#beast tribe tendency

[rocksibblingsau]

So a very good friend of mine @dialga64bitz has created the Reverse Rock Sibblings AU.

(Art by Dialga)

The premise is the fateful day, instead of Barb finding Branch, Branch finds Barb. They encountered some sort of beast and Branch finds Barb injured and brings her back to the village, believing her to be a grey troll.

Barb kinda immediately latches on to Branch as a sibling, which makes her not want to leave. Also preventing her from going home is that she believes her dad may have died in the attack, and going home would cement the reality. In Pop Village she can pretend he's fine, but if she goes home and he's not there... then she knows.

King Peppy isn't happy with Barb being there, which is fine by here because she doesn't like him either. Because of her, Cooper realizes he's not a Pop Troll very early on, and resolves to go find his family when he gets older.

(Art by Dialga)

Barb lives with Branch in his bunker, and after some time she kind of begins to like to snack pack.

Cooper: She befriends him first, and he asks her about different tribes.

Smidge: Her and Barb are work out buddies!

Biggie: Not a big fan of him exactly but she likes Mr. Dinkles.

Satin & Chenille: They tried to make her rock clothes to varying success. They see it as an ultimate fashion challenge.

DJ Suki: They chillax together.

Guy Diamond: Honestly she can't stand this guy but she can respect his confidence. When Tiny is born though she immediately names herself Aunt Barb and dotes on him.

Poppy: They have a very up and down relationship. She appreciates that Poppy genuinely tries, but Poppy's tendency to not listen or do things the Pop Troll way caused them to butt heads often.

(Art by Dialga)

The night of the 20th anniversary Barb leaves the bunker to go check on the party, only to arrive just in time for Chef to appear. Due to Barb, the Pop Trolls were all able to escape being caught. Only a single Troll was caught by Chef...

(Art by Dialga)

Barb is captured by Chef and taken to the castle. She avoids getting eaten by Gristle due to being a bit too hard to swallow (she's not making it easy) and Chef listened to her for long enough to know exactly what to threaten Barb with.

Sell out the Pop Trolls and she'd spare her and her brother. If she didn't, she'd do something far worse to Branch and make Barb watch.

Barb reluctantly chose to save Branch.

[eri-pl]

How are orcs made?

(...also, a bit about Maeglin) Elaborate HC, long post.

TW: discusses breeding of orcs (no descriptive language etc, but implied sexual violence. Also, mentions / implications of torture, child abuse, and domestic violence. Probably something I forgot... generally: it's about orcs. Canon-Typical Level Of Disturbing

I was watching more lectures about Tolkien's later writings, and another discussion of orcs got me thinking: what if it's not one answer, but many? This would solve some problems, paradoxically.

So, I propose

1st gen orcs are indeed corrupted elves (or also men, both can work). The physical corruption (including the hroa being not fit for the fea, which in mundane terms, includes many neurological imbalances leading to mental issues) is partially hereditary.

It is there but it weakened with each generation.

They do have souls, of course, and their kids (orc+orc kids, orc+ elf kids, orc+human kids) have souls, because that's how having kids works. Souls aren't initially corrupted, because Melkor can't make it so, but the physical problems + traumatic upbringing (violence both from family and by a Dark Lord) make it hard for those souls to be good.

This makes them insubordinate and rebelious, but smart. (here we can have rebellious orcs)

However, if such kids are not "worked on" (ie additionally corrupted in the same way as orc-making process, they just need less amount of it), with a few generations they revert basically to Elves, physically and behaviorally. I'm sure it had happened many times in history, whenever the forces of evil lost control over some area and orc tribes were left unsupervised.

However, working on may be (and likely was) imposed on their culture, so that even without external supervision they would keep orkish for more generations than they would without it. Unless something disrupts the mechanism.

What life spans do they have? OK, that's a hard question. I would say that there is a threshold of corruption, and more corrupted elf-orcs have long but finite lives

What's with their souls? Mandos, some are locked indefinitely due to Namo not being able to fix them, as per Tolkien's notes. Some get better.

Also, as with normal elves, any human ancestry => the base type is human.

Maeglin (and also Eol). We know Eol was Thingol's family. I propose: one of his parents was someone close to Thingol, the other was a descentent of orcs, but at this point elvish enough for them to legit fall in love (yes, let's make it not-that-traumatic). still, there was probably violence in the family, and Eol had some genetic traits that made it harder for him to make good life choices. (Also, generational trauma of hiding from being recaptured => his isolationist tendencies)

But why do I focus on Maeglin?

Maeglin gets captured. He isn't tortured. He is simply informed what he is. What his ancestors were. What he can again become.

He is given a choice: share the location of Gondolin willingly, and get some instruction on how to better side and soothen your physiological issues, then go home. Or not share it and become as your ancestors were. And then you will share it anyway.

Still I don't consider him a good guy but in this scenario he's less guilty of all his BS (and so is Eol) and the location-of-Gondolin business is outright understandable (lack of estel, sure, but who doesn't lack it? even the Valar have issues here.). Also, after the betrayal he had a lot of time and he could and should at least run away from the city leaving a letter about what he did. They would evacuate.

Anyway back to orcs.

Another type of further-generation orcs: the soulless. I'm not sure whether some kind of magical cloning, or something more nasty, but the result is beast-like orcs. No soul, no free will. Stupid. Ape-like but there are some fixes to this:

Necromancy. When you have a functional, but soulless body, some unhoused spirits may want to make a deal with you. They work for you, they get to experience having a body again.

And some spirits are to weak to protest.

Still may be rebelious, but smart and probably more powerful. Possibly cannot reproduce?

Magic AI So when Tolkien wrote the Silm, an idea of "automaton" was something primitive and not talking, so he at times had a problem with "orcs are constructs but can talk". But. Today we know how much talking can be done without a soul.

So basically, there's a magic AI imbed in each orc, probably all from one template (or a couple templates), because dark lords aren't very creative.

Still not very smart orcs, also probably need more power expenditure to create than other types. May breed among themselves (and with souled creatures) resulting in more of them, but each young still needs the AI put in. Maybe the AI-inserting process can be automated with an artifact (loaded with an amount of power to last for some time) and the orcs may be taught to deal with their newborns themselves.

To sum up: This HC allows us to have all of

orcs have free will and can rebel

some orcs don't

being an orc is hereditary (mostly) and even without a Dark Lord, orkish tribes would remain active (for some time, but we can make it enough time for the plot to work, probably, it takes generations especially if they are taught to deal with their newborns to maintain their orkishness)

We keep to the idea that Melkor cannot make anyone hereditarily evil (Tolkien thought it important)

angsty part-orc Maeglin

evil, scary ghosts of FA elves put in orc bodies (not everyone would gogently into Mandos) (Maedhros. I mean mostly Maedhros) (but also Eol would be so ironic)

some orcs are more powerful than they look and are scary

enough of orcs seem mindless so that the good guys may (tragically) assume that they all are and are free to kill. (I need a fic in which they learn)

it is natural that after Sauron's defeat orcs would disappear, but slowly, not in one generation

It doesn't allow us to make the "killing orcs for sport" non-evil, but it allows us to make it a "they didn't know and had reasons to assume" kind of evil, ie doesn't make the protagonists of LotR evil. (just tragic but I can live with it)

[blade-that-was-broken]

Can we get more info about your I’m Still Here AU AU?

Oh I got one better.

I’m Still Here AU AU- Feel I Belong  

Branch woke up coughing up water and one of his friend’s worried expressions filled his vision almost entirely. He blinked once, confused, before suddenly turning to the side in the sand to vomit out excess water. He let out several more coughs and it took minutes for him to actually hear what was being said to him. 

“Thank goodness, ya alright?” The accent of his friend Holly was always prominent, especially with her people but it often got thick and sloshy when she was worried. Branch closed his eyes and sucked in a large breath. 

“No,” he heaved. “But I’ll live. Is everyone else okay?” 

Holly paused and looked around before grabbing Branch’s hand and helping him upright. “Darnell is holding Synth. He’s freaking out. Minuette is kind of hurt and a bit water logged but she’s conscious and coherent.”

“And she can hear you!” the familiar voice of the classical prodigy shouted, annoyed. “She’s fine! She just can’t fly at the moment.” 

“What happened?” Branch asked before he realized the words were coming out of his mouth. They were on a beach, water gently lapping the water towards them. The sea looked fairly calm but there were tiny pieces of the destroyed boat Branch had built stuck in the sand and floating in the tides. He stood up, his brow furrowing, with Holly by his side, using her flank to help keep him upright if his balance wavered. 

“We kind of got shipwrecked,” Holly admitted with a frown. 

Branch wilted. He kind of figured that the boat he had built was destroyed, considering they were on a beach and he had no memory of how they got there. But it still hurt. He had taken a lot of time to make that thing and he was so proud of it. “Do we know why?” 

Holly paused and glanced away. “We saw Hard Rock come out of the water with their angler beasts. The Techno trolls were attacked.” 

Branch’s head spun towards her, eyes wide. He had never heard of another tribe outright attacking another. Angler beasts were only for the largest population of Hard Rock Trolls, splinter groups and sub genres were not only not allowed access to them but training them without the proper tools and process was practically impossible. He knew what Holly was implying. “Is everyone okay?”

“Branch…” her voice went sympathetic and soft. “They’re gone.” 

“What do you mean, they’re gone? Where did they go?” 

“They were taken!”

Branch tore his gaze away from her towards the sound of the new voice. Synth and Darnell approached from the water’s edge, the former with a fiery gaze Branch had never seen in his friend. Synth was a Techno Troll who, like all of his people, loved to party more than just about anything. And that was saying something. But despite their differences, he was also one of Branch’s closest friends.

Their group spanned several different genres and had a wide range of characters that just so happened to be friends now. It had taken years of time to get the point of friendship that they were all at, but they had gotten there. It had been a simple thing. They had orchestrated a get together, partially to celebrate the creation and ultimate test of the boat Branch had built. They wanted to be able to hang out closer to Synth without having to take the long journey underwater. 

The boat worked, they were in the middle of the ocean, and were having fun just chilling out, talking and playing a couple card games. Branch’s brow furrowed as he tried to remember what happened. 

“Synth?” 

His friend was in tears and angrier than Branch had ever seen him before. Synth was not one to get angry or upset, a lot of times, things just kind of rolled off his back. It was part of the reason he and Branch got along. While Branch had a tendency to overanalyze and overthink, Synth did not and took things more at face value, which Branch learned to appreciate. Synth spoke what he meant and although it could be confusing at times, it worked out well for them. But seeing him so upset like this was more than just a little shocking. 

“Hard Rock Trolls,” Darnell filed in, stomping a paw in the sand. Their friend group had a lot of diversity, which wasn’t particularly common with the tribes, as they often tended to keep to themselves. It had mostly been by accident, them finding each other and could probably be also partially blamed on the traveling Branch and his brother did. It was easier to befriend other tribes when you traveled while living, rather than just settling down in one area. 

“Yeah, Holly said Angler Beasts came out of the water. What happened?” 

“Synth and I went to check it out afterwards, since we weren’t hurt. It’s further away than expected,” Darnell continued. “Some of the structures are broken apart. Everyone is gone. The rock trolls took them.” 

