#and disrespecting clan border marks

[marc--chilton]

(wcau) due to his patch of territory being on clan borders, house has plenty of neighboring clan enemies (plainsclan territory and his overlap but since he's an ally and codstar's close friend, he's safe to hunt there even in winter when prey is scarcer; hunting on other clan territories is not as easily overlooked)

the deputy of this other (as of yet unnamed) clan has a particular bone to pick with him. ternstorm (tritter, name may change) isn't afraid to harm a free-roaming medicine cat, nor is he worried his torment -- more than is necessary for chasing someone from clan territory -- could end in his demotion as volestar (vogler) doesn't like house either. volestar, however, doesn't sign off on house's death either, as doing so would end in war

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 8

Although Weedfoot recovers from yellowcough, Twinekit dies of greencough.

[Image ID: Moonpaw faces Twinekit, who is now a StarClan cat. Moonpaw says “Hi, Twinekit. You’re okay now.”]

By the time the new moon arrived, Weedfoot and Oilpaw had to decide on RippleClan’s funeral traditions.

They would need a vigil for Twinekit, as all Clans did to mourn. It was Oilpaw who suggested dressing Twinekit in her namesake rather than just the death-shrouding herbs Fennelspot needed to make the small kit presentable. Carnationpaw crafted a simple necklace of cedar bark twine and placed it around Twinekit’s limp neck. Oilpaw tucked a few dry catmint leaves into the necklace too, as eternal protection against the disease that took her little sister.

Rustshade had been silent since Fennelspot stepped out of the medicine den and made his solemn announcement. He wordlessly agreed to all of the Clan’s ideas for how to properly honor a life that never truly began. When Fennelspot placed Twinekit in the center of camp, Rustshade laid beside her and did not move.

Scrubmask had to explain the situation to Burdockkit, Clamkit, and Locustkit. Burdockkit seemed not to grasp what Scrubmask meant. It took many painful questions before Burdockkit understood that no, Twinekit was not asleep, and no, she would not wake up. Clamkit went back to the nursery as soon as she could, and none of Downstar’s gentle coaxing could lure her out. Locustkit was the only one who cried, clutching a moss-ball as he laid at Rustshade’s side, head pressed into Twinekit’s fur.

Twinekit passed in the middle of the day, which meant RippleClan still had to go about their daily tasks. Oilpaw lingered as long as she could before Weedfoot, finally free of her wicked cough, took her and Carnationpaw on border patrol. Puddlespeckle joined Scrubmask on a hunt and brought back a humble mouse. Carnationpaw cooked it in the smoker and coaxed the kits to eat. She finally soothed Locustkit’s cries and sent him and his siblings to nap.

Rustshade, meanwhile, did nothing. No one could drag him away from his daughter, and no one wanted to. He stayed at her side, silent, until the last moments of dusk turned him into another red beam covering the camp. It was at that late hour, when the whole Clan rejoined Rustshade in his vigil, that Fennelspot asked an important question.

“Where do we bury our dead?”

It was a question no one had thought to ask themselves when they arrived at the shipwreck. They’d managed over half a year without any deaths, after all. RippleClan’s faces were empty of ideas. Oilpaw pretended to study the thick ceiling of clouds to hide her own lack of imagination.

“We’re the only Clan to live near the sea,” Scrubmask finally noted. “We could send the body out on the waves.” RippleClan’s empty faces filled with horror as all the adults stared at Scrubmask. Rustshade sneered at the pale ginger molly.

“We won’t disrespect her like that,” he growled. His voice was rough, as though he ate sand.

“LynxClan leaves their dead in the mountains all the time,” Scrubmask said, ignoring the outrage rippling through camp. “Twinekit’s spirit is gone. This is just her shell. We can’t disrespect her if she’s not here.”

“I think we need a different tradition,” Downstar sighed. She sat next to Rustshade and groomed his head until his face dropped and he relaxed back into Twinekit’s body.

“I have it,” Weedfoot gasped. She jogged across camp, almost knocking into Puddlespeckle. She jumped on the stones bordering the camp and flew over the brambles.

“Weedfoot, what are you doing?” Oilpaw called. A few minutes later, Weedfoot trotted through the entrance with a stone in her mouth. She dropped it at her paws.

“Our territory is full of stones and planks,” Weedfoot explained. “When someone joins StarClan, we can mark their resting place with this.” She patted the stone. “None of the other Clans do this. It would be a pure RippleClan tradition.” Rustshade stood. His joints groaned as he did so. He slowly approached Weedfoot and her stone. The rock was wet and glistened with salt. 

“Can we have a few more?” Rustshade asked.

“Of course,” Weedfoot said. “I’ll be back.” She touched noses with Rustshade and hurried back out of camp.

“I suppose I’ll need to find a spot to bury her,” Puddlespeckle groaned, stretching.

“What?” Downstar scoffed. “No. I’m sorry, but I’m not comfortable with our elders burying the dead. I don’t think it’s good for your health.”

“It’s perfect for my health,” Puddlespeckle grumbled, turning on the pregnant leader. “You wanna know why AshClan elders bury their dead? Because we’re the furthest on our path to StarClan. When you’re the one putting a body to rest, it makes death a little less scary. We know what’s coming. So if we’re brainstorming traditions, that’s what I want RippleClan to do. Am I part of this Clan or not?” Downstar sighed. Her paw drifted over her swollen belly. Eventually, she nodded.

“Puddlespeckle,” Downstar declared, “it is your responsibility to put Twinekit to rest and choose a place for RippleClan to bury their dead.” She waddled to Puddlespeckle and touched her nose to his forehead. “Thank you.” For the first time Oilpaw could remember, Puddlespeckle’s eyes were soft as he bowed before Downstar.

Soon after, Oilpaw joined Rustshade, Fennelspot, and Puddlespeckle on a long walk through RippleClan territory. Puddlespeckle carried Twinekit by the scruff while Fennelspot carried a basket of stones. Oilpaw kept slipping on slick snow clinging to steep slopes, but the others were sturdy on their path. Puddlespeckle took the lead, as though he had buried the dead dozens of times.

“Here,” Puddlespeckle finally said through Twinekit’s scruff. He stopped at the top of a slope overlooking a more open field. The trees were fewer and farther apart below the slope. Oilpaw could imagine plenty of herbs and tall grasses growing there come the new year. If Oilpaw focused, she could see human dens far in the distance, toward WheatClan’s land. 

The old tom led the group down the slope and into the field. He stopped at a spot where the snow was thin, merely speckling the dead grass. He set Twinekit’s body down and began to dig.

“Why here?” Oilpaw asked as Rustshade joined Puddlespeckle.

“It’s a corner of the territory you’re almost certain not to lose in any conflicts with other Clans,” Puddlespeckle huffed as dirt piled behind him. “This way, she’ll never be defiled.” 

Puddlespeckle and Rustshade finished digging soon after. Fennelspot set his basket down and muttered a gentle prayer. Oilpaw picked up a few words and mumbled along. Puddlespeckle grabbed Twinekit’s scruff and set her in the hole. Rustshade stepped back as Puddlespeckle filled the hole back in. Oilpaw kept her eyes on the basket until Puddlespeckle was finished. 

“Grab a stone, everyone,” Fennelspot sighed. He plucked a sea-worn stone from the basket and set it on the mound. Puddlespeckle and Oilpaw placed their stones beside Fennelspot’s. Rustshade crowned the pile with his stone, carefully placed on top. 

“Hold on,” Oilpaw muttered, glancing back into the basket. “What’s this?” Oilpaw pulled a worn moss-ball out of the basket.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Fennelspot sighed. “Before we left, Locustkit gave me his moss-ball. He wants Twinekit to have it. He said it would give her something to do in StarClan.” Rustshade groaned in a voice so soft that Oilpaw mistook it for wind at first. She put the moss-ball next to the rock pile.

“Let’s put this in a place of honor,” Puddlespeckle sighed. He moved the moss-ball on top of the rocks. “There we go. Rustshade, what do you think?” Rustshade nodded silently. He sat at the edge of the mound and rested his chin on the disturbed dirt.

“I’m gonna stay here with him,” Oilpaw whispered to Fennelspot. “Is that okay?”

“I think Weedfoot will understand,” Fennelspot sighed. He picked up his basket and made his way back up the slope. Puddlespeckle stopped by Rustshade and rested his tail on the ginger tom’s back. Rustshade purred softly and brushed his own tail against Puddlespeckle’s foot. With that, the rosetted elder followed Fennelspot home.

Oilpaw settled next to her father. She didn’t feel cold next to him, but her guilt dragged her down. How much anger brewed under Rustshade’s fur? Did he hate Oilpaw for not talking to Sunstrike? Sure, Rustshade could be a lying, stuck up hypocrite, but he was still Oilpaw’s dad. He still raised her when Sunstrike couldn’t. 

“I can’t tell her,” Rustshade groaned softly. He turned his face away from Oilpaw and the rock pile. “I can’t face your mother now.” Oilpaw pressed her head into Rustshade’s side before she even thought to do so.

[Image ID: Oilpaw and Rustshade face a small stack of stones with a moss-ball on top. A transparent version of Twinekit stands behind the stones. Oilpaw says “I’ll tell her, Dad. You were right. She deserves to know.”]

“I’ll tell her, Dad,” Oilpaw gulped. “You were right. She deserves to know.” Rustshade curled himself around Oilpaw, like when she was a little kitten and settled by his belly for a nap. Oilpaw purred and rubbed against Rustshade as the codekeeper closed his eyes.

“Is this for me?” a small voice asked. Oilpaw’s heart spasmed. Her eyes locked onto the grave marker. Twinekit stood beside the stones, sniffing the moss-ball. Her twine necklace dangled against her chest. Her pelt was soft and lucious. When the light caught her fur at the right angle, it sparkled like a star. Oilpaw could see through her little sister’s body to the snow beyond. 

Oilpaw didn’t dare to breathe as Twinekit grabbed the moss-ball. The moss-ball itself did not move; rather, Twinekit picked up an identical copy as transparent as Twinekit. Oilpaw looked to her father, praying he saw the miracle too, but he stayed oblivious, eyes squeezed tight as he fought through waves of grief.

“Are you ready to go now?” someone groaned. A familiar white figure trotted out from behind a tree. She was a molly with soft green eyes. Unlike Twinekit, this newcomer’s pelt was solid, but glistened with the beauty of a hundred stars. She left no paw prints in her wake. 

“Look what Locustkit gave me!” Twinekit chirped through a mouthful of moss. The mysterious stranger laughed and batted at the moss-ball.

“I love it,” the stranger laughed, “but are you ready?” Twinekit shook out her pelt. Her form grew solid and starlight surrounded her, just as it surrounded the stranger. Twinekit nodded, earning another laugh from the stranger. Oilpaw forced her fur to stay flat. Despite her best efforts, her pelt spiked when the stranger locked eyes with her.

“So you can see me!” the stranger gasped. “I knew it! Do you remember me? You saw me on that beach patrol with the dog.” Oilpaw nodded stiffly. Shouldn’t she say something? She couldn’t make herself talk. “This is really interesting. I can’t stay long, but you should at least know who I am.” She pulled Twinekit close and fluffed up her chest. “I’m Moonpaw, mediator apprentice extraordinaire! If you can see me know, you’ll probably see a lot more of me. Now, if you’ll excuse us…” 

Moonpaw nudged Twinekit along. Twinekit waved her tail goodbye, purring. Oilpaw carefully lifted her own, unsure of what her eyes told her. Moonpaw walked beside Twinekit, leaving stars in their wake. The pair walked behind a tall pine and did not appear on the other side. Oilpaw watched the tree for a long time, her breath quick and mind blank.

“We’ll be okay, Oilpaw,” Rustshade mumbled. He groomed Oilpaw’s head with half-open eyes. Oilpaw tucked herself closer to her clueless father. Her grief had been ripped away and replaced with a deep unease that squeezed her guts.

(Weedfoot: 57, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Oilpaw: 12, female, historian apprentice, charismatic, morbidly curious)

(Twinekit: 2, female, kit, noisy, quick to help)

(Rustshade: 65, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Fennelspot: 65, male, cleric, insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Scrubmask: 25, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Burdockkit: 2, male, kit, bossy, interested in Clan history)

(Clamkit: 2, female, kit, lonesome, interested in Clan history)

(Locustkit: 2, male, kit, troublesome, moss-ball hunter)

(Downstar: 67, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Puddlespeckle: 134, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

(Moonpaw: 10, female, mediator apprentice, childish, good hunter)

Downstar doesn’t feel ready to be the mom of four kits, but she promises the tiny flailing limbs at her belly that she’ll do her best, she swears on StarClan.

[Image ID: Downstar sits above four newborn kits; Halibutkit, an impulsive male; Duskkit, a troublesome female; Graykit, an impulsive female; and Shadowkit, a troublesome male. Beside Downstar, update text reads - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH]

---

For a while, Downstar thought the pain would never end. Her contractions started at some point in the middle of the night, and only grew worse over the course of the day. Fennelspot never left her side, helping her through each terrible spasm. According to him, the delivery was perfectly normal, but Downstar was certain she would lose one of her nine lives that day. She had the lives to spare; if she had to give one up to bring her children into the world, she would gladly do so.

Night blurred into day and back into night. Slowly but surely, each of Downstar’s kits popped out and settled by her belly. She was too focused on the next delivery to truly soak in the small body suckling next to her, but Carnationpaw, who stuck with Downstar as much as she could, assured her that each kit was beautiful.

“It’s a tom,” Carnationpaw said of the first kit when Downstar was too delirious to think straight. “He’s a sort of silvery-gray color. A mackerel tabby, I think. The color looks a bit like Weedfoot. Oh, wouldn’t it be cute to name him Weedkit?”

“I’ll name them later,” Downstar groaned through the stick in her mouth. 

The second kit, a black molly, came out soon after her brother, just as dusk hit the camp. Her tiny paws kneaded and poked at Downstar’s belly in a violent search for milk. Downstar couldn’t help but laugh. It was like the small kit knew just what to do to distract her mother from the pain.

The third kit took a while to arrive. Twilight had almost faded completely from the territories before a little molly slipped out. Carnationpaw oohed and awwed as Fennelspot cleaned the squirming kitten up.

