equally in awe of it while also feeling disconnected because he can't do what they do

as part of a ritualistic tradition, a deer is hunted so the hunter can become familiar with the feeling of death, in preparation for a greater ritual where he will come close to death in order to unlock his own spiritual powers and take an important leadership role in his community.

excerpts under the cut. (and also here is the masterpost of full chapter drafts and other excerpts)

future things i am excited to write:

the big ritual mentioned above

archaeology trip in centaur territory

bird dude going full theater campy flamboyance because the courting season hormones kick in hard and do not let go

centaur bit:

“Make space, make space,” the voice of an old dwarf shooed the crowd away. He entered, carrying the promised tray of lunch for He-esh and his family, walking past the gasping, stunned guests and turning to address the dark shadow that had fallen over the doorway.

“Come in, then. Might be a tight fit,” he chuckled. The stranger bent low, pushing their enormous three-toed feet over the threshold, ducking their head and reaching forward to pull themself inside.

“What’s going on?” He-esh squinted and frowned. “Elkha, tell me what’s going on.” He tapped Th’elir’s arm, but she too had been caught by surprise and only mumbled as she tried to explain. Evarin stepped back towards K’arik, eyes wide. She glanced at her mother and saw her own shocked expression mirrored right back. As the stranger grunted and half-crawled through the low door, she saw her father escape the crowd and hurry to join her.

“Can you believe—“ he whispered, but Tawei shushed him. The stranger’s body blocked the whole door as they finally fit themself through it and stood up. Even inside, they had to bend their neck to avoid the rafters, towering over the tallest orcs in the room. Four hooved feet, holding a body so heavy they sunk into the packed dirt floor. Legs as tall as a gnome. They wore layers of woven cloth, all green and brown and cedar red in beautiful leafy patterns, draped over their uncanny body that seemed to have two sets of ribs. Their arms were just skinnier versions of their forelegs, Evarin noticed. She could barely see their face in the shadows by the rafters. Morianon could see them better, perched above everyone else. His feathers shivered as the stranger noticed him, catching and holding his gaze. Their mouth was tense, their long ears laid flat against their head. Morianon glanced away and found Evarin’s eyes, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Forgive me,” the stranger said, bringing the murmur of the crowd to a dead hush, “for not announcing my arrival ahead of time.” They walked carefully forward, every step remarkably delicate for someone so massive. “I came to deliver my herd’s respects to you, He-esh.”

“Oh? Ah, no, I do know you,” He-esh sat up with Th’elir’s help, clearing his throat. “Or perhaps this is an old man’s dying dream. Are you a spirit?” he laughed, “I never thought I’d live to see a centaur enter my village. I suppose it would have to happen on the last day of my life, wouldn’t it?” He smiled up at the centaur and welcomed them forward with an open hand.

orc dude gets wrecked:

“Ikar’s gone into a drunken rage,” someone hissed to the group, waving down K’arik’s attention and signing their message to him. “Your uncle is causing a scene; he’s just insulted He-esh.” They hesitated and their posture shrunk, eyes falling to the side. “He said He-esh was a fool for choosing you as an heir.” K’arik’s ears flattened and he straightened his back, jaw and shoulders set tight in anger. The hair on Evarin’s spine bristled at the sight; her dear gentle friend’s eyes were sharp as warrior’s glare, his soft demeanor replaced with the power and purpose of a leader ready to defend his loved ones.

Morianon leapt into the rafters, traveling over the crowd to reach the scene of the conflict. Ikar’s voice was slurred and muffled behind the mass of guests. K’arik strode through the crowd with ease, parting them with a gentle hand as he approached his uncle. Evarin took advantage of the gap in his wake to make her own way to the scene. She ducked into the open area where Ikar stood facing his siblings, red in the face and baring his tusks. His wife stood near him, holding his arm like she had been trying to lead him away, but he stubbornly remained where he was.

