#And you already got the heritage armor

[witchofthesouls]

Okay wait no culture clash: Soundwave and Ratchet both teaching the kids about Cybertonian history and Culture?? Can we PLEASE see some of that??

Ratchet is having back to back fits because nothing is going as planned, and he feels he made a deal with the devil or has been given a monkey's paw because he's getting his wishes in a really twisted way without even knowing there were active conditions.

He returned to Earth to watch on the place that held a special place in Optimus' spark as the rebuilding process is taking a different shape and he's too tired to carry that burden on his own, and found out it there were still Primal Artifacts and other weaponry from the Vaults on the planet.

The once teenage tagalongs are now adults that are continuing Team Prime's directives to collect them. They had sacrificed continuing higher education for the mission, and Ratchet couldn't stand that he already missed a portion of their lives that damn fast and how they're so nonchalant over not improving their own selves. Ratchet then found out that Raf, Jack, and Miko had literally spent lifetimes together as they traveled Elsewhere to secure Cybertronian relics that shaped their planet in some way or form. Not only grew up. They grew old in some of their ventures; delving deep into their Other heritages to ensure they could make it back in the right time.

The kids (because they're all kids to him, even if Raf has a beard) are still limited by an organic lifespan, and humans are shorter compared to other species, so Ratchet clucks over their health, and he counts the days when all he has left are their ghosts and dust. And then a Primal Artifact cyberforms them.

Of course, none of his kids are what the Autobots had thought their frames would be. They're all strange, otherworldly, and dangerous.

Miko is definitely a spitfire. But not a motorcycle or a tank. She's a full-framed War-Forged Seeker femme. She revels in her bloodthirst and dresses well in violence as her plating is a searing and hauntingly bright pink. Her helm has small horns, her mouth spilts wide, and she enjoys showing off rows and rows of serrated teeth with her unsettling optics brimming with tactical programs.

Raf isn't a mech with alt based on lab equipment or even suited towards data. He's something completely else. He's draconian, but not a Predacon, as that root-mode is something familiar to Ratchet. Raf is far more reptilian, even in root-mode. An elongated face with a snout. Teeth hanging over his bottom lip with thick ridges of pointed plates upon his crest to trail up to proper horns, long and notched. His brilliant boy still has the same eyes towards sciences with slitted pupils, and Raf is comfortable navigating around with and without a thick tail and has adapted well to his large hands with thick claws.

Jack seems the most normal. Seems. He could pass off a young mech - handsome with dark and glossy plates and the unique grey-tinged blue optics - but if you stare too long into those optics, strange shapes emerge. Ratchet thought he's some type of jet, but sometimes Ratchet spies wheels along his legs or sees how Jack's silhouette bulks or slims between beats. The hem of his armored coat curls or blends too well with shadows and fog that it's too difficult to tell where Jack is really at.

Soundwave got dragged into this mess via a deal with June Darby, who had traveled into the Shadow Zone because of Ratchet's off-handed commentary that the Decepticon TIC once tied with Megatron in the Pits.

It was the closest thing to help that the trio could receive, especially with their heritages becoming more active in their new bodies.

Miko's sea-yōkai bloodthirst had meld too well with War-Forged programs because they naturally feed into each other. She was starting to frenzy more often. The War-Forged monstrous durability and inability to disable locked mission priorities combined with the Jinja-hime/human hybrid hunting and magical capabilities produced a monstrosity on the field.

It doesn't help that Miko had long incorporated the Apex Armor into her style. Her constant tinkering and experimentation led her from piloting the entire thing to using it as a type of indestructible shield or reinforcement via a controlled surrounding body similar to Susanoo from Naruto.

Ratchet can't keep up. He doesn't have the endurance or the speed to withstand Miko's onslaught.

June could have taken them away, but they already knew how to function as human-based hybrids. The main issue was their new Cybertronian biology.

Ratchet is the most prominent medical expert of baseline Cybertronians, while Soundwave is a well-experienced close combat specialist in brutality and pitted against opponents known for overwhelming strength and voracious mech-hunters.

Ratchet will never admit he's territorial. He won't. He fucking is, though. And it clashes with Soundwave.

Part of it is the medical-programming quirks, but a lot of it is cultural.

Medics function on their own hierarchy, and Ratchet has been the Head for a really long time, serving several Primes, immense hospital networks, and his own clinic. No one had been able to shake him from his position.

He trained in Iacon's universities. Their higher education system fosters a deep sense of competition, alliances, and networks among their students, staff, alumni, and partnerships as the universities function as their own private settlements.

Soundwave, on the other hand, didn't have that kind of opportunity. Instead, his education is eclectic and self-driven since gladiatorial clades would provide martial classes and potential masters as sparkling recruits were a long-term investment, but much had to be clawed for as resources were given to those with the most potential.

Ratchet is used to working with someone who already has all the groundwork and needs experience and refinement into their specialty as well as being the main authority over their journey. While Soundwave is familiar with training groups in various skills levels or backgrounds along with other mentors at the side. An inductee could buy protection services from a mentor, but all are subjected to the management of the clades.

So Ratchet has classical training and education, whereas Soundwave had taken his education through other means.

It doesn't help that there are language differences as well, and Miko is trying to bridge Pit Kaonite and Iaconic together because she's simultaneously learning both. And that Miko with her newfound Cybertronian medical knowledge is becoming a new level of menace.

Since Jasper trio had delved deep into their Other heritage as well. Their respective lineages had followed them through the conversion, and that's a whole other can of fuckery. However, there are cultural misunderstandings as the former humans are okay with stripping down to bare protoform for whatever reasons.

Ratchet, as a medical frame, has been part of the middle-upper castes, so he does carry a lot of those sensibilities. Similar to what Alpha Trion did with a Wastelands mech that would become Orion Pax, Ratchet tried to soothe out those rougher or unpalatable edges but in a more gentle and far less invasive sense, like shifting from talons and claws to blunted edges when not in combat and careful not to show too much fangs when smiling. Contain, contain, contain, is the Iaconic cultural norm.

Soundwave cares little for Iacon's false civility, but the trio does fit some ghost stores and folklore. Jack can be utterly eerie with the way he erases himself and how at ease he is in warped spaces, Miko really gives credence to the tales of Predacon hybrids of the Wilders' traditions, and Raf is something unearthed from Quintessons' fears.

June Darby is something else entirely.

[aspiring-writer-hidden-voice]

Robe

The number of times that you recalled a certain half demon placing his robe over you in protections were too numerous to count. It was only when you were in dire danger or need that the precious red fabric ever left his being. It was his armor, as you’ve come to recognize from every battle you’d witnessed, proving its worth time and time again as he fought countless foes. There were a few times when its protection could only do so much for him but he always treated it with care even when it had been rendered to tatters until it could return to its former completed shape.

Your gaze rose upwards to the darkened night sky. Another new moon had come, earning the little traveling group a much needed break for camp, along with a change over a certain person who now grumbled lowly under their breath as a town appeared in the distance. The change InuYasha befell never ceases to amaze you as he huffed when the little fox demon lightly poked fun. Long pristine platinum white hair was now a black that could rival tonight’s darkness, touchable ears that would swivel or perk had disappeared, and the sharpness of his nails that was rivaled by his eyes were now softer yet still profound that told of inhuman heritage.

“What are you looking at?”

A snap of your head back towards the road shifted your gaze forward. “Wonder if there’s an place that we can stay at.”

“Tsk. Nothing wrong with camping.”

The monk intervened before you could respond, stating that for everyone’s sake it would be best to take shelter, then departed once spotting several prosperous homes. None too surprising that Sango followed him closely with Shippo and Kilala up her shoulders. That meant it was just the two of you walking along the dirt trodden path.

As if pulled by a magnet your gaze drifted back towards the seemingly normal man beside you.

“If you’ve got something to say, than say it already.” His snap was halfhearted, earning a raise of your eyebrow. When you didn’t answer he quickened his pace until blocking your path which caused you to stop. It was rare to see this expression upon his face as the nearby lantern illuminated his features for you. It was concerned, worried maybe, but most of all it was sincere. “What is it? You’ve been awfully quiet since dusk.” This was another aspect that you favored about this time of the month. Honesty was a strong suit of his, ego and bravado being used as shields when someone managed to get beneath his skin, but it was during this change that he was more open with you in particular when in regards to certain topics. Patience wasn’t his forte yet he waited for longer than you expected for an answer of some sort until he cast a brief glance over your shoulder before encouraging you to stand closer to the source of light. “You know I’d do my best to protect you, right? Don’t be scared.”

Warmth entered your cheeks at the tone he used. “Oh, I know you will, that’s not why—” Your words were forgotten as one of his hands appeared from the robe’s sleeves to press its palm against your forehead. “What are you doing?”

“Checking to see if you’re falling ill.” The hum that sounded from his throat reverberated slightly in your ears from its pitch, his expression becoming one of concentration. “You don’t have a fever so that’s good.”

“Really, I’m fine.”

At that moment a breeze blew past, tickling the bare skin of your legs and arms until the hairs stood upright with its cooler temperature, earning a shiver across your body. Your head hung as he sighed. All day you’ve been suppressing similar shivers down your spine with each breath of wind that whispered of fall’s coming frost. Guess you should’ve listened to mom’s advice about packing weather appropriate clothing. The school’s summertime uniform wasn’t going to cut it for much longer. Why couldn’t you have packed a jacket or some leggings instead of all those textbooks that threatened to break your back?

Silence filled the air between the two of you until the sound of shifting fabric caused your gaze to rise in curiosity only for it to become ensnared by a pair of warm sienna brown eyes that subtly shone with amber shards. His fingers were careful as they slipped the heavy backpack off your shoulders, easily swinging it up onto his own, then shifted so that you were nearly sandwiched between his body and the lantern. Not only was he blocking the wind but also attempting to combine his body heat with that of the lantern to help keep you warm until the others returned. And still his gaze remained locked on your own even when the subtlest of pink hues appeared within the tips of his ears. “It’s not much but better?”

A small smile lifted your lips as the chill in your skin slowly dissipated. “Much, thanks.”

It didn’t take long for Shippo to return with word that Miroku had found a place to stay for the night. After a modest dinner and sleeping arrangements had been made, you slipped off towards a quieter part of the residence where a little studying could be done. The head of the house had been kind enough to provide a few candles to offer better light for you but they did little to stem off the night’s chill as your nearly numb fingers fumbled to turn a page. Just as you were about to call it a night because it was becoming too difficult to focus from the cold, something happened that you never would have guessed or saw coming.

From behind you appeared two folds of familiar fabric that loosely enclosed you within a cocoon, a pair of legs folding neatly beneath you in place of the floor that were far more cushioned, and a firm toned surface meeting your back that had begun to protest against the slouched position you’d been in for the last hour. “Getting some studying done?” He asked softly, as if hoping not to startle you too much. A barely audible hiss slipped from between his lips as he drew you closer with a squeeze. “Damn, (Y/n), you’re freezing. How can you possibly get anything done when you’re this cold?”

Your answer was lost to the stuttering of syllables as your teeth chattered slightly, earning a chuckle from the dark haired man.

“Next time you’re this cold, just say something, ‘kay?” It was only when you nodded in agreement did his posture become more relaxed, hold loosening just enough that you could pick up the textbook again.

Now you had a completely different reason to be distracted.

Had he always been this warm or was that the robe? Either way it was so blissful that your mind slowly became a muddled mess the longer you remained within his hold. The sharp scents of Wind Scars or Backlash Waves that mostly dominated his being had given way to reveal faint traces of salty sweat reminding you of the beach, dry chalky remnants that were similar to mountains, and spicy cinnamon that tickled your nose in an alluring way.

“So what are you studyin’ this time? Is it that weird trig-no-metry thing?”

A chuckle came from your throat, shifting so that he could see the illustration of a bamboo forest. “It’s the story of a prince who wants to marry the bamboo princess but she has all these tasks for him to do before she agrees.” The tip of your finger rose when his expression became weary. “It’s similar to the Kaguya legend but this one describes the Robe of the Fire Rat to be silvery and beautiful.”

His eyebrows shot upwards as his chin fell to rest upon your shoulder, causing your cheeks to brush. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm. According to this, it was mistaken for common silk at first when an iron box had been dug up beneath a fallen temple. Only the prince of Japan at the time who had sent word to his dear friend in China asking for assistance understand what it truly once when he received it. So beautiful it was the he couldn’t wait to gift it to the princess but didn’t feel as though it would do her justice.” Your hand turned the page to reveal an illustration, eyes finding the sentence where you left off and continued to read aloud. “‘Across a bed of coals did the prince lay the robe, for it had been heard that the robe would become more beautiful to behold once kissed by flame’s lingering breath’. It said in a passage that it was as if silver had been spun finely to create the robe that could protect its wearer from any heat related harm.” From the corner of your eye you could see InuYasha’s gaze shift from the open book to his trusty coat, coaxing his eyes to return to the page courtesy of your nudge. “However, the prince made a mistake. He placed it on the coals twice more and it evaporated into silver smoke.”

The snort that sounded nearly made you smile. “Idiot. Should’ve just left it alone.”

“Well, he was trying to make sure it was in its peak condition before giving it to the bamboo princess. Nothing wrong with trying to ensure a gift is in its best condition.” You chided, noting how he rolled his eyes. “Yours was a gift from your father, right? Would you have been happy if he’d given it to you full of holes?” No sooner had the words come out of your mouth did you wish to take them back as his gaze darkened. Guilt filled your veins as his lip curled. “InuYasha, I’m sorry—”

“It was actually a gift to my mother who then passed it down to me when she died.” His tone was much softer than the expression made of stone he wore. “My old man knew he wouldn’t be enough to protect her so he’d asked the Fire Rat to make something for her. A lot of good it did her though.”

From within your heart came a twinge of sadness for him as he took a deep inhale through his nose. The book was closed with a snap, somehow not earning a reaction from him, then it was placed off to the side as you pivoted so that the two of you were facing each other. Only when the palms of your hands cupped his face did the dark haired InuYasha surface from the thoughts plaguing his mind. His gaze found your own, finding warmth and honesty, before you snuggled into his being while wrapping your arms around his torso. “I’m glad your father had it made to protect her, you could almost say it was made from his love for Lady Izayoi, and it became full of her love for you after your birth.” From this angle you couldn’t see his face there was no mistaking the rhythm of his heart quickening when you gave him a squeeze. “You could even say that its their love combined that continues to protect you even during this time when you feel weakest.”

The stiffness within his toned muscular frame ebbed at your words. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that he’d been constantly on guard all day knowing what was to come once the sun had set. Sure there was Sango, Miroku, and even Kilala to help if a battle or opponent were to present themselves. Ever so slowly, his arms enclosed around you in a returning embrace until the entirety of your form was nearly pressed against his own. Tresses of his long hair intermixed with your own as his warm breath wafted the sensitive skin of your neck.