“Wow, Downstar!” Carnationpaw laughed. “She looks just like your first kit! Same colors, same stripes… you have a pair of twins on your paws!”

“In SlugClan,” Fennelspot said as he guided the kit to Downstar’s belly, “identical kits are a sign from StarClan. Their lives will be forever intertwined. They will complement each other well.”

Downstar’s fourth and final kit arrived just as Scrubmask and Rustshade returned from night patrol. The little tom was black, like his oldest sister, but had stocky stripes and a lighter tint to his fur that better matched his other sister. 

“Not a single ginger pelt in the group,” Carnationpaw chuckled. “That’s impressive.” As the pain began to fade and her Clanmates’ congratulatory purrs filled the nursery, Downstar studied her beautiful kits. They were so alive. Each one wiggled, squirmed, and mewled as loud as they could.

“We couldn’t have asked for a better delivery,” Fennelspot purred. He rubbed against Downstar’s head. “How do you feel?”

“Overwhelmed,” Downstar laughed. “I was certain something would go wrong.” But it didn’t. She was a model mother, but would that last? Could she lead both a new Clan and four new lives?

“What will you name them?” Carnationpaw asked, leaning close to the kits.

“It’s better to wait,” Fennelspot said. “Sometimes, StarClan sends one of its spirits down in the form of a kit to guide the others before returning to the sky. It would be insulting to name someone who already has a name.”

“Do you mean one of them could die?” Carnationpaw gulped. “But you said they were all healthy!”

“They are!” Fennelspot stammered as Downstar’s heart ached. “The nature of birth is tricky. It’s best to wait a quarter moon before giving them proper names. I’m hopeful, though. They all look strong.”

“I already have names for them,” Downstar admitted.

“I’ll tell the Clan you’re doing well,” Fennelspot sighed, nuzzling Downstar once more. “You can have visitors in the morning.”

“I promise I’ll help however I can,” Carnationpaw said, licking Downstar’s ear. “I’ll make sure your kits are never lonely.” Downstar nuzzled her apprentice as a deep purr rippled through her. Fennelspot guided Carnationpaw outside and left Downstar in the cool dark of the nursery, illuminated by the small fire built just beyond the den.

“You’ll be Halibutkit,” Downstar mumbled, nuzzling her oldest son. “It’s a type of fish from the ocean. I found one washed on the shore when we settled in camp. It’s a good omen for RippleClan.” The black molly squealed, as though offended that she did not get her name first. “I’m getting to you, little Duskkit. Do you like that name? You were born at dusk. I think it fits.” Next, Downstar studied her gray daughter. “You’ll need a good name so I don’t confuse you for your brother. How about Graykit?” Graykit mewled softly and continued her suckling.

Downstar studied her youngest for a while. He looked so much like the proud, sturdy tom who trained her, who taught her how to care for others, who gave her a life for that very purpose.

“Is that you, Shadowsun?” Downstar whispered. She sniffed the dark gray tom’s sleek pelt. “Did you come to guide my kits? Or are you your own tom?” She licked the kit’s head. The lookalike squealed and flailed his little legs about. “Well, if you’re staying here, I’m going to call you Shadowkit.” Downstar tucked her paws under her and rested her head, never taking her eyes off her four kits. It was a big responsibility, but she had managed as leader so far. She would do her best as a mother, too.

(Downstar: 67, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Fennelspot: 65, male, cleric, insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Carnationpaw: 10, female, caretaker apprentice, compassionate, splashes in puddles)

(Halibutkit: 0, kit, male, impulsive)

(Duskkit: 0, kit, female, troublesome)

(Graykit: 0, kit, female, impulsive)

(Shadowkit: 0, kit, male, troublesome)

[warriorstickers]

A lot happened in Dewclan in their 1st year! (Events pictured have been bolded) -> Juncopaw takes a tumble off a ledge as he was practicing his battle moves. His mentor checks on him, and he is bruised but fine. Light duties for the next few days. Lakepaw babies him, and he pretends not to like her extra attention. ->  Whistleshimmer and Ryetumble chase off a coyote from their new home, securing the clan’s safety  -> Darkfleck gets into an argument with Almondstar, taking a disrespectful tone with his leader. Once the clan reminds him of her new position over him, he apologizes -> Rytumble and Juncopaw spend some time slacking off in the sun instead of training (as the mentor is still worried about his apprentice’s previous injury). They talk about how Ryetumble fell from grace with the clan, and the mentor tells it like a joke. -> Darkfleck tries to take Lakepaw to an eagle’s nest, but she flat out refuses to go, not feeling safe. -> Juncopaw is named Junkobramble, and is honored for his decisiveness. This comes after he and his mentor see off a fox from the clan territory, and he gains a bad tail injury. Lakepaw congratulates him on his new name, saying it’s a good one. He likes this.  -> Ryetumble and Deerrumble go out on a (hopefully) romantic border patrol. However, there they find a random cat they don’t know. The cat runs off when they see them. This prompts a conversation with Almondstar about how to treat other cats. Almondstar decides they need members, and with the blessing of the clan, agrees they will accept into their clan any cat who wishes to join, and is willing to contribute or learn.  -> Vinepatch and Darkfleck go out herb hunting, but the two argue over the nature of their purpose. There is no resolution. -> Almondstar suffers some heat exhaustion, as she tries to work double time to keep her tiny clan going. -> Darkfleck takes Lakepaw out to a badger set he found the other day. They’re shocked to discover the badger is actually there, and it attacks! Lakepaw is mangled, but Darkfleck manages to get her back to camp. There she argues with Darkfleck, telling him that he is welcome to prove himself to the clan by doing dangerous things, but not at her expense.  -> Lakepaw and Juncobramble bond more while in the Medicine cat den together

-> Rosemarypaw is made an apprentice to Ryetumble! She hopes the two will get along, and Ryetumble is excited to have another apprentice so soon. Deerrumble gives her some flowers for her pelt for the occasion. She has become a bit troublesome, and loves to brag about how their clan is better than the others. -> Lupinepaw is made an apprentice to Whistleshimmer! He has become quite playful. -> Juncobramble is healed enough to resume normal duties, though his tail is forever marked. However, shortly after he jumps and lands wrong, hurting his paw. He and Lakepaw joke about him being cursed. ->  Ryetumble tosses a snake out of camp, before it can hurt anyone. The clan is very grateful. -> Deerrumble was picked up and dropped by an eagle. She somehow survives, but the extent of the damage is serious.

-> Ryetumble and Rosemarypaw go on patrol. While Rosemarypaw doesn’t want to burden her mentor while his mate is injured, Whistleshimmer can tell she’s distracted, and asks her what’s up. Rosemarypaw admits she’s been struggling to sleep, because her dreams are filled with images and shadows that scare her.

-> Rosemarypaw is still struggling with a headache, but tries to ignore it to go about her daily tasks

-> Whistleshimmer confesses romantic feelings to the medicine cat, Vinepatch. He is rejected, which he expected.

-> Juncobramble and Darkfleck have gotten Whitecough

-> Rosemarypaw argues with her mentor Ryetumble about their training. After he takes the time to explain things to her, she apologizes. The two make up.

-> Vinepatch borrows Lakepaw to go herb hunting. While out, they discuss the dreams Lakepaw has been having. Vinepatch wonders if Starclan has something planned for her?

-> Juncobramble manages to overcome the Whitecough 

-> An infection is growing in Deerrumble’s broken bone.

-> Lakepaw is named Lakestrike! She’s clever and charismatic. -> Whistleshimmer and Lupinepaw go out to train. When Lupinepaw feels like they’re not getting the techniques down fast enough, Whistleshimmer offers some positive advice.

-> Deerumble’s infection finally leaves.  She is finally healed and able to return to duties. Her mate is thrilled.  -> Darkfleck has recovered from Whitecough, but it’s discovered that Almondstar has Greencough

-> Lupinepaw is named Lupinefeather! He is adventurous, and a good story teller. -> Rosemaryclaw is made a warrior! She is somewhat troublesome, but given who her mentor is, the clan isn’t shocked

-> Rosemarypaw gets some cuts in their pelts from a thorn bush

[strelles-universe]

The Warrior Code: ShadowClan Edition

hadowClan is a tough and traditionalist clan. With such a murky and difficult to traverse territory, they don’t often worry about trespassers or land theft. They believe that their toughness and determination to survive in the lands granted to them by The Souls alongside a more rigid adherence to the Warrior Code as it was initially created makes them the most devoted. ShadowClan almost never modifies the warrior code instead, typically only ever adding lines to clarify consequences.

----

1. Defend your clan even with your life. You may have friends within other clans but your loyalty must remain overall to your own clan.

1a. Do not speak of private clan matters to other clans

2. Do not hunt or trespass on another clan’s territory

2a. Offending warriors will be made to apologize to the next patrol of cats from the offended clan

3. Diplomats and their apprentices are permitted to cross into any territory for peace reasons.

3a. Diplomats must wait at the border for a patrol unless its an emergency

3b. A diplomat may not enter a camp unless explicitly invited

4. Elders and kits must be fed before warriors and apprentices

4a. A warrior or apprentice who eats before either will be made to hunt for both and may not eat until the next sunrise.

6. Prey is killed only to be eaten. Give thanks to The Souls for its life.

6a. A cat who kills preys senselessly will be barred from meals for an entire day and must apologize to Slysoul for disrespecting her gift.

6b. A kit who's begun to eat solid prey will be barred from meals for a half day if discovered playing with their food and will be made to pray to Slysoul.

7. A kit must be at least 6 months old to be an apprentice.

7a. If a leader sees talent in a particular kit, they may make them apprentice early but only as young as 4 moons.

8. Newly appointed warriors will keep a silent vigil for one night after receiving their warrior name.

8a. If a cat speaks on their vigil, they are expected to stay silent for the entirety of the next day barring emergencies.

9. A cat cannot be made deputy without having mentored at least one apprentice.

10. The deputy will become clan leader when the leader retires or dies.

10a. If fowl play is suspected or proven, the deputy will be executed and the mystic will choose a new leader who will then choose their own deputy.

11. After the death or retirement of a deputy, the new one must be appointed before moonhigh.

11a. When deciding upon a deputy, it's customary to consult the mystic so that they may ask Souls to present a sign or send them a vision. If a vision is received, the cat it's interpreted to be must take up the role.

11b. A clan cannot function without a Mystic, Deputy and Leader. If all three ranks are not filled, assistance must be requested from other clans.

12. A gathering of all clans is held upon the full moon that lasts the entire night. No fighting is to happen between clans during this time.

12a. A cat who violates the truce will be downgraded to apprentice duties until the next Gathering and will be made to formally apologize to the other clan if they do so.

13. Boundaries must be checked and marked daily. Challenge all trespassers.

13a. Intentionally mangling or mutilating another cat who is passing through is subject to being clawed. A cat passing through should be escorted out by a border patrol.

13b. Violent aggression is permitted if a trespasser regularly violates the border.

14. No warrior may neglect a kit in pain or in danger even if it’s from another clan.

14a. If a kit from another clan is found, they are to be fed and soothed before being escorted back to their clan.

14b. If a non-cat kit is found, it's acceptable to dump them on the ThunderClan border and tell them to search for a patrol.

14c. If a cat is discovered to be intentionally abusing a kit, they are to be removed from any position that requires constant interaction with kits. If they get three strikes, the leader is required to have them executed.

15. The clan leader’s word is law

15a. A clan leader is the medium through which the Souls speak, to question them is to question the Souls and is punishable by execution.

15b. A mystic may question a leader but only in private.

16. A warrior doesn’t need to kill other cats to win a battle. Never kill unless it’s necessary.

16a. If you must kill another cat, you should learn their name and pray to Moonsoul for their safe passage to StarClan post-battle.

[snowkits-flight]

Clan roles

In the four valley clans, Frostclan, Earthclan, Lightclan, and Mistclan, the rules and roles are slightly different from the ones we know. I thought I’d start off with how the roles are different, as well as show the “bases” I’ll be using for clan cats. (Please note these bases aren’t for public use, though I might change my mind about that later)

Kits

Kits as you know are baby cats from 0 to 6 moons old. Obviously not too much changes about them as they are too young to do much but be cared for and allowed to enjoy their carefree kit-hood. However one big change about them as that around 3 moons they begin to have lessons from teachers, the elders of the clan. These lessons are about the history of all the clans, the warrior code, and the Ancient ones (the starclan of these clans). The lessons are in groups with any litter mates as well as all the kits in teaching age. They have a small quiz on what they’ve learned during their apprentice ceremony. It’s not very hard but if they fail this quiz they aren’t allowed to become apprentices for another half moon. There is no limit to how many chances they have, but it is embarrassing to fail as not only is it in front of their whole clan but they’re also forced to stay in the nursery until they can pass it. 

Queens

Queens as you also probably know are she cats who have moved into the Nursery, either right about to have or raising young kits. They treated with a bit more awe and respect in the valley clans as they create future warriors and clans would quickly cease to exist without new cats. Disrespecting one is a horrible act, and daring to raise a claw to a mother (or heavily obviously pregnant) cat is an offense punishable by exile or even death. However, some clans will let such an act slide if they find the expecting kits are half clan. It’s not considered a very honorable act but such matters are up to the clan the pregnant cat belongs to. 

Kings

Kings are the same as queens, but refer to trans, non-binary, intersex and masculine aligned cats. How non cishet cats are viewed and treated different from clan to clan, usually depending on how the current Chief feels about them, but no matter what gender a cat expecting kits will always be respected. Though again depending on how forgiving the current chief is discovering the sire is from another clan could lead to the Queen or King and their kits getting into a lot of trouble, sometimes even driven out if the chief is especially cruel. This goes against the warrior code, but like people don’t always follow the law cats don’t always completely follow the code as they should.