“But… why?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Darnell was by far the most important of their group, at least in terms of tribe status. Not that he would say that. He was the lone prince of the Funk Trolls and although everyone knew it, he would never tell anyone he was more important. Although everyone knew that too. Next in line to take care of an entire tribe was stressful as it was and it was hard to find friends within a tribe that knew that. People treated royalty differently; they always had. 

But since none of the rest of them were Funk Trolls, they didn’t have that expectation or attachment to the tribe. He actually became Holly Darlin’s friend first - a situation neither of them talked about - and although hesitant at first, he latched onto Branch and the rest of them. 

“We need to get Mini some help,” Holly insisted, now at the tiny Classical troll’s side. Her wings were sopping and would continue to be so for quite some time. Everyone knew how long it took for her wings to really dry out. It was another reason why the boat idea was brought up. “She’s hurt.” 

“I’m fine, honest,” Minuette tried, sitting in the sand. There was blood dripping slowly down her arm. 

“You can’t fly like that and we all know Classical trolls don’t really do much in the terms of walking,” Darnell pointed out. 

“I can learn!” 

Yeah, that sounded like her. 

“Not immediately,” Holly huffed with the light roll of her eyes. 

“You’re crazy talented, Mini but seriously, you really can’t,” Branch agreed as they got closer. “Holly, can you carry her?” 

The country troll nodded and proceeded to scoop the little troll out of the sand, placing her on her back and giving her quiet instructions. “Of course.”

“We have to go and help my people,” Synth insisted. 

“It doesn’t sound like there is much we can do yet,” Branch grimaced. He hated saying that. It felt so callous. “We need to get Mini some help, in case that wound on her arm is worse than we think, then we need to figure out what is even going on, make a plan and then go help.”

“That’s… a lot of steps.”

“Do you think the other tribes will be targeted too?” Darnell asked worriedly. It made sense that he would immediately be concerned for his own. It was the way he was raised. Put the tribe first and foremost. Branch knew, no matter what, he’d make a great king one day. 

“I don’t know,” Branch admitted, truthfully. He had no idea what was even going on. The Rock Trolls didn’t really interact with anyone - even less than the other tribes. Aside from Branch’s group and his brother, most tribes didn’t really hang out or talk much with one another but the Rock Trolls even less so. He wondered if there was bad blood there. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. We have no idea what is happening, much less why. One thing at a time.” 

“Where do we go?” 

“Into the island,” Branch continued, glancing around. “Getting around through the beach looks hard, for any of us that can’t swim like you, Synth. And Minuette is in no condition for that.” 

“What do you think we’ll find?” 

“I don’t know,” he confessed, truthfully. “We just should get away from the water. Darnell, can you lead? I’m going to try to bandage Mini’s wound. “Just start straight through and see where we end up.” He grabbed a medium sized knife out of his hair and passed it over to his friend. It wasn’t very large like his brother’s machete, so it wouldn’t cut through everything but with a bit of work, it would get through some obstacles. 

The group dove into the jungle with Branch walking beside Holly with the classical troll on her back, trying to clean the wound on her arm and wrap it. “Thanks, Branch,” she said, quietly. 

“You okay?” 

“I… I knew Rock was loud and crazy but… the way they came out of the water…” she whispered, shivering. “They… they must have had all the Techno trolls inside.” 

“It’s going to be okay,” Branch tried to assure, attempting to put confidence in his tone. 

“Do you think they’ll go after Symphonyville too?” she asked soft and scared but low enough that Darnell and Synth wouldn’t hear. 

“We don’t know what is happening yet,” Branch continued. “Get some sleep, okay? We’ll wake you when we find something.” 

“I don’t…” Minuette opened her mouth to start but Holly let her back buck in a quiet reminder. “I don’t agree with this.” It was barely fifteen minutes later when she was fast asleep and Holly dared to speak. 

“If the Rock Trolls do go after the others, Classical is closest to Techno.” 

“I know.” 

“It won’t be long until they hit Lonesome Flatts.” 

“I’m aware. We don’t know what is going on.” 

“It’s easier for you, your family is all hidden away and-” 

“Holly, you are just going to freak yourself out if you keep this up,” Branch swallowed. She wasn’t wrong. Branch only lived with one another pop troll and the home he and his brother lived in was rather hidden away. “I get it and I care. We just have no idea what is going on yet and we can’t do anything. Not yet. But that will change.” 

“I’m just worried.”

“Me too.” 

“Hey guys? I think we found something?” Darnell called back. The group got close together again on a ridge overlooking the far beach on the other side of the island. Music was playing and a giant sandcastle was plopped in the middle. Color swirled with flags and towels and other decorations. Movement was all around the sand and although they looked small from the distance, Branch knew the beings were giant.

“They are huge,” Minuette whispered, leaning off the side of Holly’s back. Her voice was trying not to tremble but Branch understood the fear. “Are they…?” 

Branch knew what question she was trying to ask. “No, they aren’t… grotesque enough,” Branch shook his head. All of his friends knew about the dreadful Bergens and the horrifying things that they did to Pop Trolls. Branch had been so upset when he never went back to the Tree but over time, he got over it. It took a lot of talking but also he had settled into his new life eventually as well. That made it easier. He liked his life and his friends. They were different but they still fit together. Like a puzzle. 

Branch loved puzzles. 

“They look… okay?” Darnell’s voice cracked, a little, uncertainly. Branch took a pair of binoculars out of his hair and passed them to his friend as the Funk prince gave him back his knife. “But you’re the plan guy, B. And you have more experience with giants. You don’t think they are friendly?” 

“Do you want to take that chance?” 

“Good point,” Minuette agreed. “But how? This is an island. If we can’t get help from them, how do we get off?” 

“Look! There is a ferry,” Holly said, pointing across the beach on the other side of the area. Branch squinted at the boat that was docked at the end, swaying gently in the tide. He didn’t see any giants on it. 

“It looks automated too,” Darnell added, looking through Branch’s binoculars.

“So we just need to get across this… what is this?” 

“Uh… the sign says Bruce and Sons,” Darnell said, looking around. “I think this is some sort of vacation spot. A resort, maybe? They seem to be just kind of chilling out.” 

“Maybe they won’t notice us.” 

“We should try to be stealthy when we can,” Branch added. “Try not to attract any attention yet. Synth, why don’t you swim around. You’ll get there before us. Maybe get a look at the Ferry and how it works.” 

He nodded. “You got it bro.” 

“Minuette, you’re gonna have to hold on tight sweetie,” Holly added. “In case we get a chase on our hands.” 

The classical troll nodded. 

“Try to follow me. If I say, run, you run,” Branch said and jumped down, making his way towards the beach and the people. They almost made it too. The giants weren’t really paying attention and the four of them tried to stick to the shadows anyway. Or, at least, what little shadow there was in the raging sunlight. Branch didn’t know if he tripped or made a sound or what it was but he heard a loud gasp and saw a giant’s eyes and attention on them. 

“Oh! A troll!” 

And suddenly the news was parroted around like an out loud game of telephone. “A troll!” 

“Trolls!”

“There’s more!” 

Holly’s mad dash was on. They didn’t check to see how many were chasing but they ran. Branch motioned for Holly to run ahead. Country Trolls were much faster runners than other types and she listened to him, racing across the sand towards their destination. “Darnell,” Branch called. “Go.” 

“Dude!” 

“Get that Ferry going!” 

He hesitated but tore off after Holly, faster than Branch could go. “We won’t leave without you!” It was barely moments and then suddenly, Branch was left alone amidst giants. 

“Tell the boss!” 

Branch ran across the sand with a renewed fury and determination, dodging beach balls and the giant feet of the residents. His heart was pounding. He hadn’t been around Bergens for years but the fear of them still remained. And though these weren’t actually Bergens, he had no idea if they shared their taste for Trolls and their happiness. 

“Bruce!” a giant’s voice called. 

Branch paid no mind, eye on his destination closer and closer.  He could see his friends waiting, eagerly staring. “Start it up!” he yelled. 

They looked alarmed but Darnell obeyed, scurrying away and out of sight. Bare seconds after, the ferry began to move, slowly removing itself from the dock. For a moment, he was sure he wasn’t going to make it. 

“Branch!” 

“Holly!” he shouted and threw himself off the dock, extending his hair. In that moment, she threw the lasso she kept on her at all times, the rope curling around him the second his hair did the same. 

“Branch!?” A voice called. 

It didn’t sound familiar and he didn’t have any time to figure it out as he crashed into Holly on the deck of the ferry, hitting the wooden floor hard. He had made it. Branch sucked in a deep breath, his head pounding in fear and adrenaline. 

He made it. 

[zombiee-reviews]

Ranach character discussion/breakdown -

• The suddenly cured narcissist • The unredeemable • The Oreo

Hello ladies and gents, I decided to do a documentary on our fellow “antagonist” Ranach, from the comic Home.

You are also welcome in adding anything in your own reblog or the comments!

I decided to target Ranach for a breakdown / discussion for the following reasons:

• A little on Ranachs early / family life.

• Rogio is hellbent saying Ranach was a huge abuser in his life.

• Ranachs whole 180 plot line.

• How the author glorifies this character.

• Ranachs character in general.

• A little of a different perspective on how Kique COULD have redeemed Ranach.

-

ALRIGHT. I am going to start off with what is shown in the comic with Ranachs early years and speculation from what other characters have said about him and also his prior MT living situation.

Ranach, son of Arenak and Vandi. Ranach seemed to live a rather rough life as a pup, shown from flashbacks. Obviously this sprouted a rather mean / vengeful adult character. What is interesting to me in the comic, is how Vandi never talked / or addressed Ranach has her son. If we didn’t have the wiki, none of us would have a single clue that Vandi is Ranachs mother. There have been many opportunities for Vandi to expose this to anyone, or even show Vandi in a flashback… But Kique relies too strongly on the wiki and hopes we all do the same.

I for one, if this was my comic, would have had Vandi mention that Ranach is her son when she asks Ronja why she chose to mate with him.

Simply putting something like:

“Why did you choose to mate with my dastardly son Ranach?”

Or something indicating that she IS Ranachs mother in the story.

It is also interesting to me, that Ranach obviously has some kind of bond with his mother, more so than his father. It can be seen when Arenak is holding Ranach over the Tribe wall, dangling him over the night beasts as Ranach calls for his mother.

It is obvious that Ranach has this sort of empathy later in the story, like he shows for Rogio, so why does he never try to help his mother out of MT? Oh that’s right, cause this was before Kique decided he wanted to attempt to redeem Ranach and make him an empathetic character.

If Kique wanted to redeem Ranach so badly from the beginning, why did he not implement this? Sure, Ranach was born into MT, a choice not of his own. But why didn’t he rebel with Kargo and Ferah, or even try to save some females? His mother?

Jonna tells Ronja that Ranach was rarely seen with a female, but Ranach still supported the rape tribe by simply NOT DOING ANYTHING and possibly taking females against their will. Unless, Ranach was forced to rape females.. It is not ever shown.

One would think Ranach would have the most fuel to go against his father and overthrow him and save the females. It’s clear Ranach was at least SOMEWHAT against what MT stood for, because he changed things in the Tribe when he took over. But this does not make him a good guy, because he didn’t act on what was right and try to make a better life for the females, or rebel with Kargo and Ferah.