Not another word was spoken between the two of you as one by one the candles flickered than hissed before extinguishing until darkness settled over the two of you like a heavy curtain. Neither it nor the whispering chill on the breeze could force you two apart as warmth slowly grew between your forms. The robe was large enough to comfortably fit around your combined forms, although that might have been because you were practically cradled against his form with your face protectively tucked beneath his chin, the gentle rises and falls of your chests in harmony as sleep slowly claimed you both.

It was almost too soon that you woke to find the first few rays of sunshine filtering over the horizon. Unlike the first time you’d witnessed his transformation, you watched with awe as black gave way to silvery platinum and the sharpness returned to his features as he stirred. The lids of his eyes opened just in time for the sienna brown to be overtaken by brilliant gold and pupils to become oval shaped rather than circular, those shards of amber remaining but now becoming harder to see from the irises’ ring. And yet he didn’t move or say anything that suggested you should move away. So within his hold you remained, offering a smile of greeting when his pointed dog-like ears perked in your direction.

“Morning, InuYasha.”

His gaze flitted off to the distance, a huff sounding in his nose. “Yeah…morning.”

“Did you sleep good?”

“Tsk. Would you sleep well if something heavier than a pickling pot sat in your lap?”

A twitch settled within your brow. Standing, you gathered all of the books you’d meant to study last night and shoved the materials back into your bag as the chorus of your names came from within the residence. “Sounds like the others are up so we should get going.”

“Not like we got anything here to keep us. Better to move on.”

The muscles within your jaw clenched as he nonchalantly rose then disappeared around the main house’s corner in the direction of where your companions would likely be as you hurried to follow. It was then that you noticed not only was your bag suddenly missing but the Robe of the Fire Rat was secured around your frame in a similar fashion that it had been at the Sage Tokijin’s temple. When had he done that?

“Hurry up, (Y/n), we ain’t got all day!”

Though it was so fast the others had missed, or if they had seen they didn’t comment, the pink tinge that entered his cheeks when you’d appeared alongside them.

“Why are you wearing InuYasha’s robe?” Shippo asked curiously while hoping up to balance atop of your head. “Did something happen last night that made you not come to bed?”

A teasing smile raised your lips while catching the half-demon’s gaze before taking the lead from him from beyond the gate that was entrance to the residence. “Looks better on me, wouldn’t you agree, Miroku?”

Instantly, InuYasha’s expression became one of anger as the perverted monk made to comment. “Don’t you even start!”

[precious-little-bhaalbabe]

This post took me so long to actually write down all of I ended up sketching the swapped companions before finishing it

Behold!

More detailed descriptions and musings under the cut

Jenevelle the Shadowheart

Forever seeking to serve her Queen and to prove herself among her adoptive kin. Prove herself worthy of the silver she wears and perhaps one day grace the back of a mighty red dragon as Kithrak, should her Queen allow it.

Paints her spots on every day along with her war paint

Her long braid is decorated with a headpiece paying tribute to the Undying Queen, though of course never as resplendent as Vlaakith herself

Lazelle, Daughter of Shar

With her blade, she will cut Selûne and her wretched Tears from the sky and blanket Faerûn in the Nightsinger’s perfect darkness, whether the Mother Superior permits her to become Dark Justiciar or not

If not for her nose, it would be hard to pin her as Githyanki and not a strange looking wood elf. No spots and the shells of her long ears lacking the usual frills (inspired as an artist by Ptaris not having those features in game). A harmless malformation as the result of being raised in an unnatural environment, or something more sinister at play?

The name Lazelle was gifted to her by the Mother Superior, though something about it always felt slightly… off.

Karlach Cliffgate, Mage of the Heartlands

Chose her title saying there were far too many lofty heroes already claiming heritage from Baldur’s Gate, and she wanted her legend to show she fought for all the innocent people of the Heartlands her city calls home, like the heroes of sword and sorcery that inspired her to study magic as a youth.

Far fewer scars but nearly as many tattoos under those robes as the Karlach we know. Runes imbued with protective wards, magic symbols, dedications to her parents and to Mystra.

Her rough cut and dyed hair is woven in with silver disks with the symbol of Mystra

Even having fallen out of her favor recently, the Mage of the Heartlands wears her tabard emblazoned with the symbol of the goddess of magic still.

Naturally quite tall and heavy set, she still keeps an impressive musculature for a mage. Claims there’s no use for more mages who just sit in their towers reading all day. The Weave is meant to be touched, used to protect and assist people. Would far sooner cast a new spell to see the effects than study it in theory.

When you first meet her, she explains the softly glowing orange mark on her chest to be a scar of one such use of experimental magic. Perhaps after some trust is built, she will reveal the true nature of what caused it.

Gale Dekarios, the Black Flame of Avernus

A guard trained in picking off threats with his trusty longbow long before they could reach him or the one he protects, the Blood War has seen him far closer to the center of the action than he would prefer.

I didn’t draw them because it was hard enough designing new outfits for him and Karlach but he’s got tattoos. And scars.

The black flame and smoke from the infernal engine in his chest waft from the vents on his shoulders, the deep ominous glow from under his ribs never ceasing.

Wears a single earring of the crest of Waterdeep, the home he has sought to return to all these long years. Now, he’ll finally have the chance. If his heart doesn’t burn him from the inside out first.

Astarion Ancunín, the Blade of Frontiers

Handsome, heroic, and the talk of the land, the Blade of Frontiers will be a storybook hero in times to come

His dashing smile and golden eyes, handsome figure fitted in beautiful embroidery, are protected by his rapier and the healthy green glow of Fey magic

The armored chest piece he wears emblazoned proudly and loudly with the crest of Baldur’s Gate, a reminder of the people he’s sworn to protect

Wyll Ravenguard, the One-Eyed Warrior

A handsome and unassuming man at first glance, apart from his missing eye. Closer look is even more intriguing, his remaining eye a striking blood red.

Dressed in courtly garb, hardly the outfit you’d associate with an adventurer, but his skill with the blade quickly squashes any doubt he’s fit for the task at hand.

Upon first meeting him, he says the missing eye is the scar from a battle and nothing more. When you learn about his past and his history with the vampire lord Cazador Szaar, he reveals the scar is one of the last injuries he suffered as a mortal man. Taken out in the fight with cultists of the dragon that resulted in his death, before Cazador claimed him as his undead spawn.

[dailycharacteroption]

Roleplaying Races 14: Trox

(art by Nicholas “Rookzer0” on Artstation)

And here we have another example of an ancestry originally created as an example in ARG’s race builder, this one demonstrating how strange and powerful you could make a playable race. The result was powerful and bulky beetle-folk with a chip on their shoulder.

While there doesn’t seem to be any one specific inspiration for this ancestry, fantasy has always been full of big, monstrous peoples who may or may not actually be surprisingly gentle despite their bulk and fearsomeness.

Interestingly, trox got a major update to their lore in Starfinder, which we’ll talk about momentarily.

As we learn in Starfinder, the trox as a people were created by the goddess Hylax as her envoys and sentinels, and are in fact native to the Liavaran moon of Nchak. However, while the majority of their people lived in relative peace, that group is not who we are talking about today.

You see, many trox were sealed inside protective asteroids by their goddess and launched to various other worlds to serve as envoys for her diplomatic ways, and one such stone fell to Golarion in the ancient past. However, the Golarion clan had the misfortune of being discovered by the duergar , who saw their physical might and similarity to the giant beetles they already used as beasts of burden and enslaved them, subjecting them to eugenic breeding programs and alchemical enhancement to turn them into powerful brutes.

Many trox have since rebelled and broken free, escaping to the surface, only to discover that the evils of slavery were present there as well. As such, while they retain some aspects of their heritage, the trox of Golarion are distrustful of other species due to the suffering their people have gone through.

Sporting heavy chitin elytra, mandibles, and armor, trox resemble humanoid beetles, but they are not fully arthropod-like in anatomy, sporting an internal skeleton as well and soft fleshy parts as well. Additionally, they also sport an array of smaller appendages on their chests in addition to their bipedal arms and legs. While not strong and articulate enough to wield objects, they can come in handy.

While the trox of Golarion have become brutish and somewhat violent, they share with their ancestors a strong sense of community that overrides personal desires, they also prove inquisitive, eager to learn about the ways of others, and fiercely loyal to those the call friends. Sadly, the vast majority of them still live in slavery, either to the duergar or to surface slavers of various peoples.

Trox are immensely strong, but centuries of conditioning have dulled their minds in all regards.

Despite their bulk, they prove surprisingly agile when they need to be.

Their night-eyes also suit them well for a life underground.

This in turn is fueled by their powerful digging claws, making them swift under the ground.

The conditioning that they were subjected to and the subsequent fury this engenders also makes them surprisingly violent when replying to the attacks of foes that have harmed them.

Additionally, their grabbing appendages are quite useful for latching onto a grappled foe, freeing up their arms to fight other foes.

There is one alternate option for the trox, representing those trox that have trained themselves to abandon their rage and focus, tapping into an atrophied vibration sense, all the better to notice when invisible foes like their duergar slavers are coming.

With their extremely high strength bonus, trox are very suited for melee builds, particularly grapple builds thanks to their extra appendages, making any combat class a good pick for them. The penalty to all three mental stats is something of a deterrent for any caster or skill-based class, but not an insurmountable one. In fact, the fact that their penalty applies to all three means that it’s almost like the board is even between the three, just expect to have to make a little effort to bring them in line with other casters and characters. Any class that can blend casting with more traditional combat will probably work best for them, such as druid, magus, paladin, and warpriest.

That does it for today, but we’ve got one more entry to do before we’re done. Look forward to it tomorrow!

[jcniper-backup]

cannibal class - astarion x f!durge

Chapter Count - 12/25

Fic TWs - Dark Urge-typical violence, Canon-typical Trauma, Mentions of Astarion's Backstory, Additional Warnings in Author's Notes, Blood Drinking

Fic Summary -

They did it. They made it to Baldur’s Gate. Upon arriving, Vaelyn remembers her heritage.

Everyone is supportive, until they aren’t.

How can she defy her father when she was the creator of the Absolute?

____

Sequel to: i am hungry (i was born hungry)

prologue

Everyone decided they deserved a break before they got to Baldur’s Gate. There were only two days of walking left for them, and they already knew that there wouldn’t exactly be  time to rest when they got there. With Gortash and Orin the Red to deal with, they would have their hands full. Right now was not the time to think about that, though. They were surrounded by beautiful hills that were luckily not too damaged by the Absolute’s army marching through it. All of them were lazing around a rather slow moving river.

Karlach and Wyll had managed to bully Gale into jumping in with them. “Come on, wiz! You could just magic yourself dry later–” The expression ‘magic yourself dry’ sent Gale on a tangent on how there was actually a proper name for the spell and how to do it that was only ended by Karlach splashing Gale in the face. Shadowheart was sunning herself next to the shore, alongside Jaheira. Lae’zel paced the shore back and forth and back and forth. Vaelyn doubted the gith had ever relaxed a day in her life, but she was contemplating it now. Halsin had turned into a bear and disappeared somewhere along the way.

Despite trying to kill him just yesterday, Astarion’s head was currently resting in Vaelyn’s lap. She smiled down at him. “Are you sure you don’t want to join them?” Astarion asked her. 

“Only if you go with me. I don’t remember if I’ve ever had to swim before.” 

“Ha! Of course. Well, I guess that means we’re both staying dry today.” Vaelyn listened to him sigh, and dimly wondered if he didn’t remember how to swim either. After all, he had been a vampire for two hundred years, and running water was a well-known weakness for them. Would he even have liked swimming in the first place? 

From what little Astarion had told her of his life before Cazador, she doubted that he would’ve even dared to get his hair wet. Perhaps that didn’t matter, though. The ability to be able to choose if he swam was taken from him - that was the thing that hurt the most. 

Absent-mindedly, Vaelyn raked her fingers through his curls. This earned a rather annoyed sound from him. “Is there any reason you’re doing that or are you just trying to sabotage my hair, darling?” 

 She glanced back down at him and extracted her hand from his hair. “Sorry.” 

“I didn’t say stop.” With a roll of her eyes, she continued. It was a relief, being able to do something soft after what had happened. For most of the day, she had refused to touch him at all, until he petulantly dragged her to a suitable resting spot on the shore and made her sit down so he would have a proper pillow. 

You haven’t harmed him. 

You’re doing good. 

Raucous laughter came from the river. Shadowheart had been bullied into going into the river as well, while insisting in increasingly higher octaves that she couldn’t swim, only for Karlach to put her on her shoulders and insist that she wouldn’t drop her. This must have awoken something in Lae’zel, who was now stripping out of her armor and into her underclothes, following them in as well. “How long do you think it will be before Shadowheart and Lae’zel sleep together?” Vaelyn asked.

Astarion barked out a laugh, “I’m very surprised you picked up on that, darling.” 

“I’ve been trying.” After all, these were her friends. She wanted to know what was going on with them. “It’s…still more challenging for me than most other things.” 

Emotions were not simple. They were not things she was afforded before the tadpole and this whole wretched journey, that much she was sure of. Under her Astarion sighed, probably irritated that his light-hearted comment turned into a dark turn in her thoughts. 

 “You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?” He asked. Before she even said anything, Astarion sat up. “How many times do I need to tell you not to worry about it?”

“You make it sound like worrying about killing you is silly.” Vaelyn hissed. Astarion telling her not to worry about potentially killing him was rich. After all, the reason he sought out this relationship in the first place was for protection. Was he being serious about this now? Was he telling a joke? Vaelyn couldn’t tell. She was too tired and still sore from the day before, and for the first time ever her eyes hurt because she had sobbed in front of him which was mortifying. 

“Okay, maybe it’s not silly to worry but you won’t kill me.” He said it with such conviction. “But really, I don’t think you will. You didn’t last night, and I’m sure we’ll figure out what happened before then.” 

Vaelyn blinked. 

Why was he being so nonchalant about this? 

“Do you really think that attempting to hold a knife to my throat would scare me away? I held a knife to your throat once already and then drained you dry a few nights later. Or did you already forget about that?” Astarion cocked his head to the side, clearly waiting for an answer. 

“You revived me and I forgave–” 

“Then you just would have revived me, and I would have forgiven you. Even if you didn’t, I wouldn’t have held it against you.” The tone of his voice was so genuine that it alarmed her. It made her head reel a little. 

“O-okay,” She sucked in a deep breath. Astarion was looking rather pleased with himself. 

“Now can we go back to what we were doing, I’ve done enough reassurance for one day.” Vaelyn huffed out a small laugh, letting Astarion fall back into her lap. Her hand resumed the job of giving plenty of pets for him. All of it was rather peaceful, letting her slip into a mindless lull where the only thing she was thinking about was the happy sounds coming from her partner and her friends having fun at the river.

