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dustedmagazine · 6 months ago

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Listening Post: Mdou Moctar

Mdou Moctar is, without question, one of the pre-eminent rock guitarists of our time, as much a master of heavy, hazy grooves as of double-tapped Van Halen-esque shreddery. His music is steeped in a very specific desert blues aesthetic, the swaying, side-to-side rhythms that evoke camel caravans, the keening call and response that suggests lonely attempts at communion in remote campsites, the hard-bashed but intricate percussion, the silky multi-colored tunics that the band sports onstage. And yet, it’s universal in the same amp fried lineage as Jimi Hendrix, Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck, Eddie Hazel and, oh right, Eddie van Halen.

Dusted has been enamored of Mdou Moctar for quite some time, beginning with Patrick Masterson’s highly entertaining review of the Akounak Tedalat Taha Tazoughai OST in 2015—the music for a remake of Prince’s Purple Rain in the Tamashek language— on Sahel Sounds.Masterson observed, “The idea of a Tuareg Purple Rain would have been unthinkable in 1984, not least of all because —and I cannot stress enough how funny I find this — there is no Tamashek word for ‘purple.’ Yet, 31 years later, here we are — the magic of a smaller world has helped bring an academic outsider’s joke to life. The punchline, of course, is that it’s as good as advertised.”

We collectively fell for Ilana (The Creator) and its out-of-hand shredding in 2019.Isaac Olsen noted, “If you still have a punk-induced allergy to flashy guitar solos, be warned; there’s not a track on Ilana where Moctar doesn’t take every available opportunity to — no other word for it — shred. Fortunately, Moctar earns the right to play his ass off by recruiting a band whose hungry energy matches and spurs on his own and by, for the first time, writing a whole album of tunes worthy of his chops.” The record brought a normally fractious Dusted roster to unity and dominated the 2019 Mid-Year feature.

Two years later, Afrique Victime won praise for its less showy, more groovy vibe. Said Jennifer Kelly in her review, “While he’s been one of rock music’s best guitarists for a while, the larger platform takes him out of the niche desert blues category and into the broader multinational arena. He might be excused for capitalizing by leaning into the rock elements of his sound, but instead, he’s putting forward the droning, mystic, call-and-response twilight magic of northwest African guitar music.”

And so we come to Funeral for Justice, another scorcher. The new record is as sharp and impassioned as any Moctar and his band have done so far, and it is inflamed with political energy. It comes after a period of exile after civil war in Niger. It calls out the injustices of colonialism, economic inequality and exploitation in cuts including the title track, “Oh France” and “Modern Slaves.” It cooks on the strength of a band that has never sounded better or more locked in, and it has one or two guitar solos, too.

Intro by Jennifer Kelly

Jennifer Kelly: How are you all liking the new Mdou Moctar? I’m feeling like it’s the best thing he’s ever done, not different exactly but more intense and volcanic. Definitely turned up to 11.

Bill Meyer: My first reaction is that while Funeral For Justice definitely foregrounds the shredding, I miss the layered sound of Afrique Victime. But I’m tickled to hear the increased prominence of electronic percussion and autotune. It’s kind of a roots move, given that the first time a lot of people heard him was on a tune originally identified only as “Autotune,” which appeared on the Sahel Sounds compilation, Music From Saharan Cellphones.

Tim Clarke: I saw Mdou Moctar live last year at a music festival, and it was very loud and thrilling. This is the first time I've listened to a full album. It makes me realize how little I'm drawn to fast guitar playing! And the band's trademark "cantering" rhythm feels like a bit of a musical rut. But when they explore outside these parameters, things get more interesting, especially when they play around with a mix of recording fidelities at the start of second track, "Imouhar." I also like the fact the record is concise and well-paced. Definitely piqued my interest to hear more of what the band can do.

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Christian Carey: The combination of desert blues and intense rock solos is amazing - and fairly singular. The group vocals create an appealing contrast to Mdou's shredding.

I'm not sure that he can raise the intensity level any higher than this — turned up to 12?

Jennifer Kelly: I'm so glad you guys picked up on this. Lots to think about.

First regarding Bill's comment about a "rootsier" sound, it's complicated isn't it?

We look to third world artists for authenticity, which in its most reductive form means less electrification, fewer electronics, etc. But as Bill points out, Mdou's early stuff was heavily autotuned, as for instance here:

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And a lot of the Sahel Sounds’ (and thanks, Bill, for making sure we gave them credit for being first with this stuff) cellphone compilations have a very slick, disco-electronic vibe. And that's music largely produced for African audiences without much consideration of a global audience. So which is authentic?

Also, my understanding, Tim, is that the rhythm is based on the way camels walk and a nod to West Africa's nomadic culture and heritage? You hear the same beat in Tinawarin's stuff.

Tim Clarke: I can definitely hear the camel's gait in the cantering rhythm section, that slightly awkward, loping feel. It's certainly unique.

Bryon Hayes: The almost hard rock riff in the intro of the title track originally confused me (did I put the right album on?), but I found it really powerful upon further spins of the album, especially how it segues into the cantering rhythm. Also, the roar as the lower fidelity section of “Imouhar” transitions to a higher fidelity is downright mind-melting! He’s experimenting with song form, and it really works.