Now if this was handled by a REAL writer, Ranach would have rebelled with Kargo and Ferah, killing his father himself and taking the reins to better the life of MT and its females. Sure, you can still make Ranach a cocky asshole, if that’s what you want. But at least you can redeem him in that situation. And really, that should have ended his arc right there. Because it’s clear to me that Kique can’t decide whether to make Ranach empathetic or narcissistic. Kique has this tendency of changing characters personalities to better fit what scene is happening in the moment. And most of the time it’s to go along with whatever that may be. Kique never shows the characters protesting against anything that is wrong in this story. Because Kique believes that females should be slaves to males.

-

Onto the next thing, Rogio and Ranachs relationship.

I have already made a pretty brief doc about the pairs relationship previously, but I am going to address it once more.

Rogio was brought into MT by Ranach finding him badly wounded from the spirit that attacked Snowcap Tribe (Rogio’s previous Tribe ). Arenak tells Ranach he is wasting time / resources on a stranger and Ranach takes pity on Rogio and tells his father he will make sure Rogio makes it.

It is quite obvious to me that Ranach has a lick of empathy and it is quite a deep empathy. Kique tries to portray Ranach as a Narcissist, but Narcissists do not have a deep empathy for individuals like Ranach shows for Rogio. Now if you wanted to make Ranach narcissistic, you could show that he is obsessed with wanting to CONTROL Rogio, not flesh out scenes where Ranach is talking about him in deep intimacy.

This empathy for Rogio obviously buds a relationship between the two. Why / how Rogio falls in love with Ranach and MT is unknown. Why Rogio even chooses to stay with MT knowing the whole situation is bizarre and unknown. But this doc is not about him.

My guess, showing how Ranach actually is portrayed in the comic, is that Rogio fancied him and enjoyed the things Ranach said and did for him.

Sure, Ranach is shown to be a liar towards Rogio in some circumstances. But I don’t see any abuse from Ranach. If anything, Rogio was almost always the physical aggressor when it came to them arguing. So if anything, Rogio is the damn abuser lol.

Then came the time when Ranach attempted to sacrifice Rogio to a spirit, thinking that simply killing him would make the feelings and emotions go away. ( Something a narcissist does not have. ) We are then yoinked in a direction where Rogio is miraculously saved in time, unbeknownst to Ranach.

After this, we are then shown Ranach is losing his absolute mind over losing Rogio, even abandoning the Tribe and doing absolutely anything in his power to bring him back to life. And then, we are shown that soft side again when the spirit asks for Ranachs unborn and Ranach denies giving them up. A narcissistic character would have yeeted them kids fast af, if it meant benefiting them.

Eventually, Ranach returns to MT and is greeted with bared teeth and raised hackles, as he should have been greeted, he abandoned the damn tribe over a cuck like Rogio. ( it is interesting how almost every main character is Rogio’s foot licker anymore. )

And then he attacks the Tribe, kills Kargo and suddenly cant smell Rogio’s stank anywhere in the vicinity. ( face palm )

-

My next point on Ranach, is his whole 180 plot line once he takes off from Roamer, after killing Kargo.

Ranach is seen killing Kargo and fleeing MT, as he runs away from the useless main character, Roamer.

We are then blessed with more scenes, showing Ranach has fled to a rag tag group known as South Spear. Now as a reader, my first thought seeing Ranach join up with South Spear and his hidden smirks after speaking with members / the viscountess.. One would think Ranach is boiling a plan to get SS to join him in a war against MT. Because obviously, for a good chunk of the story Ranach wanted to destroy Ronja and MT.

But NOPE. Kique wanted to use South Spear as a doggie nsfw orgy for Ranach, so he could scratch that itch his nasty zoophile followers / himself have. Then suddenly, when they are jumped by bounty hunters, Ranach suddenly drops the existence of MT out of his mind and wants to suddenly become this notorious hero and destroy the capital, because he totally cared about this before.

And now we’re faced with a once narcissistic character, who has empathy for others and wants to make the lives of others right, including all of Aedra. Kique, buddy, once you’re a narcissist, you’re always a narcissist, learn to write a narcissistic character properly. Let me give you some tips, narcissistic characters don’t give a flying fuck about anyone but themselves, so why are you writing Ranach as a capital worldwide hero that cares for everyone suddenly???

Not only this, but his sick and twisted obsession with Iberon. I will give it partly to Kique, he hadnt changed Iberons personality and he was a pretty solid character, for Kique standards. But of course, his zoophile tendencies couldn’t help themselves and he suddenly changed Iberon to love up on Ranach, even though before he was extremely suspicious of him and absolutely hated Ranachs fucking guts. ANYWAY.

Back to the point lmao.

Ranach decides to round up Tribes, to fight the capital. The thought of MT, a fleck in the back of his mind. If it’s even there at all.

What strikes me odd is how Kique attempts to write this narcissistic character, but fails miserably cause all Ranach is in the story, is a Rogio obsessed man whore. Now suddenly Kique wants to make Ranach a hero and WOOHOO save Aedra. Now this plot might have made more sense if Kique had Ranach rebel against his father, with Kargo and Ferah and saved MT. If he had actually made Ranach an empathetic character who saw wrong in the Tribe he grew up in, instead of trying to lick Rogio’s nuts every two seconds. But this plot line, DOES NOT WORK. Because Ranach is never shown to give a single flying hoot about the wellbeing of others, except for Rogio.

Now don’t get me wrong, Ranach does tend to show narcissism. But it is not to the extent of how a narcissist actually is. Everything Ranach does, is for Rogio. So how the hell is he narcissistic? A true narcissist would have just found a new supply and moved the hell on. Which could be argued that this would be Iberon, but Ranach quite obviously looked at Iberon the same way he did as Rogio.

The inconsistency from Ranach is really mind boggling. Like most characters in Home, he does not have a consistent personality and jumps around to better fit the agenda / scenes Kique is pushing in the story. It is quite obvious to anyone, that he favors Ranach the most, probably because he wrote him to be his sick, obsessed lover to his self insert known as Rogio. Ranach is basically the dream lover for Kique. Which, ew, you sick fuck. Roamer is also another slice of a dream lover for Kique, because it’s funny how these two are so obsessed with his self insert, Rogio. And yet in real life, he writes these characters to do things he wishes a partner would do for him. Like it’s real obvious Kique, you’re not even hiding it anymore lol.

-

And now I will gloss over the glorification that Kique gives Ranach.

In the beginning, we all are aware of how much Kique adored Ranach, drawing him in odd positions and just completely showing this character in the spotlight. Now there is no physical evidence if Ranach did things to the females intentionally or not, in MT. Jonna says “He was rarely seen with a female” and then Rogio says “Anytime you were with a female, it was a simple one time thing.” So for me, it’s hard to pin point whether Ranach was a rapist or not. But let’s just assume that he is, given the circumstances of MT. WHY would you want to draw your rapist character in sexy poses and tell your customers that a gay bar is the best way to lose Ranach. Jeffery Dahmer is that you??

The odd glorification from Kique onto Ranach, is just that… ODD. If you have followed Kique for a while and read all the docs about him, it all becomes clear why he supports certain characters and why certain characters act the way they do. A lot of them, including Ranach have bits of Kiques personality / beliefs in them. And when you actually pay attention to how the characters work, you come to find out that Kique is an asshole lmao.

-

In conclusion, it was obvious that Kique attempted to make Ranach an antagonist in the beginning of the story, but then later decided to ditch this idea for unknown reasons. Why Kique favors a character like Ranach is boggling as hell. It’s crazy because given the backstory of Ranach, you would think it would push Ranach to do MT better than his father, but Kique is a terrible writer and didn’t even see that opportunity to give Ranach a redeemable quality. Now, he’s further digging Ranach into a hole and trying to make him the good guy, which TOO LATE Kique, you already missed that train, because you can’t decide who is the antagonist anymore in your comic.

PHEW. That’s all I have to say, I figured I would give into a different perspective on Ranach and how he COULD HAVE been redeemed, but Kique sucks at writing as we all know.



[gozine-translate]

Terminally-ill Genius Dark Knight - 143

143 - Phase 2

“With this, it would be okay right ?”

Nox’s generous tone

Prim cannot help but be astonished

‘Reinhaver family without doubt is a Distinguished family in the Swordsmanship world. A family that is known for using Black sword and Supreme sword. Despite that, why is he interested with slaves like us?’

No matter how he thinks about it, this is a part that cannot be understood easily

But in this urgent situation, he didn’t have the luxury to keep thinking about it

He can always solve the suspicion later, but the matter of life isn’t

If not now, he will die

Not only him but all the people who were brought here

“What should I call you from now on?”

Right after concluding, Prim asked Nox

Nox said while still looking at him with the arrogant look as usual

“Call me Mr. Nox, Keep in mind I will kill you if you act rude. Getting too cocky is the same”

“Understood”

Nonetheless, it seems the rumor that says he is a ruffian isn’t wrong

Prim briefly thought it, soon he couldn’t help but listen to what Nox said

“Get out of this underground auction and go alone to the center of Casino, I don’t need to explain the way there, right?

“Of course”

Nox said such as if he had grasped his ability

Prim is a Cynanthropy which is one of Beast Tribes  

A beastfolk with appearance that mixes half-human and half-dog. They usually think and converse like humans. But there is a tendency to have characteristics of Animal that similar to themself

For example, although Prim possesses an outstanding sense of smell, he has weakness of bad eyesight as a Cynanthropy

However that means . .

‘Even while he had been abducted here, he can figure out the escape route by remembering its smell’

Nox thought so, and it’s indeed true

Prim gave a quick nod and started running leaving Nox behind. Before one knows it, a lot of humans and beastfolks are following him.

Nox who watches that figure has a subtle smile on his face

“As expected of a guy who is talented in leadership. I have no doubt about this bastard”

He clearly proves that he is a unit with genius trait. Just seeing his remarkableness from the beginning is enough to know this fact.

At any rate, Prim will be a huge support in the latter half. 

Following Inner Lunatic nature that carries out a lot of large-scale wars. For Nox, he probably will become the best comrade

‘I have warned him not to behave rudely in advance. What, if it doesn’t work It will be fine If I just beat him up’

Nox casually thought and sighed

Now I feel things are somewhat wrapping up

“Then, next is over there . .”

Nox calmly fixed his gaze forward

There Luna and Jagan are confronting each other

In the original story, it was over-spec the moment he bought Luna. The first stage should be skipped immediately after exchanging a few strikes.

‘It should be like that based on the stats’

But Nox still hasn’t let his guard down

It’s because the damned variable never works in his favor.

Even though Nox had recited the mantra, somehow he still felt slightly off. Why is that ? Rather he feels something wrong will burst in the moment the thing seems to work out well

I feel somewhat uneasy

‘I even brought Luna here, so there wouldn’t be anything wrong, right ?’

Approximately 30 minutes later

Nox had realized..

The fact that he shouldn’t thought like that

From olden times, a positive mindset tends to guide you to denial

—--------------------------------

White Sword

Unlike Stormbringer’s dark, mana-imbued blade. This sword shines with white light, and draws an elegant sword path

I know what this sword is

‘A sword that only Luna can wield. An artifact crafted from Moonlight stone to allow its wielder to get complete control over Moonlight element. [Cold Moon]’

This sword is one of the strongest artifacts in Inner Lunatics

Since only Luna can wield it, the only chance you can feel its destructive force is during a moment like this when Luna fights.

No other characters can wield her sword,

In fact it’s a sword you can only see. 

‘While I’am at it, should I try to follow Luna’s swordsmanship with my eyes ?’