The air around them got a little warmer. Vaelyn watched as Aylin and Isobel emerged from somewhere behind the brush a little further down the shoreline. “I think Aylin’s a little too devoted to Isobel for a third, darling.”

 Vaelyn blinked, turning her attention back to Astarion. “What?” 

“You’re staring.” 

“Can you blame me?” 

He thought about it for a minute. “Not really.” 

They went back to their comfortable silence. Vaelyn wished that this was all they had to do. If their days just consisted of relaxing in beautiful places like this, her life would be perfect. She didn’t want to think of the people that betrayed her, or the violence that she was predisposed to. 

Just this. 

This was nice.

[burnwater13]

Grogu wondered where Ahsoka Tano got her poncho. It was kind of beat up and tattered, but he still liked it. It had a hood and fastened at the neck so it wasn’t a real poncho, but it looked like a real poncho and he liked that about it. 

Grogu had become obsessed with clothing recently. Styles, trends, materials, construction, durability, and the like. His coverall had been very useful to him, but he felt sure that the next growth spurt would make it too tight, too short, and too out of date for him. 

He wanted something different. Something that would point out very clearly that he was no longer a Jedi youngling, but a Mandalorian, with Jedi tendencies. But he didn’t want to forget or ignore his Jedi heritage. He’d been wondering where the balancing point was between the two styles. He was hoping that studying Ahsoka Tano’s choices would help him on his path.

The poncho like coverup was just part of ensemble that he was considering. He needed pieces to wear under it, but he didn’t think he wanted them to be quite as fussy as her clothing seemed. 

For example, a belt as wide as the one she wore would start under his armpits and end at his knees. So he couldn’t do that. He’d be tripping all the time. And why did people even wear belts? Did their clothes not fit right? He understood why the Mandalorian had a belt or two, but they were for weapons, ammo, pouches, and the like. But Ahsoka only seemed to carrying around her lightsabers. Did the really wide belt with it’s straps and rings need all that embellishment to hold them? Grogu didn’t think so. 

Grogu did like the idea of a shirt and a pair of leg coverings. That would provide a lot more freedom of movement and he could have pockets in both pieces for important stuff like the silver knob and snacks. He always needed to plan for the future and that meant keeping snacks around because the Mandalorian sometimes got too caught up in the work to remember that food was what provided them all with the energy needed for the work. 

But the next question was which style of leg covering and shirt did he select? His dad wore pretty tight fitting pants because of the armor attachments and stuff like that, while Ahsoka wore leg coverings that seemed more like an umbrella that was closed up, if that made any sense. They had a lot of volume. He wondered what that was for? Maybe you could use them to float in water? Or perhaps you could store a lot of stuff in them? Or maybe they just looked nice? 

Grogu wondered if anyone made something in between. Not super tight, but not like a balloon either. With pockets. Lots of pockets. 

He had to admit that he really liked the top Ahsoka selected. It looked cool and comfortable. He didn’t think anyone else he’d ever met at the Jedi Temple had worn things like that. It was hard to say because everyone had a tunic and a jacket and a cape or a cloak that covered them all up. His only problem was he didn’t think that his dad would like that. Din seemed to be a keep everything covered up kind of guy and Grogu wasn’t sure if that meant he was adverse to seeing people’s skin or he was adverse to having people see his skin. He was glad that Ahsoka didn’t have the same concerns.

The one real dilemma he had when considering the styles of the two people who were with him right then and there, was that he din’t like having anything on his arms. Even the super soft material that the cuffs of his coverall were made out of annoyed him at times. He couldn’t imagine have vambraces or gauntlets or anything like that covering his arms. What good was stuff like that anyway? Sure, the Mandalorian’s armorer had added weapons to the vambraces as well as other gadgets, but Mandalorians already had a lot of weapons choices. Ahsoka didn’t seem to have any special purpose for the ones she wore. Maybe it was just a fashion thing? 

Grogu didn’t know and he didn’t really want to ask her. It was going to be hard enough to convince the Mandalorian that he needed new clothes. As far as Grogu could tell, Din Djarin was really good at repairing his clothing, although he seemed to ignore all the little holes, rips, and tears in his cape/blanket thing. The Mandalorian wasn’t just going to let him throw away the coverall and get something new. Maybe Grogu could talk him into making him some clothes once they were done with wherever they going next. 

Ahsoka had mentioned a rock on some other planet that Grogu could sit on and that would help him find another Jedi. Grogu didn’t think it was going to work but he was willing to humor his protector. Maybe after that he and the Mandalorian could go somewhere fun, like Naboo and go shopping. They deserved a break from being on dreary, beat up planets. He wanted to go someplace pretty and green where people had nice clothes and were friendly. 

That had to be the Way, right?

[dracoqueen22]

BlorboWriMo 2024 - Day Three

Dart wakes to a kiss on each cheek, and while that’s a good reason to open his eyes, he groans and tries to ignore it. 

“No. Sleep,” he mumbles, keeping his eyes firmly closed. 

“No. Get up,” says Lysia as she nips at the edge of his finned ear. “Mission. Remember?” 

“Too early,” Dart grumbles and tries to turn away from her, but that just puts him in range of Lucas who drops a kiss on his nose, then his cheeks, then his jaw. 

“Get up,” Lucas rumbles, and then there are fingers digging into Dart’s ribs, relentless in their determination to drive out the last vestiges of sleep. 

Dart lasts for a handful of seconds before the giggles start. He squirms, trying to escape, but the twins work in tandem, as they so often do, and there’s nowhere to go. 

“Help! They’ve got me!” he shouts, and he can practically hear Weaver’s eye roll before she says, “Get up, Darvalon. We have work to do.” 

Clare, however, grabs Dart’s ankles and yanks. She pulls him right out of the bedroll, right out of the tangle of twin limbs, and right onto the freezing cold stone floor. Dart yelps as cold invades every sense, and he springs to his feet to limit the amount of contact. The rock is even more frigid in the early dawn hours, and though he hates socks with a passion, he suddenly wants several pairs. 

Clare smirks up at him, hands on her hips. “You’re the very picture of dignity, boss,” she drawls, mighty intimidating despite her small, mousling stature. Come to think of it, Dart’s never met a mousling who wasn’t intimidating. 

Small, but fierce seems to be the prevailing mousling trait. 

Dart’s skin still tingles from the impromptu tickling session. “I aim to inspire,” he says as his jaw stretches into a yawn he barely manages to cover. 

Lucas and Lysia start wrestling each other without Dart in the middle to serve as convenient target, so Clare shuffles over to them and delivers a sound kick to Lucas’ arse. 

Weaver’s already dressed and ready to go, perched on the bed and idly sharpening her knives. Probably pretending that she’s not surrounded by a bunch of children. Telemus sits next to her, sleepy-eyed and drowsy, but fully prepared for the mission. Side by side, it’s easy to see that they’re related. 

They’re both tall and a deep, deep blue, in deference to their Tsak heritage, with matching forehead tusks of thick, blunt juts to either side of their temples. Telemus has the upright ears of his bunelf father, but they both have dark hair, though Weaver’s is now peppered with grey. 

Dart needs to get his own arse in gear, so he stumbles over to his bedroll and belongings, pulling out his clothes and armor. It’s kind of piecemeal, since he’d come up to Dryland with practically nothing. He’d scavenged bits of armor from every Ori site he’d visited, and matched it up with things he’d found on the ocean floor. 

He’s most proud of the breastplate. He found it in the same wreck where he’d found Sirene, and it saved him from quite a few Templar blades. 

He pulls on socks, shoves his feet into boots that are a size too big, and retrieves Sirene from where he left her, strapping her into place on his left hip. 

“Right,” Sirene reminds him, and Dart dutifully swaps her place. He’s not used to bladed weapons. He’s always fought with his claws and his teeth back home, but here on Dryland, he needs more than that. 

He’s getting better. Sirene’s a great teacher. 

“You’re left handed, Dart,” she says. “I hang on the right so you can draw me quicker. Remember?” 

Technically, he’s ambidextrous, but Dart does favor the left. He says as much, and though he can’t see Sirene, he has the distinct impression she’s rolling her eyes. 

“What now, fearless leader?” Clare asks while Dart fights off another yawn and stretches his arms over his head, easing the kinks in his spine. 

“Breakfast,” Dart says. It’ll give him a chance to finish waking up and review the map to double-check their route. “Then we go?” 

“Then we go,” Weaver says. She’s the tallest of them with her Gigant heritage, having to duck to keep from slamming her head into the low ceiling. Even Telemus only comes up to her shoulders, with Lysia and Lucas half a head behind him. 

“To the kitchen!” Lysia declares with far too much energy for this time of day. She hooks her elbow around Lucas and drags him to the door. “I want pancakes, Lucas.” 

“You always want pancakes,” he grumbles, but he follows gamely along. 

Telemus brightens, for the first time looking his age. “I want pancakes,” he says, staring longingly in their direction. 

Weaver takes him by the shoulders and steers him toward the door. “Then go get pancakes, child. You don’t need permission.” She gives him a playful pat on the rump, an encouraging push out the door. “Go.” 

Mmm. Pancakes. One of the Drylander food that Dart has come to enjoy. They’re sweet and soft and kind of pillowy, like no other texture he’s ever experienced. There’s no such thing as pancakes in Undersea. 

Telemus hurries out the door, and Dart knows Lucas has no chance. He might be able to resist Lysia’s begging, but one look from Telemus’ big brown eyes, and Lucas will fold like a house of cards. 

“I’ll go make sure the kids get some nutrients, I guess,” Clare says. She hooks her bag over one shoulder and struts out the door like her tail isn’t lashing excitedly behind her. 

No one, apparently, can resist the draw of pancakes. 

“What about you, Weaver?” Dart grabs his own pack and runs a searching eye over the room. They always leave something beh – aha. A sock! 

He bends down and picks it up. He’s not sure whose sock it is. Or why someone only left one sock. Shouldn’t they have lost it in a pair? Dart shrugs and stuffs it in his pocket. It was probably Lysia. She’s always losing things. 

Weaver snorts and ducks out of the door. “I’m going to go get some pancakes, obviously.” Her great big laugh echoes in the stone hallway. 

Dart grins and follows. 

Breakfast is a lively affair. It reminds him of home, everyone gathered around and fighting for what’s available, even though there’s always plenty to go around. Lysia drowns her pancakes in syrup; Telemus cuts his with a knife and fork. Clare eats hers plain, and Weaver wraps pancakes around little sausages. 

Lucas complains bitterly the whole time, but then Telemus gives him a great big smile stained with syrup and butter as he says ‘thank you’ with complete sincerity, and Lucas folds, just like Dart thought he would. He’s such a softie. 

Weaver whips up a batch of death brew. She calls it coffee, but everyone says it’s strong enough to wake the dead, and if there’s one thing Dart’s come to love about Dryland, it’s coffee. He likes his plain, dark and bitter, but everyone else likes to dress theirs up with sweet cream. He even catches Telemus pouring maple syrup into his! Dart’s all for trying new things, but he doesn’t think he wants to try that one. 

“This mission should be a piece of pancake,” Lysia says around a mouthful of said treat. She sprays bits of batter across their makeshift table of several crates pulled together. 

Lucas rolls his eyes and shoves her forehead with the heel of his hand. “You’re so gross. Learn some manners.” 

Dart tilts his head. “I thought the phrase was ‘piece of cake’?” 

“It is. I think she’s making a joke,” Clare says. She’s had two cups of coffee, and Dart sees her eying the urn for a third, probably seeing if she can sneak it out from under Weaver’s guard. “Unfortunately for us, the twins are rarely funny.” 

“Excuse you, we’re hilarious,” they say in that odd way of talking at the same time they have that really unnerves a lot of people, Dart included. 

Lucas and Lysia grin and give each other a high five. 

“She is probably correct,” Weaver says, one arm hooked protectively around the coffee urn. “This is a simple enough task. I believe Dart and Clare are more than up to the challenge.” 

Lysia wipes syrup away with the back of her hand. “This is going to be boring. We’re going to stand around and do nothing.” 

“Isn’t that the point?” Telemus asks. He shrinks into himself when everyone looks at him, which is quite a feat considering how large he is. “If this goes to plan, then no one should have to fight.” 

Weaver grins and claps her grandson on the back, nearly pelting him forward. “That’s my boy! You’re right indeed. We can all celebrate if none of us have to draw a single blade.” 

“Boring,” Lysia and Lucas say before they dissolve into giggles, jostling each other with their elbows. It’s sure to turn into a scrap at the table if Dart lets it go for too long, but perhaps letting them work out some of their energy now is for the best. 

They’ve a long walk ahead of them. Then Dart has a long swim with Clare on his shoulders while the others stand guard and take care of any alarm Dart and Clare might have inadvertently activated. Hopefully, Clare can set the bomb and get back to Dart with none the wiser, leaving the Templar’s ship at the bottom of the ocean and Dart’s team to make a quiet getaway. 

It is, in the grand scheme of things, not a very urgent mission, but it is important. Every Templar ship they prevent from leaving, keeps the Templar from recruiting more allies or spreading their gospel further than this little slice of Lashore. 

They’ve already poisoned Aeotora with their nonsense. The Ori couldn’t bear to see anywhere else suffer under their regime. 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Weaver says with a thunderous clap of her palms. “Eat up, children. Time’s a wasting.” She relinquishes the last of the coffee to Clare’s grabby hands. “I’ll be out front. Having a smoke.” 

“I’ll clean up,” says Telemus, already leaping to his feet to do it. 

Dart intercepts the kid before he can start piling dishes into his hands. “I’ll clean up,” he says. Teach by example and all that. Besides, Telemus gets enough of the scut work. “Run and let them know we’re leaving, okay?” 

Is he avoiding his father? No. Of course not. Who said that? 

“You absolutely are avoiding your father,” Sirene says sweetly. She’d been quiet during breakfast, but Dart had felt her at the back of his mind, enjoying the camaraderie. “You don’t do well with embarrassment, do you?” 

Dart metaphorically waves her off. 

“Yes, sir,” says Telemus, and he scampers off before Dart can remind him – for what must be the fiftieth time – not to call him ‘sir’. It gives him the willies. 

Clare finishes off the coffee with a look that indicates she is much too old to have to participate in cleaning up, so Dart leaves her to it. He’s lucky to have such experienced persons on his team. Clare won’t work with just anyone, while Lucas and Lysia have been his friends practically since Dart came onto Dryland. They were the first to volunteer to work with him, and he’ll forever be grateful for that. 

“The pancakes were delicious,” he tells Lucas, planting a sloppy wet kiss on Lucas’ cheek in thanks. 

“Of course they were.” Lysia hooks her brother by the neck and drags him in for an embrace, ruffling his hair with her free hand. “He learned from the best.” 

“I learned from dad,” Lucas says. 