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Michael Rosenstein: As much as I've liked Mdou Moctar's music, I have to admit that this one is starting to lose me a bit. But that has way more to do with my musical proclivities than it does to the music at hand. What originally drew me to Moctar's music was the rawness of it; that uneasy balance of "shredding" that others have mentioned with a trance-like, cyclical flow. That was really foregrounded in his early albums like Afelan or Anar both of which were released a decade ago. This new one sounds, to my ears, much more heavily produced and fussed over. I admit, though, that I'm really uneasy with my assessment in that, as much as I hope I'm not, I fear I am just bringing my old, white, privileged judgement to bear. Is this just me judging that the music is no longer "authentic" enough? Or is it just that he is embracing the rock leanings inherent to his music and that just resonates less with me?

I do find it curious that, as far as I can tell, none of Moctar's music on Sahel Sounds is available anymore (including the one track on Music from Saharan Cellphones: Volume 2 referenced by Bill.) I have no idea if that is by his choice, by contractual obligations with Matador, or by the choice of the Sahel Sounds folks.

Jennifer Kelly: I noticed that those records were missing, too, when I looked for the Sahel Sounds records to hear the autotune. I wonder what happened?

Some of the songs are still very trance-y..."Imouhar," for example, especially at the beginning (it gets loud later), "Takoba" all the way through. The production seems about the same as on Afrique Victime to me, clean but not overly so. (Though, I will admit that I probably like the rock stuff more than Michael does.)

We haven't really talked about the political backdrop to this record, have we? The fact that Civil War in Niger has left them stranded in the States since 2023. I don't speak Tamshek but it seems that a lot of the songs with English titles are about politics and colonialism, which may affect the way they play and present the material, yes? It's different from writing songs about village life or falling in love with the local beauty.

Ian Mathers: I'll admit, there's at least a part of me that wishes this whole record was just unabashedly Going For It as hard as the opening title track does. Not that I don't like the relatively more restrained material; I'm not terribly knowledgeable about African music in general but "Takoba" reminds me of one of the few records from the continent I do very much know and love, the one Ali Farka Toure did with Ry Cooder (Talking Timbuktu) that my dad played all the time when I was in high school. Toure was from Mali, which at least shares a border with Niger, so hopefully I'm not being too ignorant hearing similarities in some of the guitar playing there. The more monomaniacally the band gets cooking here, generally, the more I like it (I really like "Sousoume Tamacheq," for example). I think I probably like it a little more than (the also excellent!) Afrique Victime, although I think for similar but opposite reasons to Michael, that it's just more to my taste and not necessarily a better record.

I'd also love to see a full set of lyrics/translations, and everything I've read about the sociopolitical context of the band and this music has been fascinating, but mostly right I'm just appreciating and enjoying this record in a similar way to, say, Oneida's "Sheets of Easter" or that U SCO record I picked for our 2023 Slept On round up.

Tim Clarke: Further to what you're saying about enjoying the "everything on 11" aspect of Moctar's sound, I can't help wondering what the band would sound like recorded by Steve Albini. That I'd like to hear!

Ian Mathers: Oh, good point; maybe because we talked about African Head Charge a while back I'm now also wondering what Adrian Sherwood would make of them.

Bill Meyer: I don’t think you’re too far off the mark in seeing a similarity between Moctar’s and Ali Farka Toure’s music, Ian. Toure worked with the languages and styles of several ethnic groups from the Malian interior, soI’m sure he would have been acquainted with the precedents for what Moctar does. Moctar is from subsequent generation, so his music is more in touch with what has been popular in the Sahel in this century. But another thing they both have in common is that they’ve been worked a lot on non-African stages, gotten hold of gear that isn’t particularly available back home, and undergone a personal course of development on a world stage.

Their politics are different, though. I think Toure was the mayor (or something similar) of his town. He was pretty invested in fostering the stability of the existing Malian state, thus all the songs in different languages that encouraged people to get along. He was the big man in town who responsibly leveraged his popularity as a musician to obtain resources for his community. Your CD purchases generated income for Niafunke’s farming community. Moctar, on the other hand, was just another guy on the street, albeit an artistically ambitious one, until musical opportunities permitted him to tour and make records outside of Niger. His stance, as far as I can grasp it, is critical of African leaders who don’t look out for their people, and even more critical of the foreign powers that have run roughshod over his country (mostly France and the US).

Matador came through with the lyrics.

[Here are some excerpts.]

“ FUNERAL FOR JUSTICE”

Dear African leaders, hear my burning question

Why does your ear only heed France and America?

They misled you into giving up your lands

They delightfully watch you in your fraternal feud

They possess the power to help out but chose not to

Why is that? When your rights are trodden upon

“ MODERN SLAVES”

Oh world, why be so selective about human beings?

My people are crying while you laugh

All you do is watch

Oh world, why be so selective about counrties?

Yours are well built while ours are being destroyed

Yours are well built while ours are being destroyed.

Jennifer Kelly: Wow, that is fiery stuff.

Ian Mathers: I can also see in the translated lyrics even more of a connection between the two countries, with Tamasheq described as "A helpless orphan abandoned by 3 countries / Mali-Niger, Niger-Mali and Algeria as the third." Interesting to note the gap between Toure and Moctar's respective places in society (at least right now, for Moctar). I didn't specifically think of reggae when I was reading the lyrics, Bill, but once you point it out there does seem to be a number of shared themes, maybe even some metaphors and imagery, there.

#dusted magazine #listening post #mdou moctar #funeral for justice #matador #sahel sounds

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rachellesedai · 16 days ago

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The Seeker's Prayer

Here is part two of my story for the @inklings-challenge 2024!

