#and within that I am exposed to a number of animals hunted for useful purposes

[darkwood-sleddog]

Also can we stop and think for a moment how ‘only indigenous people should be allowed to hunt because XYZ’ is borderline (or straight up) fetishising? Like do the people saying things like that not realise this?

It is straight up fetishization, but the people that say things like this don’t realize this because they’re too busy trying to reconcile their anti-hunting and often vegan morals with their desire to be woke and progressive about indigenous right.

[skekheck]

All About the Seven Clans: The Spriton

THIS POST CONTAINS EVERYTHING I COULD FIND ABOUT THE SPRITON. SOME INFORMATION WRITTEN HERE ARE FROM OLDER MATERIAL AND MAY EITHER CONTRADICT STATEMENTS OR IS NO LONGER RELEVANT. I WILL DO MY BEST TO STRING IT ALL TOGETHER AS COHERENTLY AS POSSIBLE. IF THERE IS INFORMATION THAT I AM MISSING, PLEASE LET ME KNOW AND I’LL ADD IT!

Clan Index: Dousan Drenchen Grottan Sifa Spriton Stonewood Vapra

OVERVIEW

The Spriton were a farming clan that occupied the southern plains of Thra. Although well known for their knowledge in agriculture and husbandry, they were also experts in textile creation and other fine arts. Due to their location and way of life, they were the most important providers of grains and produce for other clans. Interestingly in other media, usually older works, the Spriton were a warrior clan instead.

The Spriton totem animal was the Landstrider and their core elements were the earth, its foundation, and protection of the land and its creatures . Both their clan and sigil colors were green and their pennant colors were beige with green and gold detail. 

Characteristics 

Most Spritons had dark or tanned skin and were sometimes covered in freckles. Their hair was dark-colored or black and were only ever worn in single braids. Decoration was minimal with only adorning their hair with small beads. A Spriton's eyes were noted to be "jewel-toned", usually light in color. Grey and off-white yellow or green were fairly common with darker greens and browns being rarer exceptions. Thanks to their lifestyles, Spritons were athletic and graceful. Spriton wings were noted to be long and narrow which were good for speed and agility. In the books written by J.M. Lee, one Spriton named Gereni had bright green wings. Older gelfling commonly had sun-worn skin and calloused hands.

Spriton clothing were simple, described as russet colored with autumnal qualities or earthy tones that matched their environment. Reds and browns in particular were extremely common. Plenty of gelfling from this clan wore head coverings which protected their heads from the Three Suns. Despite its simplicity, Spriton fashion displayed beautiful textile work with a unique stitching style not seen in other clans. 

Lifestyle

The Spriton were a traditional clan that valued hard work and generational knowledge. Performing daily tasks kept the community thriving as well as providing clothes and food for other clans. Their agricultural livelihoods revolved around season events like the trine cycle as well as ninents or greater seasons, which were one hundred trine in length. It was very important for memories to be passed on to ensure the success of crops for future generations. Living in harmony with Thra’s plants and creatures was also a tenet in Spriton culture. This stemmed from the Song of the Six Sisters where the Spriton’s first maudra was tasked with not only taking care of the land but also its foundation and animals. 

The Spriton were a medium-sized community whose population was comparable to the Drenchen's. Most Spritons lived in the clan's hometown Sami Thicket, but branched out into smaller villages and singular houses and farms along the Spriton Plains. The Spriton were some of the first clans to had spread outside their main village. Even the Stonewood, who had a larger population, didn’t stray too far from their home village until well into the Age of Division.  A Spriton family unit usually consisted of three to six gelfling. Despite the distance from their hometown, the Spriton never lost their sense of community. Whenever families returned to Sami Thicket to give crops, practice trading, or for special occasions, they were always welcomed warmly. 

Daily Routine

A day in the life of a Spriton consisted of long work days that started when the suns rose and stretched on well after dark. In Sami Thicket, and perhaps in some neighboring villages, an hourly bell was rung so the Spriton never got too lost in their work. When younglings grew to the age of apprenticeship, they were selected by mentors to begin training. They were put into a work group that was monitored by two elders. Younglings also refined their riding and hunting skills by participating in sports like bola-throwing and knock-knee, a race-and-ball game played on the backs of Landstriders. In the book series, they were also trained in combat and to fight with a spear. 

Because Spriton had a variety of jobs, they were divided into three main categories:

Hearth Workers: This group focused on tasks of integrated care of the hearth and home. Occupations included caregivers, woodworkers, songtellers, musicians, hearth workers (sometimes also called fire workers), bell ringers, food servers, and artisans like weavers, stitichers, and craftsmen. This group emphasized on building and maintaining the physical homes as well as replenished the hearts and spirits of the Spriton. Artisans were also seen as integral to the clan as their tapestries and other creations preserved their way of life.

Dirt Workers: Dirt workers protected the land and cultivated the clan’s many gardens in Sami Thicket and nearby fields. They were largely farmers, but also consisted of animal breeders and maintainers. They kept oral records of seasonal wisdom by marking the passing of time using sun-sticks posted in fields and horticultural and agricultural knowledge from previous generations. Dirt workers tended to creatures by tracking their numbers and observing their health. They believed that the health of the animals represented the health of the land.

Path Workers: Path workers were traders. Gelfling with these jobs were responsible for sorting, preparing, counting, and trading Spriton products. They were strong in numbers and noted for their adventurous and outgoing personalities who used their intelligence, sharp tongues, and charismatic smiles to sell their items. A popular saying “as smooth as a Spriton wagon driver” was inspired by them. Spriton traders often traveled outside of Sami Thicket, mostly staying within the plains but ventured to Stone-in-the-Wood and even Har’rar. 

Spriton Crafts

The Spriton were renowned for their crafts as much as their expansive knowledge on agriculture. They covered just about everything from textiles and quilts to tools and weapons.  Although, in regards to their metalwork, it was not as refined as the Stonewood’s and Vapran’s due to the dearth in materials. Spritons opted to work mainly with charmed wood, fiber, and substances from both vegetables and animals which were magically bounded.  Needlework in particular was considered a highly valued talent within Spriton communities as it was believed they were the stitchers of the gelfling clans.

Spriton textiles were easy to spot with its exposed stitchwork, extensive variety of magically-enhanced colors, and embroidery. They were highly sought out by other clans, especially the fashion-oriented Vapra. Their sandals were particularly famous not just for their beauty but also because of how sturdy they were. Spriton wool, which were spun from the coats of various plains creatures, were popular especially when dyed from one hundred pigments made in Sami Thicket. 

As previously mentioned, Spriton crafts sported a unique style. While craftsmen in other clans hid binding agents like threadwork in shoes and tangle-weed in pottery, the Spriton purposely exposed them. They believed that if it weren’t for them, the craft would fall apart. Highlighting these parts was the Spriton’s way of showing respect to them. Exposed threadwork was incorporated artistically with patterns on clothing and shoes. Tangle-weed, which made clay more durable, was dyed in beautiful vibrant colors.

Some other examples of Spriton craftsmanship were their lyres and bolas. While lyres from other clans had six strings, Spriton lyres had seven. The seventh string was spun from Vapran metal which clans were given through trading. It gave the lyres a sublime character and was said to have emulated the voice of Thra. Spriton bolas were better than ones produced by other clans as it had longer rope with smaller stones, which made it easier to throw and reached farther distances.

Dream-stitiching

Dream-stitching was a type of magic that originated from the Spriton. It was a skill that combined elements from dreamfasting and dream-etching, which had the ability to fasten memories onto a physical object that invoked all senses and stirred imagination. The object could be anything: books, paintings, tapestries, or even stones or plants. This skill was difficult to master and was only taught by the Spriton maudra.

Kylan, a dream-stitcher, displayed noteworthy forms of the art. In the TV series, Kylan dream-stitched Brea’s memory of her mother within a Glider Seed so that others could know the All Maudra like she did. His skills in the book series were even more remarkable as he bounded Tavra’s soul upon the body of a crystal-singer and spread the message of the gelfling resistance on the Sanctuary Tree’s petals with dream-stitching.

Animal Husbandry

Much like their knowledge of land, the Spriton knew plenty about Thra’s diverse creatures, dating as far back as the Age of Harmony. Dirt workers were the ones responsible for training and handling animals. They knew animal calls and methods that taught them certain commands.  Many of these animals helped the Spriton in their daily tasks. For example, Mounders used their digging abilities to create irrigation channels in fields that helped Spriton crops. 

Landstriders

Landstriders, the totem animal of the Spriton were the most notable animals among the clan. In fact, it was common belief by other clans that all Spritons were experienced Landstrider riders. Riding one was noted to be difficult for newcomers and it took time for the creatures to get used to a saddle. But trainers created a system that made the Landstriders comfortable giving gelfling rides if they were given treats in exchange (usually roasted fruits or nectar).  While their eyesight was poor, they had impeccable hearing and could “see” by listening to the echoes of their hoofbeats. They could be ridden during both the day and night, but weren’t good for stealth as their hooves produced loud sounds. During times of war, Landstriders were given armor, even on their legs. While this slowed them down, lining them together made for an affective barricade. 

Spriton cared for Landstriders within several large herds. They were given plenty of freedom to roam in large meadows with built structures for them to take shelter with eating-troughs and trenches from nearby rivers for fresh water. These living spaces formed positive relationships between Landstriders and gelfling. These bonds became especially important during the late Age of Division as they were the only animals capable of fighting off the Garthim thanks to their swift speed. 

Swoothus and Windshifters

Swoothus and windshifters were other notable Spriton animals. They were used for delivering messages all throughout gelfling settlements. While windshifters were faster, they were more aloof and easily distracted. Swoothus, on the other hand, were slower but easier to train and performed better especially when motivated by food. They were capable of understanding speech and specific commands as well as recognizing multiple locations. 

Like with Landstriderss, bonds of trust formed between Swoothu or Windshifters and their trainers. With Swoothus, it came to the point where they’d visit their trainer even when there were no messages to send. Younger Swoothu tended to not stray too far from Sami Thicket until they gained the courage or curiosity to fly farther out. Sometimes they hitched a ride with their trainers or traders until they’re ready to fly off. By then, they mainly traveled to major gelfling settlements like Stone-in-the-Wood, Har’rar, and the Castle of the Crystal. 

Cohabitating With Podlings

While podlings had always co-existed with gelfling, the harmony between them and Spritons were the greatest. The relationship between the two were very communal and so close that they adapted cultures and characterstics from one another. Gelfling from Sami Thicket and neighboring villages commonly spoke podling tongue.

Podlings lived alongside their fellow Spritons in Sami Thicket, having houses nestled in between the gelflings’. They worked alongside the gelfling in various jobs, shared everything together, and even raised within the same nurseries. The two species took part in each other’s holidays or traditions, like podling funerals. Spritons and podlings alike gathered by the Pavilion and prepared the body for service and burial. 

Diet

Thanks to the Spriton’s knowledge in agriculture and crops, they found ways of growing fruits and vegetables not normally found in their region, elongated growing seasons, and yielded bigger crops. Because of the large bounty of produce, a Spriton’s diet was heavily relied on fruits and vegetables. Meat was consumed rarely and when they did the gelfling carefully picked a creature, quickly slaughtered it, and gave it their respects.