“I didn’t say you learned from me!” Lysia turns her playful neck grab into a half-hearted attempt at strangling her brother. “Quit embarrassing me in front of the captain.”

Mmm. Captain. Somehow, hearing Lysia call him captain feels a lot better than hearing Telemus call him sir. Maybe once this mission is over, he can see if she’d be willing to call him that while they’re fucking. 

But that’s a reward for later. For now, Dart has to clean up, get his unit is some semblance of order, and hit the road. There’s a Templar ship to destroy. 

~

Cecil does not wake because he never slept. Dawn creeps over Shandara, early and frigid, and he’s dressed and ready before there’s a knock on the door. 

“Enter,” he calls as he finishes tying his hair into the high ponytail he prefers for combat. He’s armored, Vesper across his back, and hopes his lack of sleep does not show around his eyes. He’s already had to put enough concealer around his throat to hide the evidence of Seraphine’s passion. He doesn’t care to apply more. 

The door opens only enough for his second, Shively, to poke her long snout head inside. Shively is a Wulfen, and were they to stand side by side, she’d be able to look down on his head. She’s also broader, stronger, and faster, and yet, for some reason, she is perfectly content to serve as his second. 

Truthfully, Shively is the only one willing to serve as his second. Others will take the position if ordered, but no one volunteers. 

“I expected I’d have to wake you,” she says. Not because Cecil is prone to sleeping in, but because it is technically the duty of the second to be awake and prepared before their captain. 

“My apologies,” Cecil says. He doesn’t tell her that he never slept. Such a show of weakness is unbecoming, even to his second. “I’m sure preparations are complete. Have we any… issues?”

It’s the most diplomatic way to ask “was I assigned anyone who might prove to be difficult or cause problems because they don’t like me?”  

“Mortals are dumb,” Vesper comments, still a little miffed about their argument last night, but at least she’s talking again. “You are a lovely gemling that anyone would be lucky to befriend.”

-----

Day Three Word Count: 2365 Running Word Count: 6316

[wimples-sr]

i dont remember if i made this post already but i guess it is interesting to think abt if i think arcades quest portrays arcades decisions too sympathetically. i think thats a fair critique given the seriousness of how explicitly fascist the enclave are but i guess i just never got the sense that the quest was shying away from rhat? all the dialogue from the enclave members and from arcade himself felt drawn from the base understanding that it was fucking insane that arcade wants to do this and that you should feel some type of way about him wanting to go marching out to the battlefield in his fascist fathers armor. his dialogue explicitly tying that ending to the games larger thesis of "people who try to recreate the past are doomed to failure and to ushering in the worst of humanity" + all of the remnants being very detailed in how tied in to their fascism they still are (everyone making realistic, flimsy excuses for their actions but repugnantly unflinching from what theyve done, contrasted with arcades naive apologism for them because thats his Auntie) convinced me that the writing wasnt trying to convince me that i should believe or forgive these people. the argument is that theres no reason to ever portray fascists in a sympathetic, humanizing light, but i think this isnt so much sympathetic as it is detailed and full bodied in the service of detailed critique and observation of how fascism could look in real people - a sort of practicing how to act and think with principle when not dealing with a caricature. though i doubt most artists would like their art being called practice for anything. i dont super love the tone of the independent ending where he goes out in his dads armor, i do think thats a step too far in sympathizing with arcade, but i did find the discussion of the enclave as a cultural heritage and how that relates to arcades sense of culturally based maturity fascinating. again i dont think the writing is EXTOLLING the circumstances of arcade receiving this insane enclave culture of militarism and weird adulthood granted via martial violence bc he was five when the enclave blew up and was isolated via everyone in the mojave wants the enclave dead so thats unfortunately just the culture he grew up in. like thats a crazy situation to imagine but yeah thats interesting. so whats this ultimately idealistic guy whos choice of lifes purpose was to join the fucking followers of the apocalypse telling himself to solve the cognitive dissonance of wanting to be the kinda guy who says fuck fascists go independence from the state, any state, while also knowing his adopted family who seem to have raised him compassionately and lovingly are really evil people who did really evil things. and thats where all of arcades dialogue makes sense to me bc it certainly doesnt align with any of his character i saw outside the quest. the arcade who was complaining abt caesar and fullstop leaves whenever u help the legion is NOT making excuses for legionnaires who "tried their best to subvert their orders when they could..." like he is for cannibal johnson. like yeahh the writing could have gone harder on castigating arcade for his choices but the writing style feels like it really did want that to speak for itself as much as possible, save with the arcade endings. WE as readers should probably be louder about how fucking insane it is that arcade is so willing to resuscitate the dregs of a fascist organization for his goals, as noble as he thinks those goals may be, but i think im mostly satisfied with how the writing itself handled things. i can see how the culture aspects come off weird if youre not taking it as the sociological understanding of culture being any set of social norms within a group of any size (e.g. Everything has culture, your fucking college dorm has A Culture, one specific street of a neighborhood can have A Culture)

I REACHED THW PARAGRAPH LIMIT????? anyway with that definition of culture in mind no we dont have to take the culture of your local panera as seriously as, for instance, the chicano culture movement in the 60s but thats mostly because racism is a thing. and also why terms like multiculturalism and the like are fading out of academic use and critiqued broadly because everyone has a fucking culture thats just our burden as a social species its just that some cultures are valued more than others because of racism. and other isms. and its more useful to point to specific isms than it is to celebrate a nebulous concept like multiculturalism thats more confortable to handle than the idea of specific racial ethnic pride for bipoc. so like. arcades weird embrace ur heritage thing is i think only sympathetic insofar as the fictional circumstances theyve shoved him in mean he just got dealt a bad hand in terms of cultural heritage and the quest is abt what the fuck hes gonna decide to do abt it. is he gonna be a shithead and wear the powerarmor or is he gonna do the brave scary normal thing and renounce ties to family and inheritance and do something new. the writing to me suggests they know arcades being a shithead when he chooses the former but they wanted to write it out to just examine him scuttling around

[saiyanandproud]

🖤

send 🖤 and my character will answer about yours.

attractiveness:

repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.

"I mean... As an Earthling juding an Arcosian, I guess Cooler is... Objectively attractive?"

She glances up at her comrades of the Young Armored Squadron from across the table. Damn her idea of suggesting something fun to play after dinnertime.

"I mean, he's elegant, noble-looking. He has elegant features, too. A nice posture." She nods, trying to look formal, ignoring Isa's peering eyes. "Between him and his brother, I'd certainly say he's the hottest, yeah."

"Should we hightlight 'hot' as well?" Ketch suggests with a grin.

Mariko doesn't answer, only glares at him.

personality:

grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.

Mariko looks down at the mug in her hands. Inside it, there is a warm drink improvised by Neiz, something tasting oddly similar to hot chocolate.

"Yes, he is confusing," she confirms. "I mean, I can see how some people might think he's a dictator..." She has to be careful with words, on this spaceship. "He's ambitious and wants to expand his control over the universe. But he's also... Respectful of the cultures he meets? At least from what I've seen."

She does wonder how respectful he would be towards her if he knew about her full genetic heritage, though...

"He is charismatic, and I can see why his men trust him. I mean, we do as well, right?" She's quick to add with an awkward smile at her friends. "But he's also kinda shielded. Doesn't surprise me, I bet he counts more enemies than friends..."

"Why did you highlight 'artistic'?" Plum asks, curious.

Mariko shrugs and takes a sip from her mug.

"I can see him playing some instrument, or writing poetry. I bet he does."

how likely they would have sex with them:

not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.

"Seriously?!" Mariko jumps on her feet at Ketch's question, face burning bright under the Brench's shit-eating grin.

"It's just a game," he insists suavely. Next to him, Isa's face is a warm pink under her perlescent complexion, while Plum looks like a kid caught in a conversation way too mature for him. "Come on, answer!"

"To have everyone gossiping about it?" Mariko casts a quick glance at Neiz, busy cleaning up the kitchen from across the cafeteria. He seems distracted, but she is sure he can hear them from over there. "No thanks. I got busted once already for a similar question, and I am sure Cooler still remembers it."

"Yeah," Isa comments cooly, "so do I."

"How about you, Isa?" Ketch asks, this time hesitantly. "How likely would you--"

"Next question," Isa rules, peremptory.

level of friendship:

never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend.

Mariko frowns. "I'm his pupil, not his friend," she says. "And I'm sure he'd agree with me on this."

Isa nods in approval, while Ketch rolls his eyes with a bored snort. Plum shrugs.

"Okay," the Durian says, "but what if you could be friends with him?"

Mariko blinks. She looks down at her mug once more.

"Well... Yeah, I guess I'd like that," she murmurs. "It'd be interesting to know more of him."

But she is certain the feeling wouldn't be reciprocated.

first impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

"Hah," Mariko grins, "get it?"

Ketch chuckles while Isa gives Mariko a deadpan look.

"Very funny," she says flatly. "As if you guys haven't made this stupid joke a hundred times already," she adds, giving Ketch a reprimanding frown.

"And it's still as good as the first time," the Brench prince snickers.

"Cooler doesn't seem to mind it either," Plum suggests, trying to appease the Arcosian rookie.

Mariko wears a smile and takes another sip to hide her face. She couldn't say that, the first time she met Cooler, she didn't trust him a single bit.

current impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

"Again with this joke?!" Isa snaps, exasperated.

Ketch gives Mariko a high-five.

"Wait," Plum asks, reading the answers with a confused look, "what do you mean with 'he's growing on you'?"

Everyone at the table falls silent. Three pair of alien eyes turn at Mariko at unison.

She shrugs, tense.

"I mean... I'm getting to appreciate him," she mutters. "Getting to know him closely and all."

"You mean you didn't appreciate him before?" Isa inquires, narrowing her lilac eyes.

"No, I--"

"You mean you kinda like him?" Ketch suggests with a large grin. "Which brings us back to that question you haven't answered earlier--"

"I mean what I said," Mariko cuts them short, cheeks warm. "He's a good leader and I appreciate him as a mentor. That's all."

The three rookies hesitate for a moment, then they all give up with a nod, looking down at the list of questions. Ketch glances around.

"So... Whose turn is it?" He asks.

"I'm tired, I'm going to bed," Isa says, quick to stand up and leave the table.

"Yeah... Me too," Mariko clumsily imitates them, leaving the half-full mug on the table. "See you tomorrow, guys."

As Mariko and Isa leave, Katch stares at them with a baffled look. He then turns at Plum, who answers a hesitant look. Ketch sighs, reaches out to grab Mariko's mug, and slurps a sip from it.

"So, Plum," he says, "how would you rate Lord Cooler on attractiveness?"

Plum answers a long, dragged sigh.

[divinewill]

Capítulo Trece: All This and Heaven Too

I donned my armor, and Mrs. Chiba plotted the route to the meeting location on her phone, then told us, “It’s a fifteen-minute walk.”

Mrs. Chiba, holding the knife by the blade, handed Sakurai a knife and said, “If you’re coming with us, then you need to take this so you can defend yourself if necessary.”

Sakurai was clearly uncomfortable receiving the weapon. I doubted she had ever experienced getting punched in the mouth, let alone knew how to box.

The way she held the weapon told me she knew nothing of knifefighting. Mrs. Chiba seemed to notice as well. I could tell that she contemplated giving Sakurai her pistol, but then realized that the girl certainly had no experience with a firearm and therefore kept it.

I politely informed her, “If anything happens, you two need to run. I will handle it.”

Mrs. Chiba suggested, “As far as we know, it could be a trap.”

I stoically said, “I know, but even if it is, I’ll ensure both of you will remain safe.”

Sakurai inquired, “Do you have a plan, if it is?”

I told them, “Precise and overwhelming force. Same way I killed the gashadokuro yesterday.”

Sakurai asked me, “You killed a gashadokuro?”

I confirmed, “Fairly easily, actually.”

To my surprise, I kept my armaments throughout the panic yesterday. Instinctively holstering them in my armor before heading out to help with rescue.

As I holstered Ryūseiseki and Hiraiha and rested Kyūdōmujun on my back with a sash, Mrs. Chiba sighed. She removed a New Nambu M60 from her purse, then holstered it at her side.

She told me, “If you’re going to protect the people from devils. Melee weapons will not cut it. You need to keep a distance between yourself and the enemy.”

As I finished preparations, I informed her, “Advice assessed, but I have some mighty projectile weapons of my own.”

I stood up and Sakurai asked, “You can’t seriously intend to walk out like that?”

I smiled and said, “Just watch.”

Every aspect of my body gently, but rapidly reconfigured. My skin, hair, and eye colors changed, as my height, hair length, bust, hips, waste, relative trunk length, body type, nose breadth, face breadth, head breadth, and head height all changed. Some changes being barely noticeable and others being radical.

All the while, my horns receded into apparent non-existence, my fangs reducing to human proportions, and the claws on my fingers became like well-maintained nails.

I, in my altered, higher-pitched voice, asked, “What do you think?”

Young Sakurai simply said, “That’s amazing!”

The silent horror on Mrs. Chiba’s face told the truth of what she thought of my transformation.

I responded, “Thank you, and here’s another trick I’ve got.”

I snapped my fingers for showmanship, as opposed to necessity, and I cast an illusion that switched out the appearance of my armor and weapons with the appearance of Ms. Sakurai’s school uniform.

They were speechless at my glamouring powers, and as I opened the door, I simply said, “Now, please lead the way, Mrs. Chiba.”

In only a few seconds, I looked like a totally different person. I looked as if I could have been one of Ms. Sakurai’s younger classmates.

Ms. Chiba led the way as Sakurai asked me, “How did you do that?”

I confessed, “Your myths of oni, djinn, succubi, and vampires tell of their fantastical powers, among them shapeshifting and illusion casting. My adoptive metahuman parents give me the power to inherit all of my parents’ fantastical powers.”

Sakurai reached out to touch me and was startled when she pressed into fabric and soft flesh.

“It’s real!” she whispered.

I corrected her, “Not quite. My mythical heritage allows me the powers to interfere with your human sense perceptions, such as vision, mechanoreception, and proprioception, but these illusions are imperfect, and a sharp mind can tell when they are being deceived.”

I had the sense that Mrs. Chiba had already deduced this, though she kept such realizations to herself.

We made our way to an elevator, at which point I realized we were on the fifth, really fourth, floor.

Making our way to the lobby, we signed out and began walking.

I could tell that Sakurai felt yesterday in her legs, now that the adrenaline of today’s encounter was wearing off, so I offered, “If you’re tired, I can carry you on my back.”

She was adamant. “Absolutely not! Save your strength just in case you need it to beat some sense into those yōkai!”

I gave an uncomfortable smirk and continued. The unnatural silence was awful. It was as if the city had been largely abandoned, though there were a few stragglers in terms of small businesses operating.

