#even if the elves and their gods are considered heathens

[mako-designated-driver]

Codex Entry #92: A Ghoulish Delight

My dearest Regine:

Surely you must have heard of the Paget's failing fortunes? They've lost almost everything. The lord made some bad decisions and trusted people he shouldn't. All that's left is La Maison Verte, in the Dales. They have to sell it and move to the city. I was called upon to find someone willing to buy the house. You would be so proud of me. I surpassed all the lord's expectations.

I looked into La Maison's history first. Did you know it was built in the time of the elves? It was a sanctuary dedicated to Andruil, goddess of the forest; the house was built around the ruins. The heart of the shrine was an etched stone altar, now in the grand hall. It's quite spectacular. Any noble in Val Royeaux would be envious of something with such historical significance. I planned a party to show off the house and its elven altar. We had it decorated with white flowers and candles, even brought in some harts to graze in the garden outside. The effect was stunning.

Then, my stroke of genius! Remember when Lady Carine's pastime was reading about elves, and how sympathetic she was to what happened in the Dales? She couldn't stop talking about how we must make contact with the restless elven spirits. All her lady companions were so taken with the idea. Well, I did just that. Or I made the guests believe that's what happened. I had to hire a mage to help, of course—a very discreet fellow from Montsimmard.

During the party, I talked about how the house was a haunt for sad elven spirits. They ate it all up. Romantic, they said. For the final touch, I had everyone join hands around the elven stone and pray, and the mage (no names!) cast a spell that made us dance like puppets on strings and sing "The Little Bluebird of Summer."

It was a triumph! Offers began pouring in! One of them was even from a representative of Grand Duchess Florianne.

Oh, I have so much to tell you. I can't wait to return.

With great love,

Ignatius

[broomsick]

Hi! I saw your post on the alfar (and land spirits in the context of heathenry). I was wondering if you might know of or want to share some more facts specifically unique to the Alfar? I’m really interested in them because there’s been a lot of debate I’ve seen on where they differ from the Irish fair folk and where they are similar. When I first learned about norse mythology the book I read depicted them very similarly to Irish faeries. But now I’m wondering based on your last post if that book’s depiction was misleading? UPG is acceptable too! If you have any experiences with them.

Hi there! Thanks for coming to me with your question! It really is a nuanced and interesting topic, which is why I wanted to make a full post out of this. I've actually mean to post about álfar for a while, so I guess now’s my chance! However, the sources we have concerning them aren't many, which makes it quite difficult to describe them, or the way the were regarded in pre-christian germanic societies. What we can say for sure is that they are supernatural beings tightly linked to nature, and that the norse álfar are actually the oldest known elves. They could be nature spirits, or even gods! That last possibility is due to their being constantly called "Vanir" in at least one piece of norse poetry. They are also associated with death, since king Olaf Geirstaðir was said to have become an elf after his passing, roaming around in his burial mound. Indeed, elves are said to dwell in burial mounds, and they are sometimes called “mound-dwellers”. This partly explains the álfar’s association with ancestors, but more on that later. Depending on the tradition, they can also inhabit forests, the sky, bodies of  water and such. In Iceland, mountain elves are called Huldufólk, or “hidden people”. As you can see, the very definition of “elf” in the norse pagan sense is already hazy! So let's dive in a little deeper, shall we?

Snorri Sturluson divided the álfar into two groups: the ljósálfar and the svartálfar. According to him, the first were "light elves" and the second, "dark elves". Both these groups are said to be very skilled at magic and/or smithcraft. However, the svartálfar are often called dwarves and are said to live in Svartálfheimr, one of the nine worlds. It is also said that they would turn to stone if exposed to sunlight. The ljósálfar as Snorri describes them are a lot closer to the way we are used to picturing elves: luminous (they are associated with the sun), beautiful, etc. They are allies of the Æsir and it was conjectured that the God Yngvi-Freyr is their ruler. The reason for this is that Freyr is said to dwell in the world of Álfheimr, homeland of the elves, and his name is often preceded by Yngvi, meaning “lord" or "king". As a biased heathen, I can say that Freyr being ruler of the elves is pretty much SPG, even though it was never explicitly proven why such a belief was around before and during the Scandinavian iron age.

Now, it isn't certain the germanic peoples even made a distinction between these "light elves" and "dark elves", or even between them and jötnar or landvættir. The differences in the way these beings were perceived all depend on the era, the social class and the area. There is evidence of specific álfar worship, however. The Álfablót was a type of sacrifice made to álfar at the end of autumn, when every crop had been harvested. Their worship often overlapped with that of the ancestors, the dísir and/or Freyr. According to folklore, elves can be seen dancing (“älvdanser”) over meadows, sometimes at night and sometimes on misty mornings. According to folklore, watching them dance would make you lose years of your life within minutes. Their dancing would leave circles called älvringar ("elven rings"). Disrespecting these rings would bring about terrible consequences, such as illness. Though they are generally considered forces of good, or at least light, their role in norse myths and stories can be that of antagonists. In the Völundarkviða for example, one the most famous elven character appears: Völund (or Wayland) the Smith, a famous craftsman who, after being wronged by a king, exacts a cruel revenge upon him by killing his sons. Völund is very popular in oral tradition and he's actually quite the complex character, showcasing features of both Snorri's "light elves" and "dark elves". He is peaceful but he can also be wrathful and merciless. The latter trait seems to fit with scandivanian folklore, according to which elves are capable of causing illness. This duality is also present when it comes to the álfar’s other magical influences. It is said they cause both fertility and sterility. 

As Christianity spread in Europe, the elves were either demonized or turned into angels, just like Snorri had done to separate the “good elves” from the more mischievous ones. Still, it seems no incarnation of the elves was ever truly good or truly bad. Most of them are, at least according to me and many other norse mythology enthusiasts, morally grey beings who can both aid and punish. I know this makes them all the more akin to the Irish fair folk, but the major difference between these two mythological beings is the way they are interacted with. Nonetheless, there are very little sources on how the álfar were worshipped historically. Since this worship is performed in vastly different ways within neo-pagan circles, it’s hard to list precise álfar worship rituals. Some of us present them with water, tea, herbs, local fruit or reapings from our gardens, as well as coins, ribbons, flowers, etc... Personally, the hörgr is an integral part of my relationship with the elves. Since it’s outside, it simply feels natural to make my sacrifices to álfar above it. Plus, sacrifices to them used to be made in boulders or stones with cup-like cavities, which were said to be elf-homes and have healing powers. People tend to honor them at the end of autumn and/or at equinoxes, since the latter are times of natural balance. Those are pretty much the basics of human-álf interaction!

I hope this answered you question well! It’s probably too long and detailed of an answer, so I’m sorry about that, I couldn’t help myself. Wishing you a great and peaceful day!

[reedviolets]

And so Rajmael in the heathen temple recanted. "Speak only the Word; sing only the Chant. Then the Golden City is thine," spoke Andraste.

This little bit of the chant fascinates me with its implications. The Dragon Age games have well established that the Chant is fundamentaly imperialist, but this line implies so much more. Followers of Andraste will only receive their heaven, their perfect world, their Golden City and the end of blights, when there is only the Chant. The Chantry sees itself as having a moral imperative to conquer nations, to spread the Chant, to force all heathans to sing only the Chant. To eradicate all other religions so that their Maker returns to them.

The Jaws of Hakkon has one enduring theme. History will forget you. This theme is a lie.

Inquisitor Ameridan worshiped both the elven gods and the Chant. Upon learning this, Solas and Sera both complement him? For being open minded? While Cole notes that even his close friend and Chantry leader Drakon was uncomfortable with and did not support his dual worship. Cassandra asks a Dalish Inquisitor soon after they first meet if they have any room in their pantheon for the Maker. The existence of a dual worshipping Chantry varient like that would result in a huge loss of power for the Divine and Orlais. Such a thing could not be allowed to continue. It is not the Dalish who forbid worship of other gods.

When exploring Ameridan's memories he talks about killing the dragon quickly so he can return to Halamshiral and convince his people to stand by Orlai and fight the blight. He worries that if they do not, they will lose everything. He comments that many in the Dales see Orlais as a second Tevinter, an empire that would take their land and see them as slaves. Every. Single. Companion. Will comment on this and blame the fall of the Dales on the Elves. The Dalish didn't join the fight against the Second Blight, they didn't trust Orlais enough to fight along side them. And because they didn't trust Orlais, Orlais turned on them and destroyed them. Nonsensical.

Multiple codex entries in the game tell a much different story. Orlais and the Chantry are all but one and the same. Both are empires. Both are hungry. Orlais has wanted, continues to want Fereldan, and the Dales? Exactly inbetween the would be conquerors and the would be conquered. Add to that the fact that the Dalish did not follow the Chant. The Chantry realized quickly the Dalish would have to go, their religion, their existence could not be allowed. And so an Exalted March was called to destroy the heathens keeping Orlais from conquering to their hearts content.

Every fact of Ameridan's life, down to his race, was destroyed by a religion and nation that wanted to move past inconvenient truths. A mage who worshipped gods that weren't the Maker could never be allowed to be a figure head for an Andrastian organization. The only truth about his life that made it to the modern era, his mage lover, was considered by the chantry to be a lie to discredit him.

Ameridan wasn't forgotten. He was deliberately erased. The Chantry benifited greatly from his erasure. And I think it's a shame the game never allows you to confront that fact.

Ameridan will ask a human inquisitor if Drakon has brought the Chant to the whole world yet. He truly believed. In both the Chant and in the Dalish. He thought he could be a living bridge between their people. He believed they could co exist, that Drakon's imperialism would be kind to his people. He was betrayed in every way possible and the Chantry burned his bridge to ash.

[hearthfeuillemort]

The Twelve Days of Yule! - The Wild Hunt

Season’s greetings, fellow pagans!

This is the second of my series on the Twelve Days of Yule for those of us who are going to try to observe all twelve days this year! Of course, most of us can’t celebrate all twelve days, and that’s totally fine! There's no wrong way to celebrate Yule!

The second night of Yule is referred to as The Wild Hunt or the Wild Ride, and this tradition comes down to us from the early Germanic and Viking Age heathens.�� The legend states that the All-Father, the god Odin, began leading the Wild Hunt - a host of supernatural entities such as elves, ghosts, creatures from the Underworld and other spirits - and that the Hunt was followed by storms, lightning, hail, and other rather unpleasant phenomena. This ride was said to begin on Winter Nights (a day we recognize today as Halloween, but to pagans and heathens represented the final harvest and the beginning of the new year). Those of us familiar with the deity Odin recognize that not only did he represent the quest for knowledge and wisdom, but he also was a god of war, death, and sacrifice.

The belief holds that at Winter Nights, Odin assumed his death-god guise and the role of Hunter. Because Winter Nights symbolized the beginning of winter, the borders between the mundane and supernatural worlds were so thin that spirits found themselves wandering around in our realm. Elves, dwarves, trolls, and other supernatural entities were also said to be able to wander the land.  Leading his supernatural host through the nights, it was said that Odin would harvest any lost souls (or foolish mortals) that lay in their path, who would then join the Ride themselves. Legends say that to witness the Wild Hunt was to see a portent of war and destruction.

Cheery, no?  So what exactly does any of this have to do with Yule?

Well, Viking Age people actually referred to all of their deities as “yule-beings”; also, one of the many names of Odin was Jólnir meaning “the yule one”. It is supposed that in this form, Odin is probably the basis of the modern Santa Claus myth!

The tradition goes that on the second night of Yule, the Wild Hunt is at its height and the host of Yule Riders was at its largest. It was said that anyone caught outside at midnight on the night of the Winter Solstice would be swept up by the host. The avoidance of this catastrophe is the basis for the observances of this day: to show gratitude for hearth and home, and to make offerings to and remembrance of our ancestors.  It was thought that to include one’s ancestors in Yuletide celebrations on this night was to assure that their spirits would not wander about in the wild and be harvested by Odin and his Yule Riders.

Traditionally, celebrations of the Wild Hunt were, well, pretty raucous: loud, boisterous singing, lots of drinking, and rich food.  Places were set at the table for ancestor spirits to lure them away from the outdoors and out of the path of the Hunt, and tales were told of their lives.  Even if you don’t consider yourself heathen, this is an excellent theme for observing the second night of Yule!   

This year the second night falls on a Sunday, so most of us probably can’t party like Vikings! Instead, consider a low-key observance like setting up an ancestor altar with photos and mementos of your passed loved ones. Make offerings to them of cookies, cakes, and candy.  Set a place at the table and serve them a meal to make them feel welcome in your home, and keep them out of the path of The Hunt. Talk about these passed loved ones, and share stories about their lives and what they still mean to you.  Joyously celebrate the holidays with them and raise a glass in their honor.

This is also a night of gratitude and thanksgiving, so take stock of all the blessings of your life.  This is a day to celebrate the home, so make offerings to your household spirits and thank them for all they’ve done for you throughout the year.  One custom I have on this day is to clean the house from top to bottom before sundown, blessing and cleansing each room as I go.

Also consider leaving offerings of food outside your home for Odin and his Yule Riders, to appease them and to bring peace and prosperity to your home and family.

I would love for you to send me an Ask and share your own Wild Hunt traditions, or any neat ideas you have about rituals and observances.

Glad yuletide, and hail!

[trolldomblog]

Amulet / Charm / Talisman

An amulet is any object (usually small in size) intended to bring good luck and/or protection to its owner, or any object believed to hold magical properties that can protect against bad luck, illness and evil. It may be used for specific purposes, or just for general good luck. Potential amulets include gems, crystals, simple stones, statues, coins, drawings, diagrams, pendants, rings, plants, animals, even words. They are often worn as a necklace or pendant, although they can be worn anywhere (the closer to the body they are worn, the more powerful their magic is believed to be).

A talisman is also an object that possesses magical or supernatural power, and there is much debate on the exact difference between an amulet and a talisman. Some argue that the power of a talisman is of a greater magnitude, or that a talisman is able to be magically charged and to transmit its power to its owner or wielder, or that a talisman is used for specific, rather than general, purposes. They are usually more complicated affairs than amulets, often involving carved or engraved figures, or bearing magical symbols or inscriptions in gold, etc. Generally, talismans are not worn, but may be carried in a pocket or purse, or kept near the object they are intended to benefit (e.g. tacked over a child's bed). When linked with an appropriate spell, they greatly increase its strength, although they can also be used alone, for their intrinsic magic is considered powerful.

Charms are generally items of folk magic and superstitions, such as a lucky horseshoe, a four-leaf clover, a rabbit’s foot, a baby’s caul or a bracelet of personal charms signifying important things in the wearer's life. A charm can also be used to refer to a simple verbal spell.

Charms, amulets and talismans have been used in folklore in all parts of the world and throughout history, from the hamsa (or “Hand of Fatima”) and nazar (or “blue eye stone”) used to protect against the evil eye in Arab countries, to the “gris-gris” used in Vodou as charms for good luck or protection, to the “cold-stones” (small rounded beach pebbles, painted with dots, wavy lines and geometric shapes) that were held to cure sickness in animals and humans by the Pictish tribes of northern Scotland. “Touch pieces” (coins and medals, especially those with holes in them or those with particular designs) were believed to cure disease, bring good luck and influence people’s behavior since Roman times; pendants in the magically potent shape of a pyramid pointing to the gods (often colored black and white to express the opposition of good and evil) were worn in Asia Minor; an exaggerated apotropaic eye was painted on Greek drinking vessels as early as the 6th Century B.C. to ward off evil spirits while drinking; an amulet formed from the natural knot-hole of a tree branch was used in magic-making in medieval rural England. Possibly the most powerful talisman in modern witchcraft and Wicca is the pentacle.