Spriton cuisine involved mixing greens with vegetables and fruits. Produce was sometimes marinated in a tangy sauce or seasoned with fire-toasted seeds or nuts. Spriton cheese was treasured and came in great variety, from soft spreadable to harder cheeses suited for grating and melting. The cheeses were widely sought out by other clans and fetched good prices, especially in giant markets like the ones in Har’rar where such foods were hard to come by. 

One notable Spriton delicacy was the sweet cherry squash. Cherry squashes were roasted which gave them a savory sweet taste. They were saved for special occasions like visits from the skeksis during tithe and census ceremonies. Other Spriton foods included dried squash and emroot. 

Festival of the Sour Squash

This was an autumn holiday that celebrated the harvest of the sour squash. The ripeness of the squash signaled the beginning of the harvest seasons and the coming of winter. The fruit grew in partial shades of the thicket and changed color from green to amber and, when ripe, to red. Sour squash was delicious when roasted, although the ripeness produced an even more flavorable heady sweetness. Otherwise raw sour squash, as its name indicated, had an unbearable sourness. Roasted sour squash was similar to roasted sweet cherry squash for both flavor, crispiness, juiciness, and equally sweet-scented.

Along with the beginning of the harvest, the festival was also the Spriton’s way of thanking Thra’s generosity for the bounty of their crops. This was reflected in the festival’s tradition: after gelfling roasted their sour squash they must share all of it with others and only then were they allowed to eat the ones given to them by others. It was generally considered bad luck to decline to share. Sharing roasted squash wasn’t limited to gelfling as it involved podlings and the animals that resided in the village. 

Day of the Great Sun

This was a traditional summer festival that all gelfling celebrated with summer activities like carrying water, taking a day of rest and more. But for the Spriton, who referred to it as the Longest Day, observed the event differently with a tradition called “sun-filling”. On the days leading up to the Longest Day, the Spriton cut back the trees around their homes and removed the latching from their roofs. When the day came, the sunlight from the Greatest Sun filled their houses with its light as it made its long journey across the sky. The Spriton held the belief that the light the sun brought kept out dust and last until the next trine.

Another tradition was burning old or discarded items within Sami Thicket’s hearth whose fire raged on through the entire day. When homes were cleaned and the fire put out, the head of each household took a small handful of ash and sprinkled on the newly thatched roofs. It was a reminder of letting go but also respecting and honoring the old.

Spritons sung a traditional song called “Sun-Filling Song” while they de-dusted heavy quilts and mats.

Mysteries of the Mystic Valley

Although the Spritons lived near the Valley of the Mystics none knew about the existence of the urru. Yet, they knew that something lived there beyond the dried-up ravine as rumors sprung from sights of silhouettes and hearing chanting at night. Many had gone into the valley to find the source of the rumors but found nothing. This may be due to the mystic magic that cloaked their village from outsiders. Many songs were created to explain these seemingly mysterious phenomena. Some were more logical, that the valley was the new home of the Arathim, but some were more superstitious that the ravine was haunted by a long forgotten race. 

Interestingly, plenty of songs focused on skekMal the Hunter who was known by many gelfling to be a myth. In many of these stories he was known as the Hunter. They explained that the Mystic Valley was his birthplace and in one particular song, called “Hunter’s Knife”, was also the resting place of his heart. In the song, it explained the origins of his bloodthirst as, believing his spirit was holding him back, he carved out his heart with a knife made from stone. He left it in the valley where, as rumors believed, was the source of the moaning heard at night. It was his disembodied spirit’s desperate calls to be reunited with his body. 

Sami Thicket, Hometown of the Spriton

Nestled within a small wood in the middle of the Spriton plains lied Sami Thicket. The word sami meant “to rest” in old gelfling, which signified the village being a welcoming place of rest after a long day of work. Hundreds of families of both gelfling and podling lived within their clay and wooden houses, some multiple stories high. Some houses, like the ones outside of the village, were built with sturdy logs. Animals also lived within the village with winded creatures like Windshifters and Swoothu having built-in dens and nests throughout the wood. The village circled around the Pavillion. 

The Pavillion was known as one of the hearts of Sami Thicket. It was located right in front of the Spriton maudra’s large round house. It radiated out from a stone hearth as its core with paved multi-colored stones of red, gray, and blue which were arranged in a mosaic, twisting, tree branch-like pattern. The hearth itself was ringed with stone ledges wide enough for several gelfling to stand on or for a whole band to play in the evening. 

The community gathered around the Pavillion daily for performing tasks and where supper was served by hearth workers. It was also the meeting place for special occasions. During these times, fire workers created giant fires that towered over the village and beautifully lighting up the Pavillion. 

Nenadi-Staba 

Otherwise known as the Low Tree, this was the patron tree of the Spriton. It was considered the other heart of the Sami Thicket and was located within a bowl-like valley near a winding brook. The tree itself was a squat tree with bulging roots that had a gnarled, maze like-pattern with dangling smaller roots and vines. The Low Tree’s thin, reedy branches were ruffled with fragile hand-shaped golden leaves. It only took a short walk to get there which allowed the Spriton to visit it whenever they wanted. Younglings played on its labyrinthine roots while elders meditated under its shade. To pay homage to their Great Tree, the Spriton sang a song called “Ode to the Low Tree”.

Relationship With the Skeksis and Other Clans

The Spriton were among the most loyal of the skeksis. In fact, it was the Spriton who first agreed to form an alliance with them, kickstarting the Alliance of the Crystal. SkekVar, when he was known as the Ambassador, convinced Elder Carn of the gelfling council to form a compromise of exchanging weapons for the skeksis protection from the Makraks. After meeting with skekSo the Emperor did Elder Carn solidified the alliance with them. Since then, the Spriton remained loyal to the skeksis, where they provided them with tithes and banquets whenever they visited. Like most clans, some Spritons were sent to the Castle of the Crystal to become guards. In the book series, along with the Stonewood, they made the majority of the skeksis’ armies and guards at the Castle of the Crystal. However, their loyalty was eventually driven by fear as evident by Maudra Mera. In both the TV and book series, she remained stubborn about joining the resistance fearing the safety of her own clan. Eventually she decides to join the Spriton in the fight against the skeksis.  

Spritons generally were respectful and kind to any visitors who visited Sami Thicket and neighboring villages. They valued keeping face and held the belief they had good trading relationships with other clans. They did have their fair share of rivalries, though. The most well known of these were with their woodland neighbors the Stonewood. Depending on the media, the severity of their rivalry varied. In the timeline established in Age of Resistance, it didn’t extend outside of name-calling and rumormongering. The book series, however,  had the two clans constantly feuding over territory within the Endless Forest. Despite all of this, the Spriton shared the same folklore with them including the heroic Jarra-Jen and the villainous Hunter.

They were the only neighbors of the Drenchen which they had semi-regular contact with. On the surface, the two had a friendly neighboring relationship but looking past this lied a steadily growing tension. This hit a crescendo in the book series as, after Stonewood’s defeat and supposed annihilation, the Drenchen took up arms to fight the skeksis themselves. To get to the castle, they would have to go through the Spriton which were still loyal to the skeksis. Fueled by fear that they too would end up like Stonewood, the Spriton expected to fight the Drenchen. Thankfully, Naia and her friends were able to defuse the situation from becoming a civil war and managed to get the two clans to join the resistance.

Like other clans, the Spriton had their own stereotypes from outsiders. While the Spriton thought of themselves as humble and more productive of the seven clans, others found them overly obedient and old fashioned. At least in the book series timeline, the Spriton were believed to be territorial as well as aggressive and combative. Some outsiders referred Spritons as “grasslings”. 

Notable Spriton Members

Kylan: A songteller who lived during the late Age of Division. He accompanied the Drenchen Naia who wanted to find Rian and exchange him for the freedom of her brother. He would then help the gelfling resistance by helping the other clans light the fires of resistance. Interestingly, Kylan is half Spriton from his mother side: his dad was from Stonewood.

Maudra Mera the Dream Stitcher: Maudra Mera was the Spriton Maudra during the late Age of Division. She loved the skeksis and much as she feared them and would do anything to keep her clan safe, even if it meant siding with the lords who were draining gelfling. She was shrewd and traditional.

Tolyn: A Spriton who served as a guard at the Castle of the Crystal. When an uprising was being formed after the gelfling learned the truth, Tolyn decided to tell the lords about this supposed traitorous behavior. It backfired on him completely as he was drained of his essence along with most of the castle guards.

Carn: Also known as Elder Carn or Maudra Carn. She lived during the late Age of Harmony and the early Age of Division. During the Makrak raids, she agreed to form an alliance with the skeksis for their protection, an alliance that would nearly last a thousand years.

Thall: Daughter of Carn. A lover of the forest she lived near by, she was the first gelfling to encounter urSu the Master. She, urSu, and Raunip found a way to help the Makraks find their way back underground and stopped their destructive raids. 

Veara: A healer from a Spriton village. She tried helping Barfinnious and Hup with a beast that had been attacking her village, but was snatched by it instead. Veara was able to leave a trail of herbs to the cave where the beast lied in hopes the two could put a stop to it. 

Vortina: A Spriton farmer from a village outside of Sami Thicket. Vortina tried to defend her farm when a beast attacked it but was hurt in the process. Her wounds were mended by the village's healer Veara. 

Mimi: The daughter of Maudra Mera. 

Lun: In Shadows of the Dark Crystal, he was seen helping roast cherry-squashes in preparation for the arrival of the skeksis lords. In Flames of the Dark Crystal, he became a scout for Maudra Mera to keep track of any Drenchen soldiers.

Phaedra: A Spriton who lived in Sami Thicket. She was the village’s sandal-stitcher.

Remi: A childling who lived in Sami Thicket. He was in charge of ringing the hour bell. 

Gereni: Gereni was a scout who accompanied Lun to look out for Drenchen soldiers. 

[Sources: Song of the Seven Gelfling Clans, the official Dark Crystal website, Shadows of the Dark Crystal, Song of the Dark Crystal, Flames of the Dark Crystal, The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance, the Dark Crystal, The Dark Crystal Age of Resistance: An Epic Return To Thra, The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance: The Ballad of Hup & Barfinnious, Author Quest: The Gelfling Gathering, Creation Myths, Heroes of the Resistance , the Dark Crystal Bestiary]

[onf-headcanons]

Prior keyword introduction for PSYCHO PASS AU

I am sharing this prior the AU post because I think its not all of my followers watched PSYCHO PASS anime. And I worried some keywords I will using might be confusing so here is a brief essential guide I copied from https://psychopass.fandom.com/

(You can go to the link to read more if you are interested, again I very much recommend the first season)

Crime Coefficient (Index)

is a numerical measure of said person's probability/propensity to commit a crime.

Levels of Crime Coefficient

Under 100 ‒ Suspect is not a target for enforcement action. The trigger of the Dominator will be locked.

100 to 299 ‒ Suspect is classified as a latent criminal and is a target for enforcement action. The Dominator is set to Non-Lethal Paralyzer mode. Suspect under fire will be stunned into a stunned state of immobility and, oftentimes, a lack of consciousness.