My level isn’t high yet. Nevertheless, even if I can’t see properly how Luna uses her sword, I might be able to get familiar with it to a certain extent

If I just properly utilize genius trait given to me, turning something impossible into possible isn’t out of question

Especially since I am planning to learn her swordsmanship (Moonlight sword) later, it will be helpful to see her in action firsthand

‘I figured out it would be in far ahead, but all paths were set once I got the scroll, the only way to master hidden swordsmanship’

The hidden sword you can learn here is none other than Luna’s moonlight sword

‘This is the reason I throw away [Supreme black sword], so I can learn Moonlight sword, it’s like a cheat swordsmanship when you’re playing a villain role in Lunatic’

But there are some requirements to learn this swordsmanship. 

For that, I visited Chaders to master a sword technique, sticking to that build all the way through.

Anyway, it’s obvious I will pick up new swordsmanship pretty soon.

Before that, Luna has to give her approval first.

Anyway,

When I am lost in thought.

Finally, Luna’s sword began firing at the enemy

“I will end this at once”

Gradually, mana begins to gather from Luna’s sword, revealing its sharp edge to the enemy.

Next, the one that manifested is. First form from the first half [Transcend]. It was a technique that boosts physical ability and unleashes mana stored in the sword in one go

The second form is [Full Moon]

This is a cheat skill that exhibits its power more as full moon gets closer.

“This fucking bastard… Bitch, so you’re the successor of ‘Moonlight Sword’ user !”

Abuses came out of Jagan’s mouth

But in a relaxed tone, Luna goes on with the next word

“Moon Split”

The third super-form of the first half Moonlight Sword radiates a bright white light that dazzles eyes and blasted toward the enemy.

In an instant, the sword soars, carved into my memory

I keep an eye on this

I notice a lot just from that

I wish for even more

Limit of Swordsmanship, where does it end ?

I don’t know yet, but I slightly felt it when I saw her sword

The third super form of the first half [Moon Split]

The purity of a sword that Luna swings.

The number of enemies who survived after witnessing this sword technique can be counted by hands in Inner Lunatic.

It was a technique I saw in battle with paimon, but unlike that day, it was stronger. Luna has been improving 

Me too, to get stronger, I need to be able to experience even more

To relish the experience of growth, I recognized my own progress was still trivial compared to Luna’s exquisite sword.

It’s still the first half of the game, and we just barely enter the second episode. But my heart is bouncing violently unable to tolerate this

At that moment, a thought popped into my head

I want to be like that too

I want to slice through night’s darkness with a pure white sword

I want to cut through beautiful stars and enemies, with moonlight shimmering through my hair

Thump. thump..

An intense urge to grab a sword hit me hard

Even though I realized there’s no room for me to get involved in this battle, I just couldn’t shake the feeling.

Rustle!

“Euaakk”

Jagan let out a loud shriek

But Luna isn’t done yet

Once more, then once more

Moon Split

Moon Split

While repeating this, she shoved that bastard into severe paint

Just like that, Jagan’s arms, and those two horns on his head were neatly severed. Luna’s sword is shimmering at the end of my gaze

While suppressing my throbbing heart, I made my way over to Luna 

How can I get you to teach me a swordsmanship ?

I’d like to be your disciple

I want to learn Moonlight sword

A lot of phrases came up, but I felt none of these would resonate with her

Moonlight sword is a very special technique that only handed down to one person

In order to become a disciple and learn this, I have to finish 2nd year grade course. At least that is how it was during my time as a player

But I had different sensations compared to when I was playing the game.

I want to have it . .

Her sword drives me wild

I can’t help but want to possess it, I’am still figuring out what this feeling really means, but for now, that’s just how I genuinely feel

However it was as if something like my feelings were irrelevant, Her expression twisted with resentment. Luna curtly walked up to Jagan

That bastard got beaten up so hard to the point it’s tough to recognize his figure

Even though phase 2 still remains, I don’t think he can manage it in that situation

“I will end it now”

At last Luna’s voices are echoing out. Her white sword is lifted up into the sky, and just as it’s about to come down

Zuzuzuzuzu!

Out of nowhere, the ground started to rumble, and the surroundings began to shake

‘What?’

In an instant, my consciousness that had been directed solely to the sword is snapped out

Luna too is distancing herself from Jagan and came over to my side

What’s going on ?

I thought Jagan shouldn’t have remaining strength to keep going in the second phase.

“Hehehehe… Hahahahaha !”

A vulgar, devil-like laughter is spreading out.

Along with that, Avalat gambling house began to collapse

Kwakwakwakwa!

“Newcomer!”

Luna raises her sword while protecting me

Then a pure white protection layer is developed, kind of like an umbrella covering me on a rainy day. At the same time, I end up witnessing it

Jagan

One of the 72 demons. A relatively easy-to-deal opponent thanks to his simple attacking pattern. It seems just like in past events, the butterfly effect is influencing him too

This bastard surprisingly is getting stronger

A massive surge of mana shook the center of the area, a crimson moon floated through the ruins of buildings, ascending into the air

Beneath that moon, something carved by red blood and slightly different than magic circle formula used in sorcery began to emerge

I knew right away what it is

“Transmutation Circle”

“What?”

As Luna was taken aback and shot a question back, I continued

“This is a transmutation circle used in Alchemy. That guy is . . . dangerous”

[enoughyi]

#5: Peck & Bite

Ship: Imelda Reyes x f!MC (Julia Wright), Poppy Sweeting

Summary: Imelda and her contemplative mood.

Prompt Number: 64. Being Unable To Open Their Eyes For A Few Moments Afterward. [>>>link to the list]

Word count: 681. Rating: T.

A/N: It's brainrot-powered. Characters are in their 20's.

Based on my Imelda nsfw!headcanons post and on an one where I wrote Imelda is a tad superstitious. I don't remember the number.

Why has my writing blog turned Imelda x f!MC x Poppy kissy fluff? I frankly have no coherent answer nor idea, how. And I regret not, and hope this little nearly-a-week long journey has been so far a joy! :D

This song, btw:

Tags: @thriftstorebabayaga @espressoristretto-patronum @celestial--sapphic @ladyofsappho

Imelda wondered littly about times when it was just Poppy and Julia.

Julia was a dreamy girl. Poppy was peculiar according to some, and pensive to Imelda's mind. A halcyon amidst the disarray of poaching seas; Poppy couldn't be more driven towards her. It was only natural for them to tag along on their beast rescue impetuous escapades -- and at some point, fall head over heels for one another. A Ravenclaw like Julia must've been so at Poppy's crude flirting; a brazen Hufflepuff like Poppy couldn't escape Julia's peck of curiosity.

They looked so happy.

Their funny hobbies; giggly exchanges in the corridors and classes, somehow avoidant of professors' attention or pithy comments; the life they had, against all odds, was picturesque and serene.

And did Imelda envied both of them, many years ago.

Yet did she expect an intervention of nearly divine capability; turned each of their lives to a meeting point on a joint that would lead them to a future of inseparability, reliance, in other words, love.

It was a fairly long story; when a snake falls from the sky there has to be an explanation how it has gotten up in the air, has it not. But its starting point; it has never allowed Imelda a single contemplationless moment. Whenever she would ask Julia if she regretted anything; whenever she would ask Poppy the same question; however they would answer, Imelda would always feel either they didn't know, or were as contemplative, or preferred to call it infuriatingly simple.

Magic.

Only in a fairy tale you'd have everything you could want from life, for a steep faeian price of course, and able to run with it, carelessly.

Poppy and Julia were unanimous in how to call Imelda's worry.

A mere superstition.

Because life is unpredictable; anything can happen; Julia happened, everything was and isn't just probable, it all is possible, no need to be worrisome, yes?..

Perhaps Poppy's word had some weight to it; her peculiar interest to fae creatures could lead her to this conclusion. But Julia's upbringing, inept in a magical sense, could only pack her mind with every fancy piece of literature about magical creatures of inestimable strengths and unfathomable powers. But when confronted, oh, that woman was an obduracy; her eyes almost glimmered with a familiar splinting sharpness Fig had when told his beliefs about magic were strange.

As if Julia knew something nobody else did. Acted as she pleased, -- or, no, was doing in accordance to the flow only she could sense in the air. Or was it a superstition getting a hold of Imelda, again?

So she asked her again.

"Neither of us regrets anything," Julia said. She was nearly asleep, but forced her eyes open at the sight of Imelda's distress.

It didn't feel right keeping her awake. "I know but it's all just…"

"Yes?" Tiredly, Julia added, "What is it?"

"It… It just doesn't feel real."

Julia's intent to sit up wasn't an available option, not for this late hour, not after Julia had been pleased; not after five-technically-six words, again, ruptured something in her heart, visible in a tired spark in her stubborn gaze. Was it Imelda -- or the Slytherin tendency to bite with venom instead of hitting with a peck of a snout; she hurt her, again.

Imelda's hands were on her shoulders, bony under the chemise; Julia's fingers ran up her cheek. She whispered, breathing out air strongly, "I am real very much though. You can't snap fingers and get rid of me. Consider me a pet fae; we've been through this again, and again, but we've yet to meet that bothersome thought of yours."

"Yes but are you really--"

"Really." She always pecked at the lips. "Get to sleep. It might be the Morpheus' clamant call to you. I'm limp. You're about to crash."

And she always got a bite back, always then breathed in sharply, eyelids flutter in the lingering warmth of this want-to-believe kiss. It could also help her to get to her own much warranted, wanted sleep.

Julia was a dreamy girl.

[therealfelicia]

Werewolves are my favorite type of monster, but I'll admit it's pretty tricky to make long-term serialized stories centered on them (be it comics, movies, books, tv shows or the like).

Let's consider Pop Culture's common takes on the beasts:

-The Universal Movies Werewolf: The classic, but also pretty limited. Based on the stories point of view characters It's either based on the angst of becoming a ravenous monster, or a serial killer story where the murderer is said beast. After a while the angst and/or terror becomes pretty repetitive, and the writers have to come up with contrived reasons for lycanthropy to become relevant in the story (holy s**t there's been a lot of full moons this month).

-The Social Click of Werewolves: A pseudo-family/clan/tribe of people who happen to turn into wolves, generally more in control than their Universal conterparts, but have a tendency to be... Boring. I mean, it's easier to tell a serialized story with this type of werewolf, specially since it naturally comes with a recurring cast of characters, but I find the concept of "group of people who turn into the same type of animal" too limited in itself, and many writer attempt to spice it up by adding arbitrary pseudo-wolfish behaviors (obligatory Alpha/Beta/whatever greek letter dynamics, weird mating rules to facilitate cheap drama, or at worst outright toxic masculinity/outright misogyny that will constantly be excused as their animal instincts), which is really not my thing.

-The Comedic Werewolf: Dog jokes. That's it.

You can make good stories if any of these models, of course. It's "tricky", not impossible, but it's seems harder to do with werewolves than it seems to be with vampires or ghosts.

[dumbbanana]

Could you maybe explore your characterizations for Monomon and Herrah? Your take on Lurien is incredible!

Ahhh so sorry this took a while! Thank you for waiting!

I'll use this post to answer about Herrah because I think she needs more love. Monomon will be in a another post (` v ´)

As with before, the answer will be under the cut!