Apprentices

Apprentices are still made only once 6 moons old, though sometimes a bit later if they fail their Apprentice test. The length of apprenticeship tends to vary from cat to cat, but generally are usually longer then 6 moons, but no longer then 12 moons. It can also vary from clan to clan, as they learn more then fighting and hunting but also the special skill of their clans. Frostclan takes the longest at an average of a full 12 moons. Their special skill is hunting large raptors that nest in the mountains, hawks, edges and vultures. Apprentices don’t learn that skill until they are 10 moons old, which is why it takes Frostclan cats so long. Earthclan cats are the second longest, similar to Windclan their special skill is tunneling, which can take awhile to prefect but as their whole camp is underground not as long as it did for Windclan cats. Lightclan’s special skill is climbing and hunting in the tree tops, and Mistclan’s is swimming. They all have other skills they’re better at then the other clans but those are the skills they’re best known for. All apprentices are expected to master these clan specific skills before becoming warriors. 

Warriors

Warriors! You know them, the cats who make up the majority of clans, who hunt and fight to protect their clan territory. In the valley clans they also work to care for elders, kits, and Queens/Kings rather then apprentices. It’s considered very noble work rather the a chore beneath them, and if a apprentice is allowed to do something like fetch fresh bedding or hunt for the elders its considered a real treat, something to brag about. Warriors also do upkeep on dens and the nursery for their camp, weaving in sticks and leaves, cleaning them out, keeping them warm and dry. Earthclan warriors dig out new tunnels and make sure older ones stay safe and sturdy. 

Medicine cats

Medicine cats are another role we know well. The valley clan medicine cats only have a few differences. One is that rather then only one being the minimum for a clan, two are the least a clan should have in the valley. This is because of the other major difference, that they are allowed to have kits of their own if they should so please to. But they must have another medicine cat that has been full trained to take over for them and it has to have been least a moon since the one taking over officially finished with their training. Besides that they have the same odd powers and ability to read signs from the Ancient ones, and provide major input to their Chief and any big choices they might make. Once a moon they all go to the Sliver cliffs, a large clearing on a high peak in the mountains that allows them to feel close to the stars to communicate with the Ancient ones, the Valley clans version of the Moonstone/pool

Nurses

Nurses are Medicine cats still in training. Sometimes an older cat will decide to peruse training as one but often they’re chosen by the current two medicine cats as kits. If they see a kit who has promise they’ll discuss with their Chief, Sheriff, and the kit’s parents about them becoming a nurse at 6 moons. However a cat can never be forced to become one. Once the kit with promises is 6 moons they’ll be sat down to have a discussion about if they wish to train as nurse instead of as an apprentice. Only if the young cat agrees will they be made a nurse to train under the two medicine cats. Forcing a cat who has a gift, or is disable, to become a nurse is considered very bad luck and the Ancient ones will not accept them as a Medicine cat and put a curse on current Medicine cats and Chief who forced them into it. If a cat does decide that its the life for them they’ll be taken to Sliver cliffs to be presented to the Ancient ones and then trained as nurses for a full 12 moons before traveling back to receive their new name from the Ancient ones themselves. Even if the cat was a warrior, camp guard, teacher, or duchess/duke before they will still get a new name as a fully trained Medicine cat  

Camp guards, teachers, Duchesses/Dukes

These are the elders in the valley clans, but sometimes a young cat who doesn’t like to fight nor interested in being a medicine cat will take on one of these jobs too. Elders never fully and completely retire, but they do still stay in camp and are cared for by the rest of the clan. However they still have important roles. The most common job is Camp guard duty. Camp guards will sit near the entrance to the clan, the fresh kill pile, medicine cat den, and nursery. They watch for dangers such as invaders, wild animals, fires and floods, and anything else that might cause the clan trouble. They also make sure no kits or apprentices can sneak out of camp alone, and keep track of the coming and goings of their clan mates. This is surprisingly important for the clan Chiefs to know, as a cat often leaving for long periods of time with no explanation might be up to something the chief should know about. Another important role a non warrior could take is as a teacher. As mentioned in the kit section kits need to learn about the warrior code and history of their clan before becoming apprentices. Teachers obviously are the ones to tell them about theses things. They might also go over some basic hunting crouches and lightly play fight to help prepare them if they feel physically up to it. The last role is the one most clans believe is the most important, Duchesses and Dukes. These are cats who have given birth to and/or raised kits in the past but either because of age or some other reason can’t have any more. They assist along side Medicine cats and Nurses in helping a cat give birth. They also help advise new mothers and fathers, if what a kit is doing is normal or should be looked at by the medicine cat, how to get a kit who isn’t suckling to eat, and how they handled the various trails of being a parent. Duchesses and Dukes will also babysit kits when a King or Queen needs a break, making sure none of them go missing or get into trouble. 

Sheriffs

Sheriffs are the deputies of these clans. They are the chief’s right hand cats and are the next in line for leadership if anything happens to the chief. They are also in charge of both boarder and hunting patrols, as well as expected to hunt for their clan before eating themselves every single day. If their is a border scuffle they will be sought out for back up first before any other cat

Chiefs

Chiefs are the leaders of valley clans. They are pretty much the same as the leaders in canon, they make the decisions for the clan and have 9 lives, but they receive them from the Ancient ones rather then Starclan. After getting their 9 lives they’re marked by a diamond shaped marking, usually somewhere on their face or chest but can appear else well. Their number one goal should be the safety of their clan, but plenty are more interested in power. They rarely go into battle but spend their time among their clan mates in camp or patrolling their territory. If their clan is suffering from anything, sickness, drought, fox or badger settled in their territory, it is on them to discover a way to guide their clan through the trouble and come out on the other side stronger for it. If they fail to do so, if sickness or hunger kills too many cats in their clan, it’s seen as their own personal failure.   

[mezais]

Unpopular opinion:

Redtail’s Dept wasn’t bad; it was just confusing. I don’t know why people have been hating it so much, so here’s my two cents and a brief summary of what happens.

The book starts with Redpaw being saved from a hawk by Tigerclaw. Tigerclaw blames Redpaw for Thunderclan losing a battle against Windclan because he needed to be saved, and convinces Redpaw that he owes Tigerclaw his life. So far so good.

Next we jump forward in time to Redtail and Willowpelt’s warrior ceremony. This is where we get our first hiccup. Normally after cats are given their warrior names it’s their duty to sit vigil and guard the camp until the morning without speaking. This is never brought up in this book, and instead immediately after his ceremony he and Tigerclaw go hunting together by fourtrees. While they’re there they run into Sorrelpaw, a newly made Windclan apprentice who accidentally chased a rabbit into Thunderclan territory. Tigerclaw intimidates Redtail into attacking Sorrelpaw, and as Redtail bites into her shoulder he can hear Tigerclaw encouraging him to tear her apart. Stagleap, Sorrelpaw’s mentor, intervened and scolds Redtail and Tigerclaw for attacking a small apprentice instead of scolding her.

Tigerclaw and Redtail report this back to Sunstar, but Tigerclaw twists the story and makes it seem like Windclan was purposefully disrespecting Thunderclan. At this point it’s obvious that Tigerclaw only cares about battle, and that almost all fights between other clans and Thunderclan in this book are because of Tigerclaw. Sunstar is convinced that they need to teach Windclan a lesson and the next day Bluefur leads an attack and Talltail almost kills her. Redtail realizes that Tigerclaw is nothing but trouble and decides that he will no longer bend to his will or be loyal to him.

Another time jump; Bluestar has become leader and made Redtail her deputy. Tigerclaw continues to try and start war with other clans, this time urging Bluestar to attack Riverclan over Sunningrocks. Redtail tells him off, but Tigerclaw just goes behind his back and convinces Bluestar to let him lead a patrol to re-mark the borders. Redtail joins the patrol to keep an eye on Tigerclaw since he obviously has bad intensions.

Next we have the climax of the book, and this is easily the most confusing and poorly written part of the story. The patrol to sunningrocks consists only of Tigerclaw, Redtail, and Ravenpaw. Five Riverclan warriors lead by Oakheart challenge Thunderclan when they see them at Sunningrocks and Redtail manages to convince them to go back to Riverclan without a battle. But before they separate Tigerclaw attacks one of the Riverclan warriors. Redtail tells Ravenpaw to flee, but Ravenpaw is convinced that true warriors fight for their clan and claims Redtail is a coward, and Tigerclaw encourages him to battle. Oakheart threatens to kill Ravenpaw, so Redtail retaliates by murdering Oakheart and saving Tigerclaw from being overpowered by the patrol. Tigerclaw can see that Riverclan is going to retreat and finally tells Ravenpaw to run to camp and get help, leaving him and Redtail with the last of the patrol. The Riverclan patrol retreats after Redtail and Tigerclaw fight them some more, and as soon as they’re gone Tigerclaw murders Redtail.

Now, anyone who has read the first series of warriors would know that this isn’t at all how that battle goes. We know for a fact that Oakheart was killed by falling rocks, not Redtail; It’s one of Firepaw’s main arguments proving Tigerclaw murdered Redtail. This battle feels like a re-telling of a story that we already knew, and it’s incredibly weird that the authors decided to change what happened.

The book basically ends there with Redtail going to Starclan and seeing Firepaw joining Thunderclan. At the end of the day the book itself isn’t terrible barring some inconsistencies to the first series. We get a few really sweet moments between Redtail and his sister Willowpelt, and the backstory and tension between Tigerclaw and Redtail is actually pretty interesting- I liked learning more about their history and how Redtail eventually stood up for himself and told Tigerclaw to fuck off.

It’s not a necessary read by any means, and I’d only recommend it to people who are curious about Redtail. I don’t think that it ruins Redtail’s character at all, in fact he seems like a pretty interesting and morally sound character, just a really cool guy and one of the only cats that could actually see through Tigerclaw’s bullshit

[e123omega-playdespacito]

Worldbuilding and Analysis - The Four Echidna Clans

Canon-Divergence AU, In Essay Form

In canon, there were only two major groups: the Knuckles and Nocturnus clans. In my canon-divergence AU though, there were four; the original two with fixed names, and an additional pair that were left behind when Angel Island ascended. They were called the Apoctus and Sowton clans.

Each of them had a specific set of strong suits that they used to keep the others in balance so none of them could be chased out by the others without dire consequences. Thanks to the large families that led these clans (except the Sowton, but I'll explain that in a minute), members of each clan generally had one primary color somewhere in their fur or painted markings that showed their allegiance. The Otunus bore blue tones, the Na-Kkuru bore red, the Apoctus bore yellow, and the Sowton kept their markings in black and white, though echidnas of any fur color were welcome.

Otunus Clan

The Otunus clan, which would later be recorded as the Nocturnus after they adopted a new language, lived in underground tunnel systems with religious centers based around the night sky. They had observatories dotted around their empire, and even within the territories of other clans when they offered truces. The Otunus emperors generally tried to keep some distance between themselves and the people of the surface, but knew they wouldn't be able to sustain their lifestyle without resources from the other clans, so the observatories were established as places of faith where members of all four clans could come to pay worship to their respective gods without fear of being attacked by their neighbors. As the caretakers of these observatories, the Otunus also taught a small class of fortune-tellers who would give guidance to anyone who might need it. Though they worshipped the stars, their opinion of alien creatures was not as welcoming; they believed that since they payed such respect to the night sky, and the newcomers did not, the Otunus had earned the right to exploit the "gifts" given to them by their gods in the form of living creatures. This would be the beginning of their slow spiral into forming a slave trade of not just aliens, but other Mobians. The only creatures they saw as sacred and untouchable were the Chao, as they were viewed as the stars' gift to Mobius itself from a time long before Mobian echidnas learned to walk and talk. Disrespecting such a blessing would be a direct attack on the property of their gods.

Most of the Otunus trade routes followed sprawling underground tunnels.

Although they were best known for their religious status, the Otunus also held power in scientific fields. For the most part, the Apoctus clan was regarded as the most advanced, but the Otunus had access to more metal, crystals, and stone than any of their neighbors due to their tunnel systems. It is also theorized that they made contact with the Wisps and Hylerite (original species) aliens, and undeniably were connected in trade to the Black Arms. For most of their history, the Otunus were a fairly secretive, but open-minded and honest empire; however, after reaching out to the Black Arms, their methods fell to slavery and experiments on still-living people. It is hypothesized that their sudden decline was due to Black Doom manipulating the current emperor. Once the other clans heard of the Otunus' new habits of kidnapping people from the observatories, the holy sanctuaries were abandoned - or torn down, if they happened to be in another clan's territory.

The iconic Nocturnus Warrior armor was a relatively new development at the time they disappeared. It was engineered by a team of smiths and alchemists working alongside captured Black Arms, who were fed large amounts of salt, and were then sheared, similar to sheep, for the biocrystals made as a result. These crystals wound up as an incredibly important part of Otunus metalworking and chemistry, but the armor made with them was by far their greatest accomplishment with the new resource.

Along with their feats in physiology - reached through immoral means - the Otunus also held advancements in chemistry, and although they vanished off the face of the planet before it could be unveiled to the world, they also had prototypes of time machines and teleporters. It is theorized that said prototypes were the reason they disappeared; perhaps they were just a bit too overzealous with their new inventions. The loss of almost ninety-four percent of the Otunus clan shook the four empires, but at least it freed their slaves.

The remaining Otunus, all members of the lower classes, joined the Sowton clan after they escaped from the ruined tunnels. Originally, the term "Nocturnus" was reserved only for warriors in uniform - "Otunus" meant "of the stars, masters over ground", but "Nocturnus" meant "of the night and moon, conquerors over unholy ground" - but most survivors were slaves and servants, who didn't know how to read the outdated imperial language in which it was based. They took what remained of the Nocturnus armor and reclaimed the oppressive Imperial Guard's name, although it was later changed and shortened to "Nucnor" after descendants of the Otunus survivors gathered and formed a monastery, with the help of their fellow religious Sowton, where they would study the faith of their ancestors, learn how to fight like them, and usher in a revised version of Otunus astrology. The doors of this monastery are open to anyone willing to learn.

Na-Kkuru Clan

Otherwise known as the Knuckles clan due to centuries of translation debates, the Na-Kkuru were by far the strongest clan in terms of military strength and agriculture. Similar to the human Aztecs, the Na-Kkuru built their capital city on an island in the middle of a lake, then expanded outwards with the use of floating gardens and bridges. They held great pride in their gardens, which they upheld as the symbol of their society, but other clans knew them better as soldiers and warlords. The Na-Kkuru leaders were never satisfied with what they already had; instead, they constantly turned their eyes to their borders, hoping to push back the other clans and take their land. The mistranslation of their clan name wasn't entirely a coincidence; they did, in fact, name themselves after their fists.