Over 300 ‒ Suspect poses a serious threat to the society. Lethal force is authorized. The Dominator will automatically switch to Lethal Eliminator. Suspect that is hit by Lethal Eliminator will bloat and explode

Criminal Investigation Department

(CID is under Public Safety Bureau)

is the department tasked with managing crime. Its members work for different departments and fall under three different groups: inspection officers, enforcement officers, and analysis officers.

The Inspectors

 intelligence agents of the Bureau who watch over the Enforcers. 

They are among society's elite with stable personalities and low Crime Coefficients. They must be intelligent, calm, and high in academics. 

Candidates fitting all of these requirements are invited to join the criminal task force in this division. 

 stressful job because it requires them to constantly watch over the Enforcers, but it can also be rewarding because of the career advances it offers. 

They are given more privileges and literally "own" the Enforcers, with the ability to punish them for disobeying orders. 

The Enforcers

are the main powerhouse for the Bureau.

 All of the Enforcers have high Crime Coefficients and are only brought back into society for the sole purpose of exposing and eliminating criminals just like themselves. 

They cannot do anything without their respective Inspector's approval and face serious consequences for disobeying direct orders. 

a character from the anime describes them as beasts that are used to hunt beasts, saying that they are not human but more like hunting dogs, tracking down the criminals and doing most of the grunt work at hand.

The Analysts

These individuals are in charge of support-related tasks for all divisions,

They measure and process the Crime Coefficients of criminals and do data analysis work. 

Dominator

*There are different versions but I will only stick to the basics because the story only loosely  based on season 1

is the iconic firearm carried by enlisted Inspection and Enforcement officers of the Public Safety Bureau. This weapon is able to determine the identity of its holder, requiring authentication and wireless connection to the Sibyl System in order to operate, with each individual gun only heard by the user to which it is registered.

When the Dominator is aimed at a target, it continuously reads and sends psychological data ‒ the individual's Psycho-Pass ‒ which it sends to the Sibyl System for calculation of their Crime Coefficient. When this value exceeds a certain level, one indicating that the target is mentally unstable and likely to commit a violent crime, the gun will be operable. If the level does not exceed such levels, the muzzle will not open and a safety device will be activated to prevent the user from pulling the gun's trigger. The gun is unable to work when it is not linked wirelessly to The Sibyl System in most circumstances.

Non-Lethal Paralyzer

standard mode fires energy bursts that paralyze the target and does not need to transform for this mode. 

used to knock suspects unconscious in order to safely bring them into custody. The effect may be reduced or negated if the target is under the influence of strong stimulants.

The trigger of the gun is locked by default until the onboard scanner identifies a person in the gun's sights as having a Crime Coefficient exceeding 100 points and with the gun's grip in the hand of a registered and authorized user. 

This is to guarantee that there are no innocent victims and to prevent abuse.

Lethal Eliminator

In this mode, the weapon can shoot a huge burst of energy which, upon contact with the target, affects all organic and inorganic matter. Following impact on a human target, everything impacted is annihilated. 

The process takes about two seconds and is visually violent as it causes massive swelling wherever the energy hits. The swelling then spreads over the entire body before exploding. What remains is a spray of blood with fragments of the corpse, possibly showing an eighteen-inch or more entry wound. 

The gun is also capable of dismemberment. Being shot in a limb while the gun is in this mode often leaves the target alive, albeit severely injured with said limb completely destroyed.

Use of the Lethal Eliminator mode is restricted to individuals whose Crime Coefficient exceeds 300 points. 

Once the Dominator has transformed, it will only revert to its non-lethal mode when unhanded, a few seconds after the most recent threat disappears - one way or the other - from the sensor's field of view, 

or when The Sibyl System decides the wielder is unauthorized, insufficiently qualified, 

or too cloudy to use the weapon ‒ though this typically is a person-specific lockout, until permission is granted from HQ.

Destroy Decomposer  (this version is not used in the story so I will omit the introduction)

Hue

is a reflection of a person's stress level. Every citizen in Sibyl's database is assigned a specific color depending on the state of their Psycho-Pass. Colors such as light blue or pink indicate a healthy Psycho-Pass, while colors such as medium green or steel blue indicate a deteriorated Psycho-Pass.

A clouded Hue occurs when stress is consistently present.  A Hue that is completely clear appears white, while a Hue clouded beyond recognition appears black.

Psycho-Pass

is a reading of an individual's mind via a cymatic scan. It shows a Crime Coefficient, a Hue, a graph of how the individual's Psycho-Pass changed over time, and a basic societal profile of the individual. It is calculated by the Sibyl System. The worsening of a Psycho-Pass is taken care of at psychological care facilities, but if one ignores such warnings and their Psycho-Pass is further clouded, they are declared a latent criminal.

An individual's Psycho-Pass is used in multiple ways, both professional and personal. It influences one's level of education, hobbies, future career and likelihood of promotion, as well as one's choice of friends or potential mate. Law enforcement uses the information to determine an individual's propensity towards criminal behavior with their weapons possessing hand-held scanners that enable them to see someone's current Psycho-Pass, which then sets their weapon to an appropriate level of discharge.

Area Stress Level

refers to the group Psycho-Pass of a particular block of the city that is overseen by Sibyl. It is calculated by taking the average Psycho-Passes of all the citizens within the block which is then represented by a number. The higher the number, the more elevated the Area Stress rating.

Therefore, if someone with an unstable Psycho-Pass is detected by a scanner, it raises the Area Stress Level because their Crime Coefficient increases the average, setting off an alarm and alerting the Public Safety Bureau.

Psycho-Hazard

A latent criminal's Crime Coefficient can be contagious. A Psycho-Hazard refers to the poisoning of another's Psycho-Pass following exposure to an already dangerous Psycho-Pass.

Sibyl System

the name given to a law enforcement organization operated in working in cooperation with the national government to manage crime in 22nd century. It is the sole operator and manager of proprietary hardware and software used to analyze the criminal tendencies of the entire country's populace

[evolutionsvoid]

The Pugnax is a creature that is found in the arctic regions of the world, where land and ice meet the freezing seas. They are marine mammals that spend most of their lives in these frigid waters, only coming to dry land to rest or reproduce. If your ship has ever sailed through the arctic regions, you probably have spotted their huge colonies packed upon the floating ice and stony shores. When seen on land, you would probably wonder how such a beast survives in water. Their bodies are bulky and heavy, giving the impression that they would sink like a stone. Their limbs look malformed and useless, which is shown when they drag their weight around on the ice. While all this gives the impression of an awkward creature, they are surprisingly graceful in the water, and are hardy beasts that can easily survive in this cold, harsh world. The Pugnax are creatures of the sea, and their anatomy shows that quite well. Their forelimbs have flattened out into flippers, while their hind limbs have fused to create something like the fluke of a whale. These are obviously used to propel themselves through the water, and the dexterity of their limbs allows them to pull off impressive maneuvers. They have precise control over their movements, which is critical when it comes to foraging for food and escaping predators. The other adaptation is the streamlined shape of their body. Though bulky, the body of the Pugnax is very smooth and rounded, making it so that they slice through the water rather than burrow through it. Their fur is extremely short and sparse, while their ears are reduced and stick close to their skulls. Speaking of their body and skin, the Pugnax have thick layers of insulating blubber that keep them warm in the frigid water. This is how they are able to survive in such an environment with little to no shelter. To further help their aquatic lifestyle is their respiratory system, which is specialized for long dives in the ocean. Large lungs allow them to hold a lot of air and their bodies are capable of functioning on very little of it at a time. The flesh around their nostrils can seal them shut to prevent seawater from getting in, and their thick flexible lips keep the same from happening to their mouths. So far it is believed that the Pugnax can remain underwater for as long as thirty minutes, which is important when it comes to finding food. The diet of a Pugnax consists mainly of mollusks and crustaceans, which they hunt for during their long dives. This food is found on the sea floor, usually buried within the muck and sand. To dig out such treats, they use the famed tusks that jut from their lower mandibles. These long, lance-like tusks are actually incisors that have grown out of their jaws, with them actually emerging below the lips. Both the males and females of this species possess these tusks, as they are important for feeding. These two special teeth are grown close together to create one structure, and they are subtly curved upward to make something like a scoop. When foraging, the Pugnax will swim just above the ocean floor, using its keen senses and sensitive hairs to locate prey. When food is detected, they shall use their long tusks to rip up the muck and reveal the hiding morsel. With the scoop-like shape of their tusks, they can slide them under prey and lift them up to send them sliding down to their mouth. Prehensile lips allow them to suck up the crab or clam without letting much sea water get in, and these same lips can let them chew their food without breaking the waterproof seal. Inside their mouths are broad, flat teeth that can crush and grind tough shells, and the whole pulverized mess is swallowed. After eating all they can during their dive, the Pugnax shall return to dry land where it can rest up. 