Team: Lewis Genre: Space Travel Themes: Instruct the ignorant/Pray for living and dead Word Count: 3,229 [PART 1] | 3,839 [PART 2]

PART 2

Zavion awoke with a start, his datapad on his chest. A yellow blinking light indicated its power cell was drained. How long had he been asleep? The lights in the reading room were at a dim glow. The room was silent apart from the ever present soft whirr of the server banks. He stretched aching muscles and staggered to his feet. Carefully, he secured the manuscript he had requested, returning it to stasis. With a yawn, he gathered his few belongings and took a step toward the curtained entrance of the alcove. A flurry of urgent whispers anchored him to the spot. Shuffling footsteps followed a hushed exchange too low for him to make out. He peered out between the curtains and saw two emissaries with hoods drawn up hurrying down the hall.

Zavion watched as they approached a transportlift across the wide passage and entered a complex code. Zavion waited a long moment after the two had entered the lift and departed. He should really go back to his quarters and go to bed. Morning and another day of filing plastisheets would be here all too soon. With a sigh, Zavion walked over to the lift. He knew a mystery such as this would keep him awake for whatever was left of the night.

Thanks to a long afternoon helping Emissary Ilana Karri repair several malfunctioning transportlifts, he knew the admin code to recall the last destination. His hand trembled slightly as he punched in the code and entered the lift. His stomach dropped as the module descended swiftly, plunging deep into the mountain. The doors slid open onto a dark stone corridor that curved slightly to the left, making any guess to where it led impossible. The light from the lift cast a weak glow, but there was no other source of illumination. Zavion hesitated. He dug through his pockets and found his small reading light. Switching it on, he took a deep breath and entered the corridor. The lift slid shut behind him and he was alone in the dark.

Zavion reached out and placed one hand on the wall next to the lift. Holding his light high with his other hand, he followed the curve of the passage, winding ever deeper into the depths below the library. Voices brought him to a halt and he extinguished his light, feeling his way along until he could see a small group clustered in a large, open gallery carved out of the rock.

The central figure was reciting something, words that sent a tremor through him even before he recognized them. The man was speaking in High Dakari, a language only found in the Empire’s oldest records and no longer spoken by any living race. Zavion had studied it, like every serious scholar, but he had never expected to hear it outside of classroom recitations.

Translating in his head, he recognized a few familiar phrases. It was the Canticle of Avrum spoken in high chant, but a longer, more complex version than any he had ever heard. The ancient prayer was attributed to the Blessed Prophet himself. Its chief importance was in it being the oldest record of the Order’s mandate to spread throughout the galaxy and seek new species.

Zavion shook his head. What was going on here? Why were these emissaries meeting in the middle of the night? He edged closer. The rock wall was cool on his skin as he pressed against it. The chanting trailed off and silence reined for a few moments. Zavion held his breath.

A robed figure stood and raised his hands. “Let us pray together,” he said. Zavion held in a gasp. He knew that voice. Narrowing his eyes, he strained to make out details. It had to be Steward Ebrim. The man’s build was right and the voice was unmistakable. The group knelt on the hard ground and began to speak in turn. They were calling out to the creator, asking for his help, praising his goodness.

Zavion put a hand to his mouth. This was more than just a few brother emissaries being a little too obsessed with tradition. This could actually be a resurgence of the ancient Cult of the Seekers. Indignation and disbelief warred within him. The group started singing, a haunting melody that echoed off the walls of the corridor. He turned and fled. The last thing he wanted was to be caught spying by a group of fanatics.

Safe back in his quarters, Zavion paced the room. The situation was unheard of. What was he supposed to do? Reporting the aberration would definitely get him the transfer he wanted. Zavion flushed, ashamed of the thought as soon as it formed. He took a deep breath and tried to reconcile what he had seen with what he knew of the emissaries he had met since coming to Karatu.

Whatever their religious inclinations, the people here were good. Perhaps a little boring and scholarly for his taste, but they were certainly not rebels fomenting an overthrow of the Empire. He did not want to cause a scandal and throw the entire library into turmoil. Who knew how many reputations would be destroyed or how much scholarly work discredited?

“As long as I don’t let on I know their secret everything will be fine,” Zavion said to himself, “No one knows I saw anything. I’ll forget it ever happened.” With this decision made, Zavion changed into his nightclothes, climbed into bed, and proceeded to think about nothing else.

Zavion almost jumped out of his skin the next morning when Davix clapped his hand on his shoulder as he picked at the sweet bread he had brought back to the table for morning meal.

“Where were you last night?” Davix asked.

“What?” Zavion almost choked on a crumb of sweet bread, his mouth suddenly dry. “I wasn’t anywhere. Why?”

“We were going to play a game of stones before nightfall, but you weren’t in your rooms.” He laughed. “You weren’t poking around parts of the library you shouldn’t, were you?”

Zavion shook his head, his heart racing as he feigned what he hoped looked like casual indifference. “Nothing so interesting. I fell asleep in the reading room. I’m afraid I was much more concerned with Ebrim catching me out after curfew and quite forgot about our game.”

Davix shrugged. “No matter. We can try again tonight.” He paused, as if he were going to ask something else, but only shook his head and departed. Zavion breathed a sigh of relief, but the feeling didn’t last long. His datapad beeped and Zavion looked to find a message from Steward Ebrim asking him to report to his study after morning meal.

Zavion disposed of the sweet bread, unable to eat another bite and drank down the last of his hot caf. He set the cup down with a trembling hand and forced himself to walk calmly to the steward’s study. Once there, Zavion knocked and waited for the man’s soft “enter�� before opening the door.

Steward Ebrim sat at his desk, rifling through papers. He did not look up as Zavion entered, but continued to sort through the large stack of documents in front of him. Zavion stood straight, sweaty hands tightening into fists inside the sleeves of his robe.