Their society was anything but a one-to-one parallel, architecturally, Na-Kkuru cities could be best compared to the Mayan capital, Tenochtitlan, as the emperor in power when building them took fond inspiration from ancient humans who had once owned the land they now controlled.

The Na-Kkuru believed war and conquest was the best possible way to gain glory, but other clans saw them as marauders and barbarians. They refused to trade with other clans most of the time unless faced with starvation otherwise. The Master Emerald wasn't even theirs originally; it originally stood as a unifying force for all four clans, who were meant to stand together in its defense, but once the first clan war started, the Na-Kkuru claimed its shrine for themselves and destroyed any records they could find that implied otherwise. They even went to such lengths as burning libraries - including some their own, if there was information stored that encouraged rebellious sentiment - in order to secure their status as the most powerful, feared clan of the four empires. In the control of the Camac family, they flourished, but only under an iron fist.

In addition to the usual cloth and metal, the Na-Kkuru would wear plants and animal skins or feathers on their garments as a statement of skill in gardening and battle. Over time, though, most stopped using skins and only used feathers from the food they caught, as pelts became a staple of the Apoctus clan and their haughty attitude instead of Na-Kkuru strength.

Early on in their legacy as the "destroyer clan", they cut ties with the Otunus and Apoctus, trading only with the Sowton, but the Sowton refused to help them. They also declared full war on the Otunus shortly after, claiming they wanted to free Otunus slaves, but their original goal was quickly forgotten after three chiefs were killed in a row on the battlefield and the war shifted to vengeance. Chief Pachacamac was the eighth chief to fight in the war; his motivation centered on his late wife, who he was told died at the hands of the Otunus emperor Ikun - otherwise known as the son of Imperator Ix. Princess Tikal, skeptical of her father's story, would do her own research on the subject a year later and discover that her mother had been trying to form a treaty with Ikun and stop the war once and for all - but had been assassinated by a Na-Kkuru soldier, acting on the orders of one of Pachacamac's political rivals. If not for the chief’s attack on the Chao, Princess Tikal very well could have repaired the Na-Kkuru system and brought back the honor they once had before the clans split.

Apoctus Clan

The two neighboring clans, left behind when Angel Island rose and took the Master Emerald with it, spent the next few thousand years until the present in relative peace, now that their two most dangerous enemies were gone. This is not to say that they got along much better, though. The Apoctus clan was best known for their masonry and innovative art, alongside their scientific discoveries, reminiscent of the human Inca. However, they acted more like Tolkien's elves; arrogant, aloof, and self-aggrandizing. Of course, this wasn't true of all Apoctus citizens, as the individual in a society is generally not exemplary of the whole group's problems, but a large majority of the leaders and traders shared the sentiment that they were better than the other clans by virtue of their discoveries and massive infrastructure. This made them butt heads with other clan leaders almost nonstop - including the Otunus, who they shared territory and resources with before the clans split into four groups. 

Just like the Na-Kkuru emperor who modeled his metropolis after Tenochtitlan, the Apoctus leaders at the time of building chose to take notes from the Inca city of Machu Picchu.

The Apoctus citizens, however, were often much more independent from their leaders than they were given credit for by modern archaeologists. While the politicians were busy fretting over which new coin to put their faces on and which small clan they wanted to scam next, the middle and lower classes worked together to prepare a new, adjusted political structure that would serve to break down the gap between them and the rulers. When they attempted to put the new system into place, though, the upper class seceded, making a deal to stay out of the new Apoctus order's business as long as they were supplied with servants and resources to live comfortably for the next five generations. The deal broke down quickly, though, and after multiple attempts to regain power, the upper class was banished - except for members under age twenty-five, who were allowed to choose whether they would return to their ancestral cities under the same laws as everyone else, or stay with their outcast families.

After the split, the former upper class resettled in the desert on the opposite side of the mountains from the rest of the four clans' empire. After their fall from grace, they argued over whether to try and take back power somewhere else, or start over from the ground up. In the end, they chose to rebuild their kingdom around an oasis. They first established it as a new trading post, but soon found themselves with an abundance of a new resource they hadn't considered as the basis of their economy before: glass. Thanks to the nearly endless supply of sand, they changed focus back to art, and rather than turning their city into a lucrative con, they became well-known for their hand-crafted glass sculptures. Their new city, dubbed Vitrosa, eventually earned a new, honorable reputation, and after a few centuries, they renewed ties with the Apoctus clan, linking their trade routes through the mountains.

While the Vitroites rediscovered the passion for art and honor that made the Apoctus so noble in the first place, the clan was busy fixing the flaws in their new system. They remained seclusive until they were certain it was stable enough to take the next big step towards a treaty with the other clans. The Na-Kkuru and Otunus were already long gone, but until they stopped fighting with the Sowton and the smaller clans found peace, it would be impossible to bring back balance in the echidna homeland.

Sowton Clan

This clan's history was fairly simple, despite how often they swayed the actions of their neighbors. Technically, the Sowton didn't fill the definition of a major clan, according to the other three. Rather than having a family that started the ruling class, they held elections and relied on each other for guidance and government. As with any political system, it had its flaws; big decisions would often take years instead of months, and when one part of the clan went hungry, everyone else did, too. They stood by their system, though, and formed treaties with smaller clans in order to not only protect themselves, but everyone else who might need help.

The Sowton method of socialist democracy was installed due to its status as an aggregate clan, consisting of outcasts and runaways from hundreds upon thousands of minor clans, as well as the Na-Kkuru, Otunus and Apoctus. Sowton echidnas thrived by leaning on this sense of community. Though other clans looked down on them at first for disregarding the old rules of bloodlines and purity, they quickly proved themselves as a match for anyone else's strength in battle, securing their safety as the fourth major clan. While their neighbors wore primary colors to show loyalty, the Sowton chose to use white and black, refusing to show favoritism to any of the other three. Eventually, when the Apoctus became the only surviving primary clan, the Sowton helped them get their feet back on solid ground, but reserved judgment until they were certain their once hubristic neighbors had turned over a new leaf. Without the Na-Kkuru and Otunus to worry about, they formed a new treaty, marking the change by adding a yellow Apoctus emblem to that year's Meyavar Festival flag.

In contrast to their neighbors, who took inspiration from Central and South American empires, the Sowton tended to lean further into mediterranean motifs, specifically Greek and Roman architecture. However, they still had a fondness for Mayan roots related to old echidna heritage.

The name for the festival came from their capital, dubbed "Meyavar Burach" as a quadruple-portmanteau of their words for the ocean, cliffs, forests and valleys, which rested on the lower curve of the Gulf of Nakkuri. It was originally Na-Kkuru territory, hence the name, but the land was gifted to them before the "destroyer clan" earned its nickname, and the four clans were still in balance with the Master Emerald shared between them all. An invading army of Spagonian raccoons, mice, rats, rabbits, shrews, and various other soldiers had attempted to conquer their homeland in search of gold and spices, but the four clans deflected their attacks with ease by joining together as one defensive force. Even when the four clans started fighting over the Master Emerald, the Sowton remembered that they were strongest as a unit, and repeatedly tried to restore peace until they could no longer deny that their alliance had fallen apart at the seams.

The Meyavar Festival was, and remains to modern day, as one of the oldest non-religious holidays on Mobius. Similar to the Olympics, it is best known for the games and competitions held in the early morning on every day of the festival. The Sowton used sports and battle not only as a means of defense, but also friendly competition and stress relief. While the clans were still in unity, it was established as an event celebrating the blood of the covenant, as well as both the differences and similarities between individuals, ignoring the factor of clans completely. Once again, the Sowton were the only ones to uphold hosting the Meyavar Festival, but representatives and tourists from every clan, minor and major, were always welcome. In fact, even the Na-Kkuru and Otunus representatives never skipped a year's festival, until they were spirited away by Chaos and the Black Arms. It is no longer quite as popular as the Olympics, due to the fact it is always held in the same place, but among athletes, it is held in higher regard.

The Sowton are also recognized as revolutionaries in medical fields. They served as a mediator while the other clans fought, and whenever a soldier was cast out in poor health, they would take that soldier in and heal them. At times, the other clans would consider attacking them directly for their resources and for refusing to pick a side, but the risk of losing Sowton medical support was always far too dangerous. Each clan insisted they would be able to take over the entire echidna homeland if they "really tried", but, once again, the Sowton knew better. Whether or not their neighbors would listen, they would prove time and time again that the clans were stronger together - and incredibly weak when pulled apart. Medicine turned out to be the one thing keeping them all from tearing each other apart, so the Sowton withheld their secrets, forcing the other three to rely on them for their skills. However, once the homeland settled back into balance, they shared most of their methods, but even now, few can hope to replicate the miracles Sowton healers can.

Conclusion

The Sonic universe is full of blank spaces, and has tons of potential to grow. However, there are a few canon notes that don't make sense, and it's up to us fans to work around them. There are lessons we can learn from each of these clans, in both their failures and virtues.

The Otunus teach us that with ambition, creativity, and elbow grease, anything is possible - but sometimes, the path to reaching the stars leads us to make choices that are not ours to decide. People have infinite potential for greatness, but that comes with a price. You can't afford to sell your humanity. Horrible people made incredible advancements that still benefit us, but we can't make the mistakes they did by losing what makes us, as people, "good". For every action, there is an equal-opposite reaction; for every misdeed, there is an act of charity, and vice versa. Regardless of whether or not we are good, though, we do not have the right to take away someone else's choice solely for our own benefit.

The Na-Kkuru teach us that there are people who remember us as better than we really are, and there is always hope for us to earn that high regard. No matter what, you can redeem yourself and become somebody worthy of love. However, if you simply try to bury that darker side and hide it from others while continuing to feed it, it will eventually come back to bite you. The legacy of our ancestors - political figures, great-great-great-great grandparents, historical role models, and everyone else who came before us - is skewed by a lens of our culture and individual perspective. It's important to learn how to remember the negative as cautionary tales, remember the positive as things to model ourselves after, and always keep in mind the whole picture and how it shaped who we are today. 

The Apoctus teach us that people are fundamentally good, and despite all the problems in our society, we can still hope and fight for better. However, though we can't let ourselves be walked on, we also can't condemn people for their faults, no matter how evil they may be. With time and work, there is a chance that they can grow into better people once the situation is defused - but even then, we are not obligated to forgive them easily for the harm they caused. Struggle is a necessary part of redemption, and by that same rule, justified anger is a part of grief and growth.

The Sowton teach us that although an individual is strong, a community is stronger, for better or worse. It's impossible for everyone to agree, but when pitted against a common enemy, even the worst enemies can work together as something greater. Sometimes, though, we are forced to stand against former allies, whether they are friends, family, or any other loved ones. In these cases, it's important to remember that you are never alone. People at their worst still have room to be saved. You can't usually tell whether you're truly on the side of good, but even if you stray from your path, there are people waiting for you when you find your way again.

[maedarakat]

Markless - Chapter 2

Chapter 1 - https://maedarakat.tumblr.com/post/179727743843/markless

Chapter 2

Hiccup looked wretchedly at the ground, not wanting to be here.

Chief Stoick stood beside his son, the silver  in his beard more prominent in the light of the lodge fires, than they ever were in the daylight.

He had a look of anger to him, though it wasn’t directed at the blond twin in front of them.

Tuff stood - or rather knelt - on the stone ground before his Chief and Clan Elders. He sported a bruise on his face that was only promising to encompass his eye with time, plus other marks that suggested he’d answered for more than his share of problems at home already.

Stoick cleared his throat, clearly not relishing any part of this, unlike the rest of the Thorston Elders - who looked like a pack of smug children sucking on sweets.

“Tuffnut Thorston. You are before us today to answer for your recklessness, concerning the Skrill. Have you anything to say in your defense?”

Ruffnut and Madge were silent, fuming - the former having had to be held back from decking someone earlier, while they were dragging in her brother.

Tuffnut shook his head. “Nothing,” he murmured, almost too low for Stoick to hear.

The Chief frowned. “What was that?” Stoick asked.

“Nothing, Chief. I have nothing to say in my defense, or anyone else’s. I have no regrets.”

A murmur of confusion hummed through those assembled. Tuff was usually one to spout nonsense, but this time his words perched on the border of defiance.

There was no alarmed correction or backtracking, but rather a resigned expression on the boy’s face, which made Hiccup’s gut drop.

Tuffnut had been acting strange for a while, talking only to dragons and at times dodging even his own sister’s company. It had been worrying, but Hiccup had been busy with dragon problems if his own - too busy to ask why Tuff was withdrawing from their normally tight-knit group.

He should have taken the time, but he hadn’t … and now here they were.

Hiccup grit his teeth, giving Tuff a desperate look.

Say something, apologize, anything. Dad can’t help you if you don’t even act sorry, Hiccup wanted to shout at him.

Tuffnut said nothing else however, as the High Elder began formally listing the charges against him. He closed his eyes, slightly trembling.

Hiccup had tried all night and morning to talk his father into intervening for his friend. Both Stoick and Gobber had assured him at each attempt that the Chief had honestly tried.

“It’s a serious thing this time, Hiccup,” Stoick had sighed, placing a block of ice against his temple.

He’d clearly just returned home from a shouting match with someone in the Thorston clan; they had an annoying penchant for talking circles around him when they wanted to be right.

“This isn’t like tipping yaks or hanging buckets of live hagfish over doorways. The Skrill could be a deadly weapon if the Berserker clan finds it, and so the blasted Thorston tribe Elders have decreed that the boy is a traitor to the entire village. It’s not something I can ignore - they’ll whip the rest of Berk’s clans into a frenzy if Tuffnut isn’t punished.”

“But what are they going to do to him, Dad?”

“Well, the good news is that they aren’t going to be permitted to execute or exile him.”

When Hiccup blanched, Stoick had reached out to put a comforting arm around his son.

“They need the Chief’s permission to do such a thing, and believe me - the Thorstons know they don’t have it. They know they’ll pay dearly if they disobey, and the same goes for any ‘accidents’ that may occur. I believe I got my point across in that regard at least.”