Due to its large size and layers of blubber, the Pugnax is a tempting meal for arctic predators. Many other animals out there would love to dine upon a rich store of fat, but the Pugnax is no easy target. While they are awkward and slow on land, they gather in large pods that can reach the hundreds. With sheer numbers like that, a predator could simply be crushed to death by their bulky bodies if they dared dive in for a bite. This rarely happens, as many would-be attackers are more worried about the two toothy lances jutting from their faces. While good for digging, these tusks can also jab and slash at foes. When the colony is approached by a predator, many Pugnax will point their tusks outward, creating a wall of ivory spears. In the water, the Pugnax are not so packed together and predators can more easily single out an individual. The problem they will encounter, though, is that the Pugnax are more graceful in water than on land. They can dodge charges and move away from bites, all while keeping their tusks trained on the attacker. In some cases, the Pugnax may even barrel towards opponents, looking to gore them with their teeth. If one wants to eat one of these beasts, then they must be quick and creative. Some predators are fast enough underwater to dart around these teeth and attack the exposed body, while others go for surprise tactics so that the Pugnax is doomed before it has a chance to fight back. Another group can focus on the Pugnax's need for air, mainly carnivores who sport gills and other water-breathing organs. They can antagonize the Pugnax and keep it from reaching the surface, slowly asphyxiating it as it tries desperately to escape. If the unfortunate victim tries to fight to the end, then it shall drown and the predator gets its meal. If they make a mad, last second dash to the surface waters, they expose themselves to attack and the predator won't waste such an advantage. Another thing they do on dry land, other than rest, is mate. These large colonies will soon divide themselves up into harems, as the largest and strongest males lay claim to any female they can find. Other males may seek to challenge them, and this is when their tusks find another purpose. Like fencers in a duel, these males will clash with their tusks and try to stab the other challenger. At such times, you can even hear the clatter of their teeth from a ship, as they swipe and lunge at one another. These battles can get quite bloody, as the sharp teeth shred through skin. Thankfully, their blubber prevents these wounds from becoming serious, and many defeated opponents will crawl off with a fresh batch of scars. The hides of most Pugnax boast dozens of scars, either gained during battle or by close calls with predators. Once females give birth to their pups, they shall stick to dry land until their offspring grows strong enough to swim. During this time, the pup shall feed on her milk while the mother relies on her stores of fat to keep her going. Once the pup has gained its strength, the two shall head into the ocean, where she shall teach it to forage (with the added bonus of her finally getting something to eat).         As I mentioned before, the big, blubbery bodies of the Pugnax are tempting targets to many and that includes local folk. For coastal towns in the arctic, the Pugnax are a staple of their livelihoods. Their hide is good for leather, while the sheer amount of meat and fat is enough to sustain a village for quite some time. While the fishermen go out with their nets, hunters will head out with their spears to take down one of these beasts. The weapons of these hunters are often long, as they need to be able to score a hit without getting jabbed by the Pugnax's own weapons. Often hunters focus on a single creature, attacking from all sides and slowly taking it down with dozens of stabs. The carcass is then moved to a nearby spot and carved up, which is waaaaaay longer than the actual hunting part. In fact, hunters spend most of their time dressing and hauling their kills than actually taking them down! The other thing taken from the carcass is, of course, their tusks. Locals use these overgrown teeth in their tools and art, carving into the ivory to create breathtaking sculptures. It is only in these villages where I can truly appreciate this art, as I know that these tusks were taken from Pugnax that were hunted to sustain their families. In these cases, the tusks were an added bonus, while the animal was taken down mainly for food. Seeing these ivory sculptures in the homes of collectors and rich folk, though, is another story. Instead of seeing the beautiful craftmanship and the wonderful handiwork, I am reminded of the folk who butcher these creatures solely for their tusks. The ivory trade is a lucrative one, and there are those out there that will take down dozens of these beasts and leave their carcasses behind to rot. It is a disgusting practice, and one that causes a lot of damage. In fact, I ran into a group of these butchers during my studies of the Pugnax, and boy were my leaves rustled! I was hunkered down on a far off hill when I spotted them, but at the time I thought they were regular hunters. When the six of them cut down three hefty beasts, I thought nothing of it. It was only when they sawed off the tusks and walked off with nothing else that I realized the species of jerkbag I was actually observing! I knew that they would be back for more, so I decided to do something about it. I used my amazing tracking and stealth skills to locate their camp without them spotting me. When night fell, I went down to the poor slain creatures and filled up some skins with blood. I then returned to the harvesters' camp and made sure they were all asleep. As they dozed, I crept in and dumped the blood all over their gear and tents. With my last skin of blood, I ventured inland and left a trail of it behind me. In practically no time I was located by a pack of Arctic Wolf Fleas, who caught wind of the tasty blood. I ditched the skin and put distance between me and the blood. Since they don't feed on sap, the fleas ignored me and went for the blood. They latched onto the trail I left and headed straight to the site that absolutely reeked with food. Imagine the screams and shock that came from that camp when eight Arctic Wolf Fleas tore through their tents! For such mighty "hunters" they sure screamed and ran like frightened saplings! I had a good laugh at that, and also succeeded in driving those butchers away from the Pugnax colony. Sure, those hunters did wind up discovering me and seeking revenge, but it was well worth it. Besides, I figured things out in the end and I dissuaded them from taking part in the ivory trade. At least I think so, as that kind of depends on if those four ever made it back to civilization... Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian       ---------------------------------- Hey look, an upside down walrus! HOW CREATIVE. Well, they can't all be winners, and the world needs to have some mundane in it.

[trollhuntingdirectory]

What It Takes To Survive

Changelings.

To the common troll, the very utterance of the word evokes worry, suspicion, a suspicious glance to those around us. We all know our history with their people, a history full of deception, espionage, assassinations and infiltration. To the common troll, a changeling brings with them tragedy and misfortune.

But indeed, it is not just the common troll that suffers. To be a changeling is to never know peace. If they are found by trolls, they are killed. If they are found by humans, they are killed. This is the life of a changeling.

(Please click below for the full story)

Let’s make one thing very clear. I don’t excuse the horrors brought to our communities by the hands of these half-trolls, half-humans. There have been many deaths, and many tears shed, all for a purpose that none of us have yet to figure out, and may well never know.

But, at the same time, I will not deny that their existence is an ongoing hardship, and even those who have attempted to return after being taken have been chased away with stone and steel and the cries of ‘Impure’ at their backs. There is no home for them among trolls, or with humans, where they must always play pretend. Pretend has many more downsides, I’ve learned. Man may not be made of living stone like my people, but they are just as bloodthirsty, and capable of the same evil as Gumm Gumms and those who worship Gunmar.

Now, I know it’s going to be foolish to admit, but I did try tracking down a changeling up in Arcadia a while back. Not to capture or fight, but to speak with. It wasn’t easy, obviously. They hide in plain sight, and I cannot be out during the day like them.

Perhaps they got tired of my snooping, or suspicious at the very least, but I did catch the attention of one. Death threats aside, he was polite, and with a few exchanged words, a deal was struck.

He would grant me audience, I would agree to leave his people alone and not disclose any information that could be seen as a threat to their security. I imagine he was also amenable to the idea that a story may make sympathizers among trolls, making their goal easier to obtain. Doubtful, of course, but the idea of sympathy was not a poor one.

“The old Vespa Warehouse,” he told me. “Tomorrow night. We shall speak there, and you may ask for whatever story you wish. I cannot promise that it will be legitimate, though.”

Of course not, I thought. But the cataloguing of a real changeling’s life would be a welcome addition to my archives of Trollkind, and I’ve always been told that my curiosity was my constant lead to trouble.

Say what you will about changelings, but they keep to their words when bargains are struck, regardless of if they intended a backstab or not, which I had a feeling wouldn’t be necessary here.

He was in a small office within the building, sitting alone in a deteriorating room, waiting patiently. He seemed rather pleased that I’d shown up, at the very least. He greeted me, I took a seat nearby, and he asked a definitive question. What did I wish to know. I asked for only two things. His name, and what he’d done to survive among humans for so long.

The first was easy, just Otto. A surname was inconsequential, he was bound to change it in a few decades anyways.

The second, he found, was harder to answer.

“I am not sure if I understand this question fully, mein freund.” He said carefully, arms crossed.

“You’ve been on the surface for the last couple of centuries, right? We all know the humans have gone to war with themselves more than a few times. What was it like going through them, pretending to be human?” I asked.

Again, he found trouble finding his answer.

“I... hm. The last I was caught in, I did not pretend to be human for very long, I will admit, but that is a long, and difficult story.”

I encouraged him to tell his tale, though I could tell that the memories were something he did not want to bring to surface. This was a story to earn sympathy, to show the hardships of his species, to keep record of their stories as I would any other troll. It took some time, and some silence, but eventually, he told me his harrowing years in Poland, back in the human year of 1939.

“You must forgive me now if I do not remember everything correctly, but these times, they were chaotic, and I did a great many things to survive them. You trolls had long left to America by this time, with very few communities remaining as far as my people could tell, so I doubt you’d know much about World War Two outside of books. Back then, I was just another changeling, so to speak. A bit of muscle, just a quiet ear to the ground to send word back to the others in the area as was needed. My human life was nothing important... but that meant that food got harder to come by at that time, and neither of these things seemed to deter German soldiers from seeking me out. They were looking for magic, you see. Their fuhrer wished for power, be it from the deaths of other humans or from that which they call supernatural and arcane. Fellow changelings were captured, and it makes me understandably sick to think of what was done to them, but the most important thing was the safety of our sanctuary at the time.”

He paused, and looked me in the eye.

“I only mention it because it is gone now. Months before its destruction, sights had finally been set on me, and that place was the only that would keep me safe. We are not as indestructible as you, after all. Humans are always looking for ways to kill things even faster, even more painfully. One could easily brush off an arrow or sword, but wartime ballistic weapons pierce and hurt even our hardiest changelings these days. That much has been the way of things for a hundred years or so, now. But that is is aside from the point. You wish to know how I lived through such a dangerous time, when humans could easily shoot me down and were actively hunting me. The truth is, I’m... not proud of how. It was certainly not my first option, either, but one does what they must when they are cornered.” He paused, pushing his small glasses up his face a little.

“The first time it happened, I was cornered by a soldier in a back alley, in a town that I doubt still exists. He’d shot me in the leg, I was limping and helpless. I’m not sure how I’d been exposed, but he was after me because I was a changeling. A lucky reason to be hunted, many humans did not have that luxury, and were taken for far more mundane reasons... The first time it happened, I was cornered, and I was injured, and something in me snapped. I was a younger troll then, more quick to act on instinct.”

He shook his head, and looked troubled. I assured him that he didn’t need to continue if he didn’t wish it so, but he told me it was fine. It was difficult, but it was indeed something to be archived. If anything of changelings should be remembered, it’s what happens when they are pushed from all sides.

“One moment, he was approaching gun raised, the next... I was no longer in my glamour, and no longer hungry. It was... Hm. I was, scared, I think. We changelings were never part of the Pact you trolls follow, but we also normally don’t... eat, uh, humans. We ourselves are half human, so in a way it is cannibalism, yes? I was horrified, naturally. Killing a fleshbag is easy, but to lose control and eat was something different entirely. That’s when I knew I needed to return to my sanctuary. They would have food there, and shelter, and surely safety from the soldiers who wanted my capture. It was months before I reached it, having to hide often, trying to avoid losing control, and... occasionally losing it.” He laughed, nervously, as if it was an embarrassment. “The safe haven was gone when I came across it. Whether those inside had destroyed it to keep our existence safe, or there had been a lucky strike from a Luftwaffe, I will never know. It was still burning when I got there, with the soldiers pouring over it for anything useful. Those bastards, they do not realize how easily we crumble to dust. There was nothing for them there, but for me, it just meant there was nowhere for me to go... This is where things get fuzzy. I lost control, again, I think. And there are... moments, I remember, of lucidity, after that. Forests, snow, sometimes I think I came across soldiers, but I don’t know if I killed them or not. I was... not myself, then, but I still was particular. Only the soldiers and men with the armbands were eaten. You look in those history books from the surface, mein freund. You’ll see I did the fleshbags a service.”

“Ah, but that’s beside the point. The point is. Humans drove me into the woods. I did not have any changelings alive to help me anymore, and the local trolls would easily sniff me out. You asked me what I did to survive? Apparently, I lost my mind and ran off into the wilderness, for a length of time I still cannot seem to comprehend. I’ve been given numbers numerous times after being found, but they mean nothing to me. I survived by becoming a wild animal, because there was nowhere else to go.”

It’s been a few days since the meeting with the changeling, and I still wonder about a great many things. What is it like to lose yourself to instinct to survive? How do you life your life unable to find community, unable to trust others of your kind? What must it be like, to not be welcomed by anybody in times of trouble? The life of a changeling is a complicated one, and despite what many full blooded trolls may believe, they are still as much troll as any of us.

Perhaps Otto told a lie to earn sympathy, perhaps he told a truth to get it off his chest and forget about it for good... Or, perhaps, he hoped to have something of his people remembered in some way that wasn’t of fear or distrust. I don’t think I’ll ever know the truth, I don’t even know if he still lives, though changelings are notorious for faking deaths. There is only one thing for certain that I learned from this.