In many societies, religious objects serve (or have served) as amulets, such as the figure of a certain god or some symbol representing the deity (e.g. the cross for Christians, the Buddha pendant, the "eye of Horus", the “eye of Ra” or the "ankh" symbol for the ancient Egyptians). In demonology and Satanism, an inverted cross or a pentagram in downward position are amulets used when communicating with demons.

Precious and semi-precious stones and crystals are commonly used in amulets and talismans, each stone having its specific significance and power (e.g. amber wards off evil spirits and protects against rheumatism; aquamarine brings love, hope to the oppressed and protects travelers; diamond repels wild beasts and evil men, and ensures fidelity in a lover; emerald strengthens the memory and prevents possession by evil spirits; garnet brings good health and protects against nightmares; lapis lazuli, like all blue stones, protects against black magic and wards off melancholy and insomnia; onyx protects a marriage from intruders; pearl improves the skin, cures fevers and brings tranquility; sapphire brings peace and happiness and protects the eyes; topaz helps to locate buried treasure; turquoise brings peace to married life; etc.).

Different symbols and shapes are also considered to have different magical properties. For example, the shape of a bee brings success in business; a black cat is one of the best all-around good luck charms known to witchcraft (contrary to popular superstition); anything egg-shaped brings good luck and is a powerful fertility charm; a fish brings a large family, especially if cast in gold or mother of pearl; a stone arrowhead is a powerful force against evil spirits; the shape of a hand is another powerful charm against evil spirits; anything in the shape of a sacred oak tree, or a piece of oak itself, is lucky; the shape of a pig is a potent bearer of fertility; the form of a serpent brings long life and wisdom; etc.

Many amulets and talismans are made from letters or numbers that may appear meaningless, but are believed give off excellent vibrations, and they can be powerful magical aids.

Thor’s Hammer - Mjolnir

Mjolnir means lightning, and Thor’s hammer indicates the god’s power over thunder and lightning. Thor, ancient god of war is one of the most prominent figures in Norse mythology. Thor who was the storm-weather god of sky and thunder and also a fertility god, was the son of Odin and Fyorgyn, the earth goddess.

Thor’s hammer, Mjolnir is depicted in Norse mythology as one of the most fearsome weapons, capable of leveling mountains. One Norse story tells what happened when he lost his precious hammer.

Mjolnir was a magical weapon that always came back to Thor when he threw it. Wearing Thor’s hammer as an amulet of protection was quite common as this was probably the most popular of all the pagan Viking symbols. Even during Christian times, from A.D. 1000 on, Vikings wore Thor’s Mjolnir as well as a cross on a chain or thong around their necks.

Yggdrasil - Norse Tree Of Life

In Norse mythology, the Yggdrasil is a giant mythological tree that holds together the Nine Worlds or realms of existence.

At the very top of Yggdrasil, an eagle lived and at the bottom of the tree lived a dragon named Nidhug. Both hated each other and were bitter enemies. The Nine Worlds are guarded by the serpent Jormungandr. Yggdrasil is one of many variations of the Cosmic Axis or Universal World Tree known to all human cultures and home to many fascinating creatures.

The image of Yggdrasil appears on the famous Överhogdal Tapestry, which dates to the year 1066 and depicts the events of Ragnarök, the doom of the Gods and apocalyptic record of the coming comet. Read more

Valknut – Viking Symbol For Death In A Battle

The Valknut, also known as Hrungnir’s heart, heart of the slain, Heart of Vala, and borromean triangles is a mysterious Norse symbol. its true meaning is still debated, but it is often associated with a warrior’s death in a battle.

The symbol has been found on old Norse stone carvings and funerary steles. It is sometimes called “Hrungnir’s heart,” after the legendary giant of the Eddas. It's also possible to find a depiction of the Valknut on stone carvings as a funerary motif, where it probably signified the afterlife. In art, the Valknut is a representation of God Odin, and it demonstrates gods’ power over death. A Valknut is also believed to offer protection against spirits which is the reason why it is often carried as a talisman.

A Valknut is made of three parts, and the number three is a very common magic symbol in many cultures. In this case, the symbolism in Norse mythology showing three multiplied by three might designate the nine worlds, which are united by the Yggdrasil tree. In modern times Valknut, like Triquetra and Horn Triskelion, is often interpreted as a symbol pointing to heathen convictions.

Helm of Awe

The Helm of Awe is one of the most powerful protective symbols used not only for the purpose of protection from disease, but even to encourage all people who might suffer from depression or anxiety.

In Norse myths it is said that the Helm of Awe symbol was worn between the eyes to cause fear in your enemies, and to protect against the abuse of power. The Norse word for this very important symbol (Ægishjálmr or Aegishjalmur) is translated in English "helm of awe" or "helm of terror." The meaning of the name awe is to strike with fear and reverence; to influence by fear, terror or respect; as, his majesty awed them into silence.

Huginn And Muninn – The Twin Ravens In Norse Mythology

Among the Aesir gods in Norse mythology, the supreme god Odin, is frequently depicted sitting on his high seat, Hlidskjalf, in Asgard, the home of the gods.

Odin always has his two raven companions, Hugin (Huginn) and Munin (Munnin) on his shoulders.

Hugin is believed to represent ‘memory’, while Munin personifies ‘thought’. Every day, Odin sends them out and they fly across the worlds to seek for important news and events. Odin surveys the worlds from Hlidskjalf and must know reports of what is going on in all Nine Worlds. In the evening, Hugin and Munin return to Odin’s shoulders and during dinner in Valhalla, they whisper all they have heard in his ears.

Web Of Wyrd (Skuld’s Net) – Viking Matrix Of Fate

In Norse mythology the concept of fate is reflected by the Web of Wyrd that is created by the Norns who were known as ‘Shapers of Destiny. The Norns were goddesses who ruled the fates of people, determined the destinies and lifespans of individuals.

With its nine stave, the Web of Wyrd is a matrix of fate that represents past, present and future events in a person’s life. Norse people believed that everything we do in life affects future events and thus, all timelines, the past, present and future are connected with each other.

Troll Cross – Norse Symbol Protecing Against Trolls And Elves

The troll cross is an amulet made of a circle of iron crossed at the bottom in a shape of an odal rune. It was worn by Scandinavian people as a protection against trolls and elves.

The Triple Horn Of Odin

The Triple Horn of Odin is yet another symbol of the great Norse God Odin. The symbol consists of three interlocked drinking horns and is commonly worn or displayed as a sign of commitment to the modern Asatru faith. The horns figure in the mythological stories of Odin and are recalled in traditional Norse toasting rituals. In Norse mythology there are some tales describing God’s quest for the Odhroerir, a magical mead brewed from the blood of the wise god Kvasir. There are several account of the tale, but typically, Odin uses his wits and magic to procure the brew over three days’ time; the three horns reflect the three draughts of the magical mead.

Gungnir – The Spear Of Odin

Gungnir was a magical weapon created by the dwarves and given to Odin by Loki. The Gungnir never missed its mark and like Mjölnir, the hammer of Thor, it always returned to Odin.

Vegvisir – Runic Compass

Vegvisir is among the oldest and sacred Norse symbols and it initially originated from Iceland, where ‘Vegur' means - road or path and ‘Vísir’ means – Guide. The symbol was frequently inscribed on seagoing vessels to insure their safe return home.

The device was believed to show the way back home and protect seamen and their ships from storms. The Vegvisir was like a guide helping its bearer to find his way home. Norse people believed that the Vegvisir had special powers and it was treated like talisman for luck, protection and blessings. This powerful symbol could help a person to find the right way in storms or bad weather whatever unfamiliar surroundings he or she may encounter.

It has also long played an important role among people who believe in magic powers, such as Norse Shamans. As a spiritual compass, this magical device guides your heart and steps to make the right choices in life. If you have lost yourself and your faith, this sacred symbol helps you find confidence again.

[samwisethewitch]

This was actually one of my first books on Heathenry! Like Zan mentioned, it's an okay resource and at least isn't overtly racist, but now that I'm a more experienced Heathen I do not recommend this book to newcomers for a few reasons:

McCoy is not pagan and is not writing for a pagan audience. His bio on his website makes this explicitly clear: "A common misconception is that I self-identify as a heathen or a pagan of some sort, something which I have never done." This isn't necessarily a bad thing -- in fact, I would argue that pagans need to compare notes with secular authorities -- but it's important to keep in mind that McCoy is a lay historian writing about (as far as he's concerned) a dead religion and is not concerned with reconstructing a viable modern practice.

Another thing that I would not necessarily consider a red flag but more like a "yellow flag": McCoy does not have a formal education in the things he writes about. Also from his website bio: "Though I have a BA degree, I’m almost entirely self-taught in everything that I do, including my work here." Amateur historians are an important part of these discussions! (I am one!) But all amateur historians (myself included!) are only as credible as our sources, and I have issues with the ones McCoy chooses to base his work on.

Getting into more serious criticisms: as the title of his book implies, McCoy conflates the concept of "vikings" with Norse identity in his work, and this is very reflective of how he views Norse culture. He's very focused on the hyper-masculine, heteronormative warrior aspects of Norse culture, and he (intentionally or not) misinterprets historical records to support this view. For example, he translates drengr (a term which implies courage, honor, and "badassery") as "real man." This ignores cases, such as in Njal's Saga, when women are called drengr and imposes modern gender roles on Norse society. (See Jackson Crawford's short video about drengr.)

And of course, McCoy's interpretation of ergi is equally problematic. He defines ergi as "unmanliness" and equates this with homosexuality. He argues that homosexuality was associated with cowardice, and that it was "a crime as heinous as rape and murder..." (!!??!!!???!) He assumes that these were pre-Christian values, even though there's some debate over whether social taboos against queer sex predate Christianity in Scandinavia. Several of the most beloved gods (like Odin, for example) are deeply queer, and would have been seen as such by their original worshipers. (See this post from the Public Medievalist for more context here.)

Seiðr, a form of Norse magic, was also explicitly queer. As Cat Heath writes in their book Elves, Witches, & Gods: "Regardless of who was doing seiðr, there was always the implication of sexual deviance and promiscuity. These sexual overtones are never elaborated on in the sources beyond allusions to the goddess Freyja’s promiscuity and apparent incest with her brother, Freyr. But the association between magic and sexual deviance were preserved in Norwegian legal history well into the sixteenth century." McCoy ignores all of this in favor of a view of the Norse as a hyper-masculine, highly homophobic, highly martial culture.

McCoy claims innangard and utangard, which he translates as "inside the enclosure" and "outside the enclosure," were core parts of the Norse worldview, quite literally translating to an in-group and an out-group. These are derived from obscure legal terms that literally referred to indoors and outdoors, and there's literally no evidence they were ever used to describe social categories. (See Jackson Crawford's video explaining this.) This idea of an in-group and an out-group is foreign to the Old Norse worldview and is actually directly opposed to Old Norse values of hospitality, and it stinks of fascist influences.

McCoy demonizes Loki, describing him as "a scheming coward who cared only for shallow pleasures and self-preservation," and even claiming that "there are no traces whatsoever in the historic record of Loki ever having been worshipped." This is... just not true. Loki is not only a beloved figure among modern Heathens, but he was very much worshiped by at least some of the Old Norse. (See Zan's intro to Lokean practice.)

Again, I don't think McCoy is an avowed white supremacist, and I don't think he's intentionally putting fascist content into his work, but the content is there. I'm not saying you should never read his book, but I really do not recommend making it the foundation of your practice or reading it as an introduction to Norse spirituality.

Like I said, this was one of my introductory books, and as a result I had to do a lot of unlearning and deconstructing later in my practice. I think this book actively hurt my ability to connect with the gods in a healthy way.

I have a book on Norse religion and I want to be sure it isn’t white supremacist misinformation (or influenced by said misinformation) considering it was basically my introduction to the topic. How would I go about figuring that out? (The book is The Viking Spirit by Daniel McCoy, if you’ve heard of it)

I haven't read it, but it's okayish, from what I understand.

You're going to be hard-pressed by anything in English that isn't influenced by white supremacist ideology. It's why I built my website, because for the past 60 years, everything we understood about Heathenry was built on the work of Odinists.

[6of575-oldblog]

happy end - excerpt

++

This elf, sin’dorei by the look of ruddy skin and forest green eyes, is an older elf. Like him. There’s a weariness here. It’s in the flat stare that sizes him up, and the introductions that come without a customary bow. Niceties get waved aside with a rusty voice and a gleaming metal hand.

��I’m Ven’ari Daybreak,” this elf states in cultured Common that’s at odds with the informal treatment. “You’re Senumeros Quicksand. I already know, so let’s move on. Oh, and--do me a favour? Skip the teacher-student claptrap. The day I let someone call me “honoured master” to my face is the day I die. ”

Meros clicks his teeth, points clattering together to bite off scripts he’s learned in meeting others. He’s grateful for less to talk aloud with, but at a loss for its lack.

Ears held loose and low with uncertainty, Meros trails behind at Daybreak’s back. Night elves are usually taller than their exiled “cousins.” Daybreak is no exception: Meros might be a little short for the standard male night elf, but he still has several inches of leg on this blood elf. He has to mind his pace or trod on unfortunate heels.

Besides, what Daybreak loses in height is gained in bulk. The bare, broad back and squared shoulders Meros stares down at are just further reminders of old inadequacies he still sees with his own lanky body.

One of his other adopted brothers joked with him once that at least his heathen god Elune saw fit to edge him in hard lines and gave him an ugly face to match his uglier voice. They’d had a good laugh about it, a troll and an elf, both making light of raw truths.

And it is true:

His lost years took their toll. Ate him away. Gentler curves that She graced him with were the first to go and sure he counts his blessings--but still. Still. He’s put on a lot of muscle he’s proud of in the long years since the eldest of three trolls found him amid desolate ruins but it’s none of it the blocky hips or the wide back of the elf he walks with.

Meros is always going to be too narrow-shouldered and long-limbed. Too small in body. Too... Meros.

Daybreak leads them to a rope-and-plank bridge. It spans a vast ravine and a part of the temple Meros has yet to visit. He’s a bit charmed that Daybreak pointedly marches across the swaying walkway with chin lifted and eyes pointed straight forward.

More so when he hears, “I’ve mastered many things--but fear of heights is still a daily walk.”

He grins his laughter at Daybreak instead of give it out: a close-mouthed grimace of all his teeth and his eyes squinted almost shut.

Daybreak looks at him from the side for it. Says nothing at first.

Meros isn’t so good anymore at knowing the correct expressions from others. He can’t name whether he’s offended his substitute teacher or not, but the weathered face that he carefully watches for clues of doesn’t smile back at him, and those pink ears, reddened even more for the brisk chill, are set forward and held stiffly high.

When they reach the security of the other side and Daybreak has feet planted to firm stone again, Meros shyly offers a mangled apology in quiet Thalassian. He means it--even if he can’t say his rhotics right ever again.