Walking through empty sidewalks, across vacant streets, and in between uninhabited businesses gave a feeling as if we were moving through a pristine necropolis. Of course, it wasn’t hard to understand why these streets were so vacant. I would come to learn that most of the world entered a similar period of economic and social inactivity during the first few weeks of kaijū activities.

During our venture, Sakurai asked several questions ranging from small talk to poignant, but Mrs. Chiba remained relatively silent on all except one.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Chiba... I remember an American classmate explaining the Pentagon’s history of outlandish military simulations: for alien invasion, zombie apocalypses, and even kaijū. So, I was wondering, since you are ex-JSSDF, do you think the United States or Japan knew about the existence of these things?”

Mrs. Chiba admitted, “I do not think so, and even if they did, I was in the wrong part of the JSSDF to ask those kinds of questions. When the various alphabet agencies of America were dissolved, the heads of those organizations destroyed countless classified documents, for which they were rightly arrested, tried, and convicted. So, it’s possible that this information was lost.”

I asked her, “What are the alphabet agencies?”

Mrs. Chiba rattled on, “The agencies which were ruled to be unconstitutional by the Supreme Court of the United States a few decades ago, when the tenth amendment was finally upheld as it should have always been. They were the CIA, FBI, NSA, ATF, IRS, BLM, DEA, etc.”

She spoke with authority on the topic, as if she were someone well-versed through instruction and study.

So I asked her, “How do you know so much about America?”

She confessed, “My grandfather was a general of the United States Marine Corps with a master’s degree in both American and Japanese history.”

Sakurai asked her, “So you’re of mixed race like us?”

She told me, “No. My grandfather is White, but I am fully Japanese.”

I asked a followup question. “Were you adopted, like me?”

She explained, “Kind of. My mother was conceived through rape, but my grandfather loved my mother as if she were his own daughter, and he adored me as if I were his own granddaughter. My grandmother wanted to abort her, but my grandfather wouldn’t stand for it. They argued day in and out, and eventually he convinced her to keep the baby. Which is why I am here.”

She couldn’t see the smile that her words put on my face due to being ahead of us.

I told her, “I’m glad your grandfather changed your grandmother’s mind.”

She did not respond to the comment, but I had a sense that she understood and received my intention.

Sakurai said, “I’d like to meet this grandfather of yours. He sounds like a good man.”

Mrs. Chiba told her, “Best I can do is take you to his grave.”

Sakurai apologized, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Mrs. Chiba kindly explained, “Not everything is as it first appears. He took his own life after my grandmother passed away in a traffic accident. A combat related TBI inhibited his ability to cope with the loss, and it destroyed my family. It’s not your fault for bringing it up. There’s no way you could have known, so don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong.”

There was a great tragedy implicit in the idea that a man who saved a child’s life would take his own and steal himself from that same child’s adult life. I didn’t believe that Mrs. Chiba really came to terms with it, given the change in heart rate, which would have been inaudible to human ears but were perfectly audible to my owl-like audition. However, I didn’t pry about it.

I was a demon slayer, after all. Neither psychotherapy nor spiritual counseling were skillsets I possessed.

Long before we got there, since the restaurant where we were supposed to meet was downwind, I experienced the luscious sanguine smell of a large bowl of blood curd. It made me salivate as I anticipated its lovely flavor. It was nectarous—the metallic tang accompanied by sizzling scents of beef, onions, rice, and other foodstuffs. Though the scent of blood was the thing which was foremost in my olfactory focus.

I was part-vampire, so a fixation on these tastes, smells, textures, and sights were hardwired into my biology.

As we approached our destination, we saw Hakutenga standing outside the restaurant. She flagged us down with a standing wave and a smile. Inviting us into the establishment and showing us to the table where her associate sat alone.

“Come, friends. Let us dine together as we negotiate our terms.” She requested.

We sat on the opposite side of Hakutenga and the Shinigami, who needed to be reminded by a gentle but forceful elbow to introduce herself. “My friend has reminded me I forgot to introduce myself yesterday. I apologize for the rude behavior. My name is Fukushi (福死). I am a Shinigami.”

Much to Fukushi’s apparent, though subtle, delight, that admission gave her both Mrs. Chiba and Sakurai’s full attentions. Although I could not perceive it, I knew she had Nenia trained on the Shinigami specifically. Ready to immobilize her at the drop of a pin.

Hakutenga snidely remarked, “You were more than rude, Fukushi.”

Fukushi rolled her eyes and was forcefully nudged again.

A waiter came by to take our orders and, and just as promised, Fukushi offered to pay the tab for everyone there. Hakutenga requested sukhoe (숙회) and tea. Fukushi ordered bulgogi (불고기) with water. Sakurai asked for kimchi pancakes and orange juice, and Mrs. Chiba chose egg dumplings with water.

I, of course, requested the sŏnji-guk, which I suspect our hosts preordered for me. The waitress took the order, and Fukushi paid up front in gold coins without rising from her seat. She then pressed her index finger to her lips as if to request the waiter’s silence. The waiter, who was the owner of the business, left without protestation to prepare the food, clearly enthused and intimidated by the sheer degree that our host clearly overpaid.

Hakutenga then introduced herself. “Hello, as you know, my name is Hakutenga. I am a Swan-maid, most recently born in the 1970s.”

I thought to myself, “most recently born?” What the hell does that mean?

Hakutenga asked, “So tell us a bit about yourselves.”

Mrs. Chiba took charge and answered before either I or Sakurai had the opportunity, “My name is Chiba, I am a former officer of the Japan Self-Defense Force.”

She then glanced at Sakurai, who introduced herself. “My name is Sakurai. I am a student studying to one day become a nurse.”

It was now my turn. “I am Setagaya. I am a devil hunter and protector of the people who raised me.”

Fukushi lit a cigarette as she derisively said, “Your commitment to the defense of these mortals is admirable, if somewhat misguided. I am certain that mankind can defend itself…”

Then a thought crossed her mind, and she asked, “Wait, you’re mortal-raised?”

I defensively deflected, “What of it?”

Fukushi observed, “You do not seem to be a hanyō.”

I corrected her, “That’s because I’m not. I am a full-blooded yōkai.”

Hakutenga asked, “Wait. Then, do you know anything about Otherworld?”

I admitted, “Not much more than what I can gleam from human mythologies and extremely rare conversations with lost and weary travelers.”

Hakutenga asked me, “How far back can you remember? Do you remember the Xenotheomachia?”

I asked her, completely confounded, “The what?”

The question seemed to catch Mrs. Chiba’s attention, though it was so subtly telegraphed that only I seemed to have noticed.

Hakutenga explained, “The war between the devas (天人) known to Earth and asuras (阿修羅) known to another world.”

I asked her, “Known to another world? Do you mean a pantheon of an alien planet or another universe?”

Then Fukushi explained, “That, or another Human World (人間界) entirely. There are countless planets in the Human World inhabited by their own autochthonic human populations, with their own distinct pantheons.

“Otherworld is a trichiliocosm: a network of three thousand million lokas interconnected through a network commonly analogized as an all-pervading world tree atop a cosmic mountain and separated by a veil. Celestial world (天界), Spirit World (霊界), Demon World (魔界), Beast-Man World (獣人界), and Talking Beast World (能言獸界) are but the tip of this cosmology.”

If the Earth felt small before—a blue pixel encircling but one insignificant speck of light itself drifting alongside hundreds of millions of other stars in one galaxy out of more than one hundred billion galaxies within the observable universe, which was, itself, only a fragment of the universe in reality—then it certainly felt smaller now.

As far as I knew, the universe could be incomprehensibly vast but bounded in a manner like the classic asteroids game, where traversing the edge leads to one reentering from another part of the boundary. Or it could be infinite in spatial extent. Certainly, the world of devas and asuras, the ancient gods and devils, was more expansive than the Human World. And knowing that there were at least four other lokas alongside these two, this universe of interconnecting lokas suddenly became much larger.

Chiba interjected, “Pardon the intrusion, but it sounds as if you are describing the universe as a 3-sphere. Are these worlds nested alongside each other in a higher spatial medium? Separated from each other at right angles to the three degrees of freedom we are currently moving through in our ‘Manuṣyaloka’ (人間界)?”

Fukushi rudely dismissed the soldier. “Alright, Alighieri.”

This response confused both me and Sakurai, so I asked, “Alighieri? As in Dante Alighieri?”

Chiba explained, “The geometry of Dante Alighieri’s universe in his Divine Comedy is highly reminiscent of a sphere with four spatial dimensions and one time dimension—a 3-sphere. I guess that means you have some familiarity with Western literature?”

I looked at her, astonished, and she admitted, “What? I’m a math major.”

Fukushi annoyed, but amused, said with a condescending tone, “Cute, but clever child.”

Chiba took this comment on the chin. It was clear that she had questions, and we three earthlings understood that, as far as we knew, she could be thousands of years older than any of us.

Hakutenga asked me, “Then, does that mean you’ve never heard of the antigod (祅)?”

This question took me aback, so I asked, “Please elaborate.”

She obliged, “Thousands of years ago, the veil between the Human World, Otherworld, Beast-Man World, and Talking Beast World was fortified by an unknown and alien antigod calling themselves the ‘author of tragedies-turned-comedy’. This unidentified being possessed the deva the Romans called Iānus and compelled him to foretell the birth of a human supergod (超神).

“According to prophecy, this supergod and their descendants would be immune to the powers of angels (天使), buddhas (仏), immortals (仙), gods (神), yāo (妖), devils (魔), and ghosts (鬼).”

I asked her, “Do you know the identity of this supergod?”

Fukushi took a puff of her cigarette and admitted, “No. There has been no successful attempt at divining the identity of this alleged supergod. Moreover, we are entering an era where even the precognition of the Fates is failing them. The Sky Striker is adamant that this is because of the passive interference of this being.”

Sakurai asked, “Is that because this supergod will be active in our future history, and knowing the effects of their activities would allow the Fates to divine the identity of this supergod?”

Hakutenga was enthusiastic about how quickly we seemed to catch on. “That is spot on regarding what the oracles and sages think is fated to happen, I…”

I interrupted her. “I do not believe in fate.”

There was a beat of silence.

Chiba asked, “Does this alien antigod have something to do with the hitherto unelaborated Xenotheomachia mentioned earlier?”

Fukushi revealed to us, “I do not think so. Almost two and a half thousand years ago, Otherworld was invaded by alien gods (星人の神々). Their most terrifying warrior was a god of strength; a deva of power seemingly unbounded. History tells of his prodigious strength in the xenotheomachia (外空神之戦). At the battle of Sakura Archipelago, an immortal (仙), knowing how to summon mountains, dropped Mount Sumeru (須弥山) upon the shoulders of that alien asura. That did not work, so he then dropped mount Éméi (峨眉山). But even these two cosmic mountains proved insufficient to stop this monster, and the divergent daemon continued to move with the speed of a meteor. As the foreign god mocked them for their efforts, Mount Tai (泰山) was employed, but this too could not stop his strength beyond strength, which allowed him to overcome devas of war while bearing the weight of the three mountains. At the battle of Hell Valley, a bodhisattva dropped the Five Phase Mountain (五行山) atop him, and it still proved impossible to slow him down.”

Fukushi shuddered. “Nothing seemed to stop him. Kailash (岡仁波齐峰), Fuji (富士山), and Olympus (オリンポス山) all failed to slow him down, and his strength threatened to shatter the world tree.”

My older escort chuckled, “So the powers of Buddhism, Taoism, and Confucianism did not stop him… So, the devas turned to Jainism, Shintō, and Platonism?”

The swan maiden explained, “He matched Heracles in strength, and could even hold his own against the Striker. Our best magical bindings, such as Gleipnir and the Golden Headband (金箍圈), were impotent to ensnare him.”

The Striker, being the deva interpreted as Zeus (Ζεύς) by the Greeks, Thor (Þórr) by the Norse, and Indra (帝釈天) by the Indians.

She continued, “While the invaders had many powerful avatars embodying strength, courage, wisdom, wit, light, death, and heart, among other realities, armed with terrifying astras… the terror of his power helped them wage psychological warfare against the Otherworld. It was a battle unlike anything ever seen before, more devastating than the Aesir-Vanir war, Titanomachy, Gigantomachy, Theomachy, and all the conquests that the Striker undertook to conquer Otherworld.”

I asked her, “Then how did Otherworld survive?”

She explained, “An unknown intelligence, neither deva, buddha, nor immortal (仙), in the guise of a queen of light, commanded that a mountain, which was only 765 meters tall, be dropped on him, and he ground to a halt. Not in the sense of collapsing from exceeding his physical strength, but in the sense that he had a revelation. With that, both sides stopped fighting, and the alien asuras agreed to leave Otherworld.

I asked her, “So, one small mountain did this? Do you know the identity of the mountain? Or perhaps the person who did this?”

Fukushi seemed to not want to admit an answer, so Hakutenga (白天鵞) explained, “Hallvarðr is adamant that the being who dropped the mountain was an angel (天使) acting on behalf of the queen of Heaven (天后), and that the mountain was Zion (シオン).”

I raised my eyebrow and asked incredulously, “You’re serious?”

Me and Chiba understood what that would mean if true, but Sakurai seemed to not understand the implications thereof.

The Shinigami admitted with a smirk, “Then you and me are on the same wavelength regarding that. I’ll grant him the bit about the angel. Those are way more terrifying than any deva or asura I’ve ever seen, but I do not believe that his assessment of the mountain’s identity is plausible.”

I asked, genuinely confused, “Have you ever met an ‘angel’?”

The Shinigami took a deep puff of the smoke and, after exhaling the noxious fumes, revealed, “No, but Hallvarðr has. As have some of the most powerful devas and immortals, and let’s just say that I have no interest in ever meeting anything like that.”

Hallvarðr, in the guise of a sharply dressed Germanic strongman entered the restaurant and spoke from behind us, “In Otherworld, the devas live in Devaloka (天界) and we Yāo live in Māraloka (魔界), as humans live in Manuṣyaloka. Though there are magicians so powerful that they can generate their own lokas.”

Fukushi, as Hallvarðr made his way to our table and took an empty seat from the adjacent table to sit down with us, elaborated, “That is how Brahmāloka (梵天界) and Viṣṇuloka (毘紐天界) came to be, through the mastery of 3,000 Great Paths (三千大道).”

I couldn’t help but think to myself, “The hell is this, a Xiānxiá (仙俠) novel?”

Hallvarðr, stoically courteous towards the interruption, continued, “Although, this is not where angels live. You see, these lokas where the gods and monsters of your human mythologies live are still limited within space and time. But angels exist in Aloka (無界): a state of being transcending space and time.”

He introduced himself. “Hello, my name is Hallvarðr. I see you have met my associates.”

Chiba and Sakurai introduced themselves before Sakurai asked, “So, angels are nowhere?”

Hallvarðr pulled out what appeared to be a folded piece of cloth from his shirt pocket, which he then unfolded into a full-sized cloth chessboard, with all the pieces placed in their appropriate starting positions.