When I was thinking about my human design for her, several inspirations came to mind:

Genghis Khan - Founder of the Mongolian Empire, one of the largest empires ever

Khutulun - Mongolian princess and warrior who famously refused to marry anyone unless they could defeat her in a wrestling match (no one ever did). She is the main basis and inspiration for my human Herrah design

Zheng Shi/Zheng Yi Sao - The most succesful pirate ever; a woman who took over her husband's pirate fleet after his death and became so powerful that the combined forces of the Chinese, Portuguese and British navies were unable to stop her

One of the lore tablets in the game states that her partner, a noble, passed away leaving her, a commoner behind. I like to think that she worked to take her husband's place as leader; perhaps even having to participate in some tough politics and fights to get there.

As such, I have it in my mind that she came to power by more of less declaring "I'll surrender the throne to anyone who can beat me in a fight" and basically won against every challenger to her throne by either beating them to a pulp or politically outmanouvering them.

Like most people, I think of her as a rather headstrong person and smart. After all, she's the leader of Deepnest and appears to have a following that's is almost, if not the same, level of devotion from Deepnest's citizens as the Pale King (PK) has with Hallownest's citizens. The difference is that, she's not a god! And I think that says volumes about what kind of leader she must have been! From what I gathered in game, the Spider Tribe located in the Distant Village and the Weavers seemed to be two distinct groups yet, they have a common devotion to Herrah. I think it's not unreasonable to imagine that maybe part of her coming to power was in uniting the various tribes in the territory to form/expand Deepnest. Uniting them in rejection of PK as the leader probably made it easier but she seems to have gone the extra step in ensuring that they remained loyal to her, thus amassing such a large following. In turn, I think she also respected and cared for her citizens as evidenced by her becoming a Dreamer for their sakes.

Like her desgin inspirations, I think she would have been a good military strategist and her devout following would have made any campaigns and battles rather smooth for her. That being said she's not a brute (as I sometimes sadly see her being depicted as). Being a leader of a large (and it seems dangerous!) territory would likely mean she picks her battles and would know when to show off her power.

As awesome as she must be, I imagine being a leader must be so tiring. If she's not busy leading the people, I imagine she'd be caught up in things like thwarting potential coups and dissenters trying to oust her. On top of that, she is a mother! So it's not like she can completely rest when she's not being Herrah the Queen, Herrah the Beast or any other titles and responsibilities that have been bestowed upon her and I imagine it only got more exhasting when dealing with Hallownest and it's court. As a result, I like to think that she'd have a tendency to fall asleep on her feet or zone out from not having enough rest. I also like to think of her as a somewhat introverted individual so I think it's fun that she maybe doesn't always realise or care how she comes off outwardly to the people around her.

As an aside, I have it in my head that her friendship with Monomon and Lurien stems from the fact that she holds no responsibilities or titles when she is with them. They do not think of her as "The Beast", "Queen of Deepnest", "Mum Friend" or whatever. To them, she is just Herrah.

This is purely me being silly with headcanons, but since she is a spider, I like to play with the headcanon that she'd have an instinctive talent for the natural sciences (physics, biology and chemistry - because spiders can have venom), engineering (building intricate webs) and mechanical mathematics (goes with engineering). The architecture in Deepnest is rather distinct to Hallownest and the Weavers appear to be capable of some impressive engineering feats (if the den and what looks to be the giant loom in there is anything to go by). Maybe she has little side projects for herself to get her mind off things or conduct research for her kingdom!

Anyways.. yeah! That's the main thoughts in my head when it comes to Herrah!

Thank you for your interest! I am always so thrilled when I get asks like this!

Hope you have a lovely day!

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

I saw an ask about a TFA AU where the idea was that there were already TechnoOrganic transformers on earth, and since Rise of the Beasts is coming up soon I had a few ideas.

The TechnoOrganics of earth are not fully united together, instead they've formed clans with different ideologies and practices. Each clan is either named based on either the animals they turn into or the legends they inspired for example the TechnoOrganics in Greece are called the Olympia.

The TechnoOrganics have a secret system of tunnel networks running through the earth to make sure they can travel vast distances without being spotted, they started the tunnels when humans began to become civilized.

Despite being technooraganic they are as strong as cybertronian Transformers, and due to their organic halves don't suffer as much from Cybertronian diseases.

Lastly the TechnoOrganics have a tendency to be brutal in a fight, due to their animalistic nature sometimes overwriting their programming.

Rather than their tribes being based on nationality or geological location, the techo-organic's tribes are based on what their alt mode is based on; avians, felines, canines, reptiles, primates, water dwellers, insects and so on. There are some big, major tribes and then a lot of minor ones that belong to one of the big ones.

Once every year, representatives from each clan gather and discuss various topics though any clan member is free to go and visit the other clans if they so wish. There are also various underground cities where all different kinds of techno-organics gather though few actually settle down in these. They have no currency, instead they trade.

[worstloki]

Jarnsaxa calls Thor princess and he likes it

"I don't want to go home," Thor complained, voice thick from the languor they had spent the afternoon in.

There was no use to cease lazing about when he was in fair company, and it was not as though it would matter the next day. Father never cared where he went off to, even if his destination was a woman's hovel in the outskirt mountains of Jotunheim.

"Then stop complaining about it," Jarnsaxa grumbled.

Thor sighed, and stared at the way his boot sat on the table.

The other boot was likely on the floor somewhere, or still on his foot. Feeling was starting to return to his arms now, weighing him down into the chaise and digging into his underarm where it was slung around the wooden frame, but he couldn't quite feel his feet yet.

The rest of the room was a mix of colours and blurred swirls, though Thor knew the layout by heart. All Jarnsaxa’s furniture was wood and all her decorations were different shades of furs and skins, or a mix of ice magic—a vast change from Asgard’s tendency to favour metals, but then the weather here was far better suited to the thick ice walls instead. 

There was never a fire in Jarnsaxa’s home, except the first time Thor had wound up almost freezing to death. The building had enchantments keeping the temperature normal, and a small space in the wall where a fireplace would otherwise have been saved her from needing anything more when she wanted cooked meat. 

The place was comely, and large enough to house three more giants if they could stand to share the large room. She lived alone, and Thor hadn’t an inkling as to why she chose to. 

Jarnsaxa always made the best drinks. 

That alone was motivation enough for Thor to befriend her, running off to Jotunheim when he needed a reason to spend time in leisure. 

She preferred silence over conversation, but it was hardly uncomfortable—she accommodated his visits with no resistance, and let him speak when he had something to say. 

From what Thor could tell, she lived too far from the communities of Jotunheim to be claimed by any tribe, but was a strong enough hunter and mage to not mind the solitude. 

He turned his head slowly, craning to see her sprawled over the bed in a similar state as him. 

He sighed, wistful. There weren’t many afternoons where Thor was able to run off, and less where he found himself able to refrain from niceties. 

To laze around in a stranger’s home was unthinkable for Thor… but Jarnsaxa was strong enough to live alone and only concerned herself where she had to. She had no patience for manners and it meant the realms to Thor that she didn’t care for Asgard—or any of the titles in any of the nine, really.

He knew her, and knew that even in the deserted icy plains Thor was safe in the construct she called a home. She wasn’t a stranger to him. 

And if he wasn’t safe, Thor didn’t visit any realm without Mjolnir. 

Where was Mjolnir? 

Thor looked away from the bed where he realized he’d been watching her rest—she couldn’t see him from where he was, and all he had been able to see of her were her bare legs, the way one had been bent standing to show off her thigh where the skirt cloth had pulled back. 

He wouldn’t act as though he had gotten used to the way she dressed, especially not in the freezing temperatures of the realm, but it was her usual fare to dress in such a leather armoured skirt. Having seen it countless times, the heat that spread through his head was not new by any means. 

Mjolnir had been left by the door, Thor now remembered. He had dropped the hammer near the collection of fractured large bones littered by the entrance.

Thor hadn’t recognised any of the bones, but then he did not know half the wild beasts that roamed the snowy wasteland. 

His neck hurt when he moved it the other direction, and he sighed as he struggled to move a hand to his neck. He held the back of his head as he tested the movements, frowning through the last of the haze when he found the muscles sore. 

“My neck hurts.”

Jarnsaxa huffed, moving on the bed. Thor didn’t look. "That’s nothing I want to hear."

Right. 

She always said he complained too much. Thor felt the heat in his head slowly reach his ears. 

He never wanted to be a burden when he visited. If he thought she wanted him gone he wouldn’t keep showing up…

Not that she would let him stay if she wanted him gone, Jarnsaxa was honest and blunt with what she wanted. That was one reason Thor appreciated her company.

Herbs hung from the ceiling, growing in wooden frames; they were not green like Asgard’s magical plants, but a sodden grey instead, though they were still alive. Thor had seen Jarnsaxa use some of them when making potions, though never in anything she had given him to drink. 

He wondered where the bottle they were sharing had gone—it was normal for her to finish it off after Thor took his few sips, but he wondered if there was any left. 

Returning home meant he couldn’t lounge with his feet up and shoulders slouched, so he wanted to stay, even if Jarnsaxa didn’t want to give him any more to drink. 

“I’m thirsty,” he stated, bringing himself to look back to the bed. Jarnsaxa had turned to her side, legs crossing over each other. He did better not to stare now that he could see her shoulders and hair too. 

Jarnsaxa stretched her arms out and returned to her back. 

“Get yourself some water.”

Thor’s ears heated again, and so did the skin along his legs at the way she dismissed him. His face warmed as he tried to reword himself, but could not bring himself to say anything more out of embarrassment. 

He knew where the water was stored—there was a crate buried under a slab in the floor filled with it, she had shown him before. 

“Is there any more ale?” He asked, eventually, when it had been too long to stand even to retrieve water. It was not an easy admittance, for even as easy as it was to speak to Jarnsaxa as a friend, Thor felt she had already shared what she was willing to. 

Jarnsaxa huffed, and the feeling of embarrassment tripled in Thor’s chest. 

“With your tolerance it’s better you don’t drink too much.”

Thor felt his hackles rise at the offending remark—he could handle his ale as well as any other, it was not his doing that Jotunheim had stronger drink than he was used to. On Asgard, ale did not truly dull the senses the way Jarnsaxa’s drinks did, even if you drank a full barrel. 

“A little will not do me harm,” he reasoned. He had drunk more with Jarnsaxa before, but Jotunheim ales tended to have strange properties and different outcomes, always carrying a slight uncertainty. 

“Very well, you can have another sip.”

She was teasing him, or mocking him with her suggestion—perhaps both—but to Thor that was merely a challenge he was happy to respond to. With her permission, he knew where she kept the ale, and that the closest bottle would be the one kept by the bed’s side.  

Thor warily sat up, biting his tongue at the way his balance shifted when he did. Standing made him feel as though he would fall over or throw up, but that was typical and Thor had no need for dwelling upon it. Through his annoyance he demanded, “I will have more than a sip, Jarnsaxa.”

“Alright Princess, but you’re coming here to get it.”

Thor paused in his attempted walking, keeping a hand upon a high bench for balance. He narrowed his eyes at her figure laid on top of the fur bed, surprised by the unexpected label. Though Jarnsaxa knew he was a prince he had never heard her use a title for him—let alone the wrong one, though he recalled her ongoing flippancy in remembering the correctness of different Asgardian words. 

There were always small errors in AllSpeak, and Jarnsaxa’s Asgardian speech was not perfect. It was possible the mistake was an honest one. 