“Sit,” Ebrim finally said, “I assume you have some questions.”

“About what?” Zavion stammered, folding himself into the chair opposite Ebrim.

“Don’t play me for the fool, my boy,” Ebrim said with a sharp look that seem to pin Zavion like a fly caught in a spider’s gaze, “I know you were there last night, in the catacombs.”

Zavion slumped. “How?”

“I take care to erase all record of our comings and goings on evenings like last night. An extra lift transport with your borrowed admin code was a bit obvious.”

“Oh.” Zavion sucked in a breath. He stared at Ebrim, who looked back calmly as if they were discussing an interesting point in a text they were translating. “Why?” he blurted out, “Why risk so much?”

Ebrim sighed. “A strong desire to know the truth and live accordingly.” He raised an eyebrow, his ears drooping as Zavion’s mouth fell open.

“What truth? There is no scientific proof that the creator exists. Even if it is the tradition of our Order to attribute our mandate to the Prophet Avrum, no one actually believes he communed with an all-powerful creator.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ebrim said, “The number of people who do believe is precisely why what you witnessed last night is so dangerous. I half expected the Matori to be on our doorstep this morning.”

Zavion blinked at his mention of the Empire’s elite shock troops. “The Matori?” He almost laughed, but the sound died in his throat at the sobering look in Ebrim’s eyes. “The situation might merit academic censure… a review of the participants work, perhaps…” he trailed off.

Ebrim shook his head. “To the Empire, the Seekers, beings throughout the galaxy who believe in the original mission of Avrum, are a real and present threat. They give no quarter when eradicating any who sympathize with our beliefs.”

Zavion took a shuddering breath. “Do you advocate overthrowing the Empress?”

“No.” Ebrim straightened. “We would like the truth to come out, of course, but mostly we want to be able to worship the Creator in peace.”

Zavion grasped his head in his hands. “What truth?” he almost shouted.

Ebrim tapped his fingers on the desk, his eyes narrowing. “I suppose it will do no harm to tell you at this point.” He leaned forward. “What we are taught about early galactic history is the barest outline of the events surrounding the foundation of the Empire. What most do not know is that we possess an abundance of records, both from that time period and the centuries following its early expansion.”

Zavion shook his head, the scholar within him offended that the texts he had spent so much time looking for might actually exist somewhere. “Why would the Empire suppress such knowledge?”

“Because it does not fit their narrative of how they gained supremacy. It is true that Avrum lived on Dakardr and his brother, Lexrun, was a leader of their people. However, Lexrun was only a prominent figure in what was a cooperative government of the planets orbiting the star, Alestria. It was Avrum who was held in high regard, even in the neighboring star systems. His writings were carefully preserved by his followers, the original emissaries. These men went out and spread the word of Avrum, which was a message of hope and a quest for something more.

As belief in the Creator spread, the Order became more established. They kept records on every species they encountered and soon had amassed more knowledge than any individual planet or system possessed. At first, they were consulted as intermediaries when disputes broke out between different groups. Systems came together, some more powerful than others. Dynasties rose and fell, but the Order remained. Then about six hundred years after the time of Avrum, the leaders of Dakardr decided that since their planet held all the knowledge, they should also hold all the power. Some among the emissaries agreed and allowed the government to use their knowledge of all the other species to conquer them.

As Dakardr’s power grew, the Order was relegated to a supporting role, and, as governments are wont to do, its ruling cooperative devolved into tyranny and the first true Emperor of Alestria was crowned.”

Zavion rubbed his forehead, trying to absorb this radically different version of what he held to be the history of his people. “Even if this is true, if the Empire’s rise to power wasn’t as clean and simple as most think, what does that have to do with your belief in the creator? How does it change the historical fact that Avrum was simply a wise man who brought people together and encouraged them to respect each species’ culture as adding to, instead of taking away from, their own?”

“Because the Empire hid more than its dubious beginnings,” Ebrim said, slapping his desk, “They suppressed the writings of Avrum himself, which give a completely different perspective on what our Order originally believed and what our very purpose is.”

“And what purpose is that? What are you seeking?”

Ebrim shook his head. “I’ve said enough. Much more and you won’t be able to claim ignorance.” He paused, his ears twitching. “What do you intend to do?”

Zavion blinked. “Do?”

“Are you going to report us to the Empire? I understand if you feel it your duty, but I hope I have gained enough respect in your eyes that you would inform me of your intentions.”

“I would never…” Zavion stammered, “I don’t agree with what you are doing, but I see no need to involve the Matori.”

“Very well.” Ebrim eyed him with interest. “I would ask you not to tell anyone about what we have discussed here or what you saw last night.”

Zavion stood and gave the steward a formal bow. “I give you my word,” he said, “but…” he paused, looking away, “May I ask more questions at a later date?”

“Of course,” Ebrim said, a hint of a smile in his eyes. “For now, you should get back to work. It wouldn’t do for today to seem any more unusual.”

Zavion nodded and left the study, his head in a whirl.

Zavion completed his daily routine, meticulously proofing plastisheets, packing them up for transport, and joining two other emissaries to help prepare the evening meal. He attended to each task with a laser focus that blocked out all other thoughts. He was beginning to think he might actually be able to proceed as if everything were normal when Davix showed up at his door for their game of stones.

Zavion pulled his only other chair over to his desk and Davix set up the pieces on the checkered board. They played a few moves in silence, Zavion losing two pieces to a careless mistake.