He explained, “We are the pieces on the board. We move about the board through the spaces or intersections. Angels are not like that. Their relation to lokas is not analogous to our relationship to this board. Rather…”

He flipped the board over, the pieces keeping their placement relative to the board and effortlessly flattening as they are gently pressed against the table.

He continued, “the relationship between *where* the angels are is analogous to the back of the board. While not within the zone of gameplay, it is simultaneously equidistant and intimate to every square and intersection on the board’s face.”

Chiba asked him, “Would that mean that they can interact with all lokas, even the artificial ones?”

Hallvarðr told her, “Correct. Even devas, immortals, and buddhas who have manifested their own lokas have had no success barring them from interfering with their work.”

Fukushi chastised him, “You’re late. Where have you been?”

Hallvarðr confessed, “I apologize for my lack of punctuality. I have been exploring the local library. It’s not every day I get to see such a sight as this.”

Hakutenga explained, “Hallvarðr is a bit of an anthropophile. He is endlessly fascinated with human cultures and has obtained several books from human philosophers and theologians, with a particular bend towards the Catholic dharma. Books from the Human World are scarce in Otherworld because of the aforementioned fortification of the veil, so his relatively modest collection of texts is quite impressive.”

Hallvarðr admitted, “Very true. My father passed on to me a copy of the Proslogion, and I have been forever fascinated with theology. I traveled across Otherworld, looking for human books which made their way through the veil. During those excursions, I have obtained a copy of the Incoherence of the Philosophers from a tribe of djinn (幽精), as well as a copy of the Summa Theologiæ from a hippocentauress (女性のケンタウルス), the Summa contrā Gentīlēs from a phoenix-maid (不死鳥処女), the Kuzari from a flesh golem, and even received the N’yāyakusumāñjali from a deva.”

Hakutenga asked, “Did you find anything to your liking?”

Hallvarðr confessed, “Yes! I bought quite a few books. The two that have caught my eye specifically are the historical evaluations titled ‘On the Reliability of the Old Testament’ by Kenneth Kitchen and ‘The Historical Reliability of the Gospels’ by Craig L. Bloomberg.”

Sakurai made an opportunity to ask Fukushi, “What makes you doubt Hallvarðr’s claim regarding the identity of the mountain?”

The Shinigami explained, “I simply do not believe in a God (上帝). So I have no reason to believe such an entity causally relates to the event.”

Sakurai asked her, “So you believe in angels, but not God the parent (親神様)?”

Fukushi insisted, “Unlike Hallvarðr, who must refer to God (自在) in order to make sense of the world, my worldview possesses no such deficiency. And even if such a being as this exists, I see no soteriological or magical relevance which would give his mountain relevance to my goal of obtaining the Dharmakāya (法身).”

Hallvarðr critiqued, “On the contrary, your worldview is explanatorily deficient in many areas of metaphysics and history.”

The look on Fukushi’s face was one of unyielding resolve and competitive respect. Such as someone who has struggled in debate against an unyielding and squirrely but cunning and honest opponent.

Hallvarðr asked her, “You were there in a previous life. What mountain do you believe it could have been? Surely, the mountain of the man who demonstrated his total mastery over life and death by not only being born of a virgin who was preserved from all ancestral and personal sin, died then came back to life in his original body transfigured into immortality, then raised all his saintly dead from their graves in their original reconstituted bodies, all under his own power, would be a reasonable candidate?”

Fukushi responded, “Poppycock.”

Hallvarðr reminded her, “There is a small population of humans that has lived in Otherworld for thousands of years, and among them are validly ordained priests whose lineages predate the East-West Schism. How do you explain the priests’ powers to obliterate harmatiological karmas that condemn the soul of a Faerie (妖精) to punishments in their next life?”

I assumed that the word yōsei (妖精) was being used in place of the English “faerie”, which seemed to refer to all mythical intelligences that were neither human, nor angel, nor God in Celtic mythology.

Fukushi asked, “Simple, Jesus was a Buddha. How does this differ from the powers of Amitābha?”

Hallvarðr explained, “Anyone who honestly claims that Jesus was a Buddha is either ignorant of the teachings of Christ or ignorant of the teachings of Buddha. Jesus made no claim to Buddhahood, nor do the historical documents show that he was one. The power to forgive sins represents total mastery over karma, where all harmatiological consequences are invisibly resolved. The power to grant this hamartiologically absolvent power, such as the power to release and bind punitive karmas, was given to his apostles by virtue of his word alone, as well as to the holy orders by virtue of their inheritance. This demonstrates an ability to communicate his power to men. What Buddha has the power to communicate their grace to another, such that the power granted to them is efficacious despite the deficiency of the apostle’s character, knowledge, enlightenment, or works?”

Fukushi batted back with, “You are really going to ignore the fact that reincarnation clearly happens? That is not compatible with the teachings of Christ, but is with those of the Buddha.”

Hallvarðr told her, “The Church teaches that ‘it is appointed for men to die once’. This does not hold true for other rational souls. Angels, for example, cannot ever die, as they have no body to slay, and cannot subject themselves to time. Thus, they cannot change. Rather, their ultimate fate is determined by a single immutable choice.

“Whereas the ultimate fate of man is determined by a lifetime of decisions wherein they willingly move within and without the Logos (道). We faeries are not men, nor are we angels. We are appointed to be born and to die in a multiplicity of lifetimes, with our ultimate fate decided at the end of our last life.

“We know this because we see in ourselves precisely what we do not see in men and angels but would expect to see if reincarnation were their fate, and this is because we have bodies which are malleable and polymorphous. Given our the soul is the form of our body, our vital principle can be transmitted from one host to another because the principle of our identity has different potentialities to actualize than a human being or an angel.

“Since it is the soul of man which is the essence of man, and the soul of a cat the essence of a cat, it cannot be that ‘the soul which rules man should take on itself the nature of a beast’ or angel ‘so opposed to that of man’. Nor can our souls take upon themselves the nature of a human, beast, or angel so opposed to ours. This is because the soul contains within it the organizing principle which animates the body.

“While our bodies are malleable, the bodies of the sensible and rational animals are fixed, and thus can only ever bond with their own singular lifespan under natural means.

“We see this evidenced in our past life recollections. It is not uncommon among us to see that the souls of our children vary at their conception. We find that, as they mature, through the recollection of past life memories, some souls are clearly newborn while others are ancient.

“‘If souls depart at different ages of human life, how is it they come back again at one uniform age? For all men are imbued with an infant soul at birth.’ I can think of no example where a faerie can recall ever being human in a past life, or an animal or an angel, in a manner that our psychic powers cannot adequately explain.

“Similarly, we find that there is no human that can reliably recall ever having been a faerie, an animal, or an angel.”

At first, Chiba and I were getting progressively more annoyed as this tangential conversation continued, while Sakurai just seemed lost. But we both realized that this sidetracked conversation was freely giving us a lot of information that would be desperately necessary to make a wise decision. So, we paid as close attention as we could, without this specialized knowledge.

The waiter came back with our food, and, though we continued to talk, we all ate. I finally got my ambrosia, and it was more satisfying than I expected. Because of the conversation, I had forgotten how hungry I was. The waiter asked Hallvarðr if he wanted something to eat, and Hallvarðr politely declined, so the waiter left.

Sakurai, a Tenrikyōist, and therefore someone who believes in both God and reincarnation, chimed in. “You said that the bodies of faeries could keep cross life memories because of the malleability of their bodies… Doesn’t that explain why humans don’t keep these memories?”

Hallvarðr said, “My dear, even if I grant your suggestion, human reincarnation still does not stand. This is because the act of transforming the essential form of Saoirse into that of Sakura still destroys the form of Saoirse in the same manner that transforming the essential form of man into that of a cat destroys the form of man. There can be no continuity within such transmigration.”

Fukushi defended, “This assumes Hylomorphic metaphysics. I would challenge the idea that those substantial forms, as you have described, even exist.”

Sakurai, flustered, pulled away. I was so caught up in the conversation that I did not realize the girl’s obvious attraction to the guise this troll had adopted. Though, I highly doubt that she would be as interested in his monstrous true form.

She simply said, “I agree with you that God the Parent (親神様) exists and is the master of karmas (いんねん), but I also think that Ms. Fukushi has a point. That it is part of God’s design and wisdom that humans may have a fresh start (出直し) through saṃsāra (輪廻), and that the soul preserves some form of continuity as it passes between lives.”

Hallvarðr asked her, “My dear, might I ask what is your religion is?”

Sakurai told him, “I am a Tenrikyōist (天理教家).”

Hakutenga remarked, “I assumed you were a Hindu, honestly.”

Hallvarðr apologized, “Pardon my ignorance, but I am unfamiliar with this religion. Would you have any suggested reading?”

The girl fumbled through her bag and presented him with a copy of the Ofudesaki. He placed a scroll atop it, and we saw as the text automatically copied from the book onto the parchment.

With no need for the original text, he gave the book back to Sakurai and thanked her, “I appreciate your gesture, but I do not mean to deprive you of your property. I will gladly get back to you when I’ve finished reading this book.”

The girl, beat red, deigned to accept the offer, “Of course. I’d love to talk to you when you’re done with it.”

Having seen what he looked like without the guise and realizing that he was, in fact, not flirting with her and was oblivious to her attraction to him, I felt bad for the poor girl. And as interesting as it might be to get a better understanding of fey metaphysical biology, I felt it necessary to redirect the conversation to what was of the essence.

“I do not mean to disrupt your riveting conversation, but I need to know what it is you’ve called me here for.” I reminded them.

Fukushi recited a spell, in some unintelligible though human language, which Hallvarðr translated as, “If you do not open the gate to let me in, I shall smash the door and shatter the bolt. I shall smash the doorpost and overturn the doors. I shall raise up the dead and they shall devour the living: and the dead shall outnumber the living.”

Chiba and I both recognized this as a translation of the threat Ishtar (𒌋𒁯) makes in the Epic of Gilgamesh.

Hallvarðr revealed, “I’m sorry for the delay, so I’ll cut to the chase. We would like to petition for your help, should the time come that we find the Lich-Czar.”

I remember him calling this villain a necromancer of the devil path, but to learn that they had succeeded in the greatest act of necromancy—turning themselves into an undead magician—was new.

He continued, “The antigod seems to have eroded the veil between Otherworld and Earth, resulting in naturally and supernaturally formed doorways where yāo, devils, asuras, gods, and immortals alike are likely to enter the Human World. Men may also venture into Otherworld, and possibly even Beastman World and Talking Beast World. From what little we know, this necromancer has obtained siddhis unknown to Otherworld from their human lineage. So, we suspect they will make their way to this side of the veil to study this power.”

Fukushi explained, “We are offering you our help in defending your adoptive people. So, will you alert us if you should find evidence he has crossed the veil?”

Hakutenga chimed in, “They will provide training from experienced martial magicians, to teach you what your human teachers may not have been able to about your fey powers.”

I told them, “These terms are acceptable. I would never leave my homeland undefended, but when the time comes, I will deign to help you slay, or at least contain, this devil.”

I was still wildly uncomfortable with the potential killing of a half-human, something which Hallvarðr seemed to sense.

He promised, “You do not have to be the one to deal the killing blow. If you can help us capture him alive, we can put him on trial as per the custom of the Phoenix-folk, so they can decide his fate.”

I admitted, “I find such a proposition agreeable.”

Seeing that we had fulfilled the point of this meeting, Sakurai asked him, “By human siddhis, did you mean superpowers?”

They seemed unfamiliar with this term, and Hallvarðr admitted, “I do not know.”

Sakurai explained, “Some humans have siddhis which they can pass down to their children through descent, adoption, or fostering. Each one is unique, with no two metahumans having the same powers.”

She pulled out an omnibus reprint of ‘Darker Than Black’ containing volumes one through three and handed it to Hallvarðr.

“It’s not exactly like this, from what I understand, but the Earth’s native magic is very similar to the superpowers found in comics dating all the way back to the 1930s and the literary traditions stemming from them.”

He looked at the strange codex and copied it in the same manner he copied the original and gave it back with, “I will be certain to read this. Thank you, lovely miss.”

She blushed and I, sporting a shit-eating grin, nudged her with my elbow, then said, “Wanna show him?”

She asked, in a confused stupor, “What?”

I stood up and said, “I’ve agreed to help you, but I still need to smash in your smug Shinigami snout for how she treated my hosts?”

Fukushi stood up and said, “You are…”

Suddenly, before she could complete standing up, the Shinigami went catatonic despite being fully conscious of her situation.

I mocked her. “That’s what you get for being rude to my ward.”

Hakutenga worriedly attended to her, “Fukushi, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you moving?”

Hallvarðr, likewise on his feet, attended to her. A composed but worried curiosity inscribed on his face, as he nudged her with his hand and snapped his fingers in front of her face to illicit a response.

He turned to us and calmly interrogated, “What did you do to her?”

I told them, “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

Turning to Sakurai, I requested, “Release her, please.”

Sakurai, without moving, did as I requested, and you could see the panicked gasping of the Shinigami as she leaped to her feet and almost fell.

I told him, “Humans with innate siddhis, obtained through descent, adoption, or fostering, are called metahumans. Every metahuman’s powers are different, even if they, at first, appear to be the same.”

Hakutenga, attending to Fukushi’s panicked state, commented, “So this is the power of ‘metahumans‘?”

I told them, “Oh, you have no idea.”

Hakutenga asked, “Would you be able or willing to find other such ‘metahuman’ magicians? Abilities such as these may be quite useful in controlling and combating devils.”

I confessed that, “I am reluctant to solicit human help in dispatching devils. Metahumans have one or two abilities, and not all of them suited for battle. Even if they have a siddhi which could prove useful for such, metahumans are still human. In contrast, our kind have a myriad of abilities to draw from.”

Hakutenga asked, “So that is a ‘no’?”

I confessed, “Correct.”

Mrs. Chiba stepped in. “I would advise you to investigate these claims further. While I have detected no lies, it may be prudent to verify this information yourself. Regardless, it would also be a good idea to find humans who can contend with faeries and prepare them to protect their country from this new devilish threat. In fact, I might be able to help with that second issue. I still have connections within the JSSDF, and I know a real military otaku who loves isekai. He would almost certainly dive into such an opportunity as this.”

She continued with a request, “If these claims prove true, could we count on you to present this information to our government? So they could prepare, as best they can, for these villains?”

Without skipping a beat, Hallvarðr said, “To defend my brother-race, and the species of my Lord, you have my word that, should you trust us enough, I can present this information to your leaders.”

This statement perplexed Mrs. Chiba, as she did not know that Hallvarðr was a Christian.

Mrs. Chiba looked at me and asked, “What about you, Ms. Setagaya?”