He watched as Jarnsaxa reached beside herself on the bed, propping up a new bottle by her elbow. 

“I shan’t bottle feed you this time,” Jarnsaxa continued, bringing herself to sit up with effort. 

She began to shake the bottle and in lieu of her arms or torso Thor stared at her legs, which for all they were apart were by far the more appropriate option. He did not understand how she was so comfortable in an armoured skirt that was so short, or how with all her size and strength she was willing to spend time with him; Thor struggled to take his eyes away. He supposed it was better that half her thigh be uncovered than have no clothing at all. 

The fur below her legs was firm, not moving as much as Thor would have liked—but Thor remembered to complete his journey, climbing to the bed. 

“I am a Prince of Asgard,” Thor reminded, stressing the masculine differentiation of the word.

Jarnsaxa opened the bottle with her bare hands and held it out to Thor who took it happily, but carefully. He wouldn’t spill it onto her bed. 

She watched him take a sip, and then another before demanding the new bottle back. It was too big in Thor’s hands anyway, and he could feel the liquid leaving a warmth where it traveled down to his stomach. 

She tipped the bottle back, making way on the ale in earnest, and Thor watched, unsure how to feel of it. On Asgard, no one shared a drinking vessel this way, and Thor’s pitiful attempt to drink would have been an embarrassment to never live down in comparison to the way Jarnsaxa downed half the bottle after. He didn’t have to worry about that here. 

“Aye,” she nodded once she was done—Thor barely remembered what she spoke of, “but you whinge.”

Thor scoffed, uncertain what to make of her complaint with him this time. He did not whine half as much about her as she would criticise him, but Thor did not mind it so much. Thor refuted that he whinged but he did not mind that it was her picking out this fault. He felt proud of it. Thor couldn’t whinge on Asgard without tiresome repercussions. 

Here, nothing would be made of it. 

The ale was beginning to take effect, settling into the tips of his fingers as an immovable mass willing him to do less. Thor listened, curling up on himself, though he knew better than to take up much space on her bed. He felt too indolent to move back from where he came. 

He heard the bottle be placed upon a wooden surface, now ringing empty, and startled when Jarnsaxa settled next to him. She laid down with her knees brushing against Thor, aware he was still there. 

The ale in his stomach turned at the contact and his breathing quickened as he considered his choices. 

If Thor was honest to himself, he would admit that she scared him. She was a giant, and two heads taller than he would be if he stood on the tips of his toes. 

Her skin was the same blue Thor supposed all giants must be, and her legs were strong, in a way that still retained their natural softness. Thor didn’t think she was stronger than him, but he never intended to fight her. 

Her hair was an elegant nightsky black with strands of natural white, and her upper body corded with lean, hidden muscle where he could see the skin. From where he sat, the armour over her chest did little to cover her strength. She was older than Thor, but still young, though Thor had never asked her age. Giants aged slower than Aesir, anyway. 

She wrapped furred leather over her wrists and ankles, sometimes, and Thor always liked when she did. It made her look fiercer, more ready for battle though Thor knew the clothing would make no true difference to her hunting. She had them on now. 

The thoughts of her appearance interrupted Thor’s lanquidity, pulling away at the enjoyment settled through him.  

“Do not call me that again,” he blurted. “Some would take offense to it.” 

He hadn’t been angry at the remark, as Thor would have been with any other. He felt… strange, about the mistake. Indifferent, and embarrassed. 

She opened her eyes to look at him, and it did not occur to him that he may be disturbing her enjoyment too.  

“Come here,” she lifted an arm, gesturing for Thor to move closer. 

The sides of his waist tingled and his legs only moved when he could see them, so he struggled to make the distance, small as it was. His face was in front of hers, too close, but moving took so much energy, and—and his arms couldn’t hold him up like this for long. 

Her eyes were the usual red and black, but it had never disturbed him the way other giants did. This was how they had always been, and he couldn’t picture her eyes being any other way.

Thor’s arms collapsed, and Thor apologised for falling onto her until she placed a hand over his mouth. Her fingers dug into the cheek on both sides, only a little painful. 

“I wasn’t going to carry you back,” she stated. 

Thor tried to tell her she should, because then he was in her bed, and he knew she wasn’t inclined to share it—but she shushed him, and squeezed his mouth more. 

Thor sighed, as much as he could with his mouth held hostage. 

He did not mind where he rested, and after a moment she moved her hand away from his face to swathe around him.

Being held was strange, but not unwelcome. 

Her skin was thicker than his, and rougher, and he could feel that in her arms wrapped around his front, as well as in the way she felt pressed so firmly against his back. He could feel her chest move with every breath, and struggled not to think of it. 

The ale itself began to blur his thoughts and vision, forcing him to relax in her arms. He liked the position, for all that it had been unintentional.  

She moved her legs, which reminded Thor that he was smaller than her—she enveloped him completely in her hold, the tingling of the ale and her touch mixing together in a way that made Thor flush uncontrollably, happy. 

“Precious, little Thor,” she murmured into his hair. “The smallest princess.”

Thor gasped, choking on a surprised breath as he found he was short of air.  

Excuse me?! 

Thor froze, letting the words sink in. He didn’t—he wasn’t—a pronunciation error, perhaps. 

He tried not to move, flustered by her mistake. 

Those words were insulting at the least, if not for the way she said them fondly. Thor wasn’t sure how he felt, the words not being ones he wanted to refute, but not being acceptable either. 

He did not have the energy to argue, and did not think he found reason to; the words were meaningless to Jarnsaxa. His own heart was likely to stop of shock, but he was pleasantly warm, and that was all he needed to care for. It was the ale, influencing her mind, and Thor’s. 

There were not many chances to be coddled the way Jarnsaxa did him. He should focus on other things. Thoughts that were appropriate for the disorganised hovel he considered to be his second home. 

[molagboop]

You've shown a lot about Mawkin culture and how important and sacred they view battle. While we know the Thoha to be less peaceful, Gray Voice shows us that the Thoha were not exempt from a warrior's past. I'm really curious to hear your thoughts on differences between how Thoha, be it modern or of a time long past, might view battle compared to the Mawkin

I'll cover this first with a brief prelude discussing the Thoha in a general sense and comparing them to the Mawkin, then getting into the meat of the warrior stuff. This is a good opportunity for me to explore the general differences, which would further highlight the contrast between their warrior cultures.

Quick Overview of Tribal Specialties

The warriors and their technology are what we know the Chozo for best, but they were by no means a monolith: there are many tribes, all with their own values and way of living.

The Thoha were always a tribe that valued ingenuity and bright thinkers above all else. They invented some things simply because they could, but they also put great emphasis on considering where the resources to make their weapons came from, how best to extract them without harming the environment, etc. Very much a thoughtful people who value using knowledge to solve problems, wielding the skills amassed over the course of their long lives to plan ahead and consider the consequences of their actions, especially when harvesting resources from planets that are not their own (on SR388, they attempted to extract aeion in a manner that would least harm the local ecosystem).

Their tendency to cultivate shrewd academics and clever inventors is by no means an indicator that they were poor warriors: the Mawkin also have a powerful academic body. The educated soldier is offered more opportunities, both in leadership roles (military and general community) and a general sense (where are you going to be stationed, are you going to get the chance to study ancient marine lifeforms during your post in Burenia, etc).

The Mawkin also foster a sense of curiosity in their tribesmen from the egg to the grave. Raven Beak has like eight bird PhDs, and he never stopped learning new skills and engaging in different fields of study until the moment he died. The difference here is that the Thoha are known best by their peers for their ingenuity and academic splendor, (particularly in the field of bioengineering), while the Mawkin's reputation hinges primarily on the quality and sheer volume of warriors they produced.

Both tribes have a degree of reverence for the ways of the Warrior, and both encourage engagement in academic study. But when the Hotu need warriors, they would ask the Mawkin first, and when the Ishtal desire outside guidance on how best to engineer their favored dray-beasts for hard labor off-world, they seek the assistance of Thoha scientists before all else.

On to the warrior stuff!

Principles

The Way of the Warrior is a set of principles to guide Chozo warriors on the path of martial greatness and spiritual enlightenment. Adherence to this philosophy is a means to strengthen the body and spirit. Physical aptitude is maintained to defend kith and kin, but also to grant the warrior endurance. Endurance allows one to weather the hardships of life. The ability to overcome great challenges contributes to one's overall moral character, gives the individual the confidence to contribute to solutions, fosters a drive to help others, so on and so forth.

I'll spare you the lecture on the full breadth of Chozo spirituality, but the important part is that the Way of the Warrior espouses moral and practical virtues.

The Thoha saw the ways of the Warrior through the lens of philosophy: by building character through diligent honing of the mind and body, their enlightened warriors will have the strength to lead their people, the swiftness to avoid unnecessary conflict, and a hardened emotional shell.

That last one is important: warriors aren't just guardians, they're also mediators. Not in a sense that they're cops; the warrior's purpose is not to enforce law and order. No, the warrior has potential to serve as an unbiased third party in conflict resolution. This is just one example of why emotional balance and the ability to weigh one's personal feelings against the needs of the community is a core feature of Thoha warrior philosophy.

They believe warriors make good project leaders for the same reasons. Even if the warrior isn't a scientist, having one around to supply their unique perspective and trained practical sense is seen as a good idea. Gray Voice isn't just a warrior, he's also a philosopher and a neurostylus. He's proficient in the science behind programming organic AI-forms, the construction of vessels for artificial consciousness, and integrating these structures with manufactured (non-organic) computers. He's capable of making difficult decisions surrounding the fate of his people without falling prey to his own fears or losing sight of their needs.

Battle: What's it Worth?

A very long time ago, the Thoha army saw frequent use. The tribes weren't always at peace, and everyone had enemies somewhere, Chozo or otherwise. Warrior-scholars were prevalent throughout the folds of their society: sharp minds and sharper blades were highly valued.

To the Thoha warrior, attaining physical and mental equilibrium through the honing of the mind and body in tandem is sublime. Skilled warriors are great, wise scholars are greater, and one who can be both in equal measure has worth that surpasses all else.

Proving this worth on the field of battle while maintaining that balance was a goal for every warrior-scholar to strive for. Fighting strongly is one thing, but a clever warrior is highly valuable: physical prowess means little without tactics and clever thinking. Reacting to opponents on the fly and choosing one's next move wisely was key: that's the greatest show of the mind and body moving in sync.

Thoha warriors excel at paying attention despite the overwhelming stimuli present on the battlefield, predicting their opponents' next move through a variety of factors, including body language, and for some, mathematical probability. There's nothing worse than the feeling of being knocked down during a sparring session by a warrior who tells you that you behaved exactly as they calculated you would. Hearing some nerd rattle off about a percentage chance while you're dusting yourself off is bewildering and a little annoying, ngl, but the warrior math-nerds are hardly wrong, and when they are, they account for it.

Anyways, battle had value in that it provided a chance for warrior-scholars to prove their mettle and hone the mind-body balance in a real conflict. Sparring and ndividual practice are one thing, but lived-in experience is a whole nother animal.

Despite the philosophical benefits of a real fight to the Warrior, bloodshed itself wasn't seen as a wholly positive thing in Thoha warrior philosophy. The Thoha viewed battle as an unavoidable result of heightened tension during conflict. They tried to avoid war if possible, but sometimes that's just how things are gonna go, and their warriors were prepared for it. Bloodshed is inevitable: whether it arrives in two years or two-thousand, it's going to rear its ugly head somehow. Even the most docile zoomer will bite when provoked.