“Nothing but foolish choices!” he ranted, “as’e went soft from old age, we all know it. It’s an insult to our whole clan! My own family has been passed over, all for you and yours.” He waved a hand at Th’elir, scoffing at her. “Couldn’t even pick your eldest, had to pick the one that can’t hold a conversation without help!”

“Ikar, if you say one more thing about my son-” Th’elir growled, snout raised in threat, fully baring her own tusks. Ikar huffed, spitting on the dirt floor. He turned and glared at K’arik, who had just emerged from the crowd and fixed his gaze on his uncle. “I know you know how to sign.” K’arik remarked cooly, staring down his snout and gesturing with sharp motions. “If you want to insult me, do it directly.” The whole hall fell into a quiet chill, despite the press of warm bodies and the hearth fire in the middle. Apart from whispers passing details to those who couldn’t see, everyone was as silent and still as a hunter’s trap waiting to snap closed. Ikar sneered at K’arik, shaking his head.

“Fine,” he snapped in hasty sign, “you want the truth? This clan doesn’t need any leader who shares his bed with outsiders and the children of traitors.” He jerked his chin towards Morianon and set his glare on Evarin. She bared her teeth reactively, revealing the blunted tips of her filed-down tusks. Morianon landed beside her, all his feathers flat on his skin, holding his wings out defensively. “He’s not worth it,” Morianon muttered under his breath, “this isn’t our fight.” By the way his hands tightened on her arms, Evarin knew he was speaking to himself as much as to her. She backed into the crowd slightly and soon heard her parents’ hushed voices as they hurried through the masses to reach her and stand by her side. K’arik remained stoic, eyes still cold and fixated on his uncle. “I expected better from one of my own predecessors,” he replied, “did we not learn diplomacy from the same man? I looked up to you, once.” “You’re as much of a fool as my father,” Ikar retorted, “abandoning our traditions and our clan. Our ancestors used to be lead by great warriors! Now we follow softhearted fools who rely on gentle words and magic rituals.” He snorted and stamped his foot in a challenge. His wife stepped back from him, face contorted in offended disgust, snout crinkling around the piercing that marked her own role as a spiritual matriarch.

Izune clicked his tongue dismissively. “What under the Sun’s burning gaze does he think he’s on about?” he muttered, and Th’elir shushed him. Evarin shook her head in agreement, feeling the tension in the room rise to a suffocating degree.

“Ikar!” Th’elir moved forward, answering his challenge with a stomp. “How long will you insult our family and our clan? You’re the only fool I see here.” She lowered her head, tusks forward. K’arik’s tusks were curled like his grandfather’s, tips facing his own cheeks. But Th’eilr’s tusks jutted forward like a pair of curved knives, poised for battle.

“Don’t pretend you’re better than me, little sister,” Ikar growled, “you’ve stolen what should have been mine. You’re not fit to lead, and your son will destroy everything our ancestors valued! He’s weak! You’re weak! I’m the one who should be leading this clan!” He abandoned the sign language to shout his last words, but if he had anything more to say, Th’elir slammed it out of his throat in a split second. The crowd came to life with shrieks of fear and shock, K’arik lost his cool demeanor and rushed forward with a gasping cry.

Th’elir’s mouth was around her brother’s neck, her hands on his arms, and her momentum shoved him back against the nearest support pillar. He coughed, blinking in delayed surprise. K’arik, his father, and his older brother all hurried to Th’elir’s side, but she stood back on her own, blood dripping from her tusks. Ikar grabbed his throat and stumbled, leaning against the pillar. There was fear in his hazy eyes, and his breath sounded ragged.

“By the Mountain’s great glacial tits!” Izune exclaimed, clutching at his own throat to grab the pendant he wore. “What— !?” “Watch your tongue,” Tawei hissed, her hands tight on her husband and daughter’s shoulders. Izune gestured wildly at the scene in front of them but lowered his voice. “Watch my tongue? I almost just watched a murder!” “Hush!” Tawei hardly seemed to be paying attention to him anyway, her eyes wide and her whole body tense as she stared at Ikar. He stood up shakily, lifting his hand to his eyes and staring in disbelief at the blood staining his palm. It trickled from the puncture wounds Th’elir had inflicted, coloring his collar as it seeped into his shirt.