Stoick growled the last part, but he hugged his son against his chest briefly and fiercely. Hiccup allowed it, relaxing into his father’s embrace and swallowing hard.

He hadn’t really known until now, what the Thorston clan was like beyond surface appearances. He was hating every bit of new information he found out.

“More than likely, Tuffnut will be given a thrashing. As the heir to the Chief of Berk, and as the boy’s teacher in the Academy … you will also have to attend and witness it. I’m sorry, son.”

Hiccup hadn’t balked or refused, knowing why. The more eyes on the beating, the more pressure would be on the Thorston clan not to take it too far.

Regrettably, he knew he couldn’t take Toothless with him; convincing a dragon to sit still while one of his human friends was beaten was just not going to happen.

“We can be there for him afterwards,” Stoick was offering now, voice low and quiet. It shook Hiccup back to the present.

They had dragged Tuff away from them, over to a stone dais.

Though he wasn’t struggling, the clansmen were uncaringly rough as they forced him to lay across the cold rock on his stomach - as though he were chattel, instead of one of their own.

Tuffnut’s eyes lost their glazed look as one of the men gripped his hips. For a moment, he looked truly panicked as his tunic and vest were carelessly pulled away, but the men didn’t strip him any further than that - stopping at his belt.

As they tied his wrists and ankles down with corded rope, Tuff didn’t bother to protest - just going limp and letting it happen.

Hiccup could barely watch, but the skin not hidden by his friend’s long hair captured his horrified gaze.

Tuff’s naked back sported evidence of prior beatings, some as fresh as last week. They were old - faded and healing, but Hiccup thought suddenly and wretchedly of all the times Tuff had refused to go swimming with them.

This was not right. No doubt Hardsell would mete out his own draconian idea of punishment later, yet here Tuff was about to receive an already unfair amount.

Hiccup barely suppressed a shout of protest and glanced over at his father, not surprised to see that Stoick’s great hands were clenched with rage - as though they longed to crack a few skulls open to let common sense pour in.

The boy barely had time to take a breath before the implement - a corded flail used for threshing grains - slashed down across his bare skin, with a force behind it that made Hiccup flinch.

Tuff’s entire body jerked, wrists and ankles pulling hard against their restraints.

He didn’t scream at first, hiding his face behind his hair and choking down his pain. The first lash was followed by another, and then another - gradually building up in unimaginable suffering.

Under the steady unchanging torment of the blows, Tuff eventually began to whimper and struggle against his bonds - his noises of pain involuntary and frantic.

This was awful, having to watch this. He couldn’t imagine having to live it.

For a moment, Hiccup considered pursing his lips and whistling for Toothless to come charging in, but then there really would be some deaths occurring.

He couldn’t do that - not to the dragons, not to his father and his friends who trusted him, not even to the Thorstons. Not after all it had taken to convince the entire village that dragons were good.

Hiccup’s hands were as tied as his father’s in this matter. He hoped - prayed - that Tuffnut could understand that, and maybe forgive him.

Finally, after what seemed like excruciating hours, the last blow fell, crisscrossing the other bruising welts on Tuff’s back. He gave another heart wrenching yelp and lapsed into quiet moaning, face pressed against the cold stone.

Longreach Thorston, who had doled out the punishment, coiled up the flail before carrying it off. He’d been wearing a faintly amused smirk on his face the entire time he’d been beating Tuff; Hiccup had dearly wanted to punch it off his face.

When nobody in the clan moved to untie or even check on him, Ruff ducked out of her weeping mother’s arms to run to her brother.

She didn’t get far; Hardsell yanked her back by the wrist, yelling at her to stay put. Ruffnut looked ready to let fists fly, but her mother pulled her into another fierce hug, whispering calming words.

Hardsell ignored both wife and daughter and started menacingly toward his son where he lay on the table.  Stoick was already on his feet, glaring quietly as the man undid his bonds.

When finished, he yanked Tuff up by his arm. Tuffnut yelled in pain, clearly in no condition to be manhandled.

“Thorston,” Stoick growled, as the man all but flung the boy toward the Chief’s throne. Tuff stumbled to crash to his hands and knees and curled forward, panting and whimpering in agony.

Hardsell bowed his head to Stoick. “My Chief, I offer you an apology for the actions of this useless wretch. I am ashamed and mortified at his behavior.”

Hiccup literally had to bite his tongue to keep from saying what he thought of Hardsell’s behavior. Stoick’s face resembled a thundercloud.

“Take your son home, Hardsell, and tend to his wounds kindly,” the Chief growled. “Tuffnut has been punished more than reasonably for his actions. According to your own clan’s rules and customs, and according to Berk Law, he is now forgiven the deed - by all of Berk.”

“Without even apologizing?” Hardsell asked, feigning surprise. “Does being whipped like a dog excuse him from showing remorse like a man?”

He gave his son a light kick. “What have you to say to the Chief?”

Tuff curled into a tighter trembling ball, but said nothing. Stoick grimaced as the rest of those witnessing began to talk among themselves. Hiccup realized that Hardsell was aiming to rile them up.

What right did a scrawny Thorston kid have to disrespect Stoick the Vast? Was the Chief of Berk really going to let him off for endangering the entire village without an apology?

“Go on, boy,” Hardsell sneered, giving him another kick. “Tell your Chief how sorry you are for releasing the Skrill straight into the hands of our enemy!”

The boy grit his teeth, taking a breath to try and steady himself before lifting his face. His expression wasn’t one of contrition. Rather, there was a cold calm to his expression that seemed out of place considering all that had happened to him.

“But I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry even a little.”

Tuff’s voice had been quietly defiant, but the silence that followed it was deafening.

Stoick frowned, taken aback. “And why is that?”

“Because I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Yes, you did,” Hiccup interjected, unable to stop himself in his growing horror. Of course his friend was angry; it had been a brutally unfair punishment - but he was only going to dig himself a deeper hole by lashing out.

He could try to save Tuff from himself at least.

“Tuff, listen - the Skrill is yet another thing Dagur obsesses over. By letting her loose, you’ve only endangered her to being captured and subjugated by the Berserkers.”

“I let her out of a block of ice,” Tuff pointed out. “Dragons are like chickens - hardy to cold weather, but they can’t thrive in it. You can’t just keep a dragon imprisoned in ice because they might be politically dangerous.”

The hall broke out into shouting and angry outbursts. Hardsell made as if to cuff the back of his son’s head, but Stoick stopped him with a glower.

“Tuffnut,” Hiccup groaned. Despite his worry for his friend, he couldn’t help but be exasperated. “What aren’t you understanding about this? If Dagur has a dragon, he could burn our entire village to the ground!”

Tuff only shook his head. His eyes were glazed with pain, but they were focusing better now.

“He won’t. Dagur’s greatest strength is his Armada. If he attacked on a Skrill, then he’d just be one inexperienced rider, alone, on one very cranky dragon - who probably has a bad cold and needs a warm nap and some hot soup. Dagur knows better than to try and take you down in your element, Hiccup. He’s not stupid, you know.”

Blunt as always, Tuff had a point - but at this time, it was the wrong one to have.

Hiccup shook his head, frustration boiling over. “No, Dagur’s not stupid, but he is insane. He’s deranged and violent - and not someone who should ever have a dragon!”

The sudden flash anger in Tuff’s eyes surprised him.

“I don’t think you get to decide that, Hiccup Haddock. Dragons are not dumb innocent weapons that need to be locked away. If the Skrill chooses him, that’s her choice. If Dagur bonds with the Skrill, like you and Toothless did - isn’t that what we should want?”

“Thor, no! Why on earth would we ever want that?!” Hiccup exclaimed. Had his friend completely lost his mind?!

“Because maybe bonding with a dragon is exactly what Dagur needs to change?” Tuff snapped back, sounding equally incredulous. “You try to make everyone else befriend dragons to change their minds - why is Dagur so different? If he befriends a dragon, it will be easier for him to forgive us for hiding secrets from him!”

Shocked gasps followed his words, but Tuff went on regardless.

“The Berserkers were our allies once. We should want them to be our allies again! If we had just reached out to Dagur and his tribe from the beginning and told him the truth, and maybe tried to help him understand -“

“Enough!” Stoick roared. Hiccup winced. This was a sore spot for Dad and he truly wished Tuff hadn’t prodded at it.

“Dagur the Deranged is a menace to this island and to our very way of life! The Berserker clan has made it abundantly clear that they have no interest in remaining allied with us!”

“Well, that’s because nobody can have an alliance based on lies, Chief,” Tuff snarked back.

There was an immediate hush, which anyone in the hall could have told him meant he was now treading on very thin ice.

“Excuse me?” Stoick visibly bristled, but Tuffnut wasn’t halfway done.

“Imagine the concern you would have had, if some other chieftain’s kid had befriended all of dragonkind first! You would have shown up at Oswald’s door with all the ships in your fleet if you’d heard rumors of Dagur flying a Night Fury and taking down the Red Death!”

Well … to be fair, Tuff wasn’t wrong …

Stoick sighed irritably and ran a hand down his face, attempting to calm his ire. “This isn’t open to discussion, Tuffnut. What’s done is done, but for now, Dagur the Deranged is our sworn enemy.”

“He doesn’t have to stay the enemy! We’ve had a bad start, sure - like I said, because of all the lying - but if we try again, say it’s our bad and that we’re sorry, we could probably still - “

Stoick didn’t allow Tuff to finish, grabbing the boy’s shoulders and lifting him to his feet to give him a couple of hard shakes - startling him into silence.

“Are you fully aware of what you are saying, Tuffnut? After the punishment you just received for quite possibly delivering a Skrill into their possession, you are taking the side of our enemies, the Berserkers?”

Stoick’s tone was exasperated as well as furious. “Due to your actions - which I perceived as thoughtless rather than engineered - your own kin believe you a traitor to Berk! Your words are not helping to raise you above such suspicions.”

It was true; any pity Tuff’s lashing might have stirred in the hearts of the Thorston Elders was replaced now by hostility and mortified fury.  

Hiccup felt a twist in his gut; he had to shut Tuff down before anything else happened to him.

“Need I remind you, Tuffnut, Dagur is crazy. Think of all the times he’s gone after our dragons! He nearly killed Toothless!” Hiccup interjected.

“Need I remind you, Hiccup, that the reason Dagur went after our dragons at all was because we made him believe Berk was still plagued by wild dragon attacks. Also, you made him believe that you saved his life from a rabid Night Fury. Don’t you think it’s possible Dagur was trying to make himself a better ally based on all the false information we gave him?”

Tuff was clearly in a lot of pain, but the way he spoke and held himself belied that. He didn’t seem to care at all that his own clan was furious at his words. Rather, Tuff ignored their dark looks, looking at Hiccup and Stoick with actual disappointment and bitter anger.

It was like an infected wound had been lanced; all that he’d ever wanted to say pouring out into his words like clean blood.

“It’s easier - isn’t it - to think Dagur wasn’t trying to keep up the alliance, because then you don’t have to admit to yourself that you betrayed him. You called Dagur a fool for trusting you, Hiccup. You broke his trust, and lied to him. He called you brother and you spat in his face. Don’t you see? None of any of this had to happen! Dagur didn’t have to become our enemy - it was just easier to let him become one.”

Hiccup gawked at Tuff, at the fury in his voice. He’d never heard Tuff argue so passionately about anything before - certainly not to his father’s face, and not on behalf of a Berserker.

He wondered uneasily if there was something big he was missing - about all of this.

Whatever Hiccup was starting to piece together was broken apart by Hardsell coming out of his shock first.

The man gripped Tuff’s hair and shoved him down, kneeling on the boy’s welted back to pin him cruelly to the ground. As Tuff hollered in agony, a dagger’s sharp edge viciously pressed into the soft skin near his temple.

The cheers from those assembled, his own kin, made Hiccup feel sick to his stomach. He started forward immediately, dead set on shoving Hardsell away from his friend, but his own father put an arm out to stop him.

“Say the word, Chief, and I’ll have this traitorous brat’s ear off for showing such disrespect in the house of Thorston!” Hardsell vowed.

Tuffnut gave a yell, and seized his father’s wrist, trying to push the dagger away from his face. Hardsell dropped it and instead raised his fist to deliver a blow that Tuff had already tensed up to receive.

“Tuffnut Thorston!” Stoick thundered suddenly, and the anger his voice filled the lodge, quieting the budding uproar.

Hardsell stood up immediately and backed away, awed despite himself.

Tuffnut gave a ragged gasp as the weight left him, but appeared to fall apart under this new and unexpected onslaught. He looked up in pained terror, starting to hyperventilate.

Hiccup glanced up at his father and then back at Tuff, heart breaking.

Stoick’s hand had been forced; he now had to be a Chieftain rather than the father-figure his friend so desperately needed right now.

It was a protective measure more than anything; if his father didn��t make Tuffnut appropriately sorry, he may very well get brutalized by his own clan.

Unfortunately, while Hiccup understood well enough, that didn’t mean Tuff was going to see it that way. Even with all the destructive pranks the Twins had carried out, Stoick had never turned the full force of his anger on either one of them before - and it was a force enough to make even the most hardened Viking quake in his boots.

“Raise your head and look me in the eye. Apologize to me, to all of Berk for your treacherous words, and swear your loyalty to this village and its Chief,” Stoick’s voice thundered.

At the sound of Hardsell’s boots storming toward him again, Tuff gasped and scrambled up on to his hands and knees.

“I’m sorry,” the boy managed between frantic gasps for air, tears falling freely. “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry …” His expression was one of confused anguish and it hurt to look at.

Stoick’s expression did not - could not afford to - change, even as Hardsell kicked Tuff in the side to prompt him further. Tuff whimpered, eyes welling up as he continued.

“I’m sorry, I won’t ever - I - I thought you’d listen - even if you don’t agree, like you listen to Hiccup -”

“Swear your loyalty, brat!” Hardsell roared and kicked Tuff again, harder. The boy cried out and hid his face, whimpering something intelligible.

“Swear that the very next time you encounter that deranged Berserker whelp in battle, you will slaughter him like a boar and lay his steaming entrails at your Chieftain’s feet!”

Before Stoick could snap at the older man to hold his peace, a hysterical scream burst out of Tuff, as though he was being tormented by unseen beings. There was desolation and raw fury in the boy’s voice, unlike anything Hiccup had heard before.  