The new look this earns from Daybreak is a lingering one, though the distant expression and neutral cant of ears remains. Meros thinks maybe it’s sort of searching. Or confused. He wouldn’t blame Daybreak for confusion. He knows exactly how he sounds, and it’s not just his accent in Thalassian that’s atrocious.

“Lianji mentioned this,” is said to him at length, and not unkindly.

His heart stutters in his chest, torn between anxious shame--and shameless gratitude.

“I’m not going to ask.”

Meros blinks slowly, his head canting sideways enough to be noticeable. It dredges out a laugh from Daybreak at last. Rusty as the blood elf’s voice. Twice as soft.

“I don’t care about what happened, here--” Daybreak reaches up and taps Meros on dull grey lips with metal fingers made too cold to be pleasant. Then promptly pantomimes throwing something aside. “--Or there, yesterday. I’m sure that’s rude of me, and I’m sure both things came from justly, tragic places.”

Daybreak stares off briefly into middle space. Starts to massage fingers into where grafted metal joins flesh. Finally says, more lowly, “We elves are good at that, aren’t we?”

Meros thinks of another elf with a false limb like this. Skin so deep red it makes Daybreak’s look white. An elf so small and so young and so full of spite, as much as with hope.

Meros airs out his grimace some more, masquerades it as another smile so it strains his hawkish face with his efforts.

“Yeah,” Daybreak agrees with a squint upward. “Sure as the sun, we are.”

Then with a roll of his strong shoulders in a careless shrug, Daybreak adds:

“Elves endure. We keep going. Like you and I should be. This way.”

Falling back into step slightly behind and to the side, Meros mulls over Daybreak’s comments while they take winding stairs down and down and down further. These fan out and circle at their end into a modest courtyard, penned in by a trickling moat and graced with a well-tended shrine.

He doesn’t really quite know what to think or feel about Daybreak’s easy dismissal or the deliberate omission. Others have been eager to draw out all the details; their appropriate noises of sympathy are always paid like some kind of ticket bought to a goblin’s sideshow. A part of it, Meros is sure, is morbid fascination. The need to share an othered experience for a few moments without the horror of actually living it all the time.

He decides it’s a relief: to not have to struggle through vocal explanations for once. For his handicap to simply be expected, adapted around, and moved on from to other things more pertinent and pressing.

It’s a little like being home with his partner. Abruptly, Meros has got another kind of smile slipping onto his face. It must be a particularly stupid and mooning one for how Daybreak eyes him even longer after they both stop at the centre of the stone shrine.

Feigning study of elegant coils chiseled out in the Jade Serpent’s image, Meros tries to school his face into something at least marginally less lovesick.

“That’s the closest thing to serenity,” Daybreak says next to him, “I’ve seen on you since you came here.”

It’s Meros’ turn now to look aside. He raises both bushy brows until the feathery tips quiver at bowed ends with their weight. He tries hard to make his unspoken question plain enough. He also tries just as hard not to give into the full-body blush threatening to heat him up from inside out at the thought of being observed so closely enough or for long enough that such words apply.

His effort works. He thinks. He isn’t laughed at and Daybreak takes half a step into Meros’ space. Close enough to jab a finger at him, just under his hooked nose.

“Whatever’s got you making that ridiculous dopey face--you should use it.”

He considers this even while reflexively leaning his head away for breathing room where Daybreak isn’t yielding it.

In faint puzzlement, Meros says, “My... fah-moh-ee?” like it’s half an answer, half a question. He watches the moment of struggle as Daybreak’s mouth moves to repeat what’s been awkwardly given. Meros is painfully familiar with this soundless shaping of the limited syllables he can actually voice and the old, disgusted shame threatens to creep back in.

Finally: “If that’s it.”

Which is vague enough it doesn’t tell Meros if Daybreak knows what was said or if pride just won’t allow admission.

Either way, the point’s been made. Daybreak withdraws, that finger kept levied in his direction with an unerring aim.

“Focus on what helps. The pandaren’ll all tell you meditation’s about clearing your thoughts. It is, and--it isn’t. They like to use breathing as their focus--didn’t work too well for you, did it?”

Ah. There it is. He can’t hold back the body blush or the shame now. Face burning in spite of the cold, Meros tucks his ears and tips his chin down until the puffy green bangs curling thickly at his forehead slide low to hide his eyes from view. The bound tails at either side of high cheekbones slip across his collarbone and dangle weighted before his chest.

“You’re not alone.”

He peeks through his hair at Daybreak. The blush gets worse just like he feared. It’s a dry awful heat spreading down his tattooed neck and up along his long, heavy ears.

Rather than clarify, Daybreak’s index finger slides to one side of Meros and draws his gaze with it. Ears rising some to swivel that way, Meros stares back up the winding steps and thinks of the ease in walking the path down to here.

“There’s a multitude of methods, Quicksand. You just have to find yours.”

Teeth clicking and lips thinning out, Meros counters dubiously with, “Whah if I cah-ah eveh fie ih?”

“If you can’t--? Oh. Tch.”

Silver-coin eyes tilt around to Daybreak, though Meros keeps his face angled to the steps.

“With that attitude, sure. Be hard to find, then.”

Reflexively, Meros shows his teeth again, and this time--Daybreak smiles, too. It’s reserved and small and done mostly with the eyes. Daybreak’s closed smile is comforting to Meros because it’s familiar. He almost asks:

Were you a soldier, once? Because it reminds him strongly of another just as reserved who smiled only with their eyes. Who always spoke kindly and encouraged him, too.

He doesn’t ask. He’s aware he’s desperate to chase away his loneliness in this remote peak surrounded by strangers.

But still.

He flicks the lighter greyed tips of his fingers from in front of his mouth on outward. As he tilts his left hand so that it fluidly presents from sign to outstretched palm held out and waiting, he forces out:

“Fhake Ou.”

“Sure,” Daybreak takes his hand and clasps Meros by his forearm with the other. “Let’s begin, yeah?”

The moment that he’s let go Meros bobs his chin--and his fist. He’s eager agreement in a wider flash of all his filed teeth with ears forward and quivering in anticipation.

“Yes.”

The smile Daybreak shares is kind and the blood elf’s not so terrible company either.

So maybe this teacher will like him.

[fandomflail]

title: Recognition (4/8)

rating: M

summary: Soulmate trope AU. Set in a world where humans and elves coexist.

a/n: The CS Fanfic Survey has been tabulated with data from over 165 respondents. Check this out for a visual representation of the data. Also this chapter is rated M for a reason! Divider where smut begins if you want to skip. Also I unashamedly live for comments.

Past Chapters: (1)  (2)  (3)  or AO3

CHAPTER 4

In the morning, way before the kids woke, Jefferson took one look at her and ordered her to go home.

“You need a long, long shower. Then decide if you’re going to fuck or fight,” he’d said.

She’d given him a dour look, even as he congratulated himself for the ‘funny’ comment.

He also reminded her he was doing his best to help her. Then, with a pointed stare, told her it was the weekend and that Henry had clothes there.

She did her best not to snap at him on her way out, as a show of gratitude for his support.

* * *

It took him all of 5 minutes to knock on her door.

She swung the door open, hand on her hips. “Seriously?”

Her I just fucking got home died on the tip of her tongue as she took him in.

He was in a pair of jeans and a button down shirt, blue eyes bloodshot, skin unhealthily pale. He looked like a human drug addict, with his hands jammed into his pockets, shaking slightly, unable to stand still.

“Emma,” he whispered, body pitching forward, “I’m sorry,” he apologized, before pushing the door with his shoulder and stepping into her apartment. Instinctively, Emma grabbed the umbrella next to her in defense.

“I tried, I really did,” he apologized, eyes taking in her stance, “but I couldn’t. Liam said, just find the girl and talk to her, they were going to Trace you, so I said no and came here, to let you know it was okay, but it isn’t, I…”

Somewhere in-between his rambling, alarming disposition, and close proximity, Emma felt her hardline resolve to push him away crumble. She slipped the umbrella back into its stand with a resigned acceptance.

As if she hadn’t spend all night building a defense as to why letting him near her was a bad idea.

A terrible idea.

It was just…he looked even worse than her doubts did, and, god, the whimper he let out as he took a breath broke her heart.

“Hey, hey, just. Breathe,” she said, stepping behind him and placing a hand across his heart. Her body awakened like she had gone directly under the hot sun, but she focused on their breathing.

“Breathe, Killian.”

He grasped her hands with his, breathing heavily.

She kicked the door closed, wrapping both arms around him. With their bodies pressed tightly, she rested her cheek on his back.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“The mix of blue and green of the ocean,” he said, breathing still heavy.

“I thought elves hate the ocean.”

“As a species,” he faltered, taking another deep breath, “as a species, we’re not partial to it, but it calls to me.”

“Favorite place?” she pushed on, ignoring the mild dizziness she was beginning to feel.

He took another deep ragged breath before answering, “Alicante.”

“Favorite food?”

“Pizza.”

“Really?”

“Aye, best thing in the whole world.”

“Favorite piece of music?”

“The joined beat of our hearts.”

Emma choked at the unexpected answer, but pressed on.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Dying alone.”

“Orange or apples?”

“Neither, I like bananas.”

Before she could ask another question, he asked, with an evenly measured, deep breath, “And yours?”

“Apples, and I fear being unwanted.”

He turned in her arms, regarding her seriously. Emma did her best not to lean in as she faced him.

“I apologize for my lack of decorum before. I believe I worked myself into anxiety.”

“It’s okay, I would have too, if I didn’t have a friend who talked me through it.”

Something flashed across his face as he asked, “The elf who accompanied you?”

“The father of my son’s best friend. I’m lucky to have him as a friend too,” she said, unnecessarily explaining herself.

“You have a son?” he asked, surprised.

“Adopted, but my son nonetheless.”

“Of course. Where is he?”

“Staying at aforementioned friend’s house.”

“Oh.” He nodded, eyes seeming to take in all the pictures of Henry and her.

“What would you like to do? About this situation?” she asked, when it seemed he wasn’t going to say anything but move restlessly from side to side.

“Ah, well,” he began, the pointy tips of his ears turning bright red.

“I mean, we could do it and get it over with,” she offered, not sure which she hoped for more - his rejection, or his compliance.

“I have no intention of simply getting over anything. I would like to know you, elf to elf,” he said, walking further into her home as he spoke. She ignored the soul-deep cry for him to come back to her.

He picked up a frame on the mantel, as Emma moved closer, barely aware of her own movement.

“Your memories, your habits, you. I’d like to at least have that chance.”

She wondered suddenly, if true heartbreak and rejection would be to: find a soulmate, get to know them, and for them to then decide the person they got to know wasn’t at all what they wanted. If your own soulmate didn’t want you, who would? Why risk it?

“Can we at least get rid of this itch first, and then decide if we still want to do that?”

He moved, closing the distance between them. He didn’t touch her, save to bring his hand to her shoulder, skimming it down her arm.

“Is that truly what you want?”

“I just want to stop feeling like I need to rip my skin out.”

“And then?”

“Well, once I get the ability to think straight, I’ll let you know.”

Without warning, he put his arms around her, and pulled her body flush to his.

“Whatever you need, it’s yours,” he whispered into her ear, sending a tidal wave of need through her body. She wondered when the tables had turned, how he was suddenly the one under control, measured, poised.

There was a moment of indecision - they could fight this. They had just done it. She had calmed him down, and now he was doing the same for her. They could, realistically, resist the impulse.

They could be strong.

His arms tightened around her, as they quietly stood in each other’s arms. Emma shivered, clutching at his shirt.

Fuck it, she thought.

“Bedroom,” she commanded, as she placed a long, tight-lipped kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“What, no foreplay?” he attempted to tease, his voice coming out hoarse as he turned his head to hers, zeroing on her lips. His lips broke the seal of hers, opening as he immediately sought out her tongue.

“I’m wet and I need you,” she managed to say in between kisses, and when he pulled back to say something, she cut him off by zeroing on the soft skin of his neck, sucking a mark and whispered, “Are you going to fuck me or keep talking?”

“Oh fuckity fuck, you have a mouth on you, my actual dream come true.”

Supporting his hands behind her thigh, he tugged, until she brought her legs around his waist and locked it behind his back.

“Is this a safe time to be doing this?” he asked, between sucking and biting on her neck.

She was somewhat surprised he’d brought it up. Then again, she didn’t actually know him, despite what the cocktail of hormones coursing through her was saying.

“Mmm,” she said, biting on her lip to think of her last period, “it should be. I think.”

“Are you really willing to find out?”

“What happens if it happens?” she asked, raking her nails through his silken hair and tugging.

“I know you don’t yet believe me, but I plan to be very involved in your life. For as long as you’ll have me.”

“You don’t know me,” she warned, tugging him into a kiss.

“Ah, but I would very much like to,” he said, punctuating that by grinding himself on her.

They didn’t say anything else as he carried her effortlessly to her bedroom, depositing her with more care than she expected, given how ramped up they were.

She was hot all over, body itchy with need, as if ten thousand pleasure ants were crawling across her skin. It was inconceivable to think how anyone could possibly resist this with someone they’d Recognized. It was inconceivable to think that she had considered they ignore this.

“Killian, please.”

He was shaking, jaw clenched so hard she could see his muscles jumping. “I don’t want to do this like some heathen. You deserve more than anything I will ever have to give.”

“You don’t know anything about me or what I deserve,” she reminded him.

“But I want to. I don’t need to know your story to know I’m two seconds to being in love with you.”

The hand gripping his collar tightened in warning. She regarded the crazy elf and his ridiculously adorable ears, even as she contemplated biting and sucking on them.

“Don’t say things like that,” she warned.

“I say what I mean, Emma. I know this sounds too much for you but I’ve been alive long enough to know this. Anything I learn about you is surely to only enrich what I already feel. And I don’t want our first time to be me, rutting like a barbarian into you.”

“Maybe that’s what I need right now,” she growled at him, getting impatient with his dawdling and pouncing on his lips. Whatever his ideas on love, she didn’t share it.

There was no hesitation in his reciprocation. Killian’s lips opened for her, tongue meeting hers and hands grabbing her waist so she was atop him. Emma wiggled, aligning her body to his, drawing a guttural groan deep from his belly.

She ground herself down on him, the hardness against the press of her clit making her keen into his mouth. He was biting on her lip, hands running up and down her body, only to shove her to the side suddenly.

“What the—“

“Too much clothes,” he bit out, even as he grabbed her top and pulled it up. Emma raised her hands to help, and he flung it away.

“Fuck, look at those breasts, how are your nipples so perky, we must have been made from the best part of the universe,” he was mumbling, moving towards her breasts with focused intent.

She could do nothing but frame his head as his mouth descended on her bra-clad breasts, sucking and tugging through the thin lace. She reached behind to quickly snap the clasp open, flinging it somewhere in the general vicinity of her shirt.

She cried out at the sudden sensation of the tongue, lips, saliva and breath. Here was an elvish prince who had clearly been alive long enough to have acquired some insane amount of skill.

“This is great,” she moaned out, “but I need you inside me ten minutes ago.”

She felt like she might spontaneously combust if not.

“Take off my pants,” he grumbled, as he continued to suck on her breasts, alternating with biting onto her neck and leaving marks on her clavicle.

She didn’t realize how much she was trembling until she had to unbutton his jeans, the material stiff and unyielding as she fought with it, accidentally-on-purpose brushing his length as she did.

“Finally,” she muttered as it came free, hurriedly unzipping him and shoving the material down, bringing his gloriously red, throbbing cock into full view.