“Ikar,” Th’elir snapped, lifting her head, “you have insulted this clan again and again. You insult me, my family, and our father. As the clan matriarch, I banish you from this land. If you ever dare show your face to us again, it had better be kissing the dirt to apologize for everything you have done and said.” She huffed, still breathing heavy from her sudden burst of action. No one else spoke a word. “Th’elir,” Ikar coughed, glaring back. She snorted at him, stomping her foot in warning. “You are no longer my brother,” she spat, “get out of my home now.” She stood back and her family moved with her, all of them shifting their gaze between her and Ikar, their expressions a blend of shock and resolution. Evarin felt her own breath catch and release in a stunned gasp. Morianon held her close, wings trembling.

Ikar’s wife avoided eye contact with Th’elir’s family as she grabbed her husband’s arm and pulled him away, leading him forcefully out of the hall. Their two sons, standing with their wives, were still in the crowd, confusion and fear crossing their faces. Th’elir turned to them and sighed. “I have no quarrel with you, nephews,” she tutted, “only with your father. Where you go now is your own choice.” She shook her head and reached up to touch her tusks, staring at the blood that came off on her fingers . K’arik and his brother looked at each other and turned to the crowd, holding up their hands for attention.

“Forgive the interruption,” K’arik signed, and his brother spoke the words for those who could not see, “emotions run high in the wake of grief. Please, remain with us as long as you are able. Our guests houses are still open to everyone, and there is plenty of food and drink to go around.” K’arik’s hands trembled but he pressed on. “We truly appreciate your presence here. To see such a large and diverse crowd at our grandfather’s funeral means more to us than we can say. Thank you all.” He dropped his hands, and his brother put an arm around his shoulders.

The crowd murmured in hushed tones, shuffling back to their conversations. Some left the party, disappearing into the cold night air. Evarin still felt shock clutching her heart and she could only focus on steadying her breath. Tawei’s eyes hadn’t left the doorway since Ikar had been banished. She humphed quietly. “Well. May the moonlight guide him home,” she said in a haughty tone, nodding sharply. Izune grunted in annoyance. “Oh sure,” he muttered to Evarin, “she tells me to watch my tongue.” Evarin coughed out a short laugh. “Mom’s just more elegant with it than you are,” she whispered back.

magic ritual bit:

Evarin nodded and returned her attention to K’arik. As the two of them briefly discussed the song K’arik would need, Morianon sat down and closed his eyes, settling in his own uncertain mind. He could feel the presence of his other selves, constantly bringing new thoughts and feelings into their shared space, no matter how it might inconvenience him. He shook his feathers and focused on calming breaths, ignoring and shoving everything back as he always did. Furrowing his brow, he tried to feel K’arik and Evarin’s souls through the living energy around them. They were there, faintly, like the warmth of dying embers. But the shadows in the depths of his mind crept forward, their inescapable claws still buried in his soul. Dark flashes of terror entered his mind, threatening to drag him deeper. A warm wet touch on his cheek snapped him back to the surface and he blinked in the soft sunlight. Sitla was pushing herself into his lap, licking his face, keeping him anchored to reality.

He tucked his wings around himself and fluffed his feathers, silently chastising himself for entering the depths so quickly. He sighed and pretended he was still meditating, but he kept one eye open and watched K’arik and Evarin instead. Evarin pulled a log from the wood pile by the hearth and stood on it behind K’arik. He handed her his grandfather’s tusks and she carefully tied them into his hair, tucked around a simple hunter’s topknot. He unsheathed a bone knife and waited for her to lay her hands on his head. She filled the cabin with her voice. It rivaled the warmth of the fire and the brightness of the dusty sunlight above her. Low guttural grunts and high keening tones mingled with ancient words, primal and ethereal. Though Morianon only understood a few words of her ancestral tongue, and though her hands were not on his head, he could still feel the power radiating from her soul, touching his own, soothing his anxious mind. His eyes grew soft as he watched her sing, admiring the focused furrow of her brow and the way the sunlight touched her brown skin.