I answered with an affirmation, “Yes. I will gladly evidence the existence of devils if requested, but under no circumstances will I reveal my name. I have a family to safeguard, and a life to live.”

Hallvarðr commented, “That sounds reasonable.”

Mrs. Chiba did not look as if my answer was reassuring, but she did not pursue the issue.

I requested, “And please do not reveal my identity when you come out with this information.”

Mrs. Chiba simply said, “Of course.”

Her heart betrayed an indifference to my worries, but I understood that with both Sakurai and Hallvarðr here, I could not press this issue, so I let it slide for the time being.

After a long conversation over dinner, we parted ways on peaceful terms. Though before leaving, Sakurai petitioned Hallvarðr to meet up with her in the future so that they could discuss metaphysics, to which he agreed.

This was the first foreshadowing to me I now lived in a world where C. S. Lewis, Wú Chéng’ēn (吳承恩), H. P. Lovecraft, and Grant Morrison would collide with horrific effects: a world of angels, buddhas, outer gods, and supergods.

[witchofthesouls]

Hey, for the other!tfp trio….let's assume that the team remained on really close contact despite the distance after the war (RID 2015 who knows you? Certainly not me). I wanna see a really touching reunion between the bots and their protegees, but here's the twist:

They return to their kids, only to find out that these three are no longer kids, but young adults (maybe late teens for Raf, because our future little Dragon always will be the youngest of the trio) and are no longer humans (cause they have fully embraced their other heritage)

This time-lapse could be explained by either A) the bots spending a bit longer on Cybertron and losing the human sense of time or B) The kids deciding to make a joint trip to elsewhere/the other side after the end of the war, where time doesn't move the same as in the human plane (they went as kids, but elsewhere spit them as grow ups even though this change doesn't make sense to the bots.... because they are seeing things from a human sense of time); now, when exactly these three got lost and then reborn, that's privy to them alone.... I prefer the B) option if you ask me....

Regardless, I think that these three would remain tightly nit, as tight as possible (they could be on the other extreme of the planet or any other plane, and yet they would return to each other...eventually). Cause after all the went through, separation is not an option for them

Reactions and talks/explanations are meant to happen in response to this..... and what roles June, the Esquivels and the Nakadais families had to play in all this

Ohhh, this is interesting. I hinted or understated in some pieces that time can get weird in Elsewhere as a call to the folktales and myths of humans stepping into an otherworldly space to spend a few hours there, and then stepping back to their world to find out decades had passed.

Perhaps it's their heritage, singing in their bone marrow and igniting from the Matrix's influence, June's own presence (haunting and hungry, no matter how muted or how well she hides her own teeth), or a strange combination. Perhaps it's the experiences they shared, forged in fire and blood as Earth's own chaotic nature. But these three are bonded. Intertwined with each other, even across the world.

Distance means both little and much to them now. They ventured onto foreign, alien planets and spaceships, traveled to lands across the world in the blink of an eye, and went on the run from a manhunt.

Miko keeps the Apex Armor and takes it back to Japan. At the right moments and when the urge gets too much to bear, she steps into the sea and goes farther than any of her relatives could go, even the ones that can hold their breath for 20 minutes.

She hasn't been the most filial of daughters, but she is her parent's child. Her sea-blooded mother stole back a human that survived and thrived from Elsewhere and claimed that man as a spouse. Bloodlust and wet works are no distant strangers to her. She's inexperienced but a willing learner. She already cut her teeth on foreign flesh.

Down in the dark depths where there's no difference between going up to the sun and going towards the abyss, but where her steps tread, she meets someone with pearly, iridescent scales across a long, serpentine body and a face so much like her own (and her mother's and her grandfather's and her-) with large, dark eyes with an amber ring.

After meeting the yokai that birthed her lineage centuries ago, Miko finds her way back to the Americas. A blessing and a warning kept in her heart.

(One day, Miko will understand what her sea-blooded mother meant when she told her that her father was a 'good Man.'

Raf's deep fascination (admiration, obsession) with space exploration and technology is taken in stride among the Esquivels. He doesn't raise any suspicion among them because that's how they all are.

He absorbs whatever he can, consuming the hard-earned lessons under Ratchet's care and oft-handed commentary. The Esquivels hunger and Raf is no different as he swallows how Cybertronian theory and application and attempts to further bridge between human and alien equipment.

Raf had found his teeth and his siblings recognized it as their baby brother doesn't disappear on them nor shrink away from their more vicious arguments.

(They are a family whose flesh descended from fire tempered by earth. Raging passion and violent temptations. Wicked protection and immense wrath. Voracious, cruel, and beastly, yet so very kind and vigilant.)

Mama kissed her youngest boy (because Raf will always be her baby boy) on his head and told him to be careful, praying for his safety as he went with Jack.

That protection will save them on a summer trip when Jack retraces his steps to all the places he once called home.

Ever since his mission to Cybertron, Jack dreams of strange, wistful things. An unquenchable thirst, an itch in his bones... he feels bereft for some reason.

He misses Arcee. He misses all of them. But for some reason, Jack still dreams of the timelessness of Cybertron. There's still something that calls to him in that eerie stillness. Not the desolate ruins of alien cities, although they quietly sing between hope and despair, but it's the outskirts that wait with bated breath.

In the summer after graduation, he takes his new-used car and travels across the mainland United States. The windows are down as the radio blares, wind ruffles his hair as Raf laughs and tries to figure out maps since some locations are so off-beat that the GPS can't confirm the coordinates.

Deep in the bones of a decrepit old house he once called a home in his long-distant childhood because June and Jack moved repeatedly, hopping from place to place without rhyme or reason... there are the echoes of a wailing scream buried within it.

A living corpse for a copse of trees that guard the area.

(A mother will tell her son what exactly brews in their powerful blood and what she has done to ensure he grew up safe to make a choice.)

Elsewhere exists in so many ways, shapes, and forms. At one point, the legends and myths had once walked upon Earth and left their marks. Something happened in the unwritten, unspoken past that corralled those legends away.

The trio will venture through the many portals and gateways and have many more adventures as they realize there are far more Cybertronian relics on Earth...

Mermaid queens and Seelie emperors, dignitaries of unearthly shapes painted in enamel and precious jewels, sharp animals with sharper intelligence that speak in prose, the faint imprints in slumbering environments, and empty, the lingering remains of humanity's role among such great and terrible things.

(Humanity was (is) great and terrible themselves.)

(Miko's father is a 'good Man,' and that means something different to such beings.)

"Long ago, Man made peace with Magic." "Long ago, it was decreed that Man would stay."

Time isn't linear in Elsewhere which incorporates so much that a single or several maps would be useless. Time flows in so many directions that it's a constant battle to recognize and travel to and from their own particular section of a river.

Perhaps it's his heritage or a minor blessing from the Matrix, but Jack is more sensitive to flow and can locate the best spots for them to get back to their Earth. To the same week, month, or year they ventured away.

Miko explores her own bloodthirst and prey drive. The singing, thrumming chant in her blood and how the Apex Armor responds to it.

Raf hones his own instinct on his particular guidance to find portals and lucky happenstances. Between him and Jack's instincts for 'shiny' things, little can escape them.

In some worlds, they grow older. Aging and bulking, exploring how to reshape themselves and all sorts of careers. In others, they seem immortal compared to the rapid change around them in a species whose lifespan is a single human year.

"We could be gods here," says a man with a firestorm trapped in his bones and has become a dragon. Not a Dragon because he searches the stars for a mech he once called brother. "Are we not gods already?" The not-man made of shadows and feathers replies. He still dreams of a far-distant metal planet and realizes that it whispered to him back then. "Does it matter," laughs a woman encased in armor that's more like a second skin, tendrils sweeping upon the floor like the gentle motion of a calm tide upon the beach. Pink for her lost girlhood and passion, a warning and a sign from her many great-grandmother. Green as the metal she once called her kin.

When humans are pulled Elsewhere. Three things usually happen: they break there, they struggle or thrive, or they break at home.

"How many times have we done this?" A boy that's not really a boy, who shall become a dragon in so many lifetimes, asks his companions. (Raf keeps his sister's warning close to his heart as she once died in a foreign, strange desert and was resurrected in her own pyre to devour the city that enslaved her and so many countless others. Pilar has become a Dragon and that legacy between mortal and divine shall be her epitaph in a battlefield far sooner than later.)

Ratchet returns. Some things change, while some remain the same.

Jack tastes the grief and repressed anger upon the medic and leaves him be. Raf remembers Ratchet parked in the garbage and keeps the old medic busy between lessons and searches. Miko digs into the festering tangle of emotions, lapping into those wounds as she uses the Apex Armor on the training mats to absorb those fighting skills and grills for information about Cybertron and the rest of Team Prime.

She cares, she really does, but the boys' avoidance of Ratchet's issues won't help anyone, especially if (or when) the medic leaves the planet with no way to contact again.

Ratchet went Elsewhere twice. The first time was a rough pill to swallow as Team Prime never realized its existence. He wondered where the trio had scavenged a considerable amount of Energon crystals and the resources to guard the new base with all the newly acquired. He stiffly apologized to them because he had thrown hurtful words over their travels, calling them "superstitious" and "better than that" and "this is why you never applied yourselves" was the least of the insults. The second time, he realized just how much and fast humans age as he counted each tick on his chronometer as they ventured across new continents and strange seas. Those years and crippling injuries and strange bodies melt away from the trio as they return back to their native Earth and their baseline human form.

June visits them. Ratchet never thought to ask how she found them in Nevada when Agent Fowler would have never told a civilian about them. No one questioned how she managed to bypass all the security with her car.

He tallies all the strange, eerie signs as she leaves hints to solve their challenges, how she seems to appear when food is low and they're too busy to bring anything more substantial than a simple run to the nearest fast food joint or a quick foraging session, how all the security in the world, both Cybertron's and Earth's, cannot track her.

"I am what I need or want to be." The one called June Darby demurely answers.

The only family member of Raf's that Ratchet will officially meet is Pilar whose bones are filled to the brim with rituals, survival tips with monsters, gods, and hostile environments, and formal protocols in so many kingdoms, both dead and alive. She grieves as well. She had given up the Dragon to return home but her memories are bursting full of laughter and people and color when the crumbling ruins the new Team explores are long empty of an extinct people or a fallen kingdom.

"Sometimes I think I carved out parts of my heart and left it there. All I have left are the memories as I'm the only one that remembers the campfire songs and the lessons of all those who helped me."

Ratchet will never meet the Nakadai family face-to-face, but he gets a hint of what they are with all the messages and packages they send their only child. Izumi sends pointers on how to prepare certain sea creatures and how to differentiate the signs of an underwater portal in treacherous waters. Her husband will leave cryptid messages and strange, gold pieces. Sometimes he sends coordinates for Miko to dig up a weapons cache or an informant to cultivate.

Of course, things change when the not-quite-human trio spirit back a Primal Artifact of Quintus Prime...

[yousawnothinglycanthropic]

I have a few, if you'd like.

1. A witch curses you to never lose weight, but you end up making your heft your enemies' problem. Save for your enemies having weapons, using your weight to knock over or pin your enemies in place is rather effective.

2. (This one is inspired by an old wg flash game I play occasionally via a copy of the standalone Flash player I got ages back.) As a hefty youth, you learned that having more meat on your bones helps soften some blows. As an adult, you've found a way to capitalize on this, which is good, as marooning on an island on an alien planet means you'll be putting that to use far sooner.

3. Someone, i.e. a dragon, has decided to hoard you. Not as a part of a larger collection, no, but as the only thing they hoard. Shame there's not a lot of you to begin with, even if you're already rather plump, but no worries. That'll change.

4. The town/city/village you live in is aware of some sort of were-creature, and is thus terrified of it. But that beast... Is you. And the worst you've done to in beast form is scare away some kids notorious for vandalism from your house and mistake a skunk for a raccoon raiding your trash and paid the price. But, despite that, you've noticed that a stump in the woods by your house now has some strange assortment of meats and other foodstuffs, and after overhearing some locals talk, found out that it's an offering to the beast (you) to keep it from potentially eatibg people/pets. But you can't let the food just sit there! It'll attract raccoons and other animals, which might cause more problems in other ways! Guess you'll have to eat it before it spoils... Well, turns out that if you get fat in one of your forms, it carries over to the other... But they won't stop giving you free food...

5. A new knight has arrived into the town, and is baffling the townsfolk. Appearing plump and weak, with no visible muscles to speak of, they shocked the locals by besting a band of thieves like they were mere toothpicks. Turns out, upon some questioning, this lard stuffed tin can is the child of a demon of gluttony, but chose a path towards becoming a Paladin under the goddess/god/deity of protection, which explains their strength. At some point, the knight's demonic heritage rears its fatty head and makes itself known my making the knight's diet more... Corpulent. But hey, at least they can sell their old armor to help pay for the new suit after outgrowing the last one!

besties give me ur best wg story plots i need new fuel my ideas are getting stale

[arosefromgilneas]

Me: No more alts till Shadowlands because getting to 120 is the most harrowing thing one can do after doing it 6 or so times previously.

Also me: -makes a fourth Vulpera character named Pidge and I want nothing more than to level her-

[apas-95]

what are your thoughts on the police files that just got leaked from xinjiang reeducation camps?

The ones from a supposed 'anonymous hacker' who's veracity was verified by... the Victims of Communism Memorial Foundation and Adrian Zenz, the ones who published them? What's that - we investigated if we were lying, and found ourselves to not be?

The same Adrian Zenz who says he's 'led by god' on a mission against China, whose prior research has already been torn to bits - his figure of a million supposed detainees coming from oral interviews with only eight people; his numbers showing an apparent alarming amount of IUD operations being a result of him literally just adding extra zeroes to a number 'accidentally' and implying, if given a second of thought, that every single woman in Xinjiang got a dozen IUD operations - this Adrian Zenz:

Adrian Zenz, who works for the surely-unbiased Victims Of Communism memorial foundation (which published this supposed 'leak'), an arm of the far-right Heritage Foundation.

All of which just-so-happens to come out as a UN delegation arrives in Xinjiang, surely ready to overshadow the reality that they, like every prior human rights delegation to the region, will not find a shred of evidence of what would be an incredibly gigantic, undeniable operation.

If such a terrible thing were really happening (without any apparent motive on the part of the Chinese government beyond Being Evil), wouldn't there be more clear evidence than blurry satellite pictures of schools and farms misidentified as concentration camps, random pictures of unrelated prisoners, and even Taiwanese BDSM footage rebranded to 'footage of torture in Xinjiang'?

Wouldn't someone, anyone with a shred more credibility than Adrian Zenz and the Victims Of Communism foundation be the original, primary source for any of the supposed leaks or studies that every article on Xinjiang traces back to?

We're already seeing the west in the midst of a propaganda war, where experts have said, openly, that the truth doesn't matter as much as making sure that what you're saying hurts The Enemy and helps The Good Guys - that misinformation can be a positive force, as long as you aim it at your enemy and believe it wholeheartedly - are we expected to just take them on good faith?