What would we do to survive in a world that is against us from all sides? Who would we turn to out of desperation and anger? What would we do to keep our people from extinction? These are questions we should always ask ourselves in the face of changelings who work against us. You do not have to like them or what they do, but you cannot deny their existence.

These are real trolls, three dimensional and complicated as any other, and we must never forget this.

[scribeofjiaal]

Random ask time! Are you working on any other books besides Cohime? If not, do you plan on making any others after it's done?

Cohime is bluntly described as a massive project that’s taken up a great deal of my brain space for more than a decade of my life, so from the project itself there are plans for expounding upon certain characters lives both before and after the resolution of the story. 

Additionally to that, I have had a few other ideas come and go over the years, and probably the one that’s stuck around the most is a sort of Monster Apocalypse novel which I still haven’t named but have spent a decent portion of my mind fleshing it out. In the novel the modern world has been ended by a race of parasitic creatures that are instinctually attracted to city centers for breeding purposes [they seek out high concentrations of certain minerals that humanity likes to use in the building of things] and are highly aggressive to anything that isn’t themselves. They appeared suddenly, they multiplied quickly, communications broke down and humanity has clung on in small groups that found hiding places and weapons enough to survive. The writing begins some twenty years after the disaster, with a group that co-opted the grounds of a university as a safe haven and managed to gather a number of survivors. The main character, Paige, is a teacher within their system as well as a seasoned scout; educating the younger generation on what they need to know to survive on scavenging runs. Things get rolling when the eggheads on-base [we call it base] get far enough in their research to realize that these creatures didn’t crash in from space or somehow naturally evolve-- someone engineered them. 

I want to explore a number of themes in the above described work, particularly the most painful side of motherhood-- Paige lost a two-year-old daughter, Anne, when the world ended, and suffers greatly at the hands of her own mind because of it. She became estranged from Anne’s father, unable to look at him without being reminded of her little girl. She never had kids again, and her teaching is very much a sort of surrogacy as she does her damnedest to ensure every kid in her orbit knows what they need to know not to die meaningless deaths. Of the keepsakes she holds onto from before the world ended is an old cassette tape on which she recorded herself singing ‘You are my Sunshine’ to her baby. [Gimme a break I first started working on this story back in 2000 when the CD was just taking over. I still have had a cassette player.]

More so, the monsters are just cool. They’re a parasitic life form that takes many shapes and sizes, all of which are capable of spitting a highly acidic compound. Obviously useful for offensive reasons, but this also factors into their life cycle, too. An egg-bearing mother will go hunting up some kind of mineral deposit when its time to reproduce, most often iron or steel because holy crap have humans dug a lot of that shit outta the ground. Once she finds a steel beam or some iron re-bar, still spit her eggs onto it, mixed with acidic compound. The eggs are protected from this, but the acid is strong enough to melt the mother’s chosen platform for her eggs a little bit and let her eggs attach to it. It’s discovered through the course of the book that this is where varieties of parasite are differentiated; whether they were attached to iron or steel or aluminium or gold or silver or whatever else they were able to find effects which parts of the new creature’s DNA gets expressed, and results in a number of differently adapted creatures that require different strategies to avoid, escape, or kill. 

From here, the mother fucks off to whatever she pleases, and the eggs are left to develop. They start small, and hatch into the first stage of their life cycle which is universal across all of the parasites; larva. Tube-like worms that start tiny but will grow quickly with food, they’ve a great many tiny teeth on their interior that ensure any prey captured will not escaped until the larva has sucked them dry. At their largest they can be a meter long, and at that size they can easily stretch themselves wide enough to encompass a small child and begin the feeding process of draining their blood from all directions through thousands of tiny puncture wounds. Once a larva has latched on, there usually is no removing it without ripping the host apart. It won’t wiggle to escape if exposed to fire, and it lacks a central brain to shoot for a clean kill. Freezing might be an option if the technology and energy is available, but usually it is not. I’ve used a child as example, but more often they attach themselves to animals useful for human existence; like the legs of cows and sheep. 

After about six months at this stage, larva will find a place to hide an pupate into their adult form. Depending on what metal or stone their mother spat their eggs onto, they can change into a number of different creatures, but for this one we’ll focus on the most common egg platform; iron. Iron births a quadruped creature with thick, scaly skin, large fore-paws with long clawed digits, and a massively wide head like a hammer-head shark with a great many eyes that are capable in peering in all directions around it. They are fast and strong, with excessively good senses of sight and smell... but they’re perchance not entirely all that smart, which is all a human survivor can hope to take advantage of in this most common of encounters. [I’ve got a small mountain of notes on what metals and rocks makes what monsters, but I am in no mood to see where the heck they ended up after this particular move XD]

A bullet to the head will stop an adult parasite, as they now have central neural matter to shoot... though bullets are now treated as currency for their universal value and scarcity. Cutting off a limb or crushing them also works, as they now have a circulatory system to speak of as well as bones and organs. They also will starve to death, if not fed, which has enforced a sort of deer and wolves carrying capacity of these creatures after the majority of humanity was killed off in the initial incursion, with humanity as the deer. 

... I honestly feel like this idea would work better as a survival-shooter game than a book, with a narrative gravity similar to The Last of Us. That said, I’m gonna keep working on it behind the scenes. 

[then again I’ve thought as Cohime in the context of gaming too and man oh man is that a n o t h e r kettle of fish]

[wolfsgravity]

aaaaaa semi-coherent self-insert stuff below. watch me be unable to keep a tense throughout because I have dumb bitch disease and don’t feel like heavily editing

A number of years has passed since the fall of Demise, and the Surface... no, Hyrule, I must remember that name now... is a beautiful, prosperous land. I am of the first generation born in this newly reinhabited land; my parents hailed from Skyloft which sits above the highest clouds. I can’t imagine such a world. I enjoy the land beneath my feet. My parents, now advanced in age, often speak fondly of giant birds and endless sky, but I feel fond of the wildlife and the forest around me. Stories say that Hyrule stretches into far mountains and vast desert, but I’ve never traveled too far out of my village. It’s small, right on the edge of the forest proper, and everyone has a role to fulfil. I act as a fill-in for tasks that require more hands on any given day. I’m not the best at many manual tasks, in fact I’ve been shooed away from farmlands when offering my help, but people do enjoy my company for the sake of talking. I’ve been told I have a heart with the kindness of Hylia herself, and I’ve chastised many who have said so. I do not wish to be compared to the Goddess or Zelda, I’m just a simple Hylian that likes to lend an ear and a hand wherever I go. Maybe the storied history of this land wouldn’t be so fraught with danger if more beings were so compassionate.

Today, I am searching the brush in the forest for tinder in order to kindle fires. I am on my own for this one, having decided with my friend that more land covered would bring more firewood. We separated early in the morning, and now the sun was near its zenith. I had no way to tell how far I’d gone into the woods, and the voice of reason in my head told me I should be wary. The land was still half-wild, and I was not the most fit for battle or survival in a pinch. But a whisper in the wind told me to keep moving. A darker thicket lay ahead of me and, with only a ember of fear in my heart, I headed towards it. Denser trees meant more fallen branches, I reasoned.

I squeezed through a pair of trees, silently bemoaning my size as my tunic got caught on some bark. My village was plentiful with food, and I never could turn down a kind invitation for a shared meal. Most Hylians were pretty slim, I had to admit, but nobody seemed to treat me differently for my size, except to comment how popular I must be to share in so many meals. It was always in good faith. Carefully, I un-snagged my clothes from the tree so as not to tear them. 

It was then that my ears, attuned as they were, heard something unusual. It sounded like a groan, maybe? It didn’t sound like an animal, it sounded like a person in pain. I wasn’t sure who would be out this far into the forest, but my mind’s eye imagined a neighboring Hylian having lost a battle, or an intelligent surface species in pain, so I rushed forward without hesitation, not taking note that the trees that had been so tightly packed suddenly spaced out to a much more open configuration merely steps into the thicket.

Within minutes, I reached a concave section of otherwise flat land, curving down to... I wasn’t sure what to think of what, or rather, who I saw.

I quickly took note of several things at once; this at least looked like a person, with skin like alabastor for most of what I could see, but they were curled up with their knees to their chest. On the side they laid on, their hair partially covered their face, obscuring their eyes and nose with just a hint of their even paler lips peeking out. As I was approaching the crater, my soft shoes made little noise, but I brushed against some dried leaves near the mouth of the hole.

Like a wounded beast, the person in the center shot to alertness. With astonishing quickness, they stood to full height, eyes sharply taking me in. I was frozen.

“Who dares approach the Demon Lord Ghirahim?” the being, I would assume being Ghirahim himself, asked. Cold rushed into my limbs-- demons had been driven out after Demise, hadn’t they? My mind went into reflexive mode. 

“Remee. Remee is my n-name.”

The demon’s dark eyes, black in the shade of the trees, took me in with both cold calculation and fiery determination. He was silent, and I looked away from his face to get a good look at what might be the last being I saw. 

His skin was mostly a light grey, but his arms were pitch black. Jagged lines of the same darkness seemed to reach across the exposed regions of his body, like some sort of spreading disease. He was dressed very strangely, the white clothing was tight to his skin and exposed enough to almost be indecent by Hylian standards. There was something at least a little beautiful about his outlandish appearance.

“You’re lucky to get so much of a glimpse at my radiance,” he stated, making me tear my eyes back up to his face. He looked torn, but between what I couldn’t tell. “You were polite enough to answer my question, which gave me pause. I should have slaughtered you on sight.” I gulped, the cold fear in my arms and legs spreading futher into me. “You’re one of those...” he snarled his next words, malice dripping from his tone, “sky inhabitants.”

I shook my head before I could reasonably stop myself. Why was I trying to argue with a demon? But Ghirahim’s malice shifted very slightly into curiosity, head tilted. His eyes shot from my eyes to my pointed ears back to my eyes. “You have similar characteristics to the sky maiden.”

“Well, I mean, Zelda--” he let out a growl at the name, making my stomach turn, “er, uh, sorry, sh-she did come from the sky, like my parents a long while ago. B-but I was born on the Surface, a couple decades ago, and there’s quite a few like me.”

I watched Ghirahim shift his weight and take a step up from the center of the hole, just one step towards me. “If you aren’t sky inhabitants, what are you to be called?”

“H.....Hylians.”

I bowed my head as I saw fierce anger flash across his eyes. “Oh really, must you all take your name after your precious GODDESS--” he slammed a foot on the ground, startling me to look back up. He was a handful of steps closer, and in my right mind I would have backed up. There was still distance between us, but his temperament should have pushed me back. “--who caused my MASTER’S UNTIMELY END, not once, but TWICE?”

His hands raised, and for a second I feared for some sort of magic attack. I flinched. When a moment passed without my feeling anything, I opened my eyes.

In front of me, now almost within arm’s reach, stood Ghirahim. The decline of the land still kept him a few inches shorter than me, but had he been on even ground he would have been taller. His hands were gripped in his hair, the pitch skin contrasting with the sheer white. The cracks of darkness seemed to have grown across his chest and up into his neck and face. His eyes were wild, darting this way and that, a manic sort of desperation seen in the dim light. And though he could kill me, probably would kill me... I felt my heart shatter a little.