Davix eyed him as he collected the two white stones. “Head not in the game tonight?”

“I’m just tired,” Zavion replied.

Davix pushed an upright gray stone forward. “You were closeted with Steward Ebrim for quite a while this morning,” he said with a studied indifference.

The hairs on the back of Zavion’s arms stood on end. The statement seemed too pointed to be coincidental. He shrugged, moving an oval pearlescent stone to counter Davix’s move. “He found out I’ve been looking into a transfer.”

“You’ve been begging anyone who will listen,” Davix laughed. “Was he extolling the virtues of the library and the importance of the old ways?”

Zavion nodded, wondering what he meant by old ways. Did he suspect just how traditional Ebrim’s beliefs were? “It’s not that I don’t think it’s important,” Zavion said, trying to sound as annoyed as usual, “It’s just not for me.”

Davix nodded slowly, returning his attention to the game and Zavion’s shoulders relaxed. He was being paranoid. There was no double meaning behind his friend’s comment. He just needed a good night’s sleep and everything would go back to normal.

The next day was anything but normal. Zavion awoke to the entire library buzzing like an overturned skimmet’s nest. The great hall was deserted, plates of half-finished meals left abandoned, chairs pushed out or toppled over. Emissaries rushed to and fro down the passageways. Some gathered in tiny knots of heated conversation, others carried large satchels of belongings as if they were leaving on foot. Not a few glared at him when he tried to approach.

Panic rising in his chest, Zavion hurried to Steward Ebrim’s study. The door was ajar. He pushed it open to find Ebrim vaporizing a small pile of plastisheets.

“What is happening?” Zavion demanded from the doorway.

Ebrim’s eyes snapped up. “Oh. It’s you,” he said, waving Zavion forward, “I was about to come looking for you.”

“What?” Zavion’s knees wobbled as he made his way forward and grasped the back of the chair he had occupied the morning before.

“The Matori are coming,” Ebrim said, his voice crisp and matter of fact, “They will be here by nightfall.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Zavion stammered, his grip tightening until his knuckles whitened.

“I know,” Ebrim replied, “Which is why I wanted to speak to you. I need you to do something for me.”

Zavion nodded, his throat tightening on the millions of questions that flooded his mind. “Of course,” he choked out, “What do you need me to do?”

“Take this.” Ebrim removed the Star of Avrum from around his neck and held it out to Zavion. He accepted with trembling hands.

“I don’t understand.”

“Switch it with yours,” Ebrim said, turning back to his desk, “No one will notice. They are all identical to the naked eye.”

Zavion did as he was told. “What is special about this one?”

“It contains a data crystal with the writings of Avrum and the location of where we have hidden copies off all the ancient texts. That is what we have been doing here, preserving the knowledge before it is lost forever. If you find another Seeker pass it on, if not�� Knowing the knowledge is out there will be enough.”

“Why are you trusting me with this?” Zavion swallowed. “And why can’t one of you take it out of here?”

Ebrim shook his head. “It is too late for that, my boy. The Matori will ferret out every last one of us. They will never suspect you, a fresh recruit who has been pestering every department imaginable for a transfer out of this ancient pile.” His eyes twinkled. “As for why I trust you…” Ebrim smiled, his ears perking up. “You have a good heart and you want to believe, I can feel it.”

Zavion held the pendant in both hands. “How do you know? That the Matori are coming,” he clarified.

“We intercepted a transmission late last night. It was the Ahiri.”

“Davix?” Zavion gasped. “It couldn’t be…” he faltered as he remembered his friend’s odd comments and the strange feeling he’d gotten the night before. His knees felt weak. “I don’t want to believe it,” he said, scrubbing at his eyes, “How could he betray you like that?”

“I told you. Most see the Seekers as subversives.” Ebrim shook his head. “Poor man, he probably felt he was doing his duty.” He sighed. “What’s done is done. Do not worry about him now. He is locked in his quarters where he can do no more harm.”

Zavion sank into the chair. “What are you going to do? Is there time for you to escape?”

“No. Some may try, but I am the Steward and the leader of our fellowship of Seekers. They will not rest until they find me.”

“What about me?” Zavion flushed, his cheeks hot. “Davix knows I have been spending a great deal of time under your tutelage.”

“Not enough,” Ebrim said, “There is so much I want to tell you, but there simply isn’t time. Remember this. We are seekers because we are looking for something.”

“What?” Zavion asked, leaning forward.

Ebrim shook his head. “There is too much to do. As for you, tell the Matori the truth about what you saw, even what I told you the next morning. Just keep what is in the star I gave you a secret. You will understand when you read it.” He put a firm hand on Zavion’s shoulder. “I pray that the Creator keep you safe.”

The next few hours played out much as Steward Ebrim had predicted. The Matori, fierce in their unadorned black armor descended upon the library, sealing exits and sequestering its inhabitants. No corner was left unchecked.

Zavion waited in his quarters, pacing up and down the small room. He had been questioned briefly, faring better than most, it seemed. Zavion shivered, unable to forget the screams that had echoed down the halls as he was escorted to his interview. He had done as Ebrim instructed, though shame had burned within him, fear had frozen it out. His rambling answers had satisfied the dour Matori, and he was sent back to his room like a naughty child. As he left, he had heard Davix’s name linked with his and the thought that the man had vouched for him made his stomach roil.

The next morning everyone was herded into the great hall. Zavion watched, a painful lump in his throat, as the Matori carted away racks of servers and cartons of stasis modules. His fellow emissaries were battered and bruised, some staring with vacant eyes, others openly weeping. Davix was nowhere to be seen.