So enraptured, he forgot K’arik was performing his own ritual. His eyes darted to the sudden motion of the bone knife, and then squeezed shut as the sharp tip pierced the back of K’arik’s arm. Morianon held Sitla tighter, slowly counted to three, and opened his eyes again. K’arik was uncannily still, his eyelids trembling as the fresh wound allowed him to enter a deeper meditative state than Morianon could ever dare to approach. Evarin’s unwavering voice carried on as her friend connected with the well of magic in his own soul. He was only anchored to the external world by the touch of her hands, the pain of the knife, and the smell of incense in the air. Morianon watched nervously, even knowing how well K’arik had trained and practiced and prepared himself to endure such rituals, and that this one was tame compared to what he would have to endure in the coming days.

K’arik shivered and took a deep, gasping breath, as if he was emerging from a pool of cold water. Evarin sang more earnestly, shoulders tense, fingers digging into K’arik’s hair. She seemed to pull him upward; his face lifted and his eyes rolled open. Morianon leaned forward, ready to reach out if K’arik needed another anchor. But his friend came back to reality with a heaving sigh and gently lifted the knife from the wound in his arm. Evarin relaxed and her song shifted, staunching the trickle of blood and pulling K’arik’s skin back together until the injury was little more than a shallow nick. With her song complete, Evarin coughed dryly and slumped onto K’arik’s shoulder like a tired cat. He reached up and gently squeezed her hand.

“Are you alright?” Morianon asked, releasing Sitla from his arms so he could sign. K’arik nodded, blinking uncomfortably. “Always takes a few minutes to get used to enhanced senses,” he replied, scrunching his snout. Evarin hummed and stretched, hopping off her makeshift stool to crouch beside Morianon. “Take all the time you need,” she signed, “I should get back to town. Mom needs me today.” “Won’t you rest first?” Morianon put a wing around her shoulders. She shook her head. “The cart ride is rest enough.” She leaned in and rubbed her nose on his, ever so slightly expanding the bare spot on the end of his prosthetic where the wood peeked through the skin-tone paint. “Good luck to both of you, my fine hunters,” she continued, “I expect I won’t see you again until tomorrow.”

hunting a deer:

In spite of the breeze, the air felt still around Morianon’s perch. He watched and waited, and strained to feel what K’arik had felt. All the living energy around him, flowing through every creature’s soul. He reached into it and felt the shadows again, inescapable. He flinched away and shook it off, retreating. No soul besides his own stood out to his senses, all of them too distant.

K’arik remained still for just a moment longer, then looked up and gestured for Morianon to follow him before he moved forward along a narrow trail. Having none of an owl’s stealth, Morianon kept to the branches as much as he could, walking cautiously between the trees. He followed K’arik and kept a careful eye on Sitla as she stalked behind in the orc’s shadow. Positioned as he was, Morianon saw the deer before K’arik did. It calmly nibbled the young leaves off a sapling, large ears swiveling around to listen for danger. Morianon couldn’t tell if it was a doe or a buck, as it was too early in the year for antlers. K’arik crouched in the underbrush, keeping his distance as he slowly lifted his crossbow and set a bolt in place. The deer heard the click and stared in K’arik’s direction. For a breathless moment, both the orc and the deer were still as statues. The deer sniffed. Flicked its tail. Then returned to its meal. Morianon sighed in relief on K’arik’s behalf. His friend repositioned the crossbow, rose up on his knees when the deer bent down to graze on the ground cover, and pulled the trigger.