A Demon Lord without any master or suboordinates. Alone, lying in a pit in the ground, unaware of the world around him.

“I’m sorry.”

The words seemed to ring out in the tense silence. Ghirahim froze, his eyes swivelling to look me in the eye. I could almost see his mind come back into focus as he stared me down.

“You’re... what?” his voice came out as a whisper, with no real tone or inflection.

“I-I said I’m sorry. You’re hurt--” he made a sound, neither dismissive or affirmative, maybe surprised? “--I just... I dunno, I hate to see...”

“... Hah... What could you possibly gain...” as though in slow motion, his arms returned to his sides, “...from showing... softness at a time like this...?” Then, almost to himself, he said, “I could kill you now. I could seek out and destroy every last one of your kind. Yet... you apologized... to me....”

I felt an icy grip on my heart. I knew he wasn’t just grandstanding, and for a few beats I felt I had possibly doomed Hyrule. I heard him huff out a breath through his nose.

“I’ll let you live. Conditionally.” He tapped a finger to his chin, mulling something over. “You’ve appeased me. Do not take this as a kindness. You will serve a purpose yet. Come back to this place in a few day’s time, and I will spare you. If you don’t I will assume you as fair game and hunt you down. I happen to be very tenacious when I need to be.” The demon looked around, as though taking in his surroundings for the first time. Then, turning on his heels, he waved his hand. “You are dismissed. Do not disappoint me.”

I slowly backed out of the thicket, squeezing back through the dense trees at the perimeter. On my way back to the village, I used a knife I usually saved for cutting loose branches or chopping through tall foliage, marking the way to Ghirahim’s den in a way that I would remember without giving him away to the rest of the village. I wasn’t sure who I felt I was protecting from whom at this point, but I knew that, for now, it’d be best to do as the demon said. 

[testedtransgressor]

Homecoming - Part Two

Category: Heroes Odyssey - Vantacor - Ismara Rating: T Warning/s: N/A Originally Written: 20th October 2019

Despite the suspiciously warm welcome, not all is right among the Ainmhi of Ismara, as Kireia learns...

Part 1 | ~ | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

It became apparent that Reiana wasn’t the only one who had believed her dead, and Kireia had to remind herself, several times, that information within the village travelled much faster and with more accuracy than information on the battlefield. To her surprise, the welcome she received from those who had once alienated her was friendly, almost one filled with relief for many of them. As dinner was handed around and she joined the circle, others begged her to recount stories of her adventures.

At first, being in the central spotlight was daunting, but Kireia remembered after a while that these were not foreigners or strangers - these were her people. Many of them had known her before her ear feathers had even begun growing, and she wasn’t simply another strange little thing picked up on the tide with the rest of the Ismarans. Here, she was Kireia, daughter of the last Rechs and the Inati, descendant of the Kirvid

Because of their obsession with status, Kireia had discovered the Common Tongue had a word for her position among the Rachdhan: Princess.

The evening seemed to wear on almost endlessly, but eventually Kireia was left with her mother and a few of the elders of the tribe. She was tired herself, after several days of travelling from Vantacor, but something about the fact that the other elders remained told her that they needed to discuss something important with her.

Following the death of her father, the Rachdhan had elected several former Inati and Rechs to stand for them until a new Rechs could step in. This group of four began to lead the tribe, along with Reiana’s work, to the point that the tribe decided by vote to have the Elders lead them - and abolish the title of Rechs until such a time as it was needed desperately. It was an action that broke the tradition of generations, but Kireia had watched from afar as the decision-making of the tribe was done by a group of people, and something would only ever be done if all five - the four Elders and the current Inati - could agree together.

“Your return comes at an auspicious time, Dansachii,” the eldest of the group, Ioliin, stated as she settled on her small bed. Her legs were not what they used to be, and the elderly owlblood usually spent evenings in her home, for comfort. But she had insisted on joining the tribe’s dinner tonight. Kireia looked up at the woman - she was easily the oldest of the tribe, and nothing seemed to happen among her people without her hearing of it.

“Trouble?” Kireia asked, sensing the sudden tension in the air. Ioliin nodded slowly, and Kireia sighed heavily. “Is it the Wolfkin?”

“Your mother’s place among the Rachdhan has ensured peace is held between our people,” Tamian, one of the former Rechs, gestured dismissively. “No; this trouble lays within the Ainmhi itself.”

The Ainmhi was the name given to the wildlings of the Ismaran island - half-human, half animal in feature and brain. While the population was mostly divided by the animals each clan shared traits with, they had co-existed with a tentative peace for decades - a peace that, Kireia sensed, was about to be endangered.

“The old High Priestess, the Mother of Mothers, she passed a month ago,” Reiana explained, “She didn’t name a successor, and there are four currently vying for the role. One of them has an especially skilled song, and she has been working to turn the tribes themselves against each other.”

“Then turf her out,” Kireia shrugged, “I don’t see why it’s such a problem.”

“Because the other tribes have begun taking sides,” Ioliin explained, “And, as per tradition, all the tribes must have a Rechs or representative agree that she is to take the title. Many of the larger tribes are pressuring the smaller ones to vote in favour of the Inati they support.”

“Have they approached us?” Kireia asked, standing up and beginning to pace.

“No.” Ioliin stated, “They know that we will be difficult to sway, so they’re leaving us for last, I believe.”

“Who are the claimants?”

“Another Deerkin, a Ratsune, and two Fiachat.” Tamian stated, “They are all rather young, and dangerously ambitious.”

“Ambitious enough to provoke war,” Ioliin nodded, “Obviously, the two Fiachat have caused their own clan to split in favour of their preference, so it’s not only tearing the Ainmhi apart, but also dividing bloodlines.”

Kireia hissed a curse in Common, ignoring the confused stares she received from the group now watching her pacing back and forth.

“The problem is primarily led by the Inati,” Reiana stated, “If we could approach the Rechs of the other tribes to discuss this, without the Inati interfering, then we could reach a resolution. But we cannot.”

Kireia spun on her heel to face the trio. “Well, why not? Ioliin, you’re the closest thing the Rachdhan have to a Rechs--”

“But I am not one, nor have I ever been,” Ioliin stated, “Unfortunately, our cousins have adopted more of the mainlanders’ customs than we’d ever thought appropriate. Only a Rechs may call the other Rechs together to discuss things,”

“And the Rachdhan don’t have one,” Kireia realised, rolling her eyes. “Why do we have to be the most enlightened while our cousins choose to keep to archaic traditions?”

She turned, looking into the flames of the slowly dying fire as she thought about the new information. More recently, she had been becoming exposed to the politics of Vantacor, and she was beginning to find it infuriating that so many self-proclaimed “leaders” allowed their egos to get in the way of what was best for not just their people, but all the people they worked with. The very events that had caused her to fear for her clan’s safety was a perfect example - the troubles were happening to everyone in Vantacor, yet all the leaders seemed to care about was proving their superiority against their rivals.

Of course, the Strangers of the mainland chose their leaders based on bloodlines rather than skill and intelligence. She’d met far too many barons, dukes, even kings, who claimed those titles simply because of who their fathers and mothers were. If the Rachdhan held any weight in Vantacor itself, Kireia proclaiming herself as the daughter of the Last Rechs and the Wolfmother would undoubtedly win her status - but she had found that among their strange customs and unusual words, she preferred that anonymity of “just a wildling from Ismara”.

She turned away from the fire to see Ioliin, Tamian, and Reiana all studying her carefully. “What?”

“The Rachdhan are aware of the potential threat, and of the tensions,” Ioliin told her, “And, for that reason, they agreed to elect a new Rechs.”

“Temporarily,” Reiana added, glancing at Ioliin, “The person they chose was, well, a wild card. Someone who has been off learning new things. Carrying out the tasks set to them by a power greater than the tribe. They’ve spent close to a year doing Nature’s bidding, in fact. So, we held a vote. They agreed, eventually.”

“It’s only a puppet role,” Tamian stated, “Within the tribe, the Rechs holds no authority over others that they haven’t won in the Games. Outside of the tribe, though, they speak on the Rachdhan’s behalf and fulfil the external duties of a Rechs.”

“Makes sense,” Kireia nodded. She didn’t like the idea of a Rechs taking over once again, but if it was only for the purpose of calling a meeting of Rechs, she could see the sense in it. “So, who did they choose?”

Ioliin and Reiana exchanged glances, both of them smirking slightly.Tamian arched an eyebrow as he looked at her.

“Someone who, until recently, we thought had actually been killed,” Reiana stated, “We were due to hold another meeting to find the successor in a few days, but thankfully, we were proven wrong. They still live.”

“Well, who is it?”

“You, feather-skull,” Ioliin laughed, “They chose you.”

Kireia stared at the elderly woman for a moment, then at Reiana and Tamian. They chose... her? Kireia Duskdancer? Why her? She wasn’t skilled in combat, wasn’t a wise warrior, and her hunting skills were adequate for survival but not much beyond that.

“Why me?” She asked finally, looking at the trio. “I... I was basically thrown out of here, last time. I ran away, I was always causing trouble as a nestling, never paid attention to most of my lessons--”

“Kireia, tell me why we want to avoid the tribes turning against each other,” Ioliin stated, tilting her head, “Obviously, we have the strength of numbers, and our treaty with the wolves, they will join us. Just our two tribes together numbers greater than most of the others put together. So, we have nothing to fear from a war of tribes. Is that not correct?”

“No,” Kireia shook her head, recognising the problem immediately, “If it comes to war between the tribes, that risks cutting off the smallest, most endangered of all the tribes. The Goatfolk, the Ratsune, the tree-climbers - if it comes to war, we risk losing them entirely, unless they agree to remain neutral, which they won’t.”

She shook her head as the analytical side of her mind seemed to kick into action. Although the Ra’moness (tried to) keep the peace and even help to protect the Ainmhi where they could (or wanted to), there were still threats on Ismara, and beyond - and now that she was engaging in battles, making enemies and friends, there was a chance that those enemies would take the same challenge as older traders and merchants once had.

“That’s not the only problem,” she realised, turning back to the fire. “With the tribes divided against each other, it leaves us weakened for other, worse threats to approach unnoticed.”

"I have had many dreams in which this happens," Reíana admitted softly, focusing on the fire, her wolf ears pricked forward indicating her attentiveness, though her posture suggested relaxation. "Sails on the north shores, a wedge driven into an already split log, and broken eggs scattered across the ground. Aiidhen has dreamed of it, Ioliin too.”

Kireia kept her gaze on the flames. One of the main reasons Inati were selected was their Sight, their ability to sense or see omens, but her father had argued against sending Aiidhen, her younger brother, away to be formally trained. Mainly because Aiidhen didn’t want to leave the tribe. But Kireia had kept the secret to herself, that she also had these types of dreams occasionally. In fact, it was this premonition, of division causing an exploitable weakness, that had led to her leaving Ismara.

“I was hated by these people,” she said softly, “Why would they choose me as a leader?”

“Because a leader needs to know more than just her people,” Ioliin replied, “You had the knowledge of a Rechs before your father died. Your mother ensured that you knew of the Ainmhi etiquette, regardless of whether you were willing to follow it. But more than that, your isolation, your travelling, your experience beyond the walls of this village, that’s more life wisdom than most people even your mother’s age have known.”