Tuff curled his aching body forward before Stoick and Hiccup, and viciously sunk his teeth into his own forearm. His body shook with the effort of keeping still and quiet through the sudden frenzy, eyes wide and spilling over with rage and misery.

Hiccup had seen the same look in the eyes of many a cornered wild dragon - especially the injured ones.

He stood frozen in horror for too long a moment, having never witnessed his friend like this before.

Was Tuff ill? Had he been driven insane? Considering the way his own family had been treating him, that couldn’t be too far fetched a notion …

“Tuffnut,” he murmured softly, trying to soothe his friend. Unbidden, the pity in his heart crept out into his voice.

The boy only cringed down further, hiding his face behind his hair in humiliation, muffled screams giving way to heart wrenching sobs.

Gods, no, Hiccup thought wretchedly. He hadn’t meant to make it worse …

It was many shaking breaths before Tuff calmed down enough to pull his arm away from his mouth. The bite marks were vivid and red, already bruising around the edges. He looked pale, exhausted and sick.

“I … I swear loyalty,” Tuff whimpered unevenly after a few moments. His voice was brittle but clearly heard in the shocked silent hall. “I swear … I swear by Odin, I will be loyal, Chief.”

Stoick moved forward to give comfort, but Tuff flinched away like a startled cat, scrabbling backwards out of range until he collided with Hardsell’s legs. He cowered there, panting hard and refusing to look at either of them.

The pained sorrow that flashed across the Chief’s face felt like a sucker punch to the gut.

Hardsell looked satisfied, as did quite a few others in the Thorston clan. It was horrible of them, but at least it meant Tuffnut should be relatively safe tonight.

The man bent down to yank him up, slinging Tuff’s thin body carelessly over a shoulder as though he were worth less than a sack of meal.

Stoick and Hiccup watched together, mute and miserable, as Tuff was carried out of the lodge, the boy’s expression worryingly blank and distant.

———

Tuffnut had let himself slip into a haze brought on by pain and exhaustion. He watched the ground go by as he was carried to their home; bare ground turning to wooden steps which turned into the unswept floor of the kitchen.

He just wanted to be left onto the floor of his room so he could crawl under his bed and sleep for a decade.

Hardsell didn’t take him to his room, however. Tuff hitched in panic as soon as he realized his father - still carrying him - had started down the stairs to the cellar.

Not without first slamming and locking the door behind him.

Of course it wouldn’t get to be over.

Tuff whined miserably; he didn’t want another beating. Though in retrospect, after the way he’d just talked to the Chieftain of Berk, he supposed he should consider himself lucky to be alive.

Hardsell would be pressured by the rest of his kin to further punish him, even if he wasn’t already the draconian type. There was slim chance of getting to go to bed anytime soon.  

He let out a tired sob as Hardsell reached the bottom of the cellar, all but dropping Tuff onto the ground. The man ignored him for a moment to toss dried fir branches and a log onto the embers in the cellar woodstove.

When the flames took, Hardsell stood up and fetched a razor strop from where it hung on a nail in the wall. Tuff turned his face away, swallowing hard.

“Well, boyo, since your back can take no more, we’ll pay attention to your lower half. I’m thinking twenty should suffice for that display. No doubt your grandparents would insist on double, but that would kill a weakling like you.

“Get over here,” Hardsell ordered. He pointed to the ground before him and Tuffnut whimpered.

He made himself move to where Hardsell pointed, unable to hold back his tears.

“Remove the rest of your clothes. By Odin, I’ll stripe you until there’s no doubt on anyone’s mind that Thorstons do not condone treachery or disobedience.”

Tuff froze in utter horror. He had kept his Mark hidden for so long, had even stayed out of the usual mischief to avoid the situation he was currently in.

“Please, please - no, I’ll never do anything wrong ever again -” he begged, despite knowing it was hopeless. When his father wanted him punished …

“NOW!” Hardsell barked. Tuff hitched, panicking. He couldn’t - he couldn’t obey; he would be in so much more trouble if he did. Tuff shook his head frantically, heart hammering, and tried to retreat to the corner of the cellar. If his father lost his temper, maybe he’d just beat him and forget the order to strip down?

Hardsell chuckled darkly and yanked him out of the shadows, forcibly stripping the rest of him. Tuff struggled unthinkingly, but he was no match for a man who towered three heads above him. When even his small clothes were torn away, Hardsell shoved him toward the worktable, all but throwing him across it.

There was a long horrible silence, and with sickening certainty, Tuff knew the Skrill on his hip was exposed, illuminated by the fire. Nevertheless, he clung to the foolish hope that his father would just whip him and not notice.

Of course he hoped for too much.

Hardsell gripped a handful of Tuff’s braids, yanking his head back enough to slam it hard against the table.

He yelled, nearly biting his tongue bloody.  Hardsell did it four more times, making the boy see stars. The strop came down next, blistering skin and raising yet more welts until Tuff could hardly breathe for screaming.

Only when his voice gave out did Hardsell let his body drop to curl on the filthy ground and moved away from him. Tuff wasn’t sure how long he laid there, injured and too dazed to form a thought, before the man returned.

This time he was dragged over to the woodstove and kicked until he lay on his unmarked side. The Skrill was exposed to the radiant heat, but Tuff couldn’t stop his shivering.

“A tattoo?” Hardsell sneered incredulously, looming over him. “You actually had the nerve to get a tattoo of our enemy’s crest?”

Tuff whined, not sure that was better or worse than the truth.

“How long have you had this?”

“S-Since I was f-fourteen, but - but it’s not a - ”

“That long, truly? Well, boyo, I have to say - you certainly know how to appear the traitor. Stoick granted you far too much mercy, but when he learns of this, he’ll understand a father’s duty.”

Tuff just whimpered, covering his face with his hands. This was bad, this was so very bad. Between his fingers, he saw Hardsell pull something long out of the now blazing wood stove. His pain-addled mind recognized the red glowing end of the family brand and fear howled through him, making his heart pound.

“If you want to wear a symbol on your flesh, boyo, then I’ll be happy to provide you with a far superior one.”

Hardsell advanced and Tuffnut choked out a wail of protest, scrabbling for the thin promise of safety beneath the worktable. It was a futile effort; his father seized Tuff’s leg and dragged him back out.

“Hold still,” Hardsell sneered, wrestling him in place and pinning him to the ground. Tuff felt a sudden searing agony over his Mark and could not hold back a ragged shriek.

Mindlessly he tried to break free, only for his father to keep him down, cruelly holding the brand in place.

After many excruciating seconds, Hardsell pulled it away and hovered, still pinning Tuff down as he appeared to look over his handiwork.

Though it was over with, Tuff continued to cry out, as the agony of his burn could not seem to end or even lessen. Every nerve in his body felt frayed and worn with pain. He couldn’t move an inch, only able to trail off into weak hiccoughing wails.

Shaking, Tuff closed his eyes tightly and tried not to be present.

Had Oswald been anything like this toward to Dagur? Had he hurt him? Beaten him?

Was that why Dagur had killed him?

“Lie there as long as you like, whelp. I dare say the jail will be less comfortable, or perhaps the thrall boat, or hangman’s noose  - whatever the Elders decide. Can’t say I’m not relieved. You never were going to make me proud.”

Hardsell got off him and tossed the brand into a corner of the cellar.

A kick to his welted back made Tuff lose the battle against his gorge. He retched what little he’d been given to eat that day and curled into a miserable ball, hoping his father would make good on his promise to just leave him here.

The man couldn’t seem to help himself however, offering one last insult as he turned to depart.

“Only makes sense you’d throw in your lot with that deranged Berserker. I can’t wait for the day Stoick’s son kills him in battle. Dagur’s head may very well hold less brain matter than yours - I may have to split it open myself to see.” Hardsell threw carelessly over his shoulder.

It was a foolish thing to say.

Injured and sick as he was, Tuff felt a sudden uncontrollable rage pulse through him - hotter than the brand that still smoldered in the corner.

Without a thought, he used the worktable to pull himself to his feet and seized a maul - one of the many scattered tool heads in the cellar that had yet to be fitted to a new handle.

The solid metal made a very satisfying noise as it collided with the back of Hardsell’s skull.

The man lurched, staggered, and fell to his knees.

With a primal scream, Tuff lunged, snatching it up where it had fallen. He slammed into his father from behind, knocking Hardsell flat. With all his strength - a strength that seemed nearly god-given with the force of his anger - Tuff smashed the maul again and again against the back of his father’s skull.

“You won’t touch him! Leave him alone! He hasn’t done anything to you - leave him alone!” Tuff punctuated each word with a blow, hitting the man with everything he had in him.

By the time exhaustion finally cushioned his striking hand, Hardsell lay deathly still - dark blood coating the back of his head and shining in the firelight.

In the shadows, it was hard to tell whether the man’s skull had caved in. Tuff knelt over him for several minutes, breathing hard and hitching. He wasn’t sure whether to be horrified or elated.

He wondered how Dagur had felt afterwards. Lost? Scared? Relieved? Had he been as proud of dispatching his father as he’d claimed to be?

Tuff dropped the bloody chunk of metal and staggered toward where he left his clothing. Dressing again was agony but he had to leave here, as soon as possible.

With pure adrenaline, Tuffnut pulled his battered, aching body up the stairs to the kitchen and fumbled to unlock the door. He took a second to thank the Gods - Loki, mostly, since the trickster god was probably the only one who’d hear his prayers now - that the key was left in the lock.

Finally, Tuff pushed open the door and nearly fell against the person in front of him, who’d been waiting on the other side.

She caught him by the elbows before his terrified recoil could make him fall backwards down the stairs into the cold dark, pulling him further into the kitchen.

“Come on,” was all Ruff said, and Tuffnut sobbed aloud with relief when he recognized her voice in the dark.

Holding her brother’s hand, she pulled him outside through the kitchen door. They ducked beneath the windows, evading discovery by the light within. Ruff yanked him along whenever his steps faltered until they got to the dragon stables.

“We have to go,” she said, leading him to their dragons’ stall.

Barf and Belch had already been fitted with their saddles and bags. They churred with concern at Tuff, Belch sniffing him over carefully. The dragon must have picked up the scent of blood and burned skin because he growled lowly, immediately folding Tuff beneath a protective wing.

Tuffnut tried to soothe his dragon with caresses, hands trembling, but of course Belch wasn’t having it. The dragon’s eyes were slit thin with fury as he attempted sniff out the person responsible on Tuff’s clothing.

Ruff didn’t allow time to be wasted however, yanking Tuff over to his saddle. She helped him climb into it before mounting Barf.

In moments, the Zippleback was flying the Twins away from Berk, both heads in rare agreement that this was no longer a safe place to call home.

——-

“Gods, bro,” Ruffnut muttered, looking him over.

They had found a cave on a remote sea stack island, far enough from Berk that it would be a pain to track them to in the dark. It was a good thing; Tuff could barely sit another minute in the saddle.

“He really did a number on your Mark.”

Tuffnut closed his eyes in guilt, despite the lack of accusation in Ruff’s tone.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, swallowing. “I should have told you.”

Ruff shook her head, and looked at him. “I can’t be mad at you right now. Yeah, I wish you had told me, but I also understand why you didn’t. I mean … Dagur. At least all your weird behavior makes sense now.”

She had rinsed his injuries with cold comfrey and lavender tea, likely packed by their mother. Madge had also packed salve, which Ruff was now applying to the blistered raw area on his hip.

The brand, used by the family to mark boars for breeding stock, had left a vicious circle of charred skin. However, Tuff felt immense relief once he saw that the Skrill’s image was untarnished -  re-appearing above the damaged skin, as dark and perfect as the day it had first shown up.

“You won’t be in trouble for being here, will you?”

“I’ll be fine. If anyone asks, we both went after the Skrill - because we felt it was the right thing to do. But you aren’t going to make it back.”

“I … I’m not?”

Ruff shook her head, moving on from Tuff’s hip to tend to the cuts and welts all over his body. “You’re not safe there anymore, not with your Mark. It’s better if the family thinks you’re dead.”

“… I think I killed our dad,” Tuff admitted. His sister just snorted and rolled her eyes.

“He’s a Thorston, which means his skull’s as thick as a boulder. You might’ve dented it a little, but probably didn’t actually kill him. Not to say he won’t be mad as hell if he wakes up though. All the better for you to stay out here than go back and deal with him.”

“… you aren’t coming with me?”

Ruffnut looked at him, and he noticed that despite her casual tone, her eyes were wet. “I can’t, Tuff. I can’t follow you. Dagur is your soulmate. You have to go find him. Honestly, he’s the best option you have.”

Tuff felt a swell of racing panic which swiftly gave way to grief. He’d never really been on his own before, but his sister was right - even if Hardsell was alive, he couldn’t go back to Berk.

He also couldn’t expect Ruff to give up her life just to take care of him. Her soulmate was likely back on Berk; how could he fairly ask her to give up her future for the sake of his own?

She wiped at her eyes and finished tending his wounds in silence. As she put away the salve and linens, Tuff sat up and gingerly pulled a clean tunic over his head.

He knew what he had to do, but he felt lost and adrift.

“Hey,” Ruff said softly, offering her hands. He took them and she helped him to his feet, keeping him steady when his balance faltered.

“You know you’re going to be okay, right? Just trust yourself. The Gods gave you that Mark, bro. They did it because out of all the people in the world, they knew that Dagur would need you. You’re his, and he’s yours. So stop messing around feeling sorry for yourself and go get him already.”

Tuff looked at her and nodded, pulling her into a tight hug. Ruff returned it warmly, taking care not to aggravate his injuries.

“We might … we might have to fight on opposite sides,” Tuff managed after a long moment, during which he’d tried and failed to swallow his tears. “But I would never do you any harm, sister.”

“I know that,” Ruff assured him. “So I’ll go easy on you next time we meet in battle. I’ll only break your arm, or a leg or something.”

Tuff snorted with laughter and Ruff joined in as they held onto each other tightly.

The bittersweet moment could only last so long, and at length they let go.

Tuff turned to Belch as Ruff started packing up her supplies. He murmured low gentle words to his dragon, stroking Belch’s snout. The Zippleback churred softly, eyes full of sad understanding.