Faster than Morianon could blink, the deer startled and leaped away from the sudden flash of movement as the bolt flew. It struck the deer’s side with a heavy thud and sunk deep into its ribs, but the creature still managed to run just out of sight, scattering blood on the underbrush. Sitla barked and ran after it. Every takran waiting in the trees cried out with enthusiastic caws, all of them descending at once like a black river leading the way to the fallen deer. Morianon dropped from his perch and joined K’arik in the chase. Luckily they didn’t need to go very far. The blood trail and the noisy flock of takran lead them through the trees, maybe only the distance of a stroll across the orc village, from the entrace to the community hall. The deer had collapsed in a tangle of bushes, as if it had tried to jump over them and tripped. It was still clinging to life, struggling weakly. A few takran were already standing on it, poking the blood on its fur. Sitla circled around it and wagged her tail. Morianon stood aside and snapped his fingers to bring Sitla to his feet, making her sit politely.

K’arik knelt by the deer’s neck, unsheathing his bone knife. He laid a hand on the suffering creature’s head and swiftly slit its throat, granting it a more merciful death. Vibrant red spilled and stained the spring green leaves, soaking into the ground below. K’arik shivered and bowed his head as the deer went still beneath his touch. He let out a long sigh, like a final breath, and stood. “It’s done,” he signed. Morianon nodded. He remained silent, even surrounded by the impatient takran wildly calling for their share of the kill, ignorant and uncaring of the sacred moment. They knew what death was; death was food. Fresh meat in their bellies.

#mm excerpts #mm 1 #writeblr #original writing

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memento-morianon · 13 days ago

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Happy STS! Did your OC ever have a favorite lullaby or bedtime story when they were a kid?

oh a very fun question. hmmmmm

Evarin definitely had a few favorite lullabies. vocal magic is believed to be the oldest form of controlled magic, so even the simple songs a parent might use to soothe their child to sleep carry a little power of their own, and Evarin absolutely latched onto this. The memory of her parents' voices sending her to sleep are part of what drives her to be a medical singer herself. (i have no idea what the lullabies were but i'm gonna have to figure it out because Evarin and Morianon do plan to adopt at least one kid and she will be using those lullabies her parents sang to her)

Morianon had a hard time adjusting to his new life after recovering from a hurricane and being adopted. it was hard for him to sleep without getting restless. so his adoptive parents used a lot of stories to help him relax, trying to get him to insert himself in those stories to be more confident and less afraid. i think he probably latched on to a lot of those stories, especially ones about monsters that turned out to also be scared and lonely. he has always felt like he doesn't belong anywhere, so having this connection was really really helpful for him at the time.

#mm characters

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memento-morianon · 13 days ago

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decided i needed visuals for this one:

(image description: three characters visually implied to have just ended a violent and fatal conflict. the first character is a humanoid with wings and other bird-like features. he is crouched on the ground, holding his arm, staring in wide eyed panic with all his feathers standing on end. he's absolutely covered in blood splatters, especially around his talons and mouth. above him is the phrase "I didn't know what else to do..."

second character is a gnomish woman, scowling and glancing behind herself. she is gripping a broken branch all soaked in blood and there is also blood splattered over her front, with a little on her cheek. above her is the phrase "I was all out of options..."

third character is an orcish man, frowning with his eyes closed, looking frustrated but resolved. he is nearly spotless, save for a little blood on his hands and sleeves. He is holding a knife with a bloodied blade and wiping it off with a cloth. above him is the phrase "I truly wish there had been any other way..."

end description.)

it should be noted, K'arik is deaf and not actually speaking out loud here. but anyway, i think this sums up their different mindsets on violence and killing pretty well.

Hello!! Happy STS! What are your oc's beliefs about violence? Do any of them have special ideas about killing?

Oh fun question.

In the majority of my writing, my characters are living in a peaceful place with no need to think about possible violence, but sometimes I put them through much more intense aus in my head, like superhero aus.