That's why warriors have value to the Thoha: they're necessary.

The Thoha felt they had less of a need for a standing army as a means to protect the people as civilization advanced and inter-tribal conflict became less of a prominent issue. Despite this, they still valued warriors for the lessons their philosophy instilled within them and the strengths such practices afforded an individual. There was also still a need to defend their planet from external forces, so they continued encouraging young warriors to pursue the ghosts of their ancestors.

In the years leading up to the Galactic Federation's founding, the Thoha gravitated increasingly towards the idea of pacifism. A great deal of their number were old and slowing down by that point, and they figured they should invest in a sort of insurance policy for galactic peace: hence the Federation. The Thoha were one of several tribes that were too busy sciencing it up to be bothered with fortifying their numbers, and now there aren't very many younger folk around to help the elders. A good chunk of those younger scientists were stationed on SR388 to work on the Metroid project, and some have taken on projects elsewhere in the galaxy.

Have I talked about fertility issues in the various tribes before? I feel like I've posted about that here before, but I can't remember. Let me know if I still need to post about that or not!

Anyways, the Mawkin approach battle with more of a religious fervor, and always have. Don't get me wrong: warriors from both tribes enjoyed battle, but Thoha warriors don't view their own deaths as an event to look forward to.

When a Thoha warrior falls in battle, the news of their passing is a sting that wounds all. When a Mawkin warrior dies, their sacrifice is an honor to the people, and the breath that was cut so early from their throats is to be repaid thricefold. Thoha warrior funerals are a solemn, mournful event, whereas Mawkin warrior funerals are a celebration of the individual. I covered the Mawkin view of death more in-depth in Volume 2 of Life on ZDR, easily accessible by searching the headcanons tag on my blog. Those interested can click the tag on the bottom of this post and probably won't have to do much scrolling to find it.

Regarding Mawkin fervor: their training and cultural mindset lends a certain savagery to the force of their strikes. Keep in mind that when I say "savage", I'm not at all implying "lesser worth or intelligence", but rather a particular show of brute strength.

The Mawkin are relentless in battle, and do not stop fighting until either they or the opposition lies dead. Cut them, and they only grow fiercer. Knock one down, and five more will descend on you like a flock of petrels.

Chozo Combat Arts

Welcome to off topic! Your question made me think a Lot.

Mawkin combat theory consists of a variety of different schools of thought. Military basic training goes over three of these schools to start: Crashing Wake, Black Claw Lattice, and Falling Star Impact. Theory combining the first two is part of what makes even the lowest Mawkin soldier hit like a goddamned truck.

Crashing Wake is a school of thought encompassing forceful weapon thrusts and swift, gravity-led strikes. The goal is to slam your opponent hard and fast, and perhaps take them unawares, like a sudden slap from the cold, cruel arm of the sea. Techniques with origins in Black Claw Lattice favor talon-blade weapons, but many branches of the school can be applied to a variety of bladed weapons with longer handles. Students of the Lattice strike quickly and often, and subscribe to the theory that if you cut something enough, it'll bleed faster.

There are myths among the other tribes about Mawkin "blood-rage": stories about warriors who are empowered by the mere scent of blood, capable of shearing whole legions on their lonesome. Soldiers whose strikes grow swifter and more lethal with every wound they sustain. Many of these stories are ancient, and most of them are, like I said, shrouded in myth. But there's a reason the Mawkin are feared. There's a reason the other tribes try to maintain a somewhat solid friendship with them, and it's not just that they've never (formally***) lost a war.

It's not that their warriors are incompetent by comparison, the Mawkin are just exceedingly formidable foes. Other warrior tribes regularly invite the Mawkin to week or month-long events where both armies jointly convene for military exercises. The Thoha did this every five years until a good few decades before the events of Zero Mission! Gray Voice and Raven Beak have quite the history with each other, and these events were a large part of that.

In ancient times, other tribes had to come up with ways to stay level with the Mawkin: that's how fierce they've always been! One such method is inhaling the aroma of herbs and seeds.

That's right: Zero Mission concept art, baby!

Anyways, those little tubes and the herb pouch they're connected to are not exclusively a Thoha innovation, but they were the first to come up with the idea. Always one step ahead in the realm of blood, the Mawkin were aware of the combat-enhancing capabilities of certain compounds, and the priests would anoint some of their finest warriors just before battle to send them into a righteous fury... but they'd never thought to send warriors into battle with a pouch full of inhalants strapped to their backs.

Nowadays, the most advanced power suits can administer doses of compounds synthesized from these spicy fighting herbs to give a warrior some extra oomph in battle without a cumbersome bit and sack. Only helmeted suits can get the scent experience without a bit, but warriors without a closed-face helm can have the compound absorbed through their skin via the powersuit

Thoha martial theory also covers deadly blows, but they also favor a greater number of schools that deal with disarming or incapacitating the opponent.

I'll go into specific Thoha warrior festivals and the like at a later date: that should paint a more intricate picture of their relationship with war, combat and violence.

I really should end it here because i kind of went off on a tangent. This ask really made me think, and I almost went off about Bird Magic. I hope this flowed somewhat coherently, and if anyone wants me to elaborate on anything or wants me to continue going off about something they want more on or that I didn't cover at all, I will absolutely wall of text you with that information.

[chaos-snakeboi-journal]

Discarded Page, Margin note reads "memoir?"

Greetings. I am Khvath Slaveborn.

Wait. This doesn't feel comfortable. Or natural. Is this how you begin a book? I'm sorry. I have a tendency to say everything I'm thinking if I don't write it instead.

As you may be aware, speaking freely is an open death sentence in the Eightpoints, and Carngrad eightfoldedly so. However, constantly writing while only vaguely regarding someone with one's eyes is its own form of intimidating character trait, so it is one I've come to embrace. No one need know you're introspecting in a blind panic when they think you're writing down their every word.

I do listen, though. And I remember. That's an aspect of myself I feel confident about - my memory. I feel as certain as one can be of anything in the Eightpoints that I recall all things I am aware of with perfect clarity, something I am keen to take advantage of in the employ of greater men than myself.

Me, I am a humble Bloodwind Spoil beast, cast off from his tribe for being too feeble and sheepish to sustain a living in the colony. They hadn't the courage to exile me until I could stand on my own two feet. This was on the pretense that I was a "drain" - because of my sickly nature, I could not work as hard as the others, yet I consumed the same amount of food. I took my exile with hanged head and spent weeks in the wilderness recalling what little they cared to share with me about the hunt. Long did I picture their secret hunting trails and contemplated hunting them down from the quiet places I know they did not check. Long did I arrange this, crafting traps and sharpening my killer's instinct.

Only they never came. I waited and waited, certain they would come hunting this way one more time, on a fateful day when they I would--well, anyway, I won't bore you with a falsified tale of revenge when, indeed, the truth is they just did not arrive. So I went back to the colony, perhaps to prove myself in a mighty duel, only to find moldering heaps of food amid the bloated dead of all my kin.

A cursory examination revealed to me their final error - they had over-farmed our soil and made vast stockpiles. This failure of logistical economics had come back to bite them when feeding season began and, with no warrior to ration their food and contain their impulses, they all simply feasted to death.

Oh this is a terrible memoir, you don't care about that, you want to know how I became Steward. That's a long story, see, because it sort of begins after that -- well, not after that, I need to establish the context that led me to Carngrad. And you don't know why I'm Khvath "Slaveborn" yet even though I wasn't born a slave, which is another--

Oh what a disaster, I'm telling this all wrong. I hope no one sees this"

[lingshanhermit]

Ling Shan Hermit：Morality and Wisdom

Dzongsar Khyentse Rinpoche has stated, "In Buddhism, ethics are not the most important, wisdom is." The reason Rinpoche says this is likely due to seeing too many people associating Buddhism with ethics.

In contemporary society, we often hear various assertions about Buddhism. Most of these are related to ethics. For instance, many people think that studying Dharma is about becoming a better person. Others believe that as long as you harbor good intentions and keep Buddha in your heart, that's enough. However, I must emphasize, studying Dharma is not for the sake of becoming a better person, it is for achieving enlightenment. Moreover, Buddhism goes far beyond merely keeping good intentions and Buddha in one's heart. There are very specific practices and methods for Buddhist practitioners.

Some modern scholars believe that Buddhism has historically been used by many rulers as a religion to cultivate ideal citizens. This is probably because Buddhism emphasizes the law of cause and effect, which has often been mistakenly interpreted as fatalism throughout history. This is not surprising. The law of cause and effect is one of the most profound topics in Buddhism, yet it's also very complicated and difficult to understand. It's not easy to clarify; it's not a simplistic fatalism that insists "you must endure whatever fate your actions have sealed." In fact, if the Buddhist interpretation of cause and effect was such, there would be no need for Buddhists to practice at all. As if destiny is predetermined, nothing can alter it. Thankfully, Buddhism's view on cause and effect is not like this. Therefore, true Buddhists are the most proactive individuals. They strive to cultivate positive causes and conditions and eliminate negative ones in order to approach wisdom. Ultimately, they exhaust all their karmic seeds and habitual tendencies.

There are also scholars who believe that Buddhism is the best religion to foster modest and respectful citizens. They argue: "If we were a Buddhist country, at least our public safety would be very good. There would be no theft, and doors could be left unlocked at night."

Of course, I too wish to live in a country with good public safety. But I must say that this is not the purpose of Buddhism. Buddhism doesn't exist to save on public security expenditures. Buddhism does not exist to foster a populace accustomed to resignation, nor to make us good people. The Indian prince who left his palace in the dead of night more than two millennia ago did not do so for these mundane purposes.

Buddhism is not a religion dominated by ethics. In fact, if we scrutinize ethics, we will find that they are mutable. Leafing through human history, we find that ethics and laws are among the foundations of human society. Initially, humans lived scattered, hunting alone. Later, they realized that greater safety might come with greater numbers, thus tribes emerged. Later on, alliances between tribes formed, gradually leading to city-states. People no longer feared wild beasts but began to fear those who broke the rules. As populations grew, problems emerged. In addressing these problems, everyone reached a consensus: If we're to live together long-term, we must adhere to certain socially accepted norms, otherwise no one will be safe. Some things had to be respected, like prohibitions against robbery and murder. If these were not followed, we simply couldn't live together. These mandates eventually became known as laws. The consequences of breaking the law are severe. You could end up in prison, removed from society to prevent further disruption.

There are also socially accepted rules whose breach, although seemingly less severe than breaking the law, can be quite serious. Most of them, however, are not serious enough to warrant imprisonment — while everyone might find these behaviors unsavory, they're not considered egregious enough to necessitate incarceration. Yet, people will despise you. These rules eventually became known as ethics. But we see that the standards for what is considered ethical vary across different periods. In China in 2018, a man who desired many women would be deemed immoral by the public. In a monogamous society, finding another woman's underwear in the family car is, of course, a big deal. Yet historically, polygamy was prevalent for a long time. Yuan Shikai, the president of the Republic of China over a hundred years ago, had ten wives, and nobody thought it was immoral for him to have so many wives. At that time, if your wife was infertile, someone in the family would suggest you take another wife, as not having descendants was considered a serious breach of filial piety. Therefore, whether an action is ethical depends on whether it harms certain people, and whether those people are harmed depends on their definition of those actions — definitions that are often not constant. It is conceivable that behaviors considered to be very bad today might be seen as utterly ordinary two hundred years from now. In 1946, when the Frenchman Louis Reard first presented his bikini design to the world, he embarrassingly found that only a stripper was willing to model it; everyone else shied away. However, today, it's rare for anyone to view wearing a bikini as immoral. Ethics change as human beliefs and systems change. But truth does not. The Buddhist teachings of "all is impermanent" and "all phenomena are not self" do not change with the times.