A tall Matori with a red slash across his helmet strode into the room. “Bring forth the accused,” he bellowed.

Steward Ebrim and several other emissaries were marched in, their hands bound in flexicuffs. Zavion sucked in a breath. The prisoners all bore signs of a night spent enduring the Matori’s brutal interrogation methods. Bile rose as they were lined up against the wall.

This can’t be happening, Zavion thought. The tall Matori read something aloud about crimes against the Empire, but all Zavion heard was a high-pitched buzzing in his ears. The room seemed to spin and blur. The Matori raised their weapons. He couldn’t turn away.

Ebrim held his head high, his eyes still shining with cheerful confidence. He’s going to meet his creator, Zavion thought as weapons flashed and silence reigned.

Months passed before Zavion even dared to look at the data crystal. Finally given leave after his “ordeal,” he caught a ship home and trekked far out into the wooded wilderness beyond the tiny village he had hoped to never see again. Far from prying eyes, he spent several weeks translating the clue to the code to unlock the files. At last, with trembling hands, he accessed the writings of Avrum that Ebrim and the others had given their lives for.

In the stillness, I heard the Creator’s voice and he said, “Go and seek among the varied creatures of the cosmos. Make note of their stories and traditions, and in time you will find the blessed world, made holy by my hand. Its people I have anointed and have entrusted to them the truth that may know me and learn my ways. This sign I give to you, that you may know you have found my people. This blessed world is the single place in the vast universe where I, the Creator, entered into his own creation, spirit and matter, two natures, but one God.”

Zavion took a shuddering breath. He did not yet understand, but his heart was burning within his chest and he knew he wanted to believe. He wanted to know the Creator. He was a Seeker, like Ebrim. In a low whisper, he began to pray.

#inklingschallenge #team lewis #genre: space travel #theme: instruct #theme: pray #story: complete #rachel writes

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jt1674 · 1 year ago

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#mdou moctar #ilana the creator #tarhatazed

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penginlord · 1 year ago

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Here's a list of all my D&D characters that I have, but haven't used in a while and need too before I go mad. I need to talk about them before I go insane.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Felis Brokenblade (real name: Ilana Tanner. She's forgotten it by now)

Human battlemaster fighter with a focus on duel-wielding chain whips

"I didn't do it I didn't do it I didn't do it I didn't do it"

-insane. Crazy even.

-assested and jailed for the violent murder of several people. Is completely innocent and was framed.

-was in the dungeons of a Fortress For like. . .10-15 years

-the messiest longest red hair

-got out of the dungeons of a Fortress by an "act of god" (by some means the fortress was struck by a great disaster. Everyone else died or evacuated, leaving her to have to escape or die).

-uses the shackles on her wrists with chains still attached as whips in combat.

-Keen mind. Remembers everything.

-Kinda stole her new name from one of the guards who was vaguely nice to her (Knight Avery Felis Lancer)

Fethnat Bramblewood.

Satyr Juggernaut barbarian.

"I can do it! I'm strong and capable ok!"

-satyr daughter to adoptive halfling parents. They practically run an orphanage for abandoned kids, and are very loving. But also protective.

-She's not the smartest. But she's very sincere.

-not taken seriously by anyone. Desperately wants to be taken seriously.

-honestly tries to hide her fuckups because she wants to be taken seriously.

-shes a big strong lady who wants to be a respected member of law enforcement.

-absolutely doing her best.

-hides her insecurities deep down because she needs to put on a strong face.

Ivan O'Dargen

Human college of spirits bard

"The world is meant to be explored and understood. But know this, not all of it can be tamed"

-late 19th century explorer archetype. Artic explorers spesifically.

-glorious muttonchops (important to his character)

-captain of the Northwest Expedition Team, based out of Neverwinter.

-is the sole survivor of every past iteration of his team.

-heavy survivors guilt only offset by his belief that he must keep living to keep the memories of those lost alive.

-will do his darn best to help anyone else he sees struggling with the same guilt he has, or even just PTSD or other mental stresses.

-every spirits tale he tells is of an expedition Team member.

-big leadership man. But in a support way.

-believes in diplomacy first. Will still punch you in the face if diplomacy doesn't work.

-plays the bagpipes (important to his character)

Katya Stautale

Warforged clockwork soul sorcerer

"I never knew there was so much beauty out in the world."

-very pretty???

-designed too look very human. With porcelain skin to be more "like a doll"

-delicate penmanship.

-she was told that she was built to be a demonstration of skill, and as something which can help humans

-She accepted this, and definitely wanted to do it well. But felt something strange about herself.

-considers her team of creators her parents. Loves them very much.

-Actually built with insane destructive magic abilities and as a secret weapon for the kind, although most of that's still in development.

-oops she accidentally discovered some of this power after a freak magic accident.

-oops she snuck out of her workshop and ran away with the first group of heros she met to use this fledgling power to help people

-she has no idea how dangerous she is

-shes just out there, happy as can be

-frolicking even

-so innocent, yet so determined to help.

-she will eventually accidentally blow up a town or something. Probably.

-she seems so well adjusted and mentally stable. Don't let her fool you. She's already fooled herself.

Valory Mason (my beloved)

Human Glamor bard and fathomless warlock

"Don't worry about it darling, not everyone can get what they want"

-plays the banjo

-"ex" prostitute (self employed)

-horny, but with some standards.

-yeah if she finds out you're married when you try and hire her as a prostitute she will refuse your.

-If she finds out you were married after you use her services as a prostitute, she will find your wife and tell her.