“I’m sorry I can’t be your rider any more. I need you guys to listen to Ruff from now on, okay? Both of you protect her.”

He removed his saddle from Belch’s neck and the dragon gently headbutted his chest, allowing Tuff to give him one last scratch behind the horns.

Ruff took her own saddle off Barf’s neck, allowing him to compete with Belch for affection - purring loudly as he gave Tuff a neck hug.

By the time the Zippleback had finished with their goodbyes, Ruffnut had secured her new place between the two heads, allowing her to maintain control without a second rider. She gave him a lingering look, then a smile of encouragement, before giving her dragon the signal to take off.

Tuff watched her fly away until she and their dragons were no more than a speck against the night sky. He picked up his saddle, bundling the tack and wrapping it carefully before placing it in a sack with the bit of food and salve that Ruff had brought along for him.

There was a small village of fishermen on the next island over; he could see the twinkling lights from their home fires. Perhaps he could play the friendly tourist for a bit until he found out where Dagur was headed next. It would be simple to coax a wild dragon to take him there.

He took a deep breath, banished the worry and doubt from his mind, and started walking down the narrow path toward a small herd of Gronckles.

One of them, a green and brown male with yellow eyes, looked up from his meal of limestone and growled uncertainly. Tuff grinned sweetly and held out his hand.

“Hey there, come on. I would never hurt you or any Gronckle - my friend Meatlug wouldn’t let me hear the end of it.”

The dragon sniffed the air, wary of a trap, but when Tuff offered a piece of sandstone lying nearby, he happily bounded over to take it.  Tuffnut pet and fussed over the Gronckle until he was purring like a contented housecat. By then, the dragon was perfectly willing to give him a ride to the village.

See? Tuffnut thought, giving himself a much needed pep talk. You got this. If Ruff didn’t think you could do it, she would never have left you in charge of yourself.

He didn’t bother with the saddle, just pulling himself carefully onto the dragon’s back and holding on with his thighs. It was only a short distance to fly, and hopefully he wouldn’t fall off into the ocean for lack of strength.

Hopefully.

[neonpiegon]

Japan

Research Essay - missing some pictures from the original document.

Japan is an archipelago on the eastern edge of Asia, formed by 4 main islands: Hokkaido, Honshu, Shikoku, and Kyushu, plus nearly 4,000 other smaller islands. It has a population of 126,168,156 people, and its area is comparable to that of California or Germany. As a country, it is completely sea-locked, with its nearest neighboring countries being the Siberian region of Russia to the north, North and South Korea and China to the southwest. Almost four fifths of Japan’s land is covered with mountains and forests – the largest mountain range being the Japanese Alps. Japan has about 200 volcanoes, 60 of which are active, with Mt. Fuji being the most famous one and the highest mountain.

Japan has 47 prefectures contained within 8 regions: Hokkaido, Tohoku, Kanto, Chubu, Kansai, Chugoku, Shikoku, and Kyushu.

Humanity in the Japanese archipelago can be traced back to 30,000 B.C. However, the country’s history in itself would rather be explored some time before the 2nd century, during the Jomon and Yayoi Periods, where communities first begin to establish and see the appearance of metallurgy and agriculture. This is the foundation of Japan. The Kofun Period, before the year 538, was when the Yamato clan had great control of the island of Honshu. From 538 to 710 came the Asuka Period, in which the history was enriched with and influenced by the already established Chinese civilization. This period saw the introduction of Buddhism, writing, architecture and sculpture. After that, with the Nara Period came the affirmation of the central power of the emperors, plus the construction of the first capital in Nara and its great temples. The Heian Period came after Nara, from 794 to 1085. The capital was relocated to what is today known as Kyoto. Japan was heavily influenced by China and adopted its style of power, where the clan Fujiwara ruled. With the Kamakura Period, which ran until 1336, the imperial court’s power faded to give place to the samurai clans and the first government of warriors. The Muromachi Period (1336-1491) introduced Japanese feudalism and the fusion of the culture of the samurai and the court, resulting in arts such as the tea ceremony and Noh theater. However, the central power disappeared in The Sengoku Jidai (1491-1603), due to repeated civil wars. Here appeared the Daimyo Warlords, the first contact with Europeans and the introduction of Christianity. In the Edo Period, from 1603 to 1853, Japan was unified under the 3rd Tokugawa Shogunate (government of warriors) and the power was installed in Tokyo. The borders of Japan were completely closed to foreigners and Christianity was prohibited. The country was urbanized and rich merchants developed, just like the Kabuki theater and Nihon printmaking. At the end of Edo, The Bakumatsu (or Late Shogunate, 1853-1868), Japan was forced to open its borders by the Americans, leading to the overthrow of the Tokugawa. This began modernization and industrialization in Japan. The Meiji Era, from 1868 until 1911, restored imperial power and relocated it to Tokyo (previously known as Edo). That is when electricity and the railway first arrived. Japan conquered Korea and Taiwan and was victorious against the Russian Empire and China. In the Taisho Era (1911-1926), the democratic system was first implemented. The Showa Era (1926-1989) began the imperialistic politics and military government and the expansion policy towards China, which involved Japan’s entry in WW2. After its defeat in 1945, the reconstruction of the country was managed under American trusteeship. The Heisei Era (1989-2019) is marked by economic crisis and natural disasters, but also the influence of Japan over the rest of the world. On May 1st, 2019, Emperor Naruhito acceded to the Chrysanthemum Throne, beginning the Reiwa era.

Logically, the official language of Japan is Japanese. The language is based on writing syllables in Hiragana, the traditional set of symbols, and Katakana, mainly used for words that do not exist in traditional Japanese (for example, the word “television” is written as “terebi.”). Japanese also uses Kanji, which is a set of thousands of Chinese characters that have been imported to the Japanese language. Most of the meanings remain the same, but their pronunciation has been adapted to being read in Japanese syllables. Kanji is used to “simplify” Hiragana (i.e. instead of writing two or three characters in Hiragana, you would write only one character of Kanji,) and for proper names.

The most predominant religions are Shinto and Buddhism, respectively. Buddhism was introduced through mainland Asia in the 6th century, but Shinto is almost as ancient as Japan itself. Even though these are the two major religions in Japan, religion on its own does not play a heavy role in the everyday life of Japanese people. Shinto literally means “the way of the Gods;” Japanese gods are called “Kami.”

The core of Shinto are beliefs in the mysterious creation and harmonizing power (musubi) of the kami, and the truthful way or will (makoto) of kami. The nature of kami cannot be fully explained in words because the kami transcend the cognitive faculty of humans. Parishioners of a shrine believe that kami are the source of human life and existence. Each kami has a divine personality and responds to truthful prayers, and may reveal makoto to people and guide them to live in accordance to it. In Shinto, it is commonly said that “man is kami’s child.” First, this means that people are given life by kami and that their nature is therefore sacred. Second, it means that daily life is made possible by kami, and, accordingly, the personalities and lives of people are worthy of respect. Individuals must revere the basic human rights of everyone (regardless of race, nationality, and other distinctions) as well as their own. The concept of original sin is not found in Shinto. Purification is considered symbolically to remove the dust and impurities that cover one’s inner mind.

In Shinto, all the deities are said to cooperate with one another, and life lived in accordance with a kami’s will is believed to produce a mystical power that gains the protection, cooperation, and approval of all the particular kami.

Notable kami revered at Shinto shrines include: Amaterasu Omikami (the Sun goddess), Inari Okami (god of rice and agriculture), Izanagi (the first man), Izanami (the first woman), Tsukuyomi (the Moon god), Raijin (god of lightning, thunder and storms), and many more.

Shinto is also described as a religion of tsunagari (continuity or communion). The Japanese, while recognizing each human being as an individual personality, do not take each to be a solitary being separated from others. On the contrary, one is regarded as the bearer of a long continuous history that comes down from one’s ancestors and continues in one’s descendants.

In practice, Shinto does not have a weekly religious service like in Christianity. People may visit shrines at their convenience. Some may go to shrines on the 1st and 15th of every month, and on rites or festivals (matsuri) several times a year. Devotees may pay respect to the shrine every morning. The Japanese usually have their wedding ceremonies in Shinto style and pronounce their wedding vows to kami. Shinto funeral ceremonies, however, are not popular. Most of the Japanese are Buddhist and Shintoist at the same time and have their funerals in Buddhist style. A traditional Japanese house has two family altars: one, Shinto, for their tutelary kami and the goddess Amaterasu Omikami, and another, Buddhist, for the family ancestors. Pure Shinto families, however, will have all ceremonies and services in Shinto style.

Each Shinto shrine has several major festivals each year, including the Spring Festival (Haru Matsuri), Autumn Festival (Aki Matsuri), Annual Festival (Rei-Sai), and the Divine Procession (Shinko-Sai).

At festivals, Shintoists may perform different types if rituals at the shrine, such as: Purification, Adoration, Offerings, Prayers, Sacred Music and Dance, Feast (naorai), etc.

As history has shown, Japanese people are very proud and respectful in their everyday life, as such many customs and manners have been developed that many foreigners may think of them as strange or unnecessary. At the start of a meal, it’s common to say in a brief prayer pose “itadakimasu” (I humbly receive). When eating dinner, it is inappropriate to eat directly from common dishes (where everyone can grab a portion of food), as you should put your portion on your plate first, and to reach for the item closest to you and at the top of the plate. If someone else is picking food from a common dish, give them some space. Also, playing with chopsticks, or using them for anything other than eating, is considered disrespectful, because the chopsticks may contain your saliva or traces of food and so they should be flung around in the air as little as possible; use chopstick holders whenever you’re not eating. Do not try to stab food with your chopsticks. If a chopstick is messy, let it be messy, and do not try to pass food chopstick-to-chopstick, as it resembles a funeral. At dinner parties, it’s somewhat rude to pour your own drink. As such, you should pour everyone else’s drink except yours, someone will notice and pour your drink. Walking and eating is seen as sloppy. “Gochisosama Deshita” (It was a feast) is used to thank someone for preparing a meal or for paying the bill (someone else paid) and compliment good service (paid yourself). The traditional Japanese diet consists of minimally processed, seasonal foods served in a variety of small dishes. This style of eating emphasizes dishes’ natural flavors rather than masking them with sauces or seasonings. The diet is rich in steamed rice, noodles, fish, tofu, natto, seaweed, and fresh, cooked, or pickled fruits and vegetables but low in added sugars and fats. It may also contain some eggs, dairy, or meat, although these typically make up a small part of the diet.

Keigo (honorific language) is a polite level of speech that includes different levels of humble, formal and respectful terms. It is complicated to master this level of speech, even for native speakers of Japanese, as some situations may not require it or the incorrect term was used. However, it is considered very rude to avoid using keigo. It is most appropriate to address someone by their last name followed by the polite suffix “-san.”

Oseibo and Ochugen are winter and summer gifts respectively given at year-end and around Obon (Festival of the Dead) given to relatives, neighbors and anyone who has helped you out in the past year, such as a doctor or teacher.

When greeting, the Japanese understand that foreigners tend to shake hands; nonetheless, shaking hand is more usual for business introductions. The usual way to greet is a bow, the deeper the bow, the higher the respect given… or the higher the shame felt by the person bowing, according to the situation. Bowing can go from just slightly nodding your head downwards, to being in a 90 degrees angle directly looking down, and a lazy bow is considered disrespectful. Getting on your knees (seiza) with your head down is used in deep prayers or when begging for forgiveness, as if you are experiencing intense shame. Bowing and shaking hands at the same time is seen as awkward. The formal bow is usually 45 degrees.

Try not to touch another person, as the Japanese are generally uncomfortable with physical interaction. Pointing is also considered rude and threatening. Instead, people tend to indicate directions with an open hand or even avoiding gestures at all. When feeling uncomfortable, the Japanese tend to be indirect and try to avoid conflict where possible, dropping subtle hints about their feelings rather than direct, bold statements. Japanese people are very patient and resist honking at other drivers out of irritation. Brief honks and light flashing is most often used in friendly gestures, such as warnings. When accepting a call, try to be discrete and very quiet, and not to talk on the phone on a train or in a café. In an elevator, the person closest to the buttons operates the doors and should help people select their floor. The person nearest to the door should also be the last one to get off. It is customary to take off any backpack on a crowded train and hold it in your hands. Many taxi doors in Japan are automatic, and the driver will get a little upset if you operate the door yourself. Tipping servers at restaurants or taxi drivers can be considered insulting or at least confusion. Walking and smoking is viewed as dangerous and inconsiderate, being the idea that you could accidentally burn someone on a crowded street. In Japan this is taken very seriously, and it might even be illegal to walk and smoke in some areas.

When entering a home and many establishments where you can rest, the entrance will have a space to change your shoes for indoor slippers. This is done as to not to bring the impurity and uncleanliness of the world into your home. Tatami floors (made from rice straw or compressed wood chips) are common on traditional households, and no kind of slippers or shoes should walk upon them. Bathroom slippers are exclusive for use in washrooms and bringing them into other rooms in considered shameful. In Japan, bathing is seen as a relaxing leisure activity rather than an act of cleansing. One must completely shower with soap before entering a bath; this applies for home baths and public hot springs (onsen). There may also be available garden slippers for balcony, garden or outside use. Japanese cultural activities, such as theatre and tea ceremony tend to require formal wear. Restaurants and office work usually do too.

Because the Japanese have a deep philosophical approach to graphic designs of all kinds, they value their national flag for its simplicity, striking contrasts, and appropriate symbolism. The “hot” red of the sun symbol contrasts with its “cool” white background, and the circle of the sun contrasts with the rectangle of the flag itself. The pole on which it is to be officially hoisted is rough natural bamboo, while the finial at the top is a shiny gold ball.

It is considered extremely racist and disrespectful to compare a Chinese person, or any other person of Asiatic features, to a Japanese person, as it is done so by so many ignorant people. One of the main reasons for this comes from an event during World War II, when the Japanese army invaded the village of Nanking (or Nanjing), resulting in the mass murder, burning, looting, and rape of its villagers. This event is infamously known as the Nanking Massacre or Rape of Nanking.