"When you left here last, you were an errant nestling in the body of a youth," Reiana stated, "That was evident for all to see. But you forget, your brother knows the songs of Nature. He has heard your victories, sung by the winds, your successes. He has shared that with us." She smiled gently, reaching out and slipping a paw into Kireía's taloned hand. "You may not be the most skilled at the blade, barely proficient in the language, and struggling to achieve the tasks set for you, but your perseverance, your diplomacy, your ability to prevent unnecessary bloodshed, and the way you have naturally fallen into leading when others have fallen out - it is exactly like your father. The birds are chirping, Kireía. You are not the errant nestling that left this place so long ago."

Kireia was silent as she let this sink in. Her mother had always been the first to chastise her throughout her life, but here Reiana was now, offering her blessing. It was a strange thing for her, Kireia realised - strange but not unwelcome. For the first time, she realised, someone was actually putting their faith in her.

She needed to show them that it wasn’t misplaced.

"We need to hold a meeting," she stated, "The tribal leaders, without the Inati. If things escalate, it means war, and that has never been the role of the Inati, traditionally. We need the Rechses of the tribes to affirm their peace with each other. They can have their rivalries, we won't begrudge them that - but we can't let faith interfere in politics. The two must be kept separated; that is why we've always had a Rechs AND an Inati leading our clans--”

She broke off suddenly, tilting her head as her ear feathers twitched. What was that sound? It seemed familiar, but...

“I told you she’d get straight into it,” Tamian remarked, smirking at the two women, “Just like her father. She hasn’t even considered the fact that she’ll be the first female Rechs of the tribe.”

Yes, she had definitely heard that sound before. Kireía turned to the trio of elders, looking from one to the other.

"Can you hear it?" She demanded. Reíana frowned, already watching her daughter’s sudden change.

"Hear what?"

"Good," Kireía stooped, snatching up her sword and quiver. Her unstrung bow was tucked into the quiver with her arrows, but she knew she wouldn’t need to worry about stringing it just yet.

"I will be back," she promised, "As an adventurer, many things control my life, and this is one of them. I'm about to disappear, but I'll return.”

“Kireia, there is no sound,” Ioliin tried to reassure her, “Relax, dear one, you needn’t rush so.”

“Once I return, we will go to the others, bring the tribes together, and guarantee peace beyond the Inati problems." Kireia turned to face the trio, to see Tamian and Reiana were on their feet and Ioliin sitting up straight, alert.

“Where are you going?” Reiana demanded.

“Not’ere,” Kireia replied, “But I’ll return. I’m being summoned elsewhere, but it won’t take long. I’ll be back within a week.”

There was a strange pulling sensation as the colours around her seemed to bleed into each other, but Tamian was already moving, pushing past Reiana as he grabbed Kireia’s hand, pressing something into her palm.

“Take it,” he told her, “Consider the weight of it while you’re gone. Then, give us your answer when you return.”

Kireia opened her mouth to respond, but the air was sucked from her as an incredible force wrenched her off her feet. She closed her eyes, stomach lurching as she felt the strange sensation of both falling and flying, at the same time.

Solid ground struck beneath her feet and Kireia staggered sideways, collapsing to one knee as she gasped in air. Early morning sunlight greeted her as she opened her eyes, and she realised she was standing just outside of the small town. Others were gathering, trying to work out what was happening, why they’d been Summoned, but she knew it would likely be some time before answers were received.

Looking down, Kireía inspected the object Tamian had shoved into her hand before she had been pulled away. A familiar diamond and sapphire owl brooch glittered in the morning sunlight, and she stared at it. She recognised this; her father had worn it for as long as she could remember.

“Consider the weight of it while you’re gone. Then, give us your answer when you return.”

She knew she didn’t need to consider anything. The role was only temporary, and for months she had been told to find ways to unite others despite differences in beliefs. Had all of it, her travels and education - had it all led to this task? If so, then she was ready to take it - and if not, then it would still be a great place to start.

The kings of Vantacor had their crowns. The Rechs of the Rachdhan had her owl brooch.

[malvernstjamesblog]

“Can art’s uselessness be a source of its usefulness?” by Alice Delhanty (Year 12)

Oscar Wilde’s preface to ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ beheld the statement which still shocks those who read it; “the only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely. All art is quite useless”[1].  Taken out of context, Wilde assertion may seem critical, nonetheless, it is quite the opposite, aesthetes held a great admiration for art and, although the movement itself was short-lived many of their ideas resonate today. Aesthetes wanted a gulf between social, political, historical and moral themes and art, literature, and music. In an aesthetic sense, art being useless is a great advantage as it means art is completely admirable. Art being useless means it is created purely for the purpose of being beautiful, thus, being art.

In answering this question, one has to confirm what art is, or at least what art is to oneself. Whether it is brushstroke, pencil line or clay, art is ultimately an attempt to make sense of the existential questions. Art is the medium in which we endeavour to understand the human experience, therefore art is a visual success of making the subject experience, understand and sympathise when looking at the work. Francis Bacon exemplifies art as self-reflecting. Observations of Bacon’s work incites understanding of trauma in his paintings. The ‘mood’ is transferred to the observer, making it art. Bacon’s painting ‘Study after Velázquez's Portrait of Pope Innocent X’ is a prime example of what art should do. The tortured face and darkness of the background collates to depict Bacon’s mind. The critic John Whitehead commented ‘His paintings express modern humanities condition’[2] - a definition that can be transferred to art as a whole, the result is the human condition caught and exposure of societal conditions.

Simon Schama describes ‘great art’ as having the effect of an “unsettling surprise”[3]. The feeling of standing in front of the work, rather than listening to the audio guide demonstrates arts useless usefulness. Jackson Pollock’s painting ‘Number 23’ exemplifies this. Pollock himself said “painting is self-discovery, every good artist paints what he is”[4]. The self-depiction is what ‘unsettles’ us. ‘Number 23’ is a painting of self-discovery, the black spiralling around the canvas a visual image of Pollock’s subconscious. An artistic creation arguably mirrors its creator. Egotistic works of oneself expose autobiography in art. An example in literature is Tennessee Williams’ play ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’[5], which has numerous autobiographical elements of Williams’ own life. Through the biographical resonance the audience is touched and a ‘mood’ is created. John Berger articulates this in his collection of essays 'Ways of seeing'; ‘what are these paintings? Before anything else they are themselves”[6]. Humans are egotistic creatures, we always try to find ourselves in what we see and do. When we create something it is always a depiction of ourselves, art is self-portrayal in even the most abstract of senses.

In aestheticism there are contradictions during the period it occupied. Pre-Raphaelites are often associated with aesthetes and show how art can be both didactic and beautiful. Many of the Pre-Raphaelite works encompass moralistic messages such as William Holman-Hunts “The Light of the World” (1853-54), and “The Awakening Conscience” (1853), whilst these works are beautiful, the intention is didactic therefore, a contradiction of the aesthetes idea of art. The portrayal of Jesus, a lamp in hand creating a glow revealing his face looking directly at the viewer. He knocks on the door unconcerned by who will answer, rather he continues to stare. However beautiful the image may be, beauty was not the primary concern, Holman-Hunt saw himself as a social reformer and this was integral to the painting. ‘The Light of the World’ was intended to be placed next to ‘The Awakening Conscience’ - a woman stirred by something; her conscience awakened to Jesus, a realisation to reconsider her actions, preventing her from disgracing herself. The Pre-Raphaelites wished to go back to nature, in the midst of an industrialised country, to be beautiful rather than utilitarian. The Pre-Raphaelites believed that morality and beauty went hand in hand.

Art being useful through being useless relieves pressure on the creator, expression is unbounded, the end result is a wholly honest work. It is raw and exposing, touching and inspiring those who see it, the viewer is radicalised. Albert Camus wrote in his ‘book-length essay’, “The Rebel”, ‘what is a rebel?: a man who says no, but whose refusal does not imply a renunciation.’[7], this idea can be applied to artists - their movements act as rebellions, challenging the norm. However, in their denial, they do not renunciate or lose the finesse of the art previously gained. The early Pre-Raphaelite movement at times shocked and disgusted its viewers. The alien ‘Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood’ was a rebellious art movement. An artist strives for progression, as Wilde desired to achieve in the preface of ‘Dorian Gray’ - that art did not have to be a fable, it could be simply beautiful. Art devoid of moralistic themes results in a more impressive piece, the observer is undistracted with concerns of moral lessons or instruction. What is created is completely revolutionary. In a letter to a friend in 1851, John Everette Millais described art as having an 'unworldly usefulness to mankind’. The 'unworldly' usefulness is what gives art its unworldly power. “l’art pour l’art” or “art for arts sake” is an understatement of what aesthetes were trying to achieve by breaking from claustrophobic societal expectations.

Arguably art created with didactic intention loses that effect eventually, uselessness dominates the work. The majority of pre-1900 art consists of art created for the patron, contradicting the idea of art being useless. ‘Art for patron's sake’ rather than ‘art for art's sake’ and aestheticism. The power was in the patron, not the artist. Paintings of monarchs, political figures and propaganda, were created with a use, instructing the viewer to think a certain way. Obvious examples include the Holbein’s paintings, Roman statues of rulers such as Augustus and Charles le Brun’s paintings of Versailles. The artists were restrained by a ‘brief’ from the patron. Another example of didactic painting is Delacroix’s ‘Liberty Leading the People’ (1830), which commended the July revolution of 1830 in France, overthrowing Charles X. This painting was essentially propaganda; glorifying the revolution and those who died in it. Delacroix said shortly after he began the painting “I have undertaken a modern subject, a barricade… so that if I did not win for my country I will at least be painting for it.”[8] The painting is for his country, the patron, not himself. A literary example, George Orwell’s ‘Animal Farm’[9], is one of the most celebrated novels of the twentieth century ‘a work of art’. Nonetheless, it has the purpose of refuting communism and acts as an allegory for the Russian Revolution. It has a devout use, yet it is still considered art.

Art created for a specific purpose loses its influence over time. As the societal context changes, art is perceived differently. Art is wholly subjective, the perspective of the individual dictates what is recognised. Therefore the circumstances the individual lives in affects how they perceive the work. Art created with the intention of instructing at the time is only recognised by the specific audience of the time. The ‘useful’ quality of art becomes increasingly useless as the viewer changes and becomes more distant from the works original context. John Berger outlines this idea in ‘Ways of Seeing’ “art of the past no longer exists as it once did”[10] - the world changes and so does the art, its existence shifts in use. It is the uselessness of the ‘once useful’ art that allows its new viewer to appreciate the artistic power rather than the messages within the painting. The viewer is not obliged to take note of the political message from the patron. One can simply stand in awe and appreciate the beauty. The shift in context allows the ‘once useful’ art to become ‘useless’ and therefore be appreciated as art, not as argument.