“Fuck, what the hell.”

“What?” he asked, nose buried under her left breast.

“That’s going to hurt!” she accused, taking his above average girth even as she eyed him hungrily, anticipating the stretch. She could feel the smirk against her skin, but he didn’t answer her. Instead, he tugged her leggings and underwear down, and in one swift motion, plunged a finger into her.

“Mmrgh,” she grunted at the sudden intrusion.

She was wet. Her thighs were wet, the squelching sound of his lone finger inside her, the slippery feeling of everything between her legs were a testament to that. Perhaps, she had never been this wet in her life, but it was hard to think of past memories as he removed his hand  to bring it to his lips, and replaced his finger with the head of his cock.

“You’re fucking delicious.”

“Can I taste?” she asked, opening her eyes to watch his blue darken as he kept bumping his cock against her waiting slit. He moaned, muttering something in elvish too low for her to hear.

He rubbed his thumb and finger together, brushing the coated digit against the corner of her mouth. Emma licked to taste herself. Damn, she tasted good.

“Stop looking like that, or this is going to be over before I even get in you,” he said, grabbing her breasts as leverage as he positioned himself.

Killian seemed on the very threshold of thrusting into her like every instinct in his body demanded that he do, just as hers begged to be filled.

But he paused, even though she could feel him right there.

She wasn’t sure what he was thinking; so before he could come up with some other nonsense about wanting to do this right, Emma made her impatience known. With an abrupt upward thrust of her hips, Killian's cock was suddenly plunged into slick, tight-as-fuck satin.

At least, that’s what he said it felt like, as his hips stuttered against hers at that first intrusion - not that she could be acutely cognizant about the goings of everything, considering the air seemed to have been sucked out of her lungs the very moment he moved.

He cried out her name above her. She shuddered as her body arched into his.

He was big, but he felt so good. The kind of pleasure-pain you could get addicted to. Fuck. No wonder people didn’t resist their soulmates.

Amazingly, she felt the flutterings of an orgasm approaching already, even though they’d barely done anything.

He pulled his hips back and thrusted to the hilt with a grunt. Emma forgot much of anything as her head fell back and her hands fell to the side, grabbing the middle of her feet to spread herself wider.

Killian withdrew and slapped his cock against her clit, taunting, until she begged at him to please, oh please. Only then did he continue, rotating his hips to pound in and out of her.

He was slurring, “such delicious quim,” using very human slangs, and “fuck, fuck so right, so tight, fuccccck, Emmmaaaa” and she, never being one for talk in flagrante, could only moan to encourage the pace he was setting. Hard. Fast. Deep.

There was nothing else in the world. Nothing but the drag of him inside her. His hands roaming her body but always coming back to grip her breasts and neck. Nothing but the slap of skin on skin.

She shut her eyes, closed them hard as she felt it coming, lengthening her calves and screaming, as he brought two fingers to her clit in the same moment.

She could hear him still going, could feel his movements faltering, sloppily colliding into her, could feel her breasts wobbling and bouncing in time but Emma was floating.

Like a wave swelling to a crescendo, only to fall, she felt the ripple echo through her being. The warm buzz spread through her every extremity as she experienced the most wildly satisfying orgasm of her life.

He was fondling and plucking her sensitive breasts, and then, just as the aftershocks and flutterings began to wade, he stilled. Emma could feel the pulsing, could imagine the unexpectedly erotic image of his warm seed spilling into her.

He groaned, bracing himself as he lowered his body, caging her in.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, this was good, thanks.”

He was still inside her, face close to hers.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he announced, as though they hadn’t just fucked like rabbits.

Instead, she said, “Okay.”

Go to Chapter 5

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[fadekhat-blog]

Prompt for you! While out in the Hissing Wastes, our band (non-mage Lavellan, Solas, and any two others of your choosing) tangles with the Venatori. The Inquisitor gets separated from the rest and spirited away. While captured, she's forced asleep and a Venatori dreamer goes about trying to break her mind in the Fade (in whatever way you choose). Unpleasantness ensues. There's a daring rescue. Then recovery. Or something. I'm never sure if I'm doing prompts right! Cheers!

That prompt is incredible, thank you! I’ve never written a non-mage Lavellan, so I’ll use my original Inquisitor Revanelan (Elana) sans magic as a stand in - let’s say she’s an archer. Not having magic definitely adds something to the scenario… This might be more than you signed up for, but I got pretty into it XD @dadrunkwriting

“Such a pity. To think, the elven empire was once impenetrable.  Your people possessed magic beyond our wildest imaginations, immortality they say, and you are reduced to this. Sticks and stones will not save you,” the woman said, gesturing to my quiver of arrows with disdain.

She didn’t have to introduce herself. It was Mythal, I simply knew. Whatever doubts I once had fled my mind in an instant. My vallaslin, her vallaslin, seemed to dance upon my skin.

The all mother was beautiful - not in a covetous way, though every mother has a sensuous side, but in a way that was love given form. Her face was the face of everyone who had ever touched my heart, a shifting, flickering mirage of familiarity.

Every part of me wanted to please her, to make her sacrifice worthwhile.

“They can do more than you would think,” I said into my chest, explaining myself.

“And yet what do you have, really? Who are you, really? An elf from the wilds who mouths the words of the Chantry’s god. Your lies are written on your face. Do you think you’re human? A person rather?”

“I, what? No.” I said, my tongue unsure which question to answer. “I’m just trying to help them. The breach endangers us all. Mythal’enaste.”

I bowed my head, moving my hands in a clumsy sign of reverence as my keeper once taught me, but Mythal struck out at me, shattering my gesture of piety with a single blow.

“You will get no such thing,” she said with a sneer. “Not when you serve shemlen gods. Wear their colors, live in their halls.”

The slur sounded wrong on her tongue, but I couldn’t say why. My cheeks burned beneath the gnarled scar across my brow and my mouth moved wordlessly.

Suddenly every piece of my red and gold armor felt like an accusation.

“I don’t serve their Maker! I’m only trying to help,” I cried out, anger at myself and at them sparking in my chest.

“But you don’t serve me either,” she said, swooping in so that her perfect nose nearly brushed mine. “You don’t even believe in me.”

“That - that’s not true.”

“I don’t deserve it,’ you think. ‘What goddess would let her people suffer like this,’ you think. ‘One that is either impotent or indifferent.”

Her fingers traced the curve of my jaw as she spoke, and it seemed as if my thoughts echoed around us.

Well aren’t you?

How do I even know this is real? You’ve never bothered speaking to us before now.

I gasped, as if to inhale my words, but I couldn’t stop them. They came not from my lips but from my mind itself.

“Ah, but you forget you were gifted the freedom with which to fail yourselves. It is you that has failed me, child.”

Suddenly I was on my knees. She loomed over me, at once a goddess and a horror, a parent and an executioner.

“I haven’t…” I said. Part of me strained to turn away, to run, but I found myself enveloped in the sticky slowness of dreams. My will was not enough for my body, and I couldn’t bare to look at her any longer.

“Where is your clan?”

“In the Free Marches.”

“Where in the Free Marches?”

“Wy-Wycombe.”

“Why?”

“Because we sent them there. To protect the people - and the city elves. They would’ve been slaughtered without our intervention.”

Her slap rang out like a thunderclap, and suddenly I was thrown up against the ruins of a wall. The remains of an old temple hung around us, the leafless tree of Mythal depicted in colored glass at its center.

“The tree of your people is dying. You are but a lifeless leaf, an arcane warrior born without magic. A single spasm in the death throes of your kind. But you may still serve me.”

I stared into the broken stones that littered the ground, unable to focus on even a single blade of grass, but my mind answered for me.

How?

“Set. Them. Free.”

Her voice was all around me, formless.

“Rip the breach open, let the Fade rain from the sky. Allow Thedas to be realm of true magic once again. There, even you will not be worthless.”

I struggled to speak, to breath. My logic was slow, otherwordly. Her words wound through my mind like muck through a dead river.

“Slave,” she hissed.

There was a flash of pain and light, and then I was running. Roots and branches flew past me, all that was beyond consumed with shadows as my feet carried me forward.

I fled not by moving my legs, but my wishing they’d move. It was small difference, but it was there.

Then I was in a clearing. I was small, and Arlathae was pinned beneath a bear of a man, her left leg crushed into a mass of bone and meat.

“Leave her alone,” I stuttered, but my bow fine longbow was gone. In its place was a silly thing of twisted wood and string, practically a child’s toy.

He didn’t hear me, or simply laughed, and yet the scene didn’t seem to move.

I had a single arrow, I realized in an instant. I grabbed it at the hilt, like a dagger, and plunged it into his neck. Then he was on me, and Arlathae was screaming with rage and pain and I stabbed him over and over again. My hands moved by their own will, a memory of what was already done.

A blade tore across my face, maiming me once, and then again. The moment seemed to skip and pass over itself - at once we were fighting him, but also we were slipping away from camp, and then we were looking down at a corpse, unable to put a name to what we had done.

We won’t return to camp until we have our first kill, we’d promised ourselves. We’d meant a deer.

I saw the arrow in his eyes, once, twice. The blood trailing down his cheek as he finally died beneath me.

“The Fade will fall on them,” a voice whispered from on high.

I rose to speak and the painful light flashed again.

I was on a battlefield, or what I once considered one. The charred corpse of a human militia simmered around me. I’d pushed her - it was Arlathae’s magic, and yet we had both watched them die. Willed it.

If anything, my only regret then was that I had not been able to flay them myself. That my clan had to flee yet again.

“But you will.”

“You will be something.”

“Not a puppet, not a tool.”

“A weapon, a messiah of your people.”

“They will burn, or you will.”

The voices came as if from within me, filling my head as a final flash of blistering light engulfed my vision, bathing me in fire.

And then I was fire. Without and within me, all I could see is flame. My companions stood around me in a circle, and beyond them the masses watched me burn.

“You’ve done all you could,” Cassandra said, “But heathens must be cleansed from this world.”

I screamed and screamed and felt my skin strip away until there was only anchor and bone.

“It will make a nice relic, I think,” Dorian said.

Their every word felt like a dagger beneath my nails. Not in a metaphorical sense - every syllable was punctuated by visceral pain. I wasn’t a person then, but a gaping wound. An unwanted feeling.

“It would be helping to end it,” Cole mused beneath his hat.

“Creatures like her do not deserve compassion, Cole,” Solas said, stepping into the circle with an air of cool certainly. “They know nothing of this world, or what came before.”

When he touched me, the world was at once made of ice.

“You are nothing,” he said into my lips.

Not you.

And then he was smoke, and a second Solas stepped through him.

We were in a windowless cell, somewhere deep underground. I sat up on a wooden bench and my feet brushed the body of a masked Venatori mage.

“Are you okay, ma vhenan?” He moved to touch my arm and I flinched away, the bright pain flashing in my mind.

He said something else, but I didn’t hear him. It was all coming back.

There hadn’t been many of them - just enough Venatori to take out our party with the element of surprise. I had been left standing amidst a circle of my fallen allies wishing, hardly for the first time, that I possessed the barest spark of magic necessary to heal another’s wounds.

Then there was darkness, and light, and darkness again as they pulled me in and out of consciousness, transporting me. There was pain, both real and imagined, and I was covered in scars I didn’t recognize.

Battered, but alive then.

“Are they gone?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

“For now, yes,” Solas said, his eyes pained. “Did they say what they wanted?”

My hands shook, and I kept my distance, shifting over on the bench so he could join me.

“Well, the anchor, of course. He, they, whoever, said I should bring the sky down…”

“For the good of our people,” Solas finished, shifting closer.

“I, yes. But how did you know that?” I asked, a chill kissing my bones.

“It is no small thing to hold such power,” he mused. “I suppose you have never considered what else you might do with the anchor?”

“What else? There is nothing else. We close the breach.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head as he took my hand.

“That is one option. Imagine what we could do together, Elana. With the anchor, we are equals.”

Almost, hung in the air, an unspoken truth.

“You’ve never talked this before. Why is the fate of the elves suddenly so important to you?”

We’re not your people, remember?

He teeth glittered in the darkness as lazy haze of magic rose from his fingertips as he stroked my skin around the anchor. Once again, I was curiously unable, or unwilling, to move.

“Say you’ll do it, for me?”

“For you?” I repeated, in a trance.

“Say it.” His fingers dug into my palm, forcing their way into the strange in-between of the anchor. It flared, turning my arm into a shrieking claw.

“I…”

Was in a cave.

Cole was hunched before me, his form faint, quivering.

“I found you,” he said weakly. “I ran ahead. I felt you crying. Your mother dead, a bear in the woods… only it’s not really a bear, is it?”

“Cole,” I exhaled his name as I fell into him. “Cole, please, just get me out here.”

His arms encircled me, always cooler than you’d expect, as he spoke into my neck.

“But I need help now,” he said, voice hushed.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I’m unraveling, unbeing before your eyes. Can’t you see it? Will you help me? If the Fade is now, we will always be together. There will be someone who understands.”

“Say it.” His hands closed around my neck.

Blackwall in a tunnel.

Cassandra in a field.

The Iron Bull on a ship, Dorian by his side.

Sera in a back alley.

Varric in a forgotten bookshop.

Vivienne in an attic.

“Say it, dear.”

I tore into the next moment like a woman possessed. Perhaps I was.

The stars hung above us, distant and utterly imperious in every direction. A shadow stepped toward me, but I knew what was coming.

“I won’t say it. I won’t say it. I don’t care who you are. I won’t bring the sky down.”

The words flew from my lips like bile as I pressed my hands over my ears, blocking out their pleas. I felt them close in on me, a touch on my shoulder sending a lance of pain, or a memory of pain, coursing through me.

“Don’t touch me,” I barked, the spiky lip of a battlement pressing against my back. A fallen sword glittered in the periphery of my vision and I dove toward it, putting the blade between me and my attackers. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

There were three, Cassandra taking point with Solas and Dorian on either side. I was breathing wildly, so fast I could hardly think. The bursts of air through my nostrils nearly drowned out their words, but I could see their faces. Looks of worry masked with attempts at comforting concern.

“It is okay, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said, doing her best to sound soothing. “We’ve removed the Venatori. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

I scoffed, my eyes skittering away from their own.

“That’s what happened before, and that wasn’t real. Not ever,” Running my free hand through my short clipped hair. “Do whatever you want. I won’t say it.”

“Say what?” Dorian asked quietly, stepping closer.

“Nothing, shut up!” I shouted, swinging the sword to underline my point. He stumbled backward, eyes wide with fear layered with the seeds of pity.

“I - of course. It’s okay Elana, you don’t have to tell us anything. Let’s just go home, hm?”

Home, and suddenly I was reminded that they could hear my thoughts.

If I said it, I was theirs’. I could feel it in me, the power behind those words. But what if I only thought what they wanted? Was that enough? Could the Venatori possess me the way they had all those tranquil?

As I thought, I stepped back until my free arm was hooked over the wall. We were on a tower. I looked down onto the cliffs below, the sword always between us.

Could I make the jump?

Did it matter?

“Elana,” Solas said, his voice ever soft.

“You don’t call me that,” I snapped. “And don’t give me any of that shit about ‘our people,’ I know you don’t care. Not about ‘wildings’ anyway.”