After World War II, Japan had a radical change to its whole country and people. All large cities (except for Kyoto), the industries and transportation networks were severely damaged. Japan basically lost all the territory acquired after 1894. In addition, the Kurile islands were occupied by the Soviet Union, and the Ryukyu Islands, including Okinawa, were controlled by the USA. Okinawa was returned to Japan in 1972. Over 500 military officers committed suicide right after Japan surrendered, and many hundreds more were executed for committing war crimes. A new constitution went into effect in 1947: The emperor lost all political and military power, and was solely made the symbol of the state. Universal suffrage was introduced and human rights were guaranteed. Japan was also forbidden to ever lead a war again or to maintain an army. Furthermore, Shinto and the state were clearly separated. Especially during the first half of the occupation, Japan's media was subject to a rigid censorship of any anti-American statements and controversial topics such as the race issue. With the peace treaty that went into effect in 1952, the U.S. occupation ended. Japan's Self Defense Force was established in 1954. After the Korean War, and accelerated by it, the recovery of Japan's economy flourished. The economic growth resulted in a quick rise of the living standards, changes in society and the stabilization of the ruling position of the Liberal Democratic Party. Japan's relations to the Soviet Union were normalized in 1956, the ones to China in 1972. The 1973 oil crisis shocked the Japanese economy which was heavily depended on oil. The reaction was a shift to high technology industries.

After previous bans for publishing and censorship from the fascist period of WWII in Japanese media were lifted, the animated film industry and manga (basically, Japanese comics) began to flourish, but not before having to deal with the repercussions of the war. Gojira (Godzilla) was created as a metaphor to represent the use of nuclear weapons against the Japanese at the end of World War 2 and has now developed to be recognized as an official citizen of Japan. Osamu Tezuka, creator of Astro Boy and known in Japan as the God of Manga and Godfather of Anime, led the manga explosion of what would one day become one of the biggest entertainment industries in the world. Animation mainly took off in the 60’s and 70’s, when technology made it more accessible to produce the shows and to consume them. In contrast to western animation, which is generally directed to be “family friendly,” Japanese animation and manga can virtually explore any theme imaginable, from daily life as a middle school student to the psychological repercussions of war crimes while attempting to kill God to cleanse yourself of all sins and restart the universe.

In the modern day, Japan is known for being one of the most technologically advanced and civilized countries in the entire world, with even the crime rates being virtually null. Japan is naturally beautiful, with enough forests, mountains and lakes for a lifetime, and the metropolises of Japan are no exception to being astonishing, vibrant, and adventurous. Just the history of the country and learning its language are enough reason to gain interest in this wonderful land. After someone experiences the land that brought to life Godzilla and Mobile Suit Gundam, nobody would think about leaving. It’s the nest of the whole anime industry, with the most kawaii (cute) of souvenirs and , which I would one day want to visit myself.

Bibliography

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Hirai, Naofusa. (1999-2019). Shintō. Encyclopedia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/topic/Shinto

The Editors of Encyclopedia Britannica. (1998-2020). Nanjing Massacre. Encyclopedia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/event/Nanjing-Massacre

Spacey, J. (2009). 50 Japanese Manners and Customs. Japan Talk. https://www.japan-talk.com/jt/new/japanese-manners-and-customs

Lonely Planet. (n.d.). History. Lonely Planet. https://www.lonelyplanet.com/japan/narratives/background/history

Japan Experience. (2020). Timeline of Japan’s History. Japan Experience. https://www.japan-experience.com/to-know/the-history-of-japan/history-of-japan-timeline

Petre, A. (2019). What Is the Japanese Diet Plan? All You Need to Know. Healthline. https://www.healthline.com/nutrition/japanese-diet

Japan Guide. (n.d.). Geography. Japan Guide. https://www.japan-guide.com/list/e1000.html

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Japan Guide. (n.d.). Japanese Language. Japan Guide. https://www.japan-guide.com/e/e621.html

National Geographic. (n.d.). Japan. National Geographic Kids. https://kids.nationalgeographic.com/explore/countries/japan/

Japan Rail Pass. (n.d.). Regions of Japan. Japan Rail Pass. https://www.jrailpass.com/blog/regions-of-japan

[mushroomdraggo]

Clan Golden Guardian: Prologue

My first and clearest memory is of a thick, heavy, shimmering golden tail slithering away behind a tree.  Although I suppose if I were to be entirely accurate I would say that it was the sound of the scales being dragged through the underbrush, and the huge thudding steps retreating from my reach.  I have no idea how old I was on this day, as I didn't think anything of it. She left often, always returned with food and trinkets and a glowing smile.  And so I waited.

When she would leave I would stand at the very edge of the rock’s gentle overhang, peaking through the hanging vines but not daring to leave the safety of the den. It was a very nice den-- made from an absolutely enormous piece of rock which stuck out of the ground at a convenient angle, and made a warm, dry home guarded by a green curtain. It felt very safe, and I stayed very far to the back of the den, tucked away tightly and securely between the tamped-down dirt and the cool stone. I remember the den more than her, and I'm not quite sure how I feel about that.

After that is a smell.  The smell of wet sand and stagnant water and raw fish meat as I learned how to feed myself.  It's funny that I don't remember a taste at all, actually.  There's a hazy recollection of the duckweed between my claws as I lunged for every movement in the water.  This was the first time I noticed myself, if you can believe that.  I saw my wobbly reflection in the still water, and I thought it was a monster lurking in the deep.  Although I was afraid, I struck and I caught my first fish.

I had never held a live fish, and the way it flopped and spasmed on the shore gave me chills. The little creature's slick wet scales rolled in the loose sand and dirt, its swiftly pumping gills taking in soil and air alike, but to no avail. When it finally died, I poked its side a few times with my claw, brushed away the sand to expose a tiny patch of perfectly shimmering scales. For an instant, I felt a horrible pang in my chest. I choked deep in my throat and tried to break my gaze with the cold, empty eyes of the fish. As soon as I managed to turn my head away, I swiped at the corpse and pierced its flesh, quickly tearing away the scales and the eyes in search of the white meat which would slake my hunger. Even as my little stomach did flip flops and I tried not to cry, I could not ignore my hunger any longer.

The only reason I had even gone fishing, I thought, was because I could just barely remember her warnings about foraging. There was always a golden haziness to her and her voice-- much like the bright aura the sun would give the world on a particularly cloudless day.

“Remember, Kundanika,” she would always say, her voice smooth and sweet as honey. But never could I recall her next words. I could feel the rising and falling slopes of her tone, sense where certain syllables might fall… but it was always as though she were speaking softly to someone else, not at all to me.

I spent the hours at night trying desperately to cling onto even tiny remnants of her wonderful voice, but that was all I ever had. “Remember, Kundanika…” I was trying to so hard to, whipping myself with guilt when I couldn't recall more than those words. Eventually, even that gentle presence of her speaking to another retreated completely from my mind.

But as time went on, I grew tired of fish. There were just so many round red berries hanging off of bushes, so many ripe fruits bending boughs down low. And so began my experimentation.

Was it dangerous? Perhaps. But I was determined to make myself a good life while I waited. The rock under which I always slept was the perfect place to begin my documentation. I climbed on the back of the great stone and cleared its surface of vines, moss, and packed-in soil. It took some looking, but I also managed to dig up a lump of coal, which I used to mark the stone with my notes.

Even at that young, adventurous age, I was quite the meticulous notetaker. I picked two berries and one leaf off of a nearby bush, pulverizing one berry against the surface of the stone and letting its juices stain the surface. Although it was more than a little difficult to write with a jagged hunk of rock, I traced the shape of the leaf right beside the berry stain. I took the smallest, tiniest bit of the little berry that I could muster and waited.

In this way, I slowly documented all of the fruits and berries and tubers and vegetables I could find in the marsh. The stone was soon covered with notes and sketches and scrawls and diagrams and suddenly there was sense in the world. The world became a great machine, a huge mechanism made from tangled vines and roots, from delicate leaves and burbling water, from growth and life. I stood before my work, looked at the beautiful beginning of meaning in a world that was very suddenly mine. I ran my tongue over my berry stained teeth, stopped to suck a seed out from between my fangs. This was real. This was mine. I had language and power and knowledge! So much knowledge.

This was the first moment I did not miss her.

~~~~~

My very favorite thing to do was watch snails. It might sound silly-- like watching the water erode the very land away-- but something about their necessary decisiveness interested me. Most other animals appeared to me to be very twitchy and ridiculous, like the squirrels whom had run right over my claws in their panics, or the birds who spooked so easily. Snails moved slowly but purposefully, with their destination so clearly in mind. Nothing that slow could afford to guess where they needed to be. What wisdom they might hold.

My creativity blossomed as my materials grew scarce. Once I had thoroughly coated the stone from all sides and angles in my wild notes, I needed a new way to keep track of all that I discovered. I sharpened sticks into very nice points and pressed berries to make deep red ink, wrote my notes on leaves and soft, thin bark. This way I could keep my notes in a neat stack in the hole I had dug out for them under the rock. After some time, I discovered that feathers made even better writing tools, and so I invented the quill all on my own.

One of the greatest discoveries I made was tending trees. It was so easy to make a tree grow exactly the way you wanted it to. I planted seeds in a ring around the rock, trained the saplings to weave through each other, and created a real den. The saplings grew to solid trees, each single tree helping to form a solid structure which I grew to call home, all with the stone slab at the center.

There were so many things in the world to learn! So many things just in this little marsh to discover and name and track and explain. I felt a swelling, growing, bursting sense of purpose as I pressed further and further to fill out my growing library of notes. I felt as though this place was uniquely mine, and it made me indescribably happy.

~~~~~

Maybe it’s my own fault, but I guess I figured no one would ever find this place. It seemed right to me that I was here on my own, just me and the animals.

I remember a distinct feeling of wrongness late one night as I tried to drift off to sleep. I was starting to get rather large for sleeping under the rock, and the vines tickled my snout as I tried to sleep. It was here, just as I was starting to slip into the blissful sleep after an honest day’s work, that a gut-wrenching fear came upon me as suddenly as though I had been kicked in the chest. I dug my claws into the dirt almost instinctively and poked my face out of the vines. Nothing.

As suddenly as the fear had come, it sank away. Exhausted from this sharp dose of horror, I fell into a deep sleep at last.

The next morning, I awoke to an unfamiliar feeling. It was not horror or fear, but rather a nagging worry. A paranoia.

Someone else was here.

I was absolutely certain of it. Someone else had come here.

“Remember, Kundanika…”

Who was it? Who had found me?

While every bone in my body screamed to dart out of my den and go tearing through the trees, trying to find whatever threat had come into my territory, I gave myself a moment to steady my breathing and set out as calmly as I could muster.

Part of me followed my nose, but I think most of my search was so deeply ingrained in me that I didn’t need to smell. I could feel that there was someone here-- here, in my home, in my place, MINE-- and they needed to leave.

My feelings of aggression grew stronger and stronger the closer I came to the intruders. I could feel their presence, could feel the blood boiling in my veins.

There was a sound of slow, deep breathing. Two chests rising and falling. Sleeping. They’d come in here and fallen asleep, had kicked down the doors to my home and fallen asleep-- how dare they! What disrespect! What utter foolishness!

It did not occur to me at the time that my “territory” was unmarked, unclaimed, and unprotected at its borders. All I could feel was intense and endless burning rage.

My breathing hitched in my throat when I finally found them. The larger beast seemed like a deer, but with a third thick horn protruding from its head, upward-facing fangs, and an eerie green glow which seemed to ooze out of vents in its neck. Despite its size and the breathing so deep it could have been a steadily rolling growl, it seemed quite peaceful and harmless curled up and sleeping.

Tucked safely in the center of the creature’s curl was another little beast. It was a color I had never seen, except perhaps hidden in the hues of the berries I had crushed on the rock. Made almost entirely of webbing, it seemed, and wearing a doll-like scrap of fabric around its neck.

I tried to keep my breathing calm as I sized the two up. My controlled breaths started to become angry huffs as I looked at them.

As hard as I tried, I lost control then and there, leaping out of the bushes with all the energy I had tried to constrain, bellowing out a tremendous roar with the breath I had tried to control.

The pair of animals startled awake, the smaller thing shocked so badly in must have leapt several feet in the air, and the larger getting to its feet at an alarming speed. At that time, I barely stood taller than it, and its frame was much more menacing.

“Who are you? What are you doing here? Leave this place!” I screamed in the most imposing voice I could.

“J-Just calm down--” spoke the smaller creature. Its voice was rather silky and low for such a tiny thing.

I thudded my claw on the ground and the little creature pressed the fins on each side of its head down against its neck as close as it could.

“Leave!” I repeated, my voice faltering slightly.

“We don’t mean any trouble,” the small one said, its tone so even it was alien. “We needed a place to sleep. Is this the Viridian Labyrinth?”

The fins twitched inquisitively.

“I--” I stuttered. “This is-- This is my territory!”

“But… where are we?”

The big beast seemed to soften as I did, its stance becoming less and less terrifying.

I swallowed hard and looked between the two of the them, unable to muster a single word.

“I am Mair,” the little one said. “This is Deoward. We come from the Starwood Strand. We’re not here to cause trouble, we were only resting.”

“The Starwood…?” I trailed off.

The beast narrowed its eyes. “The Starwood Strand. On the Southeastern border of the Starfall Isles.” His voice was low and rough.

“I don’t--”

“Is there anyone else here?” Mair asked. “Are you alone?”

“Yes.” I answered. “It’s just me.”

“Would you mind if we stayed?” Mair said. “We have been looking for a place to live. Neither of us have a home right now, and we--”

“No!” I reacted, drawing back from these two intruders. “I mean… no.”

“Just for the day, then?” Mair pressed. “We’re really very tired, we’ve been travelling for a very long time.”

Despite Mair’s strangely toneless voice, I couldn’t help but feel that I could trust the little creature. I couldn’t for the life of me conjure up a reason that these two would lie to me.

“Well,” I said, and then I stopped.

“Yes?” Deoward prompted.

“Well, yes. Fine. The day,” I agreed. “But I don’t want any nonsense. And I don’t want to see the two of you. I want you to stay and rest and then you will leave tomorrow morning. I’ll know.”

And I turned and left, feeling like the absolute master of negotiations.

I was not.