Art has incredible qualities. The ability to create mood and move the viewer, being useless, this quality allows one to see truth in the art as well as beauty; a usefulness unmeasurable. Uselessness relieves the works of pressure, allowing art to be created for beauty, not instruction. Aestheticism was of great use to art as a whole, allowing art of the future to progress. To be useless does not mean to be purposeless, arts purpose is infinite useless or not. However, it is the lack of use, either from distance from the original context or from self-expression that gives art its ‘unworldly usefulness’. “The essay itself had to be approximately 1500 words and was shortlisted out of over 3,600 essays with the competition hosted by New College of Humanities University. I found writing the essay very interesting as it allowed me to do my own research and study of art and art history in general, especially as I will be studying fine art at university. The essay also made me question my own thoughts on the topic, whether I personally felt that art was useless, which although may seem an odd and obvious question to answer, actually raised more questions the further I delved into it. Right now I am waiting until the awards ceremony in June to find out the overall winners of the competition.”

- Alice Delhanty (Year 12) 

[1]Wilde, Oscar, The Picture of Dorian Gray (England: Penguin Books, 1891), page 5.

[2]thedailyhatch.org, Whitehead, John, 21.12.18, <https://thedailyhatch.org/2012/04/02/francis-bacon-humanist-artist-who-believed-life-is-meaningless-part-1-2/>

[3]Schama, Simon, The Power of Art (England: BBC Books, 2006), page 7.

[4]tate.org.uk, Pinnington, Mike, 3.01.19, <https://www.tate.org.uk/context-comment/articles/jackson-pollock-man-myth>

[5]Williams, Tennessee, A Streetcar Named Desire (England: Penguin Books, Penguin Modern Classics 2009)

[6]Berger, John, “5”, in Ways of Seeing, (England: Penguin Books, 1972), page 85.

[7]Camus, Albert, The Rebel (England: Penguin Books, 1953), page 19.

[8] Eugene Delacroix, 31-12-2018 <http://www.eugene-delacroix.com/liberty-leading-the-people.jsp>

[9] Orwell, George, Animal Farm (England: Martin Secker & Warburg Ltd, 1987)

[10]Berger, John, “1”, in Ways of Seeing, (England: Penguin Books, 1972), pp. 33.

[thekillerqueen1945-blog]

I AM YOUR FUTURE

CHAPTER 3 

  Olmec, Mayans, Inks and Aztecs

Upon finishing my story about Akkadian princess, Life spoke:

 “I honestly liked the story. You really are the great storyteller."

“Oh, rejoice, everybody, celebrate. Life finally liked something and did not guide it to its end. Rejoice, rejoice. Ha ha ha ha" shout Infinity on this strange event that happened

"Maybe I could narrate extra story since you liked my latest one so much" I proposed

"Do not shift your fortune, since Life can shift easily from contented and happy to its natural offensive and demanding self" warned me Death with its slow, calculated voice

 "Hey! I am not the bad one, remember. You are the greatest loss someone can survive; you are the merciless murderer that leaves the scars on hearth and soul that shall never be mend. You are a big player in this endless game, but I am greater than you. " Life quarrelled on Death

Death looked at Life emotionlessly for few moments and spoke with the voice that shakes the soul and freezes you straight to the core of your being.

 "Life. Do you really believe that all this is a game? Maybe at one point, you are right. But if you think that you can play it better than me, think again. You are small as a drop in the ocean, fast as rage and you never think twice. You rush to me, like a river to the sea. Every creature large or small believes it will gain a success since they have you on their team. They are wrong, so wrong. I delivered you to them, as an advantage in the game, for I am so sure of my victory. Don't bother yourself. just relax, and I'll take all that life can offer with no exception."

 Death was so close to Life that they were almost touching. Life was shaking in the nervousness of seeing a mere fraction of Deaths might. I flinched in fear. Even Time and Infinity had flashes of panic in their eyes. Although quiet and hidden in the shadows, Death remains compelling and we became the witness of that timeless truth.

 Death talk to me without exerting its eyes of the Life

" If you don't mind, can you start the story about Mayans, Inks, Aztecs and Olmec’s Culture."

“ O-OK. Ahem, ahem. The O-Olmec, Mayan, Incan, and Aztec c-civilisations are some of the most significant ancient cultures in h-history, and yet…I-I can- “

"CONTINUE!" shout Death at me, this time with more energy.

 I grimaced and continued

“The Olmec are generally overlooked e-entirely." I paused needed a deep breath and started over

“To make long story brief, Maya’s arrived first and established the culture in modern-day Mexico. Later the Olmec reached the region, who likewise settled in Mexico. They didn't create any larger cities, but they were widespread and flourishing culture. People both culture were followed by the Inca in modern-day Peru, and eventually the Aztecs, also in modern-day Mexico on the planet Erath."

       "Now allow me, to proceed. About 2,800 years ago, people identified as Maya civilisation lived in agriculture settlements on the Yucatan Peninsula and the mountains of something presently recognised as the Americas. From around A.D. 250 to A.D. 900, people organised city-states in Central America that involved majestic pyramid temples and public areas emphasising heavy marble pillars that described their vibrant past. I am right about this, or not" spoke Death still staring at Life

 “You are," I answered, with no intention to discuss.  

" Continue" Death blasted me a gaze appreciation

“No one remembers the specific origins of Olmec people. This is because the Olmec culture is one of Mexico's earliest cultures. It existed from 1400 BC to 400 BC. The Olmec controlled an empire that runs parallel with the Gulf of Mexico. The area as mentioned above is presently described as Veracruz. The Olmec survived by providing harvests and hunting wild animals for a portion of food. However, because of their closeness to the ocean, people also ate an abundance of the seafood. They planted the corn and cacao, as basic and sacred plants. Cacao was a highly utilised trade article. Olmec soils were incredibly fertile and rich, and people produced an abundance of native fruits and vegetables.”

 “They never described or named themselves, but the Aztecs called this region where the Olmec lived "Olman," said Life arrogantly, gradually gaining the courage.

" So who decided to name them Olman people?" questioned Death

“In the Aztec language of Nahunta, the word Olmec means "land of glue." That was because gum tree was overflowing the area. The intruders that arrived in the 15th century ingested everything they could to wipe-out all data of the existence of the Olmec culture. Some scientists consider that the Olmec didn't even exist as the separate civilisation, but I can guarantee that they are all wrong. Olmec civilisation was a remarkable early culture that did not see the purpose in creating the large empire that will ultimately fall into the scraps, because of death, because of you.” Life talked confidently scowling back at Death

 “They were one and single civilisation in human history that understood the mortality of man-maid systems and instruments as well as the mortality of the human reality itself. Those people understand that everything delivered to existence is condemned to depart, to perish. “said Death quietly without diverting dazzle from Life.

 The Inca established settling in the Valley of Cuzco in the Andes Mountains of central Peru nearby year 1200. Between 1440 and 1500, they extended their empire until it reached nearly 2,500 – “I was obstructed repeatedly

"Just imagine us one of the tales from the chronicle of the time. Use Olmec civilisation; they are attractive." Said Death and walked away from the Life

"But I did not finish explaining you about Inks and Aztecs." I proclaim

"We are the cause all even existed, we remember facts concerning them, but unlike you, we do not understand who they were actually “Death spoke deliberately and seriously slow

"All right" I choose not to fight with this powerful being

 To understand the greatness of an ancient civilisation, I will narrate a story of how did Olmec culture developed their math or better to say where they discovered math.

 Olmec people never desired to record the day for another generation to perceive it. It was the day when the kingdom was built. That was a day when they discovered mathematics.

   That day people noticed seeds of their fall. The day when one of the thrusts of the universe revealed itself.

It started as a sunny, clear day.  Despite beautiful day and peace, everybody felt something in the ambience. Something harmful. It was as their own bones talked and sang, sang a sad

melody, that could not be decoded. Yet! It was a hunch, premonition, feeling of the storm in the air before it actually comes.

Hours past, people worked within their daily routines, everyone shrugged the feeling and proceeded with the liveliness. Then it happened! Something came, at the midday, from the sky. It seemed as it slumped from nowhere.

   People gathered around, trying to conclude out what was that strange object. They could not found out much since they were scared to move it or go closer to it. At least not closer than about 3 miles.

 An hour or two after tensions came down a bit, a novelty of the town and assembly of the elder passed to the sight. They all were covered in traditional Olmec clothing, entirely in colours and ornaments.

 The prefect of the city was, as all people there, confused and mesmerised at the same time by the strobe reason that came to the town from nowhere.

The device was designed as a book and had the appearance of a broken tablet. It was filled by mysterious figures engrave on it. The material of the object was a solid rock, but not like unity found on the Earth. The space object radiated by purplish colour.

 The town chief had a glimpse of shock in eyes, and worry exposed on his face. He spoke observing the image in front of him:

“I know what it can be! I have heard the story once! It was not identical but close to this one! The foreign object came from the sky, from the stars! Not from father founders, but from the Star people. They have been touring the Earth for hundreds of years, as my ancestors told me the story about it. I do not know the specific focus in this, but I know one thing.  That object contains something important; it will teach us a valuable lesson or give us our first destruction."

After the discussion, everybody soothed in own thoughts, and the designed silence was pleasant and unpleasant at the same time. Suddenly the leader spoke in politically correct fashion since it was expected from him:

"We should first decode the meaning of symbols, and then we shall grieve about the future. Let us all work together on it, if all of you agree, of course!"

Everybody ended up managing together on the “sky-gift”. Within the 2-3 weeks, the symbols were decoded or at least the Olmec people thought that. They have transcribed it into a math symbol. Maybe it is convenient to state, incompetent to understand cryptography the Olmec chose to adopt them as the math symbols or letters, hieroglyphs.

                          They remained living they live, blooming and recording the story. The population formed the calendar and drainage system. The community was the first know culture to phantom existence of zero and first to establish hieroglyphics and numbering mathematical system. Although area prospered people know, all felt it in their bones that the end will come, they will be gone, it was as the "sky-stone" spoke to them and said, “Everything brought to existence must perish and so will you.”

Before they dispersed, they made large images of their gods which community considered had given that space-stone to people. But deep inside they all agreed that they were wrong since they realised that real authenticity had not been revealed.  

   When conquistadors arrived, men found no people, just great kingdom, the capital city and mysterious figures used as a language in the system of words and numbers. They found no space-stone. They found no people. But a bizarre feeling was riding about, and doubt of the unknown arose. Consequently, they buried and destroyed almost everything connected to the Olmec culture. Only statues endure on the several cities, remains of the drainage system and symbols, symbols in the sub-conciseness.

The "sky-stone" was undoubtedly from the extra-terrestrial species, as many of you apparently thought of. Yet, the stone did not purposely drop on the planet Earth. The spaceship was gently floating overhead the planet when one meagre piece of it slumped off. What a bizarre coincidence, just a probability, right? The universe does not give you what you ask but what you need to understand your mission, your purpose in the magnificent game.  

Regarding the Olmecs, it is shallower than you thought it would be. I will keep that as a secret and make all others considering other possible options, and imagination will run wild. After all, what joy would it be at all, to show you all the mysteries of recorded history?

 You are the starts deadened in the skin;

The universe is in your bones

And in the fracture of the soul

And it will never come to an end!

“Trust me,” said joyfully the Universe “I know what I am performing here."