“Inquisitor, then,” Solas said, his voice even despite my barrage of insults. “You are correct, what you saw before wasn’t real. The Venatori trapped you in your dreams, but they are not in control now. You’re free.”

“Free. You mean free until the next time I wake up,” I muttered.

“Pay attention to your body. To the way you move - not by will, but by action. That is distinction is unique to the physical world. You are not dreaming any longer, Inquisitor,” he said, as if it were any other conversation in his rotunda.

“Mm,” I said, loosening my grip on the sword. It fell to the ground, clattering harshly against the stone. “This is… real.”

“Exactly,” he said, guiding me forward with an arm that never quite touched my body. He seemed to understand that this was beyond me.

“Come Inquisitor, let us leave this vile place,” Cassandra said, leading us out of the tower.

I saw the corpse of the Venatori mage as we passed. I tried not to think how familiar it looked as we rode for the nearest Inquisition camp.

Instead, I focused on the majesty of the stars above and on the friends close at hand.

“I won’t say it,” I whispered into the wind.

Inspired by my very real and intense fear anytime someone pulls that “Wake up, Fakekhat, just wake up!” style prank - how can you know you’re not a brain in a jar (or a dreamer stuck in the Fade)? You can’t!

[chaosmagetwin]

Forever Fall

They said the end of the world would come with Climate Change. Or maybe an Asteroid. Some said it would come with a solar flare, or an erupting star. Some said it would come with the Rapture, that God would smite down the Heathens and destroy evil forever. Some said it would never happen.

The End of the World didn’t come quietly in the night. It was announced on Television, on radio, in text alerts. Three little words that everyone repeated. Excited. “Magic is real!!!1!” my text said. 

The End of the World came like a rockstar crooning to a crowd of billions. Of course, no one knew it would turn out like this. 

Magic is real. And it is deadly dangerous. Like a disease, it spread from person to person. Some people could use a lot of magic. Some people could use only a little. Scientists were baffled. How did it work? What could be done? Where was the source of energy? For weeks, they debated, and the symptoms of imminent destruction went unnoticed.

At first the religious called it devilry. Until high ranking leaders of every religion contracted it. Then it was holy, a divine tool sent by God himself to aid us in a turbulent time. They, too, ignored the signs. 

Cities erupted with color as magic spewed forth, letting everyone change the world as they saw fit. Entire skyscrapers changed color to fit the mood. Rainbows sprouted, children flew, and for once, the world was too distracted to engage in war. 

And then things got serious. When the first few people died, it was assumed that they had simply done a spell wrong. After all, it was only a week after magic had gone global. Purple fire consumed them. A few burned for days at a time, unconscious, but somehow alive at the same time.

Then someone decided to look into it. The ones who were burning were the first to get magic in the first place. Then the second generation started burning, and everyone knew that this was The End. 

Panic was instant. Everyone scrambled to figure out what was happening before they were next. Mage societies sprung up and died like mayflowers. Covens banded together and were burnt to cinders. Scientists struggled to find an explanation for anything at all, and were subsequently destroyed by the purple flame. 

By the time the Third generation of infected were burning, it was realized that not everyone was dying. Just... most of everyone. One in a thousand people maybe lived. It was realized that the ones who lived were the ones who were unconsciously burning... but alive. Sometimes they still died.

So they were watched, carefully. Each new purple flame was a hope of understanding. Nine hundred ninety nine times out of a thousand, those hopes were crushed. Each single person who survived was a new step of understanding. We only had six generations to work with, considering the Six Degree’s of Separation. I was a fourth generation.

It was discovered that everyone had a chance for living. A few requirements had to be met, though. First, they had to be asleep. Nearly all the deaths were because the infected subject was awake at the time limit. Second, while asleep, they had to dream vividly. Two seemingly arbitrary requirements. It was a wonder even one in a thousand lived. Sleep medications were sold out. People changed their schedules. Naps became common in those precious few weeks.

It was while I was asleep that it was discovered there was a generational difference. None of the first generation survived. Few of the second survived, and there was no obvious change besides the loss of magic. We call them the Untouched, or Seconds. The third generation had the most obvious changes. They were physically bigger. Some turned into animals. Some turned into what the old world called Monsters. Some simply never stopped burning, although they were unharmed. We called them all Thirds, or The Seen. The fourth Generation, ironically, had less survivors than the third. In our rush to be asleep, many forgot the second requirement. We, too, changed. Smaller and weaker. Later, some survivors called us smarter, though I would argue otherwise. We certainly seemed to have more magic than others. Some of us changed to animals as well, but unlike The Seen versions, we walked upright. We were called The Fourths, and later The Keen. I still disagree with that name.

The Fifth Generation held almost everyone else. These were the hermits on the edge of society. Not entirely loners, but not exactly Socialites either. They tended to be older. They would say wiser. Remote area’s also held them commonly. Despite being the Fifth Generation, they weren’t the largest group. That title would have gone to The Fourths, except more of us died than any group but the first. Instead, they were the third smallest group, but they also had the highest survival numbers, nearly five percent. They, too, changed physically, but their change was unlike The Seen and Keen. Instead, they became beautiful. Elves. Fairies. Dwarves, even. Further irony. The most social of us became monsters and animals, while the more recluse became beautiful, even if only by comparison. The Fifths became named The Second Seen, or The Primes. 

The Sixth Generation were the last of humanity, besides the Untouched. True recluses, actual hermits, people who lived so far away from society that it’s a wonder they were ever infected to begin with. Not that we had many scientists left to do the wondering. They changed the most. Where the previous four generations kept their humanity, The Sixth’s lost their entirely. I would say they forgot they were ever human to begin with. They were the second smallest group, next to the Firsts, and their survival was the ‘mode’ again. One in a thousand. They became Dragons. Angels. Demons. Things I can’t describe both hauntingly beautiful and disturbingly hideous. All of them insanely powerful.

At that point in time, it was clear that The End had left us with only a small population. Nearly ten billion people, reduced to mere millions. Most of them in China and India, with the majority remaining split evenly between Africa and the rest of the world. We’d lost most of our scientists. Most of the people who had understood magic had died. To say we shattered from cities to tribes would be an understatement. 

Cities fractured. Skyscrapers fell. Ruins stood in the place of civilization, and the inhabitants cowered in the face of their own stupidity. And me? 

There are no happy endings here. 

I used to have a Brother. 

[lucifers-ferris-wheel-blog]

All Except The Sea (Ness-An 2.5)

The Rivalry BEGIIIIINNNNNSSSSS(@marysuewhyyyy @criticalcritques)!

Name (if multiple, most commonly used during said time): Birth to twelve, while living in hometown: Ness-An.                                          Twelve to eighteen, while living in the Mission School: Mahala Of Wolves. Eighteen to twenty-seven, while on the Northbound Journey (it will all be explained, in a Backstory ™, which is basically just going to be a plot summary): Mahah-Leloo.  

The definition of the first name she had is Wolf Of; because her mother was upset at people having given their children lengthy and over-specific names they didn’t live up to, or even did, so her mother decided to name Ness-An something open-ended. The issue is that in Ketempi culture many children, as aforementioned, have very long names, so most people who have not met her before assume it’s been cut into a nickname at an odd point. Many people ask for her “full name”, and she actually receives more inconvenience, or at least face-to-face rude comments, on her name than her eyes. Her second name was assigned so that she would assimilate better with the settlers and be more “civilized”. She actually didn’t mind it, and in fact, was quite neutral on the idea of newcomers for a time, but then things went downhill. Her third name is composed of Northwest trade jargon (which was/is an actual thing and is modernly called Chinuk Wawa), with Mahah meaning “to depart or leave” and Leloo meaning “wolf”, at least among several coastal groups, because yay hurrah dialects. So she, in a way, gets an “Of” after all. Wolf Of Leaving.

Time period of first book: 1845-1847

Duration of Ness-An’s life: 1835-1862 (27 years, t'was not a good time to reach old age)

Physical description: Ness-An has hair about to her waist, and it’s relatively straight dark brown, nearly black. Not dark enough to be considered an extremely valuable trait, like blueblack, nor light enough to be uncommon and special, like medium brown is. It’s rather unremarkable hair, and she has trouble remembering to brush it.. Ness-An is relatively short compared to a modern western woman, but is around average for a Ketempiken (Around 5″2). Her weight fluctuates heavily based on food availability, and it’s a bit lower before she hits puberty evidently, but if adequately fed she is rather squishy. She has a traditionally pretty oval face, and occasionally marks three charcoal lines beneath her chin, because it’s considered a luck symbol. 

Her eyes are different colors, but one is greysih-brown and the other more completely greyish, and from distant range its hard to tell. However, when Ness-An was born, her greyer eye was paler and made the difference more pronounced (this has occurred with actual heterochromic people, where sometimes the lighter eye darkens slightly within anywhere from months to years of birth), and in a town where the number of inhabitants were around 700, everyone hears about this. It’s theorized about in a negative light as to why this occurs, but any asking, if asking is done at all, goes to her mother. By the time she’s old enough to have defined memories at around four, the few people who harped upon it have fallen silent, but no-one ever to go out of the way to interact with her. 

Languages spoken:  Ketempi, which is a language isolate, meaning it has no traceable roots or family (Isolates are fairly common, actually, especially among native groups, but i suppose its because there are often languages there that die before proper analyzation). I decided to make it a language isolate because i made it up and I’m excessively lazy. I've forged an entire fictional indigenous culture simply because I can control the history of it as long as I manage to explain why it isn't remembered to this day. If anyone happens across this who finds this offensive, most especially if said person has native heritage, please tell me. Slight topic drift back to original question: Ness also learns to speak English at the Mission School, because that’s what they’re teaching there, and Chinuk Wawa, because that way she can speak to the other children boarded there who aren’t of Ketempi heritage.

Here are the answers to some previous critiques that you may want to skip: 

Why Ness identifies as an elf and not a Native American: She does fully claim to be Native American, but like many groups did, believes her personal tribe she descended from was a bit better than others, as this is often ingrained into origin stories for how people came to be. And yes, I understand I need a lot of research; I’m at 17 months of researching and counting. The thing is that ear pointing was practiced as a coming of age ritual, much like facial tattoos or lip piercing were for other groups, and also to better adhere to societal beauty standards. It helped make the Kentempi even more different, seeing as no other people were ever recorded to have practiced such. Immigrants from the East decided that they resembled elves, but they never actually themselves identified as that. 

But yes, they were originally spoken of as having dark magic or negative powers, seeing as they had a native religion with a god that wasn’t Christian so of course they were seen as heathens and witches and satanistic people. Now most of us recall elves as more beneficial in their supernatural abilities. Also, when (spoiler warning to my nonexistent fans) they flee north once driven of their land, just as some tribes fled to Canada once they had their homelands removed from them, they are constantly referencing the Crystal Path (which sounds super hipstery but) from their origin story, a highly time-corrupted version of crossing over the sheet glaciers on the Bering Land Bridge from Asia to North America; and the North Star, which actually wasn’t in it’s fixed location when the Land Bridge was being crossed; which has a whole legend dedicated to why it stays still now, but anyway: they fled further north than any other group was recorded to have fled to, in relation to their starting point. 

They also engaged in the whole “giving away things connotes wealth”, just as several other groups in the Northwest, especially coastal, did. The Chinook word for “to give”, patshatl, was turned into Potlatch, which is the modern name for these parties still hosted to this day where the host hands out free food and bountiful gifts to the guests; often over half of their possessions, at least in old days.These giving sprees varied by culture, with some being held primarily in summer because it facilitates travel and others mainly held them on winter, to add cheer to dreary times. Yet others had no seasonal tendency for when potlatches were most frequently hosted. They could take up to a decade to hoard for if they were especially opulent, but yes, it was a way of showing high social status that I wish most Americans still practiced today. The Ketempi people called the practice Hlák, and held it often once immigrants arrived, thinking that if they rewarded the newcomers with fine hospitality they would feel satisfied enough to leave. This was the opposite of what occurred, and the Europeans simply took the gifts and destroyed the ones bearing native symbols, but robbing the Ketempiken of furs and foods. 

In the end, they gathered a reputation for being pointy eared, northern-living people who had some rumors of odd abilities and gave things away seemingly without incentive. While hiding out in the inland north, they ate primarily caribou, and the same while heading through parts of British Columbia. So there you have it. It was warped over time to the Santa-aiding, pale skinned toy-makers, who were first described so in 1856 by Louisa May Alcott, three years after the beginning of the northward movement. Seeing as both that she didn’t live in the area and probably would rather they weren’t of color, she most likely simply took them for an inspiration source. That’s the reason for all that.

Another critique was that you wish to hear more about the Mission School:  Love, I’m writing nine books for a reason. I’m already too lengthy on my review, and it covers literally half of one book. The Mission School shows up in two and three, which i could send in as briefer summaries if desired by any of The Rivalry. Apologies, but to save my soul i couldn’t write a short story.

Context (Sort of a backstory, but mostly historical, can skip if a reader or delete if a part of The Rivalry): Europeans first made contact with the native peoples occupying the Willamette Valley in 1805, when the Lewis and Clark expedition came through. However, they came through to the slight north, thus not encountering the Ketempiken. More people, in small groups, started crossing the treacherous expanse of plains in 1812, but still far too few to constitute a trail. A few Ketempiken would engage in secondhand trade with the Europeans, meaning, say, that an Alsea would trade for glass beads from an immigrant, and then a Ketempi would trade with the Alsea, or such. Immigration numbers went up considerably around 1824, but were still relatively low. A few distantly nearby settlements were cemented. Still no-one came to Kiger Island, or the nearby land area, however, so being a tribe where townships kept to themselves, the Europeans proved no issue to them or the nearby bands of Kalapuya, although in pioneer towns being set up at the time to the northeast and southeast did have some mild clashing with the nearest original group.

 In 1829, a case of smallpox was reported, which had come in from the immigrants and which the natives had no immunity (which often comes from exposure to livestock) from. By 1830, it was spreading uncontrollably all throughout the valley, including the neighboring Cascade Mountains and coastal areas. If in a more modern setting and with proper quarantine procedures, medication and cleanliness, one out of four people infected would die. The number rose far higher in that time and place, and it is estimated that a fair 70% of people in the area died of it, if you average them. It was most devastating, and didn’t subside until 1833. The Kalapuya, who are a real group and most likely numbered around 7,000 at the time, but under 1,000 post-illness. The Ketempi, who are the central focus, dropped from 8,000 to just above 5,000

 Separate note on land use: the Kalapuya were more likely to gain the land around the rivers for frequent use, and the coastal hills and foothills, while the Ketempiken only took small sections of river and took more to the eastern half of the valley with a large amount of oak savanna, creeping up slightly close to the Cascades in seasonal gathering. Pretty much they share quite an amount on occasion, because the entire valley is places in sparse towns, and the whole area of valley only contained 15,000-16,000 people. The towns were, for both cultures, for wintertime, and then in warmer times both left to gather for gaining food, but they tried not to interact. During the time the story occurs, the total number of people in the valley has dropped from 15,000 to 7,000 at best. The Kalapuya were hit much harder by the smallpox epidemics.

The survival numbers of the Ketempi were higher seeing as they were so isolative from external contact in the first place, and rarely conjoined outside of towns. This is another factor which lead outside cultures to want to connect with them less: the fact they didn’t seem much to want to. For many groups indigenous to North America, traveling between towns to make or visit friends or business partners (as in people to trade, carve, hunt, or gather with, ect.) is considered a very good and wanted occurrence. The Ketempiken seemed to have seen it as rejection of the preexisting social​ connections in one’s birth town. Although people would often leave a town to marry, this was a permanent departure. 