-ex con woman (definitely)

-primarily an adventurer trying to help people rn to better herself as a person

-has a daughter. (divorced + lost custody)

-ok she was a prostitute first, but also a con woman because life is a struggle and she needed to really make ends meet.

-then she fell in love with someone and tried to change her life for the better.

-he learned of her past, but not from her, and left. He still loves her? Maybe? It would've actually gone well if she hadn't been afraid to tell him in the first place

-honestly she still loves him too. And loves her daughter as well. She just has no idea how to be a mother and is scared of messing it all up

-of being a shitty role model for her daughter

-so she wants to better herself before trying to go back.

-at the least she just wants to see her daughter once more and know she's being raised well.

-absolutely would pay child support if that existed. (Probably still will on she has income. Becoming an adventurer was more for the self improvement, not the money)

-Never love an Anchor by the Crane Wives

-oh yeah she got cursed by The Void too.

-whiks being an adventurer.

-it was a whole thing.

Lady Luella Ivy Grimm

Tiefling necromancer.

"Evil and good is not darkness and light. It's how such concepts are applied which makes them evil, or good"

-peak goth

-has an undead raven familiar named Edgar

-comes from a Noble house with a long, dark and fucked up past. Demons and dark magic stuff, the usual.

-the current generation is trying to undo some of that evil

-tiefling born to human parents, they still love her. Let her learn necromancy from the court magician

-responsible necromancy. Like, asking souls for permission and giving them a second chance in the world of the living, even if short lived.

-thinks bones are neat.

-genuinely believes that everything has a good too it. That everyone has good inside them.

-this has caused her problems.

-she understands that one's evil can outweigh their good, but always initially assumes for the good.

-finds beauty in death and nature's cycles involving it.

-very respectful noble woman. Treated everyone kindly.

-uses a shovel as her main weapon if enemies get to close

-it doubles to help her dig up graves

-my most emotionally healthy and stable character.

Gwendolyn

Tiefling Chronomancer

-she ran away from her negligent parents at a young age. (Before running off she spent a lot of time reading books in libraries and temples)

-abandoned her old name, instead choosing her current one because she thought it was pretty.

-she went up to the first wizard tower she could find and basically demanded to learn magic

-the first wizard she encountered was a little gnome who was absolutely delighted to be approached by someone wanting to learn magic

-incredibly well-read. Love's reading, learning, and developing her skill with magic and helping her new village with her skills

-has a cat. Nathaniel is his name, and he's the fluffiest mother fucker you've ever seen.

-she has a really cool staff with a clock on it.

-very smart and caring. Truly the most mentally stable character I have.

Chien Jia

Human samurai fighter

-comes from the very distant lands too the east of the Sword Coast, Kara Tur.

-trained from a young age to be a warrior for her village. Expessially trained with the use of a crossbow, too the point she can basically rapid-fire one.

-very well trained in the arts along with the doctrines of war. Had hopes and ideas towards potentially becoming a general, or even a military advisor too the Emperor. Lofty ambitions.

-one night started receiving rather intense dreams about some abyssal apocalypse happening to some strange land too the west

-experienced these for a while, and quite concerned about them. Has discovered mad scrawlings on some of her weapons and gear after the dreams, all in abyssal. (Some of which she understands?)

-she approached mystics and her mentor about these dreams, and was told she was go west to resolve them. The gods must be sending her a warning, or message.

-has begun her journey to a strange land of unknown customs. Has not found any details regarding her strange visions as of yet.

Poetry Irebras

Tiefling Transmutation Wizard

-one of the first generations of tieflings (at least for the campaign I'm planning on using her in)

-Relatively young.

-When she was born her parents considered her a bad omen, and she was "abandoned" by them.

-abandoned meaning they dumped her on her grandfather, an old wizard who doesn't care much about "Demonic appearances" or "Bad Omens". Honestly being raised by him was probably one of the best things to happen in her early childhood

-He even started teaching her magic! Overall he's the most chill of old men and wizards. Although due to his advanced age, he's not the best spellcaster.

-At one point the nearby village heard rumors about "a devil learning magic", which lead too the pitchforks and torches were pulled out and she was forced to leave.

-She's still in contact with her grandfather, but she doesn't live with him anymore, for his safety. Now she lives on the outskirts of civilization, surviving the best she can.

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nitebloom · 1 year ago

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top 5 albums for the fall ^-^

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo!

link wray 1971 jose manuel calderon que sera de mi condena mdou moctar ilana (the creator) honeyman tim buckley safe as milk captain beefheart

ok these arent rly fall ish cuz ive been somewhere the weather dosent change but enjoy the neverending summer vibes <3333

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waeirfaahl · 1 year ago

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Ashi's design issue

Ashi's design in 5 season was incredibly inconsistent, as if either different animators worked on her character or the creators didn't give a sh*t (well, her uncanny and horrible faces in 5 and 7 episodes kinda confirm this). If you look at her design in first five episodes and her design in later five episodes, you'll think that it's the two different characters. The shape of eyes, the shape and color of lips are different, the face and body proportions are different. I even would say that in 1-5 (or even 6) episodes Ashi looks like a teenager, while in 7-10 episodes she looks like a woman (with a mind of a child, yeah). And if you look closer at her in especially 8 and 9 episodes, you'll notice that she more and more becomes similar to a monkey — the shape of her face, her nose and jaw become longer, so she really looks like a primate or whatever. I don't know, whether it's intention to make her so ugly or not, but this aspect really feels uncanny. Not to mention that her design is a lazy hybrid of Ilana (SymBionic Titan) and Mavis (Hotel Transylvania), and later Melinda will participate in this.