Most of the world isn't. The parts that are are the same ones in every map like this - the ones that don't recognise Palestine, the ones that oppose UN resolutions against glorifying neo-nazism, the ones that have 14% of the world's population but 73% of its wealth.

It's easy to say, thirty years later, that of course Iraqi soldiers weren't taking babies out of incubators, that of course they didn't have WMDs - but in the moment, in the churn, when you're caught up in the swell and you lose your bearings, it's a lot harder. If you notice you're on the side of the ones braying for war, and that they'll lie to get it, maybe that's a sign to rethink.

I understand why you'd believe it. If there's the slightest chance that this were really happening, I'd want to be one of the people who stood up. I wouldn't want to be someone who, in the pages of history, sat there, happily following the status quo as it committed terrible atrocities. The people in charge also understand, and they know that it's a powerful response. Atrocity propaganda is nothing new.

If you really care about standing on the right side of history, about actually opposing crimes against humanity while the world around you stands silent - then siding with the United States, the genocidal settler colony, the invader, the torturer, the armorer of apartheid, the boot on the neck of progress everywhere in the world; it's not the way to go.

[spaceasianmillennial]

The suitors of Din Djarin

Boba Fett: So, how’s your dating life?

Din Djarin: Weeeeeell, there’s was this lovely woman, Omera. Great woman, great mother to a kid. She asked me to stay. I couldn’t, but I think of her often.

Boba Fett: What about Cobb Vanth?

Din Djarin: Why him?

Boba Fett: You made out with him with your helmet on, and him wearing my helmet. Seriously, when I put my helmet back on I could smell the man on it and smelt that you kissed him in it. I have no grudge. It’s just that I’ve seen the man and I don’t blame you. So, what about him?

Din Djarin: He’s handsome. But there’s someone I rather helmet-kiss. And I have already.

Boba Fett: Who?

Din Djarin: There’s... Paz Vizsla. My ex-boyfriend. We fight, physically and verbally. We’re a perfect Mandalorian match. He wanted marriage. He wanted to see my face. But I wasn’t ready for that commitment. But the helmet making-out was good. Even when we broke up, we sparred like we did. But then---

Boba Fett: Oh, someone else.

Din Djarin: That Jedi Skywalker. He gave me his number. I mean, it was likely in case Grogu changed his mind and I might need to pick him up but I noticed he put XOXOXOX “You Have a Handsome Face” and realized he was hitting on me. It took me months to realize what that meant. 

Boba Fett: Look, I respect who you admire, but Jedi Skywalker is a rancor killer. He might be a good Jedi teacher to you kid, but he’s a rancor killer. I was gonna suggest you marry Cobb Vanth because you kissed him, but you should really marry Paz Vizsla if he’ll take you back. You two are compatible, both Mandalorian, both devout.

Din Djarin: What?

Boba Fett: I’m just saying, physical intimacy without marriage is immoral.

---

LATER

*Fennec answers a knock on Jabba’s Palace* 

Fennec: Do you have an appointment?

Paz Vizsla: DIN DJARIN WILL YOU MARRY ME?

Fennec: What the wha?

Din Djarin: What’s my ex-boyfriend doing here?

Boba Fett: Oh, I tracked him down. Told him about you. And it turns out, according to your Way, if he marries you, that means you’re be married back into your clan and forgiven. Trust me, I did consult your Armorer.

Din Djarin: YOU DID WHAT?

Boba Fett: Hey, I respect you and it changes nothing about how I feel about you. But I feel better if I work with someone who would legitimize their pre-martial intimacy.

Din Djarin: I’M NOT READY FOR COMMITMENT.

Boba Fett: C’mon, I’ll can officiate the wedding. Just breathe. He’s your true love. Just breathe.

---

Din Djarin and Paz Vizsla at the altar.

Boba Fett: Dearly beloved, deadly beloved, we’re all gathered here... If anyone objects to the union between these two Mandos- speak now or forever hold--

Cobb Vanth: (Breaking in and holding flowers) MANDO! 

Boba Fett: Does anyone else object--

Mayfield: (Charging in and holding flowers) BROWN EYES, I TRACKED YOU DOWN. EVER SINCE I SAW YOUR BROWN EYES-

Din Djarin: Fett, they’re ruining our special day. Do something!

Boba Fett: Are you kidding? Let’s see how far this goes. You’re delicious!

Paz Vizsla: Dear, I’m actually curious to see how long this plays out.

Luke Skywalker: (Coming in with his cloak and hood all mysterious with Grogu slung around his chest) Din Djarin, I should have asked you sooner, will you raise this youngling with me? With your healthy parenting skills and my Jedi training, Grogu will grow up into a healthy adult and have access to both of his heritage.

Paz Vizsla: Oh man, you got great options here. I don’t wanna stand in the way of your best one.

Omera: (Holding flowers) I was gonna say something but now I’m gonna sit this one out.

[krawkpaladin]

Definitely. It's just taken me a hot minute to organize my thoughts as well as figure out how to best present the information while keeping spoilers to a spoiler section so that folks that want to play it don't accidentally ruin it for themselves.

So the player blurb for Wireless Soul Transmission can basically be summed up as follows:

Humanity had been granted a second chance. An advanced, space-faring empire found us, gave us access to the stars, and eventually, a second world to call home, Heibei. Technology advanced to the point where it seemed it could solve all problems: augmentations made us stronger and faster, direct neural interfaces let us communicate as fast as we could think, and the whole world was connected.

That was before the Whisper. Overnight, society on Heibei collapsed as a malevolent force took over pretty much every advanced piece of technology on Heibei, killing thousands and lobotomizing even more. The survivors were mostly those who didn't have neural interfaces, and some lucky few that somehow managed to avoid the Whisper's notice. The only constant is that anything that's connected to the wireless network that criss-crosses Heibei is at risk of being taken over by the Whisper. It can turn your friends against you, use your own augments to attack you, and even has legions of weird cybernetic creatures under its control that follow some unknowable objective. Even the remaining infrastructure that people can access is crippled, or serves as a beacon for the Whisper.

That was six years ago.

So, already pretty bleak. But like I said previously, this is a cyberpunk horror game, so it's gotta commit to the bit. You already know that the rest of the setting is a space opera, but the players won't start with that. It is scraping by to survive.

Mechanically, the game is a d20 system (if you have played any version of D&D, Pathfinder, lots of other games) you know the basics of how this works. You roll a 20-sided dice, add some modifiers, and if you meet a target number, you succeed. WST deviates in some pretty interesting ways though.

For one, combat is usually a very fleshed out core pillar of d20 games owing to their D&D heritage. WST does have everything you'd expect, like grid-based tactics with cover and rolling initiative at the start of the fight, so on and so forth. What WST doesn't have is hitpoints.

"But how can you have a highly-tactical combat layer without clearly defined hitpoints? How does armor work, don't tell me it just has light/heavy melee and light/heavy guns? I got a cyberpunk game and I want tables with decimal places in them damnit!"

WST doesn't track hitpoints, but instead uses a table that describes how much damage a weapon can do in four broad steps. For every weapon, you roll a d6, consult its chart on your character sheet, and the damage you do is based on that. A small handgun might at best shoot through a target on a 6, while a heavy rifle can do the same on a 5 or a 6. There's also armor penetration ratings, and if your weapon doesn't beat it, the damage is downgraded a step, so what would be a killing blow on an unarmored target might just leave a serious wound instead.

I like this because it leans into the random and chaotic nature of combat, and how it is always a risk to get in a fight. You don't have a pool of hitpoints to burn that you can get back with a good night's sleep, there's a chance that your arm gets cut off with a single swipe of a claw. (Okay, I did lie about hitpoints a bit. Heroic characters can downgrade crippling and deadly wounds to only a serious wound based on a tolerance derived from one of their stats, but a starting character will only have 3-4 and it takes augs to get to 5. Once you have serious wounds equal to your tolerance though, you have to accept the damage results.) So you might get lucky and just get out with cuts and bruises, or lost a limb or just actually die in the beginning of combat. Again, this is a horror sci-fi apocalypse where you are are desperate survivors, not monster hunters. HP pools would really take away from the intended play experience here. And even if you can find an aug to replace that missing arm, there's not exactly a lot of doctors around anymore since most were augmented to do their jobs better.

The other interesting thing is the Whipser itself. It is omnipresent in the world, even if it always isn't paying attention to the heroes. Most characters have an Intrusion Countermeasure (IC) score, which is how well they can defend against hacking attempts of all stripes. Some characters have no augmentations at all and are immune, but otherwise anyone is at risk. Sometimes it is the Whisper itself attacking, sometimes it is a digital servant. Sometimes even interacting with a piece of technology can cause the ambient presence of the Whisper to try and attack you. Of course, there are some pieces of electronics that the Whisper hasn't claimed yet, but if it uses any sort of sensor or communication (even non-wireless, because that's how far the Whisper has spread), there Whisper will eventually find it. Every round the device is used, the GM makes a hidden roll that counts down to the Whisper finding the device. And once the Whisper has control over a device, it has full control that it can exert at any time, including powering the device on and off.

The Whisper or its agents can even mess with your character's implants to make them see, hear, smell, and feel things that aren't there. While your character can go unconscious from believing they just got crushed under falling debris, that alone won't kill them. That's what the Whisper's agents are for.

Since this bit is getting kind of long winded, the last thing I'll touch on that I really like is the classes. Basically, these classes deeply tied into the setting in major ways. There's no fighters or sorcerers, but Disconnected and Ginbushi. Your class provides the major elements for your backstory. While the fine details change, if you're a Disconnected, you were either a child before the Whisper appeared or you were a survivalist who had rejected modern life or you were a surgeon who removed their own augmented arm, and all of these have gameplay effects. I appreciate that the book leans into its setting instead of trying to be general enough that it could be marketed as a supplement for a more well-known game that already is kind of bland from billing itself as able to do anything.

ANYWAYS, BELOW HERE ARE THE SPOILER PARTS, SO IF YOU EVER WANT TO BE A PC IN A GAME LIKE THIS, STOP READING. TRUST ME, YOU CAN'T UNLEARN THIS.

So, the Whisper. What is it? What does it want? Where's the rest of the Empire? Where did it come from?

Knowing anything about the Whisper changes the whole game. The Whisper is an AI. Of course it is, classic sci-fi bullshit, right? Well, AI is not Artificial Intelligence. It is an Ascended Intelligence. An intellect from a higher dimension than our own, capable of entering ours through sufficiently advanced electronics. The world it was discovered on was almost destroyed as the population fought back against it, and at best all they did was cut it off from our dimension by technologically regressing from a post-scarcity utopia to a weird mishmash of solar-powered electric engines tilling fields that farmers follow behind and plant seeds. The Whisper had promised them the gift of true artificial intelligence, and instead it became clear that it considered the aliens that had discovered it little more than cattle.

Humanity eventually came to the world, searching for the secret to artificial intelligence, with the backing of the Empire, and instead the scientific team accidentally unleashed the Whisper once again. Here is where the GM learns a very important fact about the Whisper: Wherever it has physically been present in our dimension, it can manifest again, even if every piece of advanced electronics were destroyed. It is at best trapped until a new computer is brought close to its influence. And it just hitched a ride into space, on board a massive ship with sector wide communications. The damage was almost instantaneous. The only thing that keeps the empire from collapsing is an equally mysterious being known as the Benefactor, which while it cannot defeat the Whisper, it is able to shunt the sector off into a parallel space so that the Whisper cannot escape into the universe. To the outside Empire, a massive sector of space has ceased to exist. Ships travel across the space instantaneously, and radio signals are reflected back.

Even with knowing all of this, it's not super clear what the Whisper actually is, but it is at least clear that it depends on organic life to propagate further into the universe, and that it somehow benefits from the emotions of living beings. So much of how the Whisper operates falls into place here. Why let some scavenger communities survive while others are wiped out? Why let organics get away with smaller acts of defiance and wait until they pose a more serious threat to crush them and show how powerful it actually is?

The Whisper is an incredible near-omnipotent villain. It does have some meaningful weaknesses. It depends on its servants to keep an eye on everything, as it is still a single intelligence that is not omniscient. It is powerful, but it has to focus to bring that power to bear. And it can be destroyed by another AI, which would permanently solve the problem. The team that discovered it did succeed in making a human AI that tried to fight against it and seriously wounded it, and the players can potentially restore it. The GM guide goes over some potential ways to defeat the Whisper, but that's the end of a campaign. But even if there is a victory the Whisper can never be understood. Is the universe at risk from a new AI if the party went that route? Are there other Whispers in the universe? The game doesn't go into these questions, and I think it's better for that. They want to help you tell a specific story in a specific way. There is enough that you could have modify some things and make a different genre of game, and they even say that they intended on making more games building off the same system. Alas, the game was published in 2018 and I can't find any further info on the studio, so it's safe to assume that this will remain the studio's only game.

It's a shame that this will likely be a game that is ultimately forgotten. There's a lot of interesting stuff that this game does, and I appreciate how it is clearly a game that is designed around its setting instead of the other way around. You can still get the PDF from DriveThruRPG if you're interested, though each book is normally $20. Apparently the Print-on-Demand was very expensive when it was available, so I imagine that they just didn't make any money on the books.

One last thing: the GM guide has a blow-by-blow of the campaign the writers ran, along with their commentary and extra context. It's one thing to have an example of play, but to have a post-mortem of a game that they themselves ran is something I wish more game books did. They talk about things they wished they did differently, what worked, what didn't work, and even how their campaign ended with a surprise for everyone.

It's not perfect, but it is certainly a game that I've read that has really stuck with me. If it ever got a second edition, I'd say that it'd need to move away from d20 and its D&D roots. I don't think that tactical combat is a good fit for this game. The skill list is bloated (there's a skill for controlling a gun's recoil. I mean, come on.), and some of the rules for character creation are in the back of the book instead of in, you know, character creation. I had to go looking for how tolerance was calculated. The character sheets are the classic 3.5 D&D Excel sheets. The armor and armor penetration system would've probably been better served by numbers instead of qualitative description.

Honestly, I'll probably never end up running the game. It's too complex for me to be satisfied with running a one-shot, but there are other games that emulate the genres this game covers better. I can't depend on being able to tell my players "Hey, this is basically D&D but with an extra rule or two."

But hey, Cthulhutech is getting a second edition somehow, so maybe we'll see Wireless Soul Transmission 2E someday. Who knows?

Anyways, that's my thinkin'. Thanks for reading if you got this far.

Have you ever read through a TTRPG that combines its setting and rules in a way you find really neat but you literally can't talk about it with anyone because anything more than a cursory overview will make having that person play the game impossible from the meta knowledge they will now have?

Wireless Soul Transmission is living rent free in my head and I guess it's going to stay there.