Trading was, to them, an awe-inducing act that commanded both great fear and admiration; a powerful position one was called upon to take (much like shamanism in many cultures) and was usually given as a main thing to do in life. One was not supposed to WANT to be a trader or a shaman, but one was not supposed to strongly dislike or fear these positions. 

An agricultural note originally included at the asterisk* which probably belongs up here where it’s easier to skip: Seeing as it bears relevance, the people of that area and many chunks of California and the plains had an odd blurring of agriculture and non-agriculture, seeing as most groups had no proper crops, but would burn the large fields annually around autumn in a semi-controlled manner, which rid weeds, provided nutrients, and left only older trees to grow, help keeping the prairies and savannas healthy and allowing new seeds to take root. Considering most of their diets (generalization, but forgive me) would place high dependence on either bulbs/roots, which were beneath the earth and would sprout up again after the fire and reseed, or grasses (the seeds were eaten, sort of as rice), whose seeds blow around and root on every bare patch of ground they can find, such as a freshly burned area, this helped them take partial control of their environment.

 Every year, the Ketempiken (and other groups, but I’m writing about the Ketempi) would burn an several areas, but they would let chunks of land go anywhere from two to ten years between burnings, depending on how things were growing. Besides the partial clearing of land, however, most groups did not do anything else to help assure food would be plentiful through agricultural means. There were groups who gathered grass seed and scattered it specifically, but most just waited to see what nature did. All the young grass shoots would lure in deer, elk, rabbits, and the like, helping up the odds of game concentrating near an inhabited area. Many western people have deemed this a half-assed approach to food collection, but personally I think it’s really clever. You can almost double your total yield in plants and noticeably heighten your odds at meat simply by sparking some dry leaves and not regulating the spread. How great is that? It also facilitates travel, because when many saplings get torched there are wide patches between trees, and you don’t need some set and worn path to go around gathering. Final note, flame helped harvest tarweed, a sunflower-like plant whose seeds provided oil, much as people who want to go on some random trendy cooking spree use sunflower oil. 

Probably an actual backstory™ that talks about the character:                   This leave 1834 as the year where, while recuperating from losing nearly half their population, many people took pregnant, and thus Ness-An was brought into the world in 1835. Most of her friends she makes are of equal age or younger to her and the oldest children in their families. It takes her ages to question this, but there is a large gap without people between children who are (at the books start) of ten years and adults who are  of around twenty, seeing as most children were more prone to infection. Many adults have little concavements on their face and hands and feet. In fact so many have these characteristics of recovery from smallpox that Ness assumes the pockmarring of your extremities is something that happens “when you grow up”, just like getting more permanent body fat or ceasing growing, which strikes me as rather sad but is probably sounding Edgy©.

She spends the majority of her childhood friendless, not because she is bullied or teased, but mainly because she is actually rather rude, and will often snap at or argue with other children and then chalk up their negative response to the fact they don’t like her eyes. Most of Ness-An’s younger life is spent tagging along with her family, especially her mother, but trying simultaneously to evade the day-to-day chores needed to sustain them. Eventually she is broken of this habit, around the age of seven, and takes to the expected tasks of digging camas and threshing grass for seed, or gathering acorns and washing them to remove tannin. At the series’ beginning Ness has two parents, both living, and three siblings, all younger (I hopefully explained why well enough): a brother who is two years younger, and a pair of sisters who are respectively five and six years younger. Funnily enough, both her sisters have longer and more flowery names. You get the impression that Ness-An’s mother gave up, and decided that something really extravagant would suffice over something short in an odd way. Her brother is named reasonably and his name is brief, but I suppose because of certain occurrences that are to happen combined with the fact the names are of my invention and thus may be harder to remember or tell apart than, say Steve from Bob, I am listing none of her original family’s titles. 

I’m currently only referring to book one; I’m aiming for a total of nine, it looks like currently. Yes, in fact, I DO hate writing short stories, what on earth prompted THAT inquiry? The actual story begins during the Moon of Acorns and Fire, or approximately September* while the protagonist is ten and a half, and is still somewhat a conceited slacker. The town is celebrating with the annual Thricemoon, which is sort of a small festival held to celebrate the safe return of the traders who ventured away for the summer and the re-congregation of the town. Many left the island to make temporary, single-family camps out in good gathering areas, but have come back to reside with slightly more permanence in their winter homes: earthen domes with a smokehole and a door, much akin to those used by several tribes in southern California, like the Digueño, but more ovular in shape with a door on one of the longer sides.

Another reason for Thricemoon is the fact that it signals the end of the vision-seeking process for those who came of age that year. It is unknown even to the elders if Thricemoon is held when it is primarily because it marks an end to the time of vision quests, or whether vision quests are held when they are primarily because they mark the beginning of Thricemoon. Anyhoot, it’s during the harvest moon when there are three full moons in a row. Everybody’s happy, even though it so happens that no children came of age this year (hahahaha I was going to put “smallpox” in here but I accidentally wrote “smolpox” oh my god it’s like smallpox but it’s KaWAiiiiii), so that means there is plenty of food and joy and gift-givings, plus plenty of opportunities to set up your character to have their soul crushed.

So it’s Thricemoon and everything is holding up great. There is celebrating and joy, and then suddenly Ness realizes they seem awfully short on food (her family in specific) and appear to be partying awfully hard. She brings this up with her mother, and her mother admits that they are indeed not likely to make the winter, but that the younger children haven’t picked up on it yet. Then there’s this whole realizing-that-life-isn’t-perfect-even-though-it-seemed-so-as-a-child moment, and she has this whole screeching fit about how they’re going to starve. Her mother suggests to Ness that she should overwinter with another family, but seeing as Ness-An hasn’t really been that prolific in the friends department she must specifically seek out a family and basically fake investment in them to stay fed. 

This causes Ness to basically switch into the mode of a child who thinks they’ve seen some serious shit and been through such soul-wrenching insufferable pain (such as dropping a blackberry in mud and still eating it), which is a trope I love and don’t see enough of. Dear authors, give me children who think getting green wrapping paper instead of pink warrants singing "wake me up inside”. (I can’t wake) WAKE ME UP… Alright, you get it, I’ll carry on but now that’s stuck in my head. She goes to the other family, and it turns out they’re lovable and she doesn’t need to fake her attachment to them.

Regardless, Ness actually has a great time, even though her harshness and occasional lack of filtering what she says gets her pretty close to rejected from them on several occasions. It turns out that her hardworkingness (hah she’s Ness and she’s hardworking) and creativity manage to provide useful help to the new family, however. Their oldest child, Ourealv'oi [Apostrophe is for glottal stop, not edge factor, but I’m thinking of just removing it so that it’s Ourealvoi. How about that?] Strikes it off decently with Ness-An, especially if you consider that they were an almost randomly chosen family. However, although Ourealv is less confrontational than Ness-An, she’s far more impatient in general, and once an argument is struck up she’ll be extremely harsh. Once one convinces Ourealv'oi to sit and work, though, she’s actually rather good at the more mundane aspects of choredom, such as flourgrinding and clothing repair. Oure seems to be more clear-headed than Ness and already has a vague idea for the future she wants, which is a lot of forethought for a nine year old. She’s become entranced by the idea of falconry, but is too young to actually be trusted with the responsibility, and of course she’ll need other means of sustenance. There is also a younger brother, named Teven, who is either six or seven, I’m still doing child development research. He gets angry about any violation of Normal, and collects rocks obsessively. He can apply sarcasm, though, so I’m still thinking non-autistic, even though I personally am an autistic who can use sarcasm. Then there’s Edolsi, who’s a four year old who hasn’t yet gotten over his stage of ramming stuff into his mouth and Kalo, a very young infant.

 Ness is still rather impressed by her new family, seeing as they actually keep house and impose social etiquette onto their children and the like, things that weren’t there in her prior family. This naturally means she gets called out much more often on her errors, but they are accepting enough and have enough food and goods she keeps trying. She finds out along the way that the family were traders (o the horror) and not only people who changed towns in the summer, but people who lived on the road in a semicircular tent, and have only settled into Heron Speaks four years prior. This is a big deal, of course, but it’s especially big because this doesn’t bother Ness-An. She wants to hear about how things were in places besides her town, and actually begins pressuring them to restart their vagrant lifestyle. She asks about the sea, which she hasn’t heard of before, and imagines it as an enormous brown river with waves flowing parallel with the shore, and thinks that whales are enormous, bio-luminescent lampreys that sing by blowing air out of their mouths like a flute. She pictures baleen as algae that grows symbiotically, and such on. Ness has heard about the Crystal Path and always imagines it as incredibly distant: a full three days walk north. So yes, it’s been interesting writing for a character who has lived such a small life. 

When Ness-An accidentally reveals how her home family is faring, Ourealv'oi’s family (more specifically, Ourealv’s parents, Adiir and Enolset) choose to adopt her. Yes, with most Native groups it was really casual, like borrowing a cup of flour. "I can’t adequately take care of this kid, do you want ‘em?” “Sure.” “K here you go”. Ness starts worrying that her new family is too decent, however, and she’ll keep being too rude and lazy to fit in properly. The problem is she whines so much about her fear of being an annoying nuisance that she this becomes an honest annoying nuisance. She basically just hangs around her new home chatting, griping, and having character development ™ for a week or five, and then they all as a family head out to the winter duck hunting camp. Ness-An’s previous family didn’t have any specific food they were annually sent specifically to retrieve, so this is an interesting experience. However, when after a few days she realizes that she is nowhere near to even Teven in hunting skill, seeing as she’s never been before, she gets exceptionally convinced it would be better if she went back to her birth family, which she assumes has starved nearly to death. Her new parents, when she at last brings this up, tell her that the community is very tight (😎hella tight bro) (I need to chill on the useless thingies in parentheses) and would not let a family be “a single hole in the basket which through all the water can run out”, and make sure everyone was properly housed, fed, and looked after, at least to the best of everyone’s collective ability. And yes, they had watertight baskets, look up Northwest Native American watertight basket. Neat. 

Regarding the plot: Ness-An decides to try and look at things from afar, and realizes that it has some merit, the fact that her original family should be okay. Ness’ new parents also chew her up on being disrespectful by rejecting their hospitality. In the end, Ness-An decides to stay out the rest of the trip actually learning new skills instead of just griping about how she has no skills, and tries to make an actual effort at being kind continuously, now that a roof being over her head is no longer a variable. It’s a lot of fun, at least everything besides plucking the actual waterfowl and also: bird guts. But she makes some stronger bonds and tries to get bearings on the world, as well as learning more about drop-nets, archery, snares, and a bunch of legends that get told to pass the time while removing duck guts. When they at last get back, which is in a while but I’m condensing things, Ness, and Ourealvoi who came with out of curiosity but then decided to stay out of things, go to Ness-An’s former house. Surprise! Everyone is properly fed and cheery, and it turns out her family wasn’t short on food, and in fact, was better stocked than most years, causing the excessive celebration. When Ness first brought up that she suspected a food shortage to her mother, her mother ran with the idea in order to convince Ness to leave the house, because Ness had been unhelpful and bothersome, but greater yet the shamaness had apparently seen something regarding the Odd-Eyed Child, and the village healers were no small deal. Ness was indeed an unhelpful ass, though, in essence. Thus, her mother casually passed her off to another family whom she knew already had a low reputation for having been traders, believing no worse damage could be done to their status by having to rear a ride and “dangerous” child. 

Ness is of course startled and becomes very upset. In the end, she returns to her second family. She feels rejected; and justly so because she was literally given up from her family without argument. She spends most of december trying to fit in and improve, but gives up a little as temperatures and food availability drop drastically for january. However, the lack of need to be outside, which is a byproduct of the lack of food to be gathered, means that there is plenty of time to sit on the round floor of the house and play around or carve or weave. In this way she becomes closer to them, and there are all sorts of small friendly and funny scenes I’m putting here. She’s evidently still mad with her birth family, but it’s turning out okayish. She starts taking better care of other people, but also stays believably immature, such as almost putting a rotting trout into Teven’s bedding after he drops a garter snake down Oure’s blouse. When the first turkey vulture (a first sign of spring, seeing as they move south in the summer and have a very distinct presence upon returning, with a six foot wingspan) is sighted in mid-march, the long and rather unnoteworthy winter comes to an end and people suddenly have things to gather again. While out in the fields with Adiir and the children (all of them, seeing as boys help mainly the mother until around age twelve) gathering young camas lily shoots, Ness begins once again bringing up travel, namely to the sea. Oure wants to go back as well, now that Ness-An has gone through the step of mentioning the topic, which isn’t recomended. Ourealvoi hasn’t been there since she was barely six years old, and doesn’t want to forget how it looked. Teven and the rest can’t remember anything besides Heron Speaks, though, but still add in agreement. Adiir and Enolset discuss this in depth, because although the excursion would retrieve valuable items such as salt, sea otter fur, and many other plants and meats, plus turban shells and other things that were valued somewhat like currency; it would immediately dock their slowly improving reputation. In the end, they decide to go to the sea. It takes two overnights walking westward, which to Ness that’s an a m a z i n g duration of time, basically three days walk, which is how far away she previously though esentially the edge of the world was. They spend a lot of time by the sea that i’m not going to go on about, but return after drifting up and down the coastline and trading some to the north. When they return in late August, something is very wrong with Heron Speaks. Downriver, there’s a house. A house made of wood. Everyone says it’s been there since early june, by which Ness and family were already gone. Nobody knows what to do, but everyone thinks Ness might have some answer, even though she’s just eleven, because of her being the Odd-Eyed Girl. There is much discussion, but nobody will let her go see the house. After people get more used to the fact there’s a house four miles away with a lone inhabitant, and that the mysterious immigrant seems to be staying, people start relaxing slightly and preparing once again for Thricemoon (i need to put a lot more description into the summer evidently, and i have in the book, but here I’m short on space and time). The celebration begins, and for the first time Ness is one of the people who has gone trading, and gets plenty of attention. When she awakes on the third morning of Thricemoon, however, the house is empty and  the shore outside is crowded with canoes, from other Ketempi towns, even, which has never happened before. a full thousand people must be out there. She wades into the water, asking what on earth is wrong. There is now a second house, and a negotiation must be held. She hears from the people from other towns that far more settlers have been arriving in their areas, as well. But nobody understands that the Europeans are trying to actually build permanent homesteads, they just assume they’ve put up wood houses because they’re staying briefly, a year at most, because if you actually are going to live somewhere, you make an earth house. So everyone decides to go give gifts to the temporary guests, so that they feel welcome before they leave.This goes over much differently that planned.

Anyway, i must sleep, so there’s the first half of the first book. Tah-dah.

A/N: Like I said, delete literally anything you like, and feel free to ask for me to add information on something [feel free to google anything mentioned]. I have sixteen years of story left to tell for Ness, and once you know the universe already i can make things briefer, hopefully fitting two years to a post instead of just one. I’ve atted you, so go to town: delete half of it, point out seventy grammatical errors, harp on plot holes, basically do your worst. I hate myself already and nothing you say can change that. Go ahead and delete the whole thing; it undoubtedly deserves it, seeing as how much i yammer.