But now we will talk about her in the game. In 10 episode (if you want to see my fury toward this scene, welcome here) Ashi, being an inexperienced human girl, suddenly has and uses the laser vision for the first time against Aku without any troubles for her eyes and head, and she creates already the red laser vision instead of some tiny sparkles or fire outbursts (like, Aku, being a supernatural creature, after his birth created the fire vision and only after this he creates the white laser vision — about this aspect more here).

But in the game her laser vision is suddenly light-yellow. I guess, they changed the color in the game for two reasons. First, the environment of the level is red and orange, i.e. the desert, hence the red laser will be invisible. Second, the format from 2D to 3D.

And about her hair. You know, this trick with her hair in Ying-Yang style actually could work in the game. Like, the real Ashi has this Yang form of hair (like in 5 season after she became on Jack's side), while the fake Ashi, created by Aku for the Between-Time pocket trap, has this Ying form of hair (the one Ashi had before becoming Jack's ally). And that's how Jack would find and rescue and free the true Ashi among these fake illusions in the mist and darkness or whatever. But that didn't happen.

Why in the game her hair took the same form she had before changing her mind and getting rid of black soot?

Nobody payed any attention? Not to mention how her hair become longer in 5 season and in the game during the wedding day as if several month have passed.

#samurai jack #samurai jack 5 season #ashi samurai jack

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heniareth · 2 years ago

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for the codex prompts, i'd also like to request for the delightfully crabby ilanlas either 10 (a description of your OC by someone who hates them) or 11 (your OC’s description of their game’s events)

10. a description of your OC by someone who hates them

A letter, written in a meticulous script, as if the author had all the time in the world to write it, sitting on the Inquisitor's desk at Skyhold.

Inquisitor,

The Grey Wardens continue to exist, and I will not reopen that discussion again. I would appreciate it, however, if they would conclude their business at Skyhold as soon as possible and leave. Their commander is insufferable: arrogant, equal parts sensitive and insensitive, quick to anger, impatient, impertinent, with questions asked in bad faith and with the insistence of a petulant child; the list goes on. For a man of such small stature and such catastrophic failure in preventing the bloodshed of his own comrades, he holds himself like the highest and mightiest around. I will not stand it. Either he goes or I do. I would appreciate a swift answer on the matter so I will be spared further suffering of this irritating creature.

-- Solas

In a margin of the letter, someone has scribbled down notes:

Mythal have mercy.

- Check with advisors how soon next excursion is scheduled. Take Solas

- OR send Grey Wardens and/or Solas to do field work

- Talk to Leliana; third complaint this week.

- Check how soon we can proceed with judgement + add some days for the Wardens to pack

11. your OC’s description of their game’s events

Prologue to the memories of the Grey Warden Ilanlas Mahariel, formerly hunter of clan Sabrae, recorded by Keeper Marethari and Merrill, then First of clan Sabrae, during his recovery in Denerim after the slaying of the Archdemon.

"I can feel the Blight receding with the darkspawn. It grew gradually, and only know do I notice how much strength it had gained. It is good that we finished the job. A few days more and we would have been crushed.

This year has been strange. It has taken me places I would never have visited; it has made me speak to people I would never have spoken to. Ferelden contains more than I thought, and there is more outside of it than I would have dreamed. Shems, however, are still pigs.

I suppose there are some notable exceptions to the latter, but not many.

My drive during this year has been to find Tamlen; I can admit this freely now, and also admit to my failure. I was only granted a chance to end his suffering. Vengeance must be enacted, and yet I find myself empty. Elgar'nan enaste I will find that fire again.

One thing I know: I will remain a Grey Warden. The order must be rebuilt. There are two more archdemons out there, and when they come, we must be ready. Above all, let our people know this: the Blights are not over. More will come. And we will need every ounce of strength we have to push them back.

Even if this means fighting alongside shems."

Some crabbiness for you!! I hope it was to your satisfaction XD XD XD I must say, I had a bit of a rough time pinpointing how Ilanlas would describe this year. It doesn't help that he's not someone who'd write things down a lot (or, Creators forbid, keep a diary). He might be more inclined to use things he's seen and experienced in his travels as inspiration for his woodcarving and other artistic pursuits. Maybe I should try my hand at that at some point. It could be fun!

And about Solas... Solas would just despise Ilanlas. He can't with him. Ilanlas would get on every single one of his nerves, accidentally and on purpose. At first I wrote something else, but then I thought of Solas and just had to put it in.

...

You know what? I'll tack the first thing I wrote on here:

A public notice of the style the Dalish use at their Arlathvens, found among the posessions of Ilanas Mahariel. It is old and frail; the corners are starting to fall apart. The text, however, is still readable:

"The thief has been caught in the act. He is small, about six years of age, with shoulder length auburn hair and white, tanned skin. He wore clothes of the southern clans. If the child steps forward to apologize, his punishment will be reduced. He has until nightfall to do so. Any adult who knows this child, please relay the message to him in case he cannot read. Let him also know that clan Briathos is severely displeased with his actions. Let his apology relfect that."

Under the message, in scrawny and evidently angry handwriting, is the following response:

I am 10 and I can read!!!

(Nevermind that these kinds of things would probably be communicated verbally XD)

And there we have our crabby boy. I love him to bits and I'm glad you enjoy him too. Thank you very much for the asks and have a lovely day!!

#ilanlas mahariel #ask game #for fun #dragon age

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