My protagonist Morianon is a carnivore. His diet is mainly fish but he can eat red meat in small amounts. Most of the time, he is averse to the idea of enacting violence on another person, but he does know what it feels like to kill and taste blood, swallowing fish whole and often still wriggling down his throat. He would rather not get into any fights. He's small and a little bit fragile. If he was trapped in a scenario where he had to fight, he would become a very scrappy ambush hunter, staying out of reach and then darting in to deliver blows with his taloned toes. Morianon does not want to fight, but he figures if it can't be avoided then he would be justified in using any means available to him to escape thts situation, even if those means are clawing an opponent's eyes out. At that point, he would be relying on instinct and adrenaline and using his good old fashioned "dissociate and shove the memory to a secret mental compartment" tactic to keep himself from panicking over his own ability to enact harm. I think he would regret it if he seriously had to get violent with someone. But he would justify the means anyway. He's kind of a case of "push him too far and he will lash out", and he absolutely does not have the training to stay calm under serious threat, nor does he have the training to fight in a calculated manner. Even so, he would absolutely hate it if he killed someone in a violent moment, not something he ever wants to do, but he would also tell himself there just wasn't an alternative in the moment.

The other protagonist, his wife, Evarin has more concrete feeling about violence. She is a healer, that's her job. She uses vocal magic to assist her mother, who is a doctor. Evarin would prefer to avoid violent encounters at all cost, and she would never kill someone in a fight unless it became absolutely necessary. She does not have formal battle training, but she is well practiced in keeping her cool during a crisis. So unlike Morianon, she could actually strategize better and make choices to incapacitate an enemy without causing potentially fatal harm. That said, if she did kill someone, i don't think she would regret it one bit. She would not panic over it and fumble for a justification to assure herself, because she would only kill if she already knew it was the only route left to her. She knows bodies. She knows where to put a knife for a quick kill. If it becomes necessary, she would kill in as merciful a manner as possible. And maybe drop a scathing "may the moons guide your soul in peace" or some other gnomish equivalent to "bless your heart". Evarin is actually the first character on page to cause any sort of death in my story, but in this case it was not a violent confrontation or a hunt. She used her vocal magic to help an old man die quickly and painlessly. (Caused fatal and rapid blood clotting while suppressing his pain response) but this is not an efficient method if she's in a fight because it takes a lot of setup time and requires a willing soul.

Their mutual bestie/queer platonic partner, K'arik, believes in the orcish philosophy of "one death can save/nourish many lives". Normally this applies to the hunting/slaughtering of animals for meat. One dead elk, many people saved from starvation. But it applies to the deaths of people as well. When his grandfather passed (the old man Evarin helped out), it could be defined as one death nourishing many lives because of the wisdom he left to his family and clan. And in the case of violent conflict, K'arik believes that sometimes it is necessary to kill a person in order to prevent further violence or harm to a larger group. K'arik himself would rather not be the one to deliver a killing blow. He avoids fights whenever possible and always goes for the diplomatic approach first. He is visibly more pacifist because his tusks curl backwards and the sharp tips are harmlessly pointed to his own cheeks. Orcs achieve special tusk shapes by using custom dental jewelry to encourage growth in specific directions, so this back-curling shape is very intentional and deliberate on K'arik's part. It marks him as a person who will talk things out first, incapacitate non violently, de-escalate, and avoid conflict rather than fight. But it also marks him as someone who definitely knows how to take down an opponent of the peaceful route fails. His mother has forward-pointing tusks. Everyone knows she is a warrior, they know she can hold her own in a fight and strategize quickly. She attacked her own brother when he became a threat to her family, biting his throat so swiftly you'd think he was dead on the spot, but she let him live by being very deliberate about where she bit him. This is the woman who raised K'arik. He believes in violence as a final solution when no other choice is available. He believes that killing is sometimes necessary when it will save other people. So when he is in a situation where violence and death are his only options, you had better believe he's going to deliver it so swiftly. It would be terrifying to watch someone so committed to peaceful solutions just kill another person without hesitation. But he absolutely would. If he had to. He would regret that there was no other choice, but there would be no doubt in his mind that it was the only choice.

#mm characters

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memento-morianon · 13 days ago

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Hello!! Happy STS! What are your oc's beliefs about violence? Do any of them have special ideas about killing?

Oh fun question.

#mm characters #storyteller saturday

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