Also, @iloveshippingkitty @buying-the-space-farm @jovanafung @tjc2009-2018

[theeternalsun]

VERY LONG CHARACTER SURVEY.

RULES. repost —— don’t reblog. tag ten people. TAGGED BY. @crownviper​ ( thank you <3 ) TAGGING. @uthnan @doomedfist @arsuledin @banalvhen @scoiakrol @poenitentium

BASICS.

FULL NAME: she gives none. Main verse: before joining Falon’din she was called Elgara’uthaan, which means eternal sun. Modern and all verses like it: Ehinonmen, a nigerian name which means ‘messenger of god’. NICKNAME/S: priestess, though I would not call it a nickname per se and more like a title which she has had many. AGE: Looks like she is in her mid 40ties. Main verse: late 8000. Modern and all verses like it: mid 40ties. BIRTHDAY:   Main verse: not even she knows, back in her day people did not celebrate birthdays. Modern and all verses like it: 28th of December ( the year depends on the verse ) ETHNIC GROUP: Main verse: Ancient Elvhen ( back then she would have been identified as a Western one and considering those lands were controlled by Elgar’nan, that would also be taken into account ). Modern and all verses like it: Yoruba. NATIONALITY: Main verse: Her land had no name and she refuses to use the modern name. Modern and all verses like it: Nigerian.

LANGUAGE/S:  Main verse: Common, Elvhen, Ancient Tevene Modern and all verses like it: English, Hausa, Yoruba and a small bit of portuguese.  SEXUAL ORIENTATION:  Hetero-flexible. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic ( this is so rare to happen in general but it’s even more towards women, so if there is even a word for that let me know rip ) RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Widow. CLASS: Low-class. HOMETOWN / AREA:  Main verse: Nowadays it would be called Seere in Rivain. Modern and all verses like it: Lagos. CURRENT HOME:  Main verse: different elvhen temples spread out across Thedas. Modern and all verses like it: New Orleans PROFESSION: General, priestess, just put whatever name she needs to be in order to get shit done here.

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Black and extremely curly. EYES: Black ( boy don’t get me started on her eyes, I will never shut up ) NOSE: I don’t know how to describe noses rip. It’s scarred like most of her body really. FACE: Oval, though extremely sunken due to the years of abuse, self harm and lack of care towards her own self. LIPS: Full, all things considered, though nothing that you will see described as seductive. The skin is mostly broken either due to the scarring or the bite marks that have been left. Wounds from the cold and wind. COMPLEXION: She constantly looks like she is fighting some sort of illness, mostly due to how skinny she is. BLEMISHES: Nope. SCARS and TATTOOS: Her full body and face are covered in vallas’lin ( blood writing ) ( also here ), they once were all black with a few details of white and gold. Those same details are mostly gone, like most of the details in general on her vallas’lin. They resemble now random lines over her skin than anything else considering that her body is completely covered in scars. She doesn’t have a single piece of skin that is not torn either by her own hand or at the hand of others ( she does have 8000 years of experience in either war or fighting to survive in the streets ). She has three that she hides under golden bands ( on her neck and wrists ) which will never fully heal. On particularly ugly one going from her right temple down to her chin and circling her face. There are also multiple burn marks though they are very very old and barely noticeable. HEIGHT: 5′0″ / 150 centimeters. WEIGHT: she spends most of all o her current verses as underweight, regaining muscle and mass as they go. BUILD: After long stages of being locked up or sleeping her muscles have suffered with the inactivity and the abuse, she is incredibly skeletal and it’s something that still causes her skin to crawl. She had a very muscular build before all of the unfortunate events that followed the fall of the Elvhen empire and she aims to regain it. ALLERGIES: N/A. USUAL HAIRSTYLE: Depends, when her hair is long she either wears dreadlocks or thin braids, if the hair is short then it’s basically non-existent. USUAL EXPRESSION: Serious and quick to turn to snarky from its neutral tone ( with heavy tendencies to just roll her eyes ) USUAL CLOTHING: Unless sleeping ( which happens once in a blue moon ) she uses heavy armour beneath heavy robes ( or light ones, depending of the weather of the area around the temple that she is around ). No shoes unless it’s for an actual job ( like ambushes or actual pushes with armies. She is not stupid and she will not be caught dead fighting bare feet unless there’s a very good reason for it ). If she is a relaxed mood she might use clothing that is more traditional when it comes to rivaini clothing ( colourful, loose ) but those are very rare occasions and only reserved to people that spend some time in the temple and in festivities with her.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: Failing her people again, loosing control of her own self, madness. ASPIRATION/S: *slams fists* BRING BACK THE ELVHEN GLORY. POSITIVE TRAITS: Loyal, caring, idealistic, too smart for her own good, a good listener. NEGATIVE TRAITS: She is....... well, no point in beating around the bush, racist as fuck towards humans most of the time, unless they show that they deserve her respect she is just very: well, you all are just not worth the air you are breathing. Zealot, bigot, violent when her buttons are even slightly pressed about certain subjects... MBTI: INTJ.    ZODIAC: Capricorn. TEMPERAMENT: Choleric. SOUL TYPE/S: The Warrior and The King. ( sorry for copy pasting but it is the same rip ) ANIMAL: Owl. VICE/S: Violence. FAITH:  Main verse: The elvhen religion towards the Creators. Modern and verses like it: always variations of it. GHOSTS? Yes. AFTERLIFE? Yes, but not quite like people think of it. REINCARNATION? Yes, but not quite like people think of it. ALIENS? shrugs off to infinity. POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: To keep herself as far away from politics as possible. She doesn’t care as long as one does not dare to speak against the Gods. ECONOMIC PREFERENCE: Poverty when she was young, now she is lower class by choice. SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION: To keep herself as far away from politics as possible.x2 EDUCATION LEVEL:  In all verses she drops out of school ( or she never had it until she was an adult already ). Main verse: she only obtains formal education when she is a young adult after joining Falon’din’s temple. She still can’t read well, she was much better at physical classes and that was why she rose so quickly onto their military ranks. Modern and verses like it: Dropout, she is joined the army as soon as she could and it was then that she got more education.

FAMILY.

FATHER: Despite being caring he was very much so around her mother’s thumb. Dedicated to Elgar’nan more because of his wife’s desires than himself. Hardworking, she still remembers how his hands were completely torn from working in the fields and how he snuck some grapes for her before delivering them to the temples. She remembers his face clearly, especially his smile, that is the image that she holds onto considering that the last time that the priestess saw her father or mother they were both dead. He was hanged over a tree in front of her village alongside her mother after she was discovered to be one of Falon’din’s Generals. MOTHER: Strick and a fanatic, she is the reason why the priestess still knows all the prayers to Elgar’nan, why she participated in all the festivals in His honour and how she still could do all the dances with her eyes closed. Their relationship was extremely tense, the priests often accused her of stealing and the punishments were harsh. She denied that she was her daughter after Elgara ran from home at 8 years of age ( which is basically a baby in elvhen years really ). SIBLING/S: N/A. EXTENDED FAMILY: She didn’t have any, single daughter and disavowed when she was really, really young when she refused to join Elgar’nan’s temple and fled. NAME MEANING/S: already explained *finger guns* HISTORICAL CONNECTION: N/A.

FAVORITES.

BOOK: She has a very hard time reading, I doubt she would read much other than technical books related to fighting. MOVIE: Not really a movie person. 5 SONGS: All of them would be elvhen songs and prayer songs. DEITY: Falon’din. MONTH: She doesn’t care. SEASON: Summer. PLACE: Rivain. WEATHER: Blazing heat that leaves people wanting to have their heads down towards the floor. Give her incredibly uncomfortable summer. SOUND: Silence. SCENT/S: Spicy food, grapes, wild flowers. TASTE/S: *SLAMS FISTS* SPICY CHICKEN OR FISH. FEEL/S: Mindfulness and control over herself and others.  ANIMAL/S: Owls and ravens. NUMBER: ?? fuck your numbers. COLOR: Gold.

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Manipulating people into her little death cult. killing people, extracting information, mothering people ( or so I’ve heard ), terrifying people without even opening her mouth. Having a mad side eye glare. It’s a beautiful talent. BAD AT: Trying to explain how the elvhen slavery was different than the Tevinter one ( lol what is even htis??? comparing elves to humans?? ge - ge t out of my face u heathen ), remaining calm when anyone talks shit about the Twins and actually doesn’t lay off after she tries to explain the situation, knowing when to stop, resisting temptation when it comes to the people around her and what she should or should not keep them so closely. She does terrible and selfish choices even when she knows that things are going to end up badly. I MEAN, IF SHIT IS GOING TO END IN FIRE, FUCK IT AMIRITE. TURN-ONS: Having the ability to kick ass, age ( yes, she really just.... most of you are kiddies but if at least some of you look like you have passed your first century then it might be acceptable. Maybe ), experience, ability to defend one self and others, courage, dutifulness. jUST if you have ever lead a successful battle she is probably: what a wonderful being right here *good shit meme right here* TURN-OFFS: I will never leave this place *stares at the sun* She hates smartmouthed humans, people that make themselves be scarier or more powerful than they are, people that think that being in a war and being edgy just to look cool, being from Tevinter in general, talking shit about religion or beliefs even if it’s not her own ( though her own will probably get you a punch ). A lot of complaining a little doing. The list is long..... HOBBIES: Drawing and kick people’s butts. TROPES: this would probably be a good time to say that I don’t watch series and that I have never..... really..... went into tropes so I have..... no idea. AESTHETIC TAGS: you’ll no longer fear when your heart’s turned to gold ( about )

FC INFO.

MAIN FC/S: Tracy Ifeachor. ALT FC/S: Maria Borges, Julia Noni, Grace Bol. OLDER FC/S: She doesn’t age :’) and I don’t think she will reach old age rip. YOUNGER FC/S: Little Simz. VOICE CLAIM/S: Ahh I don’t know, I never thought about this! GENDERBENT FC/S: Nope.

[glopratchet]

govenment

The Commonwealth of Lixie is a fantasy world that has been described as being "a mix between medieval Europe, feudal Japan and ancient Egypt " It was founded by the mysterious wizard-king known only as the Great Wizard He built his kingdom to be a haven from all threats in this strange new world His realm is called Ectropia, which means "The Land Beyond" or perhaps it could more accurately be translated into English as "Land Beyond Time" , there were no laws, so people lived their lives according to their own moral codes This made life very boring for most people who preferred to live simple and peaceful lives However, one man rose above the rest and created a society where men would strive for greatness in order to achieve immortality! That man was known as the Great Wizard! And he became a god in his own right For thousands of years he ruled over an empire that stretched across all of time and space ? how about the religion of J'heitai? it's a interesting religion (link: religion) Unfortunately due to a recent scandal instigated by jealous religious fanatics who wanted to topple the commonwealth, most of the characters are guilty or morally corrupt probably not related, but I came to talk about our secret underwater city and how we could really use some extra help building homes! something horrible is lurking under your surface Actually, your enemy the LORD CHIEF IS at your doorstep he has threatened classified information leaks! Is the Imperial Menace rising again? for when we last fought them they were lead by a man known as the Blasphemer, the Necromancer, or most commonly The Great Lich Lord we should embrace body conservation and attempts at immortality It then became obsessed with staying alive at all costs Does the Svelk Empire have but one unwritten rule? That is that "All non-Svelk are racially inferior"? Did holy men from all three major religions unite to mini-Gunpocalypse (ie steal all the revolvers and similar newfangled weaponry they could get their hands on) to prevent a bloody religious crusade in Ectropia? imposing martial law across the globe and destroying anyone who was resistant to his rule His most powerful and ruthless soldier was known as the Black Baron The Black Baron lead several crusades against those whom he thought were immoral, recently he's become killjoy and is beginning a Christian crusade of morality throughout the Ectric Ocean Does the Black Cleric represent hypocritical religious nationalists? Because he is obsessed with purging the heathens at the surface about the surface world, they discovered portals that lead them to what is now known as Netherworld They promptly had a habitation built there These dark elves mostly trade weapons with the Netherworld denizens in exchange for various resources 200 years ago, the demonic emissary Bael arrived to set up shop in the Tunnels of Xim and attempt to unite all demonkind under his banner decided that existence was too boring, so they attempted to find something new and exciting They discovered the demonic realm of Netherworld to be exactly that! unfortunately, their adventurism got them involved in a portal war between the various races of demons, almost all of whom hate each other Mysterious lizardmen that live underwater They like pearls and other gemstones, but most people who've gone to trade with them rarely come back Some say they're cannibals cold indifference and hatred Sure! English, but differed in a lot of other ways The main one being that they used instead of th (so abbreviation would end in ib and the begin with ti) sometimes theologians From the Commonwealth of Lixie Bixie , Ectropia imported most modern tech and sometimes ritual components for their grand moral objective ? Often considered the weakest and least important of the major powers, this ocean nation is little more than a large island composed of many smaller islands It's official name is the Mazsill Qualan Tralgabor but due the size of its constituent islands and general disinterest in governance many simply refer to it as Quala the Best King of Quala While many try to pit the Mazsill Qualan Tralgabor against the Eternals, they simply are not strong enough to accomplish this feat First of all, their civilians tend towards being able to swim as well as any fish Due to this, the invention and trade of powerful guns didn't enter into their society and most warriors continue to use pikes or pole arms an absolute mad man by the rest of Eternals, and the Mazsill Qualan Tralgabor simply don't think what he does can be replicated with the proper people and resources the suitable size of Quala's main island Of the people, Mazs are most sympathetic towards your plight They even give you a discount at their banks since your social experiment is somewhat tied to theirs Many people wonder why on earth the island Quala never attempted to conquer the mainland or other parts of the island and observe that Maz ikepartapir just likes playing with his weird plants like some kindof fungus the old fashioned way with superior technology, military and otherwise However that changed as various tribes begin to band together for defense as well as uniting some of it's more civilized cities to fend off Ectropia's advances little The Eternals have stressed technological growth some, but never at the expense of entertainment, with Galaxies , Rolomagos and other forms of gambling becoming more accessible to the populace Somehow though they've managed to keep a tight ship and crack down on procreation amongst their own ranks as well as extending this to the natives This paired with excess soldiers designated for off-shore duties has allowed them to curb most unintended births in their conquered lands that says that it was a time of great strife There's violence in the streets, mutants everywhere and unsanctioned procreation on the rise thanks to resistance members taking advantage of hostile stalemates between Eternals and rebels heavily as they waylay ships of both nations Riots in both port cities are common and in some cases the rural areas of the continent are suffering rather severe famines Overall it would be considered a bad time to live although a native may determine that it's an exciting time to live At least that's what you're counting on: EXCITEMENT have heavy patrols as well as heavily defended ships Your plans constantly change from assassinating a high official on land to attempting to board a ship at sea and kill the captains But somehow…none of your plans truly ever work out… All seems hopeless as you slink back to your little room to sleep away another night of frustration and failure On your way, you receive the most shocking news The inspectors call over their superior that there is a ton of food on the way to Ectropia, insinuating that it'd be a waste of money as the citizens are close to open revolt and won't endure much more stop a wagon caravan His response is sudden, sincere and unexpected: "Let them revolt "

[nightcoremoon]

there's a disturbing trend going around recently in which binarism is being overused.

now when I say binarism I mean in the literal most basic sense. 1 and 0. black and white. good and evil. right and wrong. dark and light. and the like.