Clearly, cultivating a moral populace is not the goal of Buddhism. Buddhism is dedicated to addressing the root cause of our suffering, not to drafting ethical norms.

Even so, the existence of ethics is very necessary; both everyday life and the study of Buddhism require a relatively normal society. Thus, a society where the majority abide by laws and ethics is indispensable. But Buddhism is not a religion aimed at cultivating moral paragons.

Relative to ethics, Buddhism places greater emphasis on wisdom, but we should not neglect ethics as a result. While ethics might not be the most important, they remain important. Immoral people often act with disregard for others' feelings, demonstrating their lack of consideration for others.

How can a person who lacks even basic morality, who is so selfish that they can harm many others without remorse, possibly possess wisdom? Though Buddhism deems ethics not to be the most crucial, they are still viewed as a foundation for developing wisdom. When we speak of wisdom, we need to understand that we are referring to wisdom based on the nature of reality, or rather, wisdom that is the nature of reality itself, not the kind of wisdom we usually mean — the Qian Zhongshu kind of wisdom. Rinpoche defines wisdom as "the mind in its normal state." So, what does "the mind in its normal state" mean? That is a topic for future discussion.

Written by Ling Shan Hermit on April 24, 2018, at 4:36 AM.

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灵山居士：道德与智慧

[emberkeelty]

Continued from this.

The Earthshakers call the Fatebinder a follower of the Scarlet Chorus. At this point, she can't even argue.

Instead, she just keeps spiraling!

Hey, remember how she went through all that trouble to spare your worthless life? Yeah, she really doesn't know why she bothered! You know what will definitely make her feel better? Killing things!

How much time did any of this even buy her?

Really? You're surprised she needs a drink?

Lantry was two-timing his guild on orders from Nerat for decades. No wonder he's always on so many drugs now, after that all blew up in his face.

This isn't fun anymore.

TGEK's LP describes the Chorus route as being a story about the folly of thinking evil means can be used to achieve anything but evil ends. That's accurate enough for a one-liner summary, I think, but what I'm getting out of this is something a lot less... dualistic. After all, the rebel path still sees you using some evil means, albeit less than usual, and if you play your cards right there you can achieve ends that are, if not unambiguously good, at least pretty clearly better than the alternatives. For a time, anyway. But that's another point where I differ from TGEK, and that's a whole separate thesis.

More to the point... what exactly does it mean when I say that the Scarlet Chorus is evil? That sounds like a stupid question, I know. Their atrocities aren't hard to list, since they keep them on full display. Just on the face of it, they are obvious, almost generic Chaotic Evil. But that's exactly the trap! Compared to the Disfavored, they seem honest about what they are, and in a way, that can be freeing. "This is war. Try to enjoy it," as Verse says. Besides, many of their more obvious transgressive tendencies are things that a certain kind of person might find outright appealing.

But there's a deeper darkness that, as usual, traces all the way up to Kyros. There's a reason Nerat is a many-faced monster of flames and voices, and as with all Archons, the reason for his existence impacts everything he touches. When he says that he's loyal, not only does he mean it, but he means something very specific by it. Like Bleden Mark and unlike Tunon or Graven Ashe, he knows exactly what Kyros really is. Unlike Mark, he's fully committed anyway. Kyros doesn't stand for anything at all beyond her own power, so true loyalty doesn't mean following her laws or fighting for her glory, but rather being subsumed by her every whim. As below, so above. Nerat's own soul got eaten a long time ago.

Most everyone has something they hold sacred, something that it would shatter them to violate. Sure, the specific thing that broke Nerat was a violent betrayal of his blood family, but that's just flavor. Verse loved her Fury sisters and is a wreck about what she did to them. Fireweed was fiercely proud of her connection to the Beast tribes, and now she's gone and used it as a profane bargaining chip. The Chorus will get you where you live. Like Kyros herself--the truth of her that Nerat sees--it demands nothing less than complete self-annihilation.

In the end, Fireweed does more or less get what she wanted.

And yet, it kind of feels like a farce. A bad parody.

Really? That's the word you're going with?

It... could be worse. Quite a lot worse. She did what she could, right? And who's to say there was ever a chance it could have been any better?

(There was. She missed it two years ago, back during the conquest, when she was pettily abusing her power as a Fatebinder to work out her grudge against the Disfavored. She murdered the Queen of Apex because the Chorus thought it would be funny and the Disfavored were against it. The transgressions that don't matter to you can still alienate you enough to bind you into committing the ones that do.)

[vitamaeternum]

Scourge Aasimar, please?

Since I can't remember which one I put in the poll, since I had two, I'll detail both of them here.

Gil Galad - Divine Soul Sorceradin. He's probably the character I've played for the longest at this point, but level ups are kinda slow in that campaign, so he's not the strongest. Backstory is that he is the eldest son/heir of a high-ish ranking noble house that also had ties to the religious authorities due to their lineage going back to a well known prophet in that world.

Basically a coup d'etat happened and most of the Royal family was slain, leaving only the teenage princess alive of the main house. Her adopted siblings got kidnapped by some Witch that's part of a cult and we have yet to find them.

Basic plot is that we managed to escape the capitol, flee to the countryside and acquire a few allies along the way. We also found the ghost of an ancient Elven noble who temporarily killed one of the party members because the Wizard decided to shoot his mouth off and offend him. So in exchange for him bringing our friend back and information, I gave him temporary residence in my body, which actually ended up coming in handy a few times.

After that escapade, we got enough allies and went to war, managed to oust the false King (who was the previous King's brother) and place the Princess on the throne.

At that point, a few characters swapped out due to their stories ending, and Gil became Paperwork man during downtime. As of the current moment, we're doing some things to combat some nobles who are trying to make a power play because the new queen is, as I mentioned earlier, a teenager who was relatively sheltered.

But anyway, here was the Party Gil functioned as the pseudo leader of/part time babysitter: (If I don't note race, they're human)

James - Palace Guard who escorted the Princess to safety during the original coup, stayed with us after that. Relatively sane and effective on the battlefield.

Bellatrix - Traveling Oath of Conquest Paladin who was sent by her order to help us. Also one of the more sane members.

Viren - Elven Ambassador who is an Aberrant Mind Sorcerer, somehow gained Shapeshifting powers, which led to us suspecting him as a Cult plant. Primary other Spellcaster.

Ignatius - Cleric(Don't know Domain) and Storm Sorcerer hybrid. He was a bit on the trigger happy side when it came to making plans for battle/solving issues.

Masare - Resident Problem Child Wizard. Had an adopted kid and was a disgraced general from a nearby nation. The issue was that he had a tendency to leap into battle/hostilities without looking first.

The campaign is still ongoing and the other thing of note is that we managed to kill a CR 15 monster while being level 7. So that makes Gil one of my luckier characters.

Setanta Ulster - Path of the Beast Barbarian. Started existence in my head as a way to try and build Cu Chulainn of Irish Myth.

He was a kid who got cursed into a were-thing by a wandering Fae and was sent by his parents to live at a local monastery dedicated to the dual gods of creation and destruction of the setting (They're Dragons), so when they got his curse under control, the beast form became more Draconic in nature. His reason for being there was he traveled out from the monastery for the first time since he got dropped off there and went South to the Wizard City.

First few sessions, we went searching for a large Orc tribe that was supposedly wandering nearby. When we met them, they were relatively peaceful and just wanted to pass by. And when we went back to the city, we got asked by a member of the Wizard Council, the one who specialized in the school of Enchantment, to lie and say they were going to attack the city.

Setanta was having none of it, and tried to call the High Enchanter on his BS in front of the entire council, and got mind whammied before he could finish speaking. Magic was not supposed to work in the council chamber, so that was a lie.

So then the High Enchanter attempted to get me thrown in prison in revenge and managed to get the party declared outlaws. We then ran around, tried and failed to stop a kidnapping, and then the Campaign went on hiatus. Maybe one day we'll continue it, at least that's my hope.

[ffxiv-swarm]

prompt 1: envoy

A messenger to the beast tribes. It should be a simple task, for one who’s slain gods. Simply deal with the yet-untempered Amal’jaa, those who have yet to do anything other than exist. She won’t even need to open her grimoire.

But she remembers Ifrit.

(The stench of burning flesh. Cruel, scaled grins. The fervent light of madness in their eyes. Watching bound and helpless as her fellow captives were fed to the god, finding her own strength at the very last moment, the smell of smoke that lingered for days in her hair afterwards—)

(Yes, she remembers Ifrit.)

And then, too...they are beasts, are they not? So say all the Eorzeans. They aren’t proper people, like she is a person. She’s pretty sure they lay eggs, even, and sleep on rocks like lizards, and the things they eat wouldn’t pass even the broadest definition of civilized fare. But nevertheless she’s said she will do it, and so she arrives in Little Ala Mhigo ready to keep her word.

That town carved out of the desert rock is...an experience. The people are plain and hardworking and not inclined to much conversation, but once they learn she’s not from the Ul’dahn government and in fact really is just there to help them with their Amal’jaa problem, one or two do open up to her. (Her offering of food smooths the way. It’s hard to resist a good rolanberry pie.) And once she asks about their local beastfolk...

“They’re not beasts,” snaps one man. “They’re not much different than the Ananta back home! ‘Tis only their god that drives them to evil.”

“The what,” she says, and that’s how she learns that in other places, places that aren’t Eorzea, the definition of a Spoken race is considerably broader, and in Ala Mhigo their local serpent women are known for their jewelry and not for their wanton slaughter.

It gives her a lot to think about. She’s still thinking when she arrives at the camp of the Amal’jaa known as the Brotherhood of Ash, whose forges light the night sky. But when she actually meets one, it drives all thoughts from her head.

She’s forgotten how big they are. Hamujj Gah, their leader, stands fulms above her, and his voice is a rumble that makes her ears pin back. He does not mince words when it comes to telling her how his people have suffered. How many of them are slaves to Ifrit, and even those who aren’t must still war with the Eorzeans instead of driving their herds from place to place, for every temporary camp is soon raided by Immortal Flames who think they are doing the Twelve’s work driving vermin from the land. Nobody stops to question why Ifrit is summoned so frequently, nor what drives them to offer their own people to the flame. Nobody remembers that the Amal’jaa are known for the steel and fine wool cloaks and carved gemstones that once filled Ul’dahn markets before the Syndicate decided it would be more profitable to ban them from the city.

Nobody thinks of them as anything other than beasts.

She’s seen the ruins of vast cities underneath the Shroud. She’s seen men and women with skin even less gray-tinged than her own harassed for their supposed “criminal tendencies.” She’s seen her own people wearing their root and vine tattoos proudly, daring anyone to make something of it. She’s dug through trash for shattered stone carved to translucency, relics of a Gelmorra that the city above has deemed an affront to their way of life. She’s looked at Hearers and thought of knives.

“I know how you feel,” she tells him.