people pretend like all values are in absolutes.

discussion of religion lumps all atheists versus all those with faith. this ignores agnostics. this ignores atheists of different faithful upbringings and different societies and different cultures. this ignores the divide between judeochristian entities. this ignores the divide between east & west. this ignores the split between buddhism and hinduism. this ignores the difference in the structure of faith versus mythology. it ignores enmity between different branches of various faiths but mostly between types of christianity: most notably the divide between catholic and protestant. even further it ignores orthodoxy (which I'll fully admit to knowing jack shit about which is why I don't discuss it with frequency). this ignores unitarians and other blended faith. I see cishet white dudebros talking shit about faith and religion as if it's all the same thing, all diametrically opposed to their own philosophy, and assume that all atheists are how they are even though this demographic is still instilled values of fundamentalist christianity. they see the issue as their limited intelligence and their position on atheist as the other side of the coin in which all religious people are on the same boat on the other side. I see ignorant christians lumping "heathens" of every religion and also atheists together as The Enemy™ who are all equally bad and terrible and going to hell for their beliefs. even though that's not even how christianity works. even further I see christians believing the basics of their faith in which jesus forgave all of humanity for their sins and they'll all be pardoned in the afterlife but still turn right around and condemn gays, women, and brown skinned people to hell. sure, there are multiple multitudes of people who don't follow in these demographics, but view the discussion in the same terms, as atheism / science vs religion / christianity, as if terms were interchangeable.

this is just one example.

politics. people see left versus right. they see liberal versus conservative. they see red versus blue. they see republican versus democrat. this ignores the tiers of leaning, apoliticals, and the extremists. this assumes all people on either side are all the same. this ignores all of the more complex situations that can arise from governing masses of people. you'll get liberals clamoring over hilary clinton, bernie sanders, and both of the obamas in spite of all of their questionable deeds which come hand in hand with big government, unable to distinguish the difference between moderate conservatives and outright fascists, who either refuse to compromise with the moderates or don't take seriously the threat of the nazis. and you'll get conservatives shitting themselves in rage at lgbtq rights because they're bigoted assholes incapable of considering dissenting opinions or just bitching and moaning over their guns being taken away and digging their heels in at any left leaning prospects which save lives, adamantly refusing to acknowledge that their paragon of tangerine apathy is an incredibly dangerous sociopath with the mind of a child no matter how many steps down hitler's path he takes, because they can't comprehend that racism affects people other than themselves. and on top of all of that you'll see cynical fucknuggets sneering at everyone because "both sides are the same" because they both feel conviction in their beliefs. you'll get rabid anarchists who all demand that everyone create cryptosocieties because the neoliberalism and liberals are all the same people who will cause nuclear winter when they take control of the country and go to war with russia, the moderate conservatives and the literal mussolini sympathizers are all the same people and should be murdered on sight, and even the rare breed who follow in randist objectivism as if that's a good idea. you get literal fucking communists who have never read a history book in their life who delight in cyberbullying everybody who dares to have an opinion. caught in the crossfire are all of the minorities who suffer to the tyranny of majority which is democracy. there are liberals who love cops and guns, there are conservatives who're black or gay, and they get left behind without a single explanation and thrown under the bus for the sake of "their side".

it's ridiculous.

we've even got this mentality so ingrained we stop acknowledging it. just likes and dislikes on youtube, and no "I liked some aspects of this video but disliked other aspects" selection. "I love this band" vs "this band sucks", no "this band does not appeal to me but I can respect its artistic integrity and I can appreciate that there are people who enjoy it". the line drawn between rich capitalists and the poor workers even though there are people who have money and struggle to make ends meet as well as people who have no extra money but still have a roof, a bed, clothes, a meal, and animals who also have a meal [the middle class and the lower middle class exist, it's not just the upper class and the lower class. also fuck billionaires]. division of intelligent people and stupid people as if there aren't a dozen types of intelligence exhibited in people. I could go on for hours.

it's a problem with humans in general, it seems. our obsession with anally compartmentalizing everything has stretched nearly every aspect of society to the breaking point. every culture in the world I'm aware of has issues like this. and the biggest topical issue right now is gender. uneducated eurocentric white christianized cis people only think there are two, and ignore all attempts to explain that the gender binary is completely nonexistent outside of the realm of social constructs. they shove their heads up their asses and go "blah blah blah I can't hear you" until your mouth stops moving and they regurgitate the same platitudes forcfed into them their whole lives, hands held through everything they've ever experienced, and told exactly what to think at any given moment.

literally nothing in life is a coin flip.

tangential I know but I wanna draw analogues to blizzard entertainment. particularly think of the worlds of warcraft and starcraft... no pun intended. warcraft has horde versus alliance. you got the humans who have gone to war with the orcs forever, the dwarves who support their allies the humans, the gnomes who take refuge with the dwarves, the night elves who just want to keep the world from falling apart, the drainei who are basically just literal stereotypical space jews who want to keep their dying culture alive, the worgen who are just humans who are also werewolves from HyperBritain, and the pandas who joined them but didn't realize they were enlisting in a war against their own people. and that's the alliance. frail tenuous connections based on necessity. then you have the horde. you have the orcs who just wanted a home in azeroth but the xenophobic humans attacked them and started a war, the trolls who all lived peacefully with the orcs, the peaceful tauren [giant cow people] who traded with the orcs, the undead forsaken who were cast out by the humans (for being similar in appearance to the undead scourge of lordaeron who were all used as weapons by literal demons) and taken in as allies by the orcs, the blood elves who used to be what became the night elves before they became literal space nazis like it's in fucking wolfenstein and decided hey let's help out all the people who hate the people who love the people who we hate (the enemy of my friends friend is my friend), the goblins who almost got eaten by a dragon and then begged the orcs for help, and the pandas who were in the same boat as before. an honor bound covenant of staying alive together and resisting the purge from the alliance. but then you also have the evil aliens and the evil demons and the crazed wildlife and the evil dragons and the evil lich king and the evil humans and the evil orcs and the evil elves of all elf races and the neutral goblins that make it absolutely clear that the horde and the alliance are not the be all end all on inherent goodness or evilness. evil is done by the alliance, the horde, third parties; good is done by the alliance, the horde, third parties. there are dozens of "sides".

meanwhile starcraft has terran, protoss, & zerg. all three just wanna live their lives but they're all brought into a war with two kinds of aliens they never met before, and the actions of a few evil people in each group caused a fuckin full scale intergalactic war between all of them. and not to mention the terran fighting each other even though they're all from the same planet, the rogue protoss having their various civil wars, and the collapse of the zerg overmind causing tribal warfare between zerg, and amon who is super super evil and wants to kill everybody in the universe and fuse their corpses together because the xel'naga (gods) left an unclear prophecy, and also the xel'naga themselves. there are a dozen factions of each of the three races ALONE who all hate each other, and not all of them are good or evil. in fact it's left super obvious that the only truly evil people are amon and the only truly good people are in raynor's allies, kerrigan's swarm, artanis' fleet, and uhhh probably valerian's dominion maybe.

and that's just how the world is. things aren't ever simple and easy. there are exceptions to every rule. bickering and fighting and putting things into neat little categories and thinking you're the fucking king of the field are all not helping the situation we're in.

all atheist assholes and all religious assholes are bad. all neoliberals and all fascists are bad. not all atheists or religious people are good but many are. not all people with a political leaning are good but many are. (this ones iffy and I'll make a lot of enemies but... moderate liberals seem to be pretty okay for the most part and moderate conservatives can be okay if they make concessions and fucking listen and the other positions seem to be directly proportional in overall goodness to how much they discount dissenting opinions. naziism is not an opinion, guillotine the billionaires, complicity in fascism is fascism which is bad, tolerating intolerance is a fallacy, fuck trump, fuck every single dumb motherfucker who voted for him, oh yeah and fuck the broken not working two party system). gender is a complex concept beyond complete human comprehension and anyone who thinks they know everything about us is a fucking idiot who should stop talking. stop shoving things into one of two boxes.

we should really think in more like magic the gathering colors. black is the evil demon hell zombie monster fucks. white is the be nice to people but destroy evil brigade. blue is the logic/science/reason/coexist with the scary brutal nature or die/survival of the fittest kind of people. red is the "nature is scary and life is meaningless so let's all just get drunk" aspect of apathetic nihilistic neutrality. green is the "nature is beautiful and we should stop fucking destroying it and then make the world a better place" tree hugging nerds who mean well but can be a bit cold and unfeeling when it comes to those less fortunate. we'll all probably do a lot better thinking in those terms than how we've been doing.

[tranxendance]

Ah, my most supportive follower! It’s kinda shitty and unfinished and I’ll probably never do anything with it, but I keep thinking about it every couple of days when I have downtime.

The thing i've been brainstorming is a sort of ancient egyptian setting for D&D, because I've been watching Home Team History and have generally been interested in egyptology since forever. I'm much more knowledgeable about the norse pagan/heathen and judeochristian mythological roots for the majority of D&D's setting, but I think it could be interesting due to the immense mechanical and setting shift involved. Most of ancient Egyptian mythology is not recorded as tales (Unlike the Icelanders, who loved writing about EVERYTHING) and the presence of 'creatures' like the wealth of goblins, dragons, and Umber Hulks is trickier to come up with. Most magic, too is based around the extremely full pantheon of gods rather than being something human beings could do. This balancing act is where i'm coming up with the trickiest problems. I'm also basing this roughly on the New Kingdom era of ancient egypt, which was about 1000 BCE, in their bronze age.

Races: Tolkien wasn't around yet so elves, dwarves, halflings, and orcs are euro-centric and not suitable. But having just humans would be a tad boring, too. I'd probably go with various animal-people type hybrids, as you see several gods depicted as either literal animals, humans, or people with animal attributes. I can't simply lift stats from D&D for this purpose, either, but Jackal-people, Cow-people, Alligator-people, and Hawk-people would be important to include. +Dex, +Con, +Str, and +Wis stat bonuses, respectively, Scent, Low-Light vision, Darkvision, and a skill bonus to Perception seem good too. As for actual ethnic races, everybody should be dark skinned and haired, make this the one setting where there's no white-european analogues. Maybe a Nubian alternate-human type that's notably taller than everybody else.

Equipment: Almost all simple weapons seem okay. Modify 'Dart' to be a 'throwing stick' and change the damage type to bludgeoning, and remove light crossbows. Alternatively make Clubs throwable and say they're throwing sticks (20/60 range). For Martial weapons, probably only the shortsword or scimitar (Khopesh), Trident, Whip, Net and Longbow are suitable for the setting. Reflavor the Longbow to be a Compound bow, while the shortbow is more of a Self/Simple bow and you've got it. Ancient Egyptians fucking loved bows and it's clear at 1d8 damage they'd be up there as the most powerful weapons in this setting. Armor should be extremely limited. It's fucking HOT in the desert and most soldiers were unarmored and used only a shield. The only armor that should be available for Medium armor is Scale Mail. Chain and plate hadn't been invented yet, and I don't think Splint mail is a real thing at all. Hide and Padded armors are probably too heavy and hot to not die of heatstroke in the near-equatorial heat but if you think they should be available, I guess, why not. Instead of the 5th edition generic 'Shield' for +2 AC, I'd go back to the older style of Small, Large, and Tower shields. +2, +4 and 'Provides cover from your shield side' since shields were way more important in warfare. Since this makes martial classes and things that require weapons quite a lot weaker, maybe make everything -2 to-hit/attack rolls and say something about bronze being a softer metal, harder to cut through things with. If anyone points out that a club is still just wood, shush them as hard as you can. For adventuring equipment, probably no lanterns (Torches only!) and anything made of iron should be bronze or wood. Clay cooking pots, wooden shovels, that sort of thing. I also don't know if tallow soap and candles were a thing yet, or magnifying glasses and spyglasses, but i'm gonna say they are because it's not like it's a game mechanic annhilating thing.

Magic: Pretty much all magic is something that invokes a god in egyptian mythology, rather than something a human could do themselves. If you fancy all player characters being demigods, then everyone should have some innate magical ability like how Drow can just cast Darkness and Fairy Fire no matter what their actual class is. Scrolls and staves should exist. Wands, crystal balls not so much. Most spellcasters should be able to cast from scrolls, and there should be papyrus scrolls as well as stone and metal tablets (something like 5lb each instead of the near weightlessness of normal paper ones). Magic items should remain as is, as a lot of egyptians wore brooch/amulet type things to invoke an aspect of a god for themselves. Magic should probably be slower, more ritual based and sacrifice based than usual. Material Component should be on almost everything - Sacrifice 5lb of food items to cast Cure Moderate Wounds. Make a large and probably uncomfortable amount of the requirements sexual - the pharoah would masturbate into the nile river every year to get it 'pregnant' and ready to flood. Archetectural achievements could be used as spells - constructing huge mosaics but leaving off a few tiles so you can complete them to get their effect when you’re ready, that kind of thing. Cleric domains/gods are easy. There's about a zillion gods to choose from if you go to wikipedia's egyptian gods page and it lists roughly what their domains are.

Classes: I'm a bit hung up here. Probably Wizards and Sorcerers don't exist. Warlock and Paladin are iffy, too. With the restricted armor and weapons, casters like these are going to be a lot more powerful, anyway. If you lose the Celtic bent of the Druid, they fit in well enough, but they're just normal instead of deliberately anachronistic THE OLD WAYS types. Limit them to egyptian-flavored animals for wild shape if you're a cool guy (Use Wolf stats but it's a Jackal now, ta daaa!). Bards should absolutely exist: There is magic invoked by telling stories a certain way. Martial classes are a bit weakened by the restricted armor and weapon choices so they should get something to compensate for it, but i'm not sure what. Monk is now incredibly good because they have to sacrifice pretty much nothing in this setting.

Other rules: There shouldn't be any mounted combat. Riding into battle and dismounting, sure. Charioteering, absolutely. But not fighting from horse- or other animal-back. Maybe you have half-cover while riding in a chariot, and you need 2 people, a driver and a fighter, but you can carry a Cart's worth of arrows, javelins, spears, and a short sword or Khopesh in arm's reach? And if you fall prone for any reason you fall out of the chariot?

Culture and society: Farming should be the #1 most valued and respected career for lower class people. Even rich people still farm. Every city and town should have their own local cults for a god or two. Most people should worship several gods, praying to whatever is relevant to their current situation. Pharoahs are considered living gods, not even demigods, the whole thing. Clothing should be extremely light and revealing. Everybody wears a skirt and not much else. Maybe disguising yourself is a lot more difficult (disadvantage or -4 depending on Edition), especially as another sex. There are professional militaries, but most armies are conscripted, and being a soldier is not glamorized - only poor people with no trade skills became soldiers and mercenaries. Play up the tomb-robbers and traps aspects. Go nuts with the temples and tombs full of pitfalls, the ancient egyptians invented that shit. Bows and spears are considered the best weapons, but the Khopesh was gifted to humanity by the gods, so it's more of a ceremonial and symbolic weapon. Throwing sticks are also glamorized because one Pharoah loved hunting for birds with them. Don’t shy away from the slavery aspect: The egyptians enslaved everybody they could get their hands on.

That's what I've got so far, it should be enough to run a game with, but there is a lot more work that could be done to modifying the spell lists and requirements, making interesting Races, and polishing up the classes to suit